*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jethro woke one night to sweating. Everynight since he knew himself, his dreams had been blood. For this his mother worried, but she was not there when he woke up, nor in the dreams themselves, so what could she truly know? She could not know the red tint of the night if she were only there when he fell asleep, and not when he woke up.

Everynight she stayed with him, comforted him until his eyes closed to the demon of sleep, and his mind closed to the light; his head would be filled with visions of blood. Blood running down walls, blood running from throats, blood streaming down rivers.

Heart pumping, this night Jethro left his room in a hurry, and by an half an hour's climb had reached the roof of the temple, sweating and further driven than when he had woken. Panting heavily from the climb, he lifted his head to see that the moon to his eyes was red. His voice lifted, lower and louder then higher until it was a frenzied scream of rage and murder that had the rest of the town leaping out of bed to defend themselves, and seeing nothing, out of their houses for the same purpose.

Of those that were not too afraid to leave their houses, only half would leave their porches in search. They found, still screaming and quickly running out of breath for it, the only man in their village that had not sworn the oath of peace. But coming closer, they did not find any sort of man, but the spirit of a snarling, rabid beast. 'He is crazy!' and, 'He is not a man at all!' they exclaimed, then chased him away, some suffering injuries.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

'We have an hundred and fifty volunteers!!!'

The crowd responded with a pleased yell.

'The volunteers will please step up.'

An hundred and fifty teenaged men and women entered the clearing to circle the speaker, who then handed each in turn a thing to drink. The crowd watched from the woods, gratified. An hundred and fifty meant the ceremony would be completed by the highest preist, and their sons, daughters, and siblings would be blessed.

Each volunteer felt a shiver as the fruit was drunk, supplying enough energy for a few day's fight. They were to become soldiers at the end of these few days, and might use the fruit again in battle. Each drank of the thing miss-named by their enemies, Opaco: the Giver of Madness.

The speaker finished, and held up a half empty shell of the Opaco. 'This army will, like the ones before it, be gratified by the name others give it: Paco. The Madness!' She emptied the shell into herself.

The cheers roared into the night, both from the crowd and from the volunteers. The volunteers were all standing, some of them shaking, excited and wild-eyed. The speaker clapped her hands above her head, and The Madness took off around the circle, dancing in patterns no one could predict, faster until a few were too dizzy to stand. The crowd around them, lacking the energy of the sacred fruit, began to retire either to their houses in the nearby village or simply in the woods they stood in. Those who were awake clapped to the dance in the clearing.

The next morning the volunteers were singing in the sound of a thousand tongues, dancing whether they were dizzy or not. The dance took a predictable shape to it, with the speaker from the night before in the middle. The dogs joining their voices with their masters reached a deafening cresendo.

Faithful beasts dropped to their feet in exhaustion, and as the last dropped, the dance abruptly ended with another clap from the speaker. They filled the woods opposite where the crowd had once been, and the ceremony continued to their eyes alone. One after another the young people came to the shadowed speaker, stumbling and drowsy.

A hand lifted to each of their temples, cut a mostly vertical line to their eyebrows, and caught the blood in a bowl. The moon heard and saw everything, and the village heard only screams.

Devin was last in line, and kneeled before her. She reached down, and he took the weapon from her, managing in a whisper, "I am not afraid." As his ancestor had once done, taking the dreamt of weapon from the trees, he made the cut on himself, and did not cry out. He gathered his own blood in the Bowl of Life.

'You have offered the life in your blood; this is the Bowl of Life, with all of your lifes in it. With this we become one," the speaker recited, and gave Devin the first drink. He was the only one she kissed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Devin woke to sweating. He was the first to wake, and felt a weakness over him as a consequence of the ceremony. He looked over to see the speaker sleeping next to him. Heart pumping and panting heavily, he looked up to see a red moon.

Clentching the ground with his fists and upturning his chin, Devin howled frantically into the night, loud despite his weakness. The new soldier then stripped the knife from the speaker's hand, and stood up, glancing at his sleeping companions...

See also:
Devin's Profile
Jethro's Profile