A Flaming Fate

A long drought laid waste to our crops, and the people of our small island soon began to pray every day to the mountain deity to return rain to our lands. After a fortnight, we finally received rain. Our head priest told everyone that the mountain deity had blessed us, and that we should provide her with a sacrifice every month as thanks. He said that virgin girls would be the ideal candidates.

Some residents were against the idea, but the majority voted for it. And so, every month, I watched as many of my friends were taken away to be thrown into the fiery depths of the volcano on the outskirts of our town. As time passed, more of our townspeople married off their daughters to prevent them from becoming sacrifices.

Half a year later, it was just one other girl and me who were left. Nellie, the other girl, was just sixteen, while I was fourteen. The priest chose her that month. Nellie’s parents fell to their knees and begged the priest not to take her away, but the priest’s guards held them back. Nellie didn’t speak a word, but her entire body was trembling. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Take me instead,” I said, pushing my father’s arm away as I stepped out of the crowd. I couldn’t care less about what he had to say; I had let this continue for too long.

Nellie shook her head as she stared at me. I smiled at her before turning to the priest. He was frowning.

“What difference does it make? She’ll be taken away next month, anyway.”

“Why don’t you sacrifice yourself instead of plucking children from their families, you coward?”

The priest’s face twisted with rage. He pushed Nellie to the ground. “Fine, we’ll toss you into the pit today.”

I smiled. “You can try.”

The guards grabbed my arms and pulled me away from the town. Nellie yelled and tried to get them to take her instead, but the priest wouldn’t hear it. I smiled at Nellie as I passed her. “Don’t worry,” I told her. My father called out to me, but I ignored his words. He had stopped me for so long, but I was done hiding.

 

Half an hour later, the preparations for the sacrificial ritual were complete. My hands and feet were bound by chains and I was forced to kneel at the edge of a precipice overlooking a pool of lava. The priest initiated the prayers, and the small gathering behind him joined in unison. Once the final prayer ended, he pushed me over the ledge without another word.

The second I was off the ledge, I undid my shackles and rose to the skies, prompting the crowd to gasp and move back, with some of them even falling on their backs. I flew to meet the priest face-to-face just as he turned around to witness what the commotion was about.

“I think it’s high time you reevaluated the worth of your life, pig,” I said, grabbing the priest by his robes and hurling him into the fiery pit behind me—the echoes of his screams disappearing in seconds.

But my work wasn’t done: I sealed the fate of every last guard and zealot gathered there, tossing them to their deaths and watching as flesh evaporated and bones liquified before my eyes. Their pitiful pleas meant nothing to me. They had killed so many of my friends the same way; every last one of them deserved to burn.

My only regret was that I let my father prevent me from exposing myself as the source of the rain. My being a witch wouldn’t have garnered the respect of the filth, but it would have at least saved the lives of several girls whose lives were sacrificed in vain.