a clearing deep within the jungle. The fire of council blazed in the night and threw long shadows on the elders as Oron spoke.
“The gods are angry,” Oron told the assembly. “But they will not speak to me to voice their grievance. Instead I have had to watch the signs and consult with the lower spirits to find out who among the most powerful gods has been offended.”
“Have you determined who among the gods has turned his hand against us?” one of the elders demanded to know.
“It is Asher,” Oron declared solemnly. “The god of fire sets his hand against us.”
The elders rose up in anger. A great clamor set out among them, screaming at the shaman, pleading with one another.
“But Asher is the child-eater!” one of the elders cried amidst the uproar. “He is only appeased by young flesh!”
“Behold the signs!” Oron cried with his hands spread wide. “The fire that consumes the jungle, is this not Asher’s fire? Look at the sky. Who but Asher could dry up the rain from the clouds? We have angered him and we will not be spared until his wrath is appeased.”
They argued late into the night. Long after the flames of the council fire faded to embers the elders debated what they must do. They argued only because they didn’t want to do what must be done. They knew that for all to live one would have to be given up.
The days leading up to the sacrifice Oron did not speak to Yodis. He hardly even met his eyes. He even went so far as to forbid Yodis from participating in the ceremony.
It was clear to Yodis why Oron shunned him. The shaman blamed Yodis for the wrath of Asher. Because of him Oron would have the dark task of sacrificing one of the People’s own children. So Yodis would not be an acolyte that night.
A pall of despair hung over the People as they trudged through the jungle. More than one mother wept as they solemnly processed. The hunters wore grim faces, determined not to let the sorrow of the occasion overwhelm them. In every heart they consoled themselves with one thought – sometimes the survival of the tribe requires such sacrifice, sometimes one must perish to save many.
For his own part, Yodis was too consumed in his own grief to notice much around him. He felt a vague sort of sorrow for what was about to happen, but as one consumed in his own suffering he had trouble seeing beyond himself. Instead, as he lingered near the back of the procession he hung his head down and watched the jungle floor pass by as he walked the familiar path.
A few people would look his way, the wonder apparent on their faces. Yodis knew they circulated rumors among themselves, swirled speculation around as to why the acolyte was at the rear of the procession. On more than one face Yodis thought he saw pity directed his way.
Numa Din was ablaze with light as the procession arrived, not only from the torches carried there but by the massive sacrificial fire blazing larger than usual in honor of the angry fire god. The voice of the shaman rose up and cut into the weighty silence of the People’s grief, echoing the words of an ancient and hated ritual.
Yodis looked up and saw that he stood beneath the idol of the Faceless One. Immediately guilt assailed him. Even with face hidden Yodis could feel accusation in the marble figure. He even thought he could hear the god, that voice that shook him to his depths, still commanding him to break the idols.
Unable to bear the shame under the shadow of his god Yodis made his way to the front. The crowd parted for him, ever respectful of his position. Mechanically Yodis moved through the people, his sadness and guilt robbing him of all passion. He stepped up to the front of the crowd – and froze in sudden fear.
There, bound on the altar and crying heartily into the night, lay his true brother.
His feelings exploded into a sudden burst of panic. Yodis looked around, frantically trying to figure
“The gods are angry,” Oron told the assembly. “But they will not speak to me to voice their grievance. Instead I have had to watch the signs and consult with the lower spirits to find out who among the most powerful gods has been offended.”
“Have you determined who among the gods has turned his hand against us?” one of the elders demanded to know.
“It is Asher,” Oron declared solemnly. “The god of fire sets his hand against us.”
The elders rose up in anger. A great clamor set out among them, screaming at the shaman, pleading with one another.
“But Asher is the child-eater!” one of the elders cried amidst the uproar. “He is only appeased by young flesh!”
“Behold the signs!” Oron cried with his hands spread wide. “The fire that consumes the jungle, is this not Asher’s fire? Look at the sky. Who but Asher could dry up the rain from the clouds? We have angered him and we will not be spared until his wrath is appeased.”
They argued late into the night. Long after the flames of the council fire faded to embers the elders debated what they must do. They argued only because they didn’t want to do what must be done. They knew that for all to live one would have to be given up.
The days leading up to the sacrifice Oron did not speak to Yodis. He hardly even met his eyes. He even went so far as to forbid Yodis from participating in the ceremony.
It was clear to Yodis why Oron shunned him. The shaman blamed Yodis for the wrath of Asher. Because of him Oron would have the dark task of sacrificing one of the People’s own children. So Yodis would not be an acolyte that night.
A pall of despair hung over the People as they trudged through the jungle. More than one mother wept as they solemnly processed. The hunters wore grim faces, determined not to let the sorrow of the occasion overwhelm them. In every heart they consoled themselves with one thought – sometimes the survival of the tribe requires such sacrifice, sometimes one must perish to save many.
For his own part, Yodis was too consumed in his own grief to notice much around him. He felt a vague sort of sorrow for what was about to happen, but as one consumed in his own suffering he had trouble seeing beyond himself. Instead, as he lingered near the back of the procession he hung his head down and watched the jungle floor pass by as he walked the familiar path.
A few people would look his way, the wonder apparent on their faces. Yodis knew they circulated rumors among themselves, swirled speculation around as to why the acolyte was at the rear of the procession. On more than one face Yodis thought he saw pity directed his way.
Numa Din was ablaze with light as the procession arrived, not only from the torches carried there but by the massive sacrificial fire blazing larger than usual in honor of the angry fire god. The voice of the shaman rose up and cut into the weighty silence of the People’s grief, echoing the words of an ancient and hated ritual.
Yodis looked up and saw that he stood beneath the idol of the Faceless One. Immediately guilt assailed him. Even with face hidden Yodis could feel accusation in the marble figure. He even thought he could hear the god, that voice that shook him to his depths, still commanding him to break the idols.
Unable to bear the shame under the shadow of his god Yodis made his way to the front. The crowd parted for him, ever respectful of his position. Mechanically Yodis moved through the people, his sadness and guilt robbing him of all passion. He stepped up to the front of the crowd – and froze in sudden fear.
There, bound on the altar and crying heartily into the night, lay his true brother.
His feelings exploded into a sudden burst of panic. Yodis looked around, frantically trying to figure
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