Think!
My hurt is bound in a strip of material, and the man helps me to my feet. I’m led between two of the towers and over a line of those pretty scripted words painted with something red and wet I’m told not to smudge.
I’m not sure I wanted to touch it, anyway.
We step into a large, shallow dip the same shape as the moon above us. It’s smothered in white pillows that look soft as clouds. There’s white blankets and white rugs and more white pillows I keep tripping over because I can’t stop staringup.
The moon is so big and bright and silver. It sits perfectly against the bold sky.
I love it.
I want to touch it, catch it, pull it close to my chest.
Why am I here? I should be up there …
I trip on another pillow, but the man has me by the arm. Laughing, he lowers me to my knees, then leans close to my ear. “They’re going to summon the Gods now to witness our coupling.”
Coupling.
Coupling.
Coupling …
I don’t know what that is, but I don’t think it’s something I want to do. I just want to sit here and stare at the moon. Picture what it would feel like if I could drag my finger across it. Would clumps of silver come away under my fingernails? Or perhaps it would shave off in curls? Maybe it wouldn’t be hard at all but a wet paint I could smear all over myself?
I think I would like that.
More weird chanting of words I don’t understand, and I look around, seeing many robed people standing between the towers.
“Vliagh, ashten de na, malika nei. Vliagh, ashten de na, malika nei. Vliagh, ashten de na, malika nei—”
I frown, feeling each strange sound pat my skin, becoming more insistent with each repetition … as though they’re trying to tell me something.
“Vliagh, ashten de na, malika nei. Vliagh, ashten de na, malika nei. Vliagh, ashten de na, malika nei—”
The man on his knees before me is looking at me funny, holding my hands real tight. “Are you okay, petal? You’ve gone very pale.”
His words are so soft and squishy compared to the ones being chanted. Perhaps it’s the repetition that’s making me look at them harder. Making me examine them from their infinite angles.
No …
It’s something I can taste on the air. Something that reaches beyond the bounds of my mind, like they’re ancient. Otherworldly.
Like they were hewn from a faraway star.
The words grow heavier the more they’re stacked upon each other, building a static tower that feels as though it’s reaching for the moon.
Beyond.
“Vliagh, ashten de na, malika nei. Vliagh, ashten de na, malika nei. Vliagh, ashten de na, malika nei—”
A warm, prickly current wiggles beneath my skin and makes me shudder, seeming to wrap around … my shoulder? My neck?
Deeper?
It tugs, tugs,tugs—like trying to yank a worm from the soil.
A sharp whistle flares to life, drilling into my ears. I want to clap my hands over them and block out the sound, but I can’t because the man’s got them caught. Just like thisthingcaught on my collarbone, like I’m on the end of a line.
