The Aerali; a Vividly Obscure Retelling of Events Transpired
Copyright Brett Kesler 2009. ©
Chapter One; The Ceremony
The tension in the air was palpable. The grass, trees, wind; everything seemed to hang in a ghastly transition phase. That is, nothing moved.
Only one thing was void to this stillness, and in its clear ignorance to this rule, the raging bonfire seemed to mock the petrified faces of the twelve youth gathered around it. So much so, in fact, that it went to far as to amplify the feeling of anxiety.
Out of the darkness, a shadow moved. All boys turned their attention to it, each scared stiff by the violator of such an unspoken law as fear.
There it was again. And was it the playful wind, or was that the clear sound of a beast’s footsteps? A monster stalking its prey?
A face appeared in the far reaches of the firelight. As it grew closer, it was easily identified as a fellow Aerali. Relief, for the briefest of moments pierced the icy fear. Until, of course it was recognizable as to whom the face belonged.
The wizened, strict, helplessly omniscient face of Elder Lousia appeared, seriousness etched in every wrinkle of his sagging skin.
“How dwells the wise who dwell in the valley?” The sickeningly overheard greeting rose above the noise of the crackling fire.
“He who, in the valley, dwells wise dwells well, and we seek to be wise.” The agonizingly over-answered response was spoken through twelve sets of chattering teeth. The fire’s warmth, it seemed, did not reach the boys when the elder stood between them.
“Only men can be wise.” He fixed them with a stare so powerful, had there been any reserves of bravery left in any of them, it had just jumped into the fire, obviously choosing the least painful way out of this world.
It was not loyalty, nor courage, nor any good emotion that held the boy’s feet to the ground, their chins up, their eyes forward. It was fear. Fear of what would happen should they decide not to conform. Fear of punishment.
“Only men can be wise.” He repeated. His stern expression waned. “And tonight you will become men.” Though it seemed his anger lessened, his words renewed the anxiety all the boys felt.
“Well, not tonight.” The Elder continued. “Tonight you will learn how to prove your manhood.” He began pacing back and forth in front of the boys.
“Not unlike other tasks you have all carried out in the past fifteen years, tonight you will be given a mission that would normally be completed by a real man.” A wide, devilish smile crossed his face. It looked incredibly frightening, as if the Elder enjoyed their horrified stares.
“The tasks require something none of you have ever been asked to give before. It requires a fierce dedication to perfection. The consequences should you fail will result in a life of solitude, and possibly death.”
The serious implications of what he just said drove the thought deeply into the minds of the young boys.
“When I call your name, you are to come forward and receive your task.” The firelight dimmed ominously.
He always had a love for theatrics. The boy thought, angry at the stupid time-wasting rituals.
“Malchart!” Elder Lousia roared. A muscular boy clad in nothing but the uniform loin cloth all the boys were forced to wear stepped forward. The loin cloth was a symbol of their childhood. It wasn’t until they became real men that they would be permitted to wear anything else.
“Earthen affinity, if I’m not mistaken. What technique?” Elder Lousia already knew the answer, but he made it sound like he didn’t to increase the tension.
It’s working too.. The boy thought, looking at the muscular boy who could barely open his mouth.
“Dyn’Khra.” The boy said in a deep, but quiet voice.
“Good choice for Earth.” The Elder said contemplatively. “Malchart, are you prepared to accept your mission?”
“Yes.” The reply took a while to be said. But when it was it was simple and resolute.
If anyone’s going to pass this year, it’s gonna be him. The boy thought bitterly. He remembered sparring with Malchart, and it had always been a close call.
“You are to retrieve the fangs of a Moon-panther.”
That’s insane! The boy thought. It takes three grown men to kill just one of those!
The rest of the boys seemed to be thinking the same thing. There was a nervous shuffling from eleven pairs of feet, and a readjusting of postures as Malchart said “I will do my best.” And stepped back into formation.
“Trock!” The boy’s friend stepped forward. Elder Lousia asked him about his affinity and technique, but the boy already knew it was fire and Raen. He wasn’t listening to what the Elder had to say.
Insteady, he was busy pleading silently with the Elder, hoping that his friend wouldn’t be given such a ridiculous task as the previous one.
“Acquire the horn of an alpha Cortha. Do not return until you have done so.” The Elder said. Then added as a side note “and we will know if it is indeed that of the alpha Cortha.”
It could have been worse. The boy thought, still undecided whether to be happy or sad. He could have had to kill something like a Gargastraus.
The boy was too deep in thought to hear his name being called.
“Liqre!” The Elder yelled again impatiently. The boy stepped forward, trying to look as brave and determined as possible.
“Water and Raen, excellent combination. Glad to see we have another water Controller in the village.”
He’s talking as if he doesn’t even know me. What, does he think the past fifteen years of training never happened?
Liqre was too deep in thought to hear what the Elder was saying. His ears picked up, however, at a word he was sure he had not heard correctly.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Liqre spoke out of turn in pure shock. He looked at the eleven boys gathered around the fire for some help, but all he saw were gaping mouths and fear.
Elder Lousia didn’t seem to care for his rudeness. In fact, his demonic smile was back, once again warping his old features into those of a mad man’s.
Liqre looked around again, the boys’ expressions had not changed. But of course he had misheard what the Elder had said. A quick glance, however, at Trock confirmed his fears.
With a dramatic flair, quite unlike anyone Liqre had ever seen, the old man spoke.
“The crowning feather. That is your charge. You know… From a Gargastraus.” The smile spread, if at all possible, wider across his face.
Liqre’s mind went into overdrive as he mumbled something he hoped sounded like “I’ll do my best.” And moved back into his place in the tight formation. He hardly noticed the worried glances he was receiving, nor the particularly angry star Trock had fixed on Elder Lousia. The Gargastarus was one of the most fearsome beasts in the entire valley. It was an incredibly fast, flightless bird whose razor sharp, three foot long beak meant certain demise should one take a blow from it.
Liqre remembered, once when he was only five, a rogue Gargastraus had wandered into the Aerali Training Grounds.
The Training Grounds was the place children ages one to sixteen were taught in the ways of the Aerali.
This mean everything from Controlling to martial arts. Controlling was a fancy term for wielding the power of the elements; bending them to your will. Each Aerali had a natural affinity to a certain element, though with training they could learn to use them all. Liqre was best with water.
Every day for the past sixteen years, he had been taught to harness the power of his element. Using these powers in conjunction with the martial arts of their choice, the Aerali youth was trained to be a deadly fighter.
The day the Gargastraus found its way into camp, however, was not a usual day. Elder Lousia had led them out of the Training Grounds, which were high up in the mountains, and down into the Village of the Aerali. It was the first and last time Liqre and Trock had seen the village up close, and they had been aching to do it again ever since.
It was a giant mess of tepees and huts, all thrown together to create a throng of marketing and commerce, two things the boy and his friend knew nothing about.
They would learn the ‘Adult ways’ when they graduated from childhood and took on an apprenticeship down in the village.
Liqre wondered, not for the first time in the past sixteen years, whether he would be able to pass the test.
Tonight, however, he feared deeply he wouldn’t. The last time he had seen a Gargastraus, it had killed two boys his age, and had taken five grown Aerali to take down.
Though the boy was strong himself he doubted he had the ability to make up for four missing adults.
He stood in a clammy silence all throughout the rest of the gathering. It wasn’t until Elder Lousia had finished calling up the other nine boys that Liqre was awaken out of his fear-borne reverie.
“Remember!” He addressed all the twelve boys. “You will not succeed in your task if you do not provide a fierce dedication to perfection. All of you must remember to use the power of control along with your fighting techniques to bring down your enemies.” He fixed them all with a purposeful stare. “You have half an hour to gather the necessary equipment from your huts before you are to start on your journey. Leave.”
The fire behind him extinguished instantaneously. Almost equally as fast, unnatural orbs emitting a strange light started popping up everywhere. They slowly started revolving around people’s heads, giving them the strange appearance of tiny solar systems.
These odd forms of lighting were a very basic form of Control. There were odd yellow orbs, meaning a lightning wielder, or the very spooky green of Earth. Liqre’s own orbs were the only triplets of blue Water in the clearing.
The boy had a question flooding his mind. A question only Elder Lousia could answer. With odd, nervous glances at his back; he made his way towards the Elder. Trock waited for him at the edge of the small clearing, his three fiery orbs illuminating a very angry, worried face.
Liqre performed the traditional bow to the Elder. Like the loin cloth he wore, the bow signified his lower rank, and would be continued even into manhood when addressing Elders, or anyone of a higher rank for that matter.
“Elder…” Liqre began, but didn’t know exactly how to word what he wanted to ask. The Elder looked up. His face drove all thought of his question clean from his mind. The old man looked very serious. If Liqre didn’t know better, he would have thought the Elder looked sad.
The silence that ensued was slightly uncomfortable, so Liqre tried to go on. “I… I was just wondering… What happe…” but Liqre couldn’t go on. Elder Lousia’s face looked so confused, like he was battling to suppress his emotions, that the boy completely forgot what he was going to say.
“Nevermind.” He walked away from the defeated looking man.
Trock took up his pace, and they hurried down the worn path that led back to the training grounds.
The boys’ blonde hair, dyed silver in the pale moonlight, bobbed up and down as they trod down the path in silence. Trock broke it first, speaking in an angry voice.
“Crazy, huh? What gives them the right to give out suicide missions to sixteen year olds?”
Liqre nodded, not wanting to open his mouth. Trock looked at him with a worried expression.
“Nervous?” He asked. Liqre nodded again. “Me too…” The rest of the way to the small hut they shared was walked in silence.
It was slightly bigger than the huts sixteen year olds usually slept in. It had been a task; build a durable shelter in a given time-limit. Trock and Liqre had, like usual, worked together on the project.
They gathered their supplies from the small house in silence. Liqre took only what he needed; bits of dried meat, dried berries, a good size cloth that would serve many purposes, and his walking stick that provided a good weapon in battle.
The place to find a Gargastraus was far off by the Ru’tsu watering hole; nearly a day and a half journey.
Though Elder Lousia had given them half an hour, it had only been fifteen minutes when the boy and his friend set out. Liqre couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever see the hut again.
After a few minutes walking in silence, Trock turned to the boy. “Listen…” He put his hand on Liqre’s shoulder, stopping him. “You’re the best in our year. Getting the stupid feather’s gonna be easy for you. Me, on the other hand…”
Liqre turned to look at Trock’s face and couldn’t help but laugh (albeit a nervous one) at the helpless expression he wore.
“Exactly what’s the difference between an alpha Cortha and a regular one?” Liqre laughed again, feeling slightly better.
“Third horn. Most only have two.” Liqre said through a smile.
“That’s right! Thanks.”
“Now you gotta tell me what the old bat means by the crowning feather…”
