It started a long time ago.
Dressed in ceremonial robes, hair braided and woven with white flowers, the priestess looked out from her dais upon the gathered crowd.
I had a dream…
She jumped down from the dais and ran through the crowd, throwing herself onto a patch of bare ground to writhe there uncontrollably, tearing her gown into shreds, dirt between her teeth, under her fingernails, ground into her hair.
The earth folded beneath me, became a chalice.
The crowd did nothing but watch. This was expected. This was intended. This was right.
The immortal king was wrapped in black and white.
Through the crowd, sedate and unconcerned, six other priestesses approached their sister with silver buckets in their hands, delicately adorned with images of their faith.
Seven figures stood before me.
They poured blood over her, dousing the flames of her vision with a red shower still warm from the veins of the sacrificed bull. As it steamed in the cold morning air, her shaking subsided and she became calm.
I don’t know what it means.
The ritual was over.
But it started something which began a long time ago.
© Kari Fay