Red Eye: Season Three, Episode One: An Armageddon Zombie Survival Thriller
Page 10
Excited whispers began to mingle with concerned mumbling.
“Our village has been chosen for the Immortal Lottery,” Head Father spoke louder, cutting through the clamor. “Ten tributes between the ages of fifteen and twenty will receive the call.”
“We have so few younglings!” A woman called out. I turned to find the speaker. It was Virtuous Wife, who had tried so long to have her only child. Elektra was frail and beautiful. And just turned fifteen.
“This is not something we can refuse.” Head Father held up his hand, asking for understanding.
“When will it happen?” Honest Man’s face was pale beneath his tan, though his children were far too little to be called into the lottery.
“Two empty skies from now.” Head Father pounded his gnarled staff twice against the ground. It vibrated the earth, reminding all that he carried the blessing of nature to lead us.
The glowing orb above us was lean, waning ever smaller and would soon diminish before waxing again. The sky would be empty in less than a week’s time. And then there would only be one empty sky to empty sky to prepare ourselves.
“We will burn the field to clear impurities and then we will plant these.” Head Father held up a clay pot. It had been broken once upon a time, and was now stitched together with lines of glimmering gold. “These are the seeds of Olympus. Pink dianthus flowers. Blessed by Demeter’s hand. On the night of tributes, each young one of correct age will pick a blossom. Those that change to the golden god-blessed item of the lottery will know their fates.”
The girl and boy children began to move towards one another, huddling against the prospect of what was coming a moon cycle from now. The mothers and fathers and grandmothers and grandfathers moved too.
Eventually, the girls and boys were at the center of the great village gathering, whilst the elder ones were on the outskirts watching the youth. It was almost an intentional protection circle, similar to the way we encircle our fields when the crops are having a difficult season. I stayed on the outside, my back to the mourning stones. Nefeli was in the crowd of young ones, and so were Good Brother and Good Sister. My adoptive siblings were grinning and whispering to each other. Some of the youth would see this as a great adventure. An answer to a prayer to leave the seclusion of our conventional surroundings. The parents and grandparents had a different viewing.
I did not know where Kind Woman and Kind Husband were. They must be elsewhere, answering the call of other tasks for Head Father. There was no one here to truly worry over my fate.
A question burned in my heart, though I did not think it was my place to ask the Head Father. Yet, I had to know.
The answer would set the stage for what was about to happen to our village.
The last time our village was chosen for the lottery, it had been for the brother god Poseidon. The water horses guided by the fish-tailed centaurs Bythos and Aphros were said to have risen out of the deep river to gather the tributes. To receive the golden pearl was an honor. If you survived the mortality rites of the ocean, you chose your own fate, it was not chosen for you. We have never been selected for the lottery of the brother god Zeus. We are too small and unimportant a people to dream of the thunderbolt pendant and the wild olive branch crowns.
“What God commands this lottery?” I walked forward, around the children and their security. “Is it Poseidon again?”
Head Father looked at me, his eyes hollow and strange. When he shook his head, hope fled from my body. Even the excitement of young ones like Kind Brother and Kind Sister died away.
We had all heard the horrors of the world below- the world that, in the end, killed our patron goddess and commands our souls after this life.
“We have been chosen by the brother god Hades. We have been honored.” Again, Head Father banged his staff. The world went silent around me, though I knew my fellow villagers were in a frenzy and it was my own ears that had chosen deafness in those moments.
The golden pearl was an honor.
The golden rose was a death sentence.
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