A biting wind sliced across the rocky flatland, causing the calf to huddle closer to his older sister for warmth. The night sky was clear and crisp, bearing no clouds to obscure the myriad stars that laced the heavens. One star in particular fiercely outshone all others, bathing a wooden structure on the flatland below in a soft orange glow. Minotaurs gathered in reverence around the structure, upon which lay the body of one of their own. The corpse, imposing even in death, wore battle leathers and was painted with intricate designs of woad.
"We commend the light of Stahvros Proudhoof back to whence it came. Codrus, who is our beacon in the moonless night, we ask you to welcome your son into your proud hall, that he may watch over our hunts and harvests always, as you do.”
Upon finishing her prayer, the Elder of Clan Rime, clad in thick robes of yeti fur to shield her aging bones from the cold, walked toward the pyre. As she reached the base of it, she turned and spoke again.
“Will, Khadra, step forward.”
Another blast of cold air ripped through Will, chilling him to the bone as he and his sister approached the shaman. Though he now stood close to the small ceremonial bonfire, it did little to ease the cold that consumed him. Lighting two torches in the bonfire, the wizened crone eyed the siblings with a solemn expression that hardened her aged features. “As the children of Stahvros, it falls to you to light the path that his soul will follow. Do you accept?”
Though heartache and anger whirled inside Will, he mimicked his sister's practiced monotone as they slowly moved forward to accept the burning brands.
“We do.”
Will's hands were shaking as he and Khadra approached the pyre that their father lay upon. He risked a sidelong glance at his sister's face, hoping to see a glimpse of the same feelings of hurt and guilt that burned within him. Her face, however, was a mask of stoic acceptance. As Will turned back to face his father, his breathing became ragged. The fire in his hands blurred as hot tears filled his eyes, and he sank deeper into a pit of grief and self-loathing.
So focused was he on his inner turmoil that the whisper from his side nearly escaped his attention. Turning his head, he found himself face to face with his elder sibling. Though her expression was just as cold as before, her eyes held sadness and understanding. “We must do this for Father, Will, even if it hurts.” With that, Khadra turned back toward the pyre and lowered her torch to the kindling.
Drawing strength from his sister's words, Will steeled himself, channeling his anger as he thrust his burning brand deep into the pyre. The flames caught quickly, bathing the siblings in heat and light. As he stepped back from the pyre, Will watched the flames grow in intensity, seeming to mingle and dance with the glow from the star above them.
The Elder turned to face the crowd and raised an arthritic hand into the air. “It is done. May Stahvros walk the path with his head held high, and a song on his lips.” She lowered her head as she was joined by Will and Khadra, prompting the gathering to do the same. The silence surrounding the ceremony was broken only by the crackling of the pyre as the flames roared up toward the heavens.
********
After the ceremony was completed, the adult members of the clan convened in the Hunter’s Hall to celebrate the life of the warrior they had lost. Intricate lanterns adorned the stone walls, driving away the gloom of the night, just as the drunken singing of the Hall’s patrons banished the silence. Great casks of Thunderbrew had been cracked open, and the potent drink was poured into wooden flagons and passed among the congregation.
Though not of age, Will stood in the hall with a drink in hand. Hunter’s Hall was off-limits to calves, but the warriors of the clan, Khadra among them, had insisted he be there. Calf or not, you should be given the chance to pay homage to your father. The young minotaur took an exploratory swig of his drink, shuddering and suppressing a cough as the liquid fire seemed to stick in his throat. After a moment, the fire abated, leaving Will with a feeling of numb satisfaction. Emboldened by experience, the liquid sloshed in his cup as he took another swallow, finding the burn comforting this time. Seeing his sister walking toward him, Will shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog that had begun to settle in his thoughts. He stood straight and rigid, not wanting to appear unable to handle the Thunderbrew gifted to him.
Khadra raised an eyebrow and smirked as she approached the overly-alert calf. “Be careful, brother. I would not enjoy having to hold your horns as you empty your stomach.”
Will opened his mouth to defend himself, but was cut off as a large hunter called for the attention of the celebrants. “We are here to drink and sing in honor of our fallen brother, Stahvros. He gave his life defending what we hold dearest to our hearts.” The massive minotaur cast his gaze toward Will.
“Our young.”
Will lowered his eyes to the floor as guilt and grief roared back to life within him.
The hunter spoke up again. “Stahvros died with his axe in hand, scattering foes like mice, roaring a challenge to all who would bring harm to his progeny.” He raised his drink above his head. “A worthy death!”
“A worthy death!” All in attendance raised their mugs into the air as they mirrored his words. Will raised his drink as well, but was unable to bring himself to join in the cheer. He drank deeply as those around him did the same. After the toast, conversation and singing returned to the Hall in full force.
Will turned to his sister, swaying slightly. “I miss Papa Stahvros, Khadi.”
Khadra frowned at his use of her childhood nickname. “We are in public, brother. While I don’t mind when you call me that at home, you would do well to remember your place at this gathering.”
The calf blanched as he realized his mistake. Khadra had passed her induction into adulthood some time ago; a child calling an adult by their first name was a sign of disrespect. While parents were an exception to this, siblings were not. Will stammered as he offered an apology. “P-please forgive me, Dame Proudhoof.”
The female minotaur grunted her acceptance of her brother’s apology, and softened her expression as she spoke again. “I miss him too, Will. But I think that I would miss you more, had the attackers reached you.”
Her words were meant to comfort, but they merely brought Will’s grief and confusion to the forefront of his thoughts. “Sister, why did those other minotaurs attack us? Did they want to take our food?” This question puzzled the calf more than he would have liked to admit. The clan had gone through lean times in the past, true, but fish and game were plentiful this season.
Khadra’s brow furrowed. “They are Songless. They don’t need a reason to harm and destroy, other than for their own pleasure.”
Will’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I don’t understand. They hurt and steal because it makes them feel good?”
Another voice answered him before Khadra could form a reply. “It is the way of some to succumb to their baser urges, young Will.”
Both siblings turned to face the speaker as she approached them. Khadra bowed her head in deference and made her way back to the gathering, leaving a confused Will standing with the Elder of his clan.
The calf stood staring at the ground, unwilling to speak before being spoken to first. The Elder smiled at his respect and placed a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to look into her eyes. Though the weight and wisdom of her years was evident in the lines of her face, her eyes carried a spark of youth that told all who looked upon her that she was far from infirm.
With a silent gesture toward the entrance of the Hall, the Elder made her way outside. Will followed behind her obediently.
The din of the celebration cut off abruptly as the heavy oaken door shut behind them. They sat on the steps of the Hall for a moment, basking in the comfortable silence that enveloped the Permafrost Tundra. The Elder draped her arm around the calf. “I understand why you question what happened three days ago. You are short in years, and have not experienced much that would give your heart the answers it now seeks.”
“Elder, I...” Will’s throat tightened around his words, refusing to let him speak them. Tears welled in his eyes and threatened to spill over. “I...”
The Elder pulled the calf in closer, allowing him to snuggle comfortably into her side. “Speak when you are ready, child. There is no rush.”
A dam burst inside of Will at the Elder’s words. “I-it’s my fault he’s dead, Gran’! If I had been stronger, I could have run like Papa Stahvros told me to. I could have gotten help! B-but I was a coward! I let him die!” His words became unintelligible as he buried his face into his grandmother’s side. The Elder rocked back and forth, consoling the grieving youngling. After a moment, his grief subsided a bit, and his cries slowed to gentle sobs. “Khadi knows it’s my fault. She hates me.”
The Elder’s voice was soft, but commanding. “Will, listen to me.”
The calf sniffled and looked up at his grandmother’s face as she spoke. “Khadra does not hate you. None of us hate you. Your father’s blood is not on your hands. It is on the hands of the Songless.”
“But why? Why would they want to hurt me and Papa Stahvros?” Will’s little hands clenched into fists as he thought of the marauders and what they had done to him, and to his father.
The Elder’s mouth set in a grim line. “Because they can.”
The change in his grandmother’s demeanor caused Will to grow silent. After a moment, he asked, “What do you mean, Gran’? Are we at war with another clan?”
Will’s grandmother shook her head sadly. “No, young Will, we are not. The Songless are not a clan. They are outcasts, bound together only by their bloodlust and hunger for savagery. They have embraced the darkness inherent in us all, and live only to destroy.”
Will’s eyes widened in fear. “So the monsters in the stories that Khadi used to tell me...”
The Elder gave a nod of affirmation. “All too real, I’m afraid.”
The confirmation of his fears shook Will to his core. “What do we do, Gran’? We have to keep everyone safe!” His grief had been wiped away, replaced by concern for his loved ones.
Smiling at the calf’s sudden zeal, the Elder patted him on the head gently. “It is good that you wish to protect what you love, young one. Your father would be proud.” Her face took on an air of contemplation. “Our warriors will likely commission a search for the remaining marauders who attacked our village. The Songless have never before been so brazen in their aggression toward us.” She blinked, remembering who she was speaking to. “Ah, but that is not for your ears, child. Rest assured that the beasts who took your father’s life will be dealt with.”
The calf’s jaw clenched in determination. “I want to help.”
The timbre of Will’s voice worried his grandmother. “This is not about vengeance, Will. This is about protecting those we hold dear. The best way for you to help right now is to grieve, and to heal. The time will come when the clan calls upon you for aid, but it has not come yet.”
Will’s face crumbled as he leaned back into his grandmother. “I don’t know how to do that, Gran’,” he sobbed softly. “I want him back.”
The Elder tightened her embrace on the calf. “What you are feeling is natural, child,” she replied softly. “Grief is essential to healing, though it may not seem so at present. It is our grief for lost loved ones that separates us from the Songless. They are unable to feel such things.”
The calf felt his grandmother fumble for something in her coat. Looking up, he saw her pull a stone bracelet from her pocket. The Elder offered the bracelet to Will, who stared at it in confusion.
The Elder answered Will’s unspoken question. “It was your father’s. A gift for his initiation into adulthood.”
The calf took it in his hands, marvelling at the craftsmanship. The stone was warm to the touch, seeming to drive away the chill that permeated the air of the tundra. The bracelet was no crude thing fashioned by mundane tools; the intricate runes and designs were the product of stone-shaping, a magic that Will knew little about. After admiring the quality of the workmanship for a moment, he noticed an inscription on the underside of the bracelet.
“Let no gift of gold or stone turn you from those you call your own.”
Having read the inscription aloud, Will looked up at his grandmother once more. “What does that mean?”
The Elder merely patted him on the arm. “It means that one should care more for clan and kin than material wealth. It is our way.” She smiled wistfully. “Stahvros was always very fond of rhymes.”
Looking down at the bracelet in his hands, Will’s voice was barely audible as he asked, “Can I keep it?”
Elder Proudhoof kissed him gently on the forehead. “It is yours.”
Will smiled and thanked his grandmother. The bracelet was far too large to fit on his wrist, so he settled for clasping it to his belt. “It will never leave my side, Gran’.”
“That is good, Will. Take the inscription to heart. It will serve you well as you grow older.” With that, the Elder released the young minotaur from her grasp and slowly stood. “Now, I have to get back into the Hall. I am not so young, and my blood does not run as hot as yours. Come back inside when you are ready.”
Will nodded, and the Elder made her way back into the hall, leaving the calf alone with his thoughts, as well as his new bracelet. The rhyme played itself over and over in his head, until he had it committed fully to memory. Feeling a bit better after the conversation with his grandmother, Will looked up at the night sky, making a silent promise to himself to honor his father’s memory in any way possible. Sighing, he lost himself for a moment in the glow of the large orange star that dominated the heavens.
Author's Note
Special thanks to Featherprop for the editing help. You kick ass, dude.
