Chapter Three

People of Asur did not worship the wind, the earth, or even life. Their own were believed to be worthless, tossed away at the least inconvienience. They fed on fruit, on foxes, and on human flesh because it all sated hunger. On one day in ten years, the day of sight, the people gorged on their youngest family members, happily nibbled on their newborn childs face and picked their teeth with the finger bones. Not all Asurans found this tradition pleasant; the royal family particularly despised it. Royalty was expected to execute the youngest heir in the presence of the kingdom's seer and no ruler dared disobey, even if the youngest was to be king one day.

The Chasm of Ri seperated the civilized areas of the world from the wilderness, and since the beginning of the tradtion acted as a ceromonial grave of sorts. It was in that gaping whole in the earth that the internal organs of the heir were left, and it was there that the seer gave the crown to the royal family's heir.

Gifts were not plentiful then, but a miracle to appear in even a hundred years. Of course, none lived long enough to know for sure except the Gifted themselves.

I was not the first, nor the second. I was born to be the sacrifice on the Day of Sight and raised as such. My life was not much different from that of a horse, only I was fed better to insure I lived until it was time to die.

When I was ten years old I was led up the broad central street of the capital, As. I remember being presented to the people by the seer and painted with my own blood. There were thousands of watchers whispering about the luck of the kingdom because only a female was being sacrificed. My mother was standing behind me, holding me close, and telling me not to be afraid. I did not know why I had been cut, or why my mother cared at all. There was pain, confusion, and fear. The air was rife with those feelings and they stung my eyes and berated my ears with harsh, screeching words.

I could not stand the feeling; it was more than just the blood. A girl was crying on the stage not far from me, but mostly I heard the hissing words.

"Why is she crying?" I asked my mother, beginning to cry myself.

My mother looked at me peculiarly and said I was the only one crying. She pushed me forward then toward the seer and he looked down at me with his eyes only half open. The first thought to occur to me was that he was mad; the way his eyes were opened, shut, made it a forceful thought. At first I didn't notice that he held the long, golden knife used for ceremonies; I did not care until it touched me. He had put the cold metal to my skin of my arm without cutting me and begun to mutter.

"Be grateful your death will help our kingdom live," he said.

Death was not desirable, despite being birthed with the sole purpose of preventing my brother from being sacrificed. I looked away from his eyes to the knife, shrinking away from the metal that seemed to burn. He pulled me back in place and sharply told me to stay still.

The girl had stopped crying and watched as the seer dragged the broad side of the knife up and down my arm and chanted. Her mouth was down turned, eyes dull and tired.

"I'm sorry," she said, her words seeming to be muffled.

I knew the seer would not be pleased, but I turned to the girl and smiled to show it was fine. This startled the seer and the knife bit deeply into my arm. I thought it was because of the smile until the seer bent down to my ear.

"Do you see a girl that is melancholy?" he asked.

Nodding, I turned my head in the girl's direction. That moment is when I started to become goddess.