Sacrifice

No one could forget how it started.

The sky turned ink-blank. Dark, formidable clouds covered the sun’s light entirely. A dangerous storm of great magnitude whipped out with such power from the sky that it bent the strongest trees. A hurricane weaved through the entire plane, leaving a devastating scar in its wake. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, all pulled as if magnetically to a particular place. The people referred to it as the Mountain.

This Mountain has been standing ever since the world was created. It towered high above the ground that its peak reached the heavens and was obscured by a thick mist. Nobody, not even a mountain goat, has ever managed to reach the Mountain’s peak and live to tell the tale, and for a good reason too: the path to the top was dangerously steep, and sharp crags await those who suffer a misstep. A terrible accident had happened a long time ago with a group of daring thrill-seekers who attempted to reach the Mountain’s top; it chilled the people to their bones and after that, no one dared try climbing it again.

The storm moved, gradually progressing toward the Mountain. The wind's intensity, the thunder’s strength, and the lightning’s energy; all the power drawn towards the God-forsaken landform.

An evil laugh erupted amidst the chaos. Its supernatural state made it possible for the sound to transcend through the thick mist and travel through space; it made the earth growl in repulsion, the air shimmered as if shaken, and it went as far as the ocean, making the sea lose control. The children in the nearest village all let out painful, haunting cries. The women fell to their knees with their hands over their ears, hearing a terrible wail that their minds could not block out. The men rushed out with their swords and spears, but there was nothing to fight. The enemy could not to be fought against by anything human hands have made.

The laugh increased in volume; it was as if the owner has lost control over himself. Another sound—a tortured scream—resounded like a gong from the Mountain. It drowned the evil laugh, because it was more terrible and filled with all the worldly pain and agony. All those who heard it burst into mournful tears. Hearing it made the people feel the crier's pain. Horrible images flashed through their minds, brought about by the pained cry: skin seared slowly with hot iron, bones snapping, muscles tearing apart, a helpless, drowning child.

What was going on?

Up on the Mountain, in a deep, dark cave resembling a lion’s maw, a man in midnight blue robes chanted in an ancient language that has ruled over a hundred empires and has taken a legion of kings: magic. The man's face was hidden by a hood, and a shadow fell over his eyes. On and on the chant went, and on and on the storm outside circled the peak. He turned his ear towards the entrance and sneered at the cries of the people.

Yes, I have been awakened.

In front of him was a pillar of fire, wine-red and almost liquid, made alive by his demonic chants. And at the dead center of the fire is a young woman tied to a stake and being burned alive. The evil fire had no smoke to suffocate her, and thus she went on screaming and wailing for help. That is, if help would ever come.

“Go on. Yell. Scream. Beg for mercy! The pain in your voice only makes my spell stronger.” The man laughed again, mocking the burning lady.

Her once-golden hair was almost gone, singed by the flames. Her white dress was in tatters, and her skin was etched with burn marks from the ropes that bound her.

“Please! Let me go!” the girl pleaded, but her imploration fell on heartless ears.

The man stayed silent. He closed his eyes in concentration, and when he opened them again, a dark shadow rested over his brown irises. He raised his arms and the fire grew stronger, completely wrapoing itself around the girl. Her screams doubled with pain and echoed on the walls of the cave, adding power to the enchantment. Beyond the fire, the girl’s shadow could be seen on the walls. She was thrashing even harder, and then the real horror started.

The ropes broke, but something else bound her that was a lot stronger that mere twisted ropes. A spell held her arms and legs, twisting and bending them in impossible directions. The girl yelled in pure agony as she felt her bones crack and break. She was turned and bent and twisted and warped. Just then, her screams just stopped. The fire went out and a chill quickly spread inside the cave. The spell that bound her released her, and she fell forward like a lifeless doll on the cold stone floor.

She was dead.

And yet the man smiled triumphantly. “At last.”

He raised his arms to the ceiling and recited a new incantation. The storm grew even more rapid and went all out. The world was nearing its destruction; it could only take on so much.

Then the robed man placed his arms over the body. Instead of using his ancient language, he used one that could be understood by all men. His voice echoed on the cave walls and went out to send a message, and a warning. He was coming.

Craft me a mirror clear and bold
Line its edges with the finest gold
Bewitch its glass so I could see
All the beauty that is due me

The body shook. It convulsed as the last traces of life was torn away from it and glowed white-hot. And then, a pillar of light burst from the girl’s chest. It shot through the ceiling, creating a crater at the top of the Mountain. It created a hole through the thick mist, and the clouds parted. The winds stopped blowing, the thunder ceased and the lightning disappeared. The light became the source of the calm after the storm.

When the light died down, there where the body had been lying, was a mirror. It was elegant, laden with the most precious stones and jewels. The edges of the glass and the handle was made of pure gold, and complexly engraved with the ancient words used in creating it.

The robed man picked it up, gently at first. When he gazed in the glass, he saw his face, and what he saw was beyond the most beautiful thing on earth. His fair skin resembled pure milk, and it was a smooth as satin. He had an arrow-straight nose, and rose-red lips. His eyes had turned back to their normal color: brown with flakes of gold. Indeed he looked like a prince through that mirror.

“Finally,” he gasped, holding the handle tighter until his knuckles turned white. “Finally. After years of waiting, it is finally mine. The Mirror of Beauty is finally mine!”