The Disabled Writer

Hey y’all, welcome back. This week is a special week. This week, both posts will be original works of fiction! “The Relighting” is a short story from a universe I’ve been developing for a future project, the same one that the previous short I posted is from. A word of warning for the faint of heart, this is not a G-rated story. I’m not sure I’d label it a hard R, but maybe like a soft R, high PG-13. It’s got some elements of blood and violence.

“The Relighting”

The light from the bonfires crackled in Coira’s violet eyes as she swayed to the music, standing on the outskirts of the celebration. At thirty years old, she still had the mind and body of what humans would consider to be that of a teenager, as the elves aged at roughly half the speed they did. And at thirty, this would be her last year to be eligible for the boru’achai, the most honorable way to serve the Old Gods, until she turned one hundred and twenty-four. Much to her chagrin, she had been passed up for the opportunity, which would instead go to her best friend, Ealasaid.

She looked around the festivities to see if she could find her friend, but Ealasaid was nowhere to be found. With a pout, Coira figured she was probably being cleansed and prepared. The process was long and intensive, involving being bathed in the Sacred Lake, having your hair shorn off, and then being fitted with the finest jewelry and intricate body art, before being fed hallucinogenic plants from the Sunken Forest, and then having your senses dulled with alcohol. All to strengthen your connection to the Old Gods.

As much as it stung that Ealasaid had been picked, and not her, she wouldn’t let the disappointment get to her. Ealasaid would be honored, and she needed to be happy for her friend. It would, after all, be the last time she saw her friend. Ealasaid, along with one of the clan’s elders, would have the honor of being sacrificed to the Old Gods to ensure the new year would be prosperous, with a good harvest, and no troubles from the Naedyrians or Pantal, nor anything else. So, she pushed down her disappointment and put on a smile, making her way towards the festivities.

Coira could feel the beating of the drums in her bones as she made her way into the massive stone circle, its towering monoliths of granite three times as tall as anyone else. The beating of the drums becoming louder and louder, she couldn’t help but join in the tribe’s frenzied dancing. Everyone was flailing their drunken bodies around wildly. Many of them had long since shed their clothes, naked bodies glistening with sweat in the light from the fires. Heart pounding with exuberance, she couldn’t help but let out a trilling whoop as she threw her body every which way.

Then, Tomag, the clan elder, stepped up onto the platform that lay in the center of the circle. He raised his hands slowly, and the drums beat faster and faster, everyone’s dancing growing more and more frenzied, until all at once the drums stopped.

“Sach’meah clan, elves of Morai, today is the winter solstice. Today, the Relighting, marks the end of one year, and the birth of the new. We have had our feast, we have had our festivities, and now it is time for the boru’achai. Tonight, we bring forth a new year of plenty and prosperity! Tonight, we honor the Old Gods, and gain their blessing! Tonight, we perform the sacred boru’achai!” he exclaimed, growing more and more animated as he spoke. By the time he finished speaking, Coira could barely hear him above the roar of the crowd. Without his magical amplification, his voice would have been completely lost in the excitement.

The feeling was contagious, and before she knew it, Coira was shouting and whooping with everyone else. The drumming started back up; a fast rhythmic beat Coira could feel resonate through her whole body. Then Tomag quickly raised both his hands again, and the drumming and shouting stopped all at once.

Coira’s mother, Maighread, the clan’s moiroch, or emissary to the Old Gods, led out a lamb and an elderly bull. Coira’s two older sisters, Shona and Innes, followed her, each carrying a long, thin, curved knife made of bronze, enchanted with Old Magic by the Serilians themselves. All three were clothed in plain long white dresses, with a thin golden belt and golden serpentine bracelets. Coira wasn’t sure who she was more jealous of- Ealasaid for being selected for the boru’achai, or Shona and Innes for the chance to help her mother with the early stages of the ceremony.

Her mother brought the lamb and bull into the center of the circle, handing the lamb to Shona and the bull to Innes. She stepped up onto the platform with Tomag.

“Tonight, for the Relighting, we close the old year with the gift of one who has been spent,” she said, her voice ringing through the crowd. “Innes, the bull.”

Innes carefully led the bull up the platform to her mother. She handed her the lead and her silver-handled knife, head bowed in respect. Her mother raised the knife into the air for everyone to see before slitting the bull’s throat. The bull immediately collapsed, its warm scarlet blood quickly soaking the platform and surrounding ground. Not a sound was made by anyone in the crowd. Everyone was transfixed on Maighread.

“We thank you for the years of service you have given us, and for your sacrifice, which will ensure that future generations may prosper,” her mother said quietly into the bull’s ear. She carefully handed the silver-handled knife to Tomag, before beckoning to Shona to bring her the lamb and her gold-handled knife.

“Tonight, for the Relighting, we open the new year with the gift of one who is new to this world,” Maighread said. With one quick motion, she slit the lamb’s throat, and as it collapsed, she leaned down to whisper in its ear. “We thank you for the years you have sacrificed to us to ensure that others may thrive.”

She handed the gold-handled knife to Tomag again, before exiting the platform herself, her white dress now stained bright red. The crowd started to cheer once again before Tomag held up his hands to silence everyone. All Coira could hear was the slight rustle of the trees a few hundred meters away.

“And now… the boru’achai!” he proclaimed. The drums started again, a slow, deliberate beating. Coira looked around, desperate to see Ealasaid. Then, she spotted her being led to the platform by Ealasaid’s father, her hands bound. She looked beautiful; her auburn hair shorn close to her scalp. Elaborate golden necklaces and bracelets inlaid with rubies and sapphires and emeralds adorned her neck and wrists. Intricate blue, red, and gold body paint and runes decorated her naked body. Her usually vibrant but now glassy amethyst-colored eyes were accentuated with gold paint, delicate strands of gold wire wrapped around her long, pointed ears.

One of the clan elders, Veren, was being led up as well by his son, hands also bound. Veren had once been a proud and valiant warrior, but age had gotten the better of him. He was similarly adorned in the finest of gold jewelry, inlaid with the rarest of gems, his naked body painted in green, orange, and silver, with similar runes painted onto him as well. Once the four reached the platform, they stopped at its base. Tomag looked at Ealasaid and the elder carefully. Coira noted that both Ealasaid’s father, as well as Veren’s son, were carrying a small club.

“Do you, Veren, in the sight of the Old Gods, willingly give your life so that the Morai may persist?” he asked. Coira wasn’t sure if Veren could hear or understand him, his eyes were so glazed over from his preparation.

“Aye, I do.” Tomag nodded gravely.

“We thank you for your sacrifice. Tonight, for the Relighting, we close the old year with the gift of one who has been spent,” Tomag said. He nodded to Veren’s son, who raised his club and swiftly struck his father on the back of the head. Veren crumpled to the ground, still conscious, but dazed. The young man proceeded to beat and kick Veren as the crowd cheered. After all, the Old Gods were fickle creatures, and craved violence. Once it appeared Veren could take it no more, Tomag raised his hand, and instantly the crowd silenced and Veren’s son stopped.

“We thank you for the years of service you have given us, and for your sacrifice, which will ensure that future generations may prosper,” Tomag whispered in Veren’s ear, before swiftly raising the silver-handled knife and plunging it into the old man’s heart. He reached into Veren’s chest, and with some difficulty, pulled out his heard, holding it aloft. The crowd cheered as he tossed it into one of the braziers surrounding the platform. He then turned to Ealasaid.

“Do you, Ealasaid, in the sight of the Old Gods, willingly give your life so that the Morai may persist?” he asked. A small, selfish voice inside Coira hoped for almost a full second that Ealasaid would say no. But she quashed the feeling. Ealasaid was about to be honored above all others, except maybe Veren. Who was she to want otherwise?

“I do,” Ealasaid said. Her voice was much flatter than Coira was used to. Tomag nodded.

“We thank you for your sacrifice. Tonight, for the Relighting, we open the new year with the gift of one who is new to this world,” he said, nodding to Ealasaid’s father. He raised his club, striking Ealasaid on the back of the head. She crumpled to the ground.

Coira turned away. Even though she knew Ealasaid was being honored above all others, she couldn’t watch. She tried to force herself to, but she couldn’t.

“We thank you for the years you have sacrificed to us to ensure that others may thrive,” she heard Tomag whisper before she heard him thrust the gold-handled knife into her best friend’s chest. She heard the cracking of ribs and the cheer of the crowd.

Finally, she forced herself to look up. Ealasaid’s body lay there at the base of the platform next to Veren’s, both of them bloodied and bruised, chests ripped open. Coira swallowed hard, fighting back tears. What right did she have to cry? Ealasaid made the most noble of sacrifices. And maybe, if she was lucky, one day she would have the same honor, when she was too old to be a spear-maiden any longer.