Marked (5 page)

From then on they were like brothers.

And the ostracism did not hurt as much anymore.

The two friends began walking toward the village square where the celebration was about to begin.

When they arrived in town both young men were astonished. Orrio, their tranquil village, was brimming with locals and visitors; every square inch was filled with people. The whole village was in a state of celebration and this liveliness was nothing like the town’s usual serenity. A multitude of people from all the villages and small communities belonging to the tribe had gathered to witness the ceremony. The Bikia, led by the young matriarch Auburu, were one of the most populous and influential among the thirty Norriel tribes. The town of Orrio was the Command Village of the Bikia and the center for festivals, rituals, and celebrations. And on this particular day, it was practically impossible to take a single step in any direction without bumping into someone else. It was hard to remember having had a crowd like that there for quite some time.

Komir fought to control his nerves. He had anticipated being anxious about the ceremony because of the ruthless scrutiny of the other residents, but certainly not like this. His knees were trembling. This was ridiculous; he had to calm down.

The two friends ambled through the village, captivated by all the attractions provided for the enjoyment of locals and guests alike. Hartz insisted on stopping at every single stand—as if they could afford to taste the delights for sale―even though neither one had any money. After drooling over fresh and cured meats, cheeses, breads, and other delicious treats, Hartz—with an appetite to match his size—ended up nearly fainting over a honey-glazed blackberry pie that only a privileged few could afford. Komir had finally grabbed his arm and dragged him away to put an end to his agony.

A group of musicians passed nearby, heading in the direction of the main street and livening up the morning with their festive melodies. Komir observed his friend; he showed not one iota of nervousness. How he envied his indestructible calmness and cheerfulness! Nothing ever seemed to alter his good mood and self-confidence. Komir, on the other hand, was a completely different case. The only moment all morning long when he hadn’t been overwhelmed with nerves had been the time he had shared with his parents on the outskirts of town, in the low prairies next to the river where the ranchers’ market was taking place. There he had seen the most magnificent horses—and he had a considerable soft spot for horses... steeds brought from the kingdom of Rogdon, and even some from the faraway lands of the South under the control of the Nocean Empire. Horses were scarce in the lands of the Norriel and owning one was considered a sign of social status. Maybe one day he, too, would have one, although right then he thought of that as an unattainable dream.

But now the moment of truth was near. The ceremony would soon begin. He could barely keep his legs steady. The enormous town square was completely packed with spectators. They had with some difficulty managed to establish a guarded perimeter where the ceremony and the final competitions would be celebrated. The Master Warrior Gudin moved to the center followed by two of his instructors. Drawn on the ground was a white circle. Inside it, the effigy of a roaring bear had been carefully etched in a deep, blood red. Gudin and his two instructors turned around in the middle of the square to face the leader of the tribe and knelt in a show of respect.

Auburu presided over the festivities seated on a high throne made of oak with intricate ceremonial carvings. She wore a long, white wool tunic with silver embroidery. Her straight blond hair flowed down to her waist and shone like wheat bathed in sunlight. On her head, a simple crown of silvery flowers softened the usual seriousness of the young matriarch’s face. In her right hand she held the ancestral scepter of the Bikia. It was almost two and a half yards high, made of elm wood and adorned with complex symbols representing the sun and the moon in a brilliant, dazzling silver. That scepter identified her before all her people as leader and spiritual guide. To her right were seated two other women: Suason, the healer, and Amtoko, the strange hermit. The latter, of an undetermined age but beyond fifty, caressed her long, snow-white hair which sharply contrasted her jet-black clothing. She was the Mistress of Tribal Ceremonies, in charge of ancestral rites and formal rituals and responsible for guaranteeing the purity and correctness of these. The majority of people considered her a witch and mystic; some revered her for her immense wisdom. Everyone respected her and above all, feared her. To the left of Auburu was Althor, the Master Smith; Bamul, the Blacksmith; and various artisans and merchants of importance in the small tribal society as well as the Council of the Twelve. Protecting them were fifty veteran warriors covered with bearskin capes.

In the midst of the din from all those present, Auburu stood up, scepter in hand, and with her soft but firm voice addressed the audience.

“Bikia, Norriel, one and all.”

At once the cacophony of overlapping conversations came to an abrupt halt and everyone present listened in silence to the words of their leader.

“I welcome you yet another year to the Ceremony of the Bear on this very distinguished day in the history of our people. As is tradition, we thirty Norriel tribes celebrate today our young warriors’ passage from youth to maturity and welcome them to take their place as members of the tribe with full rights.” She took a few steps forward and, looking out over her people united there, reached out her arms. “Thanks be to Iram, the Goddess Mother Earth; our tribe, the Bikia, grows strong and powerful. Under her protection and divine shelter we will continue on as a free, honorable, and proud people in the years to come. Today is a day of joy and celebration; let us all enjoy these great festivities and give honor to Iram so that she might continue to wisely guide our destiny as we are her people. And may we enjoy this event in peace and liberty in the years to come.”

Raising the ancestral scepter, she struck the ground three times. At the top of her voice, radiating fortitude and resolution, she announced:

“I hereby declare the commencement of the Ceremony of the Bear!”

The entire square broke into cheers of joy. Full of excitement, each and every Norriel shouted jubilantly.

“Come forth, youth of the tribe who this year will reach or who have reached nineteen springs, and position yourselves around the sacred circle!”

From the great House of Council, where they had been waiting impatiently, the young men and women began to file out toward the village square amidst the applause and elated acclamations of the crowd. Komir, his nerves running high, advanced to the sacred circle and looked at the threatening face of the bear etched on the ground. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. When he reopened them he saw each of his peers from Udag as well as many others from nearby towns he did not recognize—all expectant and uneasy.

Auburu turned to the young warriors.

“Today, young Norriel, you will be transformed into full members of the tribe in your own right. When you attained seventeen springs you became Wolves, acquiring the right to bear arms for your tribe as young warriors, fighting in packs to keep our people safe. That is what tradition dictates and that is how it should be. Wolves will today be transformed into powerful Bears, wild and proud. You are becoming young defenders of the tribe, Norriel in blood by right of birth. This is a great honor but, at the same time, it binds you with a responsibility for life. Your destiny becomes tied to that of the tribe until the end of your days. Our myths and legends tell us that, before the first men arrived in Tremia, the Norriel already populated the highlands. Our beliefs, passed on from fathers to children since the beginnings of time, place us on these mountains before the Era of Men; so rooted is our tribe in this land, so great is the honor of belonging to her. Because of this, you are required to always venerate her as sacred land for which you are responsible. You shall unwaveringly obey the commands of your leader and Matriarch.” She authoritatively struck the ground with her great scepter, then showed it to the young Wolves. A solemn silence fell over the entire square. “Today you have the opportunity to become members of this tribe, obeying all its laws and traditions. Or, you may set forth on another path, moving away from here, renouncing the tribe and following your own solitary destiny. The choice is yours. Once made, it shall not be changed. Consider it carefully... and decide.”

Auburu gestured to Gudin who indicated to his assistants that they should proceed. A heavy metal brazier was placed in the center of the sacred circle. The brazier, on the side of which was etched the head of a bear, was filled with embers that were still glowing hot. Auburu then requested the assistance of Amtoko, the Mistress of Tribal Ceremonies. She approached and, with solemn steps, entered the circle. Once in the center, everything went silent—a silence interrupted only by the firm step of Amtoko’s assistant, who was carrying a majestic bearskin. He approached her and offered her the sacred pelt. The Mistress of Ceremonies put it on her head and, letting the rest of the pelt fall over her back, pointed her staff at the symbol of the bear drawn on the ground. She began to sing, entirely absorbed in the ancient chant comprised of mysterious, unintelligible words. Everyone watched her, both fearful and engrossed. As the chant gained in magnitude, Amtoko’s body shook and her arms opened wide as if possessed by the spirit of a mountain bear. She then did an eccentric ritualistic dance—a blend of animalistic symbolism and exaggerated movements. All in attendance observed in absolute silence, completely captivated. Finally, with a thunderous, guttural growling, the mystic ended the ritual.

She remained perfectly still for a few moments until, looking at Auburu, she announced with a firm voice:

“The circle has been blessed! It is free of all evil. It will protect all those who take the oath today.” 

“Onward, Amtoko, proceed with the rite,” signaled the leader, bowing slightly to the mystic.

Amtoko called Master Gudin’s two assistants and instructed them to stand on either side of the brazier, hot coals still crackling inside it. She turned and pointed at one of the anxious teenagers with her staff.

Komir.

“Enter the sacred circle, young Wolf. It is time to transform yourself into a powerful Bear. Komir swallowed, then fearfully entered the ring and stood in front of the brazier. Amtoko placed her hand upon his head and, looking up at the sky, muttered a strange chant. When she finished, she spoke to him.

“What is your decision, young Wolf? Do you want become a Bear or follow another path, far apart from the tribe?”

“I want to be recast as a Bear,” replied Komir, the decision well planned. He had never wanted anything more.

“In that case, uncover your arms and show them to me,” ordered the Mistress of Ceremonies.

The boy complied.

“In order to be transformed into a Bear, a test of blood and another of pain are required,” announced the mystic, looking at the public. From her belt she drew out a curved dagger of gleaming silver with strange etchings on its blade. She held Komir’s left arm and, with one swift slash, made a cut on his forearm. As blood flowed from the wound, Amtoko directed it toward the image of the bear on the ground, bathing its ferocious face with this liquid of life.

“This is the test of blood!” she proclaimed, looking to the sky. She then recited a few inaudible words toward the ground and immediately thereafter forcefully grabbed Komir’s right arm by the wrist. Preparing himself, he breathed deeply and closed his eyes. He’d already forgotten all the nervousness he’d been suffering, as if the wind had erased it. Amtoko pressed his forearm against the burning hot etching of the bear on the brazier. Komir repressed the urge to scream out in pain, but his face contorted, unable to conceal his excruciating agony. The unpleasant smell of burned flesh found its way to Hartz who had to fight back a surge of nausea. The mystic sustained the torture for several moments as Komir suffered immeasurable pain. He thought he might pass out. Finally, she let go of him and Komir instantly clutched his arm. Concerned and barely able to endure the pain, he looked at the wound. By iron and fire, his forearm had been forever branded with the image of the Bear.

“This is the test of pain!” announced Amtoko, looking to the sky again. She placed her hands on the young man’s head and, as she gazed to the heavens, she recited a blessing.

Auburu proclaimed to her people, “As a Wolf you entered the circle and as a Bear you leave it. The tribe proudly accepts you unto its bosom!”

The audience feverishly roared, welcoming the new member to the tribe.

Komir bowed down and, somehow bearing the terrible pain still reflected on his face, he left the circle.

He was finally a Bikia, a Norriel.

Forever and with full rights.

It was everything he ever wanted.

The ritual continued until each of the young Wolves had completed it, including Hartz. No one, neither man nor woman, complained in the least. They all stoically faced the barbaric torture of the ritual. And none of them decided to follow any path other than belonging to the tribe. All chose freely and consciously to become full-fledged members.

Norriel Bears.

The finale of the unarmed combat was announced to the public in midafternoon. The great expectations for this event drew an eager crowd away from their food, beer, and folk songs to witness the clash.

And a Norriel rarely left beer behind.

Hartz felt good. Prepared. He flexed his strong legs a few times, then did a few squats and stretched his arm and back muscles in a series of studied exercises. The warmup was a typical ritual for him. It helped him to relax and shake off any hints of tension. And today, there was most assuredly tension. He knew this was one of the most anticipated finales for everyone. He could feel it in the air.