Sacrificial Love
by Jamie Anthony Louis
Jamie Anthony Louis is a non-binary chicano who has been writing stories for almost a decade on their own, but recently decided they are ready to share with the world. They have been featured in Maudlin House and The Metaworker. Find them @jamieanthony187 on Twitter.
She was going to be sacrificed tomorrow.
As her mother pulled Jia’s hair into the tight braids that were customary in special ceremonies of their—her mother’s—people, Jia could not get her mind to drift away from the glaring fissure between them. The colossal difference in upbringing was one thing. The lack of affection between them, another. But mostly it was that Jia would be killed in a ritual sacrifice tomorrow morning at dawn, soul to be devoured by Gaal the Blood God.
Jia had asked her mother, once, if she would whisk her away before her twelfth birthday so that she would not have to go through with the ceremony. Her mother had frowned and gotten a far away look in her eyes. Then she slapped Jia hard and told her to never speak like that around others. Keep those thoughts to yourself, her mother had said, and walked out of Jia’s quarters. She didn’t show herself for a week, long enough for Jia to learn not to ask such questions again.
Did it hurt? Jia wondered, as her mother pulled particularly hard at a strand of her hair. Of course, the death would be painful, she was prepared for that, but the devouring of her soul was another matter. It’s not as if people ever came back from that. So, there was no one to ask, no one who had died and come back to life, no spirit to commune with that could tell her the feeling of having your very soul consumed.
She didn’t know and that scared her.
Jia wiggled in her seat, wincing when her mother tugged to get her to still. She stared down at her smooth, unworked hands, largely unmarred by even the tiniest cut or blemish due to a beautymage’s careful considerations a few hours earlier. But no magic could cover the branding on her left hand, the one that marked her as a firstborn sacrifice for the Lagh’an line. Escape is futile, it said, you belong forever to the Blood God.
Jia saw in the mirror her sister—Nell—quietly step into the bedroom. Normally, Jia would light up upon seeing her sister, eager to hear whatever new adventure Nell had gotten herself into. Because Jia was confined to the family’s land, to these rooms, she always wanted to know more of the outside world. But now, Jia avoided her sister’s gaze and stayed silent. The stark contrast between their two situations couldn’t be clearer at this moment. Two minutes separated their birth, but two minutes was all it took to condemn one to death and the other to a full life.
“Nell, what do you want?” Their mother said with a surprising sting in her voice. Nell was the golden child, Nell could do no wrong in her parents’ eyes. It shocked Jia to see her sister treated this way. To Nell’s credit though, the girl just lowered her gaze and replied quietly.
“I just wanted to say goodbye…to Jia.”
Jia watched as their mother’s sharp gaze softened and felt that old jealousy pool in her gut. Their mother never looked at her that way. Their father even less so. Still, she guessed it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered now.
Nell shuffled over to where Jia sat, acting unusually shy and demure. As if she wasn’t secretly glad to be the “younger” sister. As if she wasn’t thankful for those extra minutes.
“Jia…” Nell began to speak but trailed off. But Jia understood what her sister was trying to say. Her sister had been saying it in every adventure and story she told Jia. Jia understood and forgave Nell for what she could not do. All her bitterness dissipated through her nose. At least for the moment. She wanted so badly to wrap her arms around her sister and never let go. But she could not, and not just because their mother’s grip on Jia’s hair was vice-like.
Jia pursed her lips to keep them from trembling and looked studiously in another direction. She wouldn’t cry in front of her mother, especially now, just hours away from dawn. She would make her mother proud. Maybe in death, Jia would receive that appraising look she so desperately craved. Still, she hoped to be around long enough to see it herself.
Mentally, she begged her sister to leave before she started inevitably crying. Because if Nell cried, Jia would cry, and it would ruin everything. Jia was almost thankful when the emperor’s “sacrificial advisor”, Shagal, came in.
Shagal gave Nell a disapproving glare, and Nell scurried out of the room. Jia doubted she would ever see her sister again. Jia thought she would feel more pain at that than she did. Perhaps the closer she got to dawn, the number she would become. Maybe she would be so numb when the time came, she wouldn’t feel the blade cutting into her throat and wrists.
Yet she wasn’t numb enough yet not to feel fear at Shagal’s piercing gaze. Even her mother, usually so stoic and strong, shifted awkwardly.
“The sacrifice should be in quiet contemplation now,” Shagal said. His lips were pursed unattractively. “Not still being groomed.”
Mother’s fingers stilled in Jia’s hair for a moment before going back to the braiding. “I am almost finished, my Lord.”
Shagal huffed and Jia’s eye twitched. She knew he cared only for how her death would benefit him. Without everything going smoothly, the G’handian Empire risked offending Gaal and having their precious Blood Magic weakened or even taken away. And without Blood Magic, they would surely lose the war. Not to mention the ever worsening drought. But Jia could give a bug rat’s ass at this point. She would be dead soon enough, erased from existence soon after. What care did she have for politics?
As if Shagal could hear her thoughts, he turned a glare on her, and she stiffened. She could not hold his gaze long in the mirror, averting her eyes after only a few seconds. Her fists clenched in her lap, tightening around the midnight blue ceremonial gown she had on. She would not cry; she would not cry.
Shagal left with orders to Jia’s mother to hurry up and finish. Then it was just Jia and her mother again, alone.
Her mother said nothing, and Jia said nothing. Jia hardly moved until her mother had finished the final braid. As her mother’s fingers finally detached from Jia’s hair, Jia truly began to feel the fear of imminent death. She could hold it in no longer, her shoulders shook as quiet tears streamed down her face.
Her mother did not hug her but lifted them both to their feet and swirled Jia around to face her, speaking shockingly in her native tongue. “Stop your tears, my daughter,” she said harshly, but wiped Jia’s eyes with care. Jia hiccupped once, twice, looking up at her mother with an astonished expression, and tried to slow her breaths to something more even and measured.
Her mother gripped her cheeks fiercely and stared deep into Jia’s soul. “You have Dalanese in your blood. You are better than them. Stronger than them. They cannot break you unless you allow them to.” Jia stopped breathing for a moment as her mother tapped one of the tight braids on the side of her head and she could feel hard metal against her scalp.
Her mother still did not hug her. Did not even smile as she stepped back, gave Jia a single nod, and left. But as Jia walked over to her too soft bed with its too soft silk pillows, she was doing her best not to get overwhelmed—deceived— by hope. But still, her mother had just given the best gift Jia could have asked for.
A chance.
The procession out to the sacrificial altar started an hour before first light. Through the streets of Rajan, Jia was carried by royal guards in a luxurious litter towards her fate. She was covered from public viewing by the drapes, rendering her but a silhouette to those outside. This was just as well, because then they would be able to clearly see Jia’s nerves.
Her palms sweated profusely, making her constantly have to wipe them on her gown. She felt the tiny metal blade—that had been a comfort last night—now burning against her scalp. Even though she knew there would be no mark, Jia was tempted to tug it out of her hair and check for injury. She took a shaky deep breath. Not now. Not yet. Soon.
The procession was abnormally quiet. Jia suspected it had to do with her Dalanese heritage. She was not a stranger to the whispered (and not so whispered) remarks that her sacrifice would not be enough to appease Gaal. That she wasn’t of pure G’handian blood. As if there hadn’t been mixed blooded girls before her in the Lagh’an line. As if there wouldn’t be more after her.
Jia peeked through a gap in the drapery at the crowd. Some threw rose petals, a common sight during sacrifices. But most just looked on with wary eyes. The further through the city they went, as they got to the poorer and poorer districts, she saw people who were no more than skin and bones. She saw those with whole limbs missing, sometimes an arm and a leg, sometimes two legs, sometimes more. These people would be the most affected if the sacrifice did not bear fruit. If it did not stop the drought that was slowly killing those of the lowest caste.
Jia swallowed past the lump in her throat and sat back in the litter. She would not allow herself to feel guilty for trying to live. She deserved life just as much as they did. She was not even a woman; she should not have to carry the empire’s fate on her shoulders. She would not.
As the procession came to a crawl, Jia’s heart felt like it was going to leap out of her mouth and run away. She recited the spell that she had decided on last night over and over in her head, just to make sure she had it right. Quickly, before the litter was set down, she pulled out the blade from her braid and stuck it in her mouth. Without hesitation but with shaking hands, she slashed one long cut inside her cheek. As the steel taste began to slowly fill her mouth, and the litter was lowered to the ground, she shoved the blade under a pillow and stepped out into the open air.
She was glad, at least, that her birthday was during the warm months. The gown she wore was so sheer it practically left her naked to the world. She kept her lips firmly shut and resisted the urge to cover herself. A girl need not care for modesty on her dying day.
Jia gazed around at the small, gathered group. The two Empire’s priests, Shagal, the two Royal Guards who had carried her there, and her father, the head of the Lagh’an line, serving as witness of the family to ensure she was properly honored after her death.
Looking at her father, they couldn’t be more different. His blonde hair and pale skin contrasted heavily with her own dark skin and dark brown hair. But whenever their eyes met, it was like looking into a mirror. They both had distinct hazel irises, almost yellow in color. His gaze was cold, measured, and unfeeling. As always. She looked away soon enough.
She ignored the Priests and Shagal, they would be easy enough to get past. The group made their way up the steps to the altar. She made sure not to linger looking at the Royal Guards though, because they would be the hardest to get away from. Her father as well, but he would not have any reason to suspect she would try to escape her fate. The Guards were of the emperor, and the emperor would do everything to make sure the sacrifice was kept. He could not afford an uprising among the lower castes if things got worse than they already were.
Just as one of the Priests walked up to her, ready to strap her down to the Altar, she let herself smile wide. The Priest gasped and opened his mouth to warn the rest, but it was too late.
“By Gaal, blind my enemies to the light!” She shouted in ancient G’hand, blood spitting from her lips. All the men there yelled in alarm as blood started spilling from their eyes, blinding them. It would only last half a minute, at most, but it was enough. It had to be.
Jia sprinted off into the surrounding woods, willing herself to weave through trees and bushes with more ease than she thought she was capable of. She didn’t dare use more magic, it would cause her to bleed profusely, and would leave a perfect trail for anyone to follow. She heard the not so distant sound of the guards’ armor, clanking loudly, but she knew the weight would not at all hinder their pursuit. She forced herself to run faster.
She was not used to such strenuous activity and very soon she was panting and pouring sweat. Suddenly, she accidentally stepped on her gown and cried out as she landed hard on the forest floor. She almost choked on her own blood when a heavy hand flipped her onto her back. Jia gasped at her father, whose eyes were absent of any blood. Of course, her words were too specific. She still didn’t consider her father her enemy. And that was her own mistake.
They looked at each other in silence for just a couple of seconds, but Jia thought it must have lasted years and years. In that time, Jia prepared herself to the feeling of failure and to the acceptance of her assured death once again. But then her father did something she would never once in her life understand.
He pulled a blade, a ritual blade, out from his side. Then as Jia’s breathing quickened, he placed it in her hand, wrapped her fingers around the hilt, and said, “Use it. On me.”
The sounds of the guards were getting closer. They had no time. Still, Jia stared at her father and moved not a muscle. She couldn’t fathom what his words had meant. Her brain couldn’t comprehend it at that moment in time.
Finally, it seemed clear they were out of time, so her father grabbed the blade with her hand still on the knife. He muttered a spell. A spell that made Jia’s heart drop deep down inside her. Then with Jia’s hand, he slit his own throat as the guards were rounding the tree trunk behind them.
A flash of bright red crossed her vision. She felt the blood splatter her face. But she only had a few moments before she knew she had to go. She didn’t look back on her father’s body as she scrambled to her feet and ran off into the deep forest. She didn’t look back on the guards that were sprawled behind her father, dead on the dirt. She just kept going.
She deserved life just as much as they did. She deserved it more.
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