The Perfect Sacrifice
By: Jeff Goguen
Tags: Fantasy, Short Story, Fiction, Dark, Sacrifice

As Dienno stepped solemnly down the dim corridor toward the towering doors ahead, his pulse quickened. He could already hear the echoes of deep, guttural chanting from the central chamber. He wasn’t sure how much he really believed in all this “gods” business. To him this ritual was merely a formality to placate the people over whom he would soon rule. Still, being here in the temple, approaching the ornate doors, smelling scents, and hearing sounds, it was hard not to get caught up in it.

The ritual had started two days ago. The priests were working themselves into altered states with fasting, the chewing of aunicum bark, and chanting in the sweltering heat of the fires stoked for the occasion. Dienno was not required to be present for those initial stages, but today his presence was an absolute necessity. Today was the day he would make his offering to the gods. Today was the day of sacrifice.

He paused before the dark, carved wood of the main chamber doors. The smell of smoke nearly choked him. He gazed up at the reliefs that loomed from the wooden portal. Otherworldly faces bared glistening fangs and stared furiously down upon him. In the low light, it was difficult to convince himself that they weren’t moving, breathing, straining to break free of the door and consume him.

Dienno shook his head and scoffed, “Get a hold of yourself, man.” He took a breath and pushed open the doors.

His entrance didn’t seem to capture the attention of anyone in the main chamber. Only the highest ranking priests were allowed inside during a ritual of this magnitude, and they were thoroughly engrossed. Fortunately, Dienno had been fully versed on his role in the ceremony beforehand. He walked toward the activity in the center of the room.

The main chamber was impressive. It soared a seemingly impossible height overhead, with arches and pillars all carved with similar reliefs as the door. The walls gave off a strange purple glow that Dienno was sure was some kind of trick, but everyone else claimed it was dark magic worked by the priests. Everything was polished and represented the height of craftsmanship in the kingdom. Everything, that is, except for the sacrificial pit.

The priests were gathered around the pit in the center of the chamber. It was a shallow hole that seemed to have simply been smashed out of the otherwise beautifully-tiled floor. A low fire now burned in it. The priests were circling it counterclockwise, chanting. Each of them carried a golden bowl filled with what Dienno guessed were entrails. At every quarter of the circle around the pit, they would throw a morsel into the flames, which would flicker a bit but otherwise continue burning unremarkably.

Dienno stopped at the southernmost point of the pit, just beyond arm’s length of the priests as they passed. They wore low cowls that mostly obscured their faces, but he could clearly see the sweat that beaded on every one. Their skin seemed pale, but their lips were all blood red, and their teeth were sharp and stained. They chanted in unison in a language that only they knew and that sounded like no human tongue. It made Dienno ill at ease to hear it.

The chamber doors opened again. This time everything stopped. The priests turned south and stood silently. The high priest entered with a woman draped in white. She was struggling impotently against his grip. When she saw the gathering near the pit, her eyes went wide and she redoubled her thrashing.

It was unclear if her efforts were successful or the high priest had merely released her, but she suddenly broke free and ran toward the group. “Dienno!” she called desperately.

Dienno reached out an arm and put it around her as she collided with him in an embrace. “I am here, Shanna,” he said softly.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “Why was I forced to come here?” The disgust with which she looked around at the chamber was evident.

Dienno sighed impatiently. He had hoped to avoid this. “I’m sorry, Shanna. I had to,” he offered unrepentantly.

Shanna narrowed her eyes at him. “Had to what? What is this about?” she asked.

He turned toward the fire. “You know I am about to ascend the throne,” he said. “Since I am not King Elant’s heir by blood, there are certain duties I must fulfill before the people will accept me. There are certain…sacrifices I must make.”

His pause was not lost on Shanna. “Sacrifices?” she whispered with deep furrows forming on her brow. “You can’t mean…”

Dienno looked back at her. “As I said, I am sorry,” he said in a practiced monotone. “I really did think you were lovely. You might’ve made a great queen.”

She backed away, the disgust on her face grew ever deeper. “You cannot do this, Dienno.”

He shrugged. “I must. If my sacrifice has no value to me, it will have no value to the gods.”

“The gods?” Shanna spat. “You know as well as I do that they are a myth.”

Dienno did not answer.

Shanna’s face fell. “I see,” she whispered. When she looked back up, there was venom in her eyes. “Consider this, my love. I now carry your would-be heir.” Her hands traveled to her belly, which was not yet noticeably round.

Dienno’s jaw clenched.

“Confirmed just this morning,” she continued. “Would you really sacrifice your child as well?”

Again, he did not answer. For the first time, conflict flitted behind his eyes.

As if sensing his hesitation, the high priest stepped up and bowed to Dienno. “It is time, your highness.”

The effect of those last two words was dramatic. The future king’s eyes hardened. His posture straightened. The coronation was still a week away, but he could already feel the crown resting atop his head. He looked down upon Shanna with nearly total disregard.

“You cannot prove your claim,” he said icily. With that, he turned his back on her and watched as the priests resumed the ritual.

“No!” Shanna screamed defiantly. “You monster! How could you?”

When he did not react, she lunged at him, but the high priest snatched her out of the air and held her fast. She resisted with every ounce of strength she had, but the priest’s grip was like iron. In a last desperate act, she spat at Dienno.

He spun on her when he felt the wetness on his neck. He was met with a mad, triumphant sneer.

“That’s right, you fiend,” she growled. “You deserve so much worse. A curse on you! May your precious crown weigh heavy and crush your skull. May all your bastards rise up in nations against you. May the gods you so readily bow to now fold you up in their mouths at the end. I will wait for you in the underworld where my vengeance will be unending!”

The high priest cupped her mouth with his hand, which she rewarded with a bite that sank into his flesh and drew blood. If the priest felt any pain, he did not react to it. Instead, his voice rose up in a rapid chant that bellowed above that of the other priests. He dragged Shanna to the edge of the pit and flung his bleeding hand in the direction of the fire.

A few drops of blood flew into the flames. At first, nothing happened, but seconds later, an inferno burst forth from the pit sending a seething white column of flame up to the arching ceiling. The force knocked the circle of priests backward, and Dienno stumbled along with them.

Shanna stood perfectly still, seemingly undisturbed by the blast. Her head cocked slowly as if she were listening to something. Over the roaring flames, hints of a piercing whisper could be heard, though the words were indecipherable. Echoes of tormented screams reverberated throughout the temple.

Dienno watched in astonishment as Shanna lightly stepped down into the pit and walked towards the blaze. Within a few feet, her hair caught fire and burned away nearly instantly, leaving flickering little flames that danced on her red, bubbling scalp. Her white gown caught alight and enveloped her in luminous yellow tendrils. Still she walked on, entranced by the voices, immune to the pain.

At the threshold of the conflagration, Shanna turned. She was unrecognizable. Her sizzling skin oozed and popped. And yet, when she smiled at Dienno, he saw it clearly. It was a grotesque, haunting smile that would forever be etched into his mind. He would never again close his eyes without seeing that deformed, deranged grin.

Fiery arms reached from the fire and pulled Shanna in suddenly. Though the flames were bright, Dienno could see that she was being ripped apart by something inside the incandescent column. The spell over her seemed to abruptly end because her deafening wail filled the chamber all at once. It was an interminable scream that should not have been possible with lungs full of fire.

The sound faded away, though it seemed more like it was receding to some great distance than that it was finally ending. When it could no longer be heard, the column of fire promptly dispersed. The chamber immediately grew significantly cooler. The priests tentatively approached the pit. They climbed down inside and investigated the ground. All they found was bare, cool earth.

The high priest stepped up behind Dienno and put this hands on the aspiring monarch’s shoulders. “They were a prime sacrifice, highness. The gods are pleased,” he said.

Dienno turned. “They?” he asked blankly. It was clear he was in shock.

“Mother and child,” he clarified matter-of-factly. “Such a generous offering. The gods will return it manyfold.”

“Ah,” was all Dienno could manage. He stood there quietly for a moment before slowly walking out of the chamber, looking back to the pit one more time with great apprehension.

From beneath his cowl, the high priest smirked. It had been five long years leading up to this day. While that mindless twit Dienno had proven easy to groom, coordinating his whole plan — arranging Elant’s assassination, working secretly to position his successor, finding the perfect sacrifice to imprint upon his puppet — had been a monumental task.

And it could not have gone better.

If he had really cared about helping Dienno, he would never have let Shanna utter a single word. That curse, with all that power flowing freely through the main chamber, was the most unexpected, delicious turn of events. Every word would come true, he was sure of it, and the resultant chaos would be beautiful to behold.

The gods were indeed pleased, but Dienno would surely not be the focus of their gratitude.