ON A BLACK MOON SEA ~A Halloween Anthology~

The Temple on Cicaro Hill

There were many unspoken rules whispered throughout the Isles. Never eat fish on Aridon. Never venture to the docks after dusk. And, above all, never underestimate the Líadan.

Muirenn broke this last rule several times. They had seen the consequences for themself. If they took a breath right now, they could still smell the salt-encrusted flesh of the last punishment, could hear the wispy voices that chanted the same phrase over and over.

All things borne of the sea return from whence they came.

The hairs on the back of Muirenn's neck rose thinking about it.

They stared into the water. The ocean roiled in time to their thoughts. Foam squished between their toes and tickled their soles.

As they shifted from foot to foot, they ran their thumb over the coin in their hand. A good luck charm, one of the elders had called it. They'd insisted Muirenn carry it at all times to ward them from the evils of the Isles.

It will grant you one wish in life, Child. Wish wisely.

The coin gleamed bright against their pale skin. A mouthed prayer left them before, with a wretched scream, they threw the coin as hard as they could.

It skipped once, twice, three times before setting hard on the waves and sinking out of sight.

#

It was said throughout the Isles that Muirenn had been born during a thunderstorm. They were right, almost.

Muirenn was too old to remember now – really, they had never been able to remember to begin with – but the Líadan had filled them in well.

"The moment you emerged, pale and screaming, the sky split itself in half."

A doctor had cut their umbilical cord, it was said, and a tidal wave overtook the small isle of Verisque. By the time they were swaddled and put to their enbei's breast, another island had gone under water.

And then, as quick as it had come, calm.

It was a proud history to bear, the elders said. So proud, in fact, the Líadan decided to pay Muirenn a visit.

#

Muirenn's first sacrifice came when they were ten. They still remembered the scream cut short as the man gurgled blood and clawed at his throat. Death had not been swift for him.

After the first came a rapid string of others. A death for every year of Muirenn's cursed existence. A death for every flaw. Sacrifices, the Líadan called them. Sacrifices towards Muirenn's improvement. And with each death, the Líadan filled the Isles with superstition.

Before then, Muirenn could've pretended the Líadan were not cruel.

By thirteen, Muirenn stopped counting the deaths their birth had caused. Blood was blood was blood. All things born of the sea returned to whence they came, after all. Muirenn, the Líadan, the islanders... they all would die and become salt-encrusted fish food at the bottom of the sea. In that sense, their lives and deaths were meaningless.

Now they sat on their throne as a small child was pushed to their knees. A simple gown of white engulfed their entire body. A pathetic whimper left their lips.

One of the Líadan brandished her athame, greying hair pulled back tight against her skull. She cocked her head to the side, scrutinizing the offering. "Will you not beg for your life?"

The sacrifice didn't answer. Whether they wouldn't or simply couldn't, it was difficult to tell. Instead, they planted their forehead to the courtyard floor. Sand shifted as they breathed.