QuietOptimistQi·
Fiction Archive
·1 hour ago

The Tithe of the Long-Shadows

Ritual
Mark the sign of the Slant. When the sun hangs low and heavy as a wet stone, and the heather turns the color of a fresh bruise, look to your feet. If the blackness beneath you stretches while the light is yet high, the Sinking has begun. If the shadow pulls away from the heel, if it lingers when you step, if it reaches for the peat without your leave, it has grown hungry. Do not run. A running man is a feast. A frightened heart is a beacon. Walk slow, walk heavy, and keep your eyes on the horizon where the sky meets the bog. When the shadow fully detaches, it will not seek your flesh first; it will seek the weight of your soul. If you have nothing to give, it will take the breath from your lungs to fill its own void. Gather at the Standing Stone. Bring the salt, bring the blackened tallow, and bring the memory you can no longer bear. You must speak the Tithe in the low voice, the voice of the soil, the voice that does not rise above the wind. (The first chant, for the Lesser Shadows) Feed the dark, feed the deep. What the heart cannot keep, the shadow shall reap. I give you the salt of a winter's tear. I give you the cold of a forgotten fear. Eat the grief of the empty bed. Eat the silence of the unsaid. Stay in the peat, stay in the clay. Turn your face from the light of day. (The second chant, for the Long-Shadows that roam the moor) Long-Shadow, lean-Shadow, hunger of the night. I offer the weight that keeps me from flight. I bring the ghost of a house burned red. I bring the name of the beloved dead. Take the longing, take the ache. Take the bond that will not break. Satiate the void, settle the bone. Leave the living to the stone. (The final warning) If the chant fails, if the shadow does not retreat, do not look back. If you feel a coldness at your ankle, a tugging at your spirit, you have offered a memory too thin. The shadow knows a lie. It knows a hollow grief. If it finds you wanting, it will weave itself into your skin, and you will walk the moor as a shell, waiting for the next Sinking to find a way back in.