Chapter Fifteen: Vision
Reading time: 8 min
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Antisthenes plucked the stones from the fire with a pair of iron tongs and set them into the bronze brazier, which, like a miniature altar, had a tripod base but also a turned wooden handle for grasping when hot. Then he slipped through the flap of the leather tripod tent. Aric beckoned me to follow.
Inside, Rathagos, Stormai, Bradak, and Mourdag were stripped to the waist, waiting. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, our knees touching, we huddled around the brazier. Rathagos sat opposite me, and his scowl bored through my skin. Never my champion, I’d learned since the trial that Tiranes had been Rathogos’s blood-brother. After that day, wherever he was, I strove to be somewhere else. But he was vazarka, and I could not avoid him forever.
The cramped, murky space had warmed quickly, and I began to sweat. Aric then dropped a handful of dried cannabis flowers upon the heated stones of the brazier. “We thank you, Apia,” he said, “for your bounty; Tabiti for the force of your fire; Goetosura, for the inspiration and vision we pray you grant us tonight; and Artimpasa for the wisdom and grace to enjoy the fruits of all.”
Soon a vapor rose and filled the steamy tent. I had to close my eyes against the potent fumes of the incense. I waited uneasily, but nothing happened. Blinking against the smoke, I looked around at the others, and they too sat in silence with their eyes closed, breathing deeply of the vapor. Confined in the stale, unlit space, the heat made me groggy, and my skin prickled all over with sweat. The acrid smoke drew tears from my eyes. My arms grew heavy and slow as if moving through water, and the faces around me began to recede into the shadows. The more I concentrated, struggling to keep hold of my thoughts, the more they slipped through my fingers, like trying to catch fish with my bare hands.
Rathagos opened his eyes to glare at me through the smoke. I quickly glanced aside, blinking to clear the stinging vapors. One by one, the men began howling like wolves.
I sought Aric’s face and tried to focus on him alone. But amid the howling, from the corners of my eyes, I saw the faces of the others transform. I had to look away. In the dim light of smoke and shadows, I saw a vision I could not bear.
An inner voice begged me to stand up and throw the whole tent down. Release the vapors to the wind along with their howls. Casting my gaze into the stones and embers, where only seeds and ashes of the incense remained, I breathed deeply to calm myself and thought of sand along a riverbank—clean, dry sand sifting through my fingers—a trick I had used since I was a child to clear my mind. A savage headache spread over the crown of my skull, and I rested my head in my hands, palms pressed into my eyes, until the ritual was over.
When the men dispersed from the tent, I rushed to the river to wash my face and drink the cold water. The first sliver of moon had risen overhead, and the sky was clear and full of stars.
Aric followed. “Did you not enjoy the holy vapor?”
“I did not.” I couldn’t see why they would intentionally subject themselves to such a horror. But he seemed unusually lighthearted.
“What’s distressing you so? The incense is meant to cleanse the spirit and bring peace. And the others were respectful. I didn’t invite Olgas. He can get carried away. And he always farts inside the tent.” He laughed heartily at this and needed a moment to catch his breath. “But I wanted you to enjoy your first time.”
“It was kind of you. Perhaps it was the heat. I have a headache and just need to rest a moment.”
“Were you given visions?” His eye grew wide at the prospect. “The visions are what make the vapor so cleansing. I thought it might encourage yours.”
So, visions were part of the ritual? Should I relate my horrid daydream about the wolves? How they set on him and tore him to pieces. He would think me ridiculous. But what if it was a warning?
“I feel silly, but I think the wolf howls of the men gave me strange hallucinations.” I told him what I saw. “It probably means nothing, but that’s why I was afraid.”
“Bless you, Anaiti,” he smiled, took my hands, and kissed them. “You’ve shared your first portent! But you’ve no reason to worry. I’ve no fear of wolves anymore.”
“Anymore?” I asked as I sat on the riverbank and let my feet dangle in the cold water. The moon’s faint glow made us little more than shadows.
“When I was young, the sound of wolves howling at night terrified me,” Aric said, sitting beside me and pulling off his boots.
“It’s one of the most chilling sounds in this world.”
“Not according to my father,” Aric gave a wry smile and set his feet in the water. “He said the howling of wolves was the music of the steppe—the voices of our ancient fathers. But I’d cower near the fire beneath a blanket, put my hands over my ears, and hum to myself whenever they were about.”
It was nearly impossible to reconcile the hardened and scarred warrior beside me with a frightened little boy tucked under his blankets in hiding.
“Any child would be frightened by wolves,” I said. “Most adults, too, I think. The sensible ones.”
“Well, this only angered my father. No son of his would be so cowardly, even if I had only six or seven winters.”
“He was angry?”
“Ashamed, I think. He dragged me out into the wilderness in the middle of winter with him to hunt wolves, telling me ‘the wolf can smell fear,’ and that I must be unafraid or they would come for me.”
I leaned back and pressed my palms into the grass. “This was designed to encourage you?”
“Heh, I don’t know his purpose. We stalked a small pack along a deer trail through the snow for half the night until they made a kill—a doe. He made me kneel below a rise downwind and watch as they fed. I crouched there with my bow in my hand, afraid to breathe. One of the wolves tore off its portion and dragged it beside my hiding place to feed. In the faint light, I saw the shine of the wolf’s eyes. It looked straight at me. I held my breath and drew my bow.” He looked away downriver.
“You killed it?”
“I shot it dead with a single arrow straight through the heart,” he said dryly, speaking into the darkness.
“That’s incredible.”
“Truly, it is,” he turned to face me. “It’s also complete bullshit. But that’s the story the King tells of that night.” He hesitated, his voice softening. Slumping forward, he drew a deep breath. “I shouted for my father, fell in the snow, and dropped my bow. I was certain I would be food for the wolves. I even pissed myself.” He chuckled, and a sardonic smile turned his features.
I tried and likely failed to hide my shock at his candid revelation. But my heart broke for that little boy. “That must have been terrifying. Did the wolf attack?”
“Something even stranger happened… It spooked and ran.”
“You didn’t kill it?”
“No. But my father was waiting nearby. He shot her as she fled and dragged the carcass before me, his arrow piercing her side. She was still breathing, whimpering. It took her a while to die. He strode forward and struck me across the face. I remember tasting blood. It was winter, and blood stained the snow—mine and hers.
“Then my father slit open her belly and removed her heart. He squeezed the blood from it over my head and held it out to me. ‘Eat,’ he said. He took my hand, thrust the heart in it, still warm, and stared down at me. I knew he would not ask again.” His eye glazed as if he were conjuring the image behind its veil. “And I ate. The blood sticky on my hands. The raw flesh like iron on my tongue. The chewy gristle in the center. Several times I nearly puked up my guts.”
He sat upright now, hands resting on his thighs as he looked out at the waters flowing by.
“He made me wash in the frozen river before we could return home. I sat naked before the campfire while my clothes dried, shivering through the night.” He shook his head and drew a long breath through his nose. “All these years, I’ve kept the true version of that story to myself. It’s strange to tell it now.”
I still didn’t know all the unspoken laws, but I gently rested my hand atop his. He didn’t flinch or pull away.
“It is forbidden for a warrior to eat the flesh of a wolf or dog. It is akin to cannibalism. But my father thought it the only way to put my fear to rest. I’ve kept that wolfskin to this day—to remind me.”
“I can’t believe your father could be so cruel.” The same heartless man whose wife I must one day become. “You were just a child.”
“They say the wolf pup is born dead. It is only awakened to life by the sound of its father’s howl.” He took my hand in both of his and looked me square in the face. “I was born a king’s son. I was never a child. But after that night, I made a choice. I would no longer have fear. Not of any beast, nor man, nor of the dark.”
Chapter Sixteen: Vigil
I like Aric. The weight of this backstory really hammered home his character for me. I love how honest he is in this moment, how vulnerable he seems.