[Originally published February 12, 2013]
Each dawn
came earlier than the last as the spring thaw spread its way northward. This particular morning was clear and bright,
a good omen, Callista thought to herself as she sat pulling on her boots.
She looked up
from her dressing bench and considered her plate armor for a single, brief
moment, then shrugged. It would be a bit
much for a sacred ritual, she supposed.
She reached for her trusty mail instead.
The thigh length shirt slid easily over her taut frame and was as
comfortable as a second skin. The links
were light and well made, dwarvencraft from the far south, and she never went
anywhere without some proof from harm.
Not since the incident in Mulmaster.
Still, she
knew her mother would frown if she saw her wearing any harness at all to the
ceremony. After another moment of
thought, she slipped a long, loose sleeved blouse over the mail, and then
pulled on a tightfitting leather waistcoat.
A brightly striped sash wrapped around her waste completed her
camouflage.
If her armor
would cause a stir, well, her axe would likely set her mother into a
frenzy. Still . . .
Leaving
Stonesplitter where it leaned against her bed, she instead chose two long dirks
that she tucked into her boots, and a third short blade that she slipped into
her sash, letting it come to rest comfortably against the small of her back.
Stretching
one last time before leaving her pavilion, Callista Armageddon now felt fully
dressed and ready to meet her first moot.
* * *
"By the
Tears, Callista," her mother reproached
over rolling eyes. "Did you really
have to wear mail this morning?"
Callista had
thought her disguise much better than it was, apparently. Her father merely nodded and grunted his
approval. Gorragh rarely wore anything
over his torso beside a fur vest, or sometimes a leather bandolier, even in the
depths of winter. Dazulka herself was
dressed in soft leathers and a long, fur-trimmed cloak, just as she always was.
As they went
to where the horses were being saddle outside the camp, they passed by the
first of the cairns of her ancestors.
The three of
them mounted their horses and joined the others where they were forming
up. The reindeer had already been
gathered, and soon they would all set out and away from the camp and deeper
into the valley. After several miles,
she knew they would reach the sacred circle where the ritual would begin.
Unfortunately, that was all she knew.
She still did not know what the ritual was, or what she was supposed to
do, or what was supposed to happen. No
one had told her anything, only to be ready in the morning to ride out. She hadn't felt this ignorant about something
so important since her first day of training with Bastian, her old
teacher. She growled softly at the
thought, which only drew more disapproving looks from her mother.
"This is
the Moot, Callista, not some tavern brawl," she said.
"I know
nothing of what we are doing, mother, this is not right!" she
replied. "I am a free knight of
Vaasa and an elder of clan Armageddon."
"And
what is your point, knight of Vaasa?" the shaman asked with some
amusement.
"I am as
ignorant of this as a baby razorboar! I
do not wish to look a fool at the first moot I attend."
"You
still seethe like your father, even after all your foreign training and all
your worldly experience," the shaman mused. "In any case, my young one, your first
moot is best if it's just experienced as it unfolds."
Knowing she
would get no more out of her mother, Callista sulked in her saddle. It was going to be a long and frustrating
ride . . .
* * *
In a few
hours, the small group of riders dismounted and followed a clear mountain
spring around a deep bend and into an open hollow carved into the hills. Callista's breath caught in her breast at the
sight before her.
The steaming
pools lay in a small, but open grotto of natural travertine, deep in the
valley's recesses. Callista had never
been anywhere near here before. She had
not even known this place existed, and the grotto's stark beauty overwhelmed
her from the moment she saw it.
The gently
rising steam shimmered and sparkled in the cool spring air, an alluring
invitation to any who might seek to warm themselves against the chill of the
valley. Only, Callista knew that anyone
foolish enough to bathe in those pools would have their skin stripped right off
their bodies. Few of the hot springs in
the Grommon'Kash were safe to bathe in.
Judging by the intensity of the steam, the waters here were probably
lethal.
The promise
of danger only enhanced the beauty of the place in her eyes.
As she stood
in wonder before the travertine terraces, she had not realized that her mother
had come up next to her. "This is
the steaming heart of the Grommon'Kash, daughter, Om'Gorrah."
"It is
here each year that we come to renew our bonds of family, our bonds of
blood."
Callista
merely nodded, feeling a deep connection to this place that words could not
explain. Dazulka put her hand on her
daughter's shoulder. "You feel it,
don't you?"
"It is
your birthright, as a daughter of the Armageddon, to come to this place and
become part of the moot. The moot is not
a ritual, Callista. It is the living
bond between all of us, and it is here that we gather to share it most
intensely."
The shaman
smiled softly. "There is only one
of us who has not yet come. But soon . .
."
As if on cue, the waters of the largest pool in the grotto began to well and churn as someone, something, very, very large rose up from its steaming depths . . .