“Zorir!”
With that shouted name the Skua-Rai cuts her hand across the noise, stopping it dead. In the silence you have never felt so alone. You want your sister but she is not welcome here, not allowed within the inner circle, not worthy of the mysteries. You know that was where the doubt started, for is she not more than you in all things? Better scholar, better fighter, better tactician and no matter how many times you hear “but she is older, that is all”. You know it for the lie it must be.
But if that was the case, then that would mean the Skua-Rai is wrong and she is infallible, she is the vessel of Zorir. She is the container of the furnace. She will be the architect of the future of Crua and she will bring the fire, put things back to how they should be.
You should not be afraid.
You should be sure and you should be confident and you should be righteous.
All you feel is fear.
“They who walk in fire!” the chant begins. “They who walk in fire! They who walk in fire!”
Forward, one step at a time with a slight sway to the walk as you have been taught. The robes of the monks shimmer and twist and change in time with the words. The crackle of the fires fills your ear, the smell of woodsmoke fills your nose, the heat makes you think you will burn. You want to run, to scream and to cry and tell them you are not ready for this, you are not the right one for this. You are a clanless boy from a farm in the north. You are nothing.
The fire that should warm you within and without only scares you because you are all too aware of the damage that fire can cause.
But still you walk forward, you are not forced, you are not struggling and fighting. You are simply doing as they say, robed in gold and red because you are weak and they are strong and they have told you, promised you, that this will make you strong as well. Somewhere deep inside you do not want to let them down. Even though…
Even though.
“Cahan Du-Nahere,” she is looking at you, her eyes almost hidden behind the mask. Does she know? Does she know what you really think? “You are here before Zorir to receive the god’s blessings.”
“Receive the blessings,” a hundred voices repeat.
“Kneel before me,” a subtle pressure on your arms pushing you down.
“Do you take Zorir within? Do you abide by Zorir? Will you be faithful and true and if you are not do you understand the fire will eat you from within?” You nod. “Speak the words, Cahan Du-Nahere.”
And how can you? How can you when they are lies, when you are confused, when you question. But even though those are your thoughts, your mouth betrays you.
“I take Zorir,” you say, “and may my tongue turn to ashes if I am untrue.” You wait, wait for it to happen as you speak those words knowing you do not mean them, but nothing does happen to you. All that happens is a hundred voices intone “and may my tongue become ash”.
“Open your mouth, Cahan Du-Nahere,” says the Skua-Rai, and a monk steps up behind you and pulls back your head. The monks holding your arms hold you tighter and panic starts to well within you.
“Receive the blood of Zorir!” shouts Saradis. And you tense up. Too late to stop now. Too late to fight. The cold of the stone cup crushing your lip against your bottom teeth. You taste blood first. Then a bitterness that makes your whole body revolt and squirm and try and escape. “Drink! Drink the blood of Zorir!” It burns, this is it, you are paying the price for your unfaithfulness, your tongue is turning to ash. You want to spit it out but there is a hand over your mouth. Another holding your nose. You have no choice. You have no choice and now the world is melting into red and orange, the fire is coming, the fire is coming and you are at the centre of it.
You are the centre.
“He will bring Zorir to us!” shouts Saradis, “and the world will burn!”
You are the fire.
You.