A New Dusk

Source

Flash fiction for Iron Age Media’s August 30th 2023 prompt ‘The Oblation’ shown above.

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Prodigious. There was no other word for the bull, twice as tall as I and with horns that could pierce mithril. Draped in the black cloak of Agr'dyr, May He Bless Us With His Shadow, and with the golden keys of Anaesthesia hanging from his neck, I guide the great offering to the centre of the temple hall. With its pillars of sandstone brushed with gold and entwined with desert roses up to the mirrored dome.

Crowds gather upon the galleries encircling the hall. The oldest families are first, in their fine silks and wispy robes that catch on every breeze. Mother's sit their babes upon the balustrade, hoping to feel the spray of blood to come, praying their sons and daughters will be blessed by Agr'dyr, May He Bless Us With His Shadow, and by the spilling of blood be chosen as the next ru'asa of our people; blessed leaders. Above them are the merchants, shimmering in silver and rubies, more concerned with deals than blessings. Above them still are the labourers, the paupers, the unwashed, all gathered upon the smallest of the galleries for the most numerous of tribes. If blood from the great beast makes it to them, even upon a rotten sandal, then a new mahdi has been chosen. A new prophet.

The bull snorts as I tug on the rope. In truth he is in control, not I, and he must choose to step upon the black rose mosaic in the centre of the hall. Guide him well, O Agr'dyr, May He Bless Us With His Shadow. The bull bellows and scuffs a hoof against the floor. He takes a step toward me and I take one away so the rope is pulled taut. I must make the illusion of guiding him convincing. I lock eyes with the great beast, those black pools larger than my fist, and will the offering to move closer. The bull exhales loudly, his hot stale breath washes over me, but I do not blink. He takes another step, the bone of his hooves striking the edge of the black petals.

Our ru'asa, old and young, gather beneath the galleries, in the shadows where their thoughts blossom and their words coalesce into truth. Drenched in many layers of sheer muslin, all the better to catch the shadow, they do not jostle for position or push to the front for a chance at feeling the blood of the offering for they are already chosen, they already guide us to the Eternal Night of Anaesthesia.

The bull shudders and all at once takes the final steps upon the black rose. He shakes his body of rippling muscle and snorts. He locks eyes with me and I resist the urge to blink. Guide my hand, O Agr'dyr, May He Bless Us With His Shadow. I let go of the rope and the audience in the galleries gasp for now the bull stands of his own accord, of his own choice, such is the influence of our Lord of Shadow. I take the sloping blade from my hip and kiss the hilt. I run my finger along the engraved pattern of petals, leaves, and branches rippling with shadow upon the steel to catch their power. All the while I have not blinked, I have not broken eye contact with the oblation. I will him to raise his head and reveal his neck. Seconds stretch for minutes. He breaks his stare and looks up to the mirrored dome. With a single arc of my sword I carve through his neck of corded muscle and arteries. His black fur parts and blood erupts in a rage. The crowd upon the gallery cheer. Mother's hold their babes up for a blessing of blood. Only two receive it. They will be taken and raised in the temple to join the ru'asa, it will be many years before they see beyond its walls again.

My sword drips with the blood of the bull. I am drenched from head to foot in the blessed water of life, destined to live another year. The great animal groans, sways and finally keels over. The temple shakes from the impact. The sound of prayer erupts from the top gallery. The paupers shout and chant, chant and shout. I look up and squint to see the faintest smudge of blood upon the sole of a man's sandal. Our next mahdi is held aloft and passed over the heads of the unwashed. He is carried down the stairs entombed in song and appears from a dark corner. The ru'asa part, kneel, and press their foreheads to the floor as our New Dusk approaches.

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