Self Rite

The plane stretched in front of her like still water, reflecting the sky. It showed the girl her skin. Her sister's face bore a scar between the lip and chin. Before she had made it, she had been the prettiest girl in their town. Now she was still the prettiest girl in their town, with a scar on her face. The girl was unmarked as the glass plane. In her hand she gripped a bit of tempered steel and fidgeted in her skirts.

"You have to take it off," said her sister. She did, throwing the fabric to the ground. Her skirt rested on one of the stones that ringed the plane, and everything else followed. In darkness, she looked like a moon child. Something dark dribbled down the girl's leg and her sister nodded.

"Go, then."

The girl took her first step and felt the obsidian hold her. The force beneath her made her shudder, even before the breeze brought the smell of river to her. It caught on the blood between her thighs, tugging her forward. The second step held, and the mountain glass considered her. She was not supposed to look back at her watcher or face breaking the ritual, so she looked at her dark reflection.  She walked, leaving drops of blood in her wake. She let the mountain taste her.

The walk was long. The girl trudged on, eyes on her feet and the presence beneath her. She felt it pooling under her footsteps and trembled. She wanted to look back at her sister, but kept her eyes on the figures moving under her. A cloud dimmed the moonlight, and sprung from a drop of blood on the plane, was another girl. The mirror girl smiled with teeth like stars.

"We have the same name," she said, "but not the same face. We will never have the same face."

The girl nodded.

"It's your sister, back there. The watcher. She told you not to look at her. To look at me."

The girl nodded.

"My sister watches, too. She has the same name as your sister, too. Your sister took a good one, an' my sister always was a bit sad about it. I guess it's me who's talky of the two of us. Hah! I wonder if your and my sister got that reversed, too."

The girl ventured a few words, "Mum was her watcher, because she's the oldest."

"That's right."

Both girls kept walking. Their footsteps fell in tandem, but only one left blood on the glass. The girl watched too. The maze of scars and dimples of her mirror's body; a naked girl so covered in tracks-- one just barely scabbed over-- that their resemblance was blurred. Their hair blew the same way in the wind off the river.

"Why is that one new?" she asked.

"Nuh-uh. That's what I'm not supposed to tell about. You have to pick one before the walk ends, or I get to pick."

The mirror girl looked up. Her eyes played something sonorous.

"I wouldn't give you a bad one. Something good to look forward to. Mum says by looking at me, you're probly the nervous type, so pick something for that. I know better, though. I got something good picked out-- I promise. But I can't give it to you till the walk is over. Unless you pick something else off me, right?"

"My sister took her scar from your sister."

"Your sister's the taking type. Does your mum call that the taking type?"

The girl nodded.

 "You're me," she said.

The mirror girl nodded. Both looked up at the approaching ring of stones.

"Pick for me then."

The mirror girl smiled with teeth like stars. The plane ended a few steps ahead, and the marked girl took the hand of the one untouched. The tempered jut of steel switched hands. It traced a scar on mirrored skin.

A crescent opened like a sunrise on the girl's knee. The afterimage of it faded from her other. The girls looked at each other. One smiled. One whimpered. The girl-- the first girl-- wiped tears from the other's face.

"You picked a good one."

The mirror girl nodded, and they took each other's hands again. A pat for each of them, the girl looked at her other and let go. Bleeding only from her knee, she stepped out of the circle of glass and was overcome with fierce joy.