False God
To anger the God, was to die.
It is told by the men on this small island of Courath, what happens to the people if they anger the God. What happens to the crops if the God is not given a sacrifice?
The God will burn the crops with fireballs that he throws from his hands. Children begin to disappear, only to show up periodically drained of their very life force. The women of the island become barren. Not able to carry a child to term and subsequently miscarry, this is more devastating than not being able to conceive at all. The men of the island go crazy and jump off cliffs, or walk into the Sea and drown, for no reason.
Therefore to anger the God, is to die.
For as long as anyone could remember, once every year, their God walked onto the sacred platform and picked the next sacrifice. Always a woman and of no specific type other then being a female. With said sacrifice, he wouldn't rain down terror onto their island. Once it was said that the women chosen for sacrifice would be seen in the darkest hour. They would wail for their former life, wanting to come back but the people knew she had been sacrificed. They never responded to any of them and it could never be proven as these witnesses had long ago past. If by some chance, the sacrifice escaped, then the entire population of islanders would hunt her down and stone her to death.
As he walked out onto the platform, Jordan surveyed the likely sacrifices. Dozens of scantily clad woman in loin cloths and nothing else were all vying for his attention. He thought of what type of mood he was in. He had it easy for the most part. He got his sacrifice and all he had to do was make sure no others tried to gain access to Courath. He just had to protect his small island and he had it made. Most of the time it was a boring existence and this year was not likely to be any more eventful than the year before or the one before that.
"Pick me, pick me," was the mantra being called to him? Jordan couldn't distinguish between the hundreds of separate voices as he searched for the perfect woman to take to his lair.
There had to be at least one someone special on this island that would bring him some entertainment this time. It was always the same scared little girls with no fire, and once he was finished with the sacrifice then he would have to turn them loose on another island for those people to worship as a Goddess. Sometimes they grew used to the power and would try to come home, but Jordan made sure that they never succeeded, most of the time he was dispatched to take care of slaughtering them. Only three of the last few hundred had coped well enough to live for more than a few years after they were sacrificed.
Taking his time, Jordan perused the different women. As he looked them over; he thought of what it was he had missed in the past years. He wanted somebody to last a lifetime with, and had apparently not found the right mix of sassiness and docility in his sacrifice. He knew he would know her if she were here. He needed to believe that his life mate was real.
Once many centuries ago, the woman on Courath were of a different breed and he was satisfied with them for many years, but in the last few hundred years the women have changed. He couldn't find any fulfillment with any he chose.
Noticing an ebony haired woman of slight stature, he zoomed in using his abilities as a God was entitled, and noticed that she had the most remarkable eyes the color of the purest violets. Sensing that she would rebel against any dominance that showed the slightest weakness, he called out to her. She had promise.
"What is your name my chosen one," he called to her mind, watching the startled look cross her face.
"I am called Tasha," she replied mentally. Not wanting to answer but knowing that if she was chosen she would go, if only to protect the others on the island. Tasha felt she was no mans, or for that matter no God's creature, he did not create her; she should not have to bow down to him.
"I see that your true name is Natasha. You shall be my newest sacrifice," Jordan told her.
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