Amanda had long lost track of time. How long had she been tied to the spine of wood? The moments bled together in an incoherent blur. She had passed out several times, and each time she woke, she found herself still bound to the wooden pole, the chants of the tribe lingering in her ears, though now they seemed distant, fading like a half-forgotten nightmare.
The sky above had shifted. A silvery glow now spread across the horizon, hinting at the approach of dawn. The air was damp, heavy with moisture, and the world felt suspended in the quiet stillness of the early hours. It was hard to say whether the night was truly over or if time had simply lost all meaning in the madness that had consumed her. There are people around her lying on the mud, passed out. Had they passed out? Or were they... dead? The thought made Amanda shiver, but she couldn't dwell on it. Her attention drifted to the giant man, the one who had tormented her. He was among them, snoring deeply, his massive body lying sprawled on the wet ground. His snores vibrated through the air like the low rumble of thunder, shaking the silence.
The post she was tied to leaned against a nearby tree. The rough bark pressed into her back, making every inch of her body ache from standing too long, but she dared not move. Her limbs were stiff, and the ropes dug into her skin, but every time she shifted, she feared the post would topple. If she fell, she knew it would hurt, maybe even kill her. The thought of that pain—her head cracking open—made her stomach twist in fear.
A sudden itch in her nose brought her attention back to the moment. She fought the urge to sneeze, but it was futile. The sneeze broke free, and with it, the post wobbled dangerously beneath her. Her heart leaped into her throat as she felt herself tipping forward.
She screamed—panic clawing at her throat as she plummeted toward the mud below.
But instead of crashing into the earth, she landed in a heap of bodies. The tribe members, lying haphazardly in the mud, broke her fall, their still forms absorbing her weight. She couldn't tell if she had fallen on one of them or if they had simply become an indistinguishable pile of flesh and limbs, but the result was the same: her face sank into the muck, the cold, stagnant water filling her mouth.
The world went black at the edges of her vision, and for a moment, she thought she might suffocate. But then, strong hands gripped her shoulders, lifting her from the mud as if she weighed nothing at all.
She gasped, coughing, her body trembling violently in their grip.
She couldn't focus, couldn't make sense of what was happening. Her vision blurred—was it the blood loss? The shaking? Or the overwhelming exhaustion that kept her body in a constant state of disarray?
Everything felt distant, unreal, as though she was floating between the edges of life and death.
The moment felt stretched, like she was caught in the slow turn of a nightmare, before something sharp broke through her daze. Her heart pounded in my chest as she saw the man pull out a big blade. I froze. Was he going to hurt me? My whole body went stiff, my eyes wide, unable to look away. The ropes cut into my arms as I hung there, and the post swayed beneath me with every movement.
The blade was in his hands, and he began to cut the bottom of the post. The sound of it slicing through the wood made her stomach churn. She was terrified, her mind racing, thinking the post would break and she would fall. But as the wood got shorter, the fear shifted. Confusion. Why was he doing this?
Then, without saying a word, he reached down and pulled something strange from the dirt. It looked like a grumpy, human-shaped potato—strange and funny, with little twisted features that made it seem almost alive. It looked like a twisted, old potato—brown, lumpy and kind of wrinkled, like it had been sitting in the dirt for too long. There were twisty little legs poking out of it, like tiny roots, curled up like fingers or toes.
He chopped it up quickly, and the smell that came off of it made her nose twitch. It smelled strange, like dirt mixed with something sweet, but not the good kind of sweet. The man held the piece out to her, and she took it without thinking.
The moment it touched her tongue, it was like fire and ice battling inside her mouth at once. Her tongue burned. She couldn't stand it and spat it out immediately, the piece hitting the ground with a wet, heavy thud that seemed to echo through the silence. The burning lingered.
The man didn't say anything. He just held out another piece. She stared at it, confused and scared, and looked up at him like, What are you doing? Her stomach twisted, and she didn't want to take it. She turned my head away, hoping he'd stop, but he didn't. His hand stayed outstretched, and when she looked back, his face was angry. He grabbed her arm and pushed the food toward my mouth, forcing her to eat it.
She clamped her mouth shut, turning her head as hard as she could. But he wasn't done. He pinched her nose shut, and she didn't last long and opened her mouth. She gasped for air, her chest heaving, but he didn't stop—he shoved it into my mouth, and she had no choice but to swallow.
Amanda drifted in and out of a daze as the man who had fed her the mandrake carried her through the forest. The air smelled of damp leaves and the branches above twisted like reaching hands, but she didn't care — she clung to him, her tiny fingers digging weakly into his clothes. He was taking her away from the others, away from the pole, and in her muddled mind that could only mean he was saving her. "Are… are we going home?" she whispered, her voice small and broken.
The man didn't answer. His silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, and though her child's mind told her he must be her saviour, something deep in her mind is restless. His grip on her tightened, pulling her closer as he walked, his steps deliberate, like he didn't want to be followed. Amanda blinked up at him, but his face was a shadow in the moonlight, unreadable. She tried again, softer this time. "Are you my friend now?"
He continued walking without a word, ignoring her question. The forest came alive around them—owls hooted in the distance, crickets chirped endlessly, bats darted through the shadows, and somewhere far off, a lone wolf howled into the night.
Small drops of water began to fall and it started pouring. They stopped under a tree and the man's eyes darted left and right, scanning the darkness with sharp caution.
Amanda felt like dead weight, exhausted despite doing nothing but being carried. Hours passed before the trees thinned and the mouth of a cave came into view. The rain had long stopped, but the air was still heavy and damp. She was more awake now, her senses slowly returning as the man set her down on the cold, jagged rocks. Without a word, he disappeared into the woods.
She stayed put. Even when he was gone for what felt like hours, Amanda didn't move. The thought of wandering into the forest and somehow circling back to the tribe chilled her more than the cave's breeze. As strange as he was, this man was all she had.
When he returned, his arms were full of twigs and brittle leaves. After many attempts—his flint sparking weakly in the gloom—a fire finally caught. Amanda scooted closer to its glow, shivering, with her damp clothes. Her stomach growled loudly, betraying her hunger.
The man noticed. He glanced at her and gave a small, strangely warm smile. "Are you hungry?" he asked.
Amanda froze. She hadn't expected him to understand her. She quickly shook her head, though her belly ached. She could wait. She would wait.
Now that the terror had ebbed, other thoughts crept in. She remembered her sister—her face, her voice—and the weight of it all crashed over her. Hot tears spilled from her eyes, silently trailing down her dirt-streaked cheeks.
She wanted to go home.
The man moved closer. His shadow stretched across the cave wall as he crouched in front of her, his hands going to his own clothes. He began to strip away his outer layers with slow, deliberate movements, his face unreadable in the flickering firelight. Amanda stiffened, every muscle locking as her breath hitched.
Then—
A blur of movement.
The man's arms hit the cave floor with a wet, heavy thud before Amanda even realized what had happened. His body stayed kneeling for a fraction of a second, screaming, before collapsing beside her in a heap. Hot blood sprayed across the jagged stone, hissing as it struck the fire.
Then everything happened at once.
The cave exploded with noise and movement.
Figures stormed in — tall, painted in reds and blacks, bones clattering around their necks, feathers dripping rainwater. They filled the cave like a living wall, chanting, their voices so loud it hurt her ears. Amanda flinched as the man spun to face them, but he didn't get a single word out.
They were on him instantly.
They didn't kill him fast. They didn't want to.
Hands grabbed him, his legs, his hair. He thrashed and screamed, but they didn't stop. One of them brought down a blade — not into his chest, but into his thigh, deep and purposeful. His howl shook the walls. Blood poured out in sheets, hot and thick, running in rivulets across the rocks.
Amanda wanted to close her eyes. She couldn't.
They ripped him apart piece by piece. First the arms, yanked until they came free with horrible wet cracks. Then the legs. They kept him awake through all of it, his screams turning into ugly, animal sounds. His eyes rolled wildly, like he was trying to look at her, maybe for help, maybe to curse her.
When he was nothing but a twitching pile of meat, they dragged his pieces toward the fire. One of them — taller than the rest, his face covered in white paint, a crown of skulls rattling on his head — held up the man's heart like some kind of gift to the dark. Then he bit into it. Slowly.
The others followed. They didn't talk. They just chewed.
Amanda couldn't move. Couldn't even cry.
The skull-crowned man turned to her, wiping the blood from his mouth with his wrist. His eyes locked on hers, and for some reason, that was worse than everything else.
He knelt down low, his painted face close enough for her to smell the blood on his breath.
"The sky sent you to us," he said. His voice was deep and rattled like it came from somewhere under the ground. "You are not prey. You are Siraya. The rain goddess."
The others echoed it. Over and over. A deafening chorus of voices:
"All hail the rain goddess. Siraya. Bless our sterile land. "
They bowed to her. All of them.
Amanda sat there, shaking so hard she thought her bones would snap, the smell of burning flesh thick in her nose.
They weren't going to hurt her.
They were worshiping her.
She blacked out and since then her eyes never opened.