Chapter Three: Early Rites

Draike grimaced as the massive creature gave a final bellow of agony before                                           falling heavily to the ground, causing the forest floor to tremble beneath their boots. Theron smirked and pulled his axe from the back of the beast with a sickening sucking sound. Tane and Draike hesitantly approached it, eyeing its immense horns warily. Its dark fur reeked worse than a wet bear.
“What is it?” Stefan asked quietly, prodding the cloven feet of the creature with the hilt of his sword.
“It looks like some sort of stag,” Theron noted, his deep voice brimming with pride as he stroked the great muzzle of the dead animal, “Only a Hell of a lot bigger. It’ll make a fine trophy for the great hall, it will.”
“How are we supposed to get it back to the fort?” Stefan muttered, examining the colossal antlers once more.
“Oh, the soldiers will take care of that. Let’s head back, boys.” They began to march back through the forest, the dense undergrowth snapping at their legs and threatening to swallow them. They could see the sun through the towering trees, its golden rays fading into red wisps as it disappeared into the valleys.
“I really wish we could hunt at night,” Theron confessed as they made their way across a fallen tree trunk, “That’s when all the rare, elusive prey comes out; a real man’s challenge.”
“Why can’t we?” Draike asked, slashing through a tangle of brambles with his dagger. As the words left his mouth, he silently noted the bizarre marks on the trunk of a burly ash tree. The bark had been rubbed away in a spiral pattern, leaving pale, smoothed wood. He and Tane had seen similar marks before, but nothing they had encountered during their hunts could quite explain it, not even the colossal deer-monster they had killed just moments before.
“The guards insist that no one leave the fort after dark,” Theron sighed, his words ending the conversation.
Later, Tane, Draike, and Stefan were retelling their heroic exploits in the forest to Kyra as they sat in the grove. “So what was it?” she asked excitedly as they told her of the great, horned beast they had slain.
“No idea,” concluded Tane with a sly grin, his love for dramatic tales shining like a golden aura around him. Kyra laughed and picked up the piece of fabric she was mending.
“What is that for anyways?” Stefan asked, eyeing the wrinkled gown warily.
“Queen Nadya had me embroider the hem of her dress a few days ago,” she muttered, struggling to rethread her needle after the fine, golden thread had torn, “So of course Queen Rhoda had to have something better. She expects me to outshine her most elegant dress; I’ve been up working on it all night and all day while you guys were hunting.”
Now Draike noticed the red, swollen rings beneath her bleak eyes and the trembling of her hands as her fingers wound around the edge of the wine-colored velvet. “What’s the dress for?” Stefan asked.
“For Nicholas’ Jewelling Rite tomorrow, of course,” she snapped as the needle bit into the tip of her finger, a drop of blood pooling out of the pinprick. She sucked on it for a moment to avoid spilling anything on the precious gown.
“Maybe you should take a break Kyra, you look really tired,” Tane noted, but Kyra shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“Oh yeah, I completely forgot that his ceremony was tomorrow,” Draike admitted, shaking his head, “He’s so lucky that he gets to have his stone chosen early.”
“The only reason he’s receiving it tomorrow is because his father died,” Tane reminded them in a hushed voice.
“Oh…well, I guess he’s not so lucky in that aspect,” Draike said embarrassedly, his face flushing in the shadows.
“At least he gets to be King now,” Stefan mumbled from where he was lackadaisically leaning against the elm tree, a grass blade stuck between his lips.
Kyra punched him lightly on his skull and he grumbled in protest, but made no move to counter. “I really need to finish this dress by tonight,” she admitted with a heavy sigh, “I’ll see you guys later.” She tucked her thread and needle into the pouch on her belt and gathered up the frayed bits of fabric before leaving the grove.
“A servant’s work is never done,” Draike murmured softly to himself. Tane and Stefan nodded in somber agreement.

The great hall was a storm of happy voices as the three princes entered. For once it was cleared of smoke and steaming foods, the low benches pushed off to the side and the ceremonial altar set up where the King’s table usually stood. They could see Nicholas off to the side of the crowd, speaking with the priest. He was clad in his finest white silk tunic, his fair hair unbound and curling around his ears.
Stefan pushed through the crowd, making a small path for them through the sea of faces. They finally made it close to the altar, the stained glass display of Jik and the Trinity tilted behind the ceremonial pedestal. A silver platter was balanced on the pedestal and in its center sat a gleaming white virgin stone, so smooth and blank that it could have easily been mistaken for a simple lakebed pebble.
They could see Kyra, wearing a plain brown frock, standing with the other serving women off to the side, their heads all bowed respectively as silent prayers played about their lips. Just as they had settled into the throng, King Kenton stepped out and applause rang through the packed hall. He grinned and raised his hands to silence the crowd, saying in a booming voice, “Welcome, denizens of Fort Toff, to this most wondrous occasion. I am sure most of you can remember the excitement of your own Jewelling Rite,” there were scattered whoops and cries of joy, “And those who cannot are obviously looking forward to it. Without further delay, let Nicholas’ stone be chosen!”
Draike nearly fell over from the force of the cheers as Nicholas stepped forward, his smile seeming almost too broad for his face to contain as he stood before the alter, positioned slantwise to the crowd. The priest followed suit, facing Nicholas with a low bow, his eyes closed firmly. A servant boy ran forward, a gilded chest in his arms, and knelt beside the priest. Another servant dashed beside him and gently lifted something from inside the chest, the golden chain visible around his wrist as he pulled it higher. The Pendant of Jik glinted in the candlelight, the pure white virgin stone ablaze in the darkness of the hall, before it was slipped around the neck of the pastor.
And so the ceremony began. The priest chanted in a low voice, the strange, unknown words slipping off of his aged tongue swiftly. As he went, he dipped his hands into a shallow silver dish filled with blessed water and splashed a few drops against Nicholas’ forehead; this was to symbolize the cleansing power of Jik’s tears. As the incantation sped on, the priest’s body became slack, and he seemed to sway as he stood, though his lips were a tangled blur as the syllables spat out, eager to escape. The pastor’s normally faded amber eyes began to glow with a pale, yet drowning brilliance that blazed from his lined face.
Even Nicholas became lost in the spell, his body trembling as his eyes locked with the possessed priest’s. The virgin stone on the dais began to quiver before becoming lost in a stunning luminance that engulfed the entire pedestal. Slowly, fearfully, Nicholas’ pale hand reached out, his movements bizarre and jerky, as if a puppeteer were controlling the invisible strings wound about his arm. His limp wrist began to twitch towards the virgin stone swallowed within the divine light, but then changed course and shot towards the chest of the priest, the haunted fingers grasping the pendant within the folds of the robe. The pastor then reached out, his words long lost in silence, his lips mumbling unheard spells. The weary arm spread across the short distance between them, and then gently laid two fingers on Nicholas’ brow.
Everything stopped quaking then, but the lights did not fade. The priests mouth stopped twitching and became slack, his jaw agape. From within him, a deep soul stirred, and a raucous bellow rose from the depths of his core. “For you, Nicholas of Grentir,” the voice rasped, reverberating inside the hall, “I choose the Fluorite!” With one last blinding flash, the glows vanished and all was still.
Nicholas was still clutching the virgin stone around the old man’s throat, his arm weak and drained. His face was pale and sweat drenched, as if he had just galloped through the Forbidden Wood and back. His closed eyes slowly fluttered open, a sparkling color behind the lids. On the pedestal, humming softly in the silence, was a chiseled block of fluorite, soft green tinted with a deep blue, waiting for its new master. The priest managed a drained smile as he slid the pendant from his neck, holding it up for all to see. The fluorite glinted clearly against the gilded backing, a colorful gem worthy of the benevolent Nicholas.
A deafening applause tore through the hush as the pastor placed the pendant around Nicholas’ neck, his new teal eyes brimming with joyful tears. Draike even felt moved, and shook his head slowly as he seemed to break out of the trance the ceremony had thrown him into. He could see Tane smiling, longing evident within his grey eyes. Stefan was grinning, but was clearly not yet wise enough to appreciate this ceremony again.
King Kenton strode up to the altar and thumped Nicholas on the shoulder, “Let us all welcome to our world the newest bearer of Fluorite: Nicholas of Grentir!” The cheers echoed through the great hall once more as the walls trembled from the force of the citizens thumping their feet against the floor in joy.
Draike congratulated Nicholas as he came to greet the royal family. He felt himself freeze as his mother brushed up beside him, a fake smile plastered across her painted lips. She looked stunning in the new gown that Kyra had somehow managed to finish, and was letting everyone know it as she strutted about the room like a parade horse trotting through its paces.
The celebration feast was a boisterous, effervescent event. Mugs of mead and wine were awarded to all, even children. Draike mirthfully banged his chalice against Tane’s, foamy froth spilling over the brim. Kyra was too busy serving the courtiers and royals to speak with them, but they caught a rare glimpse of her every once in a while. Nicholas was in the seat of honor beside Kenton at the royal table, his face flushed from all of the excitement.  
“You guys will be so happy when you get your jewels,” Stefan shouted over the bedlam. Tane nodded in agreement, his eyes glossy and unfocused from the mead.
“But until- until then,” Tane stuttered, “We should enjoy what’s left of our innocence.” With that, he leaned backwards on the bench, nearly tipping it over with the unbalanced weight, and pinched a serving girl’s bottom. She squealed in surprise and nearly dropped the platter of goblets she was carrying, but somehow managed to regain her composure and slapped Tane, leaving a vivid red mark on his cheek.
Draike and Stefan howled with laughter, but the Prince of Toff ceased as he saw Kyra glaring at him from the corner of the room. He tried to shrug her harsh gaze off, but could not help feeling smothered by more than one type of guilt.
The crowd quieted as Kenton rose from his seat, a broad grin spread between his flowing mustache and bushy beard. “Once again, fair people of Toff, let us congratulate our newest Bejeweled son of Jik,” applause nearly drowned out his words, “And the new King of Grentir!” Draike joined in with the hollers of pride and elation.
The priest stepped forward, still weak from the ceremony, holding a plush, red cushion in his wrinkled hands. Nicholas glanced over at Kenton cynically, and knelt with an encouraging nod from the King. The priest gently lifted a glinting golden crown from the pillow, the fluorite gems embedded within it sparkling in the dying candlelight, and placed it on the Prince’s curling locks. Another booming applause rang out before Kenton bellowed, “King Nicholas, never forget your Jewelling Rite or the land where you were raised to manhood!”
Nicholas smiled softly, the colors within his eyes already giving him new wisdom, and clasped the King’s outstretched hand in a bond of promised peace and remembrance.