The feast for the Goddess of War, Miria, was being held for our win in the north to honor her for aiding our soldiers. There would be dancing, food, and drink as well as a lantern-lighting ceremony for all the ones who had sacrificed their lives for our tribe after a sacrifice of the caught soldiers was made to honor the goddess.
Seda, my sister, mixed a purple paste for me out of berries to wear to the party. It tickled slightly as she painted me in war paint. All men of the tribe would do this- even the Raksheesh - to honor the goddess.
"Purple?" I asked her, slightly disappointed.
Red was Miria's color if I remembered right. My sister sighed, looking slightly upset at herself.
"I don't have time or the money to try to make a red paste," she whispered. "Besides, purple is her husband's color- the God of Chaos. She will still accept it."
"It will still be fine," said my father. "Not everyone will have red war paint. Some will bear her husband's color of purple and even yellow to recognize Temille-- the god of them all, the God of Balance."
Seda beamed and I felt bad that I had complained or said anything. It was the first Feast of the Gods I was allowed to go to for I was finally old enough. I just wanted to fit in for one night. I felt her continue painting me in demonic text that would represent Miria before she helped my father. I looked in the dusty mirror at all the swirling patterns on me. I stood tall picturing myself a little older. I had always admired the Scortha, Ari and Bjorn, and if my marks were black, I would look just like them.
Ari and Bjorn were twin brothers who fought with the strength of ten men. They had been Raksheesh, like me, born of lesser demons and were now retired and seen as gods among my people. They were in their late thirties now with wives and children. The king held them in high respect.
My father touched my shoulder.
"Ready to go?"
"Aye."
I hoped they would be there. I wanted to meet them in person and see if Bjorn really looked like a bear. Out of the two brothers he was the one I admired the most. There were rumors that during battle, he was known for not even using a weapon.
You could hear the music playing throughout the whole tribe. Heavy drum beats filled the air and shook the earth in celebration of Miria. My heart raced faster in excitement. As we neared the center of our tribe, I saw other men wearing different colors just as my father had said. Some had a singular tattoo on their shoulder. What was its meaning? My father must have seen what I was looking at.
"Those are god markings. They were handpicked by the gods. A swirling flame is Ander, a sword is Miria, and a scale is Temille and so on. Every god has their own mark."
I looked at the man awestruck. I couldn't believe it. God's marked us? Did they ever choose a Raksheesh?
My father led me on and soon we were midst of the celebration. There was a roar of talking that the drums masked from being unbearable. The drums stopped all at once and the talking ceased.
"Welcome, all, to the celebration of Miria!" boomed a voice.
I couldn't see over all the adults, but I guessed it was my king and I got even more excited. The king was speaking to all of us. Even the Raksheesh.
"Let the celebration commence!"
The drums began playing again and my father and I danced in time to the music. The stamping of feet was almost as loud as the drums. For hours we continued until sunset when food was served and I collapsed onto the ground beside my father, eating the boar meat hungrily.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked tiredly.
"AYE!" I exclaimed and he smiled.
That's when I saw Bjorn and I stuffed the remaining meat in my mouth and took off to talk to him. My father said nothing as he watched me run off. I guess he knew why I had got up and knew I would come home eventually.
"Scortha!" I called excitedly. "Scortha Bjorn!"
He turned, looking down at me.
"I'm Ari, little one. Who are you?"
Ari? The man was very muscular and tall. He looked like how they described Bjorn. His hair was all cut short to his head except for at the back where he had grown it into a long, thin pony tail. His jaw was taut and all of him was completely covered in Scortha tattoos that were beginning to fade. Some of the tattoos were ruined from thick, white scars that stood out against his bronze skin.
"I'm Jaspen ap Thekros," I said timidly. "My father made your long sword."
He smiled, gently kneeling to my level. "Do you want to meet my brother?"
"Aye, please, Scortha Ari!"
He chuckled, standing up and offering me his hand. "So I don't lose you in the crowd."
I took his hand awkwardly. I wasn't used to holding my parents' hands at all. He weaved through the crowd, always careful not to lose me, and soon he stopped towards the edge of the village.
"Brother, I brought someone to meet you."
How I ever thought Ari was his brother stuck me as impossible. Bjorn was a bear of a man. He dwarfed his brother in comparison. As he walked over to me, I mustered all my strength so as not to be afraid of him.
"And who are you?" he asked.
"Jaspen ap Thekros," I said.
He smiled. "Nice to meet you."
"You as well!" I said excitedly.
The only difference between Ari and Bjorn was that Bjorn was a head taller and his hair was grown out long. He also had a scar under his eye.
"Do you want to be a blacksmith like your father?"
I shook my head. "I want to be a Scortha like you!"
Bjorn's eyes clouded for a moment and he stiffened. Did he regret being one? Just as quickly, though, he ruffled my hair.
"Train hard, Jaspen, and you might get your wish!" he said encouragingly. "Ari, you should probably take him back to his father now."