Chapter Two: Deathly Dowry

What can I give you, my groom, except me?

Five silver coins and a ring for thee?

On our wedding day I will stand as your wife

Safe in the knowledge I've paid for my life.

The song is an old poem, popular among the Minoan elders. As the carriage draws up along the sea front, I can hear a group singing it in drab keys, my ears flinching at the dreadful sounds. Thankfully, the gulls overhead take over, screeching in affront at the noise, and diving low to steal any food.

A priestess rushes to my side to help me down the steps. I ignore her attempts to grab my wrist, and instead gather up my skirts and fling them over my elbow. I wobble down the steps in those heels, however, and regret my hasty decision to shun a prop.

As the women break out into another verse, I curse mentally that they haven't at least afforded musical entertainment for my wedding. My last moments will be listening to these screeches.

My last moments.

The thought has finally hit home, and I draw back against the carriage, frightened. Before, I hadn't noticed that it was shiny and black, the same as the carriages that carried the dead to their final resting place.

They brought me here in my own hearse.

Oh God, oh God. This is it.

Ahead, the priestesses are in line to help me to the dais, where the wedding ceremony is set to begin. If I didn't know what was going to happen, I might think that I was a very lucky, rich girl. The wedding is set on the tallest cliffs in the kingdom, overlooking the beautiful sea and the bright red sun slowly dipping beneath the horizon. Flaming torches line the procession up to the altar, where my husband-to-be should be waiting.

If he were human, that is.

My breath catches in my throat, and my mouth opens soundlessly. Expecting this, the priestesses near me grab me by the elbows, drawing me upright so that I don't sag in terror.

A dark figure is pushed before me. The boy is probably a couple of years younger than I am; sixteen or seventeen at the most. His skin is bronze, and his hair a golden wax, sitting in loose curls across his head. I stare up at him, recalling that this man— this boy— has the same fate as I do.

He is here to escort me to my soon-to-be-husband, and to serve me thereafter.

Here I am, jabbering on about my own marriage, when I forgot to mention: the men don't get out of it either. Unmarried men between sixteen and thirty have the responsibility of being sacrificed first— with the purpose of guiding Death's bride through the Underworld, to her husband. In theory.

'What is your name?' is all I ask. My own voice is thankfully steady, but as I look into his brown eyes, I know he's scared. I want to tell him that it's all okay. That regardless of how little evidence I have, this isn't the end.

'Mercer,' he says, and his voice does tremble. It practically breaks, and I hear someone crying in the crowd. From the corner of my eye, a man is breaking down, tearing at his similarly bronze and curling hair.

Fathers, I think. They're very emotional today.

I pray to the heavens that mine isn't watching. I hope he stayed where he was, or better yet, he went back to the casino and the life he knew.

Mercer offers his arm stiffly to me. I don't smile as I take it. Seeing this young boy has made my muscles remember to stand tall. Pushing away the priestesses, I take Mercer's hand and clasp it in mine.

I squeeze it, and after a few shaking moments, he squeezes back.

'This is it,' I whisper, doubting my own bravado.

We step together down the makeshift aisle. No church is in sight, nor temple; there's only the crowds, and the cliff edge, looming ever closer.

No music plays.

Not even the gulls cry.

Silence.

The world turns mute as Mercer and I make our way towards our own sacrifice.

'I don't want them to push me,' I hear him say, and his throat chokes on his words. 'I don't want everyone to see me as a coward.'

I don't need to ask what he means. Within the hour, Mercer will leap from the cliff, and I will follow. If we hesitate, we will be forced over the edge; in previous years, great scenes of distress took place when the time came to jump.

'I don't think they'll be judging you,' I reply, my noise twitching as the wind blows in our direction.

Sea salt carries on the air, cold and wet, the same as the sea roiling in front of me, heartily laughing at how tiny we are. I push the thought from my mind, and carry on.

'They'll be thinking how glad they are that it's not them or their children.'

Save for the crying man, that is. To my right, I hear his cries become more like strangulated sobs, wrenching and unbearable. Mercer's hand trembles uncontrollably.

'Who came up with this madness?' I hear him mutter, no longer afraid of blasphemy. 'And who are these sick bastards that want to watch?'

I shake my head. I don't know who started it, but we have all grown up with the consequences: in that fear of that day, every ten years, when the temple would choose a virgin girl and a young man as her aide, as sacrifices that cost them both of their lives.

Mercer seems like he comes from a well-to-do, loving family. His own appearance gives no indication, as I knew my own is unrecognisably changed, but his father is dressed in an impeccable suit, that he appears to be getting snot all over. When I had ridden past him earlier, my father had been wearing his beloved tee he believed gave him luck at the gambling den.

If I hadn't been about to die, perhaps I would have laughed.

I've been saving my virginity for this reason, this opportunity. When the temple came knocking, I didn't just admit to being the oldest virgin in the kingdom that was a candidate for the Bride. I signed up.

And, together the Bride and her aide will make their way to the Underworld. No longer as living citizens, but as harmony gifts to the God of Death, and ruler of the Underworld.

They told us that one when we were five years old. Nate and I had come home from school wailing that we might be chosen. Back then, our mother had teased us and then pointed out that we were too young; only girls and boys above sixteen could be chosen.

In an ironic twist of fate, Nate has been dead almost as long as the last sacrifice, and now I am choosing to follow that path.

I nearly start stepping backwards again, but it's hard when Mercer is dragging himself so slowly that I'm almost pulling him along. We finally reach the altar, and Mercer is lead away from me to where he says his vows.

I eye him, wondering how he will react. His hands are gripping his plain white tunic. Beneath the layers of fabric around his ankles, I can see heavy weights.

At least they have the mercy to give us a quick death.

His skin looks grey as he answers to each of the ritual questions.

'Do you, Mercer James Riley, vow to protect Nerissa on her journey and do all you can for her?'

'I...I do.'

'Do you, Mercer James Riley, vow not to lay a finger upon her, and lead her to her husband pure?'

I would dearly love to snort, but the fanatics of this ceremony are making doe-eyed faces at us, finding such beauty in this odd declaration of friendship.

'I do.' He looks much more certain about that one.

'And do you, Mercer James Riley, give your life to the great Gods above and below, to their spirits that reside within us all, and acknowledge your gift of life to the Lord of Death, and convey our gratitude unto him?'

Mercer's realising that this is his last vow. He can't delay the inevitable any longer. He looks at me, his eyes wide in terror, and I can't save him.

I nod to him instead, and he pales even further.

The cries of his father have risen again; he's screaming his son's name as the priestess conducting the ceremony waits for Mercer's answer. Nobody tries to quieten him; maybe in the rituals, Death likes his bounty to be sorely needed alive. Seconds tick by, hounded in the background by the drumming waves.

It begins to rain, and fast.

Starting as a patter, it descends into a downpour within a few moments, and I watch in awe as Mercer shuts his eyes, and holds his head up to the sky to take in the droplets. I see his lips move in silent prayer.

Then he opens his eyes and says, 'I do.'

The priestess hands him two coins and a necklace entwined with snakes and wings; ceremonial gifts given to the male sacrifice to get through the Underworld. No sooner than he's taken them in his hand, he turns and lifts his hand in farewell. He shakes violently, and I see that tears are washing amongst the raindrops.

He mouths, I love you, father.

And then, shutting his eyes as if he abhors his body's betrayal, he moves against his will.

And he steps to the edge and jumps.

For a brief second, I see him regret the decision; the horror as he's falling, the screaming as he falls. We wait for the splash, and there it is.

A crash, and the screams muffle.

As part of the ceremony, a minute silence to recognise the passing of the young boy takes place. But now, all I can think is that it's my turn. In that minute, my body feels numb.

Why does it feel as though I have regrets now?

To go to school one last time. To step through the threshold of my house that smells of home. To go to market day and feast on warm chicken, vegetable pie and sugar canes because it was the one day father didn't buy alcohol.

Just once more.

I think of Mercer, raising his hand to his father, and I feel envy.

I wish I could say goodbye.

'Miss Nerissa Cora Soteira, please step forward.'

I jolt from my reverie; everybody's staring at me expectantly.

Probably waiting for their supper, I think, hoping that I hurry up and jump because their stomach is rumbling.

I almost want to make them starve.

Almost.

Fear wins out, and I shuffle forwards, my toes stuck to the floor.

The priestesses then carry out a series of chants and speeches, and spray me with incense that makes me sneeze. The pyres burn and light the darkness as they place a wreath of seashells and flowers onto the top of my head, and pull down the veil to cover my face.

As soon as they do, I feel my tears awash my eyes. I haven't cried like this since I lost Nate, but now I allow that sorrow to reawaken for my own death.

'Do you, Nerissa Cora Soteira, promise to be faithful and loyal to the Lord of the Underworld?'

No.

'I do,' I murmur.

The veil blurs into white from my tears. It's a screen, protecting me from this horror story.

'Do you, Nerissa Cora Soteira, accept your title, should your husband deem to give it to you, as Wife to the God of Death and serve as his Queen?'

Interesting. I haven't heard that part of the tale. Death doesn't have to choose me?

'I do.'

I will make him pick me.

They're placing a ring on my finger. I feel it rather than see it, because my eyes are still clouded and the metal is cold against my skin. I shiver unconsciously.

'Do you, Nerissa Cora Soteira, take the Lord of the Underworld, and God of Death, to be your lawful wedded husband, from the time of your death and consummation in his arms, to have and to hold, to understand...'

They do not mention love. The God of Death receives no love, even from his wife.

'...to honour and cherish, and to remind him of humanity?'

Remind him of the humanity he doesn't have.

'I do.'

The words fly from my mouth before I can lie, and I realise that I've said it all now. The ceremony is over, the ring is on my finger, the veil is down; all I have to do is jump.

'I pronounce you Wife and Queen of the Underworld; hence, go to the next world and meet your husband.'

I just got married.

Acid is rising in my throat as the priestesses form a semi-circle around me, edging me forwards towards the cliff edge. I hesitate longer than Mercer did— enough that I stare hard into the waters below.

A blue wall of ice cold water awaits me, fifty metres below. From morbid curiosity, I know the fall won't kill me. They don't want it to. What I want is to run away. I want to wake up. I don't want to jump.

You must, Nerissa. You must jump. Take courage in the knowledge that you do not go to oblivion here.

All I can hope for is that I'm not crazy, and jumping to my death because of a traumatic memory.

I take a deep breath, feeling like my body has moved on its own accord. Thoughts and panic cannot save me now.

I jump.

I am weightless, and I am free.

But my stomach lurches, and I'm brought back down heavily. I don't think I scream, but whatever sounds I do make are rapidly shut off by my impact against the water which sounds like thunder.

Cold liquid rushes in around my body, and I feel all my blood vessels contract. The shock of the temperature and fall cause me to open my mouth and spit out the air in my lungs. My eyes shut and then open: only blackness, deep, awaits below. The dress, mercifully weighted in heavy skirts, beads and pearls, render my arms and legs practically useless. At first I lash out, trying to swim, but soon my thudding heart reminds me that this is it, I have to go now, and even if I swim for air, they won't save me.

My hands float peacefully above my body, and then my legs. I drift downwards, wondering if the water was getting darker, or my vision.

Apparently, the latter.

I close my eyes, feeling the rushing swell of the waves and letting my body slowly drown.

A dark figure rises to meet me, and suddenly I'm thirteen years old, watching Nate die. The night is dark and I'm hysterical, kneeling over my brother's body. For a moment, I wonder if I'm hallucinating, but I can feel his power, proving the figure is distinctly unearthly and real. He's here for Nate, but I don't question how I know. There's something about Death that you know him when he comes.

Death's hair is dark and his eyes glow red beneath a featureless, silver mask. He pays me no attention: I don't think he knows I see him. I watch Death as he comes for my brother's soul and I can't do anything to stop it.

As I die, I swell with pride that I am going to avenge my brother.

Death came into my world and took what he wanted.

Now I'm going to his.

—-

A/N: THANK YOU for reading until Chapter 2! Woohoo! Can anyone name the painting that is posted as the media? And bonus hugs if you get the relationship to the story ;)

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Sorry for the extremely morbid chapter, but I ended up feeling in a very dramatic mood. What do you think of Mercer? Yay/nay?

I enjoy your comments and theories so please—- go ahead!

lots of love

Larissa