Hi there! Totally new to this, so all comments good and bad, but especially constructive are very much appreciated. Either way, I hope you enjoy. :)
-enithermon
***
The night was cold and was growing long. Thea fought to keep her eyes from falling closed. It didn't help that the bonfire, her only source of light, made her face burn and eyes ache with its dry heat. She wished desperately that she could turn from it, and cool her over-heated flesh, but the best she could manage was to move her head slowly from side to side, evening the flames invisible lick like one would a spitted roast. The image sent her into a dry hacking cough of a laugh.
She'd fallen ill in the last two days, she guessed from the strain of not knowing what was to happen to her, and from sitting alone in the cold and dark. Now the chill that swept down the cliff face, off the granite rocks made her back seize and tense worsening the cough, and made her arms ache all the more as they hung suspended above her head. The bound wrists chaffed red and raw with her attempts to escape the strange sensation of being charred on one side and frozen on the other. Well perhaps that is an exaggeration she mused to herself...but she was just close enough to the fire on one side and the stone on the other to feel the effects of both most uncomfortably.
You'd think if they were going to dispose of someone as a sacrifice they would at least have the decency to make them comfortable, especially if they didn't have the guts to make a quick death of it. "You'd think so wouldn't you" she whispered softly into the night. She had few friends in the little town however. Few meaning none. As an unmarried woman past some magical age that was neither here nor there, and with no family to speak for her, she fell into a dangerous category. Better to throw her to the invisible powers that be than take the chance that she might be a witch or some other stupid made up monster of nightmares and childish tales.
She sighed heavily. Did she just stand here then? Tied to a post and wait till the fire burnt down and the cold claimed her, or hunger, or animals drawn by the scent of illness and decay? Since she'd moved here as a girl with her grandparents, both of whom had passed on long ago, she'd never seen a sacrifice. She didn't know what to expect, or what was meant to happen to her. She'd heard that they were practiced, every so often, when great need arose. But she knew of no great need that would necessitate this. A little drought maybe, a couple rough winters, but that was the risk of living off the land. There was no scourge, no pestilence. Bitter thoughts plagued her mind. Poor excuses made to rid themselves of an inconvenience. "Bastards."
Her anger woke her and she tried her bonds again, hoping they'd somehow loosened on their own. A foolish thought, but what else was she to do? She succeeded only in rubbing her wrists even rawer as she tugged against the knots trying desperately to wriggle her hands through the rope. The ropes that bound her feet kept her from even trying her strength and gaining slack. Not that she had much strength left. They cleverly brought her out here in the early morning hours so that her chances of starving to death increased. No need to bloody their hands completely. They built their fire and proceeded to make all sorts of impotent gestures at ceremony and religion, strange words in old languages, words that held power. Why? She wondered then, simply because they were old? Simply because they sounded exotic and strange on a modern tongue? It was a lot of superstitious nonsense.
Because they'd brought her out so early to begin their foolishness she'd been tied to the post and left, a silent spectator. They'd not fed her or let her relieve herself. She twisted uncomfortably at that thought. She'd been holding her bladder for hours now, and very soon she'd have to face the shame of soiling herself when she could control it no longer. She silently hoped she'd have lost consciousness by then. Then she need not feel the gnawing of her gut or the brittle parched throat and mouth, made more unbearable by the heat of the fire. It was, she noted, slowly ebbing.
It was a relief, but also terrifying, knowing that soon she'd be blind in the darkness and there were still so many hours to go before the morning. Her light, her defense against the cold, against the animals she knew must be out there, was gradually dying away. The fire burned too hot, but still, she needed it. She sighed heavily and slumped. All she could do now was gaze into the licking flames, the mesmerizing throb of the embers slowly devouring themselves and wait. "And what exactly is it that I'm waiting for?"
She'd spoken into the fire, into the darkness beyond and expected no answer, but she had one anyway.
"Death....apparently"
She blinked the sparkles of light from her eyes and peered into the darkness, expecting a villager, or official, but she saw nothing. Had she imagined the voice?
"Hello?"
Gradually a face materialized in the shadows, behind the flames. He stood on the other side of the great fire, somewhere between the ceremonial ring and the blackness of the forest's boarder. They were far enough from the village that no lights or torches could be seen. She squinted at him, trying to place his face, but she couldn't.
As he drew nearer she saw his face clearly across the circle. His body was darkly clothed and from what she could see, cloaked, and formless. His face was clear, with sharp angles made sharper as the fire flickered over his features, casting deep shadows over his pale skin. His eyes seemed to glow eerily in the uneven light like the throbbing embers, black with hearts of pulsing blood red. She knew it was a trick of the light, but it caused her to shiver nonetheless.
"Who are you?" Her voice came out in a dry whisper.
"Just a passer-by" his voice was also a whisper, but his was smooth, almost melodic, deep and rich.
She shivered again.
"Please" she whimpered, her voice cracking with desperation and hope. She wet her lips as best she could. "Please, cut me down." Her voice failed her and she pleaded with her eyes. She blinked and he was gone. She let out a cry of despair and whipped her head searching for the figure. He was there, his hands already at her wrists, the knot already sliding loose. How? Was she delusional already? Her arms were heavy, too heavy to hold up and her legs buckled.
"Strange choice of words poppet" he whispered softly in one ear as he guided her fall. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him, around her, behind her perhaps. "How long have you been dangling?"
"All day", she choked, pulling her hands into her lap and trying to rub some small feeling back into them.
"I imagine I should find you a comfortable stump somewhere then?"
Normally that would have embarrassed her, but need always trumped shame. She nodded loosely and felt arms lift her easily. What thought she could spare for this stranger told her he was very strong and very fast, as no more than a brief moment passed before he set her down on her feet wrapping one vice like arm around her waist and lifting her skirt with the other. He wrapped her skirts carefully around her and set her down on a log, helping her shift as she needed. He released her except for one hand which he kept at her back and turned politely away. It was an unnecessary gesture, she was in too much pain and too dizzy and sick to care, but she noted and appreciated it anyway.
