Celestial Intervention, Book 1: Ania

Ania

Khonsu gazed down from the celestial deity and back at the pot, the pale light from the glowing orb in the sky resting on his night colored skin. His radiant smile was relentless and free, and his green catlike eyes shined with exuberance.  It was his eleventh birthday.  He had fantasized about this night for years.  Before the suns first blush in the sky, he would be a Mesic, a divine warrior from the Kyzan jungles to the far north that worshipped the moon goddess, Ania.  

The Mesi were said to be some of the greatest fighters on the planet, and were world class assassins.  Khonsu had been training rigorously since the day he learned to walk, and now sparred well with even the most disciplined Mesi.

He had spent the night celebrating with friends and family before the ceremony where they were all going to share nayasca, a holy drink made from the chopped up vines of the sacred nayaswa tree.  The Mesi believed its influence made one in touch with the divines, and that one could perceive messages from Ania herself, who gave insight on future events.

The making of the pious elixir was a patient craft.  The vines from the Nayaswa had to be stripped of bark, then chopped and broken into tiny bits, those bits are then placed in a large pot of water, the Kyzans placed the pot on a hollow stone circle, with a raging fire between the rocks.  It was left to boil for three nights, and the fire below it had to be manned constantly.  They would often add rakuna to the boiling water, leaves that were plentiful on the tall green trees around them, that added a sweet taste to the mixture.  

The potion had finished brewing earlier that night as the sun was setting over the jungle, its auburn gleam breaking through the tall trees.  The atmosphere blushed an orange and purple tint from the setting star.  

The Kyzans had formed a line at the pot, with Khonsu at the front.  The Mesic are a small group, with less than two dozen at the ceremony, almost half of their entire population.  Ccoming-of-age ceremonies were usually only attended by family members and close friends, but Khonsu was well-known among the Mesi for his talent in combat and his patient, soft nature, which the Kyzans believed to be the sign of a strong Louw’a, the leader of their people.

Khonsu grabbed the wooden drinking bowl and stared into the brown liquid that steamed in the pot.  It didn’t have a scent, but he could feel his face becoming a warm damp from the steam rising.

His father placed a large hand on his shoulder, its firm grip was strong and proud.  His father was named Nusakan, and was the only surviving sibiling of Khonsus grandparents.  The only person to have ever bested Nusakan was his older brother, but that was a long time ago.

Khonsu looked back at him and the people behind him, knowing that once he drank his share, he would be a new person in their eyes.  His father had a big white grin on his face, something Khonsu had rarely seen before.  

He puffed up his chest and dipped the drinking bowl into the pot, watching it fill with the brown liquid.  Bringing it up to his face, he took a whiff of it, it now gave off a comforting and pleasant smell.  

He raised it into the air and everyone hushed.  Even the natural sounds of the jungle seemed to heed to his movement.  His hand brought the bowl back down to his face and he put it to his lips.  He tilted the bowl over and let the hot tonic flow into his mouth, he instantly felt its magic going into effect.  

Khonsu took the last gulp and shoved his bowl into the air, and the Mesi around him came to life, everyone shouting and cheering.  He looked to his father, who was clapping and holding back tears.  Khonsu handed the bowl over to him, and couldn’t help but grin himself.  He didn’t know if it was the cheering or the drink.  His dad took the bowl from him with a nod, and took his turn at the pot.