The God Mask

Thump - a drum beat. Shhhhhk. The shake of a rattle. A host of bare feet slapping stone. A sweep of red robes, dark as blood, swirling as the figures spin - they cut through the heavy silence like elegant spinning tops, suddenly changing direction, fluid in motion.

Thump - the figures rise up. Slender arms, strong arms, withered arms open to the carvernous ceiling. The ghost light is enough to pick out their silhouettes, two dozen, frozen in motion. Shhk shhk shhk - their arms curve, gathering hollow space and then release again. They move slowly now, bodies in celestial orbit around the center. Silent, focused intention.

Thump - a soft step, light but firm, enters the stage. The game begins. The new player approaches, all black. Shhhhhhk! The rattles agitate and the red figures snap to attention. They face the newcomer poised, ready. Feet planted, low stances. The movements are a blur. The dark figure subdues the outermost defenders - they sink gracefully to their knees. Thump thump thump! The drumbeats echo as the figures dance in silent combat. Black cuts like a whisper, half-lit. Half the red robes fall. Perhaps half a dozen remain. They encircle the center where the treasure awaits - the God mask.

The challenger is too nimble, too light, too fast. They sink one by one, heads bowed, spirits flown. Two remain.

And now the final test. The challenger faces their sickle blades, sharp enough to cut without spilling a drop of life. The silver crescents flash with cold intent. Theirs is a challenge that has been staked a hundred times past - a tradition of centuries. To become woman is to claim Godly power.

Thump, thump. Shhhhhk. Thump. The drums are solemn, heavy as the final two guardians submit. Their blades clatter in release. It is over and done. She takes the closest robe and slips on the carved black mask. It is a perfect fit. She is woman, she is a God.

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