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HeyThereLittleBear
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Incense and expectation hung heavy in the night’s air, both infused with the ancient rituals that were rife with power. She could feel all of it running through her, the heavy humming of the crowd above her chanting in a language that they didn’t understand. It spoke to her, her pulse rich with the power that they were infusing, their words breathing life into her as her heart pounded like the drums in the distance. Their voices were lifted to the night sky as she was beneath them, being prepared for the ceremony to come.
Tonight, she was turning of age to become the sorceress she had been destined to be by the gods, her power nearing its peak now that her body was coming to the end of its transformation from a girl into a woman. Bela had been rich with the powers since she was young, just a babe when she’d first shown the spark of magic in her, able to control the world around her even then. As a young girl she had been brought up not by her parents but by the elders of the craft, honing her skills until she was a force to be feared.
They hadn’t created a woman. They had created a weapon. One of many that had come before her. The older generation was dying, and before the magic was lost they would need a new Queen to rise to power. Today was the first step towards her reign.
Maidens of the craft surrounded her now, their whispers adding to the voices chanting above, though their words known to them. “J’nesst d’yorn, ku’lam ulu yorn. J’nesst d’yorn, ku’lam ulu yorn.” The women circled her, touching her body slowly with their fingertips, brushing slowly across her skin to dimple it with goosebumps, her bare flesh cool even in the hot air. From the group of four, the eldest stepped forward, fingers dipped in dye. Her hand reached out, painting slow lines on Bela’s skin, a deep red in stark contrast to the white of her skin. A dark line was made from cheekbone to cheekbone and across her nose, another from her bottom lip to the bottom of her chin.
Their voices rose in power, the same chant as before but with heavier tones. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back as they smoothed her hair, which was as white as snow, until it shined in the dim light of the dancing candle flames. The elder woman had returned, her hands fresh with paint. Her fingers moved slow over Bela’s chest, lines made from her collarbones and down over her breasts to her ribs, another line made from the curve of her ribs and down to her hips, stopping just above the mound of her sex.
“J’nesst d’yorn, ku’lam ulu yorn.” The incense was so strong that her head swam with it, her thoughts hazy as she was helped to stand from the chair, the women touching her skin slowly still, their touch giving and taking power freely. The voices above were becoming louder, almost impatient as they could not see the preparations below. The elder returned for the final marks, her fingers making horizontal lines across her thighs, dots descending down her shins at irregular intervals. The others left, returning with sheer silks in reds and whites, draping them over her body and across her hips. Thick cords weaved from heavy threads was strung about her waist, keeping the silks in place as they let her hair fall free over the makeshift outfit.
Bela’s eyes opened slowly, her lungs breathing in a long and slow breath to take in the last of the incense as the wicks burned low. She moved for the first time in hours of her own accord, bringing one of the women in close. Her body pressed against the other woman, able to feel the woman’s unsteady breathing and shaking hands as her lips pressed against hers, tasting the oils that had cleansed her of impurities. She released the woman, moving on to the next. Again, she grasped the woman, kissing her long and slow. The process repeated to the last one, her maidens taking their place around her as she moved away from them now.
She had been prepared for this night her entire life, told of the ceremony and the importance of the power. Bela could feel it in her feet, through the ground that had been dug so that she could feel the power of the earth. Her eyes moved to the hole that lead her onto the makeshift stage, the humming and chanting voices rising in cadence as she finally stepped into the brighter light of the night.
The moon hung heavy overhead, every bit as full as the night she’d been born, her head tilting back so that she could feel the moonlight on her face, her eyes closing slowly. Their chant rang in her head, the beat of it pounding in every inch of her soul. “Dalhar d’l’isto. Dosman zhah il, jhal satiir ilta xal. Dalhar d’l’isto. Dosman zhah il, jhah satiir ilta xal.” They were nearly screaming the words - men, women, and children alike. Despite the fact she was the most physically vulnerable and clothed only in silks, she had never felt more powerful in her life.
Her maidens drew her forward, tugging her hands until she stood in the center of a circle of torches, where the true elder of the Magics stood. The man was old, hunched by the years of power and age that hung heavy on his shoulders, his eyes long gone milky and hands spotted. He stood before an altar, which held a small array of items - a pair of bracelets that were made of a heavy and dark metal, a large skull of a bear, and a set of oils in small bowls.
As Bela was brought to the altar, the crowd’s voice became low until it diminished, leaving only the humming of those still murmuring the chant beneath their breath. She could still feel their power, her hands twitching with it and body thriving with activity. She’d never felt so charged in her life, her body feeling so full that she couldn’t decipher if she would expand or explode with it. The man waved his hands to silence those watching, his eyes settling on where he knew her to be.
“We bring before the people a child of the night, gifted by the gods with powers unimaginable.” Her maidens stepped away, she knew to retrieve the man that she was to be partnered with. “Today she stands before you just a girl, potential untapped. We offer her to the gods here tonight, a woman, ready to follow where her powers take her.”
She could hear the maidens behind her, a fifth set of feet that were sure to belong to her knight. The Elder grasped her wrist, sliding the first of the heavy bracelets onto her arm. “The weight of the shackles is a reminder,” He slid the other onto her other arm, his hands cold against her skin as he grasped her in a grip so tight his knuckles were white, “A reminder that she is a servant as much of a leader.” He moved now towards the oils, dipping his fingers into it, putting that oil to her lips slowly.
The oil tasted vaguely of lavender, an herb that cleansed and purified, but also of sage, known to ward away evil spirits. “May the oils cleanse her.” He called out, his hand moving now to the skull, lifting it and holding it up to the crowd. The chant came again, only one repeat of it. The skull was lowered onto her head, a perfect fit to her surprise. She could feel the spirits of the creature, powerful and fierce. “May the spirits guide her.”
He turned now to the newest arrival, a knight that had been trained to protect her, or at least one of her kind. He had been selected so that he would do anything to keep her safe, even if it meant his life would be in danger, or possibly ended. “May her knight protect her.”
Tonight, she was turning of age to become the sorceress she had been destined to be by the gods, her power nearing its peak now that her body was coming to the end of its transformation from a girl into a woman. Bela had been rich with the powers since she was young, just a babe when she’d first shown the spark of magic in her, able to control the world around her even then. As a young girl she had been brought up not by her parents but by the elders of the craft, honing her skills until she was a force to be feared.
They hadn’t created a woman. They had created a weapon. One of many that had come before her. The older generation was dying, and before the magic was lost they would need a new Queen to rise to power. Today was the first step towards her reign.
Maidens of the craft surrounded her now, their whispers adding to the voices chanting above, though their words known to them. “J’nesst d’yorn, ku’lam ulu yorn. J’nesst d’yorn, ku’lam ulu yorn.” The women circled her, touching her body slowly with their fingertips, brushing slowly across her skin to dimple it with goosebumps, her bare flesh cool even in the hot air. From the group of four, the eldest stepped forward, fingers dipped in dye. Her hand reached out, painting slow lines on Bela’s skin, a deep red in stark contrast to the white of her skin. A dark line was made from cheekbone to cheekbone and across her nose, another from her bottom lip to the bottom of her chin.
Their voices rose in power, the same chant as before but with heavier tones. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back as they smoothed her hair, which was as white as snow, until it shined in the dim light of the dancing candle flames. The elder woman had returned, her hands fresh with paint. Her fingers moved slow over Bela’s chest, lines made from her collarbones and down over her breasts to her ribs, another line made from the curve of her ribs and down to her hips, stopping just above the mound of her sex.
“J’nesst d’yorn, ku’lam ulu yorn.” The incense was so strong that her head swam with it, her thoughts hazy as she was helped to stand from the chair, the women touching her skin slowly still, their touch giving and taking power freely. The voices above were becoming louder, almost impatient as they could not see the preparations below. The elder returned for the final marks, her fingers making horizontal lines across her thighs, dots descending down her shins at irregular intervals. The others left, returning with sheer silks in reds and whites, draping them over her body and across her hips. Thick cords weaved from heavy threads was strung about her waist, keeping the silks in place as they let her hair fall free over the makeshift outfit.
Bela’s eyes opened slowly, her lungs breathing in a long and slow breath to take in the last of the incense as the wicks burned low. She moved for the first time in hours of her own accord, bringing one of the women in close. Her body pressed against the other woman, able to feel the woman’s unsteady breathing and shaking hands as her lips pressed against hers, tasting the oils that had cleansed her of impurities. She released the woman, moving on to the next. Again, she grasped the woman, kissing her long and slow. The process repeated to the last one, her maidens taking their place around her as she moved away from them now.
She had been prepared for this night her entire life, told of the ceremony and the importance of the power. Bela could feel it in her feet, through the ground that had been dug so that she could feel the power of the earth. Her eyes moved to the hole that lead her onto the makeshift stage, the humming and chanting voices rising in cadence as she finally stepped into the brighter light of the night.
The moon hung heavy overhead, every bit as full as the night she’d been born, her head tilting back so that she could feel the moonlight on her face, her eyes closing slowly. Their chant rang in her head, the beat of it pounding in every inch of her soul. “Dalhar d’l’isto. Dosman zhah il, jhal satiir ilta xal. Dalhar d’l’isto. Dosman zhah il, jhah satiir ilta xal.” They were nearly screaming the words - men, women, and children alike. Despite the fact she was the most physically vulnerable and clothed only in silks, she had never felt more powerful in her life.
Her maidens drew her forward, tugging her hands until she stood in the center of a circle of torches, where the true elder of the Magics stood. The man was old, hunched by the years of power and age that hung heavy on his shoulders, his eyes long gone milky and hands spotted. He stood before an altar, which held a small array of items - a pair of bracelets that were made of a heavy and dark metal, a large skull of a bear, and a set of oils in small bowls.
As Bela was brought to the altar, the crowd’s voice became low until it diminished, leaving only the humming of those still murmuring the chant beneath their breath. She could still feel their power, her hands twitching with it and body thriving with activity. She’d never felt so charged in her life, her body feeling so full that she couldn’t decipher if she would expand or explode with it. The man waved his hands to silence those watching, his eyes settling on where he knew her to be.
“We bring before the people a child of the night, gifted by the gods with powers unimaginable.” Her maidens stepped away, she knew to retrieve the man that she was to be partnered with. “Today she stands before you just a girl, potential untapped. We offer her to the gods here tonight, a woman, ready to follow where her powers take her.”
She could hear the maidens behind her, a fifth set of feet that were sure to belong to her knight. The Elder grasped her wrist, sliding the first of the heavy bracelets onto her arm. “The weight of the shackles is a reminder,” He slid the other onto her other arm, his hands cold against her skin as he grasped her in a grip so tight his knuckles were white, “A reminder that she is a servant as much of a leader.” He moved now towards the oils, dipping his fingers into it, putting that oil to her lips slowly.
The oil tasted vaguely of lavender, an herb that cleansed and purified, but also of sage, known to ward away evil spirits. “May the oils cleanse her.” He called out, his hand moving now to the skull, lifting it and holding it up to the crowd. The chant came again, only one repeat of it. The skull was lowered onto her head, a perfect fit to her surprise. She could feel the spirits of the creature, powerful and fierce. “May the spirits guide her.”
He turned now to the newest arrival, a knight that had been trained to protect her, or at least one of her kind. He had been selected so that he would do anything to keep her safe, even if it meant his life would be in danger, or possibly ended. “May her knight protect her.”