Livia's Arc

Chapter 4 of 9

Trial morning came, and so did a new wave of sickness. Livia walked among her gathered people and counted the fallen. Twelve lay on mats now, not three. Their skin burned. No bites marked them, only the hidden poison she had learned to fight. She had venom for four, maybe five. The horn would call her to the pit by midday. She could not cure them all and reach the trial in time. Her snake lay flat against her neck, afraid. She milked the venom she had, drop by drop, into cups of water. Five people drank. Their breathing eased. The rest moaned on their mats. She had nothing left. Her hands shook. If she stayed, she lost her place as high priestess. If she left, the sick might die. A man knelt beside a fevered child at the edge of camp. Livia had seen him twice before, selling herbs between villages. His name was Fuego. An ouroboros marked his bare chest. He pressed a cloth to the boy's head and looked up at her with steady brown eyes. "You're out," he said. Not a question. "I'm out." She hated saying it. "Then we find more." He stood. "Your snake. It isn't the only one." He led her past the mats to a low stone shelf behind the shrine. A serpent lay coiled there, dark green, its scales marked with glowing signs. It watched them without fear. Livia knew it at once. The sacred serpent of her tribe. She had not seen it since the scattering. It had come back on the one morning she needed it most. "I can't take from a god's creature," she said. "You won't take." Fuego crouched and held out his open hand. "You'll ask." Livia knelt. She bowed her head and spoke the first half of the old harvest prayer, the only half her grandmother had taught her before she died. The words ran out. She fell silent, ashamed. The serpent lifted its head. It held her gaze. She held it back, the way she had learned not to look away. Then it lowered its fangs to the rim of her cup and gave its venom freely. She worked fast. Cup after cup. Fuego carried them to the mats while she milked more. One by one the sick drank. Their fevers broke. The boy sat up and asked for water. By the time the horn sounded across the camp, every mat held a living, breathing person. Livia stood. Her outfit was stained now, her hands raw. The serpent slid back into the shrine's shadow and was gone. Fuego watched her, saying nothing, his jaw tight with something he would not name. "The trial," he said at last. "Go." She went. She had saved her people and kept her place. But the sickness had struck twice now. Her rival was still out there, still hidden, and would be waiting in the pit.