by Megg Jensen
The Song of Eloh Saga
The Initiate – a novelette
(Book One, The Song of Eloh Saga)
Cloud Prophet Trilogy
Anathema
(Book Two, The Song of Eloh Saga)
Oubliette
(Book Three, The Song of Eloh Saga)
Severed
(Book Four, The Song of Eloh Saga)
The Swarm Trilogy
Sleepers
(Book Five, The Song of Eloh Saga)
Afterlife
(Book Six, The Song of Eloh Saga)
The Sundering
(Book Seven, The Song of Eloh Saga)
Megg Jensen
http://www.meggjensen.com
http://www.facebook.com/meggjensenauthor
Copyright © 2012 by Megg Jensen
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
1st Edition: September 2012
Cover art by Steven Novak – Novak Illustration
Published by Megg Jensen at Smashwords
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The Initiate
Megg Jensen
“Don’t tear up, Eloh,” she told me. “You’ll have black streaks down your face if you do.”
I flinched, preparing for a slap across my cheek that did not come. For a moment I’d forgotten I was an initiate. No one would ever lay a hand on me again. I relaxed back into the chair.
She yanked on the side of my eyelid, pulling the skin so tight it felt like it would rip in two. A thick line of kohl wound its way around my eyes, led by her skilled hand. Commoners were not allowed to wear cosmetics. I’d never even known anyone who’d worn it. Cosmetics were saved for the queen and only applied by slaves who were referred to as cosmetae. Since I was one of the chosen, the cosmetae were to make me beautiful for only one night.
My sister said I was lucky. I knew otherwise.
“Hold your breath, now,” she said. She placed a small strip of linen over my nostrils. “I’m going to paint your eyelids and your brow with chalk. I promise, it will be a very becoming pattern. I’ve been practicing on rocks at night and I think I’ve come up with something new, definitely different than the girl who’ll stand next to you during the ceremony. You’ll stand out and maybe you’ll be favored.”
More than likely, by the end of the night I’d be dead. If by some remote chance I was favored, then the cosmeta would probably live a life of luxury. Anyone who had a hand in the creation of the Chosen One would be cared for. Her fingers swept deftly over my eyelids, patting the chalk into all the creases. A friend once told me they mixed the chalk with crocodile dung to help it cling to the skin. I tried to push it out of my mind.
“You have the most gorgeous brown eyes. They’ll nearly glow when accentuated by my cosmetics. The gods are sure to take notice and elevate you. This will convince them to come back to us.”
Hundreds of years ago the gods abandoned us; it was unlikely my brown eyes would change their minds. Instead I’d be another wasted life, sacrificed to gods who no longer cared for us. Why my people continued to believe, to worship, to pray to gods who left us was beyond my comprehension.
The cosmeta grabbed a handful of peacock feathers from the clay jar on the table. “These will look amazing in your hair. The contrast between your brown eyes and the greens and blues of the feathers will attract more attention. The others will be forgotten. The gods will gaze upon no one but you.”
Her obsession with my beauty might have been amusing, perhaps even flattering, if I hadn’t realized she was doing all of this for herself. In the past, cosmetae had been executed when none of the girls were chosen. It was a risky profession.
The peacock feathers tickled my nose as she waved them across my face. Did she really think I was buying into this? She could turn me into the most beautiful creature to ever walk this planet and it wouldn’t attract any god anywhere. In my heart, I felt that they hadn’t just left us. They had never existed. I’d yet to see any proof they did.
So few became initiates.
Only one initiate would pass. Only the Chosen One would survive. That was all in theory, providing the gods made a choice. So far none had survived. I tried not to laugh, knowing it would only anger her, and probably mess up the makeup. The whole situation was beyond ridiculous.
I glanced at the other girls in the room, whose makeup was being applied with as much reverence and excitement as mine. Except those girls looked nothing like me. Hope gleamed in their eyes. They rarely spoke. Some even folded their hands in reverent prayer. I wanted to feel guilty for being an unbeliever. I just couldn’t convince myself to believe in something I’d never seen or understood, especially when the ritual had done nothing but murder innocent girls.
Unfortunately they’d been performing the ritual for hundreds of years and hundreds had perished, hoping to be the Chosen One.
I was here because my parents had no need for me.
They had one son and one daughter. Three children, if they counted me. But no one did. I was the accident. An extra mouth to feed in a family already strapped financially. I was born in the summer, so leaving me out in the cold to die wasn’t an option. Instead they kept me until I was old enough to be given over as an initiate. It made them heroes in our town. Two girls between the ages of fourteen and eighteen from each town were sacrificed every ten years. My parents were selfless to forfeit their youngest daughter. At least that’s what everyone believed. I knew they couldn’t wait to be rid of me.
The gods left us over a thousand years ago. The magic users in our society had grown hungry with power. On their quest for knowledge, they learned too much and began to manipulate the gods. They abandoned us and since then our people fell into poverty. Our lives were filled with despair and desolation. Hunger and disease were our neighbors.
I’d resigned myself to a swift death. Whether or not it would be painless was beyond anyone’s knowledge. The dead couldn’t speak, but their bodies, shriveled and burnt beyond recognition, told the gruesome tale.
“Done,” she said with a smile on her face. “You’re beautiful.”
She swiveled the chair around and I peered into the mirror. I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me. She was too beautiful, distractingly so. I had always been comfortable with messy hair and a dirt-streaked face.
I worked in the fields, played there, and fell in love there. Ben loved me disheveled, dirty, and sweaty. Without the glamour and the peacock feathers. My heart fluttered in my chest and my breath quickened.
Ben.
I had been allowed to choose one person to see me off to the bonfire. Ben had been my first, and only, choice. I would always choose him - above and beyond all things, time, and space. He understood me and loved me for who I was inside. He was the only one who didn’t care that I was an unwanted child with no dowry.
“What do you think?” The cosmeta prodded me on the back with a finger.
I smiled weakly. “I’m gorgeous. Thanks.”
“I have a surprise for you now,” she
said. Surprise? Since when do the cosmetae give surprises to initiates? Never, from what I knew. Then again, it’s not like any of the chosen ever lived to tell anyone they’d received a surprise. Maybe it was customary.
She took my hand in hers and pulled me out of the chair. I glanced around at the others in the room, but none of them paid any attention to us. They were too busy applying copious amounts of makeup. My cosmeta was talented, I admitted to myself grudgingly. From what I’d seen, I really was more beautiful than the others.
One girl stood out. She couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Her lips weren’t just red, it looked like she’d drenched her mouth in blood. Shiny black streaks swept out from her eyelids and dark red circles dotted her cheeks. What was her cosmeta thinking? If beauty had anything to do with getting chosen, she’d never come close.
My cosmeta tugged on my hand. I turned my back on the other initiates and followed her out a door and into the street. It was quiet, but not surprisingly so. Everyone was inside, praying and preparing for the ritual. Dirt kicked up around our feet as she dragged me along the side of the building.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Shh!” She held her fingers up to her lips and glared at me. Butterflies jumped around in my stomach. I was pretty sure this wasn’t part of the ritual. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about this morning, now this crazy cosmeta was dragging me who knew where. If we weren’t back in time to line up for the ritual, I didn’t know what would happen to us. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being burned alive while I waited for an absent god to save me.
I grasped her hand tighter. For the first time, I would trust someone other than Ben. If I didn’t go with her, I was assured death. With her, maybe I had a chance. I just hoped it didn’t get me in worse trouble than I was already facing.
We stopped at a wooden door, hidden in a shadow. She glanced over her shoulder, to the west. The sun was only beginning to set on the horizon. She bounced on her toes and the cosmeta’s eyes widened as the rays of the sun crept slowly away from us like a defeated army slinking away from their enemy. She knocked on the door, three raps in a quick succession. She counted to three under her breath and rapped once more.
The door creaked open. I couldn’t see inside. I wished I knew more about the town, but I’d spent my life in the country, working in the fields. A trip to town was rare, and usually reserved for my brother or sister. My parents weren’t willing to give me the luxury of a meal from a tavern. It cost too much. I wasn’t worth it.
The door whipped open the rest of the way. The cosmeta pulled me in behind her. I stumbled across the threshold and squinted my eyes. Even though the evening sunset dimmed the world outside, the curtains were closed and I still couldn’t see anything except for a candle flickering in the corner of the room. It wasn’t enough to illuminate the dark corners.
The cosmeta squeezed my hand. Her sweat clung to my palm. Nerves? I wanted to know, but I had a feeling it was better for me to stay silent.
“You have her?” A voice cut through the darkness, sharp as a knife. Shivers raced down my body. I didn’t like the sound of him at all.
“I do.” The cosmeta dropped my hand. I felt a rough push on my back and I stumbled forward. I flung my arms out, flailing in the darkness, until I felt a pair of arms snake around my waist.
I relaxed immediately and fell into Ben’s chest. I’d know his touch anywhere - soft, strong, and totally secure. “Ben,” I whispered. “What’s going on?”
“Not yet,” he said. I felt his chin move back and forth across the top of my head. The peacock feathers shifted with it, a shaft stabbing me in the scalp. I tried to ignore the scratches. As long as I was in Ben’s arms, I knew everything would be fine.
“Good.” The voice I didn’t know spoke again. “Then let’s make things right.”
Fingers snapped and a hundred candles came to life, illuminating the room brighter than the sun. I blinked twice and looked around. It was a simple room, compact with a low ceiling. It was the adornments that turned it into a wonderland.
The candlelight flickered across ribbons that streamed from the ceiling, hanging above us in a canopy made of glitter and gold. Unlike the inside of my simple, wooden-walled cottage, this dwelling’s dark navy painted walls spoke of great wealth. I’d never met anyone who could afford a luxury like that.
A cabinet stood in the corner, proudly displaying its wares. I squinted my eyes, taking a sharper look through the glass. I didn’t see china and glasses like I expected. Instead, a strange assortment of golden and crystal objects stood in rows on four shelves.
Pushing out of Ben’s embrace, I reached out my hand toward the cabinet. Something swirled around inside my chest as I stepped closer to the cabinet. Only one item held my attention. If I’d believed in such things, I would have told everyone the jewel-encrusted dagger was calling out to me, pulling me in with a song that filled my soul with hope and reverence.
My jaw dropped slightly, but I didn’t utter a word. Everything around me faded away. Only the dagger and I existed. My hand passed through the glass. It didn’t break, just rearranged itself so my hand glided through. I grapsed the hilt of the dagger and the gemstones pressed themselves into my skin.
Heat pulsed through my palm, igniting a firestorm in my veins. A secretive smile crept across my face. I pulled my hand back through the glass, but the dagger wouldn’t budge. It clanged against the glass, clattering down on the shelf and knocking over the golden device next to it. I shook my head as the spell over me broke.
I’d never seen anything pass through solid glass before, as I marveled at my hand I turned back to the three other people in the room. Ben, the cosmeta, and an old lady, who by her voice I had previously assumed was man, stared at me. Only the old lady didn’t seem surprised. A smile played across her wrinkled face.
Ben’s shoulders tensed up and his eyes zeroed in on mine. I glanced away quickly, not sure if he was taking in the ridiculous makeup and peacock feathers or wondering how I’d just stuck my hand through solid glass. Self-consciousness was something I’d never experienced, but it flooded my being. I shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like a child who’d just been caught stealing a pie from a window.
I braced myself, expecting to receive a harsh rebuke from the mistress of the house. My gaze traveled to the cosmeta, whose slack jaw and empty gaze told me exactly what I’d already believed - I’d just done something unconscionable, and something so unbelievable that I deserved any punishment I got. What had she expected when she brought me here? This couldn’t be part of the process.
I’d already witnessed magic, which technically didn’t even grace our people anymore, not since the gods left us. This old woman had it though. She’d lighted all the candles in the room with a snap of her fingers. I’d sent my hand through glass like it was a pool of water.
I glanced down at my hand again. Could it be possible? Had magic somehow graced me even though I’d never done anything worthy or believed in the gods?
“No, it’s not possible,” the old woman croaked. I dropped my hand to my side and stared at her. “I’m not reading your mind,” she said, followed by a cackle. She waved to me with a gnarled hand. “Come, come. Sit here.”
A rustic dining set on the other side of the room stood in stark contrast to the grandeur of the rest of the home. Just a simple wooden table with two chairs on one side and a bench on the other.
“She needs this to replicate the art she’s already created.” The old woman turned her gnarled finger to the cosmeta. The girl bowed her head and sat down at the table, in front of the mirror. “You too. Don’t be shy.” Her gaze ripped through my chest.
I nodded, unsure of whether or not I should be afraid. I shrugged at Ben, who’d stayed strangely silent this whole time. He was the talker in the relationship. Nothing about this morning was normal. He was probably just as out of sorts as I was.
I made my way over to the table. The peacock f
eathers in my hair mingled with the ribbons hanging from the ceiling. Such an odd decoration. I’d never seen anything like it, but then again, I hadn’t seen much outside the farm. Maybe it was normal in town.
Sitting down on the rough wooden bench, I faced the cosmeta. We hadn’t met more than a few hours ago. I didn’t even know her name. Yet now we glanced at each other, experiencing a turn in my journey I never would have predicted.
A spread of cosmetics covered the table’s top, most of them similar to what I’d seen back at the palace when she put on my makeup. A couple of freestanding mirrors sat in front of me. One faced me, the other faced the cosmeta. I looked at myself in the mirror, wishing I could wash all the makeup off, along with everything it represented.
“Now Becca, copy the beautiful job you did on Eloh,” the old lady said. She patted the cosmeta on the shoulder and nodded. Her hair slipped out of the messy bun at the nape of her neck, curling around her face like tiny gray asps.
“Yes, auntie,” she answered. The cosmeta, Becca, picked up a wedge of chalk, stared at me, looked at herself in the mirror, and began to apply the makeup to her own face.
I gasped and looked over my shoulder at Ben. No one was allowed to wear makeup other than the queen and the initiates. If anyone saw Becca, she’d be in so much trouble. She could be executed if the queen found out. It wasn’t just a silly, antiquated law. It had been upheld for centuries.
Becca’s application of the makeup went against everything our people believed. I shrank under her stare. Her head cocked to the side as she studied me and glanced back at herself in the mirror. It wasn’t until the old woman plucked a peacock feather from my hair and handed it to Becca that I finally realized what was happening.
“She’s going to take my place,” I said out loud. My hand flew over my mouth. I’d meant to think it, not blurt it out for all of them to hear.
