The Gods' Will

“How can you ask this of me?”

“It is expected, my liege.”

“I can’t. It's just…” Callan broke down into sobs. He sank back onto the throne. His throne. It was not meant to be his. He had been so far removed from the line of succession that sitting here had never been entertained in his wildest dreams or, as it was turning out, his nightmares.

Osgar looked at him in that dead eyed manner that chilled Callan to the bone. Everything about Osgar made his skin crawl. He was like a spirit, popping up out of the slimmest of shadows to frighten him. Callan knew the priest delighted in his discomfort even if it didn't show on the man's face. He doubted Osgar had ever smiled. Doing so might bring a warmth that would crack the cold facade.

“You've seen it done. Everyone has.”

“It's not the same as doing it,” Callan cried, wiping at the mucus that ran from his nose. He dropped his arm to see the glittering trail along his sleeve. “Could you do it, Osgar?”

“Am I physically capable? Yes. But it doesn't work that way, Sire.”

Callan curled his lip at the man. “That's not what I meant and you know it.”

Osgar stared back at him in his cold lifeless way but there was a faint glint in those dark eyes. A spark that suggested he was more than capable of the act. To be perturbed by it would require having a soul and Callan had only seen a viper wearing a human skin.

“What way is there around it?”

His priest sighed impatiently through his nose. “There is none. This is how it has always been and it is how I will always be. You do not challenge the will of the gods nor could you ever sway them from it. It is a constant and all rulers must bend to their will.”

“I can’t…” he choked out, his throat tightening in despair. It was becoming hard to swallow around the lump in his throat as though it grew with every distressing thought. He was being suffocated under the weight of his obligations. Obligations he had never asked for and most certainly never wanted.

“You will.”

“I will not. You ask too much and you cannot force me.” Callan's hand slashed through the air. He so desperately wanted that to be it. If he spoke with authority, then that would be final.

The muscles of Osgar’s jaw twitched, the only sign that this conversation was wearing thin.

“You will find, my liege, that whilst I serve you, I also serve the gods as do you. We all do. Their will is paramount and the task will be completed as required. If I have to order men to hold you while it's done I will do so.”

Osgar ended his threat in a low tone that sent chills up Callan’s spine. There could be no misconceptions about the priest's willingness to strongarm his lord. It also left Callan knowing just how powerless his position really was when it came to such things.

Callan rested his chin on his fist and stared off to the side of his hall, away from those piercing eyes. Had his predecessors felt this way or had their duties been so ingrained into their beings that they didn't give it a second thought. They had been brought up in this life to know what was expected of them. Had they been as callus as Osgar?

He shot the priest a sideways glance. This was an event that only occurred every eleven years as the gods rode through the night sky on the chariots of flame and ember. Perhaps his predecessors hadn't complied. Had the gods cursed them to die or had Osgar help them along into the afterlife?

Is this what it came down to, the choice between doing as he was told and ensuring the favour of the gods or refusing and lying in the ground with his extended family? Was he willing to die for this? He was the last of his line. Perhaps he could escape that fate.

“My liege?”

Or perhaps not.

“Fine,” he said, his stomach churning.

Osgar bowed from the waist. “I will send someone to your chambers to dress you.”

Callan watched Osgar leave the hall, silent on his feet like the nightmare shade he was. He chewed at his lip. He was out of options and out of time. He had to do this 

He peeled himself from his throne but all he felt was the weight of it dragging at him, like an anchor pulling him into the deepest depths. It was crushing.

Callan stood in his sleeping chamber as a young woman washed him, head to toe. Yet another aspect of his newly vaulted position that he was far from comfortable with. She followed the cleansing by rubbing scented oils into his skin until he glowed, every bit of light glinting off his skin. 

The ceremonial robes were laid about his shoulders, a mix of woollen cloth, furs and metal discs and finally a crown of deer antlers embellished with hanging crystals.

He looked ridiculous and felt ridiculous. Had the situation been different he may have laughed at himself but there was no mirth in him. There was just a deep sorrow growing like a great yawning chasm within him.

“It is time, Sire.” Osgar stood in the doorway, flanked by two strong looking men. No doubt he had brought them in case Callan changed his mind. He would make good on his promise.

Callan nodded, his crown clinking with the movement. “I’m coming.”

“Now, my liege. We deliberated on this for far too long.”

Callan nodded again as he looked at the female attendee who stood with her head bowed. It could just as easily be her or any other girl. Introductions were not a part of this and for that he was grateful.

Osgar cleared his throat and Callan turned to meet his fate before his people. 

The people gathering outside cheered at his arrival, pressing in harder towards him. They wanted to be close to this and Callan now wondered why. He had been here for the last ceremony, his emotions riding along with the crowd but now…. 

It was all so different when he was the one to now stand at the altar, him and some poor girl.

She was waiting for him, dressed in a simple white robe, her hair gathered up with flowers entwined in her brown locks. She was smiling, of all things, grinning from ear to ear. She was delighted to be here, to be chosen, but all Callan felt like doing was emptying his stomach.

Osgar nudged him forward, close to his flank as he escorted him forward. There was nowhere for him to run. One misstep and Osgar would lay hands on him. 

With a smile like sunshine, the girl bowed before him but all Callan could do was offer a curt nod, his lips clamped so hard they were bloodless.

The priest moved to stand at their sides. The sun had set and the light was fading fast. At his command all lights were extinguished save for those surrounding the altar. Osgar raised his voice, singing an ancient melody in the language of the gods. It sounded deep and haunting and Callan might have wondered what was said if he was not so overcome with the entire horrid situation.

The singing stopped, the sky above opening into flames, as the gods deigned them with their presence on this special night. They streaked from one side of the sky to the other and all those gathered gasped at the sight, every face turned skyward.

A cold handle was pressed into Callan's hand and Osgar hissed into his ear. “Now, boy.”

Callan’s numb fingers tightened about the knife and raised it to the girl's upturned throat and just like that the sacrifice was made.