The Two Lights

      Sensitive content warning : violent death/human sacrifice 

The sky grows dark as the pains come closer together. I fight against them, begging my little one to stay safely inside. He can’t come yet; I won’t let him go. But my body engulfs the thought as a flood of pain nearly drowns me on the bed.

               “You’re doing great Mary, you’re almost there.” The midwife encourages.

               “I don’t want to be there; he has to wait. They can’t have him!”

               “Mary, this means he was never ours; he’s been theirs this whole time.”

               I stare at Andrew, the man who was once my loving husband but has now morphed into a mindless believer. “No! He’s ours. Yours and mine. How can you say that? You’ve read to him every night. Your face lights up every time he kicks. Please snap out of this. No one can possibly believe those things are aliiiiivvveee. OOOOOOHHHH!!” I release a moaning cry as another wave crashes over me.

               The midwife rubs my legs. “Mary, you need to take your mind off that now. Fighting your body is not healthy for you or the baby. Just think about seeing this precious boy.”

               “I am thinking about that! I don’t want to just see him; I want to keep him!”

               Andrew reaches out a hand to rest on mine. “This may be difficult for you. But he’s been chosen.” I pull away from him and press into the pillow, groaning in pain.

               Hazel stands by the window, watching the sky. I had hoped my sister would be a fellow voice of reason, but as her tall silhouette casts an ominous shadow, the truth tears at the last shreds of my tattered hope. Desperation robs any reprieve between the pains and I implore, “Where is it now?”

               Her eyes narrow, turning to me in disgust. “She, Mary; where is she now.”

               I’d never ascribed to calling an object in the sky a living creature. And all my life, no one had cared or even acted like they believed. But that changed a month ago when the elders declared a union of light was coming. Since then, every conversation has been about Sona and Luna, and suddenly it was heresy to think the light in the sky wasn’t alive. I prayed my son would come any day but that one. But he was only weeks away, as was the union.

               “Okay, she. Where is she?!”

               Hazel’s expression softens, pleased with my acquiescence. “She’s made it halfway; union is coming very soon.”

               I pant as pressure builds in my pelvis. The pains have changed, they are urging me to contribute. I curse my body as it betrays the solemn duty it’s upheld for nine long months.

               “Mary, it’s time to push.”

               “I don’t want to!” But my body takes over. It reveals an instinct that goes beyond my comprehension. A pain moves to the top of my stomach and I bear down.

               “Good; again.”

               “Grrrrrrr….” I grit my teeth and lean forward, power erupting from my core.

               “There’s the head! One more push, Mary. You can do this.”

               “No.” I whimper, turning toward the window. The light is gone, and I know.

               Another pain wraps around my belly and I cry out as the crushing pressure releases. Silence hangs in the air for a moment, then a small cry.

               The midwife holds my baby up. “Here’s our boy!”

               Hazel marches toward the door.

               My mind spins as terror and exhaustion fight over my hollowed frame. “Where are you going?”

               “It happened. They united and brought forth their child.”

               “Hazel, come back! He’s your nephew. He doesn’t belong to them. Hazel, please!”

               The door closes behind her. Adrenaline courses through me and I try to bolt out of bed. I have to get to my baby.

               “Mary, calm down. You haven’t delivered the placenta yet.”

               Several men burst through the door.

               The midwife stands and blocks them. “Excuse me, you shouldn’t be in here.”

               One steps forward and towers over her. “We’ve come for their son.”

               “The ceremony doesn’t start until night. Do you think they’ll be pleased if their baby is in distress when he’s brought to them? He needs to feed and should stay with the vessel they chose for him until it’s time.”

               “Okay, but no one leaves this room until the ceremony.”

               “Fine. Now go.”

               They shuffle out. I watch the one who spoke lay eyes on my son. He looks at the child with awe, like he’s more than a helpless newborn. Fire builds in my gut as I watch him linger. Finally, he looks away and shuts the door behind him.

               Pains come again, but smaller than before. The placenta releases and I’m free from the task. “Can I please have my baby now?”

               The midwife lifts my son from the small crib in the room. He’s wrapped in a black blanket with tiny yellow circles on it. I don’t remember buying or receiving a blanket like that. My breath shortens as the dots remind me of what’s supposed to come next. But when the midwife draws near, all fear vanishes. Warmth grows in my pelvis and moves up to my heart. The horror to come disappears as I reach out and take my son. Calm saturates me as I study his delicate features. Chubby cheeks protrude above pursed lips, small creases zigzag across his tiny forehead. His eyes open and peer into mine; a rich chocolate like the thick woods just beyond our town. A glimmer sparks through their darkness and it speaks; I am yours.

               I nourish and cradle my child, losing all recognition of time. I’ve made no plan of escape before the men return. As a hollow bang shakes the door, I clutch the baby against my chest. The midwife opens it a crack, whispering into the dark. She walks over to my husband and cups a hand to his ear.

               My heart pounds against my precious little one. I know what’s coming, but I have to find some way to stop it. I start to rock, gripping my baby so tight he lets out a cry.

               “Mary, it’s time.”

               “No! You can’t have him!” I drag myself off the bed and try to retreat. But there’s nowhere to go. I turn to a corner, and shroud the infant with my body.

               Andrew shreds my heart with harsh words. “Mary, you’re disgracing our family acting this way. It was a great honor to be chosen as their vessel. Why do you have to act so defiantly?”

               Tears stream down my cheeks and my body begins to shake. “Everyone else is the disgrace, how can I be the only sane one?”

               Footsteps thump toward me and rough hands yank me from the corner. My baby is torn from my arms as I flail backward. A sharp pain pierces my skull and I collapse on the floor. The room swirls and I watch everyone spin out the door; including my son. Then everything goes black.

***

               I jerk up, vomiting all over the floor. Moaning, I manage to stand. Outside, Luna has just started to rise. Hope rekindles life in this broken shell as I realize there’s still time. The street is empty. A sticky summer gust brings echoes of drum beats from the town square. I move as quickly as I can, ignoring the screaming protests of my pelvis and thighs.

               A crowd looms ahead. Someone turns up the street and I throw myself against the hardware store. The stranger passes. My fingers run across the doorknob. Twisting it, the door creaks open. I slip inside. The stairs go all the way to the roof. My womb threatens to defect as my feet scale the steps. But I reach the top and force open the hatch. I touch the metal and flinch. How foolish I was to want a summer baby. A frantic search through the storeroom reveals a tarp and I toss it on the roof. I drop on my hands and knees, and shuffle to the edge.

My heart stops. Air is ripped from my lungs like the thief that ripped away my son. Red, orange and yellow dance their way to hell, laughing at my ignorance of the design. In the middle of town, on an ancient stone platform with stairs etched into both sides, sits the statue of the two lights. A large golden sphere pressed into a squat pedestal with a silver crescent nested inside. I’ve never wondered before why the sphere was hollowed out toward the bottom. I thought it simply held the crescent, but the cackling glow now tells me I was wrong. Flames burst forth from the space, spewing maniacal laughter into the night sky. I cram a fist in my mouth to stop my screams. Standing below the platform is the great elder. Next to him is my husband, holding our child. Everyone looks toward the sky, waiting for the silver light to reach the top of its climb.

               I search the landscape, trying to find a way to save my baby. The area behind the platform is empty. Everyone wants a spot where they can witness the sacrifice. Down the stairs and out the back door, I peek around the corner. The brainwashed townspeople are transfixed on the sky, so I make my move. One gravel road to cross, then I’ll remain hidden behind buildings. The pebbles rustle under my footsteps as I tip toe across. Dust fills the air as I pick up speed, pounding the dirt path behind the shops. I stop right before the gravel begins again, and creep beside the outer wall.

               Carts line the back of the square, the first signs of tomorrow’s festival. Sweat drips into my eyes as I imagine burning their savage celebration to the ground. I lean against the wall as my body again implores me to stop. Trauma and heat have pushed it past its limits. But I refuse to listen to its deceiving cries. All that matters is my heart. And it refuses to surrender, not until it’s given its last beat.

Two deep breaths, and I lunge to the first cart. Crouching down, each one provides cover until I’m directly behind the old oak tree. It stands proud next to the stone platform. If I can get there, my son will be in reach.

               I rub my legs, commanding them to see me through, then sprint. The ground beneath the tree feels cool as I drop to my knees; chest heaving. The elder ascends the steps, cradling a black bundle. I beg my lungs to quiet as silence descends on the square. 

                I come forth today and bear both the pleasure and responsibility of officiating the ceremony of the two lights.

               The crowd applauds as hatred for every soul grows inside me.

Long, long ago, before life covered this land, there were two lights; Sona and Luna. They loved each other deeply and were eternally joined. But their union of light produced darkness on everything surrounding them. Sharing their light only with each other kept anything else from ever existing. Eventually, they yearned for more, but knew the only way possible was to part from each other. So, they made the great sacrifice; they separated in the sky. Sona, in is his power and might, brought forth day to our land. And Luna, with her delicate glow, brought forth the comforting light of night so our world could feel safe, and rest.

               My tears burn as they run down my cheeks. This story was only words before. But the dark bundle in the elder’s arms impresses on me how powerful words are.

They made this great sacrifice and gave birth to life. After bringing us out of the dirt, they made a covenant with us. They would stay separate to allow life to remain. But covenants are not one-sided, we made a promise to them as well. There would come times throughout our existence that Sona and Luna would join again, and darkness would fall on us. And any child born that day would belong to them. The twinkling lights in the night sky with Luna, those are her children, children that came from our land. Children that were born on a day they reunited.

Rage gathers the final reserves of my strength.

I was but a boy the last time Sona and Luna united. That day of union there was no conception. They met and parted, and we remembered in peace. But today, they have conceived and brought forth a son. They demand he be sacrificed here on earth to join Luna’s children in the sky. If we do not obey, we will break the covenant and bring eternal darkness on our land; and we will all perish.

He raises the bundle in the air facing the town, then begins to turn toward the flames. With a final gasp of air, I race up the stairs. Reaching out, I clutch my child. The old man’s eyes grow wide but his hands refuse to release. I twist around and push.

Time stops. The old man loses footing and falls toward the flames. His wide-brimmed hat dips forward, sliding over his face. Still clinging to the bundle, he pulls us with him. I feel the end. Screams erupt; so intense the stiff brown fabric does nothing to dampen them. The only consolation is not having to know the expression subjected to such pain. I pull closer to my baby to offer any fragment of comfort in our last moments.

But his hands release. I fall back on my heels and envelope my son. He roots his pudge nose against my chest and my heart says there’s still some fight left. I spin on the balls of my feet, and run.