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Sutra stood among the swaying trees. They seemed to reach for the heavens in some unachievable worship of the moon.
Silence had caressed the kingdom to sleep.
It made his insides wrench with discomfort.
The impromptu alter had been recently finished. The clean stones glowed with the dancing fire nestled between the small ornate columns. The glyphs would tell a tale to any interested passerby.
Now was not the time for bedtime stories.
The small gathering of familiar faces would have warmed his heart a couple months ago. If only their current convocation could have had more joyous purpose.
He gripped the old dagger in his right hand and pressed the shimmering blade against the warm flesh. His fathers gods had always responded to the shedding of blood in times of greatest necessity.
Perhaps he would be as fortunate as his ancestors.
They spoke in a wondrous tongue, beautifully synchronized. Such a memorable gathering indeed.
"The first bowl on the earth
The second bowl on the sea
The third bowl on the rivers
The fourth bowl on the sun
The fifth bowl on the Beast
The sixth bowl on the stars
The seventh bowl on the air..."
Their voices ebbed to a quiet standstill. Sutra inhaled bravely, closing his eyes; he wondered what revelations awaited him on the other side. His visions were never voluntary.
Not like now.
Dragging the angry blade across his trembling wrist, the hushed excitement from the present priestesses charged the air. Thick icor flowed slowly from the panicking wound.
They waited what seemed like an eternity to him before continuing the rite. Beads of cold sweat began to distract his racing mind.
"And the earth turned grey
The sea turned black
The rivers turned red
The sun turned cold
The Beast turned pale
The stars turned fast
The air turned poison..."
He could feel his core drain through the fresh wound deeply embedded in his left wrist. The silver bowl received his offering without complaint. The silver sheen began to give way to the masking coat of sanguine violence.
Feebly placing the dagger in his opposite hand, he mirrored the action on his dominant wrist. Doubt flickered deep in the darkest recess of his consciousness. He wondered what she would think of this atrocious attempt at interfering with fate.
The cut found it's mark faithfully. A gush of steaming blood escaped the second incision. It's consistency was morbidly appealing to the sight. For a brief moment, he swore he could taste the slight tinge of metal on the breeze.
Weakly, he dropped the blade causing a startling clang to remind them all of their purpose tonight.
Pious eyes gazed upon the bleeding man. Their scrolls described the process and words to speak. The outcome was left unwritten.
Faith played a large role in their lives. He held his gapping wounds over the offering chalice as a pretty girl, humility marking her innocent face; held the silver bowl courageously.
He smiled as she came in and out of focus, her penetrating gaze washed over him. Her almond shapped eyes craddled a beautiful shade of gray.
Gentle hands gripped the crumbling shadow. Laying him across the stone altar, they waited.
"Is...is she coming..." posed the fading man.
Her face came into focus once more. She leaned over him, her black hair veiled his face. Tears began to blur his vision.
What was it? If he could describe what he felt at that moment, his final revelation would be complete. Words eluded him mercilessly.
Her trembling lips moved as the words ebbed forth in a loving whisper.
"Seven trumpets...the sound of thunder..."
He could not see the four feminine figures part out the cooling offering into separate cups.
"Seven trumpets...the threatening anger..."
The main figures received the last drops of offering and bowed their heads to each other in equal reverence.
"Seven trumpets...the trembling voice..."
Solemnly, the priestesses turned from each other and stood facing the cardinal points and bowed.
"Seven trumpets...there is no choice..."
Their eyes tracked the upheld cups to an unseen audience.
"Seven trumpets...the seven angels..."
Each figure poured the contents of their chalice unto the top of the decorated pillar at their side. Plums of dark steam erupted from the inscribed glyphs as the thick liquid sizzled on red hot coals tucked in their stone cores.
"Seven trumpets...everything changes..."
Sutra forced his last breath as the thought cuddled against his terrified mind. He knew her. She had been with him all this time, waiting for tonight.
"You..."
A loving smile sealed her beautiful mouth as she peered down on the pallid face. Her eyes had given her away.
Willingly, he gave into the darkness as it had always come for him.
Only this time, he invited it to stay.
S
[con't]
Note: Credits to Aphrodite's Child - Seven Bowls/Seven Trumpets for the "ritual" wording.
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The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu
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