Flaming balls fell from the sky, casting the heavens in a back-drop of orange and yellows. Being besieged on all sides by the corpse of a house, trampled upon my sense of self. I could no longer make out the indistinct screams from those of the city.

I was left no ability to move, not being able to scream, and not even being able to remember to ask my Goddess for help.

Just excruciating pain, that kept me from losing consciousness.

Yet, when I wake up to reality--I’m safe.

I sat upon a cushion of cured leather and stuffed with feathers; surrounded by light, brown walls of clay poached from the Crown River. I remember waddling out there, traveling over the rolling hills, and grass taller than myself at that time. It was strange watching his broad back hunched over, knee-deep in the river, while fetching clay. My father, Otac, filled up a small basket that was half as tall as me. I, at the time, was no bigger than a tree stump. I didn’t even come up to hunters’ wolves. So carrying that basket was more grueling for me than him holding a pole with four baskets, twice my height, on either end.

It was one of the moments that I not only felt a sense of achievement but a sense of safety that my nights fueled by grueling bloodshed lacked.

Yet–

Those dreams still seemed so surreal–but–Mama was always there. Always there like the warmth of a fire, even on hot summer days like this.

Flames danced in a pit of scorched bricks. My Mother, Majka, moved around a large pot with a ladle in hand, humming a folk song that she heard from a passing merchant.

Majka glanced at us and laughed. She bent over the pot and batted her long, black braid out of the way. Dipping her ladle into the goulash; she took a sip. Her eyes squinted and she did this weird little shiver that brought up her high cheekbones, even higher.

Her goose-shaped head made it all the more comical, yet, didn’t distract from her profound beauty.

“Vanja, are you prepared,” Majka asked me.

“Of course, mama,” I replied.

“This brat is going to come home without a finger,” Sabina pushed me.

“Don’t curse your brother.” Majka waved her ladle at me.

I shook my head and turned to my sister who sat right beside me. Not there when I began training but then she always pops up when least expected.

Like a bug in the swamplands.

Sabina was a perfect replica of our Majka minus the best traits. Now, she looked quite calm, sitting there with her eyes closed, hands upon her lap, and her breathing in an odd but rhythmic pacing. Yet, those moments ended and those black eyes full of evil turned to me as if we were in a slow motion fall. Her lips cracked into a smile that reminded me of a wolf snarling.

If not for the sounds of Otac footsteps and the smell of blood, my sister might have done something that she would sorely come to regret tonight. I was not one to buckle under bullying and I’ll be damned if I allow her to suffer no consequences.

A large palm tossed aside a curtain, allowing the sweltering heat to sweep in past his bulky body. I shielded my face from the stinging whips while my sister used me as the shield. Our father walked through the doors with a large flank of meat which looked like it came from a boar’s rear. The striations were not as dense as it would appear on a deer which was his usual prey. Unless he ventures upon a lone wolf that ended up exiled from its pack.

“Damn greedy bastards reduce the prices again. Give me ten silver for a forty silver carcass!” His voice boomed and he dropped the meat onto a rack where Majka would prep it for storage. “How’s my bubica?” He turned to my sister who rolled her eyes but jumped up.

“I’m not a little bug anymore, Papa!”

She ran into him and wrapped her slender arms around him. Otac bent down and kissed her forehead and then pushed her away with one hand. He stared down at me with a stern expression. It wasn’t the same look he gave me the day before. With his hard, black eyes, softening, and his hard lines in his face, smoothed out.

“Are you ready, Vanja?” He turned and grabbed a lepinje. “This will be the day you become a man and I won’t be there to guide you.” He tore off a piece of the flat bread and bit into it.

I nodded my head and stood up. “Eh, Papa. I’m ready.”

Papa smiled and turned to Majka. “Is it ready? The boy will need a last meal before he begins his journey as a man.”

“Just need to set the table,” Majka said without missing a beat.

Majka grabbed a set of bowls from a table and filled them up one by one. Sabina took them and spread them around the table.

I dropped into my usual chair and rested my hands on the table. It quickly turned into a soft drumming while my parents, especially my papa, took his sweet time. The moment everybody sat down, he nodded, lifted up his spoon to scoop up bits of meat and vegetables, and shoved it into his mouth. We all followed right after. Me, using a mixture of my lepinje and spoon to scarf food into my awaiting mouth.

It was bloody frustrating sitting there, waiting for them to finish eating. I couldn’t help my excited tick. Couldn’t even stop my thumbs from slapping the table in the pattern of war-drum songs we were taught.

The looks from both my Majka and Sestra, almost made me stop tapping but their heads nod–was telling. My rhythm was beautiful and the change of cadence, even I felt proud listening to it.

“Boy, if you don’t stop all that twittering, I'll take a strap to ya,” Otac barked and put down his wooden spoon. He shook his head but couldn’t hide the grin on his face. “Grab your bow and go.”

I shot up and moved out before he even finished his words. Snatching my short, wooden bow and quiver off the hook, and bursting out of the door. The suns bounced off my forehead but I didn’t mind it or the dirt that scattered at my rapid footsteps. It took me very little time to reach the town square from the outer edges.

Several of the older generation stood with their djeca nearby. Some mothers hovered over nervous sons while the fathers stood with their arms crossed. Others standing beside them in similar postures. Only, I came without my father but that was because my father believed in me. Plus, today, I will begin the ceremony to become a man. Why would I want the old man hovering over me?

I licked my lips and watched as the other hunter’s sons came to stand around me. We all stood in our white, leather armors that glimmered in the suns. Our bracers covered part of the tribal markings of the wolf and moon denoting our hunter legacy.

On the other side of the square, where the towns folks from farmers to the blacksmiths and they all dressed in their best clothes. White, button-up, brown pants that resemble silk, and clean boots–slightly scuffed.

No need to even glance at their soft palms or even softer faces. Those pale complexions with light, brown hair, and grey eyes of the flatlanders to the west. Even though many of them were mixed with our islander bloodline, these soft ones preferred to dress like sheep awaiting slaughter. It was already bad when these flatlanders came to our towns lording their heretics belief but it’s all the worse when our own people chase after them.

People they will never impress, never come close to being, but the hope is hotter than when the twin suns send down their wrath.

“Quiet,” the town chief yelled over the little talking that was going on. “Today--is another glorious day! A day where our djecas become men!” He glanced around, his wrinkled eyes casting down a pressure that stifled our excitement. “Many of you won’t make it back and for that, I offer my prayers to the Goddess. But for those of you who succeed--who become men of our White Wolf Tribe! I will welcome you as brothers!”

We, hunters, shouted to the heavens. “Za Bozicu! For the Goddess!” Slapping our bracers upon our chest thrice in quick succession.

The soft ones look at us and then each other. Yet, their parents said not a word and thus forced the younger ones to trample down their desire to compete. Stamp down that bloodthirst that would save their lives.

The Chief smiled, and then winked at us.

“Just to inform the ones that do not know. The ceremony is simple. Head into the highlands, past the Bloodmoon Grove to the border of Forbidden lands. There you will take the head of a barbarian and bring it back.” The Chief straightened his broad back and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, looking left and right with his fierce eyes. “It is that simple and now you may be gone.”

My feet spun in the dirt and I shot off. A soft, white glow covered my feet on every impact, sending me further than my normal two steps run. Those who have similar practice to me, easily kept up. Well, not the bigger boys who already looked like grown ox compared to some of us who were taken after our islander mothers. Ah, how envious it is to let our long legs take four steps naturally and our chi boost send us double that. I kind of wanted to trip them but being faster to the highlands didn’t mean they returned faster. In fact, the highlands were filled with wolves that were more vicious than the flatlands brethren.

I shivered at the thought of facing down a pack of those vicious, green-eyed bastards. My only solace was the soft ones who were covered head to toe in a white aura and still ran slower than us. If not for my quiver, and short-sword slapping against my thigh, I would be faster.