AURELİA: The Sealed Soul

CHAPTER 3: DARK ALLIANCE

The fishing village by the sea awoke that morning under a heavier, paler mist than ever before. As the waves struck the cliffs, they did not bring their old, playful foam, but the stench of rotten seaweed torn from the depths. The villagers sat on the thresholds of their huts, watching the perpetually filthy crimson of the sky, awaiting their fate. But what descended the path that morning was not the misery of drought they were accustomed to.
A group of priests appeared at the village entrance, their black and gray robes sweeping the ground, their faces hidden behind shadows. At the lead walked High Priest Malakai, striking his gold-inlaid staff against the stone with each step, as if keeping the rhythm of death. Right behind him was old Priest Jeron, whose life Elin had saved two days prior. Jeron’s eyes were fixed on the ground; the guilt within him weighed heavier than the robes upon his shoulders.
The villagers retreated in fear and bewilderment, making way for the priests. In these lands, the clergy were the shadows of the Gods on earth, and their arrival in a village meant either a great blessing or an irreversible catastrophe. Malakai stopped in the village square and struck his staff hard against the stone.
"People of this village!" Malakai bellowed. His voice drowned out even the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs. "The sky has closed because of your sins. The earth has withered because of the kingdom's arrogance. But the Gods are merciful. The stainless sacrifice that will save the kingdom and open the gates of heaven with her blood is hidden among these wretched houses. We have come to claim her!"
The villagers looked at one another with whispers. Fear coiled around their starving bodies like a serpent. Malakai turned to Jeron behind him and signaled with his head. Jeron stepped forward with trembling feet, his hand pointing toward the dilapidated hut perched on the edge of the jagged cliff at the end of the path. As the priests began to advance toward that hut like a black cloud, none of the villagers dared to step forward or protect the little girl. Hunger had birthed a selfish nature in humanity; if the rain would fall when a child was sacrificed, it did not matter who that child was.
Inside the hut, the air was thick with the scent of sea salt and the breath of an old man inching closer to death with every passing minute. Elin knelt by her father’s bedside, gently wiping his parched lips with a damp cloth. Her father tried to take her small hand with a wheezing breath, but there was no strength left in his fingers.
"Elin..." the old man whispered. "Your eyes... they seem to carry the weight of the entire world, my beautiful girl. I wish I could have left you a better world."
Elin did not speak; she simply took her father’s hand between her own and pressed it against her cheek. Her lips were sealed, but a single tear rolled from her eyes and fell onto her father’s hand. At that very moment, the hut’s dilapidated wooden door shook with a thunderous bang, coming off its hinges and collapsing inward. With the fierce wind that rushed in, Malakai and the guards filled the cramped room.
"There she is," Malakai said, a fanatical, savage gleam in his eyes the moment he saw Elin. "Those clear eyes mentioned in the holy texts. The sacrifice chosen by the Gods."
The old man in the bed tried to rise with a cry of agony tearing from his chest. "No! You cannot take her! She is but a child... She is my everything! Take my life, sacrifice me instead!" But he lacked the strength and fell back onto the bed in sobs, a thin trace of blood leaking from his mouth.
As the guards seized Elin by her frail arms and pulled her away from the bed, the little girl neither screamed nor wept. She merely reached out toward her father. Her tiny hands could not reach the hands her father held out in desperation. As Elin was dragged through the village square by the guards, she did not take her eyes off her father. As they passed through the village gate, the wind whispered a mournful dirge through the trees, as if weeping for this injustice. All the villagers bowed their heads as Elin was led past. She had secretly carried water to these people and tended to their wounds her entire life; now, they all silently watched her march to her death. This was the first and greatest betrayal the kingdom owed Elin.
The palace corridors were far colder and more sinister than those of the countryside. After a journey of days, Elin was led through the massive hallways, where the ceilings seemed to reach the heavens. As her old shoes made rhythmic sounds on the luxurious marble floors, the little girl gazed at the gold-leafed pillars and massive paintings as if looking into a foreign world. This place resembled neither the earth nor the sea she knew; here, there was only the stench of power and death.
When the doors of the great throne room swung open, Elin found herself in the heart of the kingdom. Nobles, dukes, and counts were lined up on either side of the hall. All of them looked at this small, dust-covered peasant girl with disgust and curiosity from behind their cloaks. Cousin Aethelgard whispered as he brought his wine goblet to his lips with his usual arrogant posture: "Is this wretched child the miracle the priests claim will save the kingdom? Varian has truly gone mad to protect his throne."
On the highest step of the throne sat the twenty-one-year-old King Varian. With his black armor and the heavy pelt upon his shoulders, he appeared the only power ruling the hall. When the priests brought Elin before the steps of the throne and forced her to kneel, Varian leaned forward slowly. His eyes locked onto that little girl at the foot of the steps.
For a moment, the suppressed, orphaned son of a concubine who grew up in the stables stirred within him. The child before him was so small... her arms so thin, her hair matted with sea salt, her dress tattered. As Varian faced the reality that he needed the blood of a child to survive and crush the nobles, his inferiority complex burned even brighter. To prove himself, to be able to tell those aristocrats, "I am the king who saved your lives!", he had to complete this atrocity.
"Stand up," Varian commanded. His voice was an icy order that echoed off the hall’s high walls.
The guards grabbed Elin by her shoulders and forced her to her feet. Elin slowly lifted her head and looked into King Varian’s dark eyes, filled with hatred and ambition. At that moment, all the whispers in the hall ceased as if cut by a blade.
For there was no fear in Elin’s eyes, nor the timidness of one bowing before a king. In those deep, clear, water-colored eyes, there was only a pure acceptance and a light that stripped bare even the darkest corners of Varian’s soul. Varian felt himself tremble for the first time as he looked into those eyes. This helpless peasant girl before him seemed to read his dirty ambition and his inferiority complex with a single glance. To keep from being crushed under that gaze, Varian made his voice even harsher.
"Does this child not speak, Malakai?" Varian asked, not taking his eyes off the girl.
"Her lips are sealed, my King," High Priest Malakai interjected, stepping forward. "She has not defiled her soul with the dirty words of this world. That is precisely why the Gods demand her blood. Her silence is the scream of our sins."
Aethelgard laughed mockingly from the edge of the steps. "Expecting rain with the blood of a mute... You are truly in a pathetic state, cousin. If this game does not work, will you step down from that throne of your own volition?"
Varian unleashed the monster within him completely at Aethelgard’s words. The momentary hesitation in his eyes vanished, replaced by pure ruthlessness. He stood up, flinging his cape back, and stood directly before Elin. The height difference between them was like that of a mountain and an ant. Varian gripped Elin’s chin harshly and forced her to look up. Elin was in pain, but she did not let out a sound; the clarity in her eyes remained unblemished.
"Not a single leaf moves in this kingdom without my will, Aethelgard!" Varian roared, looking at all the nobles in the hall. "If the Gods demand the life of this child, I shall sacrifice her with my own hands. And when the sky weeps, those raindrops shall bless my crown! This child is the price of my power and the salvation of this kingdom."
When Varian released Elin’s chin, the little girl lost her balance and fell back onto the marble floor. Her small hands struck the cold stone. As Varian turned and walked toward his throne, he did not yet know that the little girl he left behind would, years later, be born as a princess of his own flesh and blood, and make this hall a prison for him.
Elin listened to the sound of the dry wind hitting the palace windows as she lay on the marble floor. Time was running out. The dark alliance had been completed for the first drop that would flow into the earth.