The bonfire danced high above even the tallest members of the crowd gathered around it. Akashii stared with sorrowful eyes at the large cheerful flames. It was the festival of the Goddess, mother of the Keritesh people, it was a time for fertility in all aspects of life especially love, and wealth. The friendly chatter around him clashed with the emotions burned deep into the depths of his dark brown eyes.
He crouched low down the inner ring of gathered people. The songs and stories of the goddess drifted more than playful banter in the sitters, these were the elder people of the tribe, the old priests and priestesses. Even these songs and stories brought him no comfort. He would never be reborn as a star to dance and feast with the Great Mother, his taint was unforgivable, and his blaspheming could be called severe by the kindest of his people. Akashii had cursed the goddess's name for many a year now. Ever since Litlu had been chosen as a member of the cloth.
Aged eyes closed in pain. Sweet Litlu. He remembered when she had first met him, a scared and angry warrior, soured by the last ten turns of his life. His darling Litlu, she had healed his wounds, both with her impressive gift for the arts, and her caring and free-spirited soul. He was thirty turns at that time, too old for a young maiden of barely nineteen, and he had turned away from her often when she came to try and care for him. By her strength he begun to live again, and Akashii had grown to love her for it and all other truths that she was.
Kind, compassionate, honest, loving, and beautiful... Oh, she was as beautiful as all the years were long. With the copper fur most common among their people, she still stood out, her coat gleaming like a soft fabric made of precious metals. Gracefully long arms and legs and petite of figure, the veteran warrior had thought too long about over the last years. But most of all were her eyes. Unlike a majority of the Keritesh, her eyes were as blue as the desert sky at daybreak, or the waters of the bay during noon.
Once he was well and in good standing again as a warrior of the tribe, he had begun to court her formally. He felt ten turns younger as he flirted and wooed Litlu for the span of one turn. She seemed shocked by his attentions, flattered when he expressed his desire to court her with all ceremony. And for one year, he had his happiness back. He said his prayers to the goddess and thanked her every morning and night for the blessing she had bestowed upon him in the form of a beautiful and caring mate.
His eyes opened and he viewed the priests and priestesses all gathered in a meditation circle closest to the bonfire.
One day early in the new turn, the village high priest came to Litlu's home with a fitted novice robe. Akashii felt himself fill to bursting with pride and dread. Proud Litlu was accepted into the cloth, where her arts would be trained further, where she would devote herself to the goddess and bring her family honor. Dread, for members of the cloth were devoted entirely to the goddess for their service, whether the goddess required one turn or one hundred, no courting, no mates, no babes. Nothing but prayer, worship and serving the goddess through healing her people.
This festival marked the ending of the third year that Litlu had been a member of the cloth. Akashii permitted himself to cry for his loss of Litlu at the end of each festival. The great fire was danced around by all the members of the cloth, and one by one, they would reach into the depths of the fire and receive a coal, marking another year of service was required them by the goddess. This year however, a sad tiding for the entire village could spell the end to all hope for him to ever mate with his beloved.
The old high priestess had passed into the loving arms of the Mother, to be reborn as a star in the heavens, this meant that one of the priestesses would not only pick up a coal from the fire, but would enter the fire completely and be chosen as the next high priestess, which meant a lifetime of servitude to the goddess.
One by one the priests and priestesses stood and began to sway their bodies in natural rhythms, slow, sensual, one with the goddess and the earth and the sky. One by one the robed clergy put their hands in the flame, three were released from their service, and cheers and good tidings were given to them for their dedication to the goddess.
When the hoods fell from each of their faces, Akashii's chest tightened, none were the beautiful countenance of his beloved. Five were required a year more. One of the girls reached in to grab a coal and halted, so did everyone at the festival, all eyes lingered on her as the fire stroked her arm, coaxing her to step into the flames, the fire licked at her hood, her hands, her robes, and when the hood fell from about her head. Akashii knew it was and forever had to be Litlu. It was her great destiny, one he could share no part in, for now she was forbidden to him. A roar started in the crowd, thunderous applause, stamping and cheering and happiness. Pure happiness pressed in on him from all sides.
Overpowering, unbearable. The warrior tore to his feet, breaking through the waves of people, only having the strength left in his rapidly shattering heart to look back at her, beautiful in all her splendid glory, shining with pride, glowing with power, the High Priestess of a Goddess he could never again come to worship.
A sob built up in his chest as he ran himself ragged through the cold desert sands. With each step away from her it doubled in size till finally he felt he would burst. Akashii fell to his knees and released a sound so primal and full of sorrow, that the distant festival-goers could hear it and they stopped to wonder briefly what had wounded an animal so badly that it cried so.
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