The Ceremony

Boom. Boom. "Chay! Chay! Chay!"

Boom. Boom. "Chay! Chay! Chay!"

In the distance, the drums and chanting echoed in Aelin's ears. Even as he tried to ignore it, it reminded him of a giant creature's heartbeat. Boom. Boom. It began to frighten him. In the tent with his mother, he played quietly with his small figurines. He'd been recently teased for them and their crude design, but as a gift from his grandfather; relics from his youth, Aelin was in constant gratitude owning the gifts. The figurines in question were scale models of great beasts that were said to have roamed the deserts. A yeret made up the larger, a bulk with curves said to be similar to that of a "chimpanzee”. It allegedly walked mostly on its hands, but due to the nature of great desert beasts, was hardly seen during waking hours. The two other toys were different types of hertoj, a massive insectoid creature that supposedly emerged from hidden sand caves built by its design to lay in wait, to rip apart passers-by. If they were living, Aelin would easily control the hertoj in his possession as they were barely larger than his hand.

The source of his peers' ridicule came mostly from the knowledge that these creatures were legends at best. At his now 10 years of age, Aelin figured as much too but found the designs of the figurines intriguing. It didn't seem too implausible that they might have existed at some point in the past, even if not at any of the extremes dictated by legend. Perhaps the accounts were skewed in translation.

His friends didn't care much for this explanation or any reason Aelin attempted to show them, insisting instead to call him a "Hiery". A Ghrossan nickname for "naive fool", which was redundant as the word "fool" already implied naivety.

Boom. Boom. "Chay! Chay! Chay!"

Again, Aelin did his best to ignore the cry, keeping his head down. The noise actively bothered his mother though, causing her to squirm in her meditative position in the other corner of their tent. He knew "Chay" meant "rise" in Ghross… or maybe it was "raise". His father hadn't cared much to teach him Ghross so he tended to pick up the tongue as he went along.

He watched his mother as she finally grew irritable enough to stand, going to the tent flap door and peering out. She didn't seem to see much, closing the flaps tightly, then huffing as she sat back down.

"May I go out now, mother?" Aelin wondered.

"No son."

Her body language made it abundantly clear that he wasn't to ask her again. Aelin could read that from her by now.

He resisted the urge to give his own huff of frustration and picked up the yaret figurine again.

Before he could make anything resembling play for himself, the tent flaps parted and his father entered, dressed in his armor and helmet. Aelin quickly stood out of respect.

Aelin's mother also stood, but instead of staying in place, she went to his father.

"The ceremony is starting." Aelin's father removed his red hyra hair plumed helmet, exposing his thin brown hair and wiry features.

"Must he watch this?" His mother asked. She didn't plead, instead finding the notion of Aelin seeing the ceremony unnecessary and bothersome.

"He's of age. He may make his own decision."

Aelin's father turned to him.

Aelin hadn't moved from standing still and attentive. Now he wasn't sure he wanted to.

He was given the decision? When had that become an option?

He met eyes with his mother, realizing that she felt witnessing the ceremony would change him.

But what was she afraid it would change him into? Or was she fearful it would change him out of something he currently was?

Aelin didn't care much about what his mother desired for him, so he met his father's eyes. He stared him down, eager for Aelin's response.

"I'll go, father."

"Good man." He hefted his helm and turned to leave "Hurry and dress. We haven't much time before it begins."

And with that, he was gone.

Aelin found his eyes meeting his mother's again. She was silent and turned from him. Aelin felt a cool sensation slither down his back. Her eyes seemed to say "May the Astors grant mercy on your days."

Aelin clambered along after his father, anxious to keep his exposed feet and legs from scrapes on the rocky outcroppings they climbed. His father had longer legs, moving along at a brisk pace. Aelin had short and stubby legs for his age, resulting in a much slower one. The crude stairway constructed here by the Astorian army was a blessing to people with larger legs than his, but a curse to those without.

They moved without a word to one another until they came upon a plateau. Aelin had heard the chanting grow louder as they moved in altitude, but now it seemed deafening. It had also increased in tempo, with the rhythmic heartbeat of the massive army drums encroaching on the chants.

BOOM BOOM "CHAY! CHAY!" BOOM "CHAY!" BOOM

Below the pair was a massive stone amphitheater, holding an assembly the likes of which Aelin had only witnessed in the army's convoys. Here, nearly every man and woman, Ghross or Krut, had painted themselves with crimson dust. They wore tattered clothes and either danced, pounded one of the massive drums, or shouted along with one another.

"Come along." Aelin's father said, moving down the steps ahead of him.

As Aelin passed the shouting and drumming, he found himself covering his ears.

He saw that the peoples' tattered clothes were simply decorated to appear tattered, beads and vegetative fibers sewn to the cloth. The drums appeared obtusely decorated as well, animal skeletons adorning the sides, and thick, black tar lining the top edge. The drummers held massive sticks aloft, slamming them down with the entire force of their bodies, as though they were content to use the world's pulling force simply to make the drum's sound.

Aelin carefully made his way through the throng behind his father. They weaved toward a raised dais in the center of the theater, but before they reached it, the chanting had sped up dramatically, causing his father to stop in from of him. Now the chanting sounded like haphazard shouting of no structure at all, as though the entire crowd with one voice echoed a musical tone to the intonation of "Chay". Aelin still wasn't sure what all of this was for, and he wasn't ardent to ask his father. He kept quiet and hoped the circumstances would lend themselves to his understanding.

Suddenly, Aelin's father pointed and Aelin's eyes followed the gesture.

On the raised dais, a figure clad in shining armor stepped up. Behind him flowed a scarlet cape.

This figure wasn't a mystery to Aelin. In fact, his presence justified the entire calamity surrounding him.

The Great Astor King, Lord Haelix DeVaen.

Even from this distance, Aelin could see the crown, fashioned into his helmet faceplate. He wanted to get closer, even to shout praises along with the adults around him.

The Astor King stepped one more level up the dais, raising one hand and his voice.

"What hath been promised?" His bold tone echoed, without any device to amplify it.

"The face of shining glory!" Came the assembly's response as if rehearsed in advance.

"What hath been sworn?" Lord DeVaen drove.

"The face of shining glory!" Came the cry again.

"Tell me then, under what conditions was this promise?" The king said, quieter now.

"Was it of praise everlasting?"

Aelin found his attention glued to the king, shouting along with the crowd, "No!"

"Was it of gifts abundant?"

"No!"

"Was it of tame beasts and glorious women?"

"No!"

The king, face still hidden behind the helm, stepped to the top of the dais, raising both hands and shouted in a chiming echo.

"Was it the rivers of blood, pouring along our vengeful enemies' streets? The liberation of Great Astoria for once and for all?"

The crowd didn't wait for him to finish, instead cheering so loudly that Aelin's ears rang with a high-pitched buzz.

At that moment, his heart was beating as fast as the drums. The Astor himself was proclaiming the end of all wars. His father would come home to stay. There would finally be peace. And now The Astor King would reveal his face, the glory never revealed to the eyes of Krut or Ghross, here in this very place for the first time. Aelin had heard the prophecy on multiple occasions, at adult meetings, eavesdropping from the corners. He knew the stories of what was to come well by now.

Aelin watched dumbstruck as the king leaped down from the dais, drawing his longsword and pointing it to the sky. A bolt of crimson lightning flashed to it and to the ground in arcs around Lord DeVaen, setting fire to the very stone and shaking the air with the sound.

The cheering couldn't seem to get louder. Aelin had stopped cheering. A dark shadow had cast itself over his heart and mind. His mother had been worried for him. What didn't she want him to see here?

Then it happened. A man was brought out, hands bound in chains. Aelin could recognize his elderly figure. He had been the current leader of Eifess, the last resistant faction against the Astor rule. Aelin knew this from his mother's grumblings, they were the reason his father couldn't be home to be his father. The Eifess were the military group that his father had been away fighting.

Aelin watched as the king cut the chains from the captive's hands and tossed him his own sword. This drew collected gasps from the throng. All knew of the power inside the sacred Astor weapon.

The elderly man stood erect in his stained and torn cloak, glaring at Lord DeVaen.

"Come now, Gretcio." The king taunted, "aren't you happy to see me?"

Gretcio seemed distraught, this only brought on more cheering.

"Am I…" he said, just audible above the throng, "to fight you?"

DeVaen laughed a long, cruel laugh, "Of course! Is this not what we've been working towards?"

Gretcio took another minute in silence, watching the king and attempting to judge his expression through the closed helm.

"How am I to know I won't be slaughtered by this mob of acolytes if I manage to defeat you?"

Through Gretcio’s weathered eyes, Aelin could see a glimpse of hope as he stood, defiant against the abusive slurs hurled in his direction.

"I will make this promise to you out of respect for your strong defense against me, Gretcio." Lord DeVaen turned and spoke to the manic assembly. "When my reign draws to the end, an Astor clean will make amends. Reaching down from Astor High, burning red across our sky. Her features here like righteous ire, azure shone eyes change ice to fire. Her ruling era draws ever near, I warn ye meek to listen, dear."

Aelin shivered as the prophecy was finally spoken aloud. He'd heard it muttered that there would be another Astor on the world, but now that it was prophecied…

The entire crowd was silenced. The only sound in Aelin’s ears was his breathing and the rustling of fabrics around him as people crowded as closely to the circular amphitheater floor as possible to listen.

"These acolytes will observe the law of our duel, Gretcio, or suffer the bloody wrath of the coming Astor rule." Lord DeVaen said, "If you win, you will go free and the Eifess faction will suffer no further attack from Great Astoria unless provoked."

Gretcio didn't seem convinced. He continued to stand motionless.

"Do these terms serve you well?" The Astor said impatiently.

The elder bent down slowly and lifted the king's sword, making sure he had permission to use it after it was thrown in his direction. Once he had the grip solidly in hand, he nodded.

"The terms serve me well." He announced.

The guard on either side of Gretcio moved swiftly away, making room around Lord DeVaen and the old Eifess leader. DeVaen chuckled and pulled a common sword from one of his nearby guards and pushed him back, making even more room for the duel.

He and Gretcio began to circle one another, Gretcio with swordpoint outstretched to DeVaen, anxious to parry any oncoming attack.

The king strolled at distance, smiling to himself nonchalantly.

The throng began to beat their drums in their heartbeat rhythm again.

Gretcio lunged at long last and DeVaen met his blade, pushing him back. They disconnected and the king growled. "Are you even trying, Gretcio?"

DeVaen swung and Gretcio parried the blade, attempting a strike on the opposite side. DeVaen blocked him again and effortlessly sidestepped him.

They continued to connect and disconnect. For the first while, Gretcio attacked half-heartedly. The king seemed to toy with Gretcio until the old man pushed up off the dais, attempting an overhead strike on the king. He appeared to want to win now. Whether he figured the king's claim to free him was false before, or was genuinely too feeble to do battle well; Gretcio had appeared to have found some reason to fight. His eyes said hatred, but his footsteps read as yearning.

As Gretcio fought long and hard against his Astor King, Aelin felt himself cheer the elderly man on. It wasn't every day he got to see the Astor fight as his father did, but the current intensity in Gretcio's technique said something of his wish to be free. It said something of his knowledge of DeVaen. He seemed to parry every attack from DeVaen as though he’d known it was coming.

Maybe Gretcio should win. Aelin thought.

Just as Aelin began to get excited, for a different reason than prior, Gretcio scored a winning blow.

The two had been crossing blades almost constantly, moment after moment. The elderly man had seen a brief gap in the king's defense and found a footing there. He slashed his blade up and cleaved a portion off of the king's helm, revealing for a moment, his complexion.

Scarlet electricity arched from Gretcio’s blade and into the exposed portion of the king's face.

Aelin's heart lurched. Instinctively, he stepped forward and clutched his father’s arm.

Before Gretcio or Aelin could do anything more, Lord DeVaen's sword moved up with blinding speed, severing Gretcio's hand. The King tossed the sword he'd held and snatched his own out of the Eifess leader's dismembered hand, rolling under the old man and bringing it up through his neck with clean accuracy. Gretcio's limp body fell to the stone and the Astor bowed his head, keeping his face hidden.

It was over. Aelin slumped as he saw his father stiffen beside him. A thin smile played on his face.

The king still knelt as his guard rushed forward, placing a large golden basin under the flowing wounds in Gretcio's body. The basin slowly filled and when it was time, they placed the massive gold chalice in front of their king on the raised dais and rushed away.

Aelin sat in shock and watched as the Astor rose, still keeping his head bowed. He came up to the dais and removed his helm and crown, detaching the crown and dropping his damaged helm at his feet.

Raising the crown high, he made a spectacle of dipping it long into the basin filled with Gretcio's blood, taking his time, he muttered words to himself.

Aelin tried to hear but only heard his own heavy breathing.

Lord DeVaen lifted the crown, dripping and stained from the thick red chalice’s contents, placing it gently on his head and displaying his face to the crowd.

His face was a pale white with sharp hawkish features. He had long light brown hair tied up behind his head. His features made him seem young, way younger than he was rumored to be. He appeared to be only 25 years. His face hadn't been damaged at all from the blow by his sword.

As the rebel leader's blood dripped down from the crown, it contrasted heavily against Haelix's pale skin. He opened his glowing gold eyes to the throng and they began to cheer.

"I am your Astor. I am your King. Gaze upon me and tremble."

And tremble, Aelin did.