“And to save the souls from sin,” quietly added the Priest.
But the sun that rose above the horizon, turned into fanatic flames in their eyes. They were flickering there like hot embers, for all the world to see… including the gods in the sky.
Soon, the three leaders announced their decision to the crowd. No one was brave enough to stand up for Milia, the shackles of faith and habit were that heavy on people. The most open-minded of them only wept when they saw the guards lead the girl to the Tower. The others just stared in silence.
“You will be led to the top of the Tower,” said the Priest, “so the holy sky would drive all the sin from your soul. Then you will be thrown down. This is the decision made in the light of the dawn before the gods themselves. Today, at midday, you will be put to death.”
Milia lifted her eyes to the top of the skyscraping Tower. That moment, fear of death seized her and took her gift of speech away. People watched in horror at the miracle of their life, now destroyed; watched the poor child try to say something and fail to do so, the very child that had been singing so merrily for them just a few hours ago. Yet again, not a single person stepped out of the crowd to help the little girl.
In the midday, Milia’s long ascension to the Tower began. The way up would be difficult for an adult warrior, let alone a child. Sometimes, she had to walk the stairs, sometimes she had a chance to catch her breath when a part of the way could be covered in a mechanical elevator or a magical levitation device. A group of armed guards clad in white followed the condemned child everywhere.
By the end of the way, Milia was so exhausted that she became as white as chalk herself. Bitter cold reigned on the top of the Tower, ferocious winds howled there, and the air was so thin the girl could barely breathe.
When Milia reached the last storey, half-built, open to the elements, the first stars were already shining in the dark, velvety sky. There were so many of them! Above the lights of the city, there was nothing that could outshine even the smallest ones. There was a river, a whole river of stars!
The power of the beautiful sight took Milia’s breath away, she gasped, she felt the fear of death release its grasp on her throat, and, finally, she sang. She could make everything into a song, even the river of stars, the river of worlds in the sky where the gods dwelled.
Carried by the wind to the foot of the Tower, that song made people wake up. They no longer stared up in silence, waiting for Milia to fall; they stirred, they cried, they cursed the Tower and those who condemned the innocent child to death. Only the three Chiefs remained unmoved by the song.
“What a horrible sorcery!” they said. “We were right to condemn the child. Just imagine what would have happened if the little witch had a chance to grow up!”
Only the gloomy warriors clad in white didn’t acknowledge the powerful song. All of them had been deaf from birth; that was why they were chosen to follow the girl. They threw Milia off the Tower, just like they were ordered to.
No one saw the child’s body fall but everyone saw the fall of the Tower itself. In roar and thunder, torn apart by huge cracks, it crashed to the ground, centuries of endless toil and howling songs turned into rubble and dust in a single moment.
