The Sacrifice

The Oracle’s eyes were a cloudy white, seeing not here and now, but places unknown to normal human understanding. They reflected the flickering flames of the candles Cepheus and Cassiopeia held as they stood in reverence of the being before them.

“The Leviathan is a punishment from Poseidon,” it pronounced, inhaling the bitter smoke that rose from braziers on either side. “The Deep One is offended by the beauty of the princess, for she outshines his sea nymphs.”

Cepheus’s haggard face twisted into a look of frustration. “Great Oracle, I care not why the monster is laying waste to my kingdom, I only seek the knowledge to destroy it! The lives of my finest soldiers have proved that not even the sharpest iron will pierce its slippery hide.”

“You cannot destroy it.” The Oracle replied, ignoring the King’s disrespect. “Poseidon must be appeased. He requires a sacrifice of blood.”

Queen Cassiopeia spoke up. “Our people have already paid in blood and tears from the monster’s attacks. How much more is needed?“

“Not how much, but whose.” It replied. “The blood of the offender must be paid.”

Confusion was painted on the queen’s face, which quickly changed to shock as the Oracle’s meaning dawned on her. “You mean Andromeda! She has committed no crime!”

“She possesses the beauty that so affronted the god,” said the Oracle with a dark serenity. “You, Queen, boasted of it until even the ocean seethed with envy. Now the reckoning is upon you.”

Tears filled Cassiopeia’s eyes. “Then it is my offense! I should be sacrificed! I cannot kill my own child!”

King Cepheus’ face was a mask of grim pain. “Great Oracle, you must help us. Is there no other way to appease The Deep One?”

The Oracle’s expression did not betray any hint of sympathy. Many men before had asked for knowledge, and many men before were unable to bear the weight of what was given to them.

“There is not.”

The solemn ambiance of the temple was broken by a wretched sob. A candle dropped to the floor of the temple and was extinguished as Cassiopeia held her head in her hands. Then, with a gasping, strangled noise, she turned and staggered out of the alcove, her footsteps echoing wildly against the marble columns. The heavy doors slammed behind the queen, leaving her husband alone with the Oracle, surrounded by bitter smoke.

For a long while, neither spoke. Hot wax dripped from the candle onto Cepheus’ fingers, but he barely registered the pain. He watched the shadows from the flame cast dancing shadows across the Oracle’s face, and contemplated the horrible task before him. He knew it was selfish to put the life of his daughter above the rest of his kingdom, but what father could live with himself after doing such a thing to his own child? He hated himself for his own cowardice. He hated the gods for putting him into this situation. Most of all, he hated what he must do. Looking up, Cepheus stared into the Oracle’s cloudy and unblinking eyes.

“Tell me how it should be done.”

Andromeda had always loved the sun, the way its bright beams bounced across her room from the open balcony, how it seemed to find her wherever she walked, even in the labyrinthine hallways of the palace. In childhood, she invented games to chase its patterns as they crawled across the marble floors, leaping from light to light as if each patch were an island in the sea. But it was the mornings she loved most, when the sun poured through the balcony doors and pooled on her shoulders, soaking her in it’s loving embrace. It’s warmth and tranquility brought a peace to the beginning of her day, especially on a busy one such as this.

She faced the polished oval mirror where she sat, and looked at Cassiopeia through its reflection with concern. Her mother’s hands lingered in Andromeda’s hair, braiding and re-braiding with absent repetition. The queen had dismissed the handmaidens, telling Andromeda that she wanted to help with her daughter’s hair and makeup herself.

“Am I to be wed, then?” Andromeda finally asked, her voice small and bright. She thought it was the reasonable conclusion for all this fuss, with her mother draping her in the ceremonial shift, her father’s stern conferences in the throne room, and the doubled guards along the palace walls.

Cassiopeia’s hands froze, a faint quiver passing through her arms, and a few fine hairs slipped loose from the braid to trail along the nape of Andromeda’s neck. “No, my heart. I would tell you if it were so.” Her voice was tight, and Andromeda, studying her mother’s face, was startled by how defeated and haggard it looked in the morning light.

“Then why am I getting dressed up, Mama? Another funeral to attend? Did the monster attack again?”

The questions only caused her mother’s brow to furrow. “No, Andromeda. There will be a ceremony by the sea that you and your father will attend at noon.”

Andromeda was confused. “Won’t you be coming?” She asked hopefully. Her mother always attended ceremonies, however unimportant.

Cassiopeia covered her mouth with the back of her hand and shook her head. Her entire body seemed to fold in on itself, as if the knowledge she bore was so heavy that it pressed out the air from her lungs. A single tear broke free from its prison and ran down her cheek. “Not this time, my darling.” Her voice cracked and broke, a whisper barely audible over the wind from the balcony.

Andromeda could tell that something was bothering her mother. She reached for her hand to comfort her, but the queen pulled away, smoothing some wrinkles from her daughter’s dress. “There we are,” she sniffed, trying to pull herself together. “You look so beau—” Her face went white. “—lovely. You look lovely.”

“Mama, what is the matter? You seem sad.” Andromeda was becoming more worried by the minute; something strange was going on.

Cassiopeia cursed herself in silence, berating her fool tongue and the vanity that had brought ruin upon their house. She blotted a tear with her thumb, shifting the gleaming circlet on Andromeda’s brow with extra care, lingering as long as she could before letting her hand drift to her lap.

“There are matters of the kingdom you will soon come to understand,” Cassiopeia said, not meeting her daughter’s inquiring gaze. “I know you are clever enough, and kind enough, to see what must be done and why.” Each word stuck in her throat. “I am so, so sorry.”

Before Andromeda could question her mother’s strange apology, the door to her room opened and Andromeda’s bodyguards walked in. The captain looked at the queen with a flat grimace.

“It’s time to go.”

Cassiopeia suddenly hugged her daughter fiercely. The sudden affection surprised Andromeda, who patted her mother on the back, doing her best to comfort her. “It’s alright, Mama. I’ll return right after the ceremony, and then we can spend more time together.”

Cassiopeia tried to smile through her tears. “I look forward to it, my love.”

The guards escorted Andromeda through the palace in silence, the only sound emitted by sandals on marble. The procession wound through the city, and Andromeda was surprised to see that the streets were empty and quiet as well.

“Lukos, where is everyone?” She asked the captain.

Lukos had been guarding Andromeda since she could walk, and he swallowed the lump in his throat as he answered, “The whole city is gathered at the cliffs for the ceremony, my lady.”

“Is it not dangerous, having a ceremony so close to the shore?” Andromeda continued, never one to run out of questions. “The monster always comes from that direction when it attacks.”

“We have reason to believe that the monster will not attack today,” he explained. ”If it does, the city guards are stationed by the cliffs as well.”

Andromeda accepted the explanation and didn’t press him further, and Lukos thanked the gods that she seemed satisfied by his vague answers. The continued through the main gates of the city, and out onto the windswept grasslands. After a long walk, they eventually arrived at the cliffs by the sea.

As they crested a small hill, Andromeda’s breath caught as the crowd came into view. She had never seen so many people in one place without music or laughter; the air was thick with an unfamiliar hush, and even the birds seemed to have stopped their song. The only movement was the endless shudder of salt spray blown up from the rocks below.

At the center of this wordless congregation loomed a rectangular dais, newly hewn and stacked from pale boulders. It was too large for mourning, too rough for a wedding. Two wooden posts anchored the corners of the platform, each taller than a man and thicker than a ship’s mast.

At the base of the platform, King Cepheus stood, his crown crooked on his graying hair. He looked older than ever, as though he had aged a decade in only the past few days. He swept his eyes over the crowd and met Andromeda’s eyes, but quickly turned away before she could wave to him. The guards settled Andromeda at the edge of the crowd, near the king.

Cepheus raised his hand, and the throng went quiet.

“People of Aethiopia,” he intoned, his voice trembling on the wind, “You have suffered, and so has your king. The Leviathan’s fury is a punishment that affects us all. I have sought the wisdom of the Oracle, and received instruction on what must be done. Only with a human sacrifice may our city be spared, and Poseidon’s anger quenched. Thus the Oracle has spoken.”

A murmur of dread passed through the crowd. Andromeda was shocked. She turned to Lukos in anger, “My father cannot do such a thing! We are not savages who kill their own people!” The captain looked ahead with a gaunt stare and said nothing as Cepheus continued with his speech.

“I will not force any of my subjects to give up their lives for the sake of our kingdom, however. And so it pains me greatly to offer the life of my only child for this purpose. May Poseidon have mercy on us.”

Andromeda blinked. Her father’s only child was… herself. Was this some kind of joke? Confused, she looked up a Lukos again, hoping an explanation that would make sense of this madness. He turned to her, squeezed her arm tightly, and answered her unspoken question