●
The scope of human understanding is very small.
As the commoners toil with sweat on their brows, they may sometimes grumble with envy about the nobles and government officials, who earn their food by merely sitting behind their desks. However, the masses most likely have no comprehension of the hardships those above them experience. Of course, this holds in reverse, as well: nobles and officials do not know the hardships of farmers and craftsmen. They may understand them in a scholarly sense, but they do not truly feel them. And as Fiona carried out her work as deputy town mayor for her bedridden father, she thought that she was no exception.
Of course, she didn’t think that that was a bad thing. Each and every person had a gift they were born with and a role to play in society. And those roles were all deep, and not easily understood by others. There were things that only farmers could do, there were things that only craftsmen could do, and there were jobs that could only be done by a noble or a government official.
However, when the range of your life is narrow, so becomes your way of thinking.
Only a very small section of society was allowed to attend the school in the capital as she had—only the children of the privileged classes. Even in her case, her father had pulled quite a few strings for her to study there. They were technically “nobility,” but those begrudgingly included at the bottom of the list were certainly not affluent. The Schillings family was a powerful local family; “nobility” was nothing more than a label afforded to them by the capital for the sake of convenience.
The way commoners saw things was narrower still. They took the routines of their ancestors as a given.
No one doubts that the sun will rise in the morning or that it will set when night comes. Even if someone did hold such a doubt, it would soon be forgotten in the bustle of daily life. With the single word “obviously,” people stop thinking, and even taking notice of their surroundings. Life in this world was too harsh to endure any other way—and Fiona herself understood that well.
“...I suppose the erdgod will have feasted on her by now,” Fiona said quietly, allowing her eyes to drift to the window.
In name, a shrine maiden serving a god. In truth—a sacrifice to the erdgod.
Even a ritual as deceitful as this becomes “tradition” after a hundred or a thousand years. Girls almost the same age as herself were regularly offered up to and devoured by creatures that called themselves gods. She understood that this path led to the fewest victims, but the ritual had gone on so long that even the feeling that the girls were “victims” had started to diminish. The priests seemed to teach the orphans who were candidates to become shrine maidens that it was a great honor to be offered to an erdgod.
“If that girl had been born under other circumstances, her life could have been different...”
They were children with no one to depend on. Because they didn’t have parents, there was almost no one who would protest if they were made into sacrifices. So an orphanage was created to efficiently provide those sacrifices, and the priests preached to its good name, so that they wouldn’t be tormented by the guilt of their own consciences.
If there were no sacrifices, it would be difficult for people to live on this impoverished, infertile land. It was obvious that without the erdgod’s “protection,” a hundred people, if not more, would die every year. Fiona understood that much. But at the same time, she knew: those beings called erdgods were the “demons” that were taught about in the capital’s Central Church.
Erdgods were not absolute justice. They did not even represent “good.” The only reason they had been deified for so long was that there was simply no better option. At the cost of one life, many could be saved. How could Fiona argue with that? The only option was to convince herself that this path was the “best.”
Fiona stopped writing, gently closed her eyes, and massaged her eyelids. There was no sense in dwelling on this. Shrine maidens had their role, and Fiona had hers. And if the “shrine maiden” was going to fulfill her role, it was surely inexcusable for Fiona to neglect her own.
She let out a sigh and returned to her duties. But before she could write another word, there was a rush of busy footsteps, and the doors of the office suddenly opened.
“Milady!”
A line of servants with faces full of alarm formed in front of Fiona. She frowned heavily, fully intending to reprimand them for their rudeness.
“What is all the fuss? Knock before you come into—”
“Our apologies, Milady... This is urgent!” They were all incredibly agitated; veins were bulging on their sweat-covered foreheads, and they were almost out of breath. “Milady,” they cried out in voices approaching shrieks, “something—something serious has happened at the sanctuary!”