Mångata | Apply Fiction

01. - DRUMS AND STARS

People clad in thick furs and capes flooded around a small fire that had been lit near the Wall of Memories.

An old man with sunken eyes and hunched back leaned against an old staff, feeling his bones nearly creak at the long journey behind him. His pepper and salt hair had been cut, shaved from the sides to show off the brutal-looking scars he had earned in his youth, protecting his tribe, protecting what was his. Now, it was time for the next generation to take up where they had left off all these years ago.

"Step forward, the chosen travellers of Aeth." an old, raspy voice whispered to the tribes.

As if in sync, the chosen nine straightened their backs and took a step forward, out of the circle of their tribes. The farewells had been uttered before, so there was nothing to tell. Everything had already been said.

"Ketill and Anahita of Norwaí. Chosen for their ability to unite people and follow the Spirits of our Ancestors. Should the Aeth challenge them with small prey, Ketill is master of traps. Should the Aeth challenge them with floods, Anahita will always find the way out. Even if the waters are dark and murky." the tall, muscular Norwaí elder introduced the two.

Ketill and Ana stood side by side, Kel nearly dwarfing her, especially with the thick, white and grey fur strapped around his broad shoulders. Kel's hair had been braided back, as well as Anahitas. Golden lines ran around the edges of Anahitas lower lashes, running into her hairline and nearly blending in one with her fair hair. The symbolic paint was light and nearly made her seem goddess-like. A belt with a neat line of throwing knives was strapped under the thick cloak, they both wore the symbolic Norwaí colours, white and grey to honour their tribe.

"May Aeth be with you. When the sun sinks, moon leads." Jacle said with that raspy voice of his as he muttered an ancient prayer under his breath.

Another two tribers went to stand next to the Norwaí's.

"Maia Rebane and Villem Zevakin. If the forest turns harsh and blood flows, Maia will call upon the spirits to heal the storm. If the wind chases away the tracks of life, Villem shall find them again." the Estland tribers Elder Silva Pärn stated proudly. The two tribers were the definition of cold, lean warriors. The woman had almost ink-black hair that had been tied together with numerous braids to prevent it from falling over her eyes. A quiver with arrows was slung across her back, a black, elegant bow in her hand. She looked curiously around the tribers, her symbolic paint and fire dancing across her skin. Villem stood beside her, tall and unmoving. The colours grey and black adorned both of their attires. The paint seemed to be flowing down his cheeks, as if it had been too wet to stay on the way it was meant to be. His piercing gaze was cold and calculating, his curls that were chestnud, seemed to be turning red against the light of the flickering flames.

Unlike Kel and Ana, Villem and Maia did not look support from one another.

"May Aeth be with you. When the sun sinks, moon leads." the prayers were whispered among the elders before another two chosen ones stepped into the line.

"Othello Akasafu and Jaxton Adler of Macedya. If the Aeth demands it, Othello will turn to the spirits of the wind and become the eye of the storm. Jaxton has a keen eye for the medicine and technology of old and new world."

Othello was a lean man with dark hair and midnight eyes filled with determination. There was an elegant crossbow strapped on his back. He tilted his chin up slightly, making sure he kept his gaze towards the flames.
Jaxton on the other hand, kept clenching and unclenching his hands, trying to swipe his sweaty palms against his jeans. His blonde hair had fallen over his eyes like curtains of light strands. He looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but in the centre of the attention.

Murmurs of prayers swept through the group of elders and warriors. "May Aeth lead you under it's light. When the sun sinks, moon leads."

"Cosette Badeaux and Nico Moreno of Portugá. No enemy could slither their way through Cosettes protective barricades or hide from Nico's wrath." the two Portugás went to stand beside their fellow travelers.
Cosettes long dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, tiny braids adorning the hairstyle. The red and golden cape reached a little past her knees, the thick furs around her neck keeping her warm. Beside her, Nico had tilted his head to gaze into the midnight sky. He wasn't sure what it all would bring, in fact, he wasn't even sure he wanted to be a chosen. It was as though a handful of freckles had been splattered across his straight nose and pale cheeks. Some black strands fell over his cold eyes as he looked down again. Wishing they could already start on moving.

"Marx Syrvanem of Nethers. A follower of stars, a guide of the spirits." Nico's eyes slid over the Netherer, looking around to see where the tenth traveler was. But as there were no other name called, he realised that was it. Nine chosen. 

The elders gave each one their last blessings, mumbling last prayers under their breaths a they called for the spirits of old and new to help them on their quest. Those nine were the last hope, they were the last of the chosen. 

The ritual was long, filled with the sound of drums and humming of the Earth beneath them. The air was thick with sweet smoke, and the embers kept flying into the sky that was starting to burn with red's and yellows. The carved stories on the stone walls started moving slower and slower the lighter it got in the valley. When the last flame died, the last flicker of an ancient shadow on the Wall of Memories turned back into the cold stone. 

a long harsh barn owl scream pulled Villem out of the paralyzed state he had been in. He blinked groggily, staring at his ash covered hands that were pressed into the earth. Slowly he straightened his back, placing his hands on his knees for support as he narrowed his eyes at the rising sun. He slid his eyes over the eight who were all in kneeling positions, still in the grasps of the spirits as the cleansed their souls for the journey ahead. 

Although Vill suspected they couldn't much clean his soul, thus why he was the first to snap out of it. 

"Fucking hell." 

As he pushed himself up, he grinned at the grumpy words of the next traveller who had woken from the paralyzed state.

aghhh its so shooooort but I just felt like it needed to be one chapter you know? Also I knoooow its bad and cringey but it will get better, I swear!

P.s mån is pronounced like moon

Also, I might have forgotten to mention it, but here's a warning:
This book contains topics like; rape, suicide and death.
That means, some people are gonna die. Here's the question I forgot to ask.

Are you fine with your character getting hurt or dying?

Also I absolutely love the fact that some characters are kind of wishing to be on Vipers side, some others on Vagabonds' side.