Elara's POV
It's familiar. It has always been familiar. The stagnant grey of the skies and the clouds, the low hum of the forest that surrounds and the gentle lilt of the moon. Us Grimfangs may not have the sun but we can hug the moon; metaphorically.
For me it's not a loss, I do not like the sun anyway and one encounter has been enough to seal my dislike. It's way too bright, like it has something to prove, trying so hard; besides, it feels so arrogant, a creature that dares anyone to look in its face and go blind.
However the moon is a different story altogether, soothing and gentle; like a mother's hug or her palm on your forehead cooling your fever. Yet it is a bit more familiar tonight than ever.
Tonight, the moon will bestow on me my howl. And my wolf with it.
I have been staring up at the moon all the time I have been here, so much that my neck hurts. Everything in me seems to be singing excitement in a different language, I fear I might have a fever. And staring at the moon replicates the feeling of my mother's hand on my forehead. That's all I have left of her.
Mother went to the moon a long time ago.
That brings another fact I do not like about the sun, not only is it arrogant and scathing, it also comes with burly, ugly and arrogant men. It's been two years since the day I first saw the sun and I had never gone back with Father again. Instead I spent all my days and nights - if Father will- buried in books and huddled in my section of the library learning all about the sun and the power of the Grimfangs. Patiently biding my time and gathering information.
To prove to those men and whoever else might have another idea, the absolute might and coolness of the howls of the Grimfangs.
In our world, no two howl sounds the same, a fact I consider a plus on the cool side of our powers. No other clan has powers that serve as DNA. Each howl comes with a wolf that befits it. Differences from the colour and texture of the fur till the expression on the wolves themselves.
I wonder what I'll get. I hope she will be ginger, so she'll be perfect for the name I have in mind.
The moon hangs lower in the sky, as if itching for a hug, her gradual continuous descent signalling the night fall. She hung as a crescent in the sky, glowing more silvery than usual, or that could just be the lens of my excitement.
I take my place in a circle around the Colanvor - a huge bell that's essentially used for rituals, doesn't really have a fun history, once a bell, always a bell.
The Aetherys however is one I like to read about, right in the heart of our geography, the land itself is cut from a different cloth. Where we have sand everywhere else, the ground of the Aetherys is Blavktrist. A black and slivery slab of stone. It is said to be where Vaelyra, the first of us all, received her first howl. And now decades later, it is where the moon has chosen to impart her blessing.
Kinda fancy. But I'm not complaining. It is really cool for my feet. Not even the heat from Colanvor could get to Blavktrist.
I curdled my toes in excitement as I watched the incense stick on Colanvor burn slowly. I'm glad for the constant chill of Blavktrist, else my toes might be burning from the fever I'm generating right now.
I am standing right where Colanvor is completely in my view, on the half of the circle, flanked on one side by three other girls and three boys. The other half of the circle is toed by the Elders, seven of them whose faces I cannot see. Clad in black and red robes and a black veil that looks thicker than my fingers.
I sometimes wonder how they breathe beneath those veils.
Truth is, as far as the pages of history tells; no one has ever seen the faces of the Elders. Always seven, always covered. Yet as far as I know, nothing in the books ever mentioned a taboo; yet no one has ever questioned it and honestly I don't think anyone dares to.
I once thought I had a chance to satisfy my curiosity in death, but all my life there were always seven. No one is immortal which leaves one option left: they are pretty good at keeping a burial private
Or maybe necromancy
Or...
The loud clang of Colanvor reverberated through the earth and Blavktrist. And my thoughts.
It was a rude awakening, but it was needed.
Puller out of myself for a while, I was back to my surroundings. In my absence, the incense stick has burnt through, causing Colanvor to clang.
Like a good old - possibly centuries old- bell.
The Elders immediately moved, there was something about the way their heads suddenly were suddenly raised that made it seem like they had just come alive. Like someone just remembered to pass life through them
This is really not helping necromancy thoughts at all. I knew I shouldn't have read that book.
The Elders start stepping forward, hands in their robes, and heads held up high, they are in such synchrony it feels almost eerie.
Each Elder stood in front of each of us, and if I thought the sun was overbearing, I take it back. The Elder in front of me should be studied or something. There is something dark and heavy about her that just seems to be pressing down on me with no abandon. I'm not sure where, but I just swallowed the fourth lump in my throat, they just keep coming.
And what? See their faces? I don't even want to be in the same radius as them. Some mysteries are really best unknown.
She stood towering over me, and suddenly the Blavktrist is the most interesting thing in the world. The veil has no space for eyes, but I could feel her eyes burning past my skull and into my brain.
My excitement is slowly morphing into pure intimidation, and that is birthing fear, as a rate that makes me want to crawl into Father's arms and hide.
"Hold out your wrists "
That was a command if I've ever heard one.
Forget crawling into Father's arms, I am right where I need to be.
And.....
It's starting.