It is not Asmara who gave us life, but it is to Asmara we give our life back to. 

Death is inevitable, death is a horror, and in death our bodies rot and fall apart and melt into the earth. But the soil was once a part of our Goddess, and as we become one with the earth we simply fall into Her embrace. In our last moments with Her arms wrapped around us, is it Her kiss we will feel upon our breaking skulls before we turn back to nothing? 

Or will it be the throb of a second heart coming into motion? 

I was dimly aware of my own heart - just the one - beating in my chest as I watched the villagers line up in front of the sculpture. A white blanket was draped over the Goddess’s arms and on it she held a golden bowl. It was the only treasure of this chapel, an obligatory dowry passed on from the Main Temple of Asvaren so that the village could give offerings with all respect due.

A young woman stood hesitantly in front of the sculpture. She was biting her lip, her chest rising and falling quickly like that of a little frightened bird, and the Chaplain was beside her, holding her by the wrist and patting her hand and whispering softly.

The girl had just turned eighteen, so this was her first time participating in this part of the Feast. There was nothing strange about her nervousness - I remembered the first experiences of my older siblings who were so sure that it would be no challenge to them at all, yet when the time came lingered uneasily in front of the golden bowl, trembling from the hyperbolic horrors of their own imagination. I had watched them and trembled also, imagining that it was I, not them, who stood there. 

I sighed. Yes, I should’ve stood there too by now. But on my first Feast as an eighteen year old my parents took me aside and said that the Chaplain simply would not have it. They explained that one of my hearts was an organ of corruption that pumped miasma, not blood, into my veins. And if we were to let it mix with the rest of the sacrificial blood, at the very least it would unsettle the Goddess and, worse yet, it might bring illness to the village. This is not a risk that the Chaplain would be willing to take. 

So when the rest of the village lined up and mingled their blood in honour of Asmara, I stood apart from them and flushed with shame. 

It was this that finally made me approach the Chaplain and have him accept me as a helper. I was hopeful of my progress and so, a year later: “Chaplain, would you allow me to participate in the blood sacrifice?” 

The Chaplain spoke from behind me. “Ah, Gustav, you know I can’t.”

“...I served Asmara well, didn't I?”

The Chaplain walked up next to me. He sounded somewhat apologetic when he said, “It’s not that. Your mind might be dispelled, but your body? You understand, don’t you.” 

“You really don’t believe that I could change this?” 

He hesitated. “We are not the Goddess, nor are we the High Priest to speak of Her intentions, so does it matter whether or not I believe that you can be saved?”

“So you don’t.”

“I’ve told you before, no, I don’t. In all my years, all the priests I’ve known, none would have believed it either.” 

I didn’t respond. I stared at the cottages, the gravel path, the wildflowers, the blue sky and a black cat sleeping on a cart, its fur rusting in the sunlight, and I saw none of it, not really. Valdemar was already gone from view. The Chaplain put his hand on my shoulder. “But we could be wrong. There might be a way, if you just hold faith. Maybe.” 

Maybe.

Useless.

Now the girl finally found her courage. I watched as the Chaplain took a knife and made a small incision in the side of her hand. She was still pale but as drops of her blood fell into the bowl, her fear visibly gave way to relief, and maybe even pride. 

I could not share in these feelings of hers, or that sense of community that came now as she walked back to her family and friends, a gleam in her eyes. But this was not the only way to ‘hold my faith’ and, as a condolence, the Chaplain put me to a different task. 

Once the human blood offerings came to an end, we would host a ceremonial slaughter of Beata’s cow, and share its meat with the entire village. As a sign of goodwill the Chaplain - or in this case, myself - would go to every house and deliver the portions by hand. Given the Chaplain’s pointed distaste for muddying his robes all the while carrying the meat and talking pleasantries to every household, I questioned somewhat whether he wanted me to do this for my own good or his. Regardless, I was not displeased; this meant that I would visit Valdemar’s house, and have a chance at making his proper acquiantance. 

Where is he, anyway? I thought, and looked around. I did not see him in the line. The only people other than myself to not give blood were the children, the elderly, and the infirm. I frowned. Was he ill? Or–

Someone touched my arm. I turned and Asmara must’ve heard my prayers for there was Valdemar, his dark eyes sparkling in the sunlight. He smiled sheepishly. “You are the Chaplain’s apprentice, right?” he asked, “I was hoping we could talk.”

I was in such shock that I could’ve fallen to my knees in thanks to the Goddess. I stared at him and tried to reconcile this with the event of the other day, when Valdemar barely deemed to glance my way. I must’ve taken a moment too long to respond, because he added, “...is that alright?” 

“Of course, yes!” I exclaimed, and it didn’t even cross my mind to correct him that I wasn’t an apprentice.

He led me away from the chapel to a shaded spot under a tree. “My grandfather advised me to speak to the Chaplain about a misconception he seems to have of me." He said, "but he seems busy, and I suppose talking to you would yield the same result."

"What misconception?" 

"The Chaplain told my grandfather that I am not to attend the blood sacrifice. I don’t understand why not." 

“Are you under eighteen?” I blurted, and immediately realised that was a stupid thing to ask. He raised an eyebrow. “I mean, sorry, of course not. Are you maybe ill?” 

“...not that I’m aware of. Unless the Chaplain can see what I cannot?” He looked at me quizzically, and I couldn’t tell whether he was asking seriously or in mockery. I shook my head. 

“To be honest,” I said, “He’s probably just upset with you.” 

Valdemar frowned. 

“I think he didn’t like what you said to him in the chapel - he’s very petty.” I said, because I couldn’t think of any other reason for his exclusion. It seemed plausible; the Chaplain had a history for abusing his authority for the sake of petty revenge. But it was cruel to do this to a newcomer. At the same time I could not deny that the revelation brought me a little pleasure - if Valdemar had been allowed to participate, he would not have spoken to me. 

The young man shrugged, as if it all mattered very little to him. “If that is all, then it’s alright. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are Chaplain’s apprentices excluded from offering their blood?” 

“I- I’m not his apprentice.” I stammered.

“No?” He eyed me suspiciously. 

“But don’t worry, I know just as much! That is, about the Chaplain…” I said, and felt my face grow hot under his gaze. I didn’t want him to know of my curse, because for all my hopes I had no real way to know whether he’d think different from the rest - what if even in the distant lands of Woltair they believed the same things? Yet if I didn’t tell him, he would find out from the other villagers soon enough.

I tried not to look at him. “I’m not allowed to participate because my blood is corrupt.”

“How can it be corrupt?” 

“I’m cursed by birth to become a vrykolakas.” I said, watching for his reaction. “It means that I will rise after death and kill everyone I love.” 

Valdemar cast his eyes over me, head to toe, as he evaluated my words. “But that curse, as you call it, comes after death? Yet you are alive, so wherein lies the corruption now?” He asked.

“I was told that I have two hearts, and one of them pumps evil blood that will turn me into a vrykolakas…” I trailed off.  

“But? I can tell there is a ‘but’.”

“But I can only ever hear one heart. Not two.”  

Suddenly, Valdemar stepped forward and put his hands on my chest. I froze, breath catching in my throat. At this distance I noticed that he had freckles, very faint but there, and blond eyelashes that matched his hair. We stood still for a few seconds and then he said, “I can only feel one beating, too.” A pause. “Though it is unusually fast.”

I recoiled from his touch and I was sure that my face turned red. He stared at me, wide-eyed, and I realised that I was overreacting, clutching my hands to my chest like a scandalised maiden. I pretended to be fiddling with my tunic and averted my gaze. The blades of grass at our feet suddenly looked quite interesting. 

“Do you believe in this curse yourself?” Asked Valdemar, and I could swear that there was a trace of laughter in his voice.

I braved a glance at him. “What?”

“Are you not the one to whom this body belongs? Do you not know it best? So, do you believe what others say of that which is within yourself?”

I fell silent. My heart was still racing and I was thinking of all the nights I lay in bed, listening to it and thinking of the Goddess, and how could I possibly have said that I didn’t believe? They all said that I was doomed, and in my earliest memory I already knew it too. 

And what if it wasn’t true? Would it really matter now, when there was no way to really know? Surely, there was something to these beliefs - a history, a foundation of reason, of truth. They could not have come from nowhere. 

Valdemar ran a hand through his hair, seeming a little exasperated. “Nevermind, don’t worry about it. What do you say we have a ceremony of our own?”

I gasped. “On our own? But…” 

“Hm? Is there some rule against doing it without the Chaplain?”

“I don’t think so, but…” I faltered. “We’re not supposed to. And I need to go back, to help with the cow-”

“Even though you’re not an apprentice?”

“The Chaplain said it’ll show my faith.” I said. Valdemar didn’t look satisfied with this answer, his eyes narrowing slightly, so I ventured to ask,"And aren’t you afraid? After what I’ve told you?”

“I think we’re quite the same - held back by the standards of a rickety old man - I don’t see what there is to be afraid of. Well?” 

I hesitated. I looked at Valdemar, his hair gleaming in the sunlight, a pleasant smile across his face, his long eyelashes golden like sunbeams. Then I turned my head towards the Chapel, where I could see that the line of villagers had already dispersed into a disorganised crowd, and I knew that now the cow would be brought forward for slaughter. 

If I went back there, if I mounted a mule and rode across the village, handing out pieces of meat, would Goddess Asmara take notice, would she have pity on me, would she, when the time came, accept me into her earthly embrace? 

There might be a way, if you held faith.

Maybe. 

But my skin burned where Valdemar had touched me over my clothes, and I could hear him beckoning, behind me, “Come, Gustav.” So easily, so simply he said my name, and I loved the way it sounded in his foreign lilt. I’d never even introduced myself to him. 

And anyway, didn’t the Chaplain say so himself?  It did not matter what they thought.

Together, we left the village and headed for the fields.