Fruits of Insanity

The Ritual at the End of the World

They are something like sisters, although it seems impossible to eyes that only see the surface.

The one who brews is blind and speechless and ancient. Before dawn breaks over the tree that is the world, the pot is ready. Without words, she hands it to the matron, who stands at the table and pours the tea into a simple cup. The maiden faces them across the table—it is her turn for youth today. Her turn to face the cup.

“Tell us, what do you see?”

The maiden bows over the cup and breathes the steam inside, just as has been done every day, time without end. “I see tomorrow,” she says, and waits for the ritual reply.

“And what does tomorrow hold.”

The maiden bows again and blows the steam away. “The smoke of a thousand fires burning as bright as the sun. Vultures circling. Night falling forever.”

The three are silent for the ritual moment. Then the maiden picks up the cup and drinks tomorrow away. Her sisters cannot help her then, but they hurry to her side and hold her up while she screams until her voice fails and fires burn through her eyes, lighting the world tree with a new dawn.

The new light hits all three, and they change. The scales fall from the ancient eyes and she grows taller, with a matron’s figure. Years fall from the matron and she moves with a maiden’s grace. The maiden shrinks and shrivels, becoming the crone.

All three listen. In the distance is the waterfall whisper of voices living their day in a world where the fires have been swallowed once more.

The matron who had been ancient just a moment before bows her head. “It is well,” she says, and the ritual is over for another day. Once more, they have swallowed the end of the world before it could consume the tree that is the world.

They are not always completely successful. Sometimes the sisters shrink from the agony of the ritual and glimpses spill over, tainting the world tree with smoke and fire. And one day, they know, all they do will be in vain. The tree will ignite and in the endless night that follows the burning, all will be silent, forever.

word count: 380

Prompt 1
the week of August 2
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