Heir to the World

'Daughter of a sacrifice
You sacrificial child
Straighten out palms up
Perhaps we shall see a dawn
In your absence.'



The sky was full of rain. It cascaded down in myriad droplets that thundered into the leafy ground. The dead, autumn ground was being churned into knee-deep muck by the passing footsteps of men and animals. The clouds hung thick and low, blanketing the world in a chill grey half-light that sucked heat from bones and snapped wills like tinder. She was out in the storm, alone and shivering, dressed only in the tattered remnants of muddied, travel-worn clothing. Her breath came in short, painful gasps, as the cut in her side seared with the agony of movement. Both her hands and feet had been numb for some time now, tied tightly with fresh rope to the towering oak that was to be the site for her impending death. But none of this mattered, not the rain, the cold, or the pain. The primeval woodlands housed greater dangers than mear weather, and with the turning of the seasons, it was time for a sacrifice. Her fear had long since worn away. It would not be long now.