A Promise

Sacrifice

The man stood before the grate wearing long red robe, sleeveless and with gold woven into the front. A large headdress sat on his head with gold and feathers: blue, red, yellow, and white. He gestured for the grate to be opened. Everyone scrambled up, wanting to know what he was going to do. The grate opened slowly. Screeching its protest before lifting high. The man, a priest, stepped into the doorway, looking over the group. Alice backed into the corner, dreading she might be chosen, but Grace slid to block her from view. The priest muttered something, gesturing towards the two women. Lorenzo glanced back as did Butcher. Butcher turned back, saying something quickly to the priest.

“He says they be first.” Butcher turned to Grace and Alice, knowing that meant they were the first to go before the king and then probably sacrificed after that. “Ya don't ha'e ta go first.” Grace stood, trembling, but she went out of the cage, standing next to the warrior that had stood guard most of the night with them. Alice was still in her corner, refusing to come, much to the annoyance of the priest.

“Alice,” Grace tried to softly warn her to just come along, but the noble didn't listen. She never did. Alice sat there, her arms across her chest. She, stubbornly, did not move an inch. Her clothes were dirty and ripped, but no worse than Grace's. “Please,” Grace pleaded, hoping Alice would come along without being taken or harmed.

“I will not be taken to be sacrificed to some god that they believe in! It's barbaric!” she shouted. In her anger she stood and stomped her feet. “No human would do that to another!” Grace felt anger, annoyance, and fear all course through her. She knew Alice was stubborn, but she didn't think it ran this deep especially when her life was at stake. “A religious man should put a stop to it.” Her voice dipped lower, staring at the priest. Before she could say anything more, guards came in, pulling her by her arms out of the cell and out with Grace. The priest said something to them, but neither one of the women could understand. Butcher didn't get a chance to translate since they walked swiftly away.

They head through a corridor and out of the stone building. The Priest followed the stone path placed into the dirt. It was large, flat stones sunken into the dirt. They were covered with a thin layer of dust and debris. That made them slightly slippery, but neither female complained. The priest led the parade. It was a parade, Grace realized. Everyone stopped what they were doing and staring at them. It took only a moment before they bowed, lowering themselves to the ground with their hands out in front of them. The Priest was the high priest that attended to their ruler, their king, Hexlacutal. At least, Grace thought that was what they called him. The name seemed to reverberate around, echoed by the people.

She took deep breaths, not knowing what to do. Her mind was swirling with despair and fear. She was going to die today. There was no question about it. She had no powers on land, and they were not near the ocean. It would be her fault. She let them be taken without a fight. It was her decision to save them at that moment, but now they were to be killed for these people's god.

The tall pyramid was built on stone steps as stairs line the sides. They reached the bottom, heading to a small opening that led down into the pyramid. Grace held her breath, feeling waves of power and energy coming from that opening. It swelled as she and Alice stepped through. Grace glanced at Alice, wondering if she could feel it as well, but she showed nothing. She just looked ahead as if this happened all the time. Grace inhaled sharply as they walked into the large hall. There were incense around, permeating the room. The haze came from the candles and the smoke. It was building in the room before it slipped out through the small openings in the side. Those openings also allowed some natural light to come in, giving small spots of light on the floor. Grace could see the smoke swirling in the light, tendrils twisting and turning with every breath they breathed and every movement they made.

In the middle sat a tall man, bare chest and muscled. All that was covering him was a skirt of sorts. He had a headdress, feathers in a golden head piece. They fanned around his head as a few dangled beside his ears from beaded gold. The high priest bowed and lowered himself to his knees, spreading his arms out in front of him. The guards forced the two women to their knees as well, shoving their heads to the floor. The cold stone brushed against their foreheads as the guards kept them there. Even though the guards were in a similar position, giving respect to this man. “I welcome thee.” At least the two woman knew he could understand them and speak with them. “Ye be whom?”

Alice lifted her head, pushing her guard away. He grunted and tried to get her to bow once more, but when the man raised his hand, the guard stopped, backing away a step. Alice gave him a haughty look. “Alice Noble and this is my servant Grace Rivera.” Her hand gestured to Grace that still had her head bowed. Slowly, Grace lifted her head, glancing at Alice and the king. “You are?”

“I be king. Macantecohl be name.” His voice was softer than either one thought. Grace looked at Macantecohl wondering if he knew of Butcher—T'laloc Ecuhli. He might. “Ye come a long way. Holy sacrifice to Altezlurac. Ye be first.” Macantecohl pointed at Alice. Alice gasped, not liking how this had turned out. She didn't want to die.

Grace stood up, brushing off the guard and the high priest. “I will be first.”

“Ye want be first?” he asked, turning his dark, almost black eyes, to Grace. She kept his stare, having the gall to look him in the eyes. He narrowed his eyes, knowing something was different about her. Her form phasing to another. Alice saw this as well, gaping at her servant.

“You will anger more than just the gods if you take Alice fist.” Grace stood her ground, wanting to have him change his mind. He rose to his feet, standing almost a head taller than her. Macantecohl walked to her, looking her up and down before sighing.

“It no matter. Ye be first.” He waved a dismissive hand towards Grace, as if she didn't matter. The high priest lifted his gaze, knowing the king was dismissing them without even a word. He nodded to the guards and the two women were pulled out of the room with the priest just behind them.

The high priest muttered chants behind them as the guard holding Grace led her to the many stairs in the side of the pyramid. They traversed the first twenty before Grace started to feel the wear and tear of the harsh day and a half. Her stomach complained about not having food, at least not enough. The man, spear in his other hand, dragged her up to the platform jutting out from the middle of the pyramid. He pushed her down, letting her bounce off the stone with a satisfying smile.

Grace groaned as she felt the stone dig into her skin. The guard lifted her up and set her on her feet. People slowly started to gather. They stood at the base of the pyramid, staring up at the small group. They started shouting and chanting words she couldn't hope to understand.

The sun was low in the sky, giving the world a shadowed look with color touching the tops of trees and the building they were on. The chanting continued, but quieted as the high priest came up behind her, shouting down at them. She might not have understood him, but the words seemed to wrap themselves around her body, constricting her. Grace feared what she was going to be put through. She didn't know what was going to happen.

Her fear jumped as the priest cut her shirt and pants. He ripped them from her body, leaving her with nothing. Her fear swallowed any words she might have said. She stood before a huge crowd, completely naked. And all of them were staring. A small procession of people trudged up the long set of stairs. They carried many things. Bowls, food, drinks, fabric.

A different chant started up as people sat, raising their arms in the air. They called out to the sky as the sun dipped lower and lower. Grace felt herself tremble as the procession came closer and closer. She realized each one was a woman. Their hair half shaved, braided down the middle. Feathers pierced their ears and stones were embedded in their skin. Gold was painted down their arms in patterns and words Grace had no knowledge of. At least she thought some of them were words.

Slowly the group reached the platform and knelt. They never looked at the High Priest. He spoke softly to them as two guards came up beside Grace, holding her arms out. The women set their offerings before the large stone altar. The two in front picked up two bowls. In the bowls was a blue paste of some sort. They muttered soft words as they walked to Grace. Dipping their fingers in the bowl, they spread the paste along Grace's arms and chest. Smearing the stuff along her face and down her legs, soon she was nearly covered in blue.

Grace swallowed hard, fearing what would come next.

She was moved to the altar and forced to lay on it. Her feet and arms were held down as rope was tied around them, keeping them place. The guards let go as the priest came up. He held a knife in his hand. Muttering words, he caressed her skin before sliding the blade where his other hand was. He traced patterns into her skin. He pricked a few places like the tops of her feet, before moving back to long strokes.

Tears weld up as her blood trickled along her skin. He paused, seeing his work against the blue canvas of her skin. She bit her lip as the gentle breeze made her wounds sting. She was going to die here. It really was going to happen. No one would save her. Not now.

The priest rose his hands above him, shouting to the sky.

The sun dipped behind the pyramid, shining its last light through the top of the pyramid. It gave the priest and unearthly glow. Heavenly almost.

Gripping the knife in both hands, he plunged it down. Grace screamed. It pierced her abdomen, between her set of ribs. He chanted, leaving the weapon there. A woman gave him another knife. He did the same as before, rising it to the sky and then plunging it down. This time into her ankle. Again and again he did this, nailing her limbs to the stone below her.

She was covered in blood, mixing with the blue paste. Both ran down and weld at the trough carved into the altar and then dripping down to the floor. Pain was the one constant as she lay there. Her voice failed her as he started to sprinkle something over her. It was a dust, whitish in color. But her eyes were growing heavy. She knew she would slip into unconsciousness soon and never wake up.

Grace was going to die.