The Sacrifice

‘There weren’t always dragons in the Valley,’ High Shaman Banto Kleis pronounced to the gathered nobility, his wooden mask obscuring his face. ‘But 150 years ago, our arrangement with them ushered in an era of unprecedented peace, an era made possible by your devotion and sacrifice!’ He gestured to the row of sacrifices chained before him.

Thunderous applause rung out from the nobles who feasted in the main temple hall, as those kneeling on the hard ground squirmed against their shackles.

Ba’rut alone was unphased, unmoving, staring at the High Shaman whose mask had now changed to present an empty smile for the sycophants in the room. His opulent robes seemed to dance like dragon scales with reflected light from the torches around the hall.

As if he himself were a dragon to be worshipped.

Ba’rut had been waiting for this day.

Today he killed their Gods.

‘In towns across the empire we are protected and able to prosper thanks to the bravery of individuals such as you, and so while the price of devotion is high, the cost of returning to the days before the dragons is even higher!’ The nobility pounded on tables in agreement. ‘And so, we wish you all the best in the next life. We will not forget you, Empress Da’Me will not forget you, the 2nd Drol Empire of the Quiet Age will not forget you!’

Banto Kleis ended his speech to a final round of applause from the nobility before they turned back to their lavish feast, Ba’rut and the others already a distant memory.

He expected nothing less.

His people had been forced to sacrifice their own to appease the dragons up in the mountain, dragons mind you, which only the Shamans themselves had supposedly seen. Dragons, who they were told, required their people as payment to protect them, all while the common folk of the Valley toiled day after day, for decades, as the upper classes were deemed too valuable for such an important duty.

Enough! Ba’rut wanted to meet these gods of the Shamans.

The sacrifices were hauled to their feet by a group of Lower Shamans and promptly ushered out of sight of the wealthy folk of the Valley. Nobody paid them a second glance as they stepped out into the town proper, the revelry behind them silenced by the closing of thick temple doors.

Outside, a group of Faceless Soldiers fell into step around them, armed with spears and knives, their masks unreadable.

A sea of people watched in silence as the procession was marched by them, only the sound of shackles jostling and feet dragging breaking the quiet.

Ba'rut was second in the line behind a young girl who struggled to maintain her composure, trembling as she walked. The fear of death gripping her tightly. He urged her forward gently, trying to keep his own nerves settled too.

He drew stares as they were paraded through the Valley. Even amongst Valley-folk a Minotaur was an uncommon sight, especially one of his size, and one whose horns were amongst the largest of his kind and sharpened to fine points.

Scorched mud buildings stood in stark contrast to the Lower Shamans’ brightly coloured robes, which while not as spectacular as the High Shamans robes, were a luxury few in the Valley could afford. Even staying clean of the dust kicked up from people simply walking was a luxury few could afford. One of the many battles the arid Valley gave its inhabitants.

Ba’rut locked eyes with the handful of familiar faces scattered throughout the crowd. They gave him a quick nod.

Their sacrifices had prepared him for this day, and for that he owed them everything.

The despondent group were led through street after street, past row after row of onlookers who had come out to pay their respects. The words of Banto Kleis were hollow to the nobility, but these people all knew of someone who had made this walk.

They were blessed, luck had smiled upon them for another month.

Ba’rut had always watched too, although it was partly a morbid curiosity that had driven him to want to see those who were about to face their imminent demise in the flames of the dragon’s breath.

For 150 years the Valley had been doing this.

Out of nowhere a desperate shriek rose from the onlookers and a disturbance rippled through the crowd towards the group. A woman burst through towards them.

‘Give me back my daughter!’ She cried, hysterical, tears streaming down her face. ‘She’s mine!’

Without hesitating the Faceless Soldiers moved with clinical precision and grabbed her before throwing her to the ground, their masks expressionless.

‘No!’ The girl in front of Ba’rut hurled herself forward trying to get to her mother, pulling the other sacrifices with her. ‘Leave her alone!’

Ba’rut pulled her back.

‘My daughter!’

One of the soldiers landed a savage kick in her stomach causing her to curl up in a ball on the ground. The others joined in, relishing in the violence. She pulled her hands over her head to try and protect herself as they lay into her.

‘Stop it!’ Ba’rut held the girl back as she fought against him. Intervening wasn’t an option. Not today.

The mothers body went limp and the soldiers stopped their assault on her. They re-joined the group as if nothing had happened, leaving the feeble figure on the ground unmoving, baking in the sun. The Lower Shamans hadn’t even flinched at the murder.

Tears streamed from the girls’ eyes as she wailed, ‘You bastards! Murderers!’

Ba’rut gently urged the girl forward lest her refusal to move lead her to a similar fate. He tried to position himself between her and her motionless mother as they went by.

The girl’s wrists were rubbed raw from where she had fought against the shackles, blood trickled down her arms.

He was going to put an end to this.

The group was led up out of the Valley, leaving behind the crowd of onlookers save for a few stragglers who followed them until they were shooed away by the soldiers.

They continued to follow the path higher and higher, higher than Ba’rut had ever been before. Clouds blew in and started to obscure the town below. The air grew chill. The path also began to narrow as they wend their way towards the dragons, forcing them to hug one side to avoid the sheer drop to the ground below.

The soldiers stopped and turned back, not permitted to go any closer to the mountain temple.

Before long the group were surrounded by mist and could hardly see more than a yard in front of them, relying solely on the brightly coloured robes of the Lower Shamans' penetrating through the haze to guide their way. The sacrifices struggled to keep up on the uneven terrain, the Lower Shamans not waiting, having themselves made this journey hundreds of times.

Ba’rut’s size and upbringing meant he was managing better than most of them.

They were getting close.

The girl in front of him was still distraught and he had to keep coaxing her forward lest they lose sight of the Lower Shaman leading the way.

‘Keep up,’ he urged sharply, ‘or we’ll lose them’.

‘I don’t care.’ The girl wiped tears from her face.

‘I wasn’t asking.’ Ba’rut gave her another shove forward, but the girl tripped and fell over the edge of the path. She screamed as she dangled in the air, legs kicking, hanging only by the restraints on her wrists. Ba’rut’s shackles went tight and cut into his arms as her full weight threatened to pull him and the other sacrifices over with her. Cries of fear sounded down the line. He dug his feet in, managing not to go over.

‘Help!’ She cried out desperately as she swung freely over the edge. ‘Pull me up!’

Ba’rut braced himself and slowly dragged her back onto the path.

‘What the hell was that?’ She shouted at him; her sorrow temporarily forgotten.

‘Sorry.’

She stalked off, dragging him and the others along.

Well, at least she was moving.

The sun started to set. They’d now left the layer of cloud behind them and were approaching the heavens. The sun shined bright, but the air was freezing, something none of them were accustomed to. The Valley was far below them now.

Ba’rut looked up and could see the large temple carved into the face of the mountain, torches burned outside. Its existence seemed impossible, such a large structure in such an inhospitable place.

Dozens of Shamans waited at the entrance for the sacrifices to arrive. As they got closer, they started to chant a deep, rhythmic tune that filled the air. They started slow but got faster and faster as the sacrifices crossed the threshold and entered the temple.

The temple itself was made entirely from the granite of the mountain and decorated with intricately engraved lines in various flowing patterns. At the back of the temple was a large iron door as tall as five men which depicted two dragons flying over the Valley, defending it from some unseen foe.

The Shamans chanting intensified. They entered a state of hysteria, some of them losing control of their bodies and falling to the ground where they continued to chant, masks contorted in visages of ecstasy.

The sacrifices were unshackled. One of the younger ones tried to flee but was quickly stopped by a Lower Shaman who knocked out his legs sending him hard into the ground where they then beat him.

They dragged him back to the rest of the group. Nobody else dared to run.

The other sacrifices trembled and cried.

Ba’rut was ready.

The Shamans opened the door to reveal darkness, their chanting reaching a crescendo. The stench of damp and rotting flesh rolled out from the dark and swallowed them. It took all of Ba’rut’s self-control not to gag. The man to his right was not so controlled.

The Shamans chanting stopped.

It was time.

The sacrifices were ushered into the room beyond. The door closed behind them and they were locked inside. The darkness was absolute.

Ba’rut could sense the presence of the dragons ahead. They made no sound, but he could feel changes in the air from their subtle breathing and as they slowly moved around.

Four glowing, blood-red eyes suddenly appeared, piercing the darkness. Some of the sacrifices turned and started desperately banging on the door. The dragon’s eyes provided enough light for Ba’rut to see the outlines of the others frantically trying to escape.

‘Let us out!’

‘Open up!’

The dragons took a step towards them, the whole room trembling under the weight of the beasts, their talons scrapping against the granite floor.

‘Please, open the door!’

The dragons let out a roar and a rush of hot air enveloped Ba’rut, knocking the breath out of him and bursting his eardrums. Blood dripped onto his neck.

The dragons took another step closer, one more and they’d be close enough to reach them. He had to act now.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, ‘forgive me.’

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sacrifices around him turned white and collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

He came alive and started to glow, illuminating the cavern, and making the dragons clearly visible.

He’d never felt so much power before! His reflexes sharpened, and his speed and strength increased to that of a whole village. He felt invincible.

He looked around at the other sacrifices. All dead. What a terrible price to pay.

They will be the last, he vowed.

He turned to the dragons who he could now see clearly. They were huge, spiked beasts. Not as elegant as he’d imagined, they were a dull grey colour, their scales lacking the lustre that he had expected. They were built for battle though with rows of spikes down their spines and along their wings. Metal collars cut into their necks which were in turn attached to chains embedded in the rock. Their ribs were visible along their underbellies.

They were still immensely strong however, and there were two of the damned things.

With the others gone they quickly turned on him. Ba’rut braced himself. They bunched their muscles about to spring on him when suddenly they stopped, frozen.

He watched them, ready to ward off an attack.

They locked eyes with him but did not move any closer. He stared at them and saw a deep sorrow in their huge, glistening eyes. They bowed their heads. Something was going on.

Something was wrong. He cautiously approached.

They closed their eyes as he reached out and slowly placed a hand on each of their heads. Neither of them flinched. Their scales were as hard as diamond and cold to the touch. A voice boomed in his head.

Our time has finally come. We are sorry.

Energy poured into Ba’rut; several orders of magnitude more than he already possessed and the dragons’ bodies went limp.

He erupted in light, barely able to contain the power he now held! He felt like he could tear the very mountain itself in two!

At the same time an almighty crash erupted somewhere outside the temple causing the whole mountain to shake. Rocks crashed to the ground around Ba’rut.

The door to the cavern opened letting in a gale-force wind. Shamans came running in, masks painted with confusion. They saw Ba’rut in front of the body of the dragons.

‘What have you done!’ One of them cried as they ran to check on them.

Debris was hurled around the room as Ba’rut watched the unfolding chaos.

What was going on?

Drums sounded outside as some of the Shamans lit signal torches to alert the Valley below. Having now confirmed the dragons were dead the others rushed out of the cavern and stood watching the sky outside the temple.

‘You’ve doomed us all you damned fool!’ One of them yelled at Ba’rut as he rushed past, panic etched into his mask.

Ba’rut ran out to see what was causing such a ferocious roar.

The sky had torn open. Torrents of black smoke flowed out of the tear like blood from a wound.

An ear-splitting screech erupted from the rift, causing the Shamans to fall to the ground in agony, hands pressed to their ears in a futile attempt to block out the sound. Ba’rut found himself immune to such things now.

A horde of black, skeletal figures poured from the tear in the sky. They wore torn, desiccated clothing, and had jagged shards of bone protruding from their bodies. Their eyes were black voids.

They headed straight towards the Valley, weapons in hand.

Realisation dawned on Ba’rut; a sick feeling of horror crept through him.

They’d been wrong.

The Shamans hadn’t been lying about the protection the dragons bestowed upon the Valley.

He’d just killed his own gods.

What have I done?

A group of the skeletal demons broke away from the main mass and charged at the panicking Shamans in the temple. They flowed around Ba’rut, keeping their distance as he watched, stunned.

The Shamans had no weapons with which to defend themselves as the invading force cut into them, the very lifeblood of the Shamans seeming to evaporate at the touch of the blades which passed through them with horrifying ease.

Ba’rut shook himself out of his stupor. He dove at a skeleton as it neared him, tearing it apart with his horns. It fell to the ground in a clatter of bones. A drop of the dragon’s energy gone with it.

He spun around to face more but it was too late, the Shamans had fallen.

He walked over to the withered form of one of the Shamans and picked up its wooden mask, a face of agony burnt into it that voiced a silent scream. All the masks around him bore the same image of pain.

He turned back to the edge of the temple and looked out at the rift in the sky.

The horde continued to stream into the Valley.

Black smoke billowed up to the heavens.

The sound of battle rose to meet him.

The sound of slaughter.

He’d started a war.