Benighted: (4) The Case of the Passage Ceremony

“Here. Go on, hold it.”

Zelmyr stared at the large tome being offered by his older cousin. It was bound in mahogany leather with an embedded symbol of a crow, a crescent moon, and a dragon’s claw on the front. His bright turquoise eyes roamed along these details along the cover, also taking notice of the black tassel that hung from between the center of the pages.

Cousin Rimus exhaled softly. “Tonight is your Passage Ceremony. You’ll have to read from several pages in here in front of a large gathering. Are you certain that you’re ready to do that?” Though he did not express it, a hint of amusement touched his words.

The teenaged Zelmyr swallowed gently as his hands rose in a slow manner. “I’m not certain I’m ready for any of this. I’ve never even met Issalys.”

Issalys was the name constantly thrown at him in regards to tonight—the name that was to decide whether or not he was worthy to proceed on as a Necromancer of La’Harra: Balancer Within Traijul.

Rimus stepped forward to set the tome within the younger boy’s hands. “No one meets Issalys before their Draconic Moon Dance. And you’ll be fine. People just hold a lot of respect for her, and for good reason. She is one of the last living one of our kind who’s directly spoken with Traijul.”

The weight of the tome immediately caused Zelmyr’s hands to lower. His thumb brushed along its leather casing while his forearms absorbed the power he could already feel within it. So many hands had touched this ancient piece—hands that included Issalys’s, the conductor of the Ceremony. To speak with Traijul was almost considered to be crossing to a higher dimension among the necromancers.

Traijul was the bestial and astral god that they all revered: balancer of all things created and destroyed.

Also regarded as evil to the majority of outsiders who already cast aspersions upon necromancy.

Rimus watched Zelmyr with the tome, sighing again afterward. “Asha, your parents, grandparents—I think everyone in your family successfully made it through the Passage.” He paused. “Even Cale will…”

Asha was Zelmyr’s older sister. He wasn’t surprised that she flawlessly completed everything required of the Moon Dance, which was an important ritual performed within the ceremony. She had been skilled at her craft since she was young, and sought to seek a position within the High Tribe in La’Harra—a feat that only one other woman had gained.

Cale was Zelmyr’s younger brother by a year. They attended school together because of the boy’s premature struggles in learning and comprehension. Everyone believed these struggles were due to Cale being a half-breed, a result of his mother’s affair with a human.

Thinking of Cale caused Zelmyr to lower the tome and drift his gaze toward the decorative walls of the small room.

Cousin Rimus appeared to notice this, and thus he took another step forward. “If you’re concerned over whether or not you’ll be able to read from—”

“I’m not concerned,” Zelmyr answered in his soft-spoken tone. He swallowed again, and finally glanced up at his cousin who was six years his senior. “Have you ever been outside La’Harra?”

Rimus didn’t expect this question. He gave a small tilt of his head. “Just once…when I was a child. My mother wanted to purchase special trinkets for decoration and spell usage.”

“How was it? The traveling outside I mean.” Zelmyr slid the tome in his arms so that he could gently grasp it against his chest.

“It was…different. A lot different than here. Plenty of activity, and not many of the creatures that we read about. As expected, we received looks from the people, and the locals didn’t want to business with my mother…”

Zelmyr didn’t notice his eyes expressing more interest as his cousin went on.

“The people who live in the regions directly outside of here…” Rimus shook his head. “…they know what we are. That’s why there are so many walls and borders. But if you travel farther out past the countryside…. Well, stories about us don’t seem to spread that far. Humans live in their own worlds. They probably would not even notice us.”

“Has anyone been that far before?”

“A few have. Tiber from the tavern speaks of it frequently after a few drinks.” Once again, humor coated Rimus’s words, though he did not outwardly express it on his face. “Issalys has also traveled various parts of the world. Ensuring a balance to parts outside of La’Harra: that is an accomplishment that probably contributed to direct communication from Traijul. Ever since so many of our people died out in the Recession Wars, it’s been more difficult to continue our ways outside of our homeland. So the majority of us stay here. I mean, what other purpose do we have except contributing to the scales of life and death?”

Zelmyr’s eyes lowered, his fingers gripping more tightly into the tome. Similar words had been uttered by Asha, his sister who he had always looked up to—a young woman who he felt he could never match in terms of success, spellcasting, or intelligence.

Rimus tilted his head again. “Everything all right, Zelmyr? You aren’t having doubts in reading from these works, are you?”

Zelmyr returned his attention to him with a shake of his head. “No. Not at all.” He offered the tome back to his cousin. “I just…I just have to prepare is all.”

Rimus took the tome while observing his younger cousin’s actions. His lips parted to say something, but no words exited him.

Once the large book was handed over, Zelmyr stepped toward the room’s open door. “I’ll see you tonight, Rimus.” Then he took his leave.

His footsteps took him down a small hallway that led to the snowy landscape outside. It was not as snowy as it had been days before since spring had been arriving—one of the two times of year when the Passage Ceremony took place.

Zelmyr walked through the village with nary a coat or jacket over him—simply a long-sleeved shirt and pants and boots. Coldness was another factor attributed to his kind, and not only because they could withstand the temperatures better than most others. He thought of this—he thought of many things—as he took his quickened stride along a pathway that led him down a hill and toward a small field where most of the spring foraging took place. He had been to this field plenty of times with his mother and siblings throughout the years. He knew it well, and he even enjoyed the company of some of the forgotten skeletal summons that belonged to other necromancers.

Once within the field, Zelmyr came to a slow stop in front of one of the pear trees. Out of all the trees, this was the one whose energy he felt the most during its period of dormancy. It was relatively new here among the rest of the plants, and it was the only pear tree. It had sprung up seemingly out of nowhere about seven years ago when he was only seven himself. Now he stood here, exactly double the tree’s age, and wondering when it would decide to show him what it truly was.

It had never bore its fruit since its arrival, and he could not help but think whether it was because it was the only different one in its bunch within the field.

Zelmyr took slow and gentle steps toward the tree, assessing its branches and its height that it had gained over a period that almost amounted to a decade. He came here every time that he had been confused or lost, which had been quite often. Out of every living thing in La’Harra, this was the one who heard him most.

“Tonight is the one I’ve been telling you about,” he said in his reserved and quiet tone. “I might become an ‘official necromancer’—whatever that is supposed to mean. But never have I felt so guilty before.” His eyes drifted off toward one of the other trees in the background. “I feel like everything I’ve done or thought is against my own people. Even Cale, who has been rejected on so many levels—even he wants to strive to be one of Traijul’s Scales…a real necromancer.” He sighed lowly, placing his gaze back on the tree before him. “Is it worse that I do not mind if I fail—if Issalys does not see me worthy? I only wish to pass so I can please my family, but…”

Zelmyr’s eyes closed then as a soft pang struck his chest. He had been taught to conceal and ward away any form of emotion, but lately, it had been more difficult than ever. To become a symbol that so many others viewed as evil and ugly: how was he supposed to take that? How did any of them handle it?

Perhaps he was not as strong as they were.

“Asha had done it without so much as blinking,” Zelmyr mused while thinking of his sister. “She has taught me so much—inspired me even. But she was so much more capable at my age than I am now. I don’t know how she did it.”

His hand lifted so that his gloved fingertips could roam along the tree’s bark. His eyes made their ascent toward the branches again. He would never cease to marvel at how much life has grown into this plant that was the only of its kind.

With his focus on the snow-covered extensions above him, his lips parted again and a whisper fell forward. “What do you do when you feel like you don’t belong?”

He knew that his words should not contain too much emotion, but he could not help the crack that occurred within his whispered question.

A breeze came then, swaying the branches quietly above him. Zelmyr roamed his gaze along them, seeing something at that moment. He paused as his fingers pressed more against the bark. His light eyes could not remove themselves from the sight before him, and once again he went against his own people’s nature by allowing a little smile to grace his lips as a tear glossed his vision.

There on one of the branches lay a single beautiful pear blossom.