The archives

Adiris: The Maiden Guard

May your voice reach the beyond; may your voice reach the beyond; may your voice... Adiris speaks this line until it becomes a single word, babbled in harmony with her fellow emissaries in faith. Ma-ya-voy-rethebe'on... Ma-ya-voy-rethebe'on... Thirteen women stand in a circle around a stone altar. Adiris' chant falters as time passes, her raw throat the only indication she contributes. Each enunciation, agony. She's nearly forgotten the naked man writhing face down on the altar, leather straps binding him.

The high priest Haban raises a hand. Adiris, along with each of the emissaries, stops, bows her head. She reminds herself: Cherish the pain, a sacrifice to the sea goat, the God of Water and Creation. The emissaries disperse, and Adiris wanders to the man on the altar. Tears stream from his bloodshot eyes. She wants to lend comfort, assure him the gods love him, perhaps even pull him from the altar, away from the coming pain. She smiles at him as she would a child. If only you understood the importance of your sacrifice, you would laugh with joy. Tenderly, lovingly, she kisses his forehead.

May your voice reach the beyond.

The Invokist comes forward: small, wrinkled man, buried under a scarlet—no, white but bloody—cloak. Adiris bows her head, joins the whispers around her. May you swim through sea and stars. The Invokist stands over the man bound to the altar. Nods. Pulls a sleeve back. Reveals a spear gripped in hand. Raises the weapon and... plunges! The tip pierces the bound man's lower back. He arches upwards and screams, shakes, convulses, lower body remaining immobile, bladder emptying onto the altar. The Invokist hefts his leg onto the stone slab, pushes the spear until—a gruesome snap. Shrieking... howling... pleading? Something beyond that—indescribable. A vertebrae bursts from the gaping wound. Blood gushes.

Bile rises in Adiris' throat as she turns away to stop herself from retching. Her fellow emissaries look upwards. Praise! Glory to the gods! Nothing is heard over the screams of the man. His voice will surely reach the beyond. Adiris composes herself, recites sacred text in her mind: The plans of the gods shall not be questioned, for they know beauty the human eye cannot perceive. The plans of the gods shall not be questioned, for they know...

Trust in them, Adiris, trust in them! She relents to her faith, joining the others to celebrate, but notices—Haban. He covers his face too late and she sees it: a tear spilling from his eye. A face that seems... heartbroken.

Adiris splashes water over the altar and scrubs. Red circle, swirling, bright... like the sun the day she was left at the temple door. Stifling heat, painful steps on burning sand. Mother and father... a missing piece in the memory, unfocused, replaced by... Haban. A crowd of imposing high priests, and only he peers warmly. She cries so he lifts her, removes his hood. In the courtyard he lets her touch the statues of the gods—Rishan, keeper of the stars; Ortares, sentry of the desert; Atil-Alara, mother of humanity—deities who would watch over and protect her. Haban becomes teacher. Father. He tells of their religion: formed by exiles who believed other faiths had become corrupted by politics. They brought new insights to the afterlife and unified all gods beneath the great creator, the sea goat.

She finds guidance in his teachings, meaning in servitude, comfort in knowing suffering is love. She may shudder at connecting compassion to bloody sacrifice, but she works continually to overcome her doubts. Yet, over the years, as her faith grows, Haban changes in a different way. She sees heaviness in his walk. Hears his voice trail off when he reads the sacred texts. While he once stood energized by generous sacrifices to the gods, today he shows anguish.

What darkness could snuff the desert sun?

Adiris sits in the courtyard, Haban seated across from her. Eyes are fixed on a game board between them. She rolls a wooden die, moves a black disc over the board's squares, lands on Haban's piece, places it to the side. No reaction from Haban. Adiris looks to him, sweet expression of concern. A joyous sacrifice this morning, would you say? The gods rejoice, praise be. Haban hardly lifts an eye. Mhmm... praise be. A cool breeze, birds chirp, unseen. Haban seems to scan the courtyard. Upon seeing no other occupants, looks Adiris in the eyes. He was a good man. A friend. And the world is darker without—