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36. The centerpiece
🕑 Added 2025-08-30 09:44:49 +0000 UTCThey all gazed at her with the same look in their eyes. It was clear she was no longer part of the group, not one of them. Inside their heads, they were the victims, and she was the executioner.
“What do you mean, sacrifice?” asked Tom, stunned.
She used the small break in the conversation to free herself from the man's grasp. He didn’t fight her this time. Tom just stared with wide eyes.
“They will have a ritual tomorrow, and they want one of you to be the sacrifice. And they want me to pick it. And before you ask why me, it’s something about their gods. I don’t know why I’m the one chosen, but the fact is, they want me to pick.”
The barn was silent, everyone processing the words. Finally, Alice had enough of a presence of mind to ask a question. “Do you have to? What if you don’t choose, or someone else chooses?”
Ophelia choked on her words for a second. “Won’t change anything. They will pick the sacrifice then.” She lied.
She felt it, a sting of guilt. Some part of her told her that she should have told them that if she didn’t pick anyone, she would die in their place. But she didn’t want to tell them. Words that the man from before spoke to her still echoed in her head.
‘Just pick the person you like the least.’
‘And what’s wrong with being selfish?’
So she would be selfish, at least this time.
“L-Look, I’m sorry about before. I got carried away. I really am,” started Tom.
But he was interrupted by Oliver. “Oh, please, we all know you never liked her. Now you're gonna pretend you’re sorry for all you did? What a coincidence, you had a change of mind right now.”
“Oh, and who almost hit her in the house?” countered Tom, “Who thought she was a witch and responsible for all of this?”
Oliver scrunched his face a bit and snapped back. “Right, as if this whole situation wasn’t your fault to begin with. What does it matter? It’s you who got us here, and you who always laughed at her at the Uni,” He pointed at Ophelia.
“I didn’t know we’d be trapped in some fucking cult in the middle of a forest. And I only ever bullied her because my girlfriend asked me to, because she was jealous of her looks!” he proclaimed, to the gasps of the others in the group.
Sandra, Tom’s girlfriend, looked at him with her mouth wide open. “You asshole! Are you really trying to throw me under the bus now? Like you didn’t take pleasure in it? Are we pretending that I also told you to hit on her?” She turned to Ophelia. “I… I actually liked her. I was just jealous, that’s why we weren’t friends, but we could be.”
“Oh, fuck me. Right, it’ll soon turn out you were long-lost sisters,” jeered Jimmy.
“Shut up,” shouted Sandra. “You also always laughed when someone got bullied, never having the balls to do anything by yourself. If you weren’t too concerned with sucking up to Tom, you’d do something to her for fun, knowing your character.”
The conversation was slowly descending into a shouting match. Ophelia’s announcement was like a match dropped onto dry straw, and she watched it catch flame. She wanted to tell them to stop, but part of her wanted to watch. This might have been the first time someone apologized to her for hurting her, and it felt good. Even though it was all lies motivated by fear, it still dissipated some of her anger.
“Enough!” shouted Miss Brianna. “I will be the sacrifice.”
Her words cut through the noise like a knife. Everyone stared at her in stunned silence.
“I was the one responsible for you. I was the one who let herself be talked into this, even though I should have known better.” She took a large breath, coming to terms with her decision. “You are young. You have your entire lives before you, while I lived a big part of mine. I finished school. I worked a job I dreamed of. I knew love. I h-had a child.” Her voice broke at that last part, but she quickly got it under control. “I lived a good life, and now I will take the responsibility for yours. I will be the sacrifice.”
The other people in the barn looked at the professor with relief and awe. She stood there, dirty and tired, but to them she looked like an angel descending from the sky.
Ophelia felt a sting in her chest. That should have been her. She wished she could have that kind of determination and courage, but another part of her felt the words the woman spoke. She hadn’t lived any part of her life fully, or at least that’s what it felt like. Her entire life was spent under the threat of her parents, and with the emptiness inside.
She did not experience much happiness, let alone feel accomplished. She believed she deserved the right to live, to experience what Miss Brianna described. So in the end, she just closed her mouth.
“Oh, thank God,” Tom said a bit too loudly. “I mean, thank you, Miss Brianna.” He corrected himself after realizing his mistake. “I’ll ask my father to pay for the funeral, so don’t worry about any costs to your family. I’m really thankful.”
People in the barn were stunned at the declaration, already planning the woman’s funeral, but no one had the energy to argue, also afraid she would change her mind. So the air was filled with words of thanks and praise for the professor’s bravery.
Ophelia breathed out and lay on her straw pile. She felt a bit of relief but also sadness. She had liked the old teacher and now admired her. Looking around, she saw Tom swing his arm around his furious girlfriend, a stupid smile glued back onto his face.
The strange man’s words echoed inside her head once again: ‘Sacrifice the one you like the least.’
She knew she shouldn’t, but was it any less harmful to sacrifice someone willing? It would still be death. But then again, if the professor said she would do it, it felt easier somehow.
She was still not sure, but she still had until the morning to decide. She still had to think it through.
I woke up around 8 p.m. local time to someone banging on the door. I looked towards Q’Shar, but he was deeply asleep on his back on a massive pillow.
The banging repeated, somehow not waking the cat.
“I’m coming!” I groaned, feeling the missing sleep drag my eyelids down.
Stretching, I went to check who it was, just to see a smiling Astrid.
“Rise and shine!” she spoke, way too loudly for how early it was.
I considered closing the door for a second, but then I remembered that I had something genuinely interesting to do.
“Give me 15 minutes,” I said and closed the entrance, quickly changing into my robes.
Before I could close the belt around my waist, the door flew open. “15 minutes is done, let’s go!”
I buckled my belt. “Why the excitement? Aren’t gods a normal thing for you?”
“Our God is familiar to us. I’ve never worked around foreign gods. So it’s exciting.”
I shrugged and followed her outside, giving a last look to the cat, who was still sleeping, stretched on a pillow like the whole conversation and the door slam hadn’t happened.
“So where are we going?” asked Astrid, still excited.
I looked around for some obvious ceremonial building, but not seeing it, I asked, “Can you tell me how you summon the messenger?”
“Sure, the oracle gave the permission to tell you what I deem right to tell.” She smiled. “We have an altar where we perform the summoning before the ritual.”
“That should make this easier. Lead the way then.” I nodded, and we started walking.
The village itself was peaceful. People were waking up and starting on their preparations. Some were hanging decorations throughout the village. Others were preparing a massive bonfire where yesterday’s feast was.
“So, do you have a theory?” I asked as we walked.
“Oh? I thought you were the one who was supposed to have a theory.”
“And I have one. I’m just curious what you think.”
She thought for a second before speaking. “Okay, so I think the foreign god has to be related to our god, and since—”
“Related how?” I interrupted. The oracle and the chief wanted me to teach her something, and once someone pays me, I get the job done. So a short lesson in god relations wouldn’t hurt.
“What do you mean? Related like, same family.” She furrowed her eyebrows.
“That’s for mortals, but gods have many relations. Your god is a lesser god of the Norse pantheon, from what I understand. So Loki or Odin would be considered relatives by the pantheon.” I explained. “They can also have children or create lesser sacred beings. So related how?”
She thought for a second, her eyebrows tight together. “Does it even matter?” she finally asked. “The god made a deal with our God, so the relation should be enough for them to know of each other. The nature of it doesn’t matter, right?”
“Sure, it doesn’t,” I shrugged, as she smiled at her correct guess. “Assuming it was any kind of agreement between the gods, of course,” I added with a smile.
She stopped for a second before catching up to me. “What else could it be if not a deal? It is the ritual for Taipo. How else? Or do you think the symbol belongs to Taiop after all?”
“No, the symbol is not Taipo’s. But I don’t think it was a bargain between deities,” I said, as we were approaching a wooden church.
The building was the size of a three-story building, made from dark, almost black wood, with a high-pitched roof. A layer of green moss grew on top of it. The plant spread in a pattern of roof tiles. The building had a natural beauty and grace to it.
“The oracle of Taipo had a vision, so it had to be our God. Therefore, it had to be a deal,” Astrid still argued her point.
“Look, there is no flaw in your logic,” I said as we arrived in front of the church. “But answer me this. The small sculptures in the trees, those are small altars for Taipo, right?”
“Yep,” Astrid confirmed, her hand on the door as she listened.
“But there are different altars closer to the village, one of which is where we found the outsiders. I assume they are used in the summoning?”
“Sure, they are part of the ceremony and are for the…” She froze, realizing what I was suggesting, as she pushed the doors.
The insides were beautiful. The roof was held up by wooden pillars that were living trees. Even though they had bark and branches, they were perfectly straight, with the branches growing around only one height, perfect to hold up the roof as they snaked, creating a natural ceiling of leaves and intertwined wood.
The thicker parts of branches created a picture of sorts, depicting the god’s sigil, an overturned letter A and letter T.
At the end of the central aisle was an altar. It depicted an old man with a cape made from twigs and bark. His beard was made from moss, but instead of a face, he had the head of an elk tilted a bit forward, a bearded elk at that. He was carved from a massive tree trunk with a forest carved in the background, with the trees the height of the statue, making him look like he stood as tall as the forest.
Underneath the altar was one more statue. It depicted a wolf-like creature with an elk skull in place of the head and many hands instead of antlers.
I pointed my hand at the smaller statue. “With all the talk of the gods, we are forgetting the star of the show.”
Astrid finished my thought absentmindedly. “The messenger.”
