They Were Chanting Again

They were chanting again.

Every night, to another star.

“Shine down on us.”

“Give us your light.”

“Brighten our lives.”

“Brighten the sky.”

“Come and take us”.

“Give us your light.”

The dim embers of the fire-that-was-never-put-out sat at the top of the hill, surrounded by a circle of twelve stones– one for each Zodiac sign. Whoever fell first would be the one to tend the fire during the light hours as a penance for falling. So they danced, and they were chanting again.

The boy who called himself Kiran danced and chanted to Tegmine, a star of Cancer’s constellation, determined not to be the first to fall again. The girl who called herself Bertina danced past him and smiled. Like the dozens of other people dancing, and like Kiran himself, she was completely naked with the constellation Cancer painted on her chest. Mid-chant, Kiran smiled back, forgetting where he was for just a moment. Bertina swayed in rhythm with their chanting and with the music. Roughly-made drums and pipes played by the Twelve– six men and six women named for the Zodiac– set the pace for the dancing and chanting. It was hypnotic, but he was brought out of his reverie when he nearly stepped on Pisces’s foot. He apologized profusely and rejoined the dance.

Cristophe sat unhappily on the grass, poking at the fire with a long stick. A pile of firewood he had gathered sat next to him. The grass underneath him was stomped flat, and there were patches where the trampled earth showed through. The grass and the trodden dirt was still damp, not from dew, but from the torrents of sweat that had fallen there the night before. Cristophe found himself wondering if the hilltop was ever really dry.

Like the ground beneath him, Cristophe was heavily damp with sweat. His hair was weighted down with it, and the collar of his shirt was dark with it. He hadn’t bothered to put on socks, hoping the sunlight and the tiny bit of heat from the fire would help dry his feet.

He poked at the fire again and tossed another bit of wood onto the fire. If it was allowed to go out– he didn’t know what the penance would be, but he was certain it would be harsh. He yawned; it was barely past midday, but he longed for sleep. He dared not; should someone show up and find him sleeping, especially one of his older friends...

“Oh, hello!”

He hadn’t heard anyone approach, but Cristophe was glad that is someone had to visit him, it was her: Carmen.

“Hi.”

She sat down on the grass next to him. She smelled like flowers. “You’ve been here a lot lately.”

He shrugged. “I kind of like poking at the fire. It’s peaceful and quiet. I can think here.”

Carmen leaned back on her hands and looked at the clouds. “It’s such a pretty day out. Just a little breeze, and not too hot for summer.”

“It does feel good out here.”

Carmen leaned over and rested her head against his shoulder. “You’re dripping wet!”

“It’s sweat.”

“It’s not like it’s that hot out here.”

“I know. You can get off if you want. I probably don’t smell very good, either.”

“No, it’s okay. I kind of like sweaty guys.”

Cristophe grinned as he blushed, poking at the fire with a stick.



They were chanting again.

Every night, to another star.

“Shine down on us.”

“Give us your light.”

“Brighten our lives.”

“Brighten the sky.”

“Come and take us”.

“Give us your light.”

The boy who called himself Kiran danced and chanted to Ras Alhague, a star of Ophiuchus’s constellation, determined not to be the first to fall again. The fire-that-was-never-put-out glowed in the circle of twelve stones, surrounded by the Twelve, who played their roughly-made drums and pipes while Kiran and the others danced naked, each with Ophiuchus painted on his or her chest. Bertina smiled at Kiran as she danced by him, swaying in time with music. He smiled at her and moved so he was beside her, dancing together but not quite touching.

Hours passed, and Kiran and Bertina danced side by side among the dozens of other dancers. The moon was well past its peak, and Kiran felt his body starting to slow. Bertina seemed to be slowing, as well, as did many of the others except the Twelve. Dozens of bare forms glistened with sweat, and the painted figures of Ophiuchus were unrecognizable where they were not already washed away.

In the corner of his eye, Kiran saw the girl who called herself Lucerne collapse where she was: the first to fall. Kiran did not drop; though he was not the first to fall tonight, he did not want to be the second, either.

One, two, three more people fell almost as soon as Lucerne’s body hit the ground. The Twelve played on, not stopping, and Kiran and Bertina kept up the dance, though the chanting was lost in the huffs of the exhausted dancers.

“You are not meant to tend the fire today,” Bertina whispered to Kiran as she danced by him.

He smiled and dropped to the ground at almost the same time as she did.



They were chanting again.

Every night, to another star.

The boy who called himself Kiran chanted softly while he was being painted with the constellation Draco. Tonight they chanted and danced to Dziban. Scorpio painted him with the stars across his chest. Nearby, Bertina was being painted by Virgo. He looked at her and gave her a small smile, hoping Scorpio would not see it. But he did.

“You fancy Bertina, son?”

Kiran stopped chanting and bowed his head. “I do, Father Scorpio.”

Without turning his head, Scorpio looked at Bertina. She was smiling back at Kiran, oblivious to Virgo’s rather pleased look. Virgo looked at Scorpio and nodded. Scorpio nodded back.

“You will be given to each other.”

Kiran almost allowed his jaw to drop. Saving himself at the last moment, he bowed his head instead.

“It would be good to have another child born to us, son. It has been some time since Meira had her child.”

“I understand, Father Scorpio.”

They danced and chanted to Dziban. Kiran was determined not to be the first to fall again. He danced again with Bertina, whose wide smile never wavered for the entire night.

“We are to be given to each other,” she whispered to him.

“I know,” he replied.

“Does that make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Come and take us.”

“Give us your light.”

Hours passed, and Kiran and Bertina danced side by side among the dozens of other dancers. The moon was well past its peak, and Kiran felt his body starting to slow. Bertina seemed to be slowing, as well, as did many of the others except the Twelve. Kiran felt his legs begin to give out beneath him, and as he was about to fall, Bertina’s hands came and helped hold him up. But it was too late, and Kiran’s body was slick with sweat. He fell– the first to fall.

Dimly, in the back of his exhausted mind, Kiran heard the drums and pipes stop. The rhythmic pounding of feet stopped, and the chanting faded to silence.

“The first has fallen,” Aries said. “Tonight, we stop.”

Cristophe sat unhappily on the grass, poking at the fire with a long stick. A pile of firewood he had gathered sat next to him. He was worn out and drenched with sweat. His arms and legs ached, and his throat was hoarse. He tossed another piece of wood into the fire.

“Hey!”

He hadn’t heard anyone approach. But suddenly Carmen was next to him, leaning back on her hands in the damp grass, looking at the sky.

“You weren’t here yesterday.”

“I know.”

“It’s kind of a good thing. You weren’t so sweaty yesterday, I bet. You probably got to take a shower instead of sitting here all day.”

He let out an airy laugh and nodded. “Yeah.” He poked at the fire with his stick. “Wait, I thought you said you kind of liked sweaty guys.”

Carmen shrugged. “I do, but I like dry guys, too.”

“Well, which do you like better?”

“You, whichever you are at the moment.” Carmen tossed a piece of wood on the fire. “That fire should be okay on its own for a while.”

Cristophe smiled and took off his shirt.

“We do not chant to a star tonight,” Capricorn announced to the dozens of nude people gathered around the fire. The fire-that-was-never-put-out was far more than dim embers; it was a great blaze that gave off an intense heat, making everyone sweat despite their stillness.

“Tonight, the Sun rides the Moon. We celebrate Kiran and Bertina, who have agreed to be given to each other.”

They were chanting again, dancing in circles as Kiran and Bertina made love in the grass. Kiran had been painted in bright yellow-gold, Bertina in the palest pearly blue.

“Let us pray to the Sun, our Father!”

“Let us pray to the Moon, our Mother!”

“Give us another star!”

They were chanting again.

Summer had given way to autumn and then winter. They danced and chanted to Ankaa, a star of Phoenix’s constellation. Kiran danced and chanted, determined not to be the first to fall again. Since he and Bertina had been given to each other, he had not been the first to fall on any night.

Bertina danced next to Kiran, her growing stomach bearing the constellation Hydra, which would be in the sky when the little star was to be born. Phoenix dotted her chest, as it did Kiran’s and all the others’. Bertina smiled at Kiran and rested a hand on her stomach. She was often the first to stop these nights, but since she carried a little star, she was never considered the first to fall. If Kiran stopped early, he would not be granted that luxury.

“Hey!”

The music faltered and stopped. The chanting faded, and the dancing ceased as a stranger approached the circle around fire-that-was-never-put-out.

The Twelve quickly stood from their seated positions around the fire and approached the stranger. “You do not belong with us.”

“Leave.”

“What’s going on here?”

The Twelve closed in around the stranger. They formed a line– the barrier between the stranger and the fire.

“Don’t touch her!”

The voice came from the crowd of chanters. Kiran pushed his way to the forefront.

The heads of the Twelve snapped to look in his direction, severe looks on all twelve faces. “You speak for this outsider, son?” asked Leo.

Kiran pushed his way between Libra and Capricorn and looked over the stranger. “I speak for her.”

The stranger whispered to Kiran. “Cristophe, I’m scared. Who are these people?”

Taurus’s voice boomed. “Why do you speak for one such as this?”

“She carries my child!”

The chanters gasped collectively. The Twelve only managed to look angrier. “You have gone outside the Sky?”

Almost as one, the Twelve and the chanters began forward, hands raised, ready to seize Cristophe and Carmen. He knew the penance for this: burning alive slowly over the fire. The boy who called himself Tab had tried to leave a year ago. He had been found and burned alive; the image was still strong in his memory.

“Wait!” Cristophe threw his arms out to either side, trying to put as much distance between Carmen and the Twelve as he could. His normally timid voice echoed unnaturally, stopping everyone for a moment. There was a pause, and he lowered his arms. He looked past the Twelve, to where Bertina stood. “You have a little star to replace me. I was a pitiful star to begin with.”

He took a small step backwards, towards Carmen. He took another. Another, and he was able to take her hand. They turned and began to walk down the hill. There was a moment when Cristophe thought they would be able to leave uncontested, then he heard taurus’s booming voice.

“After them!”

They were chanting again.

“After them!”

“To the fire!”

It was one of the most frightening things Cristophe had ever heard.

They were chanting again.

The fire-that-was-never-put-out was a blaze. The traitor Kiran’s screams had faded an hour ago, after two nights over the dim flames. The blaze had been built to wear away what was left.

Aquarius looked over the slowly charring remains. Sagittarius approached the fire and stopped beside her.

“We never found the outsider.”

“She is nothing to us. He was the one we needed to make an example of. The penance for treachery has been paid.”

They were chanting again.

The boy who called himself Kiran would never join them again.

Carmen never went back to the hilltop. In April, she bore a little girl. She named her Star.

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They Were Chanting Again was written a few years ago. Astronomy and astrology have always interested me, and the concept of a cult based on them resulted in this story. At least, it touches on the subjects.