The Chosen Child

A boy has been chosen by a village of techo barbarians to visit their gods in their sky fortress in the heavens.

Today marks my fifteenth summer, among the braves of my tribe, only I was Chosen for this task. Truth be told, it was not because of a feat of strength nor was it my lineage as son of the chief. I was Chosen since this year, only I among the children of my age manage to survive to this day. The rest are too young or too old. Sometimes I ponder… can I really succeed? What if it was I that would have died many seasons ago and one of my late friends who could have taken up the task?

*”The tribe is ready child.”*

This was the shaman; this man may as well have raised me like I was his own son. I used to sit every night at the front to listen about the glory of our people, how we came to be and what is our mission. Now, it all seems like a blur, I can barely remember any parts of his tales. If I am forgetting his teachings the night the grand ceremony is supposed to be held, am I really going to make it?

*”You have no need to speak; I know that responsibility weights on your shoulders. Yet despite all this, you chose not to abandon the tribe. Cowardice has never been one of your failings.”*

I want to scream. I want to tell him that he is wrong. I want to run. I know that all the Chosens before me has never come back since way before the grandfather of my grandfather was even born. Yet I stay still, whenever others are in need I stood my ground. Perhaps the gods will look on me favorably this day.

*”Only a few ever deserved the privilege to speak to our gods. Among the blessed few, those who brought back gifts of the heavens were declared heroes of the tribes!”* He then stripped me of all but my loincloth, and then painted on my skin the symbols dear to our people. Also were the names of the previous Chosens who has brought the gods’ blessings, for calling their names may remind them to be generous again. *“When you will stand before them, remember to ask for those rocks and materials for the Effigy”.*

On the leather of an animal I do not know the name of, were crude drawings representing what the Effigy asked of us so many generations ago.

The shaman grabbed me by the shoulder and we exit the ritual tent where I was resting and we went for a circle of stones, one of the many we build around the mountains. The bards were already singing and playing drums. I could hardly hear what was told, but I wager it was praises to the gods, prayers to the previous Chosens, and lastly encouragements to me and my enormous task.

*”Tonight! When tribes will celebrate the longest day in all four seasons, we will rejoice at the return of the long nights! Our creators reside among the stars, and it is with glee that we will be able to contemplate our glorious guides once more! Yes, it is only during this time of summer do they fly the heavens above our heads!”*

*“GLORY TO THE HEAVENS, MAY THE GODS RAIN UPON US THEIR GIFT, MAY THEY BLESS THE WINDS THAT PUSH OUR BACKS TO NEW HEIGHTS!”* The bards chanted.

*“MAY THEY GIVE STRENGHT TO THE CHILDREN OF ITZIT!” The tribe followed.*

The shaman circled around me, outside of the circle of stone. He sang, but his voices could barely be understood under the noises that the ritualistic drums made. He was wielding his staff. It was made from a metal that never rust and is as pale as the immortal snow upon the mountains. Lights of colors belonging to a rainbow ignited and disappeared, like fireflies in the night.

One last look. That’s all I had before leaving our lands for the heavens. I saw my tribesmen with joyous expression, I saw the shaman exulting to his prayer that has been answered… what I never saw was my own father, the chieftain. Did he never show up because he knew inside him I would fail? It is hard to say, as my last thoughts on this earth were swallowed by a celestial light. I went up so fast the land seemed like blur, my lungs were emptied of air.

And then I arrived. It was dark… so unlike the light from before.

There was silence. No cheering from my ancestors. No gods welcoming me. No Chosens here too. Then there were creaks, some like a giant animal, and others like sticks being stepped on.

It smelled of death… why?

I cannot move. I panicked. I struggled. More creaks. Something then came loose. I pushed. I climbed. I have trouble breathing. I am blind. I reach. My hand grasp handles. A shield perhaps? Could it protect me from this horror without name? I pull. It is stuck. I feel myself choking on the smell, and the lack of air. I try to push. It moves slightly. I twist. It opens.

I fell on the floor. On top of me were piles of what I cannot describe. What I do not describe. What if I thought it for a second would destroy my very being.

I left up my chin. At the ceiling there was a light. Not lighten up by flames, but like our shaman’s staff. Only this time brighter, and also colder as if snow could shine like the sun. Around me was a shell of metal.

I have never been curious by nature, but I did look behind me. Not because I wanted to know, but a compulsion I had.

Something has grabbed my hand. Something that is rotting. Something that is foul.

I yelled. It was an exploit by itself since I could barely breathe, but I screamed none the less. On top of myself were the remains of dozens of children. Behind them was a transparent tube with a door open, most of its previous contain dropped on the floor. When I looked at the corpses, I hazarded they were all around my age by estimating the less decomposed ones. I didn’t bring myself to look at their faces. I couldn’t fathom to try and recognize if those were the previous Chosens.

It is then that I heard it clearly. The high pitch yell of the metallic shell I was in. I barely had the time to try and breathe, I heard it again. There was also another voice; I couldn’t understand what it was saying.

It is dark now. Like if I was in a tunnel of a grotto. The noises, is becoming quieter. I cannot remember when was the last took I took air in.

I want to scream. I want to tell my people that they were wrong. I want to run. Yet, I know that I will never come back. I have no strength left. I am laying low on the floor. The last thing that comes to my mind before it ends were thoughts of my tribe.