Clayton looked back down and saw his family gathered around the inner circle, and several outer groups surrounded them with members of his and other tribes. They were chanting a familiar tune used in the ancient ritual.
Clayton waved to his younger sister and brother, and they eagerly waved back.
Clayton’s father, Tarson, rose. As he stood erect, the chanting halted. His eyes grew dark, and he lifted his hands to the towering ceiling as he addressed the tribes.
“Fellow tribesman, we stand before you today, as we have for generations, to welcome my son, Clayton Cole, to ascend to his vampire-hood!”
Cheers echoed over the steep canyon.
Tarson looked around and beamed with pride as he gazed upon his son for a moment. His attention turned back to the tribes. “All of you who are standing here today have bore witness to our other tribesmen in celebrating their ascension. I only wish my great-grandfather and father were alive to see!”
Tarson thought of the battle with the other smellers that killed some of his lineages. He shook the memory away. It took him a few seconds to regain his composure.
“Now, in accordance with the bylaws that have been handed down orally since my grandfather, we will start the ceremony!” Tarson roared.
Tabatha squirmed where she stood. She hoped Clayton would go through the ceremony without complaint. Her son questioned everything.
Tabatha noticed a distant relative look at her, but couldn’t remember her name. Tabatha politely smiled despite the trepidation she felt inside.
She shivered. The next part of the ceremony was vital.
“As you know, my tribe has difficulty bearing children. To have three children was a gift from the gods!”
Praises reverberated from the walls of the vast room.
“As per part of the ceremony, I must ask, does anyone object to my son’s ascension?” Tarson asked coldly. Tarson expected no resistance, and none spoke up. No one dared to. No vampire in their right mind would deny his son ascension. Being an archetype had its perks, Tarson mused to himself.
Tabatha sighed with relief. She had heard the rumors circling the tribes of Clayton not fitting in the vampire’s world and hoped no one would question her son’s ascension. Tabatha knew, with certainty, Clayton needed to ascend because he was a thinker and not a being that would play by the rules. Changes were coming, she knew, and Clayton was the vampire that could make the necessary changes. Her younger son, Milas, and her youngest daughter, Beatrice, would not. They were followers, not leaders. She came out of her daydream when she heard her husband speak again.
“Clayton, come to me!” Tarson demanded.
Clayton’s long dark hair bounced up and down as he sprinted to his father. The tribesmen let him pass as he stood next to his father.
“As in the oral traditions of the past, I will ask you only once; Clayton, my eldest son, do you agree to ascend to vampire-hood and forsake your former life as an in-betweener?”
Clayton felt a sense of pride as he scanned the room. He could feel the electrifying atmosphere. “I do! I so swear it!” He gazed around and witnessed the joy coming from his mother and father.
Tabatha’s apprehension vanished when the clapping of her tribesmen’s fists into their palms rose in chorus.
Tarson acknowledged his tribe’s reaction by smiling for a moment. Then a change came over him. His eyes grew even darker, and his posture stiffened.
“It is time to talk about the rules of our tribe, Clayton! These rules apply to everyone, and they will ensure our survival.” He looked at Clayton to make sure he had his attention.
“First off, you are never allowed to kill one of your own types, but if threatened, you may kill other types of vampires.”
“I don’t understand, father,” Clayton said in earnest.
Tarson looked at his son with seriousness.“The rules are clear, Clayton.”
“I understand that, father. What I don’t understand are the other types of vampires you mentioned.”
A sudden understanding came over Tarson. “Ah, the different types. When you feed, you can not only feed on a human with sweet-smelling blood but any other smelling human.”
“Sweet-smelling blood?”
“Yes. There is sweeter smelling blood, while some are saltier, and still, others are sour. One type had a bitter taste.”
“Isn’t sour and bitter the same thing, father?”
“No. Sour is like some yellow fruits, while bitter is similar to the broths your mother makes. But don’t worry. Once you attain vampire-hood, you’ll be able to smell the different types of blood.”
“How could you tell unless you drank their blood?”
“Once you become a vampire, your senses will emerge much more robust and potent than humans! You will be able to smell which kind of blood the other vampires have and, more importantly, what type the humans have.”
“What happens if a salt smeller, a bitter smeller, or a sour smeller took our sweeter blood?”
Tarson looked at the crowd. “My son is asking important questions before his ascension! To those that will eventually ascend, take notice!” He returned his attention to Clayton. “They would die a painful death because the types of blood are mismatched. Even though our tribe is small, we can take blood from any human, and because of that, we are far stronger than the other tribes. That’s why the other vampires have hunted us throughout the ages. However, we are at our strongest when we feed upon the sweet-smelling humans.”
“Honey, enough questions for your father. We have a ceremony to perform,” Tabatha said in frustration.
Tarson put up a hand. “It’s no bother, wife. He is learning. Other tribesmen have had similar questions in times past. Clayton’s questions must be answered before the ceremony continues.” He looked at Clayton. “Any more questions, son?”
“Yes, father. Don’t some humans become vampires?”
His father’s eyes grew tighter. “Yes, although we sweet smellers, do not partake.”
“Why not?”
“Because it decreases the purity of our tribe!” Tarson spat.
The tribe acknowledged Tarson’s statement by the robust
