The Sacrifice of the Blood Sisters
Aug. 30th, 2023 10:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeThe Sacrifice of the Blood Sisters
Summary: Three sisters are sent to seduce three gods… but they have their own plan in mind, and it involves the true meaning of sacrifice.
Series: Standalone
Word Count: 3300
Notes: This story was sponsored by the Patreon and the Liberapay crowd. It owes its existence to two things: a brief segment of Popul Vuh, which really made me want to know more about the women involved, and Kimberley Patton’s essay “Animal Sacrifice: Metaphysics of the Sublimated Victim,” which you can read in A Communion of Subjects: Animals in Religion, Science, & Ethics. (Thanks to @who-is-page for recommending this book!) Warnings for bloodletting and minor discussion of death and divine sacrifice.
Once upon a time, in the lands of ravines and cenotes, there were a powerful people with powerful gods. As everyone knows, gods can only be fed with blood, and their power reflects how well-fed they are. The powerful people kept their gods very well-fed indeed, for they came to the ingenious idea of using their enemies for this purpose. First, they took to sacrificing their criminals, their war captives. When they ran out of those, they took to abducting enemies and strangers from the side of the road. At first, they staged things to look like jaguar attacks, but over time, they grew so powerful, so confident, that they stopped hiding their actions. Even their gods ceased to hide from mortal eyes. They took to bathing in a river that bordered the territory between the powerful people and one of their enemies, who called themselves the Golden People.
At first, the Golden People thought this was pageantry meant to intimidate them—regular mortals impersonating gods. But those who bathed in the river not only wore the macaw and quetzal feathers of office, but were too beautiful to be human, and their hands and mouths were forever wet with fresh, red blood. Furthermore, whenever a brave soul dared approach them, the gods would disappear like water on hot stone.
Such powerful gods could never be killed by ordinary men, but they could be stolen, and they could be conquered. Imagine if the Golden People could claim such gods for their own! But how to do it?
The Golden People sent their best hunters, but the gods only laughed and turned them around back on themselves, leaving them wandering in confused circles. The Golden People sent their best priests, but the gods only sent black rain and hail down on their heads in the height of summer. The Golden People even brought their most delectably prepared meats as offerings, but the gods only scowled and jeered.
“Do you think beings as strong as we can be sustained by mere livestock? Get away with you!”
It was clear that hungry gods could only be fed one way. The Golden People knew that the next best offering would have to be their men, their women, or their children. They chose their women. All the eligible young ladies were called into the court, and their elders conferred amongst themselves to select the three they thought most beautiful, most good, and most vital. They chose the Blood sisters.
Sweet Blood, the youngest and kindest, had a face and figure warm and round as the sun. Smoky Blood, the middle sister, was severe in aspect, straitlaced in her morals, sharp and mysterious as the crescent moon, and truthfully, she was a little unsettling to be around. Finally, there was Strong Blood, the oldest and the strongest, who could carry an unbled deer whole upon her shoulders, who had the rugged beauty of the earth itself. These three sisters were not only beautiful, good, and lively, they conveniently had no one to claim them as indispensable. Their milk family had passed on; Sweet Blood was just a little too young to marry yet, Smoky Blood had refused to marry, and Strong Blood was a new widow. The most important of the Golden People cut these sisters out of the herd and told them what to do:
“This is our last chance before we have to sacrifice our own people. Gods they may be, but men too. Go to the river where the gods wash. Take the laundry and undress. Lure them, seduce them, do whatever it takes to gain their favor—for if we have their favors, we can ensnare them. Offer yourselves to them; give them whatever they ask, and forbid them nothing.”
“But I am unmarried,” Sweet Blood protested. “So is Smoky!”
“Your future husbands will understand, but we will not. You either offer yourselves as lovers, or as sacrifices. The choice is yours.”
Strong Blood, who’d been widowed when her husband was abducted off the side of the road, felt her heart take fire. To offer her womb to the gods who’d consumed her beloved—unthinkable! She opened her mouth, but Smoky Blood put a hand on her arm and said, in her voice like copal, “we shall do as you say,” and out of respect to her sister, Strong was silent until they were alone.
“Why did you silence me, sister?” she then asked, as they purified themselves with smoke and steam. The preparation hut was empty except for them, the divine offerings, so she could speak plainly. “I would rather die than give myself to my husband’s devourers! And you have no liking for men!”
“I have no desire to love a god,” Sweet Blood admitted. “Haven’t you heard the stories? You give birth to monsters and demigods… if you survive at all! To be the mother of a hero is a fine thing in the stories, but not in life!”
“Were you not listening, sisters?” Smoky interrupted. “We do not get to say no. We can die ignobly, rut divinely…” her eyes flashed, “or, we can find our own path through this.”
Sweet Blood, who’d been wringing her hands and twisting her hair since the proclamation, looked hopeful. Strong Blood, who knew Smoky could be too clever for her own good, crossed her arms and said, “What path?”
“We can run away, or throw ourselves on the mercy of these gods, or otherwise take advantage of what arises. Do you think the men would dare follow us and watch a god’s coupling? Such sights strike mere mortals blind and mad! We will have some time to see our options. Let’s take advantage of them.”
Strong grumbled that she didn’t see jaguars or hungry gods as fair choices, but Sweet was so desperate for hope, Smoky was the only one with any plan at all, and Strong knew that whatever hopes they had together would shatter if they parted. So she conceded and held her tongue through the bathing, brushing, oiling, painting, and polishing in preparation for her offering. She and her sisters were primped to perfection, draped in the most beautiful jewels and adornments. Truly, no laundress had ever been so well-decorated.
“Surely they’ll never believe we’re laundresses, looking like this!” Sweet protested, carrying her perfunctory load of laundry down the ravine and trying her best to look graceful and ethereal.
“What do gods know of such mundanities as laundry?” Smoky replied. “Besides, we don’t need to persuade them we’re laundresses, only that we’re desirable.”
Strong said nothing, lost in bittersweet remembrance of the last time she was ever garbed so fine: the day of her wedding to her now-lost husband. Seven Deer had been named for the soulful luster of his eyes, had looked upon her in her finery as though she were a goddess herself. She remembered playing desire games with him, the laughter and joy of it. She knew she could never fake it for the gods who’d taken him from her.
Guards led the three sisters down to the springs and river where the gods bathed. Despite their professionalism, they seemed to recognize the impropriety of the situation; they hovered awkwardly, looking embarrassed, until Smoky dismissed them, too stern to disobey: “who do you think we are? Do you desire to be voyeurs of gods? This is not for you to witness! Go!” The guards seemed relieved to leave, and then there was nothing to do but pretend to do laundry.
They had been at work just long enough to get nervous when the gods arrived.
There were three: Mountaintop, the biggest and broadest; Low Mountain, his younger and smaller (though still towering) brother; and Thunderous Rain, who was dwarfed by both of them. Nevertheless, there was no question who was the leader: the mountain brothers deferred to Thunderous Rain in everything. It was he who wore feathers the color of storm clouds, and it was he who was most beautiful. His hair was as lustrous as raven feathers, his eyes dark and shining as obsidian, his smile like the rarest pearls. Truly, no mortal could compare to him.
But Smoky had no taste for men, so she felt nothing. Strong, leaden in widow’s grief, only found their beauty the more monstrous. Sweet, however, did make a bleating sound and dropped the blanket she was beating against the rocks.
The gods paused at the sight of the sisters. Their expressions were baffled, rather than lascivious.
“Mortals?” Low Mountain asked.
“Laundresses?” said his brother.
“What are you doing at our bath?” Thunderous Rain asked. “What do you want?”
Sweet was overwhelmed by his beauty, and Strong was afire with hatred for her husband’s devourers, so it was just as well Smoky said, “our people sent us here to seduce you and gain your favor.”
The gods gaped at them for a moment. Then they burst out laughing. The mountain brothers laughed so hard the river stones shook, so hard that they had to lean on each other to stay standing.
“At least she’s honest!” declared Mountaintop.
“Dressed like that! Such laundresses these mortals have!” crowed his brother. “What need they of gods?”
Meaning no offense,” Thunderous Rain chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye, “but no mortal women can compare to goddesses such as we know. You have failed in your goal; now begone.”
“But we must have your favor!” Smoky insisted. “If not, we will die ignobly!”
“That is not our concern.” Indeed, he was growing bored, starting to turn away. Any moment now, the gods would evaporate like summer steam. Smoky became desperate.
“What if I offered you my blood? My substance?”
The gods’ heads snapped around towards her.
“Smoky, no!” Sweet hissed.
“Go on,” Thunderous Rain said. The gods weren’t bored or laughing now.
“I am deigned one of the most beautiful women of my people,” Smoky said, pulling herself as tall as she could. “I have known no man, borne no children. My blood is unshared, unwatered by blemish, birth, or tragedy.”
The gods’ eyes were glowing now, like the embers of smoldering fires. The blood on their hands and mouths glistened. The mountain brothers prowled in circles around her like jaguars, while she held very still. She seemed remote, austere as the moon, but Strong and Sweet knew their sister, and they could tell she was afraid as the gods smelled and tasted the air around her like snakes.
“She does not lie, brother.”
“No, it’s true. Her blood smells of smoke and copal, purity itself. And that one,” this directed laughingly toward Sweet, who trembled frozen like a deer, “is sweet nectar and honey. She’s known no man either.”
They made as though to approach Sweet, but Strong put herself between them, clenching her fists. Smoky hissed, but the brothers only laughed.
“Not that one, though! She smells of chili pepper, bitterness, and loss! She hates us!”
“It’s true, brother! Begone, widow; we have no use for you!”
“Wait.” Thunderous Rain held up a hand, and the mountain brothers halted. He came to Strong. “You smell familiar. Have we met?”
“We have not,” Strong said through her teeth, “but you have met my husband.”
He tasted the air around her. “Ah! So I have. A bitter meal he was, too. Yes, yes, I can smell his blood in yours, for you have known and loved and birthed from him.”
“I have not,” Strong said, her heart heavy with grief. “The child was stillborn.”
“I see. My apologies, lady.” And indeed, he did sound sincere.
“If I had his child, at least I would keep some part of him. Now I have nothing, only the ghost of his memory, which will eventually fade to nothing. How dare you call him a bitter meal? You, who know nothing of death and loss, who stay young and beautiful and healthy forever?” Despite herself, she felt tears stream down her cheeks. “He was a basket-weaver, poor and humble! His lungs were weak, his leg twisted; he never raised a hand to anyone, and your people took him from the side of the road and fed him to you! How dare you? How dare you, sir?” Had Sweet not taken hold of her arms, she would’ve struck the god in the face.
Smoky was frozen, but her eyes were full of horror, clearly certain that Strong had doomed them all. The gods, however, seemed taken aback, even sheepish.
“One moment,” Thunderous Rain said, and the gods moved aside to confer among themselves.
Meanwhile, Smoky took their inattention to come over and hiss, “Don’t ruin this, Strong. I know you are angry, but if they accept my blood…”
“It isn’t fair to make it be yours!” Sweet said. “Let it be me instead! You are too smart to lose; Strong will need you more…”
“Whoever it is,” Smoky said, though it was clear she still intended it to be herself, “we give them blood, we get their protection, and we escape and build ourselves a new life, somewhere we won’t be traded like sacks of beans or threatened like harlot slaves. And it should be me, Sweet; I shall never marry or bear children, given a choice, but you have so much love in you…”
Watching her sisters argue on her behalf, Strong hugged them both. “Truly, I am blessed in sisters,” she said tearfully. “If only my blood weren’t so bitter, I would trade it for either one of you in a heartbeat!”
Before they could say more, the gods broke their huddle. Thunderous Rain strode to the sisters, expression intent but no longer glowing with fire or wet with blood.
“Tell us what our people have done,” he ordered.
Smoky did, and the gods listened respectfully, without interruption, brows furrowed. By the end, they were clearly displeased.
“Hoarding misers!” Low Mountain spat.
“Sanctimonious cheats!” agreed his brother. “Are we dogs, to be fed garbage?”
Thunderous Rain said nothing, his face like a hurricane on the horizon.
“What is it?” Sweet asked. “What’s wrong?”
It seemed a simple question, but it took a moment for the god to answer.
“Do you know the meaning of sacrifice, little one?” Thunderous Rain asked. “It is ‘to make sacred.’ You cannot sacrifice trash, only treasures. To treat the most holy act of life-giving as mere disposal… it is a profanation of all that holds our worlds together. It is sacrilege.
“When we demand sacrifices of blood, we mean just that. Not theft, not disposal, but the sacred act of that which is freely given, however painfully. A true sacrifice cannot be forced or coerced. That is not mere conceit on our parts either; we starve without blood, as you starve without us. It is only through the cycle of blood, life giving life giving life, that we all succeed, and I say giving, not taking. It is a holy cycle, not to be disrespected.”
“Your people are cheating you,” Smoky breathed.
“They are. We wondered why the blood’s been so bitter recently. It is because they have desecrated the most holy of acts.” Then, to the sisters’ amazement, the gods bowed their heads. “You have done us a favor, ladies. No need to give yourselves to us; you have more than earned our favors, and if you wait a moment, we will give them to you to take back to your people…”
“But could I still give you my blood?” Smoky asked.
The gods’ eyes glowed, but Thunderous Rain said, “why would you want to? We aren’t your gods.”
“You aren’t our people either, and they treated us like slave harlots. My sisters must start over. I want Sweet to find a husband and Strong to find joy again. For that, we need your blessing, not just your favors.”
The gods exchanged glances.
“It seems we are both ill-used by our peoples,” Thunderous Rain said. “Perhaps, together, we might find justice… or at least revenge.”
Smoky Blood and Thunderous Rain made the bulk of the plan, and after some arguing of details, the others agreed… except for Strong. She had one major change to request.
“I will give my blood as well,” she said, “but only to you, Lord of Thunders and Rain. In you, my blood will mingle with that of my husband, and we shall be together for all the days of the sun. There is no stronger expression of my love and devotion, to him or my sisters. I insist.”
“As you wish, lady.” And he bowed his head to her again.
The gods gave the three sisters broad blades of obsidian and told them where to prick their earlobes and arms. Sweet was squeamish, so Strong did it for her, and Low Mountain came to lick the blood from her skin. When Strong turned, she saw Mountaintop doing the same for Smoky, who’d needed no help, and Thunderous Rain standing in front of her. His eyes were like the belly of a volcano. He was inhumanly beautiful, and though she still grieved, she no longer found him repulsive.
Strong cut her skin and sacrificed her blood, and together, the sisters prayed:
“Gods of sky and earth, remember us, turn towards us, we who nourish and sustain you. Give us health, wealth, wisdom, level roads without obstacle or ugliness. Protect us from fault and deceit, we who put our substance in your mouths.”
Strong braced herself, expecting to find the sensation of Thunderous Rain’s tongue on her skin revolting. Instead, it only conjured memory: Seven Deer, breathless and laughing even as he kissed her, his eyes full of passionate eternity. Then she was wrapped in the coils of a mammoth serpent of glittering scales, which twinkled and scattered like raindrops…
“Oh! Strong, Strong, please, wake up!”
Strong came to with her head in Sweet’s lap, Smoky’s hands gently patting her cheeks. Both sisters looked worried.
“Oh, Strong, are you all right? You’re so pale! I thought it’d be me who fainted, not you!”
“I’ve never seen you faint, even the first time you butchered deer.” Smoky looked like her worry was battling her relief and amusement.
“I’m all right.” Strong tingled all over, and not in a pleasant way. “Just give me a moment…”
Thus reassured, Smoky wheeled on Thunderous Rain. “Greedy god! The mountains were more considerate!”
Thunderous Rain burped sheepishly. All three gods were radiant, as though suns or magma hid beneath their skins. Their eyes glowed, their skins shone, and they smiled wistfully.
“Ah, it’s been so long since a good sacrifice…” crooned Mountaintop.
“I’m drunk on it, brother. The finest of wines!”
And then the gods held out their favors and smiled wickedly.
“Let us give our peoples what they asked for, eh?” Thunderous Rain said.
When the Blood sisters arrived home, the Golden People’s lords and ladies swarmed them.
“Did you get it? Did they give you their favors?”
“They did,” said Smoky, and the sisters opened their laundry baskets. “These are for you.”
In the baskets were three painted deerskin cloaks: one with the image of the eagle, one with the jaguar, and the other with bees and wasps. Immediately, the lords rushed to put them on, and the three sisters, remembering what the gods had told them, immediately bowed their heads and backed away. No one paid any attention to them. They were too busy marveling at the beautiful cloaks.
“Marvelous,” said the first lord, who put on the jaguar.
“Majestic,” declared the second, who put on the eagle.
The third, who put on the wasps, only screamed.
There was a buzzing susurration, as though of many wings. The room dimmed, as though the sun had gone behind a cloud. More and more people began to scream. Sweet almost gave in to curiosity and looked up, but Strong grabbed her wrist and stopped her. Thunderous Rain had been very clear: “do not look up, and do not look back. Walk away. Walk away from all of them, and don’t say a word.”
The three sisters joined hands and backed away, keeping their heads bowed, and nothing harmed them. Squeezing each other tight, they walked away to start anew.
Summary: Three sisters are sent to seduce three gods… but they have their own plan in mind, and it involves the true meaning of sacrifice.
Series: Standalone
Word Count: 3300
Notes: This story was sponsored by the Patreon and the Liberapay crowd. It owes its existence to two things: a brief segment of Popul Vuh, which really made me want to know more about the women involved, and Kimberley Patton’s essay “Animal Sacrifice: Metaphysics of the Sublimated Victim,” which you can read in A Communion of Subjects: Animals in Religion, Science, & Ethics. (Thanks to @who-is-page for recommending this book!) Warnings for bloodletting and minor discussion of death and divine sacrifice.
Once upon a time, in the lands of ravines and cenotes, there were a powerful people with powerful gods. As everyone knows, gods can only be fed with blood, and their power reflects how well-fed they are. The powerful people kept their gods very well-fed indeed, for they came to the ingenious idea of using their enemies for this purpose. First, they took to sacrificing their criminals, their war captives. When they ran out of those, they took to abducting enemies and strangers from the side of the road. At first, they staged things to look like jaguar attacks, but over time, they grew so powerful, so confident, that they stopped hiding their actions. Even their gods ceased to hide from mortal eyes. They took to bathing in a river that bordered the territory between the powerful people and one of their enemies, who called themselves the Golden People.
At first, the Golden People thought this was pageantry meant to intimidate them—regular mortals impersonating gods. But those who bathed in the river not only wore the macaw and quetzal feathers of office, but were too beautiful to be human, and their hands and mouths were forever wet with fresh, red blood. Furthermore, whenever a brave soul dared approach them, the gods would disappear like water on hot stone.
Such powerful gods could never be killed by ordinary men, but they could be stolen, and they could be conquered. Imagine if the Golden People could claim such gods for their own! But how to do it?
The Golden People sent their best hunters, but the gods only laughed and turned them around back on themselves, leaving them wandering in confused circles. The Golden People sent their best priests, but the gods only sent black rain and hail down on their heads in the height of summer. The Golden People even brought their most delectably prepared meats as offerings, but the gods only scowled and jeered.
“Do you think beings as strong as we can be sustained by mere livestock? Get away with you!”
It was clear that hungry gods could only be fed one way. The Golden People knew that the next best offering would have to be their men, their women, or their children. They chose their women. All the eligible young ladies were called into the court, and their elders conferred amongst themselves to select the three they thought most beautiful, most good, and most vital. They chose the Blood sisters.
Sweet Blood, the youngest and kindest, had a face and figure warm and round as the sun. Smoky Blood, the middle sister, was severe in aspect, straitlaced in her morals, sharp and mysterious as the crescent moon, and truthfully, she was a little unsettling to be around. Finally, there was Strong Blood, the oldest and the strongest, who could carry an unbled deer whole upon her shoulders, who had the rugged beauty of the earth itself. These three sisters were not only beautiful, good, and lively, they conveniently had no one to claim them as indispensable. Their milk family had passed on; Sweet Blood was just a little too young to marry yet, Smoky Blood had refused to marry, and Strong Blood was a new widow. The most important of the Golden People cut these sisters out of the herd and told them what to do:
“This is our last chance before we have to sacrifice our own people. Gods they may be, but men too. Go to the river where the gods wash. Take the laundry and undress. Lure them, seduce them, do whatever it takes to gain their favor—for if we have their favors, we can ensnare them. Offer yourselves to them; give them whatever they ask, and forbid them nothing.”
“But I am unmarried,” Sweet Blood protested. “So is Smoky!”
“Your future husbands will understand, but we will not. You either offer yourselves as lovers, or as sacrifices. The choice is yours.”
Strong Blood, who’d been widowed when her husband was abducted off the side of the road, felt her heart take fire. To offer her womb to the gods who’d consumed her beloved—unthinkable! She opened her mouth, but Smoky Blood put a hand on her arm and said, in her voice like copal, “we shall do as you say,” and out of respect to her sister, Strong was silent until they were alone.
“Why did you silence me, sister?” she then asked, as they purified themselves with smoke and steam. The preparation hut was empty except for them, the divine offerings, so she could speak plainly. “I would rather die than give myself to my husband’s devourers! And you have no liking for men!”
“I have no desire to love a god,” Sweet Blood admitted. “Haven’t you heard the stories? You give birth to monsters and demigods… if you survive at all! To be the mother of a hero is a fine thing in the stories, but not in life!”
“Were you not listening, sisters?” Smoky interrupted. “We do not get to say no. We can die ignobly, rut divinely…” her eyes flashed, “or, we can find our own path through this.”
Sweet Blood, who’d been wringing her hands and twisting her hair since the proclamation, looked hopeful. Strong Blood, who knew Smoky could be too clever for her own good, crossed her arms and said, “What path?”
“We can run away, or throw ourselves on the mercy of these gods, or otherwise take advantage of what arises. Do you think the men would dare follow us and watch a god’s coupling? Such sights strike mere mortals blind and mad! We will have some time to see our options. Let’s take advantage of them.”
Strong grumbled that she didn’t see jaguars or hungry gods as fair choices, but Sweet was so desperate for hope, Smoky was the only one with any plan at all, and Strong knew that whatever hopes they had together would shatter if they parted. So she conceded and held her tongue through the bathing, brushing, oiling, painting, and polishing in preparation for her offering. She and her sisters were primped to perfection, draped in the most beautiful jewels and adornments. Truly, no laundress had ever been so well-decorated.
“Surely they’ll never believe we’re laundresses, looking like this!” Sweet protested, carrying her perfunctory load of laundry down the ravine and trying her best to look graceful and ethereal.
“What do gods know of such mundanities as laundry?” Smoky replied. “Besides, we don’t need to persuade them we’re laundresses, only that we’re desirable.”
Strong said nothing, lost in bittersweet remembrance of the last time she was ever garbed so fine: the day of her wedding to her now-lost husband. Seven Deer had been named for the soulful luster of his eyes, had looked upon her in her finery as though she were a goddess herself. She remembered playing desire games with him, the laughter and joy of it. She knew she could never fake it for the gods who’d taken him from her.
Guards led the three sisters down to the springs and river where the gods bathed. Despite their professionalism, they seemed to recognize the impropriety of the situation; they hovered awkwardly, looking embarrassed, until Smoky dismissed them, too stern to disobey: “who do you think we are? Do you desire to be voyeurs of gods? This is not for you to witness! Go!” The guards seemed relieved to leave, and then there was nothing to do but pretend to do laundry.
They had been at work just long enough to get nervous when the gods arrived.
There were three: Mountaintop, the biggest and broadest; Low Mountain, his younger and smaller (though still towering) brother; and Thunderous Rain, who was dwarfed by both of them. Nevertheless, there was no question who was the leader: the mountain brothers deferred to Thunderous Rain in everything. It was he who wore feathers the color of storm clouds, and it was he who was most beautiful. His hair was as lustrous as raven feathers, his eyes dark and shining as obsidian, his smile like the rarest pearls. Truly, no mortal could compare to him.
But Smoky had no taste for men, so she felt nothing. Strong, leaden in widow’s grief, only found their beauty the more monstrous. Sweet, however, did make a bleating sound and dropped the blanket she was beating against the rocks.
The gods paused at the sight of the sisters. Their expressions were baffled, rather than lascivious.
“Mortals?” Low Mountain asked.
“Laundresses?” said his brother.
“What are you doing at our bath?” Thunderous Rain asked. “What do you want?”
Sweet was overwhelmed by his beauty, and Strong was afire with hatred for her husband’s devourers, so it was just as well Smoky said, “our people sent us here to seduce you and gain your favor.”
The gods gaped at them for a moment. Then they burst out laughing. The mountain brothers laughed so hard the river stones shook, so hard that they had to lean on each other to stay standing.
“At least she’s honest!” declared Mountaintop.
“Dressed like that! Such laundresses these mortals have!” crowed his brother. “What need they of gods?”
Meaning no offense,” Thunderous Rain chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye, “but no mortal women can compare to goddesses such as we know. You have failed in your goal; now begone.”
“But we must have your favor!” Smoky insisted. “If not, we will die ignobly!”
“That is not our concern.” Indeed, he was growing bored, starting to turn away. Any moment now, the gods would evaporate like summer steam. Smoky became desperate.
“What if I offered you my blood? My substance?”
The gods’ heads snapped around towards her.
“Smoky, no!” Sweet hissed.
“Go on,” Thunderous Rain said. The gods weren’t bored or laughing now.
“I am deigned one of the most beautiful women of my people,” Smoky said, pulling herself as tall as she could. “I have known no man, borne no children. My blood is unshared, unwatered by blemish, birth, or tragedy.”
The gods’ eyes were glowing now, like the embers of smoldering fires. The blood on their hands and mouths glistened. The mountain brothers prowled in circles around her like jaguars, while she held very still. She seemed remote, austere as the moon, but Strong and Sweet knew their sister, and they could tell she was afraid as the gods smelled and tasted the air around her like snakes.
“She does not lie, brother.”
“No, it’s true. Her blood smells of smoke and copal, purity itself. And that one,” this directed laughingly toward Sweet, who trembled frozen like a deer, “is sweet nectar and honey. She’s known no man either.”
They made as though to approach Sweet, but Strong put herself between them, clenching her fists. Smoky hissed, but the brothers only laughed.
“Not that one, though! She smells of chili pepper, bitterness, and loss! She hates us!”
“It’s true, brother! Begone, widow; we have no use for you!”
“Wait.” Thunderous Rain held up a hand, and the mountain brothers halted. He came to Strong. “You smell familiar. Have we met?”
“We have not,” Strong said through her teeth, “but you have met my husband.”
He tasted the air around her. “Ah! So I have. A bitter meal he was, too. Yes, yes, I can smell his blood in yours, for you have known and loved and birthed from him.”
“I have not,” Strong said, her heart heavy with grief. “The child was stillborn.”
“I see. My apologies, lady.” And indeed, he did sound sincere.
“If I had his child, at least I would keep some part of him. Now I have nothing, only the ghost of his memory, which will eventually fade to nothing. How dare you call him a bitter meal? You, who know nothing of death and loss, who stay young and beautiful and healthy forever?” Despite herself, she felt tears stream down her cheeks. “He was a basket-weaver, poor and humble! His lungs were weak, his leg twisted; he never raised a hand to anyone, and your people took him from the side of the road and fed him to you! How dare you? How dare you, sir?” Had Sweet not taken hold of her arms, she would’ve struck the god in the face.
Smoky was frozen, but her eyes were full of horror, clearly certain that Strong had doomed them all. The gods, however, seemed taken aback, even sheepish.
“One moment,” Thunderous Rain said, and the gods moved aside to confer among themselves.
Meanwhile, Smoky took their inattention to come over and hiss, “Don’t ruin this, Strong. I know you are angry, but if they accept my blood…”
“It isn’t fair to make it be yours!” Sweet said. “Let it be me instead! You are too smart to lose; Strong will need you more…”
“Whoever it is,” Smoky said, though it was clear she still intended it to be herself, “we give them blood, we get their protection, and we escape and build ourselves a new life, somewhere we won’t be traded like sacks of beans or threatened like harlot slaves. And it should be me, Sweet; I shall never marry or bear children, given a choice, but you have so much love in you…”
Watching her sisters argue on her behalf, Strong hugged them both. “Truly, I am blessed in sisters,” she said tearfully. “If only my blood weren’t so bitter, I would trade it for either one of you in a heartbeat!”
Before they could say more, the gods broke their huddle. Thunderous Rain strode to the sisters, expression intent but no longer glowing with fire or wet with blood.
“Tell us what our people have done,” he ordered.
Smoky did, and the gods listened respectfully, without interruption, brows furrowed. By the end, they were clearly displeased.
“Hoarding misers!” Low Mountain spat.
“Sanctimonious cheats!” agreed his brother. “Are we dogs, to be fed garbage?”
Thunderous Rain said nothing, his face like a hurricane on the horizon.
“What is it?” Sweet asked. “What’s wrong?”
It seemed a simple question, but it took a moment for the god to answer.
“Do you know the meaning of sacrifice, little one?” Thunderous Rain asked. “It is ‘to make sacred.’ You cannot sacrifice trash, only treasures. To treat the most holy act of life-giving as mere disposal… it is a profanation of all that holds our worlds together. It is sacrilege.
“When we demand sacrifices of blood, we mean just that. Not theft, not disposal, but the sacred act of that which is freely given, however painfully. A true sacrifice cannot be forced or coerced. That is not mere conceit on our parts either; we starve without blood, as you starve without us. It is only through the cycle of blood, life giving life giving life, that we all succeed, and I say giving, not taking. It is a holy cycle, not to be disrespected.”
“Your people are cheating you,” Smoky breathed.
“They are. We wondered why the blood’s been so bitter recently. It is because they have desecrated the most holy of acts.” Then, to the sisters’ amazement, the gods bowed their heads. “You have done us a favor, ladies. No need to give yourselves to us; you have more than earned our favors, and if you wait a moment, we will give them to you to take back to your people…”
“But could I still give you my blood?” Smoky asked.
The gods’ eyes glowed, but Thunderous Rain said, “why would you want to? We aren’t your gods.”
“You aren’t our people either, and they treated us like slave harlots. My sisters must start over. I want Sweet to find a husband and Strong to find joy again. For that, we need your blessing, not just your favors.”
The gods exchanged glances.
“It seems we are both ill-used by our peoples,” Thunderous Rain said. “Perhaps, together, we might find justice… or at least revenge.”
Smoky Blood and Thunderous Rain made the bulk of the plan, and after some arguing of details, the others agreed… except for Strong. She had one major change to request.
“I will give my blood as well,” she said, “but only to you, Lord of Thunders and Rain. In you, my blood will mingle with that of my husband, and we shall be together for all the days of the sun. There is no stronger expression of my love and devotion, to him or my sisters. I insist.”
“As you wish, lady.” And he bowed his head to her again.
The gods gave the three sisters broad blades of obsidian and told them where to prick their earlobes and arms. Sweet was squeamish, so Strong did it for her, and Low Mountain came to lick the blood from her skin. When Strong turned, she saw Mountaintop doing the same for Smoky, who’d needed no help, and Thunderous Rain standing in front of her. His eyes were like the belly of a volcano. He was inhumanly beautiful, and though she still grieved, she no longer found him repulsive.
Strong cut her skin and sacrificed her blood, and together, the sisters prayed:
“Gods of sky and earth, remember us, turn towards us, we who nourish and sustain you. Give us health, wealth, wisdom, level roads without obstacle or ugliness. Protect us from fault and deceit, we who put our substance in your mouths.”
Strong braced herself, expecting to find the sensation of Thunderous Rain’s tongue on her skin revolting. Instead, it only conjured memory: Seven Deer, breathless and laughing even as he kissed her, his eyes full of passionate eternity. Then she was wrapped in the coils of a mammoth serpent of glittering scales, which twinkled and scattered like raindrops…
“Oh! Strong, Strong, please, wake up!”
Strong came to with her head in Sweet’s lap, Smoky’s hands gently patting her cheeks. Both sisters looked worried.
“Oh, Strong, are you all right? You’re so pale! I thought it’d be me who fainted, not you!”
“I’ve never seen you faint, even the first time you butchered deer.” Smoky looked like her worry was battling her relief and amusement.
“I’m all right.” Strong tingled all over, and not in a pleasant way. “Just give me a moment…”
Thus reassured, Smoky wheeled on Thunderous Rain. “Greedy god! The mountains were more considerate!”
Thunderous Rain burped sheepishly. All three gods were radiant, as though suns or magma hid beneath their skins. Their eyes glowed, their skins shone, and they smiled wistfully.
“Ah, it’s been so long since a good sacrifice…” crooned Mountaintop.
“I’m drunk on it, brother. The finest of wines!”
And then the gods held out their favors and smiled wickedly.
“Let us give our peoples what they asked for, eh?” Thunderous Rain said.
…
When the Blood sisters arrived home, the Golden People’s lords and ladies swarmed them.
“Did you get it? Did they give you their favors?”
“They did,” said Smoky, and the sisters opened their laundry baskets. “These are for you.”
In the baskets were three painted deerskin cloaks: one with the image of the eagle, one with the jaguar, and the other with bees and wasps. Immediately, the lords rushed to put them on, and the three sisters, remembering what the gods had told them, immediately bowed their heads and backed away. No one paid any attention to them. They were too busy marveling at the beautiful cloaks.
“Marvelous,” said the first lord, who put on the jaguar.
“Majestic,” declared the second, who put on the eagle.
The third, who put on the wasps, only screamed.
There was a buzzing susurration, as though of many wings. The room dimmed, as though the sun had gone behind a cloud. More and more people began to scream. Sweet almost gave in to curiosity and looked up, but Strong grabbed her wrist and stopped her. Thunderous Rain had been very clear: “do not look up, and do not look back. Walk away. Walk away from all of them, and don’t say a word.”
The three sisters joined hands and backed away, keeping their heads bowed, and nothing harmed them. Squeezing each other tight, they walked away to start anew.
no subject
Date: 2023-08-31 01:50 pm (UTC)Do not cheat your gods, that never turns out well.