The Sacrifice

THE SACRIFICE

Angelica thought it must be impossible to find anything new in the world, something no one had ever seen before. She had seen so much over her lifetime – lifetimes -  surely there was nothing original, nothing for her to experience that could bring joy or anger or despair, or any of the emotions experienced every day by all the normal people she met. She stared around at the wild, desolate scenery, her constant sanctuary since time immemorial, deserted and unchanging. Far below, the lake stretched away between the hills, the surface wrinkling as the gusting wind dragged its fingers over the blue cellophane smoothness. Tangled grey hair swirled across her face and she pushed it back absent-mindedly, preoccupied with the darkness of her thoughts. Where was the peace she had counted on, that she had always found here over the centuries? Eyes closing, she breathed deeply, letting memories pass in a series of images through her mind like film stills. Silent, remote, scenes flickering in jumbled confusion,  savage days of warring tribes, noise and violence and pandemonium on blood-soaked fields, then on to private, hidden battles, one on one, unseen and unknown by anyone but her foe and herself.

          She sighed. Always men fought, as she too had fought, unseen by humans but walking among them, her enemy growing in power with each generation. Yet her kind, too, were growing: good men and women who stood firm and held the line, each facing their own appointed partner in the dance of death, each pair meeting like fencers acknowledging a worthy adversary and each time, with the agonies of battle and death still wracking them in unspeakable pain, staggering back to their feet, reborn to face again the unending conflict. Twice, she had been victorious, her enemy sent to crawl to bloody defeat. She had had a man’s form then, exulting in the battle cry and surge of blood-red mist that blinded her to all danger, her sword-arm strong and fast, her strength limitless. But once, she had died; she too knew the agony and fear and despair of defeat. Her opponent could take new forms, as could she, and Angelica had been careless, caught unawares.

          The vision of that time of loss returned, the spasm of remembered pain taking her by surprise, breathing fast and shallow. Arms wrapped around herself, even the clouded hills, sunlight chasing shadows across the valleys, could not distract her from the danger that approached. There was no possibility of doubt now; nerves, senses and prickling tension all screamed their warning. She had to choose, now, while there was time: Go, escape, change form, delay the next meeting for another hundred years or more; Stand and fight, three wins takes all: freedom and victory. And in a tiny corner of her mind, the little voice that whispered more and more often, more and more loudly: there is a third way…

         She sighed again and turned, pacing the short, dry grass of the headland. That way a resolution, but final in so many ways. She had to choose: it would not be long now.

         A flare of danger, close and urgent. Spinning, she saw her enemy… and yet, a young woman? She stared, unspeaking, waiting. The woman, slim, dark-haired, twenties? faced her calmly.

         “Hello, Angelica.”

         No doubt, then. One eyebrow raised, she waited.

         “Nicole.” An ironic smile, introducing herself. The sleek, short hair barely moved in the wind. Dark eyes, unreadable.

         Angelica snorted. “Nicole? Old Nick? Surely you could come up with something more original than that.”

         Her mind cleared, decision made. Silently, she began to speak the chant, committed now and calm.

         “My chance to even the score, Angelica. This time, I hold all the cards, old lady.’ The lift of the head, a scornful sneer for Angelica’s chosen form. ‘ What’s it to be, suicide? A fall over the cliff? Or heart attack? Or maybe you want to fight?” A knife appeared in her hand. Silent, still, watching, Angelica’s mind carried on the ancient formula, speaking the words in her head, knowing she had but a short time before Nicole realised…

         “What are you doing, praying? That won’t help you now.” Jeering but unsettled; Angelica’s lack of response was having the effect she had hoped and was giving her time. Finally, slowly, Angelica spoke. In the recesses of her mind, a warning, clanging cacophony, distant alarm and voices rising in harmony, bringing the inevitable consequences into stark clarity before her.

         “If I defeat you a third time, Nicole, you are gone forever. If you defeat me, we are even and we meet again, and in the meantime you are free to cast your evil wherever you go.”

         Nicole smirked, nodding assent.

         “The third way.”

         The cacophony of sound in her mind stilled, the voices holding the final note in a chord of discord, a harmony of conflict, that hung in the air, only heard by Angelica..

A flare of alarm in Nicole’s eyes, satisfying to Angelica, at least one small triumph before the battle’s final outcome.

         “If I renounce my Immortality, become Mortal, you have lost your opponent. You are powerless. I win two-one. You are defeated, and you, too, lose your power.”

A stunned silence.

         “You wouldn’t!”

         “I have. The final word seals it. You lose, Nicole.”

         The frantic expression of terror, scrambling rush forward and jolting halt was victory to Angelica as she calmly spoke the final word. She was alone on the hillside, just an old lady out walking, looking at the scenery. The tingling warning she always felt in the presence of her enemy was gone.

And at last, at long, long last, she was seeing something no one had before: her own, adult, rebirth - mortal, frail, no longer a warrior. Her sacrifice, a victory. A momentary sigh of regret for what could never be regained. A faint smile of irony as she contemplated her future. Now, she would truly feel what others felt, what had been missing for her for so long. But maybe not for long, now. How could she tell how much time she had left, she who had been Immortal?

Timeless boulders and ancient, twisted saplings supported Angelica as, slowly and painfully, she stepped her way carefully down the stony gravel track from the hillside. Now her new life was beginning.

Word count 1057