Eldana nodded.
“Good.” The man said, straightening his stance.
“The first thing you are going to learn today is an elementary protection spell. A good protection spell can be the difference between a long life and certain death. So, you are going to learn how to create a protection bubble using the element of air. I am told you have been able to control the elements since your infancy?”
“So I am told,” Eldana replied.
“Good.” The man replied. “This will be easy then.”
As he opened his mouth to begin giving instructions, Eldana interrupted:
“You did not tell me your name last time, and I still do not know it now.”
The man smiled.
“My name is Sinto, I am going to be one of your teachers. I have taught people like you in the past, and I am honoured to train you as well. With time, I hope that I can help you realize your full potential.”
Eldana smiled.
“Thank you, Sinto.” She said.
Sinto’s lips spread into a big smile.
“Now, you are already familiar with the elements, although you mostly access them in a state of chaos, and as such cannot use them to do things that involve finesse. I’ll be teaching you the control and inner peace required to take these elements and knit them together like yarn.”
Eldana giggled.
“You will find as we go on, that you will not have times for laughter anymore, Eldana. As a young child, you received the mark of chaos and with that, responsibility is given. You have been chosen under so many other children. You need to understand the gravity of it. From now on, Training is your only focus. All you have to do is to learn.” Sinto’s face revealed no expression.
They lay in a row, like stacks of hay, under the cover of the brush. There were about ten of them in number, three adults and seven youngsters. Each of them had eyes fixed forward.
“Now,” one of the men said.
The group inched forward until they reached a berm.
The man who gave the order for them to move had his black hair woven into two large pleats that ran down to the back of his neck. His full black beard was also in two pleats and ringed with miniature gold discs. He stretched his head over the berm and caught sight of exactly what they had come here for.
A family of Warugs. The only thing they had in common with goats was their physique. They had sharp carnivorous teeth, claws instead of hooves, and serrated horns. They usually moved in families of six – the male, a larger female, and their typical offspring of five. They constituted one of the most ferocious beasts to walk the land of the Berserkers, and only a few sought it out as a challenge. Those who succeeded were revered among their tribe.
The leader of this expedition, Biniamin, had chosen the Walrug as his challenge and had come home with the head of the female, who usually had more bite than any in the family. It had been a long time ago, but he still flushed with the feelings he had felt that night as he was carried the grisly trophy shoulder high. That victory had betrothed him the most beautiful girl in the clan. Now it was his son’s turn, and he prayed that he would bring to his house even greater glory. He prayed because he had seeds of doubt in his heart as regards his son’s capacity to operate to the full glory of his bloodline. His son was too care-free, too soft at heart. He possessed none of the rigidity and rigor that had flowed from generation to generation. Biniamin would often stay up at night, gazing into the stars, and question what he had done wrong to deserve such a slight.
Biniamins’ bloodline was one of the strongest of the Berserkers, and as such constituted the royal family. There were five berserker families in the royal clan. Biniamins’ ancestors had ruled over the entire clan for as long as any berserker had histories for. But there was a provision, in their lore, for the chance of kingship to be challenged by any member of the five royal families; the Zelalus bloodline, the ones whose women were as strong as their men. The Whogatas bloodline, the family that chose leaders by brute strength. The Habtus bloodline, the ones that loved to keep to themselves. And the Yohano bloodline, the fastest runners. So far, such challenges had been deemed unnecessary because the current bloodline had proved its mettle. Every generation.
Driven by his fear that the kingship of his bloodline would be challenged in his son’s lifetime, Biniamin had called his son into his private chamber, on the very eve of the ritual. A young Hermon walked in, aware that later that night he would have to choose a challenge for tomorrow, but totally in the dark as to the severe reprimand he was about to receive.
Hermon who had just joked about the Walrug challenge with his friends was stunned when his father asked him to choose precisely the Walrug challenge. It took him a while to regain his voice, and when he did it was lacking in vitality.
“But father”, he said, “I did not envisage this.”
“Life, Hermon, does not throw at you what you envisage. This you will soon learn as you grow older.”
“Father is there not some other way?” he asked.
“You have to prove your mettle to the clan, assure them that you will be a substantial king.”
“But isn’t there…”
“Silence!” Biniamin roared, cutting Hermon off.
He grabbed his son’s head between his large palms and dragged him forward.
Hermon trembled as his father seethed.
“You will not bring disgrace to our family name! You will sit on that throne! Return from the hunt a failure, and you can find yourself another home!”
Biniamin let go of Hermon’s head and
