They chose me because I was the most coveted. There had been a bidding war. My family would have had more status and wealth with my sale to a husband, but the priests said I was worthy of our god. So I guess I will be his.
So, I walk as slow as I can. The spears at my back threaten to poke me but I know they won’t. I need to be unmarked. Untouched. My naked body had been draped in gold trinkets, and flower ropes. The stone path in front of me is lined with my family. My father holds my mother. Her head buried in his bare chest. She wails as I walk by but doesn’t turn to meet my eye.
My parents will have status. They will be respected. Until our god requires another bride, and then they will be forgotten. The last one was my friend. When we were young, we ran the game trails and swam in the pools. I grew tall much slower then she did, but not slow enough. How many wives does our god need? Do none of them make him happy? Does he get bored with them and demand another?
I get to the steps and they are too steep. I have to use my hands. Maybe my god will change his mind when he sees I can not even climb up to the alter. How will I bring him water? The pot will be empty by the time it reaches him.
I make it to the top. My family, and the men with spears are all looking up at me. The priest grabs my arm and leads me to the flat stone table I am to lay on. This is where my god will take me. Where the priest will offer me. I am shaking. I try to move backwards but the priests’ grip tightens. Another priest approaches with a bowl. I am to drink from it. It is to help me accept my god. How do we know it is our god that will take me? There could be other gods waiting to steal me for their own. Then our god will become angry and need another bride.
I drink the foul liquid from the bowl. It is thick with clumps of herb. I swallow the chunks. I am instantly dizzy. I wish I’d drank it sooner, but they would have had to carry me down the path and up the steps. That would be less of a lie. I was supposed to be giving myself to our god. So why did they walk behind me with spears?
No, I was being forced. I was being given, not doing the giving. But that’s how it would be if a man had won me, before the priest’s had heard of my father wanting to let the bids rise. Wanting to see what would be offered for his beautiful daughter. And now he gets nothing. I am stolen from my parents, and given to our god.
I am warm. I want to sleep.
The priests lay me on the table and I see the gods staring down from the black. Our god will be here soon. My spirit will rise to meet him. I hope I make him happy. I hope he tells the priests in their dreams that the offerings can stop. He has found his true wife. For my sisters are growing taller. And I don’t want them to make that long walk. To climb those steep stairs. To lay on this stone waiting to be taken.
The priest stands over me, a dagger in his hand, his arms wide, he speaks of my beauty and worthiness.
What if they are wrong? What if our god is a woman? And she desires a husband? Then she will never be happy. All of my breath leaves my body as the dagger plunges into my chest. The gods blink, and look away.