Fruits of Insanity

a twist on sacrifice

“The altar has been erected in the courtyard, Princess.” The high priest frowned. “But I must protest this action you are taking. All know that dragons are evil creatures. You must not do this thing.”

“I am your princess. You must obey.”

The high priest bowed, but Januset imagined that she could feel the oil of his voice leeching out to cover her. She nodded, stopping herself from rubbing her arms against his filth. Januset was wearing the thin white linen sheath which was traditional for dragon sacrifices and she felt cold and unprotected from his disproval.

She was careful to avoid looking behind her where her handmaiden and bodyguards had been carefully cut off from her by a row of the high priest’s acolytes. She knew that at a look from her, they would attempt to free her from the duty she had to her people. But she couldn’t take that freedom, no matter how much she mistrusted the priest.

If only her father yet lived—then they might have hope. But he was fallen at the hand of the conqueror, as were her brothers. Now, the way was open to the palace, where she had called her people to gather against siege. There was no army, no commander, no hope but one. Princess Januset was all that remained of her royal family. Only she, a virgin of the royal blood, could call the dragon from his sleep to save her people, as he had promised long ago.

Januset had been the one to find the treaty, hidden deep in the treasury. Once she read the terms, she knew it was the only way.

“I am ready.” Her voice was low, but she was satisfied that it did not break or tremble.

Immediately, the high priest took her hands in his, the ceremonial chains ready, but Januset knew the treaty, knew what must be done.

“Unhand me!” At her words, the bodyguard drew weapons and the chains fell to the ground. “I will not go before my people as a common criminal. I take this step of my own free will and choice, and I will walk to my doom.”

“At least,” the high priest turned around for the ceremonial cup, “let us provide the means to ensure that you feel no pain.”

“No bonds. No drugs.” Januset turned away and led the way, her handmaiden at her side, her bodyguard forming ranks at her back. She glided out, with the same flowing steps her mother had taught her as a child, when she had thought she would marry a strong man and bear the next heir to the kingdom. Now the kingdom was all but gone.

In the courtyard, the people had gathered. Most of those who remained were women and children and men too old, too young, or too hurt to fight.

In the center, on a ten foot high scaffolding that looked as though it might fall apart if someone breathed too deeply, the altar had been hastily built of whatever was available, all overthrown with cloth that Januset recognized as one of her mother’s old dresses, taken apart and reworked. She hoped it was softer than it looked, for she must lie on it, her eyes open to the heavens and call on the dragon to save them.

At the foot of the ladder, she finally looked at her handmaiden who was weeping silently. Januset kissed her on the forehead and shook her head. “You will make me cry, too.”

The handmaiden laughed a bit, as she was intended to.

Januset turned to her bodyguard, the ten men, now older but still hale, who had been her wardens from her cradle. “You have served me faithfully and well. I thank you.” She bowed to them. They saluted her, and she could see some of their eyes were wet. “My last request. Allow me the dignity of choosing my own fate. I will do this alone.” At this she gestured to the priest.

They nodded and formed ranks, keeping the high priest and his acolytes away from her.

She turned to the ladder and began to climb. She could hear only the creaking of the scaffold, could only feel the harshness of the wood beneath her feet. The people were silent, watching their princess. She was alone, as the treaty said she should be.

At the top, she passed the necessary runes that had been burnt into the wood clambered to the top of the altar as gracefully as she could. She knelt and bowed her head for a long moment, bringing the words to her remembrance. Then she spoke.

She had practiced each long arcane phrase over and over until she knew them by heart, but the incantation was long and hard on her tender throat. As she spoke, the words gained resonance, echoing back at her from nowhere, passing onto her ears and shaking the altar where she knelt. She knew that the words were quaking the very ground, but she could not stop them, because the weight of them was building at the edges of her being, and she would pull apart. She stopped her ears as best she could and finished the last phrase with a shout.

She could feel blood dripping from her nose and tears from her eyes, but she turned around to lie on the altar, ready to receive the dragon.

From below, she could hear screaming and the clash of metal. She wondered if the high priest had tried to take over the ceremony. She didn’t trust him—had not from the time he sent her father off to war with the promise of an easy victory. But her bodyguard could take care of those.

Her eyes searched the stars for a visitor. It was dark—not even the moons shone down on her sacrifice. The only day the dragon could be roused, or so the legends told. She held her breath, waiting. Then she saw it—a bright shadow against the stars, coming closer, its wingspan as wide as the palace itself. There was more screaming from below, but the clash of metal had stopped. That was all she had time to realize before the dragon landed next to the altar, only instead of a dragon, it was a man.

He reached out his hand to hers, and pulled to help her sit up. He frowned at her face, and produced a handkerchief with a word, using it to mop the blood from her face. “You called me. Have you done this of your free will and choice?” His voice had an accent she had never heard before, but sounded familiar somehow.

“Yes. I am Januset, last princess of Drakkonheld, and I call on you to fulfill the treaty you made with my many times great-grandmother.”

He waved a hand as though he were swatting at a gnat. “Of course. But . . . you are the last?”

“Mother died when I was a child, and I only had brothers. They and my father have fallen to the horde that even now presses upon the kingdom.”

“I sorrow to hear, child.” He made a gesture and bowed his head. After a moment, he lifted it again. “That my sister’s children should come to this.” She must have made some gesture of disbelief, because he asked, “have you forgotten, then, why I left a means to call me with your family? My sister fell in love with a human, and they built this kingdom, so many years ago. You should call me uncle, child. You are not alone.”

Januset could feel her eyes growing larger in her face. She had wondered about the treaty, but this was stranger than anything she had dreamed. “You can help me then, Uncle, to save my people?”

He smiled and bowed. “Indeed, child. And I can help you help them as well. Dragon blood is not diluted by the years, else you couldn’t call me.”

He leaned close and whispered a phrase into her ear, and the words caught fire in her head, filling it until she was full and bursting with them and she screamed, a scream that changed to a roar, and then two silver dragons lifted from the scaffolding which fell into the courtyard below.

Januset let the dragon take over her mind, keeping in the background as it soared and swooped over the palace. It was exhilarating. She followed her uncle’s larger form through the sky towards the enemy forces. They were even closer than she had feared, an army that filled a valley not a day’s ride from her palace. She could see round objects set on poles near the center of the camp, and when she got close she saw they were the heads of her father and brothers.

Weeping her grief and rage, she breathed fire on the camp, burning the defiled remnants of her dead as well as the conqueror who lead the horde. It was night and they had no idea she was coming, so they had no defense against dragon fire.

When it was done, her uncle called her in the manner of dragons to sit on top of a hill. He said a word, which brought her human back into the foreground, and then she was the princess again in her white dress.

“What would you do now, child?”

“My people need me. I am all the royal blood they have left.”

“And will they accept the dragon? A word once worn will forever be a path for you to follow.”

She thought of the power of flight and fire. “I think I may choose that path, someday. But there are people I love in my little kingdom.”

“Tell your children your heritage. And remember. I will come when you call.” He shimmered and the dragon was there, picking her up in his claws, and carrying her back to the courtyard. He set her down amidst a crowd of cheers.

Her handmaiden hugged her tight. “I am sorry, my princess. The scaffolding fell, and the high priest is no more.”

Januset looked at her handmaiden’s hands, which were covered in blood, and knew it hadn’t been so simple. “Thank you.” And then she walked among her people and comforted them, aware at all times that the fire of a dragon slept dormant in the back of her mind.

word count: 1737

Prompt 8
the week of September 20

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