Page 3 of Aofie's Quest
Once the gift giving was complete, the centaurs pressed around me until I smelled their musky coats and saw the sheen of sweat on their foreheads. The night chill had faded to warmth with the intensity of the ceremony and an out-of-body feeling struck me. I shook as sweat trickled down my back and when I lifted my hands, they were covered with the orange glow, feeding on my skin like a calf suckling at its mother’s teats. My tanned skin had turned bright as my magic rippled underneath my skin, for once ready to be let out and celebrated. The chant rose to a crescendo and a fierce fury overwhelmed me. Standing on my bare feet, I lifted my hands above my head and waved them like a drunk. Mother Selas’s ever-watching face rose above me, and I felt she smiled, encouraging the ritual. It was all the encouragement I needed. Pointing one of my toes, I leapt into the air and twirled. When I landed again on the rock, I waved my arms and kicked my legs in a frantic sort of dance. The smoke, the herbs were within me, and I couldn’t help my movements.
Indecision and anxiety gave way to madness, and in a distant haze, cheers echoed among the chants. A hand reached out like a brand of fire and touched my ankle. I kicked and hurled myself to the other side of the boulder when another hand caressed my foot with fingers of fire. I danced away only to be met with another and yet another. It was the warrior’s dance, pain giving way to beauty, a reminder that regardless of the tribulations one might suffer, on or off the battlefield, there is always a way forward. Although pain stung me, like the sting of a bee, the memory of it faded after the hands left my body, leaving only a memory and a print, blotchy against my skin. My heart thumped faster in my chest until I thought it would burst, but the light of Mother Selas hung over me, daring me to pause, daring me to stop amid merriment. And then the chant turned to words I understood.
Gods and Goddesses of Labraid.
Grant mercy to our sister.
Guide her along the path of righteousness.
Heed her quest for vengeance.
Give her royal blood the secrets of life.
Let the angel of death fall at her hands.
So, darkness be wiped from the kingdom of men.
Provide her strength to avenge those fallen.
Gods of Labraid.
Goddesses of Labraid.
Protect Aofie's quest.
I pausedin awe and a bubble of hope rose within. I reached out a hand to snatch up their words and hold on to them forever. My fingers grasped nothing and I slipped, hurling headlong down the rock, a cry of surprise dying in my throat.
Strong hands caught me about my waist and returned me to my feet on solid ground. Heart thumping, I looked up into the wide face of Marllar, standing me on my feet among the bodies of the centaurs. He was about my age and one of the youths I’d trained with. Chestnut hair flowed down his back and tonight he wore armor that glinted like gold. He grinned at me, revealing square teeth in his wide mouth. Something quickened within and my chest tightened. Before I could thank him, his hold loosened and others gathered around, steering me to the feasting rounds.
As we walked, the chant changed again, and I knew I’d passed the first test. “Aofie. Aofie. Aofie.” They called over and over again. I raised my fists in the air and hooted, matching the rhythm of the drums. The smell of smoked meats filled my lungs, and I ran, leaving behind the ceremony, my stomach feeling as though it would cave in from hunger. Hooves—the most important weapon of the centaurs—churned the ground in front of me, kicking up the red rusted dirt. I ran with them, excitement tingling in my veins.
Tents dotted the forest. I sprinted past them into an adjoining glade which sloped down into a valley where a ferocious bonfire lit up the night sky. Eyes watering I studied the colors of the flames, blue, gold, violet, red as my hair. They licked up the grass and herbs, for the centaurs rarely burned anything other than what was already dead.
Tables laden with food lined the glade. The tables were much higher than me, standing at a height for the centaurs to reach out and grab food without sitting, something they rarely did. I needed help to reach it but someone had been thoughtful and prepared a plate for me at a shorter table.
Someone pressed a goblet into my hands and I took a gulp. It was wine, bright and sweet, made from the pale grapes. The sweetness coursed down my veins, entered my bloodstream, and filled me with a heady elation. I moved, a warmth buzzing in my belly. The beat of the drums pulsed in my mind, encouraging me to dance again, and my magic bled out in bright colors, erupting into the night sky. I wanted to snatch it back, but the food and drink distracted me. With my free hand, I scooped food into my mouth. Bright red berries, smoked trout from the brook, a hunk of venison from the last hunting party, and perhaps even bear meat. Juice dripped down my arms and the wild cries of the centaurs enveloped me.
The last thing I remembered, as someone pressed yet another cup into my hands, was the light of Mother Selas winking before she retired, hiding under a dark cloud. I thought before she disappeared, she slipped out of her cocoon and pointed with her finger, writing a word in the skies. It burned in my eyes, that one word, and then the drink was there again, sweeping all sanity into the fire.
Chapter Four
The morningof my departure dawned with the fresh scent of mint and the juice of red berries bursting in my mouth. After the celebration, I had one day to prepare, a day which was supposed to be spent in solitude, meditating and preparing for my quest. In all honesty, I’d spent the morning with a pounding headache, nauseous from drinking too much sweet wine. By the afternoon, I’d felt too jittery to meditate and so I practiced the dance of death with my knives, slicing and thrusting. The fact that I was leaving hadn’t truly settled in.
Now, as I dressed, knots of dread and anticipation twisted in my belly. I looked forward to leaving, longed to find my birth mother, and yet, I was nervous to leave everyone and everything I knew. The traditions and routines of the centaurs were second nature to me. What would traveling with constant change be like?
I ran my hands over my clothes. My vest was form-fitting, but comfortable. My skirt was open at the knee, giving me room to run and fight. The muted coloring of my clothes would allow me to blend into the forest. I appreciated the fact the centaurs had given me light clothing instead of the heavier armor they wore. That was restrictive and heavy, which was why the younger ones trained with stones and heavy swords, to teach us to get used to carrying and lifting heavy items. I pressed my lips together as I recalled my training. I’d never be as strong as a centaur. When the centaurs my age could pick up heavy objects and swing them without effort, I still struggled, for I was only human. They never let me forget it either, and I’d grown up knowing I did not have the blessing of strength from the gods.
Reaching for my boots, I slid them over my feet. The material was soft and flexible, and my feet felt warm and protected within. Finally, I reached for my knives and tucked them into my belt. The handles glinted, leaving me wondering if they’d been created especially for me. The centaurs mined precious metals from a stream, and although they had rustic ways of transforming minerals into weapons and armors, the dwarves were better equipped for blacksmithing and mineralogy. Sometimes, a group of dwarves would enter the woods to trade, but those incidents were rare. The centaurs preferred to keep to themselves with a heavy focus on the cycle of nature and becoming one with the gods.
Standing, I reached for a quiver of arrows and a lump formed in my throat. This was the only life I knew. Was I truly ready to leave?
The tent flap moved and Epona glided into the tent, her bulk shutting out the light. She took one look at my face, read my mixed feelings there, and held out her hands. “Aofie. Oh aye, child,” she murmured.
I went to her, blinking hard to keep tears from falling as I buried my head against her stomach. Epona was always there for me, giving me a place to run when the woes of my childhood overwhelmed me. I was the oddity in the Beluar Woods. The young centaurs either studied me like a rare animal, or relentlessly teased me. They tripped me when I walked and played pranks that made them shake with laughter, hiding my practice sword and shield, stealing the stones I collected from the brook, destroying my treasures: the blue-spotted shell of an egg, the white feathers of the eagles that nested near the cliffs, and the red berries I collected because they matched my hair color. When I was upset, I ran to Epona to cry on her shoulder, but she always told me I must be brave. I was different for a reason and one day I would understand.
Soon I learned to stand up for myself. When the centaurs teased me, instead of running and crying, my reactions were unexpected and varied. When they tried to take advantage of my slight build, I found creative way to combat them. Eventually, the young ones began to respect me. Although they’d always be faster, stronger, and bigger, I gained their friendship.
All that work of fighting to belong would be tossed away in exchange for a quest. To discover my life’s purpose. Desire pulsed with me. I had to find my people, search for blood of my blood, whether I was forced or not.
