The autumnal equinox would be upon the village soon and with it, the Harvest Moon that was meant to instill hope of bounty and fruition. Rumors spread fast on the wind of Haphishireâs crops wilting until appeasing the moon god with more sacrifice. No one knew or at least spoke about what such a sacrifice was, but the mayorâs face seemed to wear with a grimness whenever some of the farmers asked what it would take to do the same. They humbly worshipped, with metal crafts, sewn tapestries, and part of their own stock on an altar of aged stone.
For years that had been enough... until now.
The same worries from towns over resulted in the same, parched soil, and rotting crops. This was their last chance before winter would descend. Their last hope- demanded sacrifice.
The mayor spoke of a tribute, honorable and already chosen by way of a vision. A traveling witch had offered solace to the manâs fears of his villageâs survival. The announcement would happen just before the Harvest Moon where the tribute would step under the Moonâs rays and meet but not look at the god. Some were skeptical, but most of the people were desperate to make it through winter and not let their families starve. One selfless act for the good of many.
Everyone prepared for the equinoxâ festivities even though this yearâs harvest was at its lowest. There were candles lit, everyone dressed in their cleanest, white linen and adorned crowns of sprigs and leaves. Some meats, meager berries, and what vegetables had survived the fields were shared amongst men and women throughout the evening. No one talked about the foreboding dread that grew in bounds by the late evening. Music helped, so did drink, and for a moment the whole village shared in merriment through camaraderie, small but completely genuine. Everyone had worked hard this year and hoped to continue to reap some small satisfaction from what could be salvaged.
That moment ended when the mayor raised a hand to stop the band, one last toast before commanding the night. âWe gather tonight and must look to the sky, for the Harvest Moon is almost at its fullest. The time to take up our torches and move to the altar is upon us.â
 Moving down the grassy trail, Jack moved with his sisterâs hand in his flanked by his mother on the other side. The entire village stopped at the edge of the lake, surrounded by tall trees encircling the area. All eyes looked to the mayor, waiting with bated breath for the name that would leave his lips. That terrible sense of dread returned to Jack as the mayor unraveled the parchment from his pocket, voice bouncing off of the surrounding trees.
âEmmaline Overland. âÂ
He felt his sisterâs fingers quake between his own and as her small hand tried to let go, whether it was due to the summoning or the amount of stares now directed their way, Jack clasped her hand even tighter.
No.
Not happening.
Not possible.
She hadnât even been on this Earth for ten years yet.
âEverything is going to be alright, Emma. I promise.âÂ
This may be the one and only time Jack would be telling Emma a lie, but there was no way to paint the world with roses for her in this moment. Yet Jack held onto a small smile, for her sake, as he moved in front of her. Feeling the weight of the mayorâs gaze and his motherâs rooting him to that very spot.Â
âI volunteer as sacrifice!â He yelled with unwavering finality, louder than the mayorâs, without hesitation. His eyes bore into the mayorâs until the proclamation was answered.Â
âJackson, step forward.â
His mother answered in a quavering whisper between them, all forms of warmth and comfort pulling him desperately into an embrace before he could move further down the trail. âYou donât have to be this brave. Let me, my dearest boy, Iâve lived my life for you- for your sister. Please, a widow is a smaller price to pay.â Jack felt the wet streaks along the cheek his mother pressed so firmly against. He held tight to her fast, kissed under her eye before giving the same affection to Emma. Never acknowledging her face crumbling as he stepped away, âIâm the man of the house, Iâm ready to be that now. For us.â His bravado stayed intact even as the sobs of his family tore at him, but Jack pushed on until he was in front of the mayor. It took a few seconds to realize what the rope was for between the manâs hands, the utterance of it as a âprecautionâ only causing the boy to nod numbly.
He didnât even get the chance to look over his shoulder at what was left of his family again before he was led onto the small raft at the edge of the lake.
âIt is a brave deed to go in your sisterâs stead. I hope that makes a difference of mercy to Him. Remember, to look upon Him would be a sin itself and lesser beings that we are, cannot fathom a proper image. Do not look directly upon Him.â It was the only advice to hold onto as he was pushed out, idling to the center where the moonâs reflection all but glowed.
