Obligations
by Wiebke Fesch
Same disclaimers and notes as Part 1.
-----CHAPTER 13-----
The next 24 hours seemed to drag on forever.
The evening meal was the first time they'd all met together without discussing inception, although Ranat's absence was certainly palpable. Seel appeared to have become good friends with Tarra, Swift noted, and they spent most of the meal exchanging observations with Ashmael about various tribes and towns in the area. Tarra had spoken at length about the Sulh. Swift had suggested that perhaps one day he might meet Cobweb, although Tarra confessed that he might not be up to that for some time. Presently he would be far too intimidated. He guessed that it would be a challenge to adjust into life within society.
After dinner Swift assisted Ashmael in making the arrangements for the coming days. Swift also agreed to a schedule for the following day; he still had duties to attend to and, with nothing to be done until the evening, there was no reason to put life on hold. The Harhune would take place just after dusk, preceded by a light dinner, Ashmael explained.
From that point on, Ranat would be placed in the hands of the Althaia attendants. Ashmael and Seel would check in regularly to observe. Swift, like Tarra, was told to stay away; until the final ritual, it would be best for Swift to remain a mystery to Ranat.
On the way back to the master bedroom, Swift caught Tarra slipping out of Ranat's bedroom. Before going into his own room, Tarra nodded in Swift's direction. Swift took this as acknowledgement that Tarra had just had a talk with Ranat about aruna. He was and was glad to know that matters had been explained. When he reached his bed, Seel was waiting for him.
- - - - -
When the hour at last arrived, Swift stood waiting at the makeshift altar in the yard, the house hara, various administrators and townsfolk gathered along with him. Two hara stood to the side, one banging a drum, the other blowing on a low-pitched flute. The sun fell behind the hills and dusk settled upon the land.
In the bluish light, the procession arrived. First came Ashmael, who had chosen robes of deepest crimson, fully in the role of priest. It seemed to Swift that he had aligned to the elements, pulling magic energy in his wake as he ascended the hillside and took his place beside the sacred flame. The drumbeat pounded as he began the first series of incantations, asking the assembled crowd to join with him in welcoming a new spirit, guiding it onto the path of Wraeththu via a transformation of the flesh. Did everyone assent to the Harhune? Yes, they did, they did, was the reply.
It was time. Tarra appeared, clothed all in white, Seel at his side, and he rose up the hill, his footsteps confident, his expression one of deep concentration. He had been meditating for hours, Swift knew. Tarra took a place beside the table, the orange yellow glow of the flames flickering against his fine features as he tuned into the music, awaiting the final arrival.
Seel stood beside Swift as a horse was led from the house up to the hill. On the horse sat Ranat, also clothed in white, the fine linen shirt, but not confident like his father. His face was pale and he was weak from the Forale, that much was obvious. He was assisted in his dismount.
There was fear in his eyes. Swift looked to Seel and then to the boy. He was a friendly face, a promise that would bring him through the coming days. He gave Ranat a smile and, not knowing whether or not it would have any effect, a wave of confidence: _You will survive._ To his great satisfaction, the boy's expression seemed heartened.
Seel stepped forward and walked Ranat to the table. There he was made to lie down. It was time for the Harhune.
The drum beat louder and louder and voices rose -- Ashmael's, Seel's, Tarra's, and finally Swift's. The words and melodies seemed to spring from nowhere as the sparks crackled and Ashmael spoke of the Harhune, the history of the race, and Tarra's commitment to his son. In taking the blood, Ranat was taking a vow, a very serious vow, one that would tie him to a new people forever. Did he consent? Ranat said yes.
Finally came the moment Swift had dreaded. Two servants were summoned forward; they took away Ranat's clothing. Ashmael, still chanting, took Ranat's arm in his hand and rubbed up and down its length. Finally he drew an instrument from a tray on the table, a glass syringe with a long needle, and he shot it into the purple vein of Ranat's arm. The boy tensed, but after a few seconds his body grew slack. The drug had taken effect.
Tarra stepped close to the table and from the tray drew a sharp knife. He delivered a prayer to his son on the behalf of the Aghama and on behalf of Ranat's mother. He prayed for a relief from pain, that the Althaia would not be too much, last too long, be too great a torment. At last he drew the knife across his own flesh and then, grimacing, he cut into Ranat's arm.
Tears ran from his eyes as Ashmael pressed their flesh together.
The drum beat louder and louder, faster and faster, the melody of the flute leaping into the air, as the moments turned to minutes, the blood passing from father to son. Swift felt the power of that moment, the potency of that blood, which would change Ranat's life. He had never passed through such a fire, but he could appreciate it.
It seemed an eternity before Ashmael released the arms. Tarra staggered backwards, pale, quickly grabbing a bandage to wrap around his arm. Ashmael meanwhile inspected Ranat's wound and bound it with a bandage while evoking further prayers. Four hara, including the two Althaia attendants, stepped up and, signaled by Ashmael, carried Ranat back down the hill. He was now destined for the small windowless room in the basement. There was no turning back.
_How did it go?_ Swift asked Seel silently, watching the figures disappear in the house.
_Only time will tell,_ Seel replied.
TBC...
by Wiebke Fesch
Same disclaimers and notes as Part 1.
-----CHAPTER 13-----
The next 24 hours seemed to drag on forever.
The evening meal was the first time they'd all met together without discussing inception, although Ranat's absence was certainly palpable. Seel appeared to have become good friends with Tarra, Swift noted, and they spent most of the meal exchanging observations with Ashmael about various tribes and towns in the area. Tarra had spoken at length about the Sulh. Swift had suggested that perhaps one day he might meet Cobweb, although Tarra confessed that he might not be up to that for some time. Presently he would be far too intimidated. He guessed that it would be a challenge to adjust into life within society.
After dinner Swift assisted Ashmael in making the arrangements for the coming days. Swift also agreed to a schedule for the following day; he still had duties to attend to and, with nothing to be done until the evening, there was no reason to put life on hold. The Harhune would take place just after dusk, preceded by a light dinner, Ashmael explained.
From that point on, Ranat would be placed in the hands of the Althaia attendants. Ashmael and Seel would check in regularly to observe. Swift, like Tarra, was told to stay away; until the final ritual, it would be best for Swift to remain a mystery to Ranat.
On the way back to the master bedroom, Swift caught Tarra slipping out of Ranat's bedroom. Before going into his own room, Tarra nodded in Swift's direction. Swift took this as acknowledgement that Tarra had just had a talk with Ranat about aruna. He was and was glad to know that matters had been explained. When he reached his bed, Seel was waiting for him.
- - - - -
When the hour at last arrived, Swift stood waiting at the makeshift altar in the yard, the house hara, various administrators and townsfolk gathered along with him. Two hara stood to the side, one banging a drum, the other blowing on a low-pitched flute. The sun fell behind the hills and dusk settled upon the land.
In the bluish light, the procession arrived. First came Ashmael, who had chosen robes of deepest crimson, fully in the role of priest. It seemed to Swift that he had aligned to the elements, pulling magic energy in his wake as he ascended the hillside and took his place beside the sacred flame. The drumbeat pounded as he began the first series of incantations, asking the assembled crowd to join with him in welcoming a new spirit, guiding it onto the path of Wraeththu via a transformation of the flesh. Did everyone assent to the Harhune? Yes, they did, they did, was the reply.
It was time. Tarra appeared, clothed all in white, Seel at his side, and he rose up the hill, his footsteps confident, his expression one of deep concentration. He had been meditating for hours, Swift knew. Tarra took a place beside the table, the orange yellow glow of the flames flickering against his fine features as he tuned into the music, awaiting the final arrival.
Seel stood beside Swift as a horse was led from the house up to the hill. On the horse sat Ranat, also clothed in white, the fine linen shirt, but not confident like his father. His face was pale and he was weak from the Forale, that much was obvious. He was assisted in his dismount.
There was fear in his eyes. Swift looked to Seel and then to the boy. He was a friendly face, a promise that would bring him through the coming days. He gave Ranat a smile and, not knowing whether or not it would have any effect, a wave of confidence: _You will survive._ To his great satisfaction, the boy's expression seemed heartened.
Seel stepped forward and walked Ranat to the table. There he was made to lie down. It was time for the Harhune.
The drum beat louder and louder and voices rose -- Ashmael's, Seel's, Tarra's, and finally Swift's. The words and melodies seemed to spring from nowhere as the sparks crackled and Ashmael spoke of the Harhune, the history of the race, and Tarra's commitment to his son. In taking the blood, Ranat was taking a vow, a very serious vow, one that would tie him to a new people forever. Did he consent? Ranat said yes.
Finally came the moment Swift had dreaded. Two servants were summoned forward; they took away Ranat's clothing. Ashmael, still chanting, took Ranat's arm in his hand and rubbed up and down its length. Finally he drew an instrument from a tray on the table, a glass syringe with a long needle, and he shot it into the purple vein of Ranat's arm. The boy tensed, but after a few seconds his body grew slack. The drug had taken effect.
Tarra stepped close to the table and from the tray drew a sharp knife. He delivered a prayer to his son on the behalf of the Aghama and on behalf of Ranat's mother. He prayed for a relief from pain, that the Althaia would not be too much, last too long, be too great a torment. At last he drew the knife across his own flesh and then, grimacing, he cut into Ranat's arm.
Tears ran from his eyes as Ashmael pressed their flesh together.
The drum beat louder and louder, faster and faster, the melody of the flute leaping into the air, as the moments turned to minutes, the blood passing from father to son. Swift felt the power of that moment, the potency of that blood, which would change Ranat's life. He had never passed through such a fire, but he could appreciate it.
It seemed an eternity before Ashmael released the arms. Tarra staggered backwards, pale, quickly grabbing a bandage to wrap around his arm. Ashmael meanwhile inspected Ranat's wound and bound it with a bandage while evoking further prayers. Four hara, including the two Althaia attendants, stepped up and, signaled by Ashmael, carried Ranat back down the hill. He was now destined for the small windowless room in the basement. There was no turning back.
_How did it go?_ Swift asked Seel silently, watching the figures disappear in the house.
_Only time will tell,_ Seel replied.
TBC...
