Aĉaĵego

II: A Sacrifice

She'd made it. Floreca Scivolemulino's skin was as hot and red as clay pavement in the afternoon, and her feet felt like they were about to collapse under her weight. The water she'd brought was gone–she was always thirsty, with her illness. But she was here.

She'd never been so close to the angel-dwelling before. She hadn't realized how long it would take to reach. It wasn't really far, but her illness weakened her, and the path was unkempt–steep, muddy, and overgrown with those obnoxious, barbed weeds. The barbs got into her shoes and stabbed her feet with each step, but there were so many that if she stopped to shake them out every time one attached to her, she'd never have gotten anywhere. So now her feet were as beat-up and worn out as her old sandals.

She had looked relatively presentable when she set off for the angel-dwelling, fresh from the temple. Now her feet were caked in dirt, the poky weeds clung to her bloomers, and some of her hair had come loose. Would the Aĉaĵego be offended that she'd come looking so unkempt? But she couldn't spare the time to clean herself up. It was life and death–she hoped the Aĉaĵego would understand.

"Aĉaĵego!" she called. But there was no answer, and the cessation of movement had made it all the harder to keep standing. Her head ached and she could hear a waterfall in her head.

"Aĉaĵego!" she called out again. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. Slamming against her chest as if trying to burst out and run away. But her heart couldn't run away, and neither could she. "Aĉaĵego! Come out please!"

It didn't come, so she went closer.

The angel-dwelling was bigger than she'd thought. What from home had looked like a snake hole now looked more like a small temple. The solid stone ledge protruding out from below the entrance was carpeted with eggflowers, as though they had been placed there in honor of Ĉieldiino–but, most likely, they'd simply blown down from the trees on the trail above. Floreca didn't avoid the puddle that had gathered at the cave mouth, allowing the cool water to soothe her feet.

The cavern was comfortably cool. She looked left, then right–statues, of Terdiino, the goddess of life with her hair of grass, and Ĉieldiino, the goddess of death with her hair of clouds. Thinking of heaven made her feel like a doll someone had dropped from a high distance, and all her limbs and innards were flying up above her as she fell. "Where is the Aĉaĵego?" she mumbled, forcing herself to focus. Between the statues was an even narrower cavern. This one did look like a snake hole; boulders had been stacked all along the bottom half, up towards eye-level. It was too dark to see anything beyond the gap from the boulders to the cave's roof.

"Aĉaĵego?" she called out, one last time, but in her nervousness she swallowed the last syllable and it came out as a whisper. She tried again, remembering the words the priest had told her to use. "M... my name is Scivolemulino! I come with the permission of the Temple of Terdiino!"

The boulders began to shake, and then to tumble and roll. Floreca had to clutch at her own skirt to keep her feet in place. A wing – bony and webbed like a bat's – emerged first. Then the other wing, and then two massive talons. A tail like a rat's uncurled itself and fell limp at Floreca's feet. Scaly, slick front legs pushed the rest of the creature's body outwards. Finally, once the creature had completely freed itself of the smaller crevice, it whipped around and faced Floreca, revealing a face like a roach, with a dozen eyes on each side of its head and rows and rows of large, sharp teeth.

Floreca fell to her knees and bowed her head perhaps lower than necessary; her eyes inches from the ground. She had seen the angel before–she and her older sister Karesema used to sneak out on the mornings of the sacrifice to watch it swoop down and snatch its victims from the offering spot–but she'd never been this close, let alone tried to speak to it. Just as she was about to open her mouth and start spouting the flatteries the priests had told her to recite–the Aĉaĵego bellowed, "What business hast thee here?" and her mental preparations disappeared.