I had only walked the earth for six (or five, or seven) years when Mama died. She succumbed to the cough, as did many others that winter. Papa had died of the same affliction two years prior. I don’t remember him. Some days I struggle to recall Mama.
During the peak of the winter months, Varn holed himself up inside his house, his gaunt body propped before a roaring fire. He didn’t much like the cold, you see. And he did not need to endure it when he had an army to do his bidding.
Varn’s duty, his sole purpose for residing in Detha, was to ensure the Celestials were content. And the Celestials were easily contented, as long as they could engorge themselves on our food while simultaneously ignoring our very existence.
So Varn had a simple job: he ordered his soldiers to collect The Offering and keep usmotivatedto continue working.
His soldiers eagerly complied.
On the day Mama died, the Wraiths came to collect The Offering at dusk. They took me instead.
I was amongst five others—two of us were orphaned children, the other three had been Offered—brought to Varn’s home that day. The Wraiths herded us into a spacious room where the ceiling seemed high enough to reach the heavens and the floor was made of a reflective material. I received quite a fright when I glanced down and saw my owndishelved—disheveled, terror-stricken face staring back at me. I’d never seen my reflection before, and I was rather shocked at how monstrous I looked.
My surprised gasp did not go unnoticed.
“Quiet!” the Wraith beside me shouted. His whip lashed my arm.
I winced as blood pooled from the narrow fissure that formed in my dirt-caked skin and bit my tongue to stifle my cry.
The five of us stood beside abehometh—behemoth fireplace while Varn sat at a golden table, his white eyes following our movements.
The first to be roasted was a man named Oisin. I knew him rather well. He and his family tended a herd of cattle near Mama’s dwelling. Disease had taken most of his herd. The remaining cows produced little milk and were too thin to slaughter for meat. So he’d Offered himself. His sacrifice gave his family another day to either coax more milk from their cows or find something else to Offer.
I liked Oisin. He used to hum, claiming his cows were soothed by his voice and encouraged to give him more milk.
Now he shook silently, his face pale, eyes shimmering as the Wraiths stripped him of his clothing and strapped him to a spit. His wails reverberated off the high ceiling as his body hovered over the dancing flames. It took only moments for his skin to blister. The rancid odor turned my stomach to rot.
Oisin never ceased screaming. His voice had grown hoarse when the Wraiths pulled his mottled body from the hearth and placed it on Varn’s table. Oisin’s cries only abated after Varn cut several long strips of meat from his abdomen.
I felt no fear as I watched this unfold. Or, perhaps I did and I don't remember, but I think I had accepted my fate. Death was a familiar friend in Detha.
“Next!” Varn shouted. He heaped several large hunks of skin, muscle, and fat onto a serving platter before passing the remnants of Oisin’s body to his soldiers.
A Wraith grasped my shoulder, herding me toward the hearth.
“No, not that one! Too small.” Varn spat food as he spoke. “There’s no meat on those bones! Throw her on last.” Crisped pieces of flesh dangled from his teeth when he smiled.
As it turned out, my slight, underdeveloped body saved my life.
A female Celestial plucked me out of the line as the Wraiths removed a keening woman from the fire; the third human to be placed on Varn’s table.
“Don’t be afraid.” The Celestial’s purring voice caused me to shiver. Her breath carried the scent of apples.
The Wraiths shouted in alarm. Varn, blood dribbling down his chin, stood. His golden chair made an awful shriek as it scraped against the floor.
“It’s alright,” the Celestial said. “Be at ease. There will be no punishment tonight for the meager Offering. But I am taking the girl with me.”
It was uncomfortable, the way the Celestial pressed my back against her front and trailed her fingers over my shoulders. For the first time that night, I had an urge to scream.
But we flew away before I could open my mouth.
Of course, Celestials do not fly as birds do. Traveling with her was akin to…well, it’s difficult to describe. I suppose it’s akin to the hide-and-go-seek games children play. To be more specific: the part of the game where the seeker is blindfolded and spun until they’re disoriented.
Once I had returned to solid ground, staring at glistering white walls, and crying because my stomach fluttered, the Celestial grasped my chin in her palms. “Drink,” she commanded, pressing a glass vial to my lips. Radiant silver liquid swirled inside the container—her blood.
At the time, I did not know what it was. I merely balked at the scent: like a slab of cheese that had festered in the blistering summer sun.
I dug my teeth into my lips, keeping my mouth closed.
