The Nibiru Effect

Memory 24

Kara and Jonn stare at me like I'm crazy. I can't blame them. After all, I just told them our captors plan on killing us.

"Why?" asks Jonn.

"I'm not sure," I admit. "From what I can gather, they're planning on sacrificing us to some god."

"Which god?" asks Kara.

"Does it matter?" retorts Jonn.

"It could."

"Why would—"

"Shut up!" I order, cutting off the grey-haired soldier. He doesn't seem pleased but falls silent.

I focus on the gnome's voice. Most of what he says sounds like gibberish, but I manage to make out the occasional word.

"...Korrigana..."

"...sacrifice..."

Every so often the gnomes react to the priest's words by changing colour. They turn yellow when they're happy or excited, red when they're angry, and blue when they're sad. I'm sure there are many other variations, but I'm too focused on the priest's speech to notice.

"...appease her wrath..."

"...sacrificial knife..."

"What's going on?" asks Kara after a while.

"Their god—I think her name is Korrigana—is angry at them, and they hope sacrificing us will appease her wrath."

"Are you sure?" asks Jonn.

"No," I admit, but I change my mind when the small gnome I noticed before steps forth, a knife balanced atop his open palms.

I stare at the glistening blade until I can no longer bear the sight of it, then focus on the gnome carrying it. He's short—just over half a metre tall—and bears skin so dark it's almost black. His hair is aflame with the brightest shade of orange I've ever seen. So are his irises. Even his nails are the colour of fire. He reminds me of a cooling ember—mostly black with the occasional orange spot.

The small gnome approaches the priest and offers him the knife. The taller gnome takes it and shoos him away. Instead of retreating, he shuffles beyond the priest's field of vision and starts staring at me. He seems fascinated, but it's not until his gaze lands on my hourglass symbol that his little eyes light up with excitement.

He rushes over to the priest and tugs on his robes, but all he gets for his troubles is a kick to the butt. He tries a few more times before finally giving up.

I feel sorry for the poor little guy, so I give him a big smile to cheer him up. He takes it as an invitation and hurries over to me. He inspects my wrist for a moment before reaching out and touching the symbol that adorns it.

"Don't," I protest, but it's already too late. Pain erupts from my wrist, luring a moan past my lips. More soon follow when the now familiar agony of ripping muscles and shattering bones overpowers me. I try to fight for a few seconds, but the mysterious force is too much for me to handle.

I give in to the pain and heat. As soon as I do, the discomfort vanishes. The heat persists, but it's no longer unbearable. My body twists into unnatural shapes, but I refuse to look. It's not until the heat finally fades that I dare open my eyes.

I'm met with the most unexpected of sights. The ocean of gnomes that stretches before me has turned fuchsia, and every last one of them is now prostrate. But even more shocking is the object of their devotion.

Me.