Issue #160 : Sacrifice
The sun crested the hills below, the pink of dawn spreading itself out into the midnight blues of night. Jesse looked up into the receding darkness and felt the boat shifting underneath him on the water. It was the day he had been anticipating for a year, the day he would truly and completely become.
Who would bear witness to his passing?
The souls who had been born and lost, before and after him all converged, rising up from the water in memories of salt and foam. He rowed against the currents of memory and illusion, the only path to the light taking him through necessary darkness.
Birds began to swarm overhead but he ignored their cries. Worthless creatures. He would never pay heed to those who thrived off of the leavings of Death. They were here at his pleasure, just another piece of the landscape over which he would declare his inevitable victory.
He felt the coldness of the water, even through the bottom of the boat. His arms strained at the continual pulling of the oars towards his projected goal, to his final resting place.
His mind felt at ease, one with his purpose and intent. He would see through to the end of this day as he would see to his own end as well. That the moment drew so close thrilled and terrified him. Not from any unwillingness, but his uncertainty at how sure his strength would be when he found himself at the tip of that blade, held within his own grip. Would he have the power to be the one to drive it home and open the paths before him to his own victorious glory?
Every year, at the harvest of the newly born, the elders delivered the same cautionary reminder, the story of the one who denied his responsibility and chose the path of weakness. The one who was chosen to sacrifice himself so that the rest of the tribe would be allowed to flourish. He refused and selfishly clung to his own life as if it was a thing which he owned.
And it was the multitude that paid his price.
For three seasons, there was not a single live birth. The thread that connected the past to the future had been crimped. And only one thing would fix it. Only one death taken at his own hands would save the tribe.
He refused to see this, refused to accept or believe the necessity of his own sacrifice, even as the tree of his people withered around him. In the end, it was the sight of his life-mate, taking her own life before his very eyes that convinced him of what he needed to do.
As he finally performed the act and offered himself up to the tribe, life once again began to flourish. The thread was restored and births once again were allowed to take place. And every year henceforth, a member was chosen on his seventeenth name day to sacrifice himself for the better, long-lasting good of his people.
Today was Jesse’s turn to step into the light and prove the strength of his people as it was channeled through him. He would not be the reason for life to fail. His tribe would thrive on the ashes of the memories of him.
Upon completion of his passing, the elders would collect his remains and burn them. The blade would be melted down and reformed, including a handful of his ashes. He would remain an essential part of this ceremony until the end of time.
He looked over the piece of bark on which he had etched the name of the hero to be sent on his way next year. The elders would collect this as well. All part of the essential cycle, demanded by everything that the gods knew better than they.
Jesse looked up at the ridge high above the lake and finally saw them. The spectral forms of all those who went before him, hands linked as they watched silently, showing him their respect and appreciation.
Taking hold of the handle, Jessie turned the blade inward. The cuts were quick and practiced and the fluid heat he felt rush out over his hands was the last proof he would ever need of his own essential goodness.
