A Performance of Destiny

A low wind howled against the bare trees outside, rattling the knotted branches in the starlit sky. Similar excitement arched from person to person, electrifying the building. William waded through the chaotic tension as he paced back and forth in the wings. His gear had been perfectly fitted for him, it hardly felt like he was wearing a costume at all. So much time had gone into making the intricate designs look divinely crafted. As he looked at a small mirror backstage, his headpiece felt transcendental with its brilliant polish. Rings of gnarled branches and thorned spines spiraled outward like galaxies. Reaching down onto his face, they claimed him. His long hair was groomed to perfection. His makeup obscured the scars lining the exposed portion of his face, a promise of the perfection he strived for and the beauty he longed to feel within. Would this bring it? He hoped it was not all for waste. The golden thread shimmered between the seafoam green patterns of swirling vegetation. Several deep crimson hooks weaved between the patterns and flowed effortlessly downward, teasing the floor with a gentle kiss of fabric at the tail of his cloak.

A sturdy hand halted his pacing. William’s father searched for his progeny’s eyes, lost somewhere in the scattered swirl of seaweed and coral reefs, partially hidden behind the elaborate mask. His own brown eyes set deep into his scowl as he desperately sought the words to comfort his son. This was the largest test, the most important feat, William would ever face. 

The low humming of the chorus could be heard behind the stage as it ushered in silence from the crowd beyond. So many people had gathered to see this event, but William was cut off from them, lost in faint phantoms as they danced subtly around his father’s eyes. William dared not to pull his eyes from his father’s. Words attempted a breach, only to be choked in the gulf of fear and anxiety. His heart began its endless plummet. 

No words, only quivering lips and a flare of pride in his eyes. His love, and utmost respect for his one and only son. William’s father took him in his arms, a gesture that was never to be taken lightly. This single act of heightened affection transcends time. William’s body felt limp and cold as the burden of his family’s wisdom and suffering settled on him. This single act shared the love a father grows over time. Through the many challenges, his child faced, through the pain and torment of bearing the sigil of the Gods. Like all those present, William has submitted his will, but more than that, he had submitted his life to the One, the Lord of the Forest. This act, so long prepared; this ritual anciently crafted, would forever seal his fate, as well as his power. 

William’s never-ending fight had not been just his own, he fought for his ancestors, his guides, his parents. The Two, mother and father. His yin and yang, raising him in perfect balance. He fought to preserve them, to glorify and exalt those who had raised him from nothing. 

He had now become the tool, the weapon of divine design. Enlarged through sacrifice, pooled with the potential bestowed upon him. Fashioned through eldritch inspiration, his covered face reflected the trinity of power. His two eyes to see what needed to be done, his one mouth to declare the truth. Through these Three he thrived, seeing the sight of the Lord of the Forest, and speaking his will. 

Through sight and sound, he dispensed power, his limbs ready to receive. The Four, his arms and legs, taking flight in power to enact the truth of the Lord of the Forest. 

William, his son, his legacy, was meant for this greatness. Only through a hug, a connection of such power can so strong emotions be shared, more than words could prescribe, more than looks could convey. This single action linked their souls for a brief moment, and they filled each other with the force of their love. The choir crescendoed as William’s father held him tighter.

“Take this gift, and take all the strength of my soul to bring your family honor and glory.” 

William felt a hole burn in his chest, red hot embers fed by the breath of the southern wind threatened to envelop his whole being. Like shattered lightning it spread throughout his body, latching on to every last inch of him.

A timer rang in the corner of the wing, signaling the time was just about upon them. The embrace withdrew, leaving both men a mess of emotion. Wiping the tears from their face, they locked eyes one last time. The phantoms had gone from their dance of oak. William’s father released his fragile grasp on his son. William took his newfound power and surrendered himself to a yearning for destiny. He trod past the curtain and into his future. A single call through the static silence rang in William’s ears. “I love you,” it echoed. The comforting voice of a father severed from his son, slinking into the darkness offstage. 

William straightened his posture, willing it to become stone as he settled himself into his new skin. He stood on the edge of the wing, composed, regal. As he should be. Across the stage, he could see his co-star. The picture of beauty. His heritage abandoned him as he laid eyes on her. Uncertainty chiseled away at his posture and he tried hard to keep himself from crumbling to dust.

“Can he really do this?

“ Is he capable?

“ Does he have the strength?”

The voices of the choir fluttered to faint ringing. The air grew still and hot with doubt.

He would have to find his strength. William closed his eyes, isolating himself from the world, feeling the creative void in his bosom. He could feel the phantoms dance. They whispered to him, delicate words that drowned out the piercing silence of the stage. He whispered the words back.

For one I live,

For two I fight,

For three I thrive,

And for four I take flight. 

His mind escaped to the distant past. He was standing outside the high priest’s chamber, awaiting his examination. Was he cursed, or blessed. Endowed it condemned. The words of the high priest could bring him towards exaltation, or damnation. His father stood beside him, holding his small hand. It shivered in the hot stuffy hallway. 

Realizing his son’s deep anxiety, William’s father knelt down to him, meeting his darting gaze with the reassuring calm of the steady earth in his eyes. 

“Son,” his voice, a steady stream of cool fresh water. “You need to calm yourself. Remember, no matter what happens, I love you.” 

William stared into his father’s brilliant eyes, still shaking with fear. 

“Do you know what I do when I’m nervous?” His father’s words flowed directly to his heart, slowing its rapid beating. “I remember who I am, where I came from, and why I’m here. To remember all this I say four simple lines. Repeat after me, Will.”

For one I live,

For two I fight,

For three I thrive,

And for four I take flight. 

The words stacked upon his mind, fortifying himself on the wall of his defense. The phantoms danced a fiery grace in his eyes. The twisted swirls of grass and moss spread across the clear sky collected in his iris. Gazing across again, he felt his foundation shiver, but not quake. He could do this. She was stunning, but he had a job to do, a performance to enact, and he was ready to complete the task that had been so long in the making. 

The lights on the stage flashed to life, a single man in a long dark robe stood on the stage, facing the audience. He echoed great power in his words, instantly hushing the background noise of the hundreds of bodies present. His words reverberated against the back walls, deforming as they rebounded back to Will’s ears. They sounded like nonsense, but he had practiced this so much, heard these words so many times, he knew exactly what they meant. 

Will took a deep breath, the stale air inside his lungs expunged into the frosted wind of the winter’s performance. He grabbed the ceremonial dagger at his side and strode out. The light bathed him in celestial radiance as his co-star emerged through the opposite side. Landing perfectly at his mark, he struck his practiced pose; hand outstretched towards the maiden, standing upright with regal dignity. He opened his mouth, the power of his soul now filling his throat as he roared his first line. 

“Behold! The sacrifice!”