A Guide to Liminal Matters and Ghastly Kinds - short story
for @flashfictionfridayofficial, 880 words. Content warning for a sacrificial ritual, but it's very light hearted. Also for what appears to be character death. This is probably Cosima's backstory that turned out so much sillier than I planned ^^ Also, sort of spoiler warning for those who follow GLMGK and want to meet her somewhen in part four? But I don't think it actually spoils much. Works really well as a standalone.
If Cosima had some semblance of a choice over how people would tell her story--her history, then the most important part would be that it’d be clear that she had done nothing wrong. Not in all her life, of course. There were so many decades now, and she wasn’t above admitting that once or twice she could have made a better decision or fought better.
But in this particular instance, she really was not at fault at all.
She had simply followed the call for help. At first, her advisor had handed her the letter and she had followed its directions. Then, once she was inside the forest, it was quite easy to follow the actual calling. A distressed voice crying out deep within.
Okay, yes. Maybe she should have changed into pants, in hindsight those would have been much more practical garments to fight in a forest, but alas--she wore her battle dress. Leather heavy on her waist, her hips. The skirt caught on thorns and sticks every now and then but she trod on.
Her longsword nearly brimmed with the energy that sat heavy in the air, Frostblade the Vengeful reacted heavily with the looming threat.
And what a threat it was.
Too soon, Cosmia found herself in a clearing, an old oak tree in the middle. One of its branches must have fallen off, leaving behind an enormous gap in the wood. The sight was slightly unsettling right in the moment as the cries for help stopped.
As were the people in armour. Their stances were broad, ready to attack.
But so was Cosima. She unsheathed Frostblade the Vengeful, held it with both hands in front of her, ready to counter anything those people would throw at her. Just that the first thing they threw at her were not physical attacks but words, and, really, who could be prepared for such a thing?
“If it isn’t the one and only”, one of them snickered.
“The witch that haunts these lands--not for much longer!”
“This dark age of your reign is over!”
Cosima was flabbergasted. There were people who didn’t like her? Since when?!
“I demand an explanation. Is there actually anyone in danger?” she asked and looked around. But aside from the foliage and the insects, no other living being seemed to be present. Clearly, the people in front of her were just fine. She had been called for nothing.
As she turned around to leave, the people exclaimed again, furiously.
“You will not leave! You will fulfil your purpose!”
“Yes! Do the one good thing in your wretched and cursed life that you’re good for!”
Irritated, Cosima turned back to them. Only now she saw the ropes and knives, several items of stones and bones and herbs.
Ah, yes. She was going to be sacrificed. That was actually a bit inconvenient. There was just the next hunting season coming up and Cosima was set on getting a rarity in her hands, not even that terrible Baron Münchhausen would be able to foil her plans--
“Excuse me? Are you even listening?” one of the peasants--ah, uh, people hissed.
“We will sacrifice you to this oak tree of eternity!”
Cosima pointed back to the path she had taken, unsure of how to proceed, no one had ever tried to make her a sacrifice before.
“Uh, I’m kinda busy. Like, you know, ruling actually takes a lot of time and work, and I really appreciate the whole eternity.thing? But I am already pretty much immortal, so I think that would be a bit wasted on me. To be honest.”
“We are aware”, one of them grit out. “That’s why it has to be you. The tree isn’t eternal yet.”
Well, that certainly explained things.
What followed could only be described as an utterly unfair fight as Cosima was, well, she was Cosima and the peasa--people were just people.
There were a handful of them and two were already down, just hurt, not dead.
And then Cosima tripped over a root that she had not seen, could not catch herself and the attackers were on her. On one hand, Cosima was still much, much stronger than them. But on the other hand, she had maybe, perhaps hit her head on the forest floor and suddenly she couldn’t see clearly. So this was really not on her, but the forest. Let it be said, just this once, for history: She was not at fault.
The people dragged her to the tree, its crack, pushed her inside. Took the ropes, bound her in place. Sacrificial ropes. Strong enough to hold a god in place, if so desired.
Frostblade the Vengeful fell out of her grip, all the way down to the forest floor, right next to her honour and grace.
Maybe, someone will find me soon, Cosima thought while the people chanted around her and completed the ritual.
She still thought so as night fell.
And the next week, when bark started to grow over her skirt.
And a year later, when vines grew over her torso.
And a decade later, when a bird nested on her head, secure behind her tiara.
And then, she didn’t think anymore at all.
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