Sacrifice

yulli gazed awe struck at the distant Kyjihm mountain range. His young fresh eyes viewed its wide craggy face with awe. The great black walls frowned under the weight of the billowing dark sky. "It brings Gallerra," whispered Myulli into the freshening breeze.

Storm clouds, like a starless night, embraced the mountain peaks, cutting off their tops. A clenched fist of ominous cloud shrouded the range with dread. At the foot of the ranges spreading out like a fluorescing fan, were the Pellin tree forests, their brilliant red foliage a vibrant contrast against the black and grey cliffs.

"It will bring nothing but much needed rain," growled Fiali, Myulli's uncle. The tall lean man had an unfriendly, lined face to match his long, black unruly hair.

"But the message on the stone..."

"You know nothing about the stone, young one," growled his Uncle with displeasure. "Every storm brings with it the prophecy of Gallerra and the Waiters' usual claims to have seen it foretold in the stone." He turned to look down into the boys face. "Not since the Great Storm has anything come from such prophecy's. All that the sky has ever brought is rain." Fiali offered a faint smile of reassurance.

"Jashm showed me what to look for Uncle, she knows things about Gallerra." Myulli's eyes sparkled with wonder and excitement at the mere mention of the ancient oracle.

"Enough of this foolishness, child. Your sister has filled your head with her Waiters' misty truths. If this is Gallerra's return where is she?" Fiali scowled at him. He looks more like his father each day, he observed. The tightness of the boy's square, hard face and the liveliness of his green eyes. Even the subtle wave in his shoulder length hair resembled his father's dark locks.

"Jashm knows!" Myulli stamped his foot, emphasising his frustration. He winced as his bare foot scraped against the rough corner of a paving stone. One of many that covered the long, narrow courtyard.

Fiali turned from the boy, shrugging off his childish indignation and started back towards the house.

The family dwelling stood barren amongst the orchard of blood fruit trees, its windowless walls of ochre stone and mud mortar deepening in colour and texture under the fading light. Fiali watched as the matted leaves of the thatched roof shivered under the caress of the increasing bluster. "Come now child before it rains."

"But..."

"I said enough!" Fiali stood, his back towards Myulli. Facing the heavy slatted wood door he waited for the following steps of his nephew, but all he heard was the strengthening breeze brushing against the wide, dry leaves of the blood fruit trees.

Beneath the dim light of an oil lamp, Jashm weaved the thick strands of spun balla ox hair with a small loom. Held deftly in her thin, slight hands she practiced her chosen craft. Jashm hoped to finish the hat before the next harvest gathering so that her father would not suffer under the parching heat of the sun. From beyond the door she heard her Uncle's voice bellow. What has Myulli done now, she wondered. With haste she stowed the half finished hat under her thick woolen clothing in case father's early arrival back from the fields had hastened Uncle Fiali's return inside. Jashm turned on her stool to face the door.

"Jaja," called Fiali, opening the door and pulling back the draft curtain. He entered the dingy, cluttered interior of the two roomed house, a frown of concern crinkling his aged brow like the rough bark of a paper tree.

"Yes Uncle," she answered. Her voice was soft so as not to disturb the peacefulness of the room. Jashm's bald head shone under the flickering yellow lamp light and her blue eyes sparkled, reflecting the small flame.

"What have you filled that boy's head with?" Fiali growled, crashing through what she had tried in vain to preserve.

"I do not know what it is you mean Uncle. I have told him nothing that would anger you so."

"Do you call the prophecy of Gallerra nothing? He is at this moment standing out in the courtyard waiting for the approaching storm to bring a legend to life." Fiali rubbed his arms with vigorous caresses to drive out the encroaching cold. Though the sky was usually clear at planting time the sun shed little of its warmth. Jashm stood from her stool and handed her Uncle a blanket from a pile folded the corner nearest the door.

"What storm?" she asked. Jashm fought to contain her excitement.

Fiali snatched the blanket from her and wrapped it around himself. The old man's shoulders sagged and his aged grey eyes closed. "There is a storm approaching from over the mountains," he said. Opening his eyes he stared into her beautiful square face and smiled a sad smile.

"Is it as black as the night?" Jashm asked, slipping a small cloth sack from beneath her clothing.

"Why do you Waiters persist in your quest?" Fiali scowled. "All storms are the same. Gallerra will not return."

Jashm stiffened in defense. "You forget Uncle that Gallerra was a great teacher, a diviner. When he left with the select, twelve generations ago, he gave us his promise and left a stone engraved with the scene of his return."

"Gallerra was a drunkard, banished from the village for raping a young girl," grunted Fiali.

"Lies!" Jashm's face reddened with rage. "You disbelievers spread many lies about Gallerra and all have failed to stop us Waiters. Gallerra will come back to us and he will restore our lands to fertility again as he promised. He will come and the stone confirms it as truth."

Fiali looked long and hard into her fiery eyes and bowed under their intensity. "Go," he breathed, "Myulli waits for you."

Jashm nodded once at her Uncle, sidestepped him and slipped out the door. A stiffening wind sweeping down the courtyard to the house halted her and a smile spread across her face. The sky over head was still a rich aqua but the coming darkness was consuming the blue with its rolling, thick clouds. Leaves dancing together filled the air with a loud hissing. A singing of natures song.

"Is it the sign?" called Myulli standing at the edge of the courtyard, one hand holding a branch of a solid, old blood fruit tree.

"Can you see the path?" Jashm called as she braced herself against one of the stone pots that dotted the courtyard. She leaned forward against the wind, her slight body trembling with the embracing cold.

Myulli looked hard into the shadows at the base of the mountains. He squinted to shield his eyes from the dust filled air, "Yes, I see it." His small voice, picked up by the wind, was thrust into Jashm's ears.

Jashm pushed against the wind to stand beside her brother. Both took shelter behind the thick trunk of the old blood fruit tree. They looked towards the base of the mountain. Jashm recalled her return from the middle plateau only yesterday and she was disappointed at not being there now. The crooked line of a path laid out in the distant tight foliage of the Pellin trees glowed within the shadows caste by the clouds. Jashm dropped to her knees and began chanting the song of welcome, casting out each word like a ship on a rolling sea.

"Is it Gallerra?" Myulli exclaimed.

"Yes, brother it is." Embracing her brother, Jashm's eyes filled with tears of joy.

Fiali scooped another ladle of soup into his bowl and sat on one of the stools arranged around the central stone table. The walls of the room were cluttered with shelves, filled with pots, bowls, boxes, furs, clothing, everything that its four occupants owned - it pressed against him with the warmth of memory. This place of all places always calmed his heart, eased his mind's wanderings into the past. The only other place he gained comfort from was the other room. The place where they all slept. During the bitterly cold nights they would all huddle around its central pit furnace. Dank smoke rose through an iron flue in the middle of the ceiling to stain the crisp night sky. It was in this room that they would whisper secrets to each other until sleep claimed them.

On the second mouthful of the rich spiced soup Fiali felt a tingling in his mind. The storm was awakening something deep within his essence. I know that storm, he frowned. His mind scratching at his perception like a forest wolf scratches at the ground seeking burrowing prey. Long ago. Father had come down from the Kyjihm mountain brimming with the excitement of discovery. Grandfather. Yes! Grandfather had cried and cursed father for his foolishness. Fiali could see the scene as if it happened this morning.

It was the day of the great storm. Grandfather thought I was sleeping but I heard his tale of the ancient mountain top temple and the mysteries of the past. Fiali's mind grabbed at the memory trying to see more of its aging image. Kyjihm mountain? Fiali paused, the spoon held above the bowl, the thick brown soup trickling over its edge to fall on the table in soft splashes. He could see Grandfather snatch a cloth bag from his father's hand and shake a gnarled fist in his face.

Grandfather had shouted out an ancient curse named after Basstel, the banished one. He held up the sack saying tearful words about a sacrifice. Fiali struggled to piece together the memories, searching for the ache that now gripped his heart.

The crumpled ruins on the plateau. The Temple Of Basstel! Jashm's journey. His mind grasped onto the meaning like a callused hand on hot fire poker. The storm?

Fiali leapt up from the table, tore the curtain from the doorway and rushed out into the courtyard screaming.

Jashm held up the small hemp bag to the blackening sky. "My gift Gallerra, my offering to your return."

"Jashm! Myulli! It is not a storm. Quick children get inside. It is not a storm!" Fiali pushed against the wind faltering under its strength.

"It is Gallerra," Myulli smiled, pleased that his Uncle now believed.

Fiali was almost to Jashm when the wind turned quickly into a blast and blew him from his feet. Myulli, standing a few paces from the tree, stumbled and slid several arm lengths to be caught by Fiali who had managed to grab hold of one of the heavy flower pots. Jashm stood facing into the wind, one arm tightly embracing the tree trunk and the other holding up her gift. Her cloths slapped about her as wet rags.

"Myulli!" yelled Fiali into the boy's face, "get inside, this is not a storm, it is Basstel coming for its sacrifice."

"It is Gallerra," Myulli cried, his eyes still wild with excitement.

"Get inside boy!" Fiali cried out, "watch through the cracks in the door if you must but get inside." Fiali released the boy and pushed him hard in the back towards the house, the gale tumbled him until the hard stone walls of the house halted him. Myulli pushed against the wind and crawled inside. Fiali watched the boy close the door. It took an eternity before he could be sure the child was safe.

Fiali turned back to face Jashm, rain falling heavily, squalling into his eyes. The clear aqua of the sky was now shrouded in billowing black cloud. Jashm stood less than five arm lengths from him but the wind was too strong. He saw with horror the bag Jashm held up to the sky.

"Jashm!" his words were snatched from his lips by the wind, "what...is...in...the...bag?" He could feel his Grandfather's fear growing deep in his belly.

Jashm turned her cold face towards her Uncle, a smile fixed in place and her eyes crazed with wild expectation.

"The...bag, Jashm. What is in the bag?" He yelled again, trying to make signs she could understand.

She looked at the bag and smiled wider, "Stones Uncle, stones I found in a hidden clearing on the top of Kyjihm mountain." Her words flew past him like wet leaves flapping against a rock.

"NO!" Fiali bellowed in terror. "Throw the bag away," he cried, tears competing with the rain in his eyes.

"They are a gift to Gallerra," Jashm continued not hearing her uncle's warning.

"They are the remains of the sacrificial Temple of Basstel," he yelled. "It is not Gallerra that comes, it is the claimer of life. Throw away the bag." Jashm heard nothing over the howl of the wind. Fiali was frantic, his face grey with despair. Calling on his deeper strength he forced himself from the ground and began to crawl towards his niece, gripping the raised edges of the stone paving to pull himself forward.

A great flash of light lit up the valley and mountain face as the heavens exploded in thunder, the sky roared its anger down upon them and the lashes of Basstel struck out for their victim. Great cloud fingers appeared through the billowing blackness, they clawed at the earth sending trees and soil into the air. The screaming wind and pelting rain assaulted the land releasing an unknown vengeance upon its inhabitants.

"Jashm!" sobbed Fiali, touching the heel of her bare foot with his outstretched hand. "Give me the bag. Please Jashm, give me the bag."

The clouds erupted again with light and bellowing. Rain dropped as ponds, threatening to drown Fiali as he lay gripping to the edge of a stone. Another flash scorched and exploded the pot Fiali had been holding onto just moments before and his ears pleaded for release from the clapping percussion that assaulted him. One great finger from the sky ripped a rent through the courtyard between him and the house, stone paving danced into the wind like leaves from a tree. Fiali clawed his way to his knees, finding minimal shelter from the tree, and pulled at Jashm's wet flapping dress. Jashm turned her head, anger erupting from her eyes. "Let go Uncle. Gallerra comes, I must receive him."

In turning Jashm dropped her arm to within reach of Fiali. Releasing his grip on her he grabbed at the bag, his thick fingers gripping hard against the coarse cloth. Fiali, no longer holding on, was picked up by the wind like a child's cloth doll and flung into the hard stone walls of the house. Jashm, feeling her Uncle's hand rip the bag from her grasp, turned her back to the wind in time to see his body smash into the house and see the thatched roof rip from its walls to join the wind in its destructive dance.

"Uncle!" she screamed, as another flash of light caressed the still form of Fiali until he was nothing more than a charred remnant of a man. The cloth bag was swept up into the sky to disappear into its enveloping blackness. Jashm wailed as her heart was crushed by the sight. Tears flowed from her eyes, sucking her anguish out int o the raging storm. Then nothing - nothing but the cold slap of silence.

Standing beside the stripped tree, she stared at the remains of her Uncle, the storm had ended, as if the sky had run out of tears and the wind out of breath. Silence fell like the ash from a funeral pyre, a cold, eerie, deafening silence. The darkness lifted, a brilliant sun burnt high in the aqua sky. Nothing could be heard - nothing except for the faint trickling of escaping water along the joins of the paving stones. Feeling the weight of foreboding grace her shoulders like a winter's night, Jashm fell to the ground and cried.

Myulli, who had hidden under the stone table, emerged from the ruins of the house shaken and scared. He stood pale before the charred remains of Fiali, sickness gripping his stomach. Running from the horror he scampered over the deep rent in the earth to find his sister, wet and crying. "Jashm," he whispered, fearful of the silence, "Jashm, what happened?" His young face distorted with anguish.

Jashm looked up with red rimmed eyes at her brother and touched his smooth cheeks with a trembling hand and cried again. Her chest heaved as a sob erupted from her. Myulli, fear hugging his heart, embraced his sister not knowing what else to do.

Jashm and Myulli sat together on the grass at the edge of the garden near where their Uncle's pyre still smoldered. They watched somberly as tiny insect birds caught moths.

"Did Gallerra kill Uncle Fiali?" Asked Myulli, eyes still fixed to a distant insect bird eating its catch.

"I don't know," Jashm sighed, "the Waiters say that Gallerra must have been displeased with Uncle's denial and punished him." She put her hand on Myulli's shoulder to steady herself and her painful thoughts. "Uncle said it was not Gallerra that came but something else he called Basstel."

"Basstel?"

"No one knows of this Basstel. Not even the elders amongst the Waiters recall the name." Jashm smiled at Myulli. "I do know one thing that we can do. We will venture to the Kyjihm mountain again to collect stones from the plateau and scatter them about Uncle Fiali's resting place. Gallerra, seeing our gift will forgive Uncle Fiali and come again - this time to stay."

"Why did Gallerra go?" Asked Myulli, confused.

Jashm touched his cheek with her slender finger tips, a single tear forming in her eye. "The Waiters say that Gallerra only came to see if we were ready for him and that he will return again very soon."

Jashm and Myulli gazed sadly at a near hillock and waited until the sun had set.

"We will pack food and water for the journey tonight and trek to Kyjihm tomorrow to gather stones for Uncle," Jashm, helped Myulli to his feet.

"Gallerra will be pleased." Myulli smiled for one last time at the glowing embers of Fiali's pyre.

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