“How did you come to have his skull?” I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around how long ago the First Fae War must have occurred.
“The same way we have these traditions. Passed down quietly through generations and protected,” she said, finally turning her back on me and beginning to walk forward. With only a step or two between each of us, the circle of human figures walked around the skull, just inside the stick-drawn barrier. The others followed, sweeping me up onto the path around the skull that mimicked the circle drawn by sticks.
I swallowed, raising and lowering the candle in my hands as the others did, copying the motions that I had no clue the purpose of but couldn’t help but mimic. If I was going to earn an eternity of suffering for participating in a forbidden ritual, I might as well commit. I knew I didn’t agree with the beliefs of the New Gods, and found something lacking in their promises for me.
Minutes passed, fading into hazy hours of walking in that circle. My legs tired long before we stopped, the soft chants falling from my lips in unison with theirs as I fell into a dreamlike state. With only the changing of the night sky above to demonstrate just how much time had passed, the words felt written on my soul, like they’d become a part of me in a way I didn’t understand.
From death to birth.
From Winter to Spring.
Life renews in time,
from ashes and dust.
When the footfalls eventually stopped, the woman in front of me turned back, bending down and pulling a stone from the pocket of her robe. She placed it on the ground as the others followed suit, forming another circle. Setting her candle atop the stone, she reached into her other pocket and handed me a stone to do the same.
“If a candle falls in the night, it is a warning that the person will not survive the winter,” she said, making me pause and take care to center my candle on the stone perfectly. I didn’t know that I believed in fortune or prophecy or the Old Gods, but I would do everything I could not to tempt fate.
She chuckled under her breath, watching me fuss over my candle as I stood straight and followed the group when they stepped over the sticks forming the outer circle. They gathered at the edge of the clearing, sitting on the ground with smiles on their faces.
“Is this something you do regularly?” I asked, taking my place next to the ageless woman who had invited me to join them.
“Once a year,” she said, lowering herself gracefully. “Only on Samhain. The day we welcome the long Winter.”
“The end of the harvest celebration isn’t for two more days yet,” I said, staring at the sky in the distance. In just two days, we’d be forced to watch the High Priest slit the throat of whatever sacrifice he chose. In just two days, I’d be out of a job for the cold season and need to find random work around the village just to help feed my family.
“According to the Lord of Mistfell,” one of the men said, “the worshipers of the New Gods hate anything to do with the Fae, and delayed the celebration out of spite centuries ago. But they all know as well as any, the harvest should have been celebrated today.”
“How could you not hate the Fae? After everything they’ve done throughout history?” I was skeptical.
“One should always remember that history is written by the victor. We may not have won the war, but our lands have been free of the Fae for centuries with no one left but the people who fought against them to pass down stories. What do you think the Fae would say about us and the part we played in the war? If they could share their perspective, I doubt it would be so black and white,” another woman said.
She rummaged through her pack, pulling out a bundle of cloth that she unwound on the ground. The parcel was filled with a dense cake, and she cut it into slices.
“I think Adelphia should explain the cake before you eat it. Having seen you mess with that candle for an eternity, I think you may want to pass on this,” she said, glancing toward the woman who’d drawn me into the circle in the first place. Adelphia.
“There are objects baked into the cake,” Adelphia explained with a chuckle. “According to tradition, if you choose a piece and find one of those objects, it symbolizes what will happen to you before the next Samhain.”
One of the men nearest the cake leaned forward, snatching a piece off the fabric. He lifted a chunk to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before he spit a hand-carved tiny baby into his open palm. “Fuck’s sake. Just what I need. Another mouth to feed.”
“Keep your dick in your pants then,” another man said, slapping him on the back.
I jolted, my body going rigid at the crude words. It wasn’t often men spoke so freely in front of women, who were supposed to be pious and virtuous. I knew what a dick was, had even seen one and experienced one in the dead of night while watchful eyes were closed with sleep.
Aside from Byron and his conquests in the privacy of the library, nobody had ever spoken of one in front of me, outside private lessons with my tutor so I knew what to expect come my wedding night. She’d been entirely unaware of how uselessly late that lesson had been for me.
Adelphia took the next piece, and the others followed suit. Without conscious thought, I leaned forward and snatched a piece of cake off the cloth before logic could stop me. Adelphia chuckled at my side, her piece free of omens for the future as she wiped her hands on the grass to rid them of any crumbs.
I lifted the first bite of cake to my mouth, flavors of vanilla and cinnamon on my tongue as I chewed. There was nothing hidden within it, just the sweetness of the cake itself as I watched the others around me chew theirs.
I was through my second bite before something struck my tooth and I raised a hand to my mouth to pull it out. The ring glimmered in bronze against my palm, a sign of the shackle I’d spent my entire life knowing was coming.
Death or prostitution were the only escapes from marriage in the Kingdom of Nothrek. Still, the clear symbol in my palm felt like a noose around my neck, like a death all its own.
“Congratulations are in order; I see?” Adelphia said, her voice tentative. There was no joy on my face at the prospect of my pending nuptials. It didn’t matter that I had no knowledge of who my husband might be.
Men were almost all the same, in the end. Looking for a warm place to stick their cock and a trophy to sow their seed.
“It would seem so,” I said, smiling and trying to shrug off the dread coursing through my veins. I’d never believed in the fortune tellers who worked at the market every week, predicting which of the thirteen lives a person found themselves on in the cycle of reincarnation before the true death. I’d never put any stock in the magical items a person could purchase if they spoke the right words at the right stands.