That last one was a real volunteer, an old woman whose granddaughter was in danger of becoming the chosen. Her womb was tested with carved stones and found viable for a few more months. Everyone took a breath; the younger girls would have some time to grow and choose their mates before the next ordeal. Things progressed quickly in fear of regretted decisions or failing health, only one reproductive cycle could be used. Should they send her too soon and the seed fail to fertilize, there was no way the woman would survive another try. Seals were embedded on her skin to strength her bones and fertility. Drugged infusions were constants to keep the woman calm and willing, avoiding possible regrets, persuasion oils smeared in her skin to entwin the beast’s rage with lust. After every possible preparation, it was time for the one-sided farewells for everyone knew how she would fare. It was a strange sight, the woman listing sideways, not really present due to her clouded mind, her greyish short hair braided with more strengthening sealed ribbons, a lush pelt around her wilted posture. She looked over her descendants one last time, accepting their wishes for endurance and courage, sneering at the other women, old friends who were too relieved by her sacrifice to genuinely care for her. She demanded respect and providence for her family, to be excepted from the choosing for the next decade, which was gladly conceded by the council, promises to a condemned woman were easy to make and forget.
Two young fools were selected to escort the woman to the beast lair but found their courage lacking at the edge of the forest. Unperturbed, the drugged woman walked alone the barely visible path into the darkness, the morning sun couldn’t break through the tree foliage. She went on as if in a dream, not feeling her own body, the small stones and dead branches jabbing the underside of her bare feet, hardly aware of her destination, guided by the compulsion embedded in her wrist bracelet. Without falling or getting lost, she reached… someplace. She didn’t notice her stopping, locked in her dream state. The compulsion had brought her to the edge of a small clearing, overlooking a meadow, hidden from it with a line of trees and bushes, the passing of a water slosh barely audible. Only a knowing eye would notice the stone covered in bindweed and very few knew there was an opening, further in a gallery of caves. The woman stood. The midday rays could touch her now, and her skin warmed. The oil scents had diffused through the nearby area, the wind carrying it further north, reaching the intended nostrils quite in time, the drugs would soon fade. The beast came through, fast and violent, whatever control the man had had been robbed by the scented oils, quickly reaching the frail female.
The drugs that numbed her mind hadn’t lasted as long as the beast’s “company”. The torment lasted for a quarter of a moon cycle, the seals keeping the oil’s lusting effect going as ordered by the council and kept from everyone else, the woman included, she would have rejected such torture, they hoped beyond hope and above remorse that this time, finally, the town’s misery would end. At last, the man recovered his sanity and wished he hadn’t. His hips were still pushing in on the throws of another spending into a bloody mess of flesh and broken bones that lay beneath him, features bludgeoned in, barely alive. He immediately understood what had come to happen, what his role had been, the council manipulation of his nature. He staggered out of the caves, the centre of his territory, let out a how as a signal for someone to come collect the remains. He waited before leaving, making sure the call was heard. There was a strong need to kill the unwelcome guest, to revenge the broken body inside the cave, but he was against killing the messenger, probably one of the few he would spare, maybe even protect, should his mind allow it. He called forth his demonic blood, hiding his reason in its more primordial instincts, tired of his human emotion and the revulsion of his own actions as uncontrollable as they had been. He was always on a growing rebellion at his fate and the binding to this place so he faced north, knowing his curse would bring him back for the next chosen.
The woman almost died, her body broken, her mind destroyed. Chamto was the chosen to collect her, as he was the fastest and more able to survive an encounter with the beast, for he was a beast himself. As the howl was heard, the message was passed to the council to prepare for whatever may come. The man had no idea what he would find, he had not been here the last and only time a ceremony was held with a following signal but he felt a clear urgency in the air. It took him more time to wrap the old gal in her freckled pelt than to arrive at the hollows, as he tried to avoid hurting her, to no avail. He did his best, but the whimpering never stopped, neither rise nor lessen, a continuing fraying of nerves. As soon as he had her secured in his arms, he signalled a howl and raced back. As the sun set, a hooded figure waited his arrival and hushed him into a tunnel. No one dared touch the woman so he was required to transport her all the way to a chamber beneath the council hall, placing the bleeding burden on a slab of carved obsidian, its runes tingling painfully through his skin. He was demanded secrecy and memory loss at which he scoffed. He would trust his brotherhood with this, they needed to know, and the nightmares would plague him for many nights, he was sure. He left, as there was little that the council could do against him, and he was useless at the present situation. They would tell him the woman hadn’t survived in a few hours, just to be safe. In the meantime, the runes were fixing the old woman’s body without the proper care of a sage, so the skin closed around shattered limbs, the bones set in their deformed positions, the torn nerve system reactivated in twisted wirings. A nightmarish quivering visage, a torturous existence, but she was alive, and more importantly, the inception had come to fruition. One dared ask if there could be used a silence seal, but no one hazarded messing with the dark slab, too many runes and seals intertwined to keep the pregnancy going, they could not risk tampering with it.
The chamber was visited daily, to observe the gestation progress and making sure that life prevailed, nothing else, no care given. The obsidian provided sustenance to both bodies, taking it from the surrounding life. The village soil grew infertile, several women had spontaneous abortions, cattle fell ill but the council remained silent, hopeful. When the fetus started showing, its volume stretching the abdomen skin, they celebrated. Too soon. A few days later all was dead, unsavable, beyond all the seals’ prowess. The council demanded an explanation, they had been so close, so hopeful. Apparently, the body died because the mind self-destructed. Not because of the tremendous pain, the permanent darkness, the hunger or thirst but because of the isolation.
They would certainly try again.