Skulls on the Altar

Skulls on the Altar (a story)

In the inner sanctum of the temple, in the holy of holies, where only the priest/esses were allowed was the memorial to the priest/esses gone before. And the temple supplicants who were the brightest stars of their group also had a place of honour. Those who had been killed in faith; those who had protected the temple and it’s secrets; and those who had lived a holy life and had had miracles attributed to them after their death.
Vials of herbed wine and fragments of offerings of food were left behind. Because no one stole from the god/esses. Not with impunity. Curses were placed on them for their daring. The kind that could last for generations.
They also kept wrapping supplies for the deads’ bones, and the preserving aids they used to mummify the body.
And a bin for tools to put inside the grave once it was dug. For those who skipped to the path to the after life, they’d have no need for the tools. But for those who had another life time to go thru, the tools were a step up to making their path easier for them.
There was a bowl of horrors. Or so it was called by those who studied the group. But to those inside the group, the organs inside it provided a chance to be as brave as the decedents who they had belonged to. And bravery was prized by the temple hierarchy. If you ate from the soul/organ of a brave person, they might honour you with their gifts. Even a small amount would help. Especially to those who just lacked confidence. Just a bite or two of a heart or a liver might change your life, they were told…Wouldn’t you eat that morsel if you believed that?
The priests kept a book of the families/generations of the brave in their inner sanctum. To keep track of where these genes ended up and see if the bloodline held true. It usually did to. So they blessed these families and gave them more chances to serve the temple. And the temple held strong when many around them were falling. They had a golden roll after all.

Back thru the veils of time
to the castle of Nimrod
Was drawn the pure line
of faith and true cause
Children of the gods
Would be the last standing
When the hammer came down
And time ran out.
Heart of the enemy taken
True warrior in battle
When few faithful stood
And the priests now knew
What the next spin of the world
Would be in their dreams
Nimrod to rise again and show
What truth and bravery were
To these enlightened ones.


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