disappearance of the face.”
He flinched at the mention of the dreaded word. “Memory loss? He’ll forget about me?” he seemed terrified at the thought.
“I would doubt it.” Ciara shook her head. “You’re his twin. My own twin Lilibeth suffered Sleep of the Moon also. She almost Distorted, but she never forgot me.”
Fionn frowned a little. “You had a twin too? Did she… die from it?”
“No.” Ciara stared at her hands. “She died to save the village from it. Anamacha Aontaithe.”
“‘Souls Unified?’”
“The Twin Ceremony, they called it, the old ritual.” She knew she should not be warning him of his possible fate, but she didn’t care. “For the last 400 years they’ve used a new one, barbaric though it is. The Twin Sacrifice.”
Fionn recoiled. “What? You had to-?”
“They say the Goddess would be so moved by this act that She would cure the Sleep for 100 years or more. The old ritual worked just as well, but only lasts half as long and was harder to perform. And the results of failure are catastrophic.”
“Mass Distortion, I know,” Fionn said. “Priestess Roisin told me. She said something today about enacting a trance ceremony with us.”
“That’s the old one. She has sense. The sacrifice had horrendous after affects.” She smiled thinly. “Everyone thinks I’m mad, because the other Remaining were driven mad. Guilt, grief, shock – it turns the hair white.” She gestured to her head. “It was this colour long before I grew old.”
Fionn was quiet as this sunk in. “Can it be cured any other way?”
“Sometimes. The village is so stuck in the past that other ways are not seriously attempted.” While the rest of the world developed great feats of science, Baile Elunae returned to folk rituals. “I won’t lie to you; Rian has a lesser chance than most. It’s difficult to cure teenagers, and his predilection to being a medium won’t help at all. I would suggest you try to stay close to him; you’re probably immune like I was. Has anyone referred to you as Resistant?” Fionn nodded. “There you are. Look after Rian. Depending on what happens, he may not have much time left.”
Blooming
Ciara tried to visit Rian every week after that. His condition worsened rapidly; within two weeks he was moved to the Advanced Symptoms ward on the third floor. Unless she was much mistaken, the bond between the twins had led Fionn to taking on some of the symptoms, becoming violently aggressive at times. The spirits didn’t leave either of them alone, still leading Rian around the halls.
On one occasion Ciara visited the small art gallery on the first floor and stood in front of the painting a young artist had done of her soon after her ritual had taken place. She wondered if Lilibeth was watching over her as she was here. Then she heard screams and discovered another patient had committed suicide. It was the fourth that month. This was not strictly unusual – many patients ended their own lives – but these figures were unprecedented, and Rian seemed to be the cause. When a staff member killed themselves he was moved to the fourth floor quarantine. Fionn was placed there with him.
He seemed confused and angry when Ciara visited them a day later. “They called me Resistant. Why are they now saying I have it?”
“You’ve taken on some of Rian’s symptoms. It can happen with twins.” Ciara said, looking around the prison-like room with a shudder.
“I’m so sorry.” Rian whispered faintly, tucking himself closer to Fionn’s shoulder.
His expression softened instantly. “Shh, it’s OK.” Ciara was heartened to see how close they still were after all these events.
Two days later she learned a nurse had committed suicide in front of the twins.
On the twenty-seventh of August, Rian began to Distort.
Ciara knew then that there was no hope that Roisin would get her way. The moon was almost full; once it grew dark Rian was guaranteed to die. Better to die and save others, than die pointlessly. No doubt others were thinking along these lines, but Ciara’s heart ached for Fionn, who would likely suffer the madness of a Remaining. Her mind returned to that terrible moment, when the knife in her hands pierced Lilibeth’s chest. It was such a terrible, pointless way to die.
Yet she prayed it all went well.
The Remaining
It was close to midnight on the twenty-eighth, when the moon was highest, when she heard the screams.
She listened closely. At first they were few, but within seconds more and more screams of terror and pain rang out. She knew what they meant. Mass Distortion. The ritual failed.
Her mind flew over what could have gone wrong. Fionn could have been unable to do it, might not have aimed the knife right. Rian might have been an improper sacrifice for whatever reason. Or… it might not have been performed correctly. In her mind’s eye, she saw a vision: Dannacha in a full wooden mask. It was a Lunar Mask, necessary for all non-Resistant, but something seemed wrong with the carvings and runes. She sensed some power, something about… control. That fool. The mask was for mind control. The ritual was not performed of the twins’ own free will.
Now Eluna was angry, and the village was doomed. Ciara placed away her most treasured items, except for a locket containing paintings of her dear Lilibeth. Hanging it around her neck, she hobbled out into the village.
Everywhere was chaos. People ran chaotically, screaming, hands over faces. Anyone who looked upon them soon joined them. Ciara glanced up at the Shrine as an enraged bellow sounded. Goddess, what was Dannacha doing up there?
She knew of the last time a ritual had failed, some thousand years ago. For supreme irony, only the Shrine Twins had escaped unscathed. There was a chance Fionn and Rian would survive also. For now though, Ciara let her eyes fall on a woman, her face horrifically warped and blurred.
Never gaze upon the face of a Distorted, or you too will be a victim. Ciara knew this, but no longer cared. She was past the age when she was of the Resistant. It was time to re-join Lilibeth.
She didn’t scream as her head filled with voices and static. The world became a blur of light and dark. A brief vision flashed behind her eyes, two black haired figures stumbling away from the burning Shrine. So that was it. They would escape her and Lilibeth’s fate. In her heart she was glad as the world faded to darkness.
“I am here Lily.”
###
About the Author
Cinnibar Rose has been writing fantasy stories for most of her life. She is a student of psychology at Edith Cowan University and uses her knowledge of the mind to fully develop believable characters. The Remaining is her debut work. When not writing, she enjoys reading, running, and taking care of her two cats.
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