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One more day.
One more day, they all pray. One more day, until the storm of pain passes and the rain of troubles leave the village. Atua, please, deliver us! Deliver us, from this madness, this devastation that plagues us from day to day!
Every day, her people prayed and prayed, for the day to mark the last of such suffering, for the day to end the terror that clouded the village from the sunlight’s terrible reign, and Angie is powerless, powerless to stop the spread of pain across her beloved home, powerless to do anything but watch.
She can only watch, as famine and plagues spread across the straw-coloured ground, striking sharp and deep as the ground cracks open, the lack in moisture destroying the glue that had once held the friendly, tight village full of people she once knew together, and she can only watch as it destroys her home inside out. The cries of her people every hour as a comrade falls ill, or drops dead, or suffers from starvation haunt her as she walks the paths that were once smooth sanded rock.
It’s everywhere she goes, ringing and roaring, like an angry, starving lion in her ears like thunder as children wail in desperation behind her. She shudders when she sneaks out of the temple at night and hears the muffled sobs and screams of her fellow villagers after all the children are asleep and all the people are back in their huts and cottages. It’s so painful, so devastating, and Angie’s heart breaks, shatters into hundreds and millions of tiny fragments of glass that she painstakingly picks up and patches it back together as she cries herself to sleep every night, only to wake up and drop it on the floor all over again.
It’s a never-ending, vicious cycle, and Angie is tired, exhausted.
There’s nothing she can do, though, except watch, and it slowly kills her as her friends, her people painfully die from the torture the sun brings. The people insist on her being well fed, kept away from harm, despite her continuous protests, and she hates it. She hates that she, of all people, suddenly has a privilege over all her loved ones, suddenly is given immunity to live while dooming so many others to die. What purpose does such immunity have, after all, if this madness continues? What use does it serve when, eventually, the sun will still strangle them all without hesitation?
She prays every day with her people, kneels on the polished marble floors of the temple she lives in, in front of the golden statue of the God she reveres so much, begging him to let whatever argument he had with her people go, but it never, never works. Darkness disguises itself as the bright, smiling sun, and it billows in waves of silk that are so unusually bright, imprisoning the villagers, and when people welcome it, unaware of its malice, it takes them out, one by one, slowly but surely, slipping the soft velvety fabric around waists and entwining around arms and encircling wrists, pulling taut at necks until masses of tar-like fog spread across the skin.
The disguise is so flawless, so dazzlingly deceiving, that no one realized they were all doomed to die until the moment the first person succumbed to the tricks and lies of Death. Now, they live in fear, not knowing who the next victim is. It’s such a sharp, unnerving contrast to the cheery atmosphere that always coated the village before, and Angie fervently misses that iteration of her home, the home that was always so warm and lovely and cozy like the rays of sunlight that the sun blessed them with before the suffering began.
.
Her fellow villagers come to her temple every day.
Every day, they come by and bring her rations (rations, she thinks bitterly, that should have been kept for the villagers themselves), come to see the manifestation of their Almighty Lord, and pray. Angie prays with them, holds their hands and blesses them with traditional blessings that she eventually dully memorized when they ask shyly for reassurance, smiles at them and promises them better times in the future.
“Angie, do you think all this will ever end?” a child asks her one day as she silently wipes away the tears falling down his cheeks.
She glances away from him for a second, his earnest, heartbroken expression too much to bear. The boy was so young, barely reaching his sixth year of existing, and already had to experience such pain and burden placed upon his tiny shoulders. Her heart aches for him, as her own eyes land on the still body of the small infant girl that looked so similar to the boy in front of her placed in the corner of the room, the gorgeous, wide cerulean eyes she once knew to be so full of life and joy now dull and unseeing and glassy.
She feels a pang in her heart as she smiles as widely and seemingly genuinely as she can (which she’s had so, so much experience with), and laughs lightly. “Of course it will! Atua is watching over us!” she says it as naturally as she can, as if she actually believes in what she says.
The boy looks into her eyes, and his expression is so intense that Angie is taken aback. She has to keep herself from flinching as she sees the raging waters of the ocean spiraling in the child’s eyes, so, so similar to that of his sister’s. it’s almost painful, to see the resemblance between the siblings, and know that at the young age of six, this boy, this once innocence and naive person, has already lost his sister. It’s such a disheartening thought, and Angie feels her heart drop into her stomach as the whirlpool of fierce emotions in the boy’s eyes hits her.
The child doesn’t say anything, but his doubting gaze is enough for Angie to understand the burning question in his mind, searing into hers like how the fiery sun marks its victory upon this village. She’s suddenly grateful that he doesn’t ask the question out loud- she finds herself without an answer to the question she’d been asked over and over again, and has asked herself over and over again.
If Atua, the All-Powerful, is really watching over us like he says, they why- why did he send this drought to us?
Why hasn’t he done anything to save us yet?
.
Sometimes, Angie wishes she could be normal.
It’s refreshing to live in the wilderness, to combine as one with nature. Angie knows nothing about the outside world at all, doesn’t even know what region she lives in, but she’s heard so many stories about noisy, bustling cities of stress and rush, dreamt of towering skyscrapers that threaten to fall upon her and large monsters hurtling towards her on grey pathways. The stories scare her, and when people sometimes pass by their village and talk about the world they come from that seems so different and so far away, she smiles and says that she’s interested and that Atua must have blessed them for them to be able to live in such a paradise, she knows in her heart that she’s lying.
The mountains where her village is were always ever so viridescent and lovely. She used to wake up every morning to see the emerald carpets of moss and grass spread across the floor, with stones sewn in and out to form a path through the village. Roots weaved in and out of the ground, and the branches twisted and entwined together ever so naturally as they reached towards the sky, embracing the wide azure shelter spanning over the world. Through the mass of leaves, rays of soft, warm light used to peek through the mass of leaves that almost acted as a filter, fracturing the light and projecting bubbles of golden warmth onto the forest floor. Only a few minutes away from the village is a lake, surrounded by willows, the vines yearning to touch the glistening aquamarine surface that seems so much like a mirror. Sure, they don’t have expensive metal buildings that slice the sky open, or machines that cool the air and heat the houses, but they got by just the same, in their straw huts and brick temples. The people were happy and satisfied, and everywhere she went, Angie saw smiles, and heard warm greetings, and was filled to the brim with happiness.
Well- all that, she thinks bitterly, is gone now.
She glances out the window of her room in the temple. It’s nighttime, and the moon shines ever so brightly, letting the lambient pearl-like sheen cover the village, billows of soft periwinkle silk flowing smoothly over the huts and sliding over the rooftops. It looks almost peaceful, almost serene- until the wind whistles through the windows and rings in her ears, and they bring along the cries of her people- her loved ones, and even in the solitude of the cold, empty temple she’s forced to reside in, she blinks back tears and forces herself to smile.
Smile, and the world won’t ever know.
And even so, she wishes desperately to be one with her people, to be considered ‘normal’, or ‘average’, to suffer as one with the people outside this temple. She wants to cry with them when they find weeds strangling what little crops they have left, wants to hug them and comfort them when they break down from the stress of operating in this high heat without food and water, wants to suffer with them as one. It’s what she should do, as one of the community. It’s her duty, her responsibility.
Instead, she is singled out as the one person that needs to survive this mess, the one person everyone looks up to. Whenever she passes, villagers stop their moaning and smile politely, fighting to offer up whatever precious food they have left for her; whenever she steps out of her temple, people flood to her, worry fresh in their eyes, telling her that she can’t come out, she can’t catch the virus, and she should stay, happy and safe, in the temple; whenever anyone comes to see her, they’re always so respectful, and she feels just like an outsider. She’s someone who can never conform, someone who’s isolated because of how ‘important’ she is, someone who needs to keep up her act of being hopeful and happy and so, so fake, because she is their hope.
They’ve never even considered the fact that their prized idol has run out of hope, has run out of prayers to offer to the God who has abandoned them, has run out of the passion that brought her to this spot in the first place.
Angie doesn’t know much, but she knows that when she chose to be a priestess, she didn’t want this- all this.
.
She winces as the strong winds hit her, wrapping around her the instant she slides silently out the doors and heads down the pathway leading out of the village.
Despite it being so insufferably hot in the daytime, the cold, unforgiving wind reigns over the darkest nights. Logically, Angie knows it’s not really too cold, but months and months of the sun baring its teeth down at the village and glaring so intensely that mere eye contact might kill had made its mark on her and her people. It’s so, so dry, and freezing cold, and the wind feels like a million tiny ice rimmed daggers slamming into her face. What remains of the once proud and evergreen crowns of leaves perched on top of towering trees dances in the air, twisting and turning and leaping as gusts of air swirl and carry them across the village. Some hit her, and she’s alarmed at how fiercely the browning, withering droplets of colour punches her- it’s almost as if the leaves were putting on their last performance, their last dance. They spin and leap almost harshly in the darkness, their steps sure and their movements ever so firm and graceful as they whirl, and whirl, and whirl, to the never ending rondo of the wind, the whistling, seemingly innocent tune that will bring them to their untimely demise.
Just like everyone here in this village, bitterness seeps, like subtle poison pooling around her, into her thoughts. It’s not their time to die.
She tugs her cloak closer, savouring the precious warmth the sapphire velvet brings, frantically tugging on the hood threatening to blow back and let her silky silver locks shin and almost glow in the moonlight. No, she can’t let that happen- she would be recognized immediately and shoved back into the temple, the place she lived that currently seemed much more of a prison than a home. The golden bars that hold up the gleaming ivory roof seemed to be bars that kept her confined inside the cell, and the deadly cold floor of marble seemed to sink icy knives into her knees as she knelt, shivering, in front of the statue she’d grown to almost hate, praying and praying.
Lost in her thoughts, Angie almost stumbles down the coarse rock steps, and leans herself against a rotten husk that once held a joyful spirit of a tree. She slides down to collapse on the ground as she inhales heavily, again and again. She had barely stood a chance against the wind’s harsh whips.
A shadow slips out from the endless rows of empty wooden husks before her, and Angie smiles as a black hood is taken off, and familiar red hair glistens in the wavering rays of the moon. “You’re late,” she calls out softly.
“It’s hard to slip out past Tenko,” the girl says as she sits herself next to Angie. “She can’t exactly sleep well at night anymore, and she always needs something in the middle of the night.”
Angie feels her smile become strained, but she doesn’t try to fix it. This is the one person she can be herself with. “Hello to you too, Himiko,” she says with a slight hint of sarcasm in her ever so cheery voice. She doesn’t bother to take the fake elements of happiness out- it’s too much of a habit for her, and Himiko knows her more than well enough to tell her real emotions. “Angie’s missed you!”
Himiko smiles slightly, but her eyes are still clouded with worry as they stare out at the view before them- a giant dip in the ground, an empty piece of land where there used to be a gorgeous, still lake. “Hello, Angie,” she says quietly as she fiddles with her obsidian cloak. It’s ironically the same colour, Angie notes, as the shadows that fill the night and haunt her dreams, and almost laughs. Himiko is nothing, nothing like the shadows of the night that steal away lives.
“Angie hasn’t been able to see Tenko in a while, how is she?” Tenko and Angie had never been particularly close- most of their interactions were either during festivals, where Angie had to bless everyone and talk to them, or because of Himiko's influence, but for someone like Angie, Tenko's already one of the closest friends she has, the only person she trusts more being Himiko. the tall twin-tailed girl often argues with Angie, but she's a great friend regardless, truly caring about the friends she has and extremely encouraging and bright. Her fiery passion, Angje thinks, could set off burning fires of warmth and confidence throughout the world if it would let her, and Angie is very grateful for that.
Himiko's eyes are so, so dull as the gleaming pearl hanging in the sky reflects in her eyes, and Angie feels a pang in her heart as she fears for the worst. there could only be one reason Himiko would be so upset over Tenko, her best friend, and that's-
"She's sick,' Himiko whispers finally, and though she's looking out at the scene before them, Angie can see a clear layer glazing the shorter girl's eyes out of the corner of her own. "She caught the plague, she's had it since last month, and I, I didn't even notice…"
Himiko falls silent, but her words are left hanging, dangling like a limp, broken puppet, hanging on only barely to the lingering strings of fate- strings that are frayed and worn and look as if they could snap any minute, any second. For a second, the wind washes over them, white noise accumulating in their ears, but then a giant wave seems to crash down and engulf Angie. Everything suddenly seems muffled and blurry, as if her head had been shoved r all of a sudden.’s suddenly pushed underwater, sucked into a tornado of raging thoughts that are fluid as water.
Tenko… the brave, headstrong girl who had stayed and protected her friends no matter what… how could she be the next line to die? How had the world come to this without her realization?
It’s unfair. It’s so unfair! She doesn’t deserve this…
None of them deserved such a fate…
Nonetheless, Angie can’t dwell on it, can’t stay drowning in her world of surreal thoughts and shock. She has a friend to comfort, a village to calm, an image to maintain. She simply couldn’t just sink into the murky depths of her own mind, not when there are more distressed people she needs to take care of. It’s her responsibility, as a priestess.
She turns to face Himiko, tapping gently on the latter's shoulder (her method of silently asking if it's alright to touch her). Himiko nods, ever so slightly, and Angie tentatively wraps her arms around her best friend. She feels Himiko move to hug her back, small arms making their way around her waist, and Himiko's hands are so cold, but Angie feels warmer than ever as the girl buries her face into Angie even as the cruel wind batters and whips at them as they sit there on the ground. She feels her cloak soak in slight moisture, and she realizes Himiko is silently crying.
"Himiko, it's okay," she says, trying to not let her voice crack. Tenko, the girl who was always so strong and tough and shone as bright as the midday sun, with the plague that no one could cure, because the drought had killed and exhausted all their resources. It's so incredibly unbelievable, and Angie feels as if she is dreaming as her vision swirls and swims. She closes her eyes, hoping fervently that it's a dream, that she'll be able to wake up and know that Tenko is healthy and well as always. "Atua is watching over her! He'll send us some sign and keep Tenko safe from harm!" Angie smiles even if she knows Himiko can't see it from her angle.
The other girl looks up at her dully, and Angie's heart drops and her smile fades as she sees the galaxy of pain and sadness in her eyes. "Do you really believe that, Angie?" Himiko asks quietly, her voice so soft against the loud, loud screams of the air that almost drowns her out, that Angie can barely hear her. "That Atua watches over us still?"
She falters at the firmness in her friend's eyes, the hurt that flashes over the cardinal irises she knew so well. "I- Of course I do, Himiko! Atua is always watching over us! He loves us so-" she silently berates herself as she spits out lie after lie, but she knows she isn't convincing, she can't even persuade herself, and she knows, by the skeptical look in her eyes, that Himiko doesn't buy a single word as the girl cuts her off.
"Even as he destroys our crops and sends us endless heat?"
"Himiko-" she tries to say, but the redhead continues as if Angie hasn't spoken.
"Even as he sends us this endless plague and kills off half our people? You know it, Angie, you know that he sent all this, or else he would have sent help ages ago!" Himiko's eyes are blazing, desperate, and the flames in them burn in something that almost seems like anger. They lead a tango of passion in her eyes, for the energetic, headstrong, loyal girl who was, and is Angie’s best friend’s spine and support, and not even the calm azure glow of the restful darkness can squench the tongues of death that dance in those beautiful, vermillion eyes. “Even if you tell me you do, that you still believe in this lie not worth believing, I won’t believe you. I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you pray for other people. You don’t believe it anymore.”
Her eyes are entrancing, demanding her attention, and Angie can’t move her own away, can’t turn away from the fire like a moth can’t turn away from the light in the night. She tilts her head. “Himiko, that isn’t something Angie can do, you know? Angie is the priestess of this village, and she has to-”
“I don’t care what other people think!” Himiko is normally so quiet and so tired, but tonight her presence fills the clearing as she whisper-yells this out into the air. She pulls away from Angie, and Angie suddenly feels so so cold, the warmth she felt with Himiko next to her blown away by the wind. Even the wind stops howling seemingly in shock, and Angie feels the silence ring out like a majestic roar of thunder, rolling and rolling in her ears. Himiko’s voice isn’t by any means loud, but to Angie, the wrath they carry is the loudest thing she’s ever heard. “All I care for right now, is the fact that my best friend is dying, Angie, please-”
Himiko breaks down into sobs, and she leans into Angie again as she cries and cries, and Angie doesn’t say anything as she holds the girl she’s loved for so long as gently and softly as she can. Himiko’s world must be full of despair right now, a despair Angie can only imagine, because it isn’t Angie’s best friend who’s dying, it’s Himiko’s and there’s no way, no way in heaven and hell that she can share in the girl’s aching pain right now.
And Angie, Angie can only watch, as in her mind, the space that used to be the lake starts to fill, but this time, it’s not the crystalline waters that fill the lake- it’s a murky, tar-like liquid that oozes in and floods out, the onyx fogs of despair stains the ground with its blatant marks, and Angie feels like she is drowning- drowning in this oblivion- this starless abyss, where all her beliefs and hope is long gone, where all the people she trusts are slowly leaving her to her own despair,
where she can’t even help her best friend.
.
The next morning, she pulls on her robes woven out of soft silky sunshine, and decides that today, she’s going to visit someone.
Every single house here looks almost the same, lining the cracked pathway ever so uniformly. Angie used to be so, so confused with them, not even being able to tell her own house from the mass of huts that populate this tiny village (although that has admittedly gotten much easier since she became a teenager- living in the big marble temple made it fairly obvious as to where she should go), but now, she knows each and every one of them like the back of her hand, knows where each villager resides without even having to open her eyes to the blinding, harsh rays of the sun beating down on her.
She looks up, and almost expects to see the beautifully woven roof of light olive and dark sage above her. Instead, she sees nothing but the azure canvas above her, painted harshly with a vibrant cobalt, not a single cloud shielding them from the light that feels like a thousand swords piercing her eyes. It’s so blinding, and her eyes sting from looking at it. She berates herself for forgetting that it wasn’t there anymore, hasn’t existed since four months ago when this tragedy started.
There is no one on the road, no crowd mingling and chatting on the pathways, no cheers of young children rushing past the maze of adults as their parents yelled at them to stop. Instead, an eerie silence has replaced the boisterous atmosphere in the clearing, and Angie finds it suffocating- this silence, while ductile and malleable, seems like a piercing cry in her ears, and as Angie reaches out to touch its soft folds, the edges sharpen and Angie almost cries out as the silence draws up against her neck and draws first blood, leaving her shaking, and shaking, to no end as it goes to strangle her, its movements smooth as a ballerina’s and quieter than pure, pillowy, fluffy snow.
She stops at a hut farther down the path. It looks the same as any other, but after all these years, Angie is certain that she’s got the right one. She walks over, and after a moment of hesitation (a moment that seems like an entire year), raps sharply at the door.
There is a moment’s pause, then she hears rustling from inside the hut, sounds of someone scrambling down the staircase, and the sound is so relieving she almost sighs. The door is drawn open, and a pair of shocked aquamarine eyes meet sea green.
“Angie?” Tenko says, her eyes so, so wide as she stares, dumbfounded, at the girl before her. “You’re not supposed to be here! Did any boys hurt Angie? Is that why you’ve come to find Tenko?” The girl’s dressed casually, in a blue T-shirt and black jeans, and the way she spoke was casual enough, but Angie knows, knows something is wrong.
“Tenko!” she smiles cheerfully, like she’s always done, like she’s done all her life- seem carefree, exuberant, bubbly, so that people would love her. She’s so, so tired of pretending. “Angie’s not seen you in a while! Strange, Angie could’ve sworn someone told her Tenko was sick...”
The brunette blinks, and Angie now notices what she didn’t before: Tenko’s face is a pale alabaster colour, blatant exhaustion painted all over it. She looks so sickly, and deadly thin, that Angie’s heart aches and aches. “Oh, Angie, Tenko is fine! She just needs a little rest, and she’ll be back to normal. Tenko can’t let Angie come in, though, it’s really rather messy in here.”
Angie holds back a sigh of almost exasperation: even in sickness and near death, Tenko is still insistent on lying to make her feel better. She wonders if she’s trying to reassure Angie, or trying to convince Tenko herself that things are okay. She sincerely hopes it’s not the latter.
“That’s alright, Tenko! Angie’s seen your house in very messy states after all, she doesn’t mind. Angie’s just dropping by for a little chit-chat!” The smile Angie puts on is so sunny, that she almost winces just by thinking about it.
“T-Tenko thinks Angie should go back! Angie might catch the virus here, might she not? That’s not a risk the others would want Angie to take!” Is that emotion she sees hidden so, so deep in Tenko’s eyes, fear?
Angie hopes and hopes that her muted teal eyes aren’t brimming with tears, because she feels just like doing that, feels just like letting moisture travel up, and up, and out of her eyes and stream down her cheeks- maybe then, she’d feel a little better about this. Still, she’s not going to make Tenko feel bad by pushing about the illness or coming in. It hurts, but… well, it’s ultimately Tenko’s choice, and Tenko’s choice alone. She only doesn’t want her and Himiko to worry, after all.
“...” She contemplates her choices for a while, and then decides it’s really not worth it to push. “Okay then, Tenko! I’ll see you around! Angie hopes you stay safe!”
She turns, and her long silver robes spin and flutter at the sudden motion, flashing an almost fluorescent ivory as she makes her way back onto the main path. She holds her breath for as long as she can, hoping that the tears won’t fall as she bites her tongue, but then she hears a voice calling, calling behind her.
“Angie, wait!” Tenko exclaims as she runs out after her. The girl stops, and Tenko catches up, almost colliding with her as the taller girl gasps for breath. Strange, Tenko was usually the athletic one…
Her eyes widen as her heart drops onto the ground, but before she can say anything, Tenko has doubled over, her hands over her mouth as she chokes, and chokes, and Angie immediately goes to support her, hands on her shoulders, alarmed as Tenko coughs and coughs and coughs without a single pause or hesitation. The virus inside her, Angie thinks, must be a really arrogant one, to take root and spread its arms in someone as strong as Tenko, and still be cocky enough to put Tenko through so, so much pain. She could do nothing, nothing but watch on helplessly as her friend almost falls in her hands. Tenko removes her hands briefly as she gasps, gasps for her life as the disease chokes her to death, and Angie could see, in that split second, that between her fingers held nothing but strands of dripping crimson blood.
“Tenko, Angie’s going to take you back into your house, is that okay?” Angie asks, alarmed, and Tenko nods as much as she can as she’s wracked with another bout of the virus hacking at her throat.
She manages to hold Tenko steady as they struggle towards the door together, step by step. Tenko isn’t heavy- she’s actually much, much lighter than Angie remembered, and the implications are so frightening Angie pushes it away from her mind- but Angie has to support most of her weight, and they’re slow in limping their way across the path straying off the main pavement to Tenko’s house.
“One more step,” Angie murmurs in Tenko’s ear to encourage her like the twin-tailed girl has done for her so, so many times before, and Tenko tries to crack a smile, before it’s replaced by an expression that screams at Angie to stop, that cries of pure pain, and Angie’s heart shatters so completely she’s not sure she’ll be able to pick it back up together again.
Come on, Tenko, come on, you’re so close, just one step more, one step more-
But Tenko collapses, right in front of the doorframe to her own home, and Angie resists the urge to scream as so, so much magenta surges and spills from the girl’s mouth in an almost mesmerizing (if it weren’t so horrifying, that is) waterfall of scarlet. The colour is dark, so dark, and yet so vivid in Angie’s eyes, vibrant and blinding against the pale cracked stones, as it gushes away from the girl’s frail body (frail? Tenko? Angie had never, ever, imagined a situation in which she’d have to compare the strongest, toughest girl she’s ever known with the word frail, and suddenly the situation seems so much more real, and horrifying), pouring into the seams and cracks of the torn cloth that was the ground. It was almost as if her life, along with this blood, is streaming and draining away from the blue-eyed girl, and Angie resists her urge to scream.
She can barely look at Tenko, watch her retch out mouthfuls of thick liquid, watch it stain the ground a thousand shades of red, watch her shudder and tremble in Angie’s arms as a single tear makes its way down the blood-stained face, the colour fusing with the clear, glistening droplet almost shimmering in the morning light. She can barely watch as the girl who always ate up and chased away sadness without even a single second of hesitation, who had always been the embodiment of the word ‘sunshine’, firm and strong and bright yet so, so warm, finally gives in to the lingering temptations of pain as the disease eats away at her.
She can barely bear to watch. It hurt, it hurt so, so much, and Angie hates the pain, hates that she can’t show it on her face. It felt so, so terrible, and Angie contemplates yelling out for help, calling for assistance, maybe for someone who actually knows how to help, but she doesn’t, flashing a short glance at a house almost directly across, a house Angie knows Himiko lives in, and distressing Himiko- distressing anyone, actually, is a no-go. She tries desperately to think of ways to help, or at least help Tenko into the house, but she can’t think of anything at all. Her mind is completely blank, driven crazy by panic, and she doesn’t know what to do, what to say, what to think.
“Tenko, Angie is going to call for help,” she says softly as she crouches down to get a better grip on the writhing girl, blinking as her eyes sting and sting, warning her of the tears that would soon rain down her cheeks. If only it would actually rain…
In Angie’s arms, Tenko tries to say something, but her coughs break her off, and Angie can only register something similar to “don’t leave me alone”. In her arms, Tenko feels so light, like she could just disappear and fade into a flurry of evanescent ivory powder any moment, and Angie knows, with dread falling and sinking in the ocean of her mind like stones sinking in water, that Tenko indeed could die any moment now, and she would be powerless- completely powerless to stop it from happening. Tenko’s face is tear streaked by now, the tracks slicing through the cerise colour that almost seemed like a child’s masterpiece of finger paint smeared across her cheek, and Angie feels her own tears leak out of her eyelids, but when she removes one hand from under Tenko, using her knees to steady the girl’s body instead, to touch her face, she finds it completely dry.
She glances at the faraway house again, hesitates, but ultimately decides Himiko should have the right to know, or at least be here for Tenko. Angie’s been mostly kept inside since the plague started, but she isn’t so naive to not know how a person looks like when their life is at an end, and Angie fears- she doesn’t think she’s truly felt real fear, not before now, when someone so, so close to her is at stake, she feels as if her heart is pumping so fast with terror it could pop out of her chest anytime, as if her mind could explode with worry anytime- that this, this might be Tenko’s end, and the thought scares her so much that she can’t help but feel nauseous.
“Tenko, don’t worry, Angie’ll be right here for you!” She looks around, at the empty street, at the houses with moving shadows behind the curtains, and silently apologizes to them- she doesn’t know another way to call for help, not when Tenko is leaning on her so heavily and she can’t leave the girl alone. She gathers up all the strength she has in her body as she inhales, and
she lets the air in her rush out rapidly in an ear-piercing scream, and the world once quieter than snow is flooded with sound.
.
Thankfully, someone who actually knows how to deal with the situation arrives within a few minutes.
Next door neighbours, almost disgruntled as they emerge from their huts, immediately register surprise and terror on their faces as they spot the two girls huddled in a heap on the ground and race towards them. People peek out from behind their curtains, concerned, their expressions turning into extreme horror as they see the blood soaking the ground. Angie feels guilty as some of the people who run out in the mess have obviously only just awoken, and she’s probably responsible for their rest cut short, but as more people gather, they’re able to move Tenko indoors. In the flood of confusion and panic, Angie is pried away from Tenko, and she screams and fights against whoever’s holding her back, yelling at them to let her go, but they murmur apologies in her ear and pins her in position.
Angie can only watch as the people take Tenko into the house and a physician- the only physician in their small village- arrives in a hurry, disappearing into the building. Only then is Angie released from the strong hold on her, and she spins to face the men who kept her from her friend. “Why are you stopping Angie from seeing her friend? She could die anytime, you know?” She almost doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to be told that stupid excuse, that she has to survive and she might just catch the disease from Tenko, so on so forth, but she also can’t help but ask. It’s as good as reprimanding the men, for her- she can’t shout at anyone no matter how much she wants to, she can’t ruin her image like that. People would hate me for it, they’ll regret picking me to be their priestess-
But then, aren’t Tenko and Himiko worth it? If I could save their lives, if I could at least give them the comfort they deserve in times like this-
The man- Angie doesn’t recognize him beneath the tears watering her eyes, and everything is so, so blurry- says something, but Angie doesn’t register it- her ears ring with Tenko’s endless bouts of coughs, and it’s the only thing she can hear, and everything else- everyone else only seems like something in another world, a world far away from that of hers and yet coexists and overlaps with hers. She turns and runs towards the cottage in front of her, and before anyone can stop her, she wrenches the door open and enters the house.
The people who were helping out during the mess are nowhere to be seen, and the first thing she sees is the physician, mixing something at the stove. She walks up to it, feels the almost overpowering heat from the flames licking the pot up against her, and she winces- it’s an all too painful reminder of the drought they’re currently facing. “I thought we ran out of cures,” she says.
The physician freezes for a second, nearly dropping the wooden spoon into the fire, but then composes herself. She doesn’t say anything for a while, and Angie prepares herself to rephrase the question, but then the woman says quietly, “The late chief had us stow away a stash of remaining medical herbs in case you caught the disease, Angie, he was insistent you must live even if we all perish. Everyone agreed with him then. We’re only taking this out because, well, because you were screaming, and this affected you a lot.”
It’s Angie’s turn to freeze, immobilized by the shock that suddenly overcomes her. “You- you’re telling Angie that all these people have died and Angie had the ability to save them all along?”
The older woman doesn’t say anything, and Angie reels from the shock of it all. She feels like vomiting- how selfish could she be? She had the cure in her hands all this time, she could have saved so many people, and stopped the plague from spreading when the first person caught it, but she didn’t, and now her friend’s dying and everyone is dying and it’s all her fault-
But most of all, she feels anger, feels fire blazing in her stomach as she tries to push the heat out of her eyes and swallow the flames threatening to flood out of her. How could they keep something like this from her? How could they watch so many people just drop dead, knowing they still had the supplies to help? She can feel the rage in her rise in a crescendo, and the pumping of her heart grows ever louder as she realizes how many people could have been saved had this stash of medicine been brought out earlier, how the village might still be normal and happy and laughing if that had happened.
But she puts the fire out forcefully, deciding she can be angry later, when she’s alone in the solitude of her temple, where no one is there to judge her for crying and yelling and punching walls. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the physician, who is seemingly relieved that Angie wasn’t blowing up on her on the spot, remove the pot from the heat, and Angie follows her as she holds the container gingerly and heads up the stairs, where the soft sound of coughing can be heard.
“Tenko!” Angie rushes to the girl’s side, and Tenko looks up from her cup of water to smile at her weakly. The taller girl is sitting on her bed, covered in heaps and heaps of warm cozy blankets, and a fire is roaring in the fireplace, warming the room. “Angie was worried about you! How are you?”
She tries to grab Tenko’s hand out of force of habit- she always did it as a sign of affection to everyone, but Tenko slips her hand away almost frantically, “Angie! Don’t touch Tenko, she might give you the disease!” But it was too late- their hands had touched for a fraction of a second, and Angie starts at how freezingly cold Tenko’s hand is. Tenko starts coughing again, but thankfully there’s no blood shooting out of her mouth, and the choking seems much milder, as if the virus is tired out. Still, Angie can’t help but feel so, so guilty- Angie could have prevented this whole disease from spreading, could have saved her and so many others…
“Tenko-” she starts, but the girl in question shakes her head fervently, and Angie clamps her mouth shut, not wanting to push for something Tenko obviously didn’t want. She looks to the side, watching as the physician carefully tips a ladle full of cure into a cup, offering it to Tenko. The younger girl’s hands shake as they reach to take the cup, and cupping the mug with both hands, she seems to savour the warmth as she brings it up to her lips and sips at it. Angie can see her trying so, so hard not to choke on the liquid, and she desperately wants to help, but she can’t and she feels so helpless. She watches, can only watch as Tenko fumbles and nearly spills the fluid, but her coughs lessen as she digests it and Angie feels as if a huge burden is taken away, away from her shoulders.
The physician glances at Angie, “We can’t afford to use up any more of the stash for anyone other than you, Angie. I’m afraid this will be the first and last batch we can make for Tenko.”
Angie’s eyes widen, “But-” she opens her mouth to argue. I don’t want to live in a world where everyone I treasure is gone! As priestess, I want to live and die, to rise and fall and make mistakes and atone for sins alongside my fellow men, is what she wants to say, but she can’t say it, not here, not now, not in front of Tenko and the physician. She’s desperate, desperate to let people who actually need it have the medicine, that’s what she truly wants, but how? How to convince the world that it’s not worth it to waste everything on her, when that’s what she’s been subjected to for the past few months already?
“That’s good enough,” Tenko interrupts, her voice croaky and cracked and raw from coughing so much. It hurts, Angie thinks bitterly, to hear her voice like that, to hear it so weak and sickly when Tenko was normally so, so bright. “Angie needs the medicine to survive! Tenko can make it, don’t worry!” Despite the state she’s in, Tenko still smiles ever so blissfully, and Angie’s heart sinks.
“Tenko,” she says, “what if-”
She’s interrupted by the sound of a door slamming open downstairs and loud footsteps of someone running upstairs. A head of red hair peeks out of the stairway, and Himiko emerges, looking around frantically. “Angie! I heard you scream awhile ago, are you alright?” She rushes over and grabs the silver-haired girl’s hand as her eyes narrow in on the blood stains on her robes, a dark contrast to the bright silvery folds of silk, “what happened?”
“Angie is fine, Himiko,” Angie chokes out, and she feels as if she’s going to cry, “the blood is Tenko’s, you should worry about her instead.” She waves a hand at the bed, and Himiko’s eyes widen as she practically throws herself to Tenko’s side, asking rapidly about her condition, and Angie can see the tears leaking out from the cardinal eyes she loved so, so much as the tiny girl fusses over her best friend almost in a state of complete panic.
And as much as she hates to cry in front of others, as much as she hates to let down her guard-
she kind of wishes she could cry, too.
.
Days of harsh sunlight and windy nights pass by, and Angie’s only been able to watch them pass by within her own personal prison she called home. Since the incident, the villagers have been insistent on keeping her inside, and she hasn’t even been able to check on Himiko and Tenko, see if Tenko’s recovered.
People come by day and night, some to pray, some to seek comfort, some to simply check on her to see if she’s still there and not sneaking outside. It’s strangling her, the silence she’s left in all the time- it feels like a heavy iron chain securing her to her cell, twirling around her neck and suffocating her. She feels as if she’s losing herself in this madness, losing her sanity as she wonders day and night how exactly everyone is doing, if everyone is okay.
She slips out at night, once, in the same sapphire blue cloak, a week after she finds out Tenko is sick from Himiko. They’ve always met up every week, after all. But when she reaches the lake, slips between the shadows of the trees and sits in front of the large unnatural dent in the ground, she doesn’t find Himiko sitting there. She sits there for the entire night, letting the wind whip and beat at her to no end, underneath the towering shadows of the forest that somehow seemed to look down on her and mock her, mock her for not even being able to keep the only friends she had.
She ends up staying there the entire night, even if she realizes pretty soon that no one was going to come after all. She wants so, so desperately to cry or just do something, anything to let her emotions out, to let her think rationally, but her mind forbids her tear ducts from releasing emotion, and Angie feels absolutely terrible. She thinks of Himiko, wondering if she’s alright, wondering why she hasn’t come to talk to her. It’s been a week, a week since they even caught a glimpse of each other, after all, and Angie misses Himiko, misses Tenko, so, so much. She tries and tries to convince herself that Himiko’s fine, that she’s just tired and went to sleep, but there’s a part of her that nags at her, whispering repeatedly in her ears that Himiko’s just gotten tired of her, doesn’t want her as a friend anymore.
The next morning, she can’t control herself anymore- she has to know what’s going on. She asks the first person who comes by about Tenko, playing it off as a casual mention as she fiddles nervously with her fingers- what if she doesn’t recover? What if something happens? It- it’d be my fault…
The young boy in question, who comes around twice a day to deliver food to her, seems slightly taken aback by the question. “Tenko? She’s fine, i think, she’s recovering rather quickly… I saw her taking a walk outside last night, so she should be okay.”
And just like that, Angie feels as if all her burden has been taken away from her shoulders, the heavy stones stacked and weighed heavily on her disappearing in a split second. She heaves out a sigh, a sigh of pure relief and elation. “That’s great! Angie knew Atua would look over Tenko!” She watches the boy unpack boxes of food the villagers had prepared for her silently for a bit, and then adds, “How is Himiko? She’s probably happy Tenko is okay, right?”
There’s a moment of silence, and Angie feels a shadow looming over her as she shudders, leaning forward slightly in eagerness for the reply. Then the boy's eyes widen to the size of saucers as he spins around so quickly he almost hits Angie. The box gingerly held in his shaking hands clatters to the ground, clashing in a clear ring of thunder as it comes into contact with the ground (if only that thunder was real thunder and could summon the storm it usually has the power to call, Angie thinks).
There’s so much fear in the young boy’s eyes, so much fright, and Angie feels as if she’s swimming in a sea of it, worry and curiosity consuming her. What could have possibly caused such a huge reaction?
“You don’t know?” the boy’s voice is hushed, as he trembles and pulls at his cotton cloak of azure out of nervousness. “No one told you?”
The air is so, so still, that Angie is almost afraid to move her lips and send ripples dancing across the air. She can feel the tenseness radiating off the boy as he seems to almost cower in fright and anticipation of her response.
Slowly, Angie shakes her head. Is there something I should know? oh , god, but… for him to have that much of a reaction, it has to be- no, it can’t, it can’t be-
And yet, she feels as if the air, the life is sucked out of her as the boy says, ever so quietly, “she’s really sick,”
and she feels as if all her burden has come crashing back onto her, only a hundred times stronger, and she spirals, spirals into a whirlwind of utter despair.
.
Angie’s always known that she couldn’t keep Himiko around her forever.
From the second she’d volunteered for the role of priestess, she’d known she’d lose her best friend someday. She remembers the day vividly, how the village had been gathered to be notified that the old priest was looking for a new apprentice, how she couldn’t take her mind off it all day at all, not even when she was helping out in the fields or playing tag with Tenko and Himiko. She knew then, that she was simply not destined for the fields upon fields of greenery stretching out to reach the horizons, not destined to live a normal life with the people she loved. No, she’d always been an odd one out of the crowd, and here- this was her calling.
After all, she was alone all the time already, so why did it matter if the pedestrial she’d be put on would separate her from everyone else even more? She would be finally seen, finally noticed, finally loved.
And unfortunately, that had meant that she would not be able to keep anyone she loved by her side. That summer night- she still remembers it clearly, the slight breeze blowing gently at the curtains, her white dress floating in the warm air, layers of soft cotton dabbed with periwinkle lightly by the sponges of the night as she’d snuck out and ran- she’d gone to the temple, and pledged herself as the new priestess, sealing her fate completely in stone.
Himiko was there that night too- she’d run out after Angie, calling after her, and she still recalls the hurt on Himiko’s face as her voice hand rung and echoed, echoed, echoed in the evening air, hung between them as the air was pulled taut and tense, like a frayed string of friendship pumped full of tension, and Angie knew bitterly that if she pulled on her side, the string would break.
She remembers small hands tugging at her dress, desperate tears leaking through cardinal eyes; she remembers brushing tiny fingers off harshly, the tips painfully cold on Angie’s skin; she remembers where they stood in exact detail, all those years ago when they were only mere children, where she’d cried, for the first time.
She still feels the ghost of the tears on her faces sometimes, haunting her and reminding her silently of the choice she made- to sell her soul, to offer it in a gamble, for a place of supposed honour that was always much more tiring and suffocating than what she’d ever asked for. Hell, she doesn’t even know what she likes anymore- she can’t, couldn’t afford little things like that when the whole village weighs heavily upon her shoulders.
And Angie knew the barrier people had placed between her and the rest of her home would one day brutally slice her friendship with Himiko and Tenko apart. She’d never doubted that fact, and every time she closes her eyes, she can still see the image of Himiko’s eyes that night, burning with hurt from Angie’s betrayal.
But she’d never thought she would lose Himiko like this. Can she really just stand by, like what the rest of her people want her to do, and watch the slow, torturous demise of her friend like that?
Even without thinking about it, Angie knows, with dread in her heart, that the answer is, and will forever be, a no. a world without Himiko, without everyone, without loyalty and friendship and family, is not a world she wants to live in, and she hates it, hates this cruel world that seems to suck all the happiness and warmth buried in the world into a large swirling vortex of utmost despair, where harsh unhesitating ice freezes every comfort one could find at all,
where she can’t even save her best friend.
.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions. It’s a phrase, a quote, that Angie has heard a million times over. She’s said it a million times too, including it in speeches or when she’s giving advice to people.
She’s sure that the villagers mean no harm. She believes they never meant to hurt her when they decided that out of them all, she alone should live- no, they intended only for her to live until the end, survive for the sake of them all.
But that had never been what she wanted: all she wants is to become one with the people, help them to the best of her ability, instead of being locked up all the time: all she ever wanted was to share in their burden, their joy and their pain, and through sickness and through help, face all their fortune and pain as one.
And she would sell her soul for the quiet peace and serenity to reign over the village once more. She would do whatever it takes for the devil to leave the village it possesses, give anything for everyone to be happy. She remembers Himiko’s burning eyes, those gorgeous, fierce eyes of blazing fire, and decides, that whatever she needs to pay, will be worth it.
She has no doubt, no doubt at all, that she’s going to hell for what she’s going to do. It’s atrocious, it’s extreme, but it’s the only way she can think of right now.
Forget hell- watching everyone, watching Himiko suffer, was the worst hell she could think of, and she would do, anything, anything at all for the suffering to finally come to an end.
She grabs her velvet dresses of blinding white satin, and pulls them on forcefully. There’s no time to lose.
.
She slips out soundlessly from the temple, racing as fast as she can desperately to the edge of the village- not the side with the lake that she and Himiko used to meet up weekly, but the opposite side, where a cracked old path leads uphill. The sun beats endlessly at the ground and at Angie, and she flinches as the whips of heat sting her arms and torso and legs, but she doesn’t stop running. Nothing can hurt me now.
She can hear her mentor, the previous priest’s warning echoing in her head: this side of the mountain is sacred, and you should never, ever walk onto sacred ground without permission. She feels waves of fear surge in her as she reaches the borderline, but she knows, with utmost certainty, that all her life had been leading up to this one moment. She can feel the adrenaline build up inside her body, burning her up, and she knows that she was born to do this- this was her fate.
She delicately steps over the invisible line seared into her mind, and flinches, almost anticipating to fall dead on the spoint. But she doesn’t, and Angie feels utmost relief spreading across her body as she makes her way up the hill, up where no one has ever been before.
She’s never felt more scared in her life- she feels as if her insides are all jumbled up and she can barely breathe through her own rapid thoughts, and she’s scared, she’s scared of dying, but she can’t afford to be now. She’s past the point of no return, after all.
She walks, almost runs, letting the silky fabric of her garments toss and twirl in the air and billowing out behind her, as she recalls the things her mentor’s told her before, about the pathways through the sacred grounds. He would be appalled at the rebellious side Angie is showing, would scold her for days on end for it if he were alive and well with her right now, Angie thinks bitterly, but she would give anything for him to be by her side. He was stern, and strict, but his presence was so reassuring, and Angie wishes she could have that now, wishes she could see him now in the last moments of her life, wishes she could talk to him and confide in him and show all her fears, the fears she’s had to hide for so long.
His voice screams in her mind, crying for her to stop and turn back, but Angie doesn’t, forcing herself to pull herself along this path, to make it until the end. It’s near, she knows, and she dreads it so, so much, feels the nausea bubble and boil into a mess of scorching heat in her stomach as she looks at the point where the road vanishes beyond her sight.
The end of this path would be her own end, the end of all she’d ever known.
Still, she kept on dredging forward, past the trees that had met an untimely death, through the lassos of pain the sun threw at her again and again and again, around the shouts and yells in her mind, her own voice calling at her to continue forward melding with that of her mentor’s to form a gigantic mess of screeching sound, and she almost presses her hands to her ears as the words ring in her heart, before realizing everything is only in her mind.
Finally, she reaches the top, and the world spreads out around her- she can see so, so far, and everything is a mass of brown and green as she looks down at the world beneath her feet. She’s suddenly overwhelmed with calmness and shock, as she stares down at how wide and large the world is. She can see every single detail etched onto the surface of the earth, every single house and tree from here, and she can see the marks of destruction the sun leaves on the world, the burnt sienna streaking across every inch of the view she sees, and her heart aches for it. She feels something akin to anger fester inside her; how could Atua let something like this happen? How could he just suck the hope out of everything she loved with a flick of his fingers, when they’d done nothing at all?
Was this how the birds felt when they soared so high above all of them every day and looked down and the devastation proliferate across the land? Did they feel the devastation of the people she now felt?
There’s a broken altar of wood in front of her, coated with a slight sheen of grey powder, and over time, the air and sunlight and weather has beaten at the altar tirelessly, and Angie can see how battered it is after the eons of mistreatment. The table is split in half, caving into the centre, and it’s obvious no one’s used it in a long time. Mentally, Angie thanks the heavens that it’s already broken- now that there’s no one looking to ground her to her role and reality, she’s truly unsure whether she would accidentally break the altar herself out of her fury, feel the rotten, fragile surface beneath her fingers and push until the dusty hazel is nothing but the tiniest splinters and dust and ashes.
She spots her village, with barely anyone on its streets, with the ground split open by the glaring rays of the sun, and she spots the huts and her own temple and she tries to recall the map she knew so well of the houses one last time, grasping desperately for some sense of familiarity within all this chaos, and she feels every single memory in her mind flash in her head. She’s suddenly overwhelmed by emotion: she can’t believe this is the last time she’ll ever see her village, the last time she’ll ever see her own home, and it’s from so far away. It suddenly strikes her that she never even got to say goodbye to anyone at all.
Have they realized she was gone yet? How will they react to her disappearance? How will Himiko react?
It’s too late for regrets, though- she’s here now, and she’s come to do what should have been done from the start.
I’m sorry, Tenko, Himiko, everyone. I hope we… meet again, in another world.
She kneels before the altar, pushing out all defiant thoughts from her mind. The ground is coarse, and the sand is so sharp as it digs into her knees and Angie winces as she feels her skin puncture from the tiny rocks littering the surface, tiny rocks that seemed as sharp as a million knives stabbing into her. She lets the snowy sheets of silky cloth splay and spread out around her, covering as much as she can with the purity of her dress.
She’s never worn white out before- colour codes, her mentor had told her once, were important to priests. White symbolizes sacrifice, symbolizes a pure offering given up to the God Almighty. Angie’s always thought it weird- the act of volunteering as priestess had already marked her as a sacrifice for the Lord- but now, in the last moments of her life, she finally understands what he had meant.
She takes one last, lingering look back at the village- this is goodbye, she knows this is goodbye, and she lets all her memories soar past her once more. Everything she’s ever known was built as a base, as a support for her to climb to this point, and now- she regrets nothing. She suppresses a bitter smile as Himiko’s smile, Tenko’s laughter, her mother’s hugs, her mentor’s stern voice flashes across her brain one by one, and she stares, resigned, into the cardinal eyes she loves so much in her mind as she finds a melody in her mind, a melody she’d only heard once before when she pledged to become a priestess. The soft ancient lullaby sings in her mind, light and calm and sweet, and the silvery tune seems to swirl around her as it consumes her heart and mind, twisting its way into the roots of her brain.
She is nothing but a vessel for everyone’s hopes and prayers now, nothing more than a middleman, to help the prayers of those she loves reach Atua.
Slowly, she begins to sing.
.
Please, O god,
bless us with your merciful tears!
She hasn’t sung in so long- it’s something she used to love to do when she was bursting with elation, but since tragedy had befallen the village, she’d hardly found a reason to smile, let along sing anything. The song plays in her mind as she sings, and nature is her accompaniment- birds whistle along to her soft melody, their tweets almost in tune with her, and as she closes her eyes, she can feel nature resounding to her song.
The song is ancient, an old tune, and Angie reformulates the lyrics in her mind as she sings, pleading and pleading for mercy. She starts off softly, voice trembling, insecurity seizing her vocal cords as she shakes with fear. She could go unnoticed, all of this could be in vain, after all. Eventually, though, her voice strengthens as the tune goes on in her head, the tune that so many generations of priests and priestesses have sung before her, the tune that her own mentor had sung for her, so many years ago when he was still alive and passing his role onto Angie, offering her up as a sacrifice. Back then, he had meant to devote Angie’s life to Atua.
Now, as Angie sings the song like her ancestors have done before her, she takes on a whole new meaning to her words.
Reaching towards the clear sky and beckoning for clouds
Fervently I sing a song for rain
Quench the land and save the people
My song echoes, carrying with it a prayer…
.
"Quickly, quickly, take me as your sacrifice…
Please water the earth and save the people..."
She sings on and on, repeating her prayers. She feels her throat burn and ache with dancing flames of soreness, blister and blaze with raw pain, but she goes on singing, stretching her vocal cords to no end. Until you devour me and my prayers reach, I'll continue to sing!
She doesn’t know how much time passes, slipping away from grasp like the sand she kneels on, but she continues anyway- she can’t stop, won’t stop, not until her God speaks to her again and responds, not until she brings relief upon her people.
.
"Why do you sing, sacrificing yourself...?"
The response eventually comes, a quiet murmur in the back of her head. Angie is about to collapse from exhaustion, fall from the pain stinging her knees, yelling at her to stand and relieve them of this torture, crumple from the raw burning pain of her throat screaming at her to stop. Still, she continues, replying,
"Someone must do it..." it’s her duty, her fate, her responsibility. She had taken on the role of priestess all those years ago, and now- now is her time to give herself up for the sake of them all. She protects her family, she loves them with all of her heart, because that is what she must do.
"Save the people who suffer
as the land dries and life withers!"
There is a silence, and Angie continues singing in the absence of a response. She is willing, now and forever and always, to give herself up for the people she loves.
“What of you…?” she hears the murmur at the back of her mind again, and she registers slight surprise in the low, somewhat soothing voice she hasn’t heard in so long, a voice she used to look up to so, so much, a voice she had devoted her entire life to. I didn’t know you still cared about me, she thinks bitterly, after what you did to Himiko and Tenko, and bitterness flows through her smoothly despite her best attempts at resistance in her bloodstream like a river carrying the emotion everywhere.
"What of the people..." she asks in return, and as she receives no answer, she says, cries, out of pure desperation and pain, "Save the people… please save them, O God!” she knows, she knows Atua could hear her thoughts, feel the bitterness in her veins, so why? Why isn’t he helping her? Why isn’t he helping his own people?
“I shall sing, for you, for the people…”
There is a silence as Angie continues singing, despite the fact that she’s probably broken her vocal cords over and over again by now. She gasps for breath, heaving for air as she forces herself to continue no matter what. After what seemed like eons of singing, the once sweet music has turned so dull and repetitive and meaningless in Angie’s mind, and yet she continues singing it, to appease her God.
I will sing until life fades away
A song to call you, the god of all…
.
She doesn’t get a response after that. Angie feels hopeless, helpless, as the silence in her mind strangles and suffocates her, and she sings more desperately than ever, even as her lungs scream and yell and cry for air and rest. She can’t rest until Atua answers her, can’t stop until her village is safe and sound.
But she sings and sings, and there is no answer, and Angie feels as if she’s wallowing in despair- she begs for her God to answer her, to help her people, but she calls and calls and there is nothing left for her but utmost silence. It’s so quiet, that it seems so overwhelming, and Angie wants to scream, scream at Atua for abandoning her and her village. Take me! She wails in her head. Take me, instead of the people!
She’s never felt so alone in her life, so abandoned, and she looks behind her at the world behind her, at the harsh sun glaring daggers at the earth surface, and she can’t help but feel lost- how can she save everyone now?
She’s never felt so useless in her entire life.
.
She continues singing, calling out her prayers regardless. She’s tempted to shout, to give up, to turn back and flee the place, but she knows she can’t- it’s her responsibility, her job, her fate to do this.
But it all seems so futile! No matter how much she sings, and no matter how desperately she does it, her God doesn’t respond to her again, and she wants to shriek and yell and curse at Atua, blame him for everything that has happened to the village. She keeps her anger in, though, continuing to sing. Brutality won’t solve anything.
Besides, she’d promised to sing until her life fades, and she has to live up to that promise.
She kneels there for so, so long, that she feels as if she’d forgotten how to walk and stand, forgotten to do anything but sing. Underneath the harsh sun, its burning fury casting an angry marigold sheen over her as she sings, desperately, as she feels her life slipping away from her along with the droplets of sweat falling down her cheek and falling onto the ground away from her. She feels so lightheaded, and yet, she can’t stop herself, not now, not ever.
Maybe there was truly no way to help her village, no way to stop this scorching heat from taking over everything she loves with all her heart. Maybe, her sacrifice was in vain, and Atua would continue to let that heat plague her village for eternity. But she still has to try, try her utmost best to persuade Atua to save everything. It’s something she won’t give up on, not until she breathes her last breath, not until she collapses from exhaustion.
Oh roaring thunder, cut through the clouds
Make rain fall to quench the land
Until you devour me and my prayers reach
I'll continue to sing!
.
She remains like that, eyes closed, singing desperately, for so long, that she barely realizes the strong, blinding light has receded.
She jolts her eyes open with a start only when a soft wind caresses her wrist and entwines softly around it. Wait, wind at this time? Is it night already?
She looks up to the heavens and beyond, and the light is indeed gone- but the sky isn’t dark, like she’d expected. Instead- to her shock, it’s padded with a thousand light charcoal dusted balls of fluff, and to her delight, the first droplet, crystallized and so, so precious in her eyes, falls into her hands. She glances around in wonder, her eyes brimming with pure elation that she doesn’t even know how to describe, as the raindrops fall, at first slowly, but they pick up pace incredibly quickly, and soon Angie is soaked, soaked in the rain, and she, for the first time in so long, laughs genuinely.
Angie savours the feeling of coolness on her arms and face, and can’t help but smile as the white silks cling to her body and the water runs down her face. She doesn’t like being wet, but she feels so relieved and just so happy, that it feels like ecstasy flowing through her veins. I- I did it- Atua, thank you! Thank you, thank you so much….
The rain of blessing and sympathy soaks the land, bit by bit, and Angie can’t help smiling as thunder roars, ever so loud, in her ears, and this time Angie welcomes it with open arms. She’s ready, ready for lightning to strike her down, give her life as the promised exchange.
But she waits, and waits, and the bolt never comes, never hits anywhere near her. She looks up at the sky, and she hears one word in the back of her head: go.
She can’t help but gasp for breath in delight- it feels too good, too good to be true. She whispers a thank you to Atua as she scrambles to her feet, leaning slighting on the soaked altar as her knees shake from kneeling for so, so long, and she turns to look down at the village, at her home. She sees people run out from their houses, and she’s far too high up to see who’s who, but she sees people holding up their hands, sees people jumping and hugging other villagers out of joy, and her heart melts out of happiness. It was worth it- it was all worth it.
She wonders what Himiko’s doing right now, if she’s one of the people down there rejoicing for the rain’s coming, and the thought brings a smile to her lips. It was so, so worth it.
She breathes, full of exhilaration, into the fresh moist air, freshened with the arrival of the rain, the rain that she bought with her voice, and for the first time in years-
Angie cries.