Table Of ContentThe Song of Eloh Saga
The Initiate – a novelette (Book One, The Song of Eloh Saga)
Cloud Prophet Trilogy Anathema
(Book Two, The Song of Eloh Saga) Oubliette
(Book Three, The Song of Eloh Saga) Severed
(Book Four, The Song of Eloh Saga)
The Swarm Trilogy Sleepers
(Book Five, The Song of Eloh Saga) Afterlife
(Book Six, The Song of Eloh Saga) The Sundering (Book Seven, The Song
of Eloh Saga)
Megg Jensen
http://www.meggjensen.com
http://www.facebook.com/meggjensenauthor
Copyright © 2012 by Megg Jensen
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
either products of the author’s imagination or used factitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All
rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in
any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in
writing from the author or publisher.
1st Edition: September 2012
Cover art by Steven Novak – Novak Illustration
Published by Megg Jensen at Smashwords
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The Initiate
Megg Jensen
“Don’t tear up, Eloh,” she told me. “You’ll have black streaks down your
face if you do.”
I flinched, preparing for a slap across my cheek that did not come. For a
moment I’d forgotten I was an initiate. No one would ever lay a hand on me
again. I relaxed back into the chair.
She yanked on the side of my eyelid, pulling the skin so tight it felt like it
would rip in two. A thick line of kohl wound its way around my eyes, led by her
skilled hand. Commoners were not allowed to wear cosmetics. I’d never even
known anyone who’d worn it. Cosmetics were saved for the queen and only
applied by slaves who were referred to as cosmetae. Since I was one of the
chosen, the cosmetae were to make me beautiful for only one night.
My sister said I was lucky. I knew otherwise.
“Hold your breath, now,” she said. She placed a small strip of linen over my
nostrils. “I’m going to paint your eyelids and your brow with chalk. I promise, it
will be a very becoming pattern. I’ve been practicing on rocks at night and I
think I’ve come up with something new, definitely different than the girl who’ll
stand next to you during the ceremony. You’ll stand out and maybe you’ll be
favored.”
More than likely, by the end of the night I’d be dead. If by some remote
chance I was favored, then the cosmeta would probably live a life of luxury.
Anyone who had a hand in the creation of the Chosen One would be cared for.
Her fingers swept deftly over my eyelids, patting the chalk into all the creases. A
friend once told me they mixed the chalk with crocodile dung to help it cling to
the skin. I tried to push it out of my mind.
“You have the most gorgeous brown eyes. They’ll nearly glow when
accentuated by my cosmetics. The gods are sure to take notice and elevate you.
This will convince them to come back to us.”
Hundreds of years ago the gods abandoned us; it was unlikely my brown
eyes would change their minds. Instead I’d be another wasted life, sacrificed to
gods who no longer cared for us. Why my people continued to believe, to
worship, to pray to gods who left us was beyond my comprehension.
The cosmeta grabbed a handful of peacock feathers from the clay jar on the
table. “These will look amazing in your hair. The contrast between your brown
eyes and the greens and blues of the feathers will attract more attention. The
others will be forgotten. The gods will gaze upon no one but you.”
Her obsession with my beauty might have been amusing, perhaps even
flattering, if I hadn’t realized she was doing all of this for herself. In the past,
cosmetae had been executed when none of the girls were chosen. It was a risky
profession.
The peacock feathers tickled my nose as she waved them across my face. Did
she really think I was buying into this? She could turn me into the most beautiful
creature to ever walk this planet and it wouldn’t attract any god anywhere. In my
heart, I felt that they hadn’t just left us. They had never existed. I’d yet to see
any proof they did.
So few became initiates.
Only one initiate would pass. Only the Chosen One would survive. That was
all in theory, providing the gods made a choice. So far none had survived. I tried
not to laugh, knowing it would only anger her, and probably mess up the
makeup. The whole situation was beyond ridiculous.
I glanced at the other girls in the room, whose makeup was being applied
with as much reverence and excitement as mine. Except those girls looked
nothing like me. Hope gleamed in their eyes. They rarely spoke. Some even
folded their hands in reverent prayer. I wanted to feel guilty for being an
unbeliever. I just couldn’t convince myself to believe in something I’d never
seen or understood, especially when the ritual had done nothing but murder
innocent girls.
Unfortunately they’d been performing the ritual for hundreds of years and
hundreds had perished, hoping to be the Chosen One.
I was here because my parents had no need for me.
They had one son and one daughter. Three children, if they counted me. But
no one did. I was the accident. An extra mouth to feed in a family already
strapped financially. I was born in the summer, so leaving me out in the cold to
die wasn’t an option. Instead they kept me until I was old enough to be given
over as an initiate. It made them heroes in our town. Two girls between the ages
of fourteen and eighteen from each town were sacrificed every ten years. My
parents were selfless to forfeit their youngest daughter. At least that’s what
everyone believed. I knew they couldn’t wait to be rid of me.
The gods left us over a thousand years ago. The magic users in our society
had grown hungry with power. On their quest for knowledge, they learned too
much and began to manipulate the gods. They abandoned us and since then our
people fell into poverty. Our lives were filled with despair and desolation.
Hunger and disease were our neighbors.
I’d resigned myself to a swift death. Whether or not it would be painless was
beyond anyone’s knowledge. The dead couldn’t speak, but their bodies,
shriveled and burnt beyond recognition, told the gruesome tale.
“Done,” she said with a smile on her face. “You’re beautiful.”
She swiveled the chair around and I peered into the mirror. I didn’t recognize
the girl staring back at me. She was too beautiful, distractingly so. I had always
been comfortable with messy hair and a dirt-streaked face.
I worked in the fields, played there, and fell in love there. Ben loved me
disheveled, dirty, and sweaty. Without the glamour and the peacock feathers. My
heart fluttered in my chest and my breath quickened.
Ben.
I had been allowed to choose one person to see me off to the bonfire. Ben
had been my first, and only, choice. I would always choose him - above and
beyond all things, time, and space. He understood me and loved me for who I
was inside. He was the only one who didn’t care that I was an unwanted child
