Regions of Saleen

Regions of Saleen - Ch. 1

     My fingers are dragged along the rough surface of the wall; chanting can be heard in the distance as shadows dance along the wall in perfect harmony of each syllable to the ancient chant that echos through the halls. It is cold and I can only faintly hear the raindrops fall onto the ground way above the secluded pathway. Thunder abruptly cracks, a shallow thud on the overhead, and the rumble can be felt all the way into my core as dust falls from the ceiling, the light of the fire making each particle light up, all fallen angels.

      My mother once told me when I was only a child that every speck you see was once a person with a personality and thoughts and most of all, regrets. It is said that these specks are all fallen angels, cursed to float around this earth and never to have peace. The only way for the fallen angels to redeem themselves in the eyes of the gods is to have their biggest regret spilled out whilst light is shining through their very core. No one has ever seen a fallen angel redeem itself, but I believe it is possible, that they may be able to finally rest without disruptions.

     I am brought back to reality from my thoughts as light surges through the forsaken hallway, it must almost be time for me to enter.

     My name is Alura, which means light in my spoken tongue. I am one of the last descendants from the Order of the Legons, and old and secretive culture that practiced the art of Saleen, a gift given to us by the gods. It is of my unfortunate bloodline that my life is the way I've lived it. My family's home was raided while my mother was still pregnant with me, and they killed my father. My mother was brought back to this place, my so called "home", and died shortly after I was born. I've never seen daylight (A fact I find ironic, considering my name); I've lived my whole life down here, held captive by men who believe in the old ways of Saleen, and I am their key to opening the powers of the gods into the mortal world. 

   The men taught me The Ways, and treated me like a mystic object, and not a person. Although there are some men who realized I am not only a person, but a woman, and broke their vows of chastity, and abused the brute force they were mistakenly gifted with. Sometimes I wonder if I would fall down once I die, sentenced to a life of floating in the shadows and never being saved by an all knowing person to confess my regret in the holiest of lights - maybe it'd be better than the life I live.

    The light comes back this time, brighter now, so I must begin my preparations. I slide into my hand-woven garment, each thread of cotton harvested in a different place, my headdress a simple golden ring encrusted with purple gemstones, cut so finely each one is just shy of a perfect sphere. I grab the silver dagger, also encrusted with purple gems. The blade is cold and smooth on my skin as I slide it gently across my hand, watching as small crimson dots slowly appear on the palm of my hand, shining in the light of the fire nearby.

    I hear my cue, hundreds of thunderous voices booming in the small room. I walk in and everything is in place, like always. The room is very large, filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of men from the cult, the engraved stone walls are lit by torches, the fire coming from one, blown the next, creating a ring of fire dancing around the room. In the very center, there is perfectly circular pool of crystal clear waters where you can see thousands of bones from the sacrificed, and in the center of the this pool, another perfectly circular outcrop of marble, beautifully engraved in gold along the sides in the scripture of the Legons. A new victim is tied to a marble pole in the center of the platform, awaiting their judgement given to them by the gods.

   The moment I pass through the fire, completely unscathed, the chanting stops and I descend to the edge of the pool. Two men come to me, golden brige in hand. They are dressed in forest green robes, like all the other men, with gold embroidery of the vines that grow on the Ochula tree, a tree thought to retain the souls of the gods, with purple gems on every crossing of the different golden vines, along the edges of the robes. They lay down the golden bridge, making a pathway for me to reach the Chosen Man. All of the men who are chosen have done so voluntarily. They believe that the gods will pass judgment upon them through the ritual, and if they are unholy, they will die. If they are holy then they will be unharmed by the God-given dagger, and will be regarded as the new leader of the cult like church, the Regions of Saleen.

    The new candidate for judgment stands before me, his eagerness radiating out of him like that of a prisoner who is about to be set free. I slowly walk along the golden bridge, my cloth-bound feet silent, the only noise in the room is that of the fire burning wildly. He looks at me and I'm filled with pity, for I know he is not one of the chosen ones. I look over to the headmaster and signal a slight nod as to show I'm ready to begin. The men all start chanting at once, their deep emotionless baritone voices unite in perfect time as if it were being sung by a sole person. I unveil the dagger and begin to chant myself, with every word the purple gemstones begin to glow. Very dim at first, practically unseen in the overbearing light of the fire, but slowly growing more and more bright like looking though a crack in the ceiling as the moon comes into view. I begin to chant louder, as do the men that surround me. I raise the dagger, gemstones now shining brightly, above my head. The small gems on the men's cloaks begin to glow also, yet not as bright. The room is filled with the purple light as I finish my chant, ending it with the last words just shy of a whisper.

     The men become silent as I say those last words and plunge my dagger deep into the chest of the judged. I pull the dagger back out and quickly slide it along my palm. I open his lifeless mouth and let my blood fall into it so that the gods may use my sacred blood to save the soul of the judged, if he is indeed a chosen one. But as always the gods do not give him life, and I have taken another, one more speck added to this forsaken planet.