The ornately dressed priest moves from in front of the altar as the terrified girl reaches the temple mesa. As he moves, the young girl is afforded a perfect view of her impending future. Her eyes dart from the priest to the stone altar. Her heart nearly stops as she stares at the cold slab. The oblong obsidian blade lying at its center sends a shudder through her body. She knows her fate.
The horror she feels wins out and breaks through her defiance. She falls to her knees on the cold stone floor. No one moves to help her up. No one dares touch her. She has been purified for the sacrifice. Anyone who defiles her purity will be sacrificed along with her to pay the gods for an unclean offering.
The priest and guards wait impatiently for the girl to pick herself up again. Convulsive sobs wrack her body. Her hands shield her face from the priest’s vicious scowl, but the thunderous crack of his staff on the stone floor silences her crying instantly. Quickly, she uncovers her face and struggles to right herself. As she stands, she is silently instructed to proceed to the altar with harsh gestures by the mute guards waiting beside the fire.
Standing next to the altar, she sees deep red smears covering the stone. The blood of thousands of sacrifices. The stains are never washed away. To wash the blood away shows the gods that the people are ashamed of what happened. The stains remind the people of the city of their obligation to pacify the gods.
The girl forces away thoughts of past sacrifices she has watched and cheered for in earlier years, and hates herself for her involvement. As a child she watched, enjoying the festivities and celebrating when the sacrifice was made. It had been like a play, some grand game of pretend. Safe on the ground, she never saw the blood, but she sometimes heard the cries, the screaming over the cheering of the crowd. The celebrating she did as a child was before she knew about her own future role. Now she knew that the agonizing cries would be her own.
Trembling silently next to the altar, she tries to wish away the horror her life has become. The priest removes the obsidian blade from the center of the altar and holds it in his steady, practiced hand. Holding the black shard in both hands, he lifts it, presenting it to the sky, to the gods. Drums sound.
Lowering the weapon, he now holds it firmly in only one hand. The point nearly brushes her skin as he holds it next to her heart. The smooth surface shines in the sunlight, shattering her wishes of reprieve and signaling the beginning of the impending violence.
Unsure of what she is expected to do next, she stands staring at the rough surface of the altar, too terrified to move. Compelled to face reality, she reaches out her hand and touches the bloody stains on the face of the altar. The slight touch seems to awaken the stone’s past victims. The pain and anguish of thousands seem to reach out to her in that brief second. Terrified, she pulls her hand away quickly. The guard’s eyes glimmer from behind his painted face. He revels in her terror.
The strange sensation assaults her again, but she stiffens and refuses to acknowledge it. The guard only smiles. The priest raises the blade again, presenting it now to the crowd. Overwhelmed with fear, the raven haired beauty drops to her knees. Her head in her hands, she falls on top of the altar and cries with more true emotion than she has ever felt before.
Leaning closer to her head, the guard’s hissing voice whispers in her ear. “They come to welcome you.”