Fragile Souls || ON-HOLD

CHAPTER THREE PART ONE

Zandria's body dangled dangerously on the edge of Noir Falls, the ancient waterfall that served as a border between the two clans dwelling on the island. If she leaned for even the slightest bit, her body would be suspended in the air, flying as gravity would pull her down to the water.

Her end would be as easy as autumn leaves, but a force always compels her not to do it. It was as if the universe was telling her to wait for the right moment for her last hoorah, her final adieu, her last farewell. She wasn't eager to die, just curious; she wanted to know what it felt like to fall to your death, to feel the pain as your body made contact with the ground, to think of your last thoughts.

The people always told her she was too curious for her own good, she'd think of the most peculiar things before she could stand on her own two feet. And as she grew older, it was clear that her curiosity wouldn't die down that easily. Hell, she even had the scars to prove it.

Perhaps one of these days, but it seems like that day is not today, she thought as she stood up and bid the falls goodbye. As she turned to face the forest, preparing herself for her way back to the village, a black bird came to face her.

It showed her the dream she had not long ago. It was where she was in a dark room together with two others, and in front of them was 12 men wearing raven black robes and different colored masks.

"Calypso. Calypso Knox, your time has come to lead once more, but beware forswear for the binding of souls is here to tempt your demons. Be not the conceited wolf that misguides her pack to a garden of wolfs bane."

Despite the being distracted by her meeting with the bird, the trip back to the tribe was not far—it only took her a number of trees to swing from and a muddy path to run before she was greeted by the tall and stony structures of home. Almost immediately, the aroma of food engulfed her and entranced her hungry stomach to walk towards the mammoth of a cooking pot resting above a bonfire. She took a peek and found delicious stew inside.

"Zandria! Get your dirty paws away from my pot!" She turned her head and saw Inang, her grandmother, making her way towards her. "This is for the whole tribe to eat, have some respect and wash yourself before tasting it."

"Yes, Inang," she replied shamefacedly and walked towards the bath house beside their home.

"Zandy!" A small boy dressed in white came running towards her after she finally finished grooming herself. Kneeling down, she catched the boy with her arms and raised him in the air.

"How are you, little birdie?" Zandria spun the boy around, which earned her a joyous laugh in response.

"Papa says I can ring the bell for dinner, but he also says I need your help," Little Arlo happily answered her big sister.

"Give me a kiss on the cheek and we'll be there in a flash." Zandria pointed her right cheek and the little boy happily complied. "Well, should we run or should we fly?"

"Fly! Fly! Fly!" Arlo repeated, and jumped in joy. A mischievous smirk found its way on her lips and told her brother to hold onto her tight. Arlo wrapped his lite legs and little arms around his sister as she climbed up the tree and swung from branch to branch. The little boy closed his eyes as he felt the wind blowing furiously around them; overcome by the feeling of euphoria, the little boy let go of his sister and stretched his arms wide like a free bird.

Zandria stopped to a halt and said, "Arlo! I told you to hold on to me."

"But I wanted to fly." The little boy looked at her with sad eyes, and soon an unwelcoming feeling engulfed her whole.

"I know, little bird. But we wouldn't want an accident again, remember?" She cupped her brother's cheek and wiped the tears off his face.

"I understand," Arlo responded, a sad smile now on his face.

"Alright, come on, we need to hurry. But this time, we walk, okay?" Zandria helped her little brother get down from the oak tree and walked the remaining distance towards the bell house.

"It's safer like this," she whispered.

The whole tribe huddled close together around the huge bonfire in the middle of their village as they ate the stew that Inang prepared for them. Zandria's eyes scanned the crowd and studied the tattoos on her fellow tribesmen's arms. In their tribe, the ink on their skin defies how they are as a warrior when all is at stake; the bigger they are, the braver you seem to be. To get marked, one must first kill a wildling, a remnant of the Great War, a creature in the middle of death and life. The youth were the only ones that didn't have any mark on their skin, the adults, however, seem to be bathed in ink.

The tattoos on their chieftain, her father, traveled from his nape to her chest and the dorsal of his hands. One mark, on the exact spot as his heart, stood out among the rest. Baring the color of jade, it served as a reminder of his failure, his downfall.

"I have to apologize for tonight's meal," The chieftain stood and spoke to his people. "It seems that we are escalating in numbers, but worry not. Tonight, we feast on plain stew, tomorrow, we will have a grand meal in honor of my daughter's second decade."

The tribespeople cheered and clapped for Zandria, and in return, she smiled at them. They silenced themselves when Inang cleared her throat.

"As all of you would know, when the women of our tribe reach the age of wisdom, they are to go through the ceremonial passing to ensure purity. Usually, this is performed under the tenth full moon of the earth's orbital time. However, it seems the deities have blessed this year with a super blue blood moon."

It was then that the people fully silenced themselves. They say that quiet mouths spoke through loud minds, and Zandria could hear them all—their wayward glances toward her gave it all away, she didn't need to know exactly what they're saying, she's heard it all before.

"Didn't the chieftain's wife during the last blood moon?" She heard a girl, about 3 years younger than her, whisper to the boy beside her. Even her Papa heard it, but he chose to ignore it for the meantime.

Inang pulled out the piece of paper residing neatly on her pocket and announced, "Ten maidens will undergo the ritual this year, when I call your name, stand up and go to the middle. If I call you and you don't hear, then I suppose you'll have to wait until next year to go through with the ritual."

Zandria was called last, and stood nearest the fire compared to the others. She watched as the flames rippled and cackled as the cold wind blew through the night, and stared at the sky at it greeted the smoke that floated from the flames. It reminded of her of something. Of someone. A distant memory of blood and bone, of tears and screams, of a young girl she almost killed.