The villagers chanted unfamiliar words and banged their drums feverishly as she was carried up the mountain, swathed in white, her hands and ankles bound. Her litter, carried by four burly natives, came in the middle of the procession, the villagers surrounding her on all sides, even at the narrowest points. The priest followed directly behind her, reading the ancient rights in a foreign tongue.
The mountain rumbled beneath them.
It smoked as they reached the top. The drumming stopped. The chanting ceased. She was set on her feet, the ropes binding her slashed. Where could she run to now?
As the priest anointed her brow and cheekbones with ashes, she could have sworn she felt a splash of lava touch her bare foot. She swallowed deeply and leant close to the priest, hoping desperately that he spoke English.
"There's been a mistake. I'm...I'm not a virgin," she hissed.
The priest looked her dead in the eye and then shrugged. "These days, who is? You'll just have to do, I'm afraid."
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