Originally posted here in response to the prompt “Hallow.”
I think it’s Fairies (Tir na Cali) in Spaaace
The ground was barren, without a place for the holy beings to call home, without a place of concretion where they could talk to their gods. Some worried that, so far from home, their gods would not hear them, even if they did the rites to hallow the proper land; others worried that the land itself would be improper, no matter what rites were done over it.
But they had moved to a new land before, and if this one was a bit further away (light years further, a whole different star system further) than the last one had been, those who kept the memories and those who kept the faith still remembered how to do things, and they knew that the gods would follow. The gods were of the people, their children, after all, and they had been more thorough this time than last in bringing all of the gods’ children with them.
The land might be strange, the ground and the sky devoid of the gods’ touch, but they knew what to do to consecrate the ground and call their deities home. The seasons might look strange underneath the violet-shaded moon, but they still turned, and they had landed as spring was about to pry its way out of the depths of an icy winter.
“Come to the hill with me,” the priestess said to a young noble, his eyes still glazed with cryo-sleep.
“Come to that valley with me,” the Lady said to her body-slave, to the slave she loved despite all rules to the contrary.
“Come to the grove with me,” the Priest said to the Heir, the woman who, here, would be queen, “and we will make love, and we will make children, and we will call the gods home.
“Lay here in the grass,” they called to their lovers, “and we will hallow this ground for our gods.”
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