At the very center of Mount Amathet’s summit, carved into a wide bowl, was the Dais, a stone disc fifty strides across. A symbol was etched expertly into its smooth surface; it was the symbol of Karma, the force driving the world. The Dais was used for all of Amathet’s ceremony. It was the largest singular piece of oraculum known, stone that never discolored or held a stain. Stainless stone was important on Amathet, for most of its ceremony was bloody.
The symbol of Karma was represented by two interlocking rings, one dark, one light. The dark represented passion, motivation driving man to create and destroy. The light represented serenity, and the consequence of desire that every man must bear. Where the rings interlocked was a small space, the balance that everything in the world strived for. Only the victors of Amathet’s many duels were allowed to meditate in the center of the Dais.
A boy passed through the Dais, striding across the dark ring. His name was Ezan Voldu’ank, a boy of fifteen years, not quite as tall as the others his age. Locks of wild russet hair reached back along his scalp, baring a youthful face with wide, slightly tilted black eyes, a small nose and a mouth worn in an open snarl. While he was not as tall as most others, the canines of Ezan’s teeth were twice as long as most others, a trait shared between few of the families on Mount Amathet. Together, with the long dagger thrust through his sash, and the purple bruise glaring on his cheek, they made a ferocious visage, not unlike a cornered animal.
The moon touched Ezan’s loose clothing as he mounted the steps out of the center of the bowl. The moon, full and bright as it was every night at that time of the year, illuminated the path before him far brighter than the torches to either side. The snarl never left his face as he advanced toward Amathet’s Great Hall, a large building with stone corner posts and carved logs laid atop one another to make the walls.
The muffled din of shouting men, dragging stools and heavy mugs exploded before him as Ezan heaved back one of the Hall’s tall arching doors. Squinting against the light, he stalked inside, shoulders back and staring hard directly ahead of him at nothing in particular. He forced himself to sit at the closest table before looking up and around. It was a night of celebration, and all around him were large men in merriment, all wearing a huge sword or a long spear on their hips or backs. Beyond them, seated near the back, were the new initiates into the ranks of the men, the victors of that day’s test, and the boys Ezan had grown up with.
A hand closed roughly around the back of his neck and dragged him to his feet.
“You’re not allowed to be in here, Ezan,” Ivro said, not in the familiar friendly way he usually spoke to Ezan. Ivro’s hand guided him back to the door, but he pulled back, breaking the man’s grip.
“I deserve to be here!” Ezan shouted, straightening his back as his words were lost in the celebration of the other men. Ivro was quite tall, and several years older than he, but he tried his best to meet the man’s glazed stare.
“You failed the test of manhood, so you are not a man. Do not disgrace yourself further.” Ivro snatched his wrist and sent him stumbling out of the Hall. One of the other men caught a glimpse of him leaving, and called after him. “It’s not too late to join the women’s ranks! They’re running short of beardless boys!” A gale of laughter was cut off as the door slammed shut.
Ezan felt his face flush as he stood staring at the ground, clenched fists quivering with fury. The ank suffix in his family’s name meant “true blood of the mountain”, but whatever that meant, he did not feel like part of the mountain in that moment.
As if summoned by mention, several women passed by the Great Hall, all with bows on their backs. They looked to him, and then to the Hall, talking quietly amongst themselves. Ezan heard “foolish men,” and “lazy drunks,” and “while we hunt their dinners and defend their walls.” Things he had heard before, and that at times would anger him. At that time, though, he felt like agreeing with them. The men of Mount Amathet were trained for battle with other men, to fight in wars and appease their gods, but never to track and hunt an animal or beast. And as of late, there had been very few wars to fight. Ezan thought he could feel the mountain growing restless, and maybe the gods, too.
His anger subsiding into sullenness, Ezan made his feet work the path back to his home, along the torch-lit path leading to the common quarters. Approaching his family’s dwelling, a single-story house on a foundation cut into a slope, he found his mother, Auriem, checking the arrows in her quiver. She was a stick-slender woman, straight as a board, with pale lilac hair in a long braid. She wore her hunting outfit, brown and beige furs to blend with the earth.
“I’m glad I caught you, child,” Auriem said, squatting to speak to her son. She brushed a thumb along Ezan’s bruise and he flinched back, pushing her hand away. She shook her head passively. “Don’t feel like you need to hold a torch to those men. You are young, yet. You will be strong someday.”
“I’ve waited long enough. I am a man. I just didn’t feel good today, during the test. It’s not my fault,” Ezan said, avoiding his mother’s eyes. “I’m tired of their ridiculous rules and traditions.”
Auriem stood, now two heads taller than her son. She was one of the tallest women on Amathet. “I know how important this is to you, so I’ve arranged a trainer for you tomorrow.”
“I don’t feel like training!” Ezan shouted indignantly.
“You know, if you stopped skipping out on training so much to go lay in a tree, you might actually have done well today,” Auriem said. “I want you in bed. You have an early day tomorrow. I will be back at sunrise.” With that, she picked up her quiver and let her long legs carry her down the slope and away, not looking back.
Now less than ever Ezan felt like fighting, or training to fight. He did not feel like he would ever amount to a warrior, the way everyone else had. Fully grown at fifteen, the year when boys became men, and he could still not stand on equal ground with the rest of them. He walked through his home and to his bed with resignation in his step and sat back against the pillows. Watching the moon through the nearby window, the thought he had been trying to avoid all day crept into his mind. He wished his father was still alive. He was certain the man was a great warrior, and could teach him to be strong. But he could not even remember the man’s face. He soon fell into sleep.