The Ceremony

In an unknown time and place is an unknown woman readying herself for an unknown Ceremony. Unknown only because it is her first and we have yet to hear her name.

Short, loose curls bounce as she skitters around her messy hut. The cool floor chills her bare feet. “Candles, crystals, offerings, and me, teehee.” She giggles, trying to mask her nerves, and walks out the wooden door. It clicks behind her with a hollow thud. A crow caws in the air, its wings rustling in the morning air.

She pauses to inhale the lilac strand that survived her neglect from last spring. Its faint sweetness is a tiny relief in the heat.

“Excuse me.”

A small voice jerks her out of her lilac-smelling delight. Her knapsack slips from her fingers and hits the ground with a dull thump, scattering crystals that clink across the stone walkway, candles roll into the dust, paper offerings flutter like startled moths.

Her body stills with despair. Rage. Her fingers twitch. Heat prickles up her neck. She turns, ready to unleash her fury. She stops.

The unknown woman now faces a woman unknown to her. Also, the ugliest woman she has ever seen. “Your face makes me want to vomit.” She blurts out. She slaps a hand over her mouth. “So sorry.”

The ugly woman laughs, sounding like rocks crunching. “Do you have any water?”

The unknown woman on her way to an unknown Ceremony hesitates. Seriously? I don’t need this right now! She’s so ugly. She cranes her neck to the rising sun, seeing the crow circle above. The air is becoming stickier. It’s been a hot summer… ugh! The rushing woman is going to be late, but she didn’t have it in her to say no.

She nods in assent, opening her door. Cool air from the inside brushes her ankles. She moves to the sink, filling a glass. Water splashes loudly in the stone hut. The ugly woman sips it. The rushing woman notices her two different-colored eyes: blue and green. Deep, vibrant colors that catch the light like gemstones.

“Thank you.” The ugly woman places the water down with a soft clink. “Why did you help?” Her eyes searching.

“It’s hot. You asked for water.” She shrugs. “Wouldn’t you do the same?”

The ugly woman ponders a moment. “No.”

The woman who loves lilacs grimaces. “That’s bitchy.” She brings her hand to her mouth. Her lips taste of dust and panic. “I guess that makes me bitchy, too. I’ll admit I am stressed, hot, and hungry. You have your water; you need to leave. I’m taking part in the Ceremony.”

The ugly woman nods. “I see. I do not mean to intrude.” She gathers herself with a harrumph, the chair creaking under her weight.

“Please, no. Stay.” The words tumble out before she can stop them. She berates herself. “I want to do well for my mother, but… I’m barely prepared. I just want to nap and eat figs with cheese.”

“We should all strive to be so noble.” The ugly woman chuckles.

The rushing woman sighs away contempt. The ugly woman was not taking hints. “Make yourself at home, please,” she deadpans. “But I must leave. Steal anything…” She pauses, eyes narrowing to anger before softening. “And I’ll understand you need it more than I do.” She turns toward the door.

“Don’t forget this. Alexandra.” The ugly woman shoves the knapsack into her hand.

Alexandra snatches it and lunges out the door. She stops and turns. “How did you—” The ugly woman slams her own door in Alexandra’s face. The wood reverberates. She stares at the door, chewing her almost-welcoming words. “What…?” She shakes her head in disbelief.

She vanishes into the growing crowd, hating herself for being kind to the ugly woman. The crow’s shadow glides across the ground beside her like a silent escort. “Why did I agree to this?” Alexandra whispers. The air is thick with sweat, incense, and too many bodies. Ew. People. She frowns to herself but maintains a smiling exterior.

This is for her mother, not her.

***

The other twenty-nine candidates, with their perfect hair, their perfect skin, and their blindingly perfect toga whiteness, surround Alexandra. The room is cavernous, echoing every cough and shuffle. Though they sit five feet apart, their breath weighs on her. Hot. Fruity. Too sweet. No better than outside.

“…her hair is so short…” one Candidate says.

“…she won’t make it past this round.” Another brays.

Alexandra doesn’t register their comments—too much. Her pulse is loud in her ears. How did Ugly know my name? Why was I so mean?

The stone beneath her knees is cold relief. She loves her number too: twenty-seven, a cube of three. “Three is linked to the universe,” her mother taught her growing up. Alexandra clings to the memory like a lifeline; a tiny truth to steady her spinning mind.

A shadow falls over her.

Another white-toga Candidate stops in front of her. Alexandra looks up.

Ugh. Cayenne.

Cayenne kicks her bag over without breaking eye contact, sending its contents across the floor. She surveys the mess with theatrical disgust. Alexandra’s fragile calm shatters. She scowls and scoops the contents back until—

A bracelet? It’s cool to the touch, heavier than it looks. Alexandra doesn’t recognize it but doesn’t allow Cayenne to realize it. She’ll find the owner after the Ceremony.

“Did you learn nothing in etiquette class?” Cayenne sneers, flipping her cascading thick brown hair. A wave of overripe fruit hits Alexandra. “Scowling. You’ll get crow’s feet. And that’s not very nice.” She loudly whines.

“It’s not meant to be nice.” Alexandra hisses. Cayenne’s jaw drops; Alexandra feels the warmth of vindication. She enjoys putting Cayenne in her place, but why is she so feisty? Cayenne is her typical annoying self, sure, but stress doesn’t normally do this to Alexandra. She doesn’t even care about the Ceremony.

Or do I? Alexander wonders.

Her mother’s words ring in her mind again: “Becoming a High Priestess is a wonderful rite of knowledge…” Her mother always smelled of lavender tea. She focuses. If she’s going to do this, she’s going to do it right. Tired, hungry, Cayenne’s gossip or not, she will do her best. If she fails, she will use the money stashed under her bed and—

She left Ugly in her hut.

A pang of icy fear shoots through her. She messes up her crystal ritual.

Alexandra feels Cayenne’s sticky breath on her shoulder. It smells of fermented berries. “It’s okay, Bethany…” Her voice is syrupy.

“Your hair looks dry,” Alexandra snaps.

Cayenne lets out a high-pitched, "Ah!"

Trumpets interrupt their verbal assaults. The fanfare fades as The Head of Society clicks into the room. Alexandra’s heart thumps in her ears. So it begins. I love you, Mom.

“Hello! I am Cayenne. I am very excited to be here.” She gushes.

“Oh. Joy.” The Head of Society says. “On further thought, make the first cut. Five people of your choosing.” Cayenne looks down at Alexandra.

“How about Alice!” Cayenne exclaims, but confusion sweeps her face. “What?”

“You’re out.” H.S. points to Alice.

“I meant to say Allllison. No!” She leaves. Cayenne’s frustration grows while Alexandra’s amusement does as well. Cayenne names Alaine, Alicia, and Alexandria who follow suit.

“Why them?” H.S. asks.

“I want to win.” Cayenne’s candor surprises herself. “I wanted to say her name…” She whispers, glaring at Alexandra.

“They are getting crops for their unjust cut.” H.S. turns and scans the remaining twenty-five Candidates, locking eyes with Alexandra. “Judgement is not power.”

Alexandra catches her breath.

A crow caws in the distance, but it sounds like it’s above her.

She knows those eyes—one blue, one green.

***

The air feels heavier, thicker, as if the room is holding its breath. Challenges of wit, skill, and crystal rituals leave only five Candidates.

Fortunately, Alexandra is one. Unfortunately, so is Cayenne.

But Alexandra’s knapsack is missing after their break before the final round. The missing bag won’t deter Alexandra. She closes her eyes to calm the jittery buzz under her skin.

“Looking for this?”

Cayenne’s voice is smug. Alexandra startles, heart thudding. Cayenne holds her knapsack between two fingers as if it’s contaminated. Alexandra snatches it, rushing back to her spot.

“Round four.” H.S. bellows from the front. His voice reverberates off the stone walls. “Math.” He points to Cayenne. “Quick, what is the derivative of a quadratic equation?”

Cayenne stutters, hands fluttering like panicked birds. She reaches for the crystals, her hair, then coughs—and a nervous toot escapes. The sound is small but sharp in the echoing room.

Alexandra giggles. H.S. bores his eyes into her.

“Candidate Twenty‑Seven,” he says.

Alexandra’s laughter dies instantly. Her throat tightens. “Yes?” She squeaks, her spine snaps straight like a broom handle.

“Explain,” he says, “why you find the… emission… humorous.”

Alexandra opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth. Her brain scrambles for something diplomatic, something polite, something that won’t get her thrown out on her lilac‑loving backside.

Nothing comes—except the truth.

“It’s funny because she’s full of hot air,” Alexandra blurts. “And now we all know where it leaks from.”

A gasp ripples through the room. Cayenne lets out a wounded squeal. H.S. raises one eyebrow—a slow, dangerous arch.

Alexandra slaps both hands over her mouth. Her palms are salty from sweat. Why did I say that? “Why can’t I stop?” She mutters, voice muffled.

H.S. studies her for a long, unreadable moment. The silence stretches taut as a wire.

Then:

“…Correct,” he says.

The room freezes in stunned silence. Even Cayenne stops crying long enough to gape.

Alexandra blinks. “Correct?”

“Hot air,” H.S. repeats, turning away. “An apt metaphor for her performance thus far.”

“But—” Alexandra interjects.

“You think I am incorrect?” H.S. challenges.

A pregnant pause.

Alexandra feels every heartbeat in her fingertips. “Yes.” Her voice wavers.

“How so?”

Why did I say anything? She screams internally. Her stomach twists. “Well. She studies—look at her crystals. She’s persistent to the point of ripping your hair out—that’s tenacity. Overrated? Yes. But she’s doing her best.”

“Perhaps her best isn’t good enough.” H.S. says. His tone is cool, almost bored.

Alexandra’s brow furrows. Anger swells in her chest. “I may not agree with who or what she is, but we are performing a lifelong commitment Ceremony and you’re embarrassing her.” Her voice sharpens, surprising even herself. “What I mean is, she’s an idiot, yes—wow, what is wrong with me today! Breathe, Alexandra… She’s here, playing by your rulebook, and you mock her. ‘Her best isn’t good enough’. How dare you ask that.”

The five Candidates hold their breath. The room feels vacuum-sealed.

H.S. nods his head slowly.

“Let’s cut to it, shall we? The true test was before you stepped into this room. If you passed, a small gift is in your possession. One that will change your life.”

Ugly was the test. I failed before I started… Tears sting Alexandra’s eyes. I let you down, Mom.

“Only one. Cayenne, congratulations.” H.S. sets the bracelet on a podium and asks, “How did you get it?” It glints under the torchlight.

“I stole it.” Cayenne exclaims. Her eyes widen. “No.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I stole it.” She frets, voice cracking. “Sir, I meant I want to lie about stealing it.” She clutches her head. “I wanted to steal because I failed my test!”

H.S. smiles. Alexandra’s jaw now takes a turn to drop.

“I came to you five in different forms right before this Ceremony. Meant to test your inherent qualities versus here, where it’s performative. This means nothing.” He gestures to the room.

Cayenne yelps.

“Since you helped in her plan, you three, help her put it on.” H.S. orders.

They hesitate.

“Move!” His voice splits the air.

The others scramble to the podium. Their fingers fumble. The bracelet is warm—too warm—and they drop it twice. The metal makes a sharp, ringing sound both times. Finally, the clasp clicks around Cayenne’s wrist.

“Cheating comes with a price. The High Priestess must earn her position, not steal it.”

Cayenne rubs her wrist, groaning. The skin beneath the bracelet reddening.

Do I smell bacon? I’m so hungry. Alexandra thinks.

It isn’t bacon.

Cayenne’s wrist is sizzling. Fire crackles alive in her hand. Cayenne’s shriek pierces the room. Alexandra’s gaze fixes on her. A smile tugs at her lips before she hides it when H.S. glances her way.

The bracelet clatters to the ground with Cayenne. With a metallic whir, it zooms toward Alexandra.

“No!” Alexandra fights the bracelet, heart pounding, afraid yet eager. It wraps itself around her wrist. She braces for the burn. It’s warm from burning off Cayenne’s hand but not painful.

Caw! A crow swoops around, its wings beating the air, then lands on a ledge. It stares at Alexandra with unblinking eyes.

“Aiden, this is our High Priestess.” H.S. smiles.

“I don’t want this,” Alexandra says, struggling with the biting bracelet. The metal vibrates against her skin.

“Your mother was a fantastic witch; you will be the same. The first Order Meeting will be tomorrow morning at five.”

“Is a fantastic witch. Wait, what? Five a.m.? I really don’t want this then. Give it to one of them.” Alexandra tries to force the bracelet off more. It holds fast, humming.

H.S. laughs. “If you don’t, you’ll miss out on the secrets of the universe.”

“Big whoop, I don’t want the secrets of the universe. I want my lilacs. I want my figs. And a nap.”

H.S. sighs, bowing his head. The crow hops onto the ledge, talons clicking, cocking his head at Alexandra, as if judging her. “Too bad. Aiden chose you.”

Aiden spreads his wings. The bracelet hums and brightens. The air crackles—sharp and electric.

“Aiden,” H.S. continues, “God of Truth. The One Who Sees. The One Who—”

“—could have literally picked anyone else.” Alexandra snaps. “I lie. A lot. I lied this morning about liking my hair.”

H.S. laughs. “You are unafraid to be yourself. You are kind despite yourself. Even with Aiden’s power of making those around him speak only the truth. You seek balance, as flawed as it is, not favor. That is a High Priestess.”

“What about them?” She asks about Cayenne and the others struggling to open the door.

“Karma will greet them when she sees fit.” H.S. waves his hand; the door releases with a groan. The girls shuffle out, consoling Cayenne.

“Five a.m.? How about ten?” Aiden stares at her, into her soul, and caws. She caws back. He shrinks down to fit on her shoulder. His feathers brush her cheeks, soft and surprisingly warm. “Fine. Five a.m.” The bracelet tightens and warms, sealing the pact. “Ugh. I hate destiny.”

Alexandra walks back to her hut with Aiden on her shoulder. The evening air is cooler now, carrying sea salt and distant fires with it. She stops outside, looking at the neglected lilac.

A flash of inspiration. She waves her hand over it.

Nothing.

“Eh, worth a shot.” She looks at Aiden. “You owe my mom and me figs and cheese.”

Aiden whispers a caw. She slips inside her hut and slides the door closed.

Outside, the neglected lilac blooms to life.