CHAPTER 1 IMBOLC: 

 

They say that most tales are written by old men. That for a tale to be good, it must out live the voice that first spoke it. This may be true for the stories of men, but what of the immortals and the tales they have spun? Is it not so that the most magical of stories cannot outlive those who never die, and is it not so that the most magical of tales are indeed the best ones? For magic is a secret known only to few, and the few who know of it know just how magical it can be. Secrets are secrets until they are known; hence the Elders passed them on in secret in the form of magical song. Perhaps that is the reason they say that most tales are written by old men, but foolish would be he to assume that the elders cannot indeed be old women. This tale begins in a time long ago. Long after the stories and songs of The First House of the Realm, when their secrets had been forgotten and their tales had been twisted. Long after the magic became known to even fewer men, when tales were brought into being by the pens of the young…

 

“…And young you are indeed, my brother. Although we are not of the same House, we are of the same village, and that means we are kindred and so must work together if we are to achieve our hopes of building this fire by the last light of the day.”
 

Rune watched as his two fellow villagers squabbled back and forth about the best place to lay their kindling, pulling a bug from the length of hair that lined the middle of his head. His attention was turned not toward that of their petty indifferences, but to the realm of the stars above instead, for Seeralis was high in the skies of Liuon, and offered much more in the ways of fanciful delight. There was a familiar purplish hue being cast about from the fading light passing through her crystalline structure, breaking into the third part of day known as Seer time.
 

It was common practice for the people of Liuon to take the name of that which was considered in all manners sacred to their maternal forbears or one that reflected the position of the night’s stars during their birth, outlined by the curious way they added vowels in succession, as did all of the Aenienial tribes. The latter was of a more perplexing concern, for the required skills of a stargazer from the north were quickly becoming unpopular among the Niuoen people. It seemed that nobody could be altogether bothered braving the harsh throes of The Living Mountains, whose perilous roads they were forced to travel unless, of course, they had enough gold to gain entry through Aurum’s Pass, which was unlikely, for the Niuoen people held reverence only for things of nature, and so were not at all easily impressed upon by the idea of gold. They were hunters, whose only concern was the survival of their village, which depended upon the exchange of certain goods with the nearby tribe of the Saieulon people, and as such their House names were given according to the way in which they were earned.  Rune was of the House of the most silent hunters in all of Liuon who just so happened to bear the name Feather-Feet.
 

“Indeed we must, but I assure you, you are doing it wrong. In building it this way you will choke the air, and hush the flame. If you don’t believe me, go and ask the Flame Master. He is as old as the Golden Sun, and has earned his title for reasons sake.” The younger villager, a boy named Leaf, could be heard calmly reasoning with his kin brother, Dagaiul.
 

It was common belief among many in the lands of Rathwyndia that in ages long since passed, the Golden Sun, named Aurum Solaris, wedded the Moon of Silver, known as Lunaris Argentum, to form the House of Argentaurum.  Together they conceived of a child of crystal so brilliant in its colour and mysterious in it ways, that it became known as the one true seer of the realm of the stars and giver of life to all that dwelled within the Lands of Rathwyndia. Thus the House of Argentaurum was thenceforth known as the first House of the Realm; the first of the ancestors of all creatures and men. Somewhere in the blur of history it was then to become written that only those possessing the crown of this sacred House were permitted the title of a King or a Queen, though just where that crown had fallen no one ever knew.
 

“But if we build it your way, the wind will prevent the spark from catching . And Fauoin Fire Hands cannot light fires during Seer time; this is well known, despite him being the Flame Master of this village. He claims it is because the swelling of the Seer addles his hands, but everyone knows it’s because he is a liar and a cheat; an orphaned scum from the House of Ethexia.” Dagaiul hissed at Leaf. The younger boy looked back at him sternly. It was daring, indeed, to cast such words toward an Elder of the village, no matter from whence it was they had come.
 

A rare thing it was for Seeralis to be full, and even rarer still it was to be during the feasting festival of Imbolc, which was nearing its final stages of preparation by all those still within the village walls; namely the Coven Mothers, Coven Brothers and the youngling Bards and Maidens. It was a celebration marking the beginning of Tree’s Birth, when all plants sprouted and other glorious things came into the world; when life was rekindled in nature and the woes of past battles were given the chance of being forgotten.
 

“Do it your way then. I’m going to get Fauoin. We’ve wasted far too much time bickering. Our hunters are now returning, and we have naught for them to cook their catch upon!” Leaf stood afoot, dusted himself down, then stomped off up the pebbled path that ran through the centre of the village towards Fauoin Fire Hands’ hut.
 

The exhausted puffs and pants of the returning hunters could be heard over the wooden walls and gates that lined the village, as they heaved and hewed several boar back from their lengthy journey; a journey that had seen them gone for the better part of three days. Rune had spent such days among their numbers and nights out under the stars, learning all there was to know about the intricacies of the hunt with all the other youngling Bards of his age, preparing in ways of his own for the ceremony that marked his coming of age; the ceremony that was to take place that very eve.

“Stupid git”, Dagaiul muttered under his breath. He was the oldest of the Bards still to come of age, and he wore it like a badge of pride, taking no heed from anyone but himself. He pulled a piece of flint from his pocket and tried sparking it onto the tinder in the centre of the wooden structure, but it was all to no avail.
 

Airioan, the Master of Courage and messenger to the Grand Elder appeared next to him, silently watching with crossed arms and  looking none too pleased with the boy’s shortcomings. His long hair rippled in the wind, still dirty from the days of the hunt, caked with dried mud and roughed from the salt of his sweat.  The stubble from his beard had grown enough to cast a shadowy look about his face; a face that had become wizened with scars and was looking upon Dagaiul with an unfaltering sternness. He was as strong as he was lean, and that could be easily guessed at just by looking at the muscles that covered his body. Airioan had many times proved his worth among the village, often risking life and limb for the benefit of his people, so it was understandable that such an easy task as lighting a fire annoyed him when he found it had not been lit.
 

“Why haven’t you started the feast fire yet? It is almost Seer time. This should be nothing but a bed of coals by now.” He cast aside the pathetic structure of wood lying at Dagaiul’s feet and rebuilt it within a moment in a similar fashion to how Leaf had envisioned it, then with one swift strike of his blade upon the flint, sparks fell in great numbers onto the hair-bark of the tinder, igniting it at once.

“It’s not my fault. The evening winds were too harsh.” Dagaiul stumbled for words, looking foolish and shamed at his mistake. Rune couldn’t help but laugh at him. He closed his eyes and turned his nose to the air. There was a cool, subtle breeze blowing in from the east, and on its wind it brought with it the scent of many flowers and trees from the forest at Liuon’s edge.
 

The Niuoen people were a tribal race known for their love and respect of all things of nature, and as such had built the village on the cusp of the forest amidst the stumps of their felled trees. They never took more wood than was necessary, adhering to a strict ration even during times of great coldness, and cutting from a noble height when felling proved unavoidable; thus they designed the layout of almost all of their dwellings to play to the withstanding strength of the remaining stumps. It was therefore not at all uncommon to find the odd hut or dwelling with a branch bursting from its roof. For some of the older ones, where the trees growth had slowed with age, this was not a problem, but for the newer dwellings it proved a difficult and frustrating affair, for the rooves needed replacing every celesturn before they were flooded in Waters March. Other, wiser folk tried to build around the stump instead, allowing for its inevitable swelling, but sooner or later they eventually needed the help of a shelter-smith.
 

There was a hall for preparing food, and a separate one for eating it, the cooking of which was done all at once in a specially built clay oven that lay outside on its own underneath a small mound of earth. Waste pits had been dug to the shores of the west, where they could be cleansed with the tides of the sea. In fact, the dwellings of Liuon were really only used for storing a Houses possessions and providing them protection when they slept, much different to the dwellings of the Red Beards, or those in the lands of the Ethexian Empire. Of course some had tables and chairs in case the noise in the great hall became too overbearing, but such was a rare occasion that these soon found other uses.

It was considered somewhat rude to want to spend ones time in constant hermitage, save only for the Grand Elder and the High Priestess, whose duties more than called for it. Fauoin Fire Hands was an exception, because most of the villagers found him odd, and such was that his table was reserved for other purposes, but Leaf never saw these when he rapped upon Fauoin’s door, for they were hidden in a secret room that only one other knew about.
 

Rune could see them both walking with haste down the small rise of a hill in the middle of the village, then noted Fauoin’s withdrawal once he had realised Airioan’s presence. He had a mind to approach the Elder then and there, for there was something on his mind he wished to have answered, but decided against it, telling himself there would be time enough for Fauoin’s stories later during the feast.
 

Bard songs were ringing out from the great hall like chants, telling stories of myth and magic and adding to the air of excitement. They met with the draughts that carried such sweet smells to the delighted young Rune’s nose.
 

 “What are you doing?” A young Maiden named Rain had made had her way down from the great hall, and had caught the younger hunter as he hastily scrawled something on a piece of vellum in his hand. She was not only fair of face and features, but of character and virtue too, and there was a natural grace about her that stood her apart from the other young Maidens her age. As if by adaptation to her name, everywhere that Rain went was spread the life of nature with such beauty that the Alchemists spent a life time trying to achieve. She was of the House of Branch-Walkers, known among the Liuon village as the best tree climbers to ever hold the Niuoen seed, and somewhere in her houses tradition, was passed the knowledge of all animals and the secret voices they spoke unto each other.
 

“Just taking note of my thoughts. I have taken it upon myself to record them in hopes that I will settle those which may be unnerving or bring me great worry.” Rune scribbled something down on the vellum with a piece of wood he had shaped into a quill, and at once Rain noticed that it bore a drawing at its centre of flames burning with what appeared to be a stone in their midst; the vague sentences she could barely make out seeming to be an allusion to this picture.
 

The tribal knots of her hair had been woven with lengths of purple silk, something Rune considered as his best friend’s most interesting trait, save for the tongue of animals that she spoke.  She was standing in front of Seeralis, its light shining through her locks, bringing about the mistaken sight of a brilliant aura radiating out from the silk. For a brief moment Rune chanced an understanding of the true beauty that stood before him. Her face was delicately smooth and gentle; untarnished, it bore no spots, instead that of a gentle tan that complimented its awing effect. Her hands bore a similar semblance, all ways seeming warm to the touch and unwithered from even the harshest of duties the village saw fit to bestow upon her, unlike Rune’s whose were rough and scarred, and blemished beyond good reason. At her waist she wore a skirt, fashioned from many strips of a dark tan coloured leather, and a top piece to match, that had been lined with a pelt of sorts that bore spots and stripes of varying colours; namely those of black, brown and white. It looked to be of deer hide, falling away at the midriff and leaving Rain’s belly exposed; offering her better room of movement when she was out on the hunt or tending to her duties around the village. Rune could not help but blush, bowing his head downwards in hopes that she would not see his reddening cheeks, all the while dipping his quill in a bowl of ink that lay at his feet, pretending to stir it.
 

 “Are you worried about the ceremony tonight” she asked, playing with the threads of purple silk, twirling them and spinning them into the knots, only to unwind them again and throw them across her face. She grabbed a handful then threw them at Rune, laughing.
 

“No, no. Of course not. I was just thinking about something one of the Elders once told me.” He replied, taking moment to study her body language, as she half shut one eye and let loose a slight smile. She was a full celesturn older than him, yet wise beyond measure, and it was for this reason Rune pondered whether or not to repeat the Elder’s words, for he was in fear of being mocked by the one he looked up to most; the same one who shared her birthing day with the most fierce of storms Liuon had ever witnessed.
 

Rain’s hazel eyes stared back through him, both bewildering and enchanting him into a drearily lull. He wondered if this is what it was like to travel the roads and paths that led through the Enchanted Forest in the Badlands to the north; recalling the many stories and tales that been laid before him and the other Bards and Maidens. Unable to afford resistance to her charm, Rune surrendered to it, giving away much more than was on his mind.
 

“The Elder told me that times like these, during Imbolc or any of our other sacred days, are the best times of the celesturn to meditate, especially when they bear a full-seer. He said that they are filled with energy of unimaginable potency, and if one pays close enough attention then they just may see things that cannot normally be seen.” Rune looked away, his worry of seeming maddened with the lust of fantasy preventing him from telling of what was really on his mind.

“I know that. Everyone knows that. That is one of the first stories we are ever told during these times of celebration. What is it you were truly thinking?” Rain took a break from playing with her knots to poke Rune in the chest.
 

With much hesitation, he continued on, not even sure himself of the words that he was speaking.

“The Elder also told me if one is good enough in the arts of meditation and had been shown the proper ways, he or she could unlock the forgotten secrets of the old magic.”
 

The ways of the old magic were no more than a myth to most of those still of breath and beat of the heart, and although some had been made mention of in various tales who had bathed in its splendour and glory, no one seemed able to guess of who these beings were, though Rune had an idea that it was the forgotten Alchemists who had since vanished without so much as a trace. Of course, it was inevitable then that this in itself would lay spawn to ever the more tales of splendid fantasy, until the thought of whether or not the old magic ever existed in the first place became speculative at best. It was a matter that most Rathwyndians were quite happy to dismiss as neither probable nor improbable altogether for the sake of pained thought, and forget they’d ever heard of such an art, despite taking for granted the conveniences it had spawned forth within the ways of the new magic. 

“Was this Fire Hands doing? He has been known to trick us younglings and spin us stories of ill manner. You don’t really believe him do you?” Rain asked, but Rune could sense that she wasn’t entirely sure herself. Ever so delicately, he placed his quill and vellum by his feet, then snapped his head upward to meet her gaze.
 

“I will not deny that Faouin was the elder of who I speak, nor will I deny the sense of honesty I felt from him when he spoke to me of all he knew that made me think it could be possible. At the very least, I think the stories we are told as children must have been uttered for some reason, though whether they are to be taken as truth or metaphor, I cannot say. What do you think about them?”
Rune shifted to one side and beckoned for Rain to make his company on one of the many felled logs he was using for a seat. Soon, there would be tables affront each of them, lined with a variety of banquets ready to be eaten and barrels ready to be drained, but for now they offered a nice view of the nearby {something} sea.

“I don’t know. It would be truthful of me to say I want to believe that all the stories I have heard are real, but I have heard so many of them that I don’t know what to think anymore. What we call new magic I know to be very real; the dances we do to bring the rains of Water’s March; the methods we use to divine what is to come; the chants we sing to ensure a full harvest during Tree’s Birth; they all seem to work rather well. All I know is that I can’t possibly fathom something I am yet to witness, so until that day comes to be, any mention of such an event I shall deem irrelevant so long as it is to bear no effect on my ways of life. On the contrary, if you were to show an example of what our fables consider as being old magic I wouldn’t, in the least, think that you were lying, so long as you promised that was not the case, and swore upon the use of your little finger, as is done in the tradition of the Red Beards. If I were you I wouldn’t think to strongly on whatever Faouin Fire Hands has to say. He may be an Elder, but the wind on my ear has brought with it rumour that he is a descendent of the Mad Alchemist himself.”
 

Such a revelation was news to Rune Feather Feet that it made him jolt back in his seat for what was to be only an instant, but still long enough for him to lose balance and fall from the log upon which he sat. Rain burst herself with laughter before jumping up and offering her hand to a red faced Rune whose expression was now rifled with that of embarrassment.
 

“For someone with the namesake of a Feather Foot, you certainly make quite the noise when you fall over.” Rain giggled, hoisting Rune back onto his feet. 
 

“It is because I was not of able mind to fall upon them when I fell.” He protested, but Rain only offered him another chuckle, to which he, seeing the amusing side of it, chuckled back.
 

“A dance while we are at it?” Rune offered, twirling Rain gently by the hand he still held in his grasp. She followed his lead finishing the turn, but then as he pulled her back toward him she pulled away.

“I am sorry, but I have to help our Coven Mothers and Elder Crones prepare for the feast. Perhaps tonight when the fire is lit and the stars are about, and I am merry enough from a few horns of mead.” She kissed him on the cheek in manner that was considered polite in the village of Liuon when a male and female were to part company, ever the more twirling with grace as she headed towards the village’s hall.
 

“I am curious to know as to how it shall taste, now that I am of ripe enough age.” Rune spoke after her, dusting off his blue tunic.
 

“As am I.” Rain called to him, and with a final wave she was gone as she ducked behind the small house that stood affront the village hall. The rest of the youngling Maidens and those to become Coven Mothers by nights end soon finished their songs and headed to the hall to begin helping with preparations for Imbolc.
 

It was as Rune sat once again in silence pondering the words of Faouin and Rain that Airioan came to collect the youngling boys and would be Warriors for preparations of their own. Several of them had seen the fire from the village hall as it caught and had gathered round, the stronger Bards helping to hang a boar across the flames.
 

“It is by the wishes of the Grand Elder that I am come to gather you all. My youngling kinsfolk, you are to collect wood for the fires of Imbolc. Thorn of the House of Wind Shadow awaits you at the halls entrance to show you where to stack it. As for the soon to be Teiwaz, you are to follow me into the woods.” He said with an air of dominance none of the younger kin dared challenge.

“What is Teiwaz?” Liuon’s youngest Bard asked. He had but barely reached the age of speech and was still to be learned in the language of the elder’s. Airioan squatted down to meet his height as a sign of respect.
 

“It is the Elder’s word for Warrior, my young Bard-Brother. Now make haste and help the others with the wood, for the Great Feast is fast approaching and this pile I’m afraid will not long last into the night. Neither will it provide enough flame for the rest of the boar we have caught. You don’t want to be cold and hungry during such a special occasion do you?” Airioan questioned.
 

“No brother, Teiwaz, I don’t.” The youngling Bard poked his head out and head butted Airioan to return the sign of respect. It was out of acceptance and proudness of the little one that Airioan gently head butted him back, before smiling and ruffling his hair.
 

“You are a fast learner, little brother, and one day you will make an excellent Warrior, I am sure of it, but that word is only to be used by the Elder’s and their messengers.” Said Airioan, standing back afoot. 

“I’m sorry Brother-Airioan. I wasn’t to know.” Replied the boy.

“I won’t tell the Elder’s if you don’t.” Said Airioan with a smile. The youngling Bard then turned on his heels and bolted for the hall as fast as he would be carried by his short little legs.

“It is now that everyone has gone that I can mention to you the plans of our Grand Elder. We are to gather fire ants from the heart of the forest for the sacred Perth Teiwaz; the Initiation of Warriors as it is known in the common tongue of the White Hides.” Airioan spoke with a ferocity to those under his wing, guiding them out through the village’s southernmost gate.
 

“I didn’t think fire ants are of the edible kind like the black ones!” Leaf spoke out from behind Rune as they made their way to a clearing in the forest where a log lay fallen with an axe buried in its’ side.

“These aren’t for eating. They are for biting.” Airioan replied. 
 

“I don’t understand. Is it not so that biting is the same as eating?” Came Leaf’s voice again. Rune caught a sense of uneasiness in it that he had come to know as Leaf’s timidness. It was a subtle squeak that  rode on the boy’s voice when he was unnerved about something, and Rune would never had noticed it if Rain hadn’t pointed it out to him. It was well that she had such keen ears, for the tongues animals spoke with were laden with such subtleties.
 

“It would be if you were to be the one doing the biting, but seeing as they are to be biting you, it isn’t.” Airioan laughed. 
 

Upon realising what the words of his Brother-Warrior had meant, Leaf’s face turned pale. 

“But the wind on my ear has told of how a fire ants bite is worse than a thousand spear wounds tainted with serpent venom.” 
 

“And it is for that same reason we get them to bite your face. If you can withstand the pain of a fire ants burn while remaining silent and keeping of calm stature, then it gives us no reason to believe you may fail us when we are out on the hunt. Your fellow Teiwaz have to be able to trust that you can keep aim despite the interruptions and hostilities the forest sees fit to test you with. It is not until you have proven yourself worthy of a Warrior that you are to be allowed drink of the honey-wine.”
 

It was apparent by the look on Leaf’s face that he was not of approval of Airioan’s words, but the sacred ceremonies of the Elder’s demanded great respect and were not to be argued against, even by someone such as Dagaiul, so he closed his mouth and walked on in silence. Once they were in the clearing’s centre, Airioan let shout to the winds toward Liuon a call to signal the Maidens, who were soon to appear holding baskets woven together from various leaves and vines. Rain, being the eldest of her fellow Maidens, took lead as they walked through the forest.
 

“I give thanks for your bringing of these baskets, my Sister-Maidens, so that we are able to collect that which is to be the symbol of the Warrior tonight at the Great Feast of Imbolc. This symbol has been passed down to us from our ancestors through every celesturn, and we shall pass it on to our descendants in the true tradition of the people of Liuon.” Airioan said, taking bow as a symbol of gratitude. The Maidens then curtsied, and turned back towards the village, Rain deliberately lingering until she had caught the eye of Rune. Once it were so, she repeated the same graceful twirl she had left him with after their last meeting. Cheekily she dusted off her skirt, making fun of his fall again, and chuckling at the same. Rune was grateful for her efforts of steering his thoughts clear of the ceremony of Perth Teiwaz, even if it was only momentarily.
 

“My fellow brothers who are soon to be bequeathed with the honours and title of Teiwaz, the Warriors of our kin, I offer you these baskets that our sisters have been kind enough to make for us for the collection of the fire ants. Take care to replace their lids after each ant is placed inside, lest your harvest take opportunity to escape. Gather around me and when I cut this log be ready with your baskets.”
 

With these words, Airioan dislodged the axe from the log, lifting it high above his head before bringing it down again as hard as he could upon a section of its timber that had already been weakened through the workings of skilful axeman-ship. It immediately burst apart, spewing forth an army of angry red ants, clearly displeased with the cause of their interruption.

Pincers raised, they marched ever outward in circular fashion, straight towards the Bards and the baskets they held amongst themselves.
 

Hesitation marred a decent haul for most of them, of which was to show clearest in Leaf, who had been bitten upon the fingers and let forth a cry of pain, dropping his basket and losing his catch.  Upon noticing the displeasures of his younger kinsman, Airioan, seeing fit to demonstrate his attributes as a true Warrior, scooped up a handful of the angered tempests all at once.
 

The Bards watched as the ants furiously struck out at their captor, biting upon any exposed flesh they could find along his arm, but not once was he to flinch or lose temper. He remained still and silent as he calmly plucked each one from his skin and placed it in Leaf’s basket. The courage showed by Teiwaz Airioan was enough to raise the morale of the Bards, and it was so that they were to find courage of their own as they gathered the rest of the ants, Leaf even showing promise as he filled his basket.
 

“You have done well in your efforts, my brothers. Show the same courage tonight and you will reap the honours of what it means to be a Warrior of our people.” Airioan’s low voice carried through the forest, and with that he led the Bard-Warriors back to the village. As they gathered upon the steps of the hall, Thorn Wind Shadow , Dagaiul’s Father, took note of their arrival, carrying out his duty of blowing the village’s horn to signify the beginning of the Great Feast.
 

Around the fire, which had been broadened in length and girth and now had two boar being licked upon by its flames, sat the younglings of both the Bards and the Maidens, who were talking excitedly amongst themselves. The Coven Mother’s soon appeared from within the hall itself, which had been set with table and chair inside, and along the walls were covered barrels of mead in beautiful hand woven silk bearing the symbol of the village {a something}.
 

Lit torches radiated light from within the hall, which was briefly interrupted by the Maiden-Mothers as they took place among their respective Coven Mother’s, once again led by the grace of Rain Branch Walker. She was dressed in the same ceremonial attire as the rest of the Maiden-Mothers, but her beauty far surpassed that of those around her. Rune found it not at all unfair to compare her with his impressions of the Goddess herself, likening the purple aura that had radiated about her to something only those of immortal blood were able to achieve.   
 

A small parade was had around the fire, with the Bard-Warriors then being taken into the hut of the Grand Elder for Perth Teiwaz, and the Maiden-Mother’s to the hut of the High Priestess for an initiation of their own, which was to be significantly smaller in nature than that of Perth Teiwaz, as it were itself part of a larger ceremony called Inguz Berkana - known in the White Hide tongue as the Ceremony of Fertility and Growth – that was to be had in Tree’s Birth every celesturn during the Fire and Flower Festival of Beltaine.  It was by ways of tradition that both ceremonies be carried out in secrecy, under the eyes and guidance of the two highest elders and a single Coven Mother for Inguz Berkana, or Warrior for Perth Teiwaz. 
 

As Rune took seat amongst the other Bard-Warriors around the five sided star that adorned the floor of the Grand Elder’s hut, he noticed a peculiar looking book placed upon the altar. He guessed that this was the Elder’s Book of Shadows, a ledger containing all ceremonial and magical work to be carried out within the village. Most of the Niuoen people had such a book, whereby they recorded all that was sacred to them, Rune being no exception, but none seemed as well used as this one. It was made from a rich leather, worn to a gentle smoothness, yet still firmly intact, and its pages, which appeared to be made of calfskin, looked as though they contained only the most wisest of knowledge. The only other Book of Shadows Rune had come across with a similar look was Fauoin’s, but that was made of a rougher material, and its stitches were rugged and uneven, suggesting either it had been made without the love and care it deserved, or its owner lacked an understanding of stitch-work. Rune wouldn’t have been surprised if it were a mixture of both.
 

He eyed the book curiously, thinking upon what its pages may have contained, then once again his thoughts turned to the ways of the old magic and the stone he had been drawing in his own Book of Shadows…
 

The Grand Elder soon emerged from the adjoining room that housed his sleeping quarters and a shelf filled different herbs and plants that had been collected during the celesturn. One of these plants he clutched within his hand, but the leaves were too crushed and the light was too dim for Rune to be able to make out what it was.
 

The Grand Elder took seat amongst the Bard-Warriors and Airioan in cross legged fashion, pulling from within his robe a small bag bound with a single leather sash, which he unbound and turned upside down in ritualistic gesture. A bunch of flat, rectangular stones – each with its own unique letter of the Elders – fell onto the floor and into the centre of the star around which the Bard-Warriors sat. Although he had never witnessed them before, Rune knew at once that these were the stones which had swayed his mothers’ decision in choosing his namesake upon his birthing day, and he could not help but feel an immediate connection to them.
 

Taking a moment to study the faces of all those sitting within his hut, the Grand Elder then arranged the stones in a particular order, before setting three aside and replacing the rest within the bag. 

“Mannaz Perth Teiwaz”. He said, grabbing all three stones at once. It was then that Airioan translated the Grand Elder’s words, into the common tongue of the White Hides:

“The self…Initiation…Warrior”
 

The Grand Elder pointed around the room to all of the Bard-Warriors, making sure to catch every eye that beheld him, then replaced the three stones within the bag. Next, he pulled out the ritual pipe that resided in his robe in a separate pocket, and packed it full of the sacred ritual herb he had placed upon the altar when he sat, before lighting it with the aid of a torch from the hut’s wall. Once the herb had been reduced to that of coal and smoke, The Grand Elder cast his gaze upon that of Airioan, and offered him a single nod to signify the beginning of the ritual. “Now we begin.” said Airioan to the Bard-Warriors, as he stood and gestured Dagaiul to lie down in the centre of the star.
 

Once Dagaiul was of correct position and posture, his basket was brought forth and the lid untied from its wooden clasp that held it in place. True to his title of Master of Courage, Airioan put his hand in the basket and drew from it the biggest ant he could see in the dim light, still showing no sign of falter when he was to be bitten. With the ants’ body solidly clutched between his fingers, he then brought it to the face of the Bard-Warrior who lay bravely before him, so that its pincers had ample opportunity to pinch upon bare flesh. The ant made no hesitation as it struck out furiously upon the Bard-Warrior, who lay in silence with his eyes tightly shut, trying his best not to make movement or sound.

Airioan moved the ant until it its grasp was fixated upon one spot where it could freely hang without his interference, then plucked another from the basket and repeated the process. Several moments passed, by which the Dagaiul’s face had become reddened with poison as several ants locked themselves upon him. He had completed Perth Teiwaz, much to the satisfaction of the Grand Elder Priest, who dipped his fingers in a bowl of red ochre paste and drew the upwards pointing arrow of the Teiwaz upon the newly initiated Warrior’s forehead, then offered the smoking pipe of sacred herb to help ease the burn of the fire ants. Airioan then marched the new Warrior outside of the hut where he was to wait for his fellow Teiwaz, as the soothing effects of the sacred herb played tricks upon his mind. Rune watched as one by one each of his brothers completed Perth Teiwaz and were taken outside. Being the youngest of the initiates meant that he was to be chosen last for the sacred ritual. Although he couldn’t deny the sense of nervousness he was feeling, majority of Rune’s worries were reserved for his timid Bard-Brother, Leaf, who it was assumed among the other Teiwaz would fail the ceremony given his cowardice.
 

It came as a delight to Rune then, and even more so to Leaf, that the boy showed just as much courage as the rest of the Teiwaz, though if close attention was to be paid on either of their part they would have realised Airioan deliberately used quite a measure less ants on Leaf than he had with the rest. Rune’s turn came at last, and so he lay down in the middle of the star eager to put to rest the ritual that marked the beginning of his adulthood, but much eager still to join his kinsfolk once again in dance and song. He could not help but tightly close his eyes as the first of the ants touched his skin, waiting for its pincers to pierce him and for the poison to enter his veins. Several moments passed as the ant tarried with a dance of its own, mocking Rune in an act of sheer confusion before it latched onto his lip. The pain resonated around his head, and before he could even begin to contemplate its composition, another bolt of it hit him. One after another, the bites continued, the rest of the ants appearing to take no hesitation once they were placed upon his face, and the pain became so unbearable that Rune began to fade from consciousness.
 

Suddenly a cold substance shocked him awake, and when he opened his eyes he was delighted to see it was nothing more than the Grand Elder’s ochre paste being painted upon his brow. He had passed the initiation, and had earned his place among his people. The Grand Elder passed him the pipe and Rune gladly accepted it, inhaling as much of its smoke as his lungs dared to comfortably hold.

It was considered extremely disrespectful to cough in the face of an Elder after being offered such a sacred artefact, and it was the last thing Rune wished for, lest it should fail him in his recent ordeals. Almost immediately his head lightened, and the pain of the ant poison was masked with a faint sense of euphoria.
 

Airioan helped Rune to his feet, then took him outside to be lined up among the others. The structure of the line reflected rank among the Teiwaz, which had been determined by the number of ant bites each Warrior had received, and how still their stature had remained. It came as no surprise that Leaf stood at the lowest end of the line, having only been bitten six times. To Rune’s amazement, Airioan placed him on the other side, only three places away from the end bearing the Teiwaz with the most number of bites, that being Dagaiul Wind Shadow.
 

“My new Teiwaz brothers, you have passed the test of our kin. Tomorrow you shall join me and the Elder Teiwaz in the forest, and we shall teach you everything there is to know about hunting, but tonight we feast. Soon, if it be your decision, you shall sip upon the honey wine of our kin; the nectar of the Warriors and Coven Mothers of Liuon, but for now we must…” Airioan began, but he was interrupted by the shouting of one of the Maiden Mothers as she burst from the hut of the High Priestess.

“Wait, Airioan, before you finish your ceremony! There is one among our clan who wishes to become a Warrioress.” It was Ruilian, the appointed Arcane Mother to the High Priestess. Airioan took pause for a moment, as he comprehended what he was hearing. Rare it was for a Coven Mother to become a Teiwaz. Airioan had certainly never heard of such a thing during the celesturns of his being. 

“Has she showed enough skill with our weapons? The way of child’s play is much different to the ways of the hunt!” Airioan said.
 

“Oh, I believe she is exceptionally good with one of them, and fair of skill with another…And she has a unique trait that I am sure you will find very useful indeed!” Ruilian replied.

“What is it?” Airioan asked with a sense of wonderment.
 

“It is not my place to say. If she feels the need, then I am sure she will tell you. All I can give you is the word of my arcane wisdom that she will prove to be a more than valuable Teiwaz. I ask that you trust in that wisdom, as I trust in the wisdom you hold to provide our village with the necessities of life.” Airioan nodded with a gesture of respect for the Arcane Mother.
 

“As you wish, Ruilian of the House of Swift Healers, Mother of the arcane arts. I do not for one second doubt that the wisdom you speak of is the same wisdom that saw you appointed as the messenger of the High Priestess. If we cannot trust one another according to the hierarchy of our people, then what hope do we have to survive. Forgive me, for I still must acquire the approval of the Grand Elder, before I can offer you any promise as to your Warrioress’ place among the Teiwaz.”

“My forgiveness is not necessary, as that is an understandable affair. I shall await your return.” Ruilian replied, and with another nod, Airioan made his way back into the hut of the Grand Elder. It wasn’t long before he returned with the Grand Elder’s words on his tongue.
 

“The Grand Elder accepts your Maiden-Mother’s request to become a Warrioress, on the condition that she holds blessing from the rest of her House, to which she must then undergo the ceremony of Perth Teiwaz.” Airioan said, as he reached Ruilian.  
 

“As it is in the tradition of our people. Her parents have already spoken freely of their approval for such a matter, if only you may treat their daughter as you would any other Teiwaz, and give unto her the necessary respect required for the unescapable duties a woman must tend to due to the woes of nature.” Ruilian said, holding out her hand. 
 

“I give you my word, my lady.” Airioan kissed her hand as a symbol of promise.

The vows of a Niuoen were peculiar indeed, for to break one was to break all respect for one’s character, had they not done everything in their power to keep that which they had promised. It was for this reason, married with the respect Airioan had earned through his progression to Master of Courage, that Ruilian felt no need to distrust his word.
 

“Tarry not a moment longer in bringing your Maiden-Mother before the Grand Elder, as the people of our village await us before they can begin the feast, and seer time is fast approaching.” said Airioan. Ruilian curtsied then made her way back to the hut of the High Priestess. When she returned, Rune noticed she was holding someone by the arm, but the effects of the sacred herb, the ant poison and the fading light made identification an impossible task for his withering mind. He felt as though he were becoming lighter, and if he didn’t concentrate hard enough he would float up and away from the moon of Rathwyndia on into the presence of the bright purple sphere that hung above him known as the Spinning Seer of Crystal. The thoughts of who the Maiden-Mother was, were the ones furthest from his mind. 
 

For what seemed an age passed before Airioan returned with the newly initiated Warrioress, whose face was now lit with light from a nearby torch. To Rune’s surprise, it belonged to Rain Branch Walker, but even more surprising still was that she now stood four places in front of him, as the leader of the Teiwaz. Dagaiul looked none too pleased that his leadership had been ousted.
 

“Celebrations are in order, my brothers…and sister, for you have been successful in proving your worth to our Grand Elder. From this day forth, the survival of our tribe will be yours and my responsibility just as equally. Show the same amount of courage, married with an equal amount of skill for your weapons, and I assure you the hunt will be ever the more easy. Soon we shall feast and take sip of the golden nectar of our people, though I ask that you join me one more time in sacred dance and song to show the rest of our kinsfolk who will put boar and beast upon their table next Imbolc.” Airioan’s speech brought with it a cheer from the newly initiated Teiwaz. Taking up war drum and horn, he then marched them into the middle of the gathered people of Liuon, around the fire, beating the drum ever the more fiercely as they went. Rain followed close behind him, already showing signs of leadership as she riled up her younger companions.
 

Faster, and louder Airioan beat his drum, and faster and louder the chanting of the rest of the crowd grew, until his horn suddenly bellowed out over everything and everyone, signalling the end of Perth Teiwaz.
 

Another cheer went up, and with that Rune and Rain took up seat near the fire.

“So how are you feeling after taking breath of the sacred smoke?” Rune asked Rain.

“I didn’t have any.” She replied. That all too familiar puzzled expression once again crept upon Rune’s face.
 

“How was it then that you were able to remain of noble stature? He asked, and without hesitation Rain answered.
 

“The duties of being a woman bring with them things more terrifying and painful than the bite of a mere fire ant, my fellow Teiwaz. If a woman cannot withstand such a test, then what hope does she hold when faced with the truest of ordeals?”
 

“I do not understand of what duties you speak, or how it is you know of them?” Rune questioned, unsure how he felt about her so easily dismissing his ordeal.
 

“The High Priestess makes mention of such things during the several ceremonies of Inguz Berkana. It is one of the problems involved with mastering titik,” she giggled, and much to her satisfaction Rune’s face only grew more puzzled.
 

“But what is titik?” he again questioned.
 

“That is for me to know, and for you to find out.” Rain said with a blush. She noticed at once the look of disappointment on Rune’s face, and couldn’t help but feel guilty that the secrets of his initiation had been revealed unto her while hers remained as they had been bestowed.
 

“Don’t be disheartened, Rune, for I will reveal the mysteries of titik to you when fate makes it necessary. For now I ask that you join in my company around the fire, and share with me the stories of everything Faouin has told you”. Rune took pause to examine the two celestial bodies in the sky before him. He thought back to what it was that had sparked his interest in the old magic in the first place, and whether it was of worth to the ears of Rain Branch Walker. He decided he could no longer keep his oath of secrecy, and that time was of ripe enough substance to make known to her what he knew.

“It has been more than just the wind on my ears, but also that of the light on my eyes that has swayed my belief in the old magic, my dear friend, for one day after seeking the fires of Faouin’s hands, I chanced upon a rather curious sight indeed.”
 

“What was it that beheld you?” Rain asked, the object of her curiosity amplified by the effects of the honey wine.
 

“It was a day of Sol of the last Flame’s Wrath – our Golden Sun in the constellation of the archers –so there was no reason for Fauoin to think that his skills in the art of fire-craft would have been called upon by a youngling-Bard such as myself, but unbeknownst to him such was an art I longed to know the secrets of so as to be of better use to our village brothers and sisters. As I made my way to his humble dwelling I tripped upon the threshold, and – falling through his door – I glimpsed a secret of a different kind entirely. Luck was with me on that day, for had the door not been slightly ajar, it would have stopped me still and given me quite an injury upon my brow. It seemed as though Faouin was not of similar mind, for he looked displeased that I had interrupted his privacy, the likes of which included a great measure of the forbidden metal of iron-bind and a pointed artefact which could only be described as a stone of flame.” Rune paused to examine Rain’s reaction, who looked upon him with wonderment. She realised he was awaiting her blessing to continue. Never had she known someone as polite and respectful as he, despite such a thing being custom to the Niuoen people.

“Iron-bind?” she whispered under her breath.
 

“But does he not know the punishment for keeping such a thing? If the House of Ethexia found out about this, they would cart him off to Hexerion, where he would spend the rest of his days mining elgonite. ”
 

“I know.” Rune replied.
 

“What did the stone look like?”
 

“It was the most curious a thing my eyes have ever beheld, for the stone – if indeed it was a stone – appeared to burn with flame, yet cast no heat. At once I knew the secret to Fauoin’s namesake, as he appeared to be plucking fire from the stone and placing it upon the wicks of candles with his bare fingers.”
 

“Indeed this is an interesting thing” Rain said, turning to look at Fauoin, who was sitting across from them on the other side of the fire. No sooner than she had spotted him did his gaze meet hers. She shuddered and cursed herself for bringing his attention to their conversation.

“Have you told anyone else about this?” she asked.
 

“He had me promise that the winds of what I saw would end at my tongue and no further. I agreed on the condition that he make mention of what it was he was up to. It was then that he spoke of everything he knew about the old magic. ” Rune looked away out of sheer awkwardness, failing to see Fauoin still staring at them as he got up from his seat.
 

“Why is it that you are telling me then?” Rain wondered, although deep down she already knew the answer, for it was the way that Rune looked at her that gave it away. It was a look Rune had always glanced her, but for some reason its intensity and meaning grew the more the celestial stones above them spun. Perhaps it was more of hope on her part than anything else. One day Rain would tell him how she truly felt, though that day would only come once she had conquered the fear so skilfully cloaked in her confidence; a fear of which scared her a thousand fold more than the stories of the Mad Alchemist or the House of his ancestors.
 

“What are you doing there, boy, wasting such a benevolent night of magic in conversation when you could be dancing with such a fair Maiden -Mother.” Fauoin had neared their side of the fire, and was lingering over them with menacing stature.

“Warrioress!” Rain corrected.

“Indeed. But is it not so that you are in fact a Mother of Maidens as well.” His tone was that of condescending, and at once Rain understood it as a threat. He had been reading their conversation by the light of his eyes, that she was certain, as there were too many winds for his ears to be able to discern anything of value.
 

“A Mother of arrow weaving, nonetheless.”  She challenged, meeting his gaze with unfaltering dominance. There was something about Fauoin that Rain had never trusted, ever since she had learned of his ancestral descent from the Mad Alchemist and thus the flow of Whitehide blood through his veins. But the Grand Elder and the High Priestess were both in agreement that as it was not the fault of a man nor a woman as to the House they were born, so it was not the fault of Fauoin’s as to the blood of which his heart pumped with every beat, accepting him as one of their own as he stood a lonely child of desperation at the gates of their village, with nothing but the under garments of seeming nobility and a rucksack upon his shoulder.

Unbeknownst to any, but these two it had been the skills of his fire craft that had swayed their decision many a celesturn ago, married with the reasoning behind his apparent abandonment of his House.

​

“Ah, the fabled scouts of our village. It must take some skill and courage to hit a beast from several leagues. Much harder, than having to run in and cleave it like an iron-hand, I would imagine. Tell me, what of a beast only an arm’s length away? Do you turn upon your heels and scurry like an ant, or do you wield your arrow like a sword and hope to poke it in the eye?” Fauoin sneered, unaware that many eyes had now turned in his direction.

“Neither.” Replied Rain.
 

“I would spin the winds of my tongue in their direction, of matters such as those that easily entertain; watching and waiting for them to unwittingly show their weakness, then, when the chance is given right, I shall draw my hidden blade and pounce, using that weakness against them.”

Fauoin shot her a distasteful hiss, and as he did the fires behind him crackled with obedience, as if he had trained them one would a hound.
 

By now Airioan had sensed something was awry and appeared swiftly by their side.
“Fauoin, your skills in fire-craft are needed elsewhere, as the flying ants and biters are causing quite a disturbance. See to it another fire is lit to the North of the village, with wood from a living tree. The smoke should keep them from troubling us any longer.” He said.
 

“Yes, my brother Teiwaz. I will see to it at once.”  For the second time Fauoin’s affairs had been interrupted, and for the second time Rune noticed the look of displeasure on his face. It was only then that he understood what exactly it was Fauoin was there for.
 

“And Fauoin. Do make sure you ask the tree this time before robbing it of its branches. Our ears may not hear the winds of a tree’s cry, but I assure you they do cry when a limb is torn from them nonetheless. The least you could do is warn the poor thing before taking it.” Airioan said, deliberately deflating Fauoin’s ego in front of the watching Niuoen.  He stomped off with a “HMPH” taking his sour look with him. Indeed, to challenge a woman was frowned upon by the people of Liuon, but to challenge the Master of Courage was considered suicidal, not for any other reason than that he had already proven his fearlessness in battle. Fauoin had heard the stories of the many ways Airioan had killed various beasts, where he struggled to think of even one.
 

“I do not know what it is that troubles Fauoin on this eve, nor do I wish to pry where matters do not concern me. I can only assume he has had too much to drink of the honey wine or the steeped barley known as ale. I can assure you though that he will bother you no more on this night of the Great Feast; that I will make sure of. So continue, as you will, all that you saw fit to do before his interruption.” Airioan said, and with a triumphant thump of his chest he jogged off after Fauoin.
 

The night wore on and the mead horns wore out, until the ill chanced meeting with Fauoin was but a blur upon the minds of Rune and Rain. They told each other stories after which came the promised dance, then both took their leave, for it was the following morning they would learn all there was to know about the hunt.
 

Fauoin was the only one in the village whose sleep wasn’t as sound, for he had spent the rest of seer time and that night in the privacy of his house, up to trickery of sorts one could only consider as being the ways of the old magic.