Heir of Rite

Everything was ready for the ritual. The pregnant moon hung high over the trees casting a white glow over her bare skin. She shivered as she listened to the whispers of the cool breeze, she could have sworn she heard voices among their limbs. But who else would be out here, who else besides her and her Priestess.

No one knew where they were, or that they even had left the castle. And surely no one think to look for her here, in the middle of the woods. A woman of her station would never be found out of her bedchambers after dark, or so it should be. Nor was this an act of defiance or rebellion as one would expect from a woman of her age. It was an act born out of desperation, and devotion to her kingdom.

The faces of her denizens flowed behind her closed eyes, steeling her will to continue forth with the ritual.

Even with her resolution she couldn't help but to cringe when the creased hands of her Priestess touched her abdomen. Her fingertips grasped for comfort only meeting the coldness of the stone her body laid across. She took a deep breath as the crone's voice lifted to the night.

"We anoint this blessed vessel under the eye of our Lady." She began to drizzle oil over her belly. The aroma of birch wafted around her, the young Lady allowed for her eyes to part enjoying the muskiness of the aroma. "Our Lady, our daughter offers her body. I speak her name, Esmerelda Quintaine and I speak with her voice!" The old woman's voice rose to a deafening pitch before settling into one that was eerily close to her own.

Esmerelda's heart leapt when the hand began to massage the oil around her belly button, up her diaphragm, over and under her breasts. She felt her cheeks warm with exposed modesty. When her torso had been sufficiently covered in oil, the priestess turned and fetched a small copper bowl from her makeshift alter. She shook the bowl emitting a rhythmic beat, it reminded her of summer rain on the glass panes of the solar, it soothed her nerves. The sensation of being lifted washed over her. She watched in transfixed fascination as rice spilled over the rim and layering itself over her slick skin.

"It is through your seeds that we are graced with abundance. From your breath we draw our strength, and in the glow of your light we find healing." She replaced the empty bowl for a small bundle of sage. With it she drew three arcane symbols in the rice before lighting the sage and fanning the smoke over the rice with her spare hand. "Take your daughter, make her a mother in your image and in her own rite." She spat into her hand and put out the sage in her palm. She stirred the ash and spit together to form a paste, she spread the mixture over her hands and dropped the small bundle to the ground.

"Through my hands you cleanse the vessel," the gnarled hands dug into the tender flesh of Esmerelda's stomach. She cried out into the emptiness of the dark, tears burning her eyes and streaming down the sides of her cheeks. Rice showered to the ground as her body writhed against the assault. The old woman's voice rose to match the noise of the screams. "Pain is the price to be paid to give and take what you only can give, my Lady. Our mother, hear me! By thy power, let it be! By your power, let it be! By. Your. Power. Let. It. Be!" With the last word spoken, all the pain evaporated and a silence fell over the trees.

Esmerelda laid there waiting for further instruction, but none ever came. Instead she turned to see the old woman packing up her bag that carried her supplies. Slowly she raised herself to a seated position, she ran her ran across her stomach and realized it was still coated in an ashy substance.

"Do not wash the ash off, it will dry and fall off on its own. When it does, it is that evening you will be able to conceive a son for his majesty." The priestess answered without being asked, handing Esmerelda her own robe and placing her boots on her feet. "Make sure when you take him to bed the moon is at its highest in the sky. Do this and your kingdom can remain intact."'

Esmerelda nodded her understanding as she stood up and finished tying her robe. She would do anything to save her kingdom from suffering the fate of another civil war, an heir to the throne would solidify their marriage. As it was she had not been able to conceive any child much less a son. That is why she turned to magic, but she dreaded what it may cost her. Nothing magical came without a cost.

"What will it cost me, Madam Caramoth?" Esmerelda asked doing her best to keep her voice from shaking.

"It is not your price to pay. The boy will pay the price, it is his life we bought." The words stole the breath from the young queen's chest.

Never in her wildest imagination had she ever considered that her unborn child would have to pay for her sins. Guilt's thorny fingers wrapped themselves around her heart, as she turned on the old woman.

"You never said the child would have to pay the price?!" She exclaimed grabbing the narrow shoulders of the woman and shaking her.

Madam Caramoth cackled. " You never asked who would pay, you just assumed. Why would you pay for a life that isn't yours? Silly child. What is done is done." She slapped away Esmerelda's hands and turned her back on her. "I look forward to serving my kingdom in the future, my Lady." And she disappeared in to the night.