A Gray Sacrifice

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The sky was a long stretch of ivory, tinged with the colors of dawn slowly peeking from their resting place. A hint of light sprayed behind them, bathing their path in a soft, grayish glare. It seemed brightness had been drained from this world, the blues and yellows and reds had washed away, leaving the lands and the mountains a bland picture of black and white. 4

As they rode through the dim gloom, fog rolled beneath them, like twisting smoke that hugged the grass. The horse was swift, cantering lightly through the field, making little sound except the soft sighs of his breathing. 5

Ashel looked ahead, at the brink of the horizon, where the sky was painted with still black clouds, thick tendrils spanning the heavens. 6

She could hear them rumble in the distance, like the ominous beating of battle drums.   7

Dark omens, she thought, fear creeping into her limbs like a living chill. 8

“There is a storm up ahead,” she said, turning back to face Rogh. 9

He shifted in his saddle, eyes betraying a trace of dread. His face was ashen in the dimness, skin as white as snow, lips pale and parched.10

That is no storm. 11

“Then what is it?” 12

Hastharan. 13

Ashel trembled, feeling a fleeting shiver through her spine. 14

“I do not fear him.”15

He is Death. You cannot conquer him, Ashel. 16

“That is not what I wish to do.” 17

Just accept him.18

Ashel remained silent. She closed her eyes, the wind flirting with her hair, tossing the yellow rivulets into the air. Rogh gently placed his hands on her belly, dipping his face to the crook of her neck. She felt a shiver on her arms as she breathed into her back, a tingling sensation spreading through her spine. 19

They had been riding for three days, lost in this world where mortals no more traversed. Her legs ached, the flesh raw and tender from grazing with the hard leather of the saddle. She had slept little, ate even less. Her stomach seemed constricted with some vile fear that gripped her body, like a guilty weight holding her down. 20

She gave a sharp jerk to the reigns and the horse spurred faster, puffing air as it shook its head. 21

You should rest, Ashel. 22

“I feel fine,” she lied. 23

Rogh planted a kiss on her neck. 24

Please. 25

“I feel fine,” she repeated, but leaned back against him. “It’s only a little further.”26

Rogh sighed. It is guarded, by daemons and wraiths. You shall not pass, Ashel, they will not let you.  27

“I can foil their magic, Rogh. I can help us. I can help us.”28

There is no help for us. 29

“There is always help for the suffering … there always is …” Ashel felt her voice break through her words, a sob escaping his throat. “I – I have a way. I know what he wants; I know what he asks …” 30

Hastharan cannot be trusted. 31

“I am willing to take the chance.” 32

Death keeps no promises, Ashel. It owes no debts. 33

“I – I must –”34

Turn away. Rogh whispered into her ear.35

“No!”36

Turn now, and accept it. 37

“No!” cried Ashel, eyes brimming with tears, shaking her head side to side. 38

Rogh ceased his grip on her. She felt him lax. 39

Do you not trust me?40

“No.”41

Why?42

“Because you are not real.” 43

Ashel turned around, and there was rippling grass, grey ground and grey mountains. 44

And no Rogh. 45

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Rogh held her hand as they sat behind the pond, the breeze sifting through the little clearing in the forest. He looked peaceful, calm almost, his dark locks framing his face, dominating his tapering chin. Ashel could see their reflection in the surface of the water, disfigured by small ripples as air flitted across the pond. The trees enclosed them in a small space, their tall trunks looming around them, filling the air with the smell of fresh foliage. 50

Rogh took her hand and dipped it inside the pond. He folded it into a cup, drawing a handful of water that trickled from between her fingers. His grey eyes glinted bright and curious as he brought her hand toward his face. 51

Then he blew on the water. 52

In a flurry, the water sprayed into the air and hung between them, stilled by some graceful magic, like tiny glistening orbs against the surrounding scene. They looked incandescent as the sunlight hit them, like white marbles. 53

Ashel gasped, hand on her mouth, entranced by the beauty of the still shower. She gingerly held out her hand to touch them, they felt solid almost, brushing past her skin like a tingling54

Rogh smiled, looking into her eyes, still holding her hand. 55

“Teach me!” said Ashel. “This is so beautiful, oh, you must teach me!” 56

Rogh grinned and taught her. 57

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Ashel pulled on the reigns of her horse, harder than she should have and it neighed loudly as it dug its hooves into the ground. She had just captured a glimpse of water not far away. Ashel dismounted carefully and slowly, stretching her legs.63

She moaned slightly as she walked around, her feet shuffling on the soft grass. Pulling the horse along with her, she walked east, gently trudging along. At length, over a small hill, she found a small, flowing stream. 64

Tugging the reigns, she almost ran towards the water, her breath shallow, even from the short walk. Tying the horse to a small shrub by the banks, she took off her leather shoes and dipped her feet into the stream. 65

She closed her eyes, lying down, fingers hugging her stomach. It felt good to rest her feet, they often swelled up these days and the cool water soothed the pain. 66

Ashel opened her eyes to the gray, cold world. In the north, the dark clouds she had seen still hung in the air – only closer. They seemed to suck the color out of the air.67

Hastharan. He brings such despair, even in his own home. 68

Ashel had found this land after months of travel and search. It was spoken of in many of the ancient legends, never directly, but there were hints of its existence. The desolate land. Here, Hastharan bred his magic, spewing death into the veins of the earth. 69

Here, Sathil, his earthly embodiment was rooted. 70

And Ashel had to find it. 71

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He tapped her forehead lightly, just as he did whenever she did something wrong. He took hold of her shoulders and squeezed them, jerking her slightly, forcing her to go lax on her body. He rubbed her palm against her back and then closed her eyes. Then, cupping her hand, he gently splashed water into it. 77

Ashel sat there for a long time, feeling the cool sensation of water on her skin. After a while, she felt it, like an extension of her body. She could feel the surface, the depth, the substance. 78

Then, she placed the flat of her hand on top and drew it upwards. A small ribbon of water snaked into the air, clear and transparent. It twisted with every quiver and wave of her hand. 79

Ashel gasped, amazed by the fluidity of the magic. 80

Rogh pulled out another string of his own, twisting it so it coiled around her own water ribbon, forming a helix of shimmering liquid. 81

“This – this is amazing,” said Ashel. 82

Rogh nodded quietly. 83

Ashel held her breath at the scene, not even wanting to let go. It looked so beautiful. 84

Rogh closed in and placed a kiss upon her lips. The water splashed down to the bowl as Ashel leaned in, running her hand through his hair. She could taste a tangy salt in his mouth, bitter-sweet.  85

As they parted, Rogh enclosed his fingers together and held them to his chest. 86

“I love you too,” said Ashel, wishing she could hear him say the same. 87

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Ashel woke up suddenly to a cramping pain in her stomach. She wailed out loud, uncaring, for no one could hear her in this godforsaken place. Heaving herself into a sitting position, she breathed in and out, crying out aloud.92

“Oh, oh god – ah –” Ashel clenched her teeth, trying to ignore the tightening constriction. 93

It was getting faster and more frequent these days. More painful too. 94

She waited for a moment, letting the pain subside to a dull throbbing. Her stomach unclenched, as if someone had tied it in knots and then opened it up again. She sighed in relief. 95

Then, getting up and mounting the horse, she kicked her heels into its sides, making it spur forward, into the looming direction of Hastharan and his shadow. 96

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Ashel stepped between the door, cheeks red and tear-stained, eyes bloodshot from the crying. 102

“Don’t do it, Rogh, please – please, I beg you, don’t do this –” she cried hysterically, grabbing onto his arm as he tried to get past. Her cheeks burned with shame, heart bursting with pain. Her dress was wrinkled from where she had clenched it in furrows, so tight that her nails had ripped some of it apart.  103

Rogh himself was crying, although he tried to hide it. He brushed her hand aside with a firm grip, making frantic movements with his other hand. 104

“Please, Rogh, please, don’t do this,” said Ashel. “Not now, not like this – please!” 105

He was dressed in a brown uniform, a helm of his head engraved with an eagle, the emblem gleaming in the sunlight. He wore little other armor, save a mail and strong iron for the shoulders. He looked at her with a sad frown and then tapped, first to the sword by his buckled belt, and then to his heart. 106

“No! No, there is no honor!” Ashel screamed. “There is no honor in leaving your wife behind, there is no honor in death and war – it’s all lies, just lies!” She slumped down onto the ground, murmuring under her breath. 107

He bent down, in one last moment of love and kissed her forehead. 108

And then he went out into the crowded streets, where dozens of warriors and magi piled into their wagons, wheeling off into the open mouth of death. 109

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She had been riding for most of the day now, refreshed by sleep. The black shadows were almost above her now, and light was dwindling in this part. In the distance, nestled in the belly of the encasing mountains, lay a towering stone structure, sprawled like an entire city across the land, its cold, black walls seemed high and tall. 114

Ashel would stand there in a few hours, before the mighty house of Hastharan. 115

She would face the God of Death.  116

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Ashel sat in the ancient cave, surrounded by twisting shapes and shadows. She shivered feverishly, finger tracing the runes on a roll of papyrus, ecstatic at her new discovery. Trembling like a leaf in a storm, her pupils dilated as she spoke, rocking back and forth. 121

“Shanaeras … meth ere sinea … jyastya …”122

The shadows wailed all around her, moving swiftly, like coiling smoke, entangling around her arms and neck. Then, like lips, the summoned darkness reached upto her ears and spoke. 123

“Find his Sathil … and bathe yourself in his essence …  … and life will always be repaid with life …”124

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The massive temple was all black stone, darker than the surroundings, black ivy crawling on its surface. Large steps ascended to inside, the entire flight of stairs spanning fifty feet in width. The base was thick with uncut plants and fog that snaked around the horse’s legs. Ashel spurred the horse up the stairs, soothing it with her voice. For some reason, it had taken thrice as long to get to the temple, dragging its hooves along, shaking its head in desperate defiance. 129

It can sense Hastharan, Ashel guessed. 130

There were strong, large pillars along the sides, twice as wide as the largest tree trunks Ashel had ever seen, their stony structure engraved with indecipherable images. They were fashionably constructed, impressive in size and skill. On the topmost part, statues of dragons were banked along the pillars, their tails coiled, teeth bared in a snarl. 131

Ashel sensed them watching her.  132

She rode up the stairs and came to a large hall. At first, she gasped, but on closer inspection, she found that the thousands of dark figures that stood before her were statues, sculpted to every fine detail, figures bowing down in submission, their hands touching the ground, the dark stone of their bodies cracking and dusty with age. 133

She descended from the horse, took the reigns in her hand and quietly walked amongst the silent sentinels. They had no eyes, she noticed, just bland faces like many masks and twisting mouths open in horror, their knees scraping the cold floor. 134

She rummaged into the bag of her saddle and brought out a small wooden stub. One end was bound with rags, glazed with oil and wrapped in leaves. As she ripped the leaves apart, the rags came to life, bursting into a yellow fire. The light threw the shadows in a hasty retreat, make them jump back and flicker on the edges of the fiery glare, like some ritual dance.  135

She continued ahead, staying close to the horse, for its sake and for her own. She led them forward, feeling its hot breath against her back.136

“Hastharan?” she called out. 137

Suddenly, something hard wrapped around her arm. Ashel screamed loudly, batting at the iron grip with her torch. As she looked in horror, she saw the bland face of the statue beside her, mouth open in unseen agony. It held her, crushing her bones. Ashel tried to twist free of the stern hands. 138

She wailed loudly, and the horse neighed in a sudden terror, loosening its reigns from her grip and bounding away, kicking and bucking, hooves clacking on the stone floor. Through the darkness, Ashel saw that the statues had come to life. They twisted and turned in their places, making horrid, grazing sounds, their feet dragging them towards her, silent callers of death. 139

In a desperate attempt, she closed her eyes and became still. Calm. She let her body lax. 140

Sensing water she drew upon it, sucking it from every plant and vine in the vicinity. The spirals of liquid came gushing out from the sides, shimmering in the gloom, crashing onto the statue in a massive splash that drenched her to the bone, soaking her clothes. The force shattered the stone and the statue crumbled asunder into bits of debris. Before other attackers had a chance, Ashel sent a leaping wave around her, sweeping the statues aside. The head came smashing at her feet. 141

Then, sucking her breath, she broke into a run. Her stomach clenched, a pain shooting through her entire body, but she could not stop. She splashed through the water at her feet and taking a turn, came into a small passage. 142

The tunnel was dark. Ashel spread her arms around, running as she felt the walls for support and direction. The water came gushing behind her, and with a flick of her hand, turned into ice before her eyes, barring the archway to the passage. 143

She was out of breath, adrenaline pumping in her blood, fear feeding her, intoxicating her with an excitement that worked like a drug. 144

Ashel slumped on the ground, sucking in gulps of air, the tightness in her stomach getting worse by the minute. She was in pain, terrible pain, but it did not matter – she would simply clench her teeth, that always helped.  145

She had to go on.146

Picking herself up, she flinched as she began walking again, her legs still tender and raw from her ride. The ordeal had shaken her. She kept her hands on the walls, continuing to feel for the right path. She would get through this. 147

For Rogh.148

The walls were covered with layers of grime. She felt cobwebs entangle into her hair and stick to her fingers. She brushed them aside, or left them hanging. She had forgotten to care. At length, the darkness gave way to a small speck of light in the distance. Ashel broke into a run, her feet carrying her to the end of the tunnel. She needed to get out of the constricting air. 149

The passageway opened into a clearing in the temple. In the middle, was a very large lake, surrounded almost completely with other parts of the temple. The surface of the water did not gleam, but looked black, like a murky darkness that reflected the black shadows in the sky. In the very middle, was a small, white island, upon which stood rooted, a single gray tree.  150

Sathil. The earthly embodiment of Hastharan. 151

Ashel ran towards the banks of the lake, where she quickly stripped herself. The air felt cool on her skin. Bravely, she walked into the lake till she was completely submerged and then pushed her feet with all her might. 152

She kicked her legs, slowly at first and then with strength. The water was pungent. It smelled of blood and death, like rotten food. She could taste it on her tongue as she swam, her arms rowing herself ahead. 153

She felt weighed down and her back ached ever the more, but she could not stop. 154

Hands gripped her legs from beneath the water. Cold hands and slithering tentacles that probed through her legs, through her arms, through the nooks of her body. She felt their slimy touch and cringed with disgust. 155

At last, she reached the shores of the little island and came out of the water, dripping wet and shivering. Without even waiting to catch her breath, she crawled towards the tree. The trunks were thin and withering and white, the branches were like fingers on a hand reaching out towards the sky in needy prayer. 156

The leaves were black, like tiny onyx gems hanging on the trees. 157

“Hastharan?” Ashel cried, feeling tears well up behind her eyes, unbidden. “Hastharan, please … I – I have something for you …” 158

Ashel crawled towards the tree, at loss of words and at loss of power. She felt helpless, lying there with neither the strength to go on, nor the courage to go back. 159

For Rogh, she told herself. For Rogh.160

She scurried up towards the trunk and bent a branch towards herself, bringing it down and twisting it till it snapped into two. Blood gushed out of the broken wood. Ashel exclaimed loudly, bringing her head beneath the shower of crimson, holding her tongue out to feel the tangy taste. The blood pooled into her lap, trickling from between her cleavage. 161

The clenching in her stomach tightened considerably. She felt a rush of pain towards her abdomen, inexpressible pain that racked her body. 162

Ashel wailed loudly, shaking beneath the flowing blood, her stomach tightening to such an extend she could not bear it. She screamed, her loud screeching echoing in the din. 163

She spread her legs apart and arched her back, pressing her hands onto her enlarged belly, trying desperately to force the abomination out. Her head burst into white lights, like specks of brilliant blues and yellows, stars she had never witnessed before. 164

Suddenly, she felt a weight push between her legs. She relaxed, opening herself further, arching her back to allow the arrival a swift exit. She wailed throughout, the pain unbearable. As the head came out, she grabbed the skull, prying the rest of the baby out of her belly, her screams echoing all around. 165

Afterwards, without a glance or a spare, Ashel held out the infant below the splashing red stream of blood. She pried its mouth open and filled it with blood, ignoring the ugly creature’s wailing and crying. 166

After a few moments, it stopped. It stopped to moving and twisting, its cries muffled down to an empty silence. 167

Ashel threw it aside and slumped down, weeping hysterically. 168

“Ha – Hastharan! Hastharan!” she managed to wail from beneath the tears. “Give him to me – a – a life for a life, Hastharan, give him to me!”169

She could see nothing but an odd redness of the blood before her eyes. 170

As she lay there, holding the infant close to her chest, the redness turned into a murky black and a cold stupor, enclosed around her. 171

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She was in a place of light and nothing more, just and an endless stretch of lucid light. 175

He looked down at her, smiling a sad smile, his grey eyes grieving. 176

“You  - you are real?” said Ashel. 177

“No ... but neither are you …”178

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