Chenoa peered timidly from behind the dense undergrowth, looking down on the sandstone jungle below. No, no, no! he mind echoed as she watched the scene unfolding atop the temple. Unable to watch she collapsed against a nearby papaya tree. Usually the tranquility of the forest calmed her, comforted her, shielded her. Today there was a noticeable chill in the air.

            As she wandered the narrow path from her safe haven, she glanced to her right. Beyond the forest the land was parched and cracked. Infertile dust danced in the slight breeze. Once flourishing fields are left scarred and barren with the drought. Bursting rivers were now replaced with deep wounds unable to heal. Chenoa knew the Gods had been angered.

            Trekking down the weaving path, Chenoa gripped to the memory of lush fields with hiding spaces for her and her best friend. Her serenity shattered by the lonesome birds, she focused on her abode. That's...Oh Gods! She instantly recognized the priests arguing with her parents. She sprinted home.

            "You cannot steal my daughter!" her mother cried, slumping against the fence.

            "The Gods do not hate her!" her father screamed.

            "They are angry with all of us. Someone must die for us. Be honoured that it is your daughter who will save us!" rebutted the priest.

            "It will rain! The Gods will not let us suffer forever! SPARE HER!"

            "Daa, da, da, da, daaa, da, daa" Chenoa's voice wavered as she hummed her favourite song. She cried to herself and continued singing, trying to block out the argument outside. Why did I have to be a girl? She cursed her family, herself for her sex. She scratched at the tattoo on her third eye. As a young child she had been marked for a malicious execution should the need arise. Despite the wild cries of her parents, there was no hope. A priest approached her as she continued to sing. He surveyed her fragile body, completely wrapped in blue cloth. He violently ripped her off the floor with one swift muscular motion. A harmony of screams echoed through the camp, but Chenoa couldnt hear them. I'm going to die!

            Looking frantically around her, Chenoa finally realized where she was. In blindness her mind swam with images of death. Blood. Fire. Fire... Candles littered the dank room. She traced the walls with her hands. Crude masonry the Grand Temple basement. No escape! NO DOOR! Tears cascaded  down her face. How could such holy men be so bloodthirsty and evil in spirit? She grappled with the ritual. Again, she tried to scratch the tattoo from its haunting perch.

            Footsteps. Chenoa kept still, silent. Trying to blend into the darkness in fear. Help me! Help me! She pleaded to the Gods. A sudden flood of light blinded Chenoa as the door opened. She recognized the faces of her attackers. The taller man carried an ornamental blade with no handle. The other carried rich fabrics and jewellery. Upon the crown of the silky pile laid a bundle of coarse rope. Black. The colour of silence. This was day one of the seven day ritual. The Silent Day.

            Floating almost inhumanly across the taller priest moved towards Chenoa with the rope. She glanced around the room. Anywhere? Anywhere to hide. Serenely he bowed down and snatched her hands from their hugging position. He tightened the rope. Chenoas face contorted in agony. The shorter priest measured her for her ritual garments.

            She no longer felt herself. She felt naked. All she wanted to do was hide her femininity, and now it was on show. Her hair cascaded down her neck in cocoa ringlets. A silver and turquoise tiara adorned her head. Earthy pigments enriched her skin, lips and eyelashes. Black ink trailed from her eyes to her cheekbones, curling in intricate paths. Rich waves of black silk accentuated her body. Cedar sandals covered her feet. Get me out of this! Tears refused to flow. Jerking her head up suddenly, she heard more footsteps. Only one?

            Chenoa struggled against the priest, squirming her way out of his grip. He furiously knocked her to the ground with one blow. The priest bound her hands and disrobed. Please, NOOO! She panicked. She couldnt even scream. Adrenalin surged as she ferociously pushed him away. She sidled away. The priest pounced upon her. Infuriated he began to beat her supple skin. The beating morphed into exploration. She cried and forced herself to black out.

            She was unsure how long he had been there when he redressed her. Minutes? Hours? She drew her legs up to her chest and huddled.

            Echoes travelled uninhibited throughout the titanic dining hall. Nobility gathered to admire a timid Chenoa. Despite the barren fields surrounding the village, the heavy wooden table was plentiful with both local and imported foodstuffs. Never had the people imagined the theocracy to be corrupt or malevolent. Chenoa was lost for words. While families like her own had suffered and starved, the higher classes hoarded the scarce scraps of fresh produce remaining. Chenoa fought away tears as memories of tiresome treks into the dense jungle for food flooded her mind.

            "Come on, keep up!" She called to her best friend. "We need to make it back to the village by dusk!"

            "Chenoa, slow down, we will make it. Just wait up!!!" Elan trudged behind her, struggling to keep up. The jungle paths were treacherous. "CHEN..."

            Chenoa spun around. "Elan this isnt funny!" Chenoa looked around wildly. "Where are you?" She cried.

            A wave of silence fell dramatically upon the noble crowd. The two priests entered. The smaller man cradled a softly glowing candle in his palm. Oil torches illuminated the room. How could they do that to us? Chenoa wanted to be angry but she was overwhelmed and humbled by the smell emanating from the table. Her senses reeled at the thought of fresh food.

            Run! Just run! Her mind screamed. Anger the Gods so they will attack the nobles. They deserve to be punished! Giving into temptation, her scantily clad foot drifted above the dusty floor. She ran.

            Jagged rocks pinched the bare soles of her feet. Mud traced across her gown, tattered and stained with blood. Aaarrghhhhh! Her heart pounded uncontrollably as she fled. I have to reach the cave! Make it. Make it. MAKE IT! Entangled arms of the few living trees relented to allow her safe passage. MAKE IT! Survival was her only instinct. MAKE IT! It would only be a matter of time before she was discovered. It didnt matter. Freedom was too powerful to ignore. MAKE IT! Bright ruby scratches littered her arms and shins. Tears cooled her flushed face. She collapsed against the cavern wall. I'm home!

*******

The carcass of the fire laid against the barren rock. Chenoa ventured from her haven, emaciated and frightened. She was driven for her need of food and water. Weakness overcame her frail form, stripped from hunger. She wandered aimlessly, determined to survive. Food... She wandered. Night touched the horizon. Lightheaded and disoriented, she tried searching for shelter. No luck. She collapsed in the forest.

            "I found her! I found her!" The excited cry of a village person echoed in the forest. Irritably the taller priest wrenched her from the ground. A substantial part of the ceremony was lost. Stupid girl! They were on a strict deadline. It was impossible to postpone the public ceremony. It had to be performed on the new moon. The priest carelessly threw her over his shoulder and walked back to the village.

            The priests bound her wrists to the thick ropes dangling from the basement ceiling. The tips of Chenoa's toes barely scraped the ground. The scrape of metal against its sheath resounded through the basement. The blade sliced into her slowly and methodically. Trails of blood coursed across her and funneled into ritual jars. Purification had begun. Chenoa screamed in agony. As she began to fade, the priests stopped. They didn't want to kill her before the ceremony. Her blood trickled to a stop and she was cut down. THUD! She hit the ground. The priests undressed her and themselves

            Chenoa awoke violently from a tortured slumber. She was still tied up. Briefly searching her surroundings, she realised where she was. The temple! "No! Not today!" she whispered, crying. Priests. Watching her every move. Practicing their incantations. A cool draft wafted through the temple room. A shear drape of cotton bound her breasts, barely covering her upper body. A purple wrap covered her lower body, adorned with gold embroidered hieroglyphs. She was kept as natural as possible. This was it. The day. Dragged to feet, she reluctantly followed the priests to the upper level of the temple. Below, the entire village watched. Nononononono! Was all she could think as she hummed her favourite song. Forceful orders from the priests drove her insane.

            Chenoa nervously glanced towards the altar. Panic surged within her. RUN! As she turned, a pair of worn hands roughly gripped her. No escape. Tears wildly flowed. Untamed shrills escaped her lips. The pair of worn hands dragged her to the altar, securing her wrists and ankles with copper shackles. Chenoa bent backwards upon the bloodstained altar. All she could see was the ceiling. Masses gathered below. All anxious. A masked priest dramatically strode out from behind a red curtain. In his right hand he carried an obsidian blade carved with religious writings. Standing over Chenoa, he began to chant. He raised the obsidian blade above his head as the chant began to crescendo. Louder still as the knife plunged into Chenoas chest. The sharp, icy tip scraped bone. Warm, viscous blood flowed along her body. Cascading falls of life rolling to the floor. The priest removed her heart from the butchered cavity, a cheerful expression on his face. Ceremoniously walking to the raging fire, he tossed her heart in the twisting flames. Scorching fire stealing her life. The ground beneath the temple became deserted again. Refreshing water descended from the darkened sky.