Burden of Sisyphus (6 page)

           
The drums built to a crashing crescendo.
 
Keryn’s heart beat in rhythm with the pulsing drums, as an elderly Wyndgaart emerged from the pathway opposite the raised seats.
 
As the Schoolmaster raised his weathered hands, the drums ceased pounding, and the shrine was cast into silence, save for the thunderous crashing of waves below.

           
“May the sun strengthen your body, as the waves strengthen your soul,” he began in traditional prayer.

           
“There’s power in the Voice,” the audience replied in unison.

           
Keryn mouthed the words without speaking them, knowing it was better to remain silent than blaspheme within the Shrine of Initiation.
 
She never followed the organized religion of her people as blindly as most expected of the younger generation.
 
Her voiced dissent was one of the primary reasons she found herself sitting among the spectators instead of taking her place as an Initiate.

           
Two priests emerged from the pathway carrying heavy bundles.
 
The objects were swaddled heavily on coarse, brown fabric, obscuring their shape.
 
Pulling incense sticks from within his robes, the old man lit them in a candle.
 
Thick, blue smoke poured from the incense, and the weathered man waved the sticks back and forth over the bundles, muttering soft prayers.
 
Turning, he walked down the row of Initiates, waving the incense stick in intricate patterns above each candidate.

           
Returning to the center of the stage, he spoke to the audience, giving a speech that was not only well-rehearsed but repeated each year to a similar crowd.
 
“The annual Initiation has been a time-honored tradition among the Wyndgaart for hundreds of years.
 
The ritual is an important step for our youth on their way to adulthood, but this ritual is more than just a stepping stone in puberty.
 
It’s a significant statement to the dedication and commitment of these Initiates.

           
“Behind me stands the potential future for our civilization.
 
These future leaders, generals, and honored warriors will guide the path of our society for generations.
 
This is a heavy burden, but one that I can personally guarantee each is ready and willing to accept.”

           
The Schoolmaster stepped aside, allowing the audience full view of the gathered Initiates.
 
“Each of these Initiates has trained diligently under the combined tutelage of the school’s priests and instructors.
 
They’ve been taught social skills, studied histories of dozens of modern and historic cultures, and trained in fighting styles passed down and improved over hundreds of years of open warfare.
 
They’re prepared in mind, body, and soul to go through the Initiation.

           
“Only one step remains in their training—the Initiation.
 
Every year, half our students can’t overcome the rigors of Initiation.
 
They’re rejected by their Voice and cast aside as failures.
 
This is a laborious ritual that requires each Initiated to find his internal strength.
 
For some, the sense of family drives them to succeed.
 
For others, they find a previously untapped reserve of dedication that pushes them beyond and above their peers.”

           
Keryn swallowed hard, a knot forming in her stomach.
 
Bellini was a talented, brilliant warrior, but still, Keryn feared for her safety during the dangerous ritual.

           
“We gather today to welcome those who complete the Initiation into the fold of the warrior caste.
 
This is also a ritual to honor those who don’t succeed.
 
We honor their memories and the loss each family feels, as their son or daughter falls within the Warrior’s Circle.”

           
The Schoolmaster gestured to the priests standing to either side of the Initiates, straddling their heavy bundles.
 
In unison, they dropped to one knee and untied the thick cord holding the bundles closed.
 
They unfurled the bundles with great reverence, revealing row after row of metal weapons that glistened in the dim candlelight.”

           
“Initiates,” the Schoolmaster called without turning toward the nervous students, “choose your weapons carefully.
 
Your decision at this juncture could very well determine your fate.”

           
The students split into two groups and walked toward their respective bundles.
 
In the organized chaos, Initiates pulled free swords, knives, axes, and spears, arming themselves with the weapons with which they felt most comfortable.
 
Keryn watched Bellini’s lithe form bend to gather a spear and dagger from the pile.
 
She tested the spear’s balance and swung it slowly in an arc.
 
Satisfied, though her expression betrayed no emotion, she rejoined her fellow Initiates in their line, armed with dangerously sharp weapons.

           
She was never as good at hand-to-hand combat as you were,
the Voice mocked.
 
Join her and show her how it’s done.

           
Keryn frowned, growing annoyed at the Voice for its intrusion and at herself for know it was right.
 
Bellini, a talented warrior, had the potential to excel in the Initiation, but she paled in comparison to Keryn’s skill with a long and short knife.

           
Even without me,
the Voice continued,
you were exceptional.
 
Just think of how much better we’d be together.

           
“Silence,” she hissed quietly, though her outburst drew concerned looks from those nearby.

           
Keryn turned her attention to the stage, as the Schoolmaster stopped in the center of the sandy circle and prepared to speak again.
 
As the crowd grew silent, a drum beat a slow, rhythmic pace.

           
“We’ve gathered to welcome those into the fold and honor those who fall tonight.”

           
The drum began building to a maddening crescendo.

           
“It’s time to identify our first two Initiates.”

           
The drum pounded wildly, as two priests approached from the wings, carrying wooden bowls.
 
They stopped on either side of the Schoolmaster, holding the bowls out.
 
As he reached into their curved interiors, the drum stopped, casting the audience into an eerily charged silence.

           
The Schoolmaster took a slip of paper from each bowl and held them before his eyes to read the names.
 
“Yusef,” he said loudly.

           
A strong, male Wyndgaart stepped forward with a loincloth around his waist, carrying a curved ax in each hand.

           
Dropping the first piece of paper, the Schoolmaster read the second name.
 
“Bellini.”

           
The thin blonde stepped forward, bowing slightly to the crowd.
 
The rest of the Initiates stepped back until they stood against the far wall, where they took seats.
 
Perched precariously on the edge of the cliff, they watched the chosen pair take places on either end of the Warrior’s Circle.
 
Facing each other, Bellini and Yusef took practice swings with their weapons, stretching their muscles in anticipation of the battle.

           
Keryn felt a knot tighten in her stomach and reflexively let her hand run over the thin, silky fabric covering her.
 
Yusef was a superb warrior who stood with unwavering confidence, flipping the axes in a dizzying display.
 
His hands were unbelievably quick, as he tossed one ax, then the other.

           
“Initiates,” the Schoolmaster called, his frail voice carrying over the quiet crowd.
 
“I don’t need to explain the rules to you.
 
You’ve trained all your lives for this moment.
 
Fight with honor.”
 
Turning, the withered old man walked from the circle, clearing the way for the two combatants.
 
Stopping just outside the circle, he looked back.
 
“Begin!”

           
Bellini and Yusef circled each other, a sheen of sweat on their bodies reflecting the candlelight.
 
Testing each other’s defenses, they took turns snapping their weapons forward.
 
Bellini’s spear was deflected wide.
 
Yusef’s ax was turned aside by her flashing dagger.
 
Content the fight wouldn’t end quickly, both settled into offensive stances before charging.

           
Spinning aside, Bellini dodged both axes, as they came toward her in an over-handed chop.
 
Yusef tilted his head aside at the last moment, letting her spear slip inches wide, as she jabbed at his face.
 
Reaching up with an ax, he hooked the curved bottom of the blade around the spear shaft and pulled down, trapping the wood against his shoulder, and drove his other ax forward in an unexpected thrust.

           
Bellini was barely able to get her dagger in the way and stop the ax’s forward momentum.
 
Locked together, they stared at each other.
 
Yusef set his right foot behind him and pushed, trying to use his superior weight and strength to his advantage.
 
Though her arm strained against the pressure, his ax pushed her dagger back, dipping the blade closer and closer toward her exposed neck.

           
With a final surge, he threw his weight forward.
 
Breaking free of their locked position, Bellini leaped backward but was slower than Yusef.
 
She cried out in pain, as the tip of the ax slashed her upper right arm.
 
Though it wasn’t a deep wound, her eyes showed surprise.

           
“First blood has been claimed by Yusef,” the Schoolmaster called.

           
Settling back into their stances, Yusef began stalking Bellini again.
 
Her blood still marked the end of his ax, a reminder that even the slightest misstep could be fatal in the Warrior’s Circle.
 
As he stepped forward, Bellini swung her spear in a high arc.

           
Too late, she saw his feint.
 
Dropping to one knee, he dodged her swinging weapon and closed the distance, trying to get inside her spear’s longer range.
 
Bellini worked her dagger furiously, trying to parry his blurring barrage of ax swings.
 
Inevitably, she staggered back holding her stomach, after an ax grazed her hard abdominal muscles.
 
Dark blood seeped between her fingers, and her face contracted in pain.

           
She’s fighting the Voice,
Keryn’s Voice warned.
 
If that were you down there, this fight would already be over.
 
You always were the better warrior.
 
Instead, Bellini will continue to fight it and will die.
       

           
“Come on, Bellini,” she whispered, hearing the wisdom of her Voice’s words.
 
A void opened in her chest, leaving behind only a dull ache of concern for her friend.
 
“Give in to the Voice.
 
Fight back.”

           
Still grimacing, Bellini shook free of the mantle of pain that settled over her and searched for her composure again.
 
Yusef waited only a moment before pressing his advantage.
 
Her slashed arm and stomach left her weak, with her movements slow.
 
After another quick series of attacks, she had a grazing cut on her leg, too.

           
He has already won,
the Voice whispered to Keryn.
 
He’s just toying with her now.