Harbinger Of Doom: The Attainer

2. The Ceremony

The ethereal glow of the full moon beamed in the night sky. Melodic notes from harps and flutes resounded euphonically while some individuals danced around a column of fire. Frolic kids sprinted across the village square in merriment. At a corner, a man was roasting a wildling over a fire through a roasting rack.

The fire show ceremony was vibrant as always, perhaps almost like a noble's birthday party. Lores stood with arms crossed. He was waiting for what was to him the most important segment of the ceremony; the wrestling contest.

"Your....Lores eat something." A voice told him. It was none other than Vicksen. A man in a commoner's clothing appeared, holding a mutton on one hand. His face carried a light expression, as if it was permanently designed for amusement, suggesting him to be an approachable fellow. Lores had warned him on several occasions not to address him formally, but his father's stauncher kept eating his words in front of him. Vicksen once told him that his princehood was valid so long as he had a royal blood. However, in his eyes, it wasn't about the validity of his title. He just doesn't feel comfortable when addressed with formality.

He took the limb that was offered to him and tore a part from it with his teeth.

"You left for the night watch yesterday, didn't you? So tell me, when did you start crushing on night immortal." He asked after chaveling a mouthful. Vicksen winced at his words.

"I don't understand. How can I crush on someone I've never seen?" Lores gave him a startled look, his eyes revealing mischief.

"Were you expecting to see her yesterday." Vicksen giggled as he buried his head in his hand.

"Why are you taunting me? I only left for the night watch because Zyno persuaded me to." Then he leaned towards Lores, his voice small. "If the locals should hear you make jokes like this, they'll say you are impious." A quiet laugh burst from Lores' mouth.

"Who cares? I like this village but I find its belief too weird for my liking."

The weird belief of Vatmos emanated from the mythology of the Middle East. It was said that there was a priestess who usually took men as mediators. When she died, she was believed to ascend into a goddess. The tradition still continued after her death with men mediating on behalf of women and children.

Lores heard the origination of this belief from Idrissa but it didn't terminate his weird feeling about the belief.

"Me too. But I thought you'd be accustomed to it by growing up here." Vicksen said while staring at him like he was staring at an unsolvable puzzle. Lores shrugged. Inasmuch as he wasn't a bona fide indigene of Vatmos, he was bound to feel different in one way or the other.

"Why don't you join the fun?" Vicksen's voice resounded.

"You know I'm not good at dancing. I'll join the fun when the wrestling contest begins. For now, I find it more fun to discuss your love matters with a deity." The taunter taunted with a jocular sigh. He threw a glance at Vicksen whose face seemed as if he was devising something. He began to retract his steps expecting a chase and it came. He bolted off with Vicksen chasing from behind.

"Your dad never teased me like you're doing. I'll bridle your tongue today!" He could hear his chaser hollering from behind. His relationship with Vicksen had been up to par. His apprenticeship to the latter in swordsmanship played a significant role in the build up between them.

He took his chaser round the column of fire and then out of the arena. After a while, he gave up, breathing like an antelope that escaped from its predator after a long run. Vicksen caught up with him in the same condition or perhaps even worse.

"You should know that I am no longer young. Is this how you treat your elders?" He uttered amid a racing breath. His eyes swung for where to sit like they were searching for gold. Once he captured a stale wood not far from where they were standing, he heaved a sigh of relief and flumped helplessly on it. Lores stood akimbo with his mouth loosely hanging open. He was astonished by how the once agile Vicksen became so old that he couldn't even stand after a short run.