Hello. My name is Sophia.
I am going to die.
It feels so weird to be saying that; I've always known I would die some day, but only in the vague sense that every mortal has. I feel like I've just now been struck by the immediacy of my death.
I am going to die, and I'm scared.
I am going to die, and I'm angry.
I am going to die, and I'm powerless. I am nothing more than a pawn in the great game between lupines and gods.
I don't know why I'm bothering to write this down; by this time next year I'll probably be forgotten. I'm just the nobody daughter of a nobody fisher. Nobody cares what I have to say. Except, I care. And maybe you care, too. If you do, even though I don't know you, I thank you. I'm writing this for you.
Maybe I owe you an explanation, since you care at least enough to read this. My people, the people of Aeleluria, have been enemies of the people of Vellanyre since time immemorial. Nevertheless, aside from the occasional skirmish over one small island or another or the infrequent fight between travelers, we've lived in peace with them for the past two hundred years.
That peace ended last week. The priests and the elders and the rowdy young lupines say that an Aelelurian bitch was stolen by a Vellanyrian, and that this is a clear call to war. I know the truth, and I'm going to tell it only to you because I daren't tell it to anyone else. Her name is Leucalis, and she was my friend. She was in love with a Vellanyrian lupine, but she knew her parents would never allow them to marry. So she ran away. She was not abducted; she ran away to be with her beloved.
And I encouraged her to do it.
I encouraged her to do it. I never imagined that might cause a peace of two centuries to collapse.
I am going to die, and maybe I deserve it. Maybe I deserve death; death for my stupidity and my foolishness.
To get to Vellanyre, our army must cross the sea that separates our two nations. Almost overnight the fishing boats of our sheltered little city were transformed into terrible galleys of war. Swords and spears and shields appeared everywhere, where previously there had been none. Military lupines shouted in the squares, looking for willing and not-so-willing recruits. My own brothers were drafted into service; they couldn't refuse without bringing shame to our entire family. My grandfather wistfully talked of going with them, if only he were younger.
He's a dirty old lupine, and I hate him, but I love him, too, because he is still my grandfather.
I am going to die, and he is going to live. It doesn't seem fair.
I am going to die. Any minute now, they're going to come through that door and lead me to my death. I hope it isn't too soon; I still have much to write.
Any war is a serious undertaking and a war as big as this one could not be begun without careful consultation with the gods. So in accordance with tradition, 24 cows were slaughtered on the altar of the temple, and then another 24 for good measure. Their entrails were examined and the smoke of the sacrificial fires was watched and the soothsayers announced their conclusion. To guarantee safe passage of our army, the god of the sea demanded another sacrifice: a beautiful Aelelurian bitch in the flower of youth. The priests would freely give over to death what they would never willingly give over to the Vellanyrians.
The priests chose me. They have their reasons that they told my parents and the people, but in my heart I know it's to make sure I never tell the truth about Leucalis.
I am going to die, and I will be the first death of the war. It is an honor I would rather not have.
But if sacrificial cows can tell the future and the will of the gods, who says I can't? I know I'm smarter than any cow. No one will read my entrails, but maybe someone will read this: Aeleluria will not win this war. Vellanyre is too strong and well armed. Our fleet will be destroyed in that distant harbor and our sheltered city will not stand for another year. The Vellanyrians will retaliate and they will destroy us. It saddens me to say this, but I know it's true. I don't know how I know this; perhaps it's some divine inspiration. Maybe the imminence of death is making me crazy.
I am going to die, and maybe that's a good thing. I will not have to receive the news that my beloved brothers have died across the sea. I will not have to see my nation fall to the enemy. I will not have to see my home burned or my parents put to the sword. I will not have to see all of Aeleluria removed from existence and forgotten.
I am going to die. Any minute now, they're going to come through that door and lead me to my death. I think I am ready to face it. I will walk out onto the deck with my head held high. I will not cry. I will not. I will face my death as best I can. In my mind's eye I can see the crowd standing around me as the priest approaches me. Perhaps they will see me and realize how terrible and stupid a tragedy it is to kill me; I know I am quite beautiful. My father will be there, feeling out of place among those lupines of nobility and wealth. Will he be proud that his daughter is dying for such a noble cause? Will he be glad that he will no longer have to worry about providing a dowry? Or will he be sad to the bottom of his heart that his only daughter is being taken away from him so unfairly? I hope it will be this last one. No matter the case, he will do nothing to save me. I do not hold him responsible, and I know he is no coward; but there is nothing that can be done.
The priest will approach me and ask if I am a willing sacrifice. I will say yes, but it will be a lie. I will say yes, because no good will come of me saying no. Perhaps no good will come of me saying yes either. Perhaps it will be this lie that causes our nation to lose. Perhaps my desire to live will turn the gods against my people. But if I say yes, then my people can go freely to war, and I know no good will come of that. Maybe this situation cannot be made good at all.
Maybe my actions today won't matter at all. The priests and the elders and the rowdy young lupines have been wanting to go to war for years. Weapons don't appear out of nowhere, and calls to arms don't come from nothing. They have been preparing for this war for years, and all they needed was an excuse, any excuse. And Leucalis gave them one when she eloped to Vellanyre. And I encouraged her to do it. And in so doing I inadvertently set into motion a war that will end my own life and destroy my people. I hope Leucalis and her beloved survive this war; she deserves to be happy and alive. She has done nothing wrong, no matter what they may say about her.
The priest will approach me and ask if I am a willing sacrifice. I will say yes, and it will be taken as the truth, and no one but you and I will know that it is a lie. My hands will be bound behind my back. My footpaws will be bound and tied to a millstone. The priest will say the dedication, and it will be a set of meaningless words since he and I and you all know I am only being sacrificed to keep me silent.
The priest will say the dedication and I will be cast overboard bound to the millstone. I will take a deep breath of air, my last breath, and carry it down with me. The merciless sea will surround me and pull me down. Above me, the dark shape of the ship will be outlined against the blue sea by the sun shining through the water. Down I will sink, the shape of the ship growing smaller and darker as I am relentlessly dragged to my death. The water will grow cold around me.
The sea is deep here and I do not know if I will live long enough to reach the bottom, but in my imagination I will. The millstone will settle to the seafloor and I will stop sinking. My lungs will be burning for air, but I will not let them breathe. Every now and then, I will release a stream of bubbles. Maybe they on the boat will see them break the surface and know that I am not dead yet, but more likely they will have already turned back towards shore. When I can hold out no longer, I will open my jaws and release the last of my air in a violent cloud of silent bubbles. The sea will flood my body and I will fight my last losing battle against my fate. Death will take me. I may look very beautiful as I die, suspended above the bottom, my white dress billowing around me in the eddies of the current, my silver fur surrounding me like a halo in the darkness of the depths. It does not matter though; no one will see me as I die.
I am going to die, alone and unseen. I will have no grave. The fish and the bottom-feeders will consume my flesh and my bones until nothing remains of my corpse but my silver necklace and a millstone on the seafloor, a lasting monument to the uselessness of war.
Now my story is at an end. I will place this parchment inside a jar and seal it with wax and pitch and tar and whatever else I can lay hand to. I will cast this jar out the porthole onto the sea and wait for them to come and lead me to my death. I feel better for having written this, because I believe it needs to be said. I hope that it is found, even if my people are all dead by the time you read this. I thank you for caring enough to read this, and I hope it is not too presumptuous of me to call you my friend.
My name is Sophia.
I am dead.
--
The preceding text is a translation of a parchment found sealed inside a miraculously intact amphora that was dredged up a decade ago from the seafloor by a fisher near the island of Eeleloris. Known colloquially as "Sophia's Goodbye," it remains the only written record that has been definitively linked to the Aelelurian culture, which was destroyed by the people of Vellanyre (near the modern day city of Grand Crescent) in a legendary war approximately three thousand years ago. Its discovery caused a sensation, as it was a remarkably personal firsthand account of events that had long been believed to be nothing more than myth, and made them real in a way no historian or archaeologist ever could. Divers and treasure hunters have spent years searching for the artifacts of Sophia's Millstone and Sophia's Necklace, but so far they remain undiscovered. Some believe this is because Sophia's life was spared at the last minute. Some believe it is because Sophia just wants to rest in peace, the location of her death forever unknown. The truth remains out there, waiting to be found.
--
Author's Notes
I wrote the entire first draft of this in the span of a few hours (about 9 PM to midnight) on Saturday, April 4, 2009. It's unusual for me to sit down and write an entire story start to finish. My typical modus operandi is to write the beginning or a few isolated scenes over the span of a few days and then abandon the project until I feel inspired to complete it. As a result, my hard drive is filled with half-written stories that I have yet to feel inspired to complete.
I almost never write stories in the first person; I think this is probably the first time I've ever done it. I kind of like it, maybe I'll do it again some time.
Aside from the obvious inspiration from the ancient Greek myths of Iphigenia and the Trojan War, I was also inspired somewhat by a short story written by Felixpath that I read the day before, so I probably owe him some thanks or possibly an apology. I suppose in my head this story was a bit more plain old snuff material to paw off to, but it turned into whatever this is. I wrote it because it appeared almost fully formed in my head and demanded to be written.
