Then it was my turn. "Alicia," a priestess called. I took a step forward and closed my eyes tight as a priest held up a red hot brand. The burning, searing pain scorched through my forehead. Although it was exactly what I had expected, I could not help but smiled when I re-opened my eyes. The brand-mark would smart for days, but I didn’t care because its prominent position proved to everyone that I was special.
One by one other girls were called up, and only a few like me were given brands on the forehead. Some had theirs placed on the right cheek, and others on the right shoulders. The most pathetic group, girls who were deemed too ugly for any man in the community were given slave marks on the left shoulder.
The boys of our community received no such markings. Instead they were sent to either the army camps or the blacksmiths depending on their courage and physique. There were no cripples among my people, for we were a perfect race.
My mother smiled proudly from the audience below as I took my place on the high seats before the altar. She had always told me that I would be successful in life because I was beautiful. And if it were ever possible, the pain on my forehead actually made me feel whole and perfect and worthy.
I held my head high and gazed at the full moon, for other than the Master, she was the only one worthy for my eyes. I must remember to only gaze upon beautiful, perfect things so that I would maintain a flawless composure.
A commotion erupted at the gates of the temple, a rude intrusion to the solemn ceremony. Men and women carrying wooden shields, short spears and chipped swords and wearing tattered leather breast plates swarmed into the crowd of worshippers who either tried to stop them from advancing to the altar or scattered away from them.
"Save us! Save my daughter!" a woman called out above the din of shouts and screams. I stood up and craned my neck to find her in the crowd and realized that she was Celeste's mother: The mother of the smartest girl in my class who was branded on her left shoulder. I glared down at her haughtily, deciding that she was mad to ask for help from people who lived like animals. Celeste was better off living as a slave in the community.
None too soon, soldiers in handsome brass armors and black mail charged into the temple from the west wing, the corridor to and from the palace. The melee was quick and bloody, for not only rebels but also civilians who stood in the way were cut down like reeds. The intruders clambered over the low walls like rats. Some managed to escape through the gates only to find more soldiers waiting for them outside. After some time, order was again restored to the temple. Then I saw my mother. She was hurt. I could see her right arm almost severed from her shoulder. A senior soldier halted before her kneeling imploring form but instead of helping her, he pulled out a knife sheathed to the side of his boot and slit her throat. Then he continued on his way, looking about him and putting people out of their misery the way my father would do to his sick livestock.
I sat down and stared at the moon, trying to hold back my tears. I must not cry, else my eyes would become puffy and my nose would swell red. I took deep breaths and was pleased that I could control myself. It was not the soldier's fault that my mother died. It was those rebels' fault. If they had not disturbed the proceedings my mother would still be alive.
The sweet perfume of incense reached me and, though the wide hall still echoed with cries and shouts for mercy, I could hear the ankle bells of the high priestess. Her usually expressionless perfect face appeared displeased and when I turned to my fellow sisters I understood why. Three of them stared with ghastly frowns upon the carnage below while four others were crying. Only two of us, myself and another girl, had maintained our composure.
The priestess called, "Alicia, Ghita, come," and we stood up and followed her into a small thick doorway behind the altar. Usually five girls would be picked to serve the Master every other night, but tonight there was only two of us. As we passed under the shadow of the golden arches leading to the most sacred and secret chamber within the palace, I thanked the rebels for giving me this special opportunity to prove my worth to the Master.
A golden double door opened at our approach. In the middle of the chamber was a large, large bed and in the center of it was a man so large, he filled the bed. Though the room was smoky from incense, it could not hide the smell emitting from pus that showed red between the folds of his flesh. I smiled. My Master deserved the best, and I was the best.
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