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Dalia
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Underneath the full moon, where its light glistened down on Moab, a voice rose up with the flames on the mountain.
The voice of a woman, smooth like oil, dripping with myrrh and so much heart. She was a high priestess, her gold attire matched the weight of her voice.
The flames flickered higher, constantly reaching, as if to touch the stars; and surrounded by the fire were the virgins, all dressed in white.
Further away, still at the top of the mountain, were the warriors, standing in attention, like pillars of stone, with their faces stoic.
As the high priestess sang a song that would praise their god and welcome his spirit on the mountain, all had their hands stretched out to the moon, like it would pour some of its light.
Joel, the high priest, played the drum, the rhythm fast, and hard, matching with the weight of the words sung.
He stood in front of the statue of Chemosh where he could see everything, both in the spirit and in the physical. He looked to his left and to his right, down below and he saw the countless number of Moabites, awaiting, praying, murmuring amongst each other, looking up at the mountain, the same hope, the same pain and pride hidden in the depths of every eye.
And right before him lay the flickering fire, it's flames like the belly of his god, hungry for sacrifice, and surrounding that were the virgins, all of them, naïve in ways they could never even fathom, holding a reverence, they were frightened not to have.
On the outskirts of the mountain, filling almost every space, were the warriors, all standing at attention and position, like pillars, their faces stoic, their emotions contained within their irises.
Joel’s heart hammered along with the rhythm of his drum, holding more burdens than one heart could bear. He saw his King, lurking in the shadows of the mountain, seated on a throne.
King Elgon's eyes, glinted with something dark, something hungry, something so revolting it could drive a man into sacrificing his son.
Joel looked away, and for some reason, in a sea of white, he caught the sight of the young maiden, Ruth. He held her countenance, she'd grown since the last time he saw her, but there was a change in her eyes.
A change in the way, the fire reflected through her dark eyes, a hard defiance, going over her features, something in the way, she held herself. It was different.
She was different.
“Burn her.” Joel, heard it in a hoarse whisper, he stared at the girl, who did not know of her fate, the girl who carried —
“Burn her.” The whisper was more impatient, more louder, it sounded angry.
Joel saw Ruth, and for a moment, in the spirit her destiny unfolded before his eyes.
Blessed among women.
She would birth Kings. She'd be in the lineage of royalty. She'd witness, and experience the greatest suffering but somehow, Ruth would witness, experience and give the greatest love.
“Burn her.” The voice sounded like singed fire, the anger boiled in its breath and Joel felt drained, weakened in this state.
Joel perceived that for some reason, Chemosh did not want Ruth to make it out of the mountain alive. He lived to sacrifice, and in his heart, he immediately made the decision to obey, to sacrifice Ruth along with the other virgins that would be chosen.
YOU ARE READING
Ruth: Reimagined
Romance"I want you to belong to someone Ruth." Adira said, her voice softer. "I want you to be able to breathe in a world where everything is placed on a woman's chest, on her back and tied to her legs and then she's told to be beautiful, to be good enoug...
