Prologue 1- Part 1

The yellow glow of the fire, seating in the touch stand, danced on the rough wall and in the eyes of the men, who sat in circles.

Some of the men tilted their heads and studied their fellow clansmen, while others shifted in their seats as if their unspoken words were nudging their troubled heart to leave the place immediately.

Elders of the clan emphasized that what they were about to do was very important, however, the others could not help but bored or feel suspicious.

But, despite the crinkle of disturbance that cloaked the faces of these aging men, none of them left, more like they were afraid to be punished if they attempted to.

They all sat in silence and listened to the voice of the cricket, which was singing melodiously somewhere outside while hoping for the wait to be over.

Crook… Crook… CROOO!!

The cricket continued to sing. The sudden rise of tune made some of the clansmen just smirked while the others could not help but chuckle at the crickets that seem to entertain them to remove their boredom.

Suddenly, two quiet knock strike the hedge of the bamboo door, and everything in the room stood. The aging eyes of the men studied the door, waiting, judging.

When the curtain—that was made from a local mat—flapped open, revealing a hooded figure, everyone held their breath and realized that the meeting was really a big deal and not the usual ones that they have.

It was a wizened old man. He walked in with a cane in his rumpled hand, which supported his tiny little legs to carry his weak weight.

His brown eyes considered the faces of the men who looked at him as though he held the world in his hands and was about to shatter it to pieces. The men he had called was complete except for someone that must be there as well.

“Where is Kichi?” He asked, frowning, his tone laced with disappointment. The lack of response from the people revealed the fear in his stomach.

Kichi was about 40 years old and one of the oldest members they have ever allowed in the circle. He had skipped this meeting again, for fear of being captured by the children of the night, which was only tales and myth.

It was laughable for Kichi to continue believing the things that did not have proof, but the man was so talented that whatever he does could be ignored, sometimes.

Anyway, the old man hissed, he didn’t blame Kichi. He blamed his father, who failed to teach him to become a proper male adult. Kichi could die with his fears, and that could be considered his fate only.

Why should he be worried about a man who would be resting in the comforting arms of his wife?

“That man really blessed for his talents, but he was too irresponsible. Perhaps he has forgotten that he is next in line, after Pa Uta,” Dan said seriously, unable to give away if he was trying to Kichi or just adding salt to the injury.

Dan was from the kingdom of Kiro and, in his early 70s, groused from the right. “Tsk. A really bothersome fellow.” He added, now, the displeasure on his face could boil cold water.

“We might need to reconsider his position. I don’t want someone as, er… informal, in his manners and speech, to lead this circle after I pass away. Let’s continue. We have always survived without him,” Uta, the wizened old man, said and stroked his brow.

Uta leaned on his cane to allow his weight to move to the direction where an empty chair space was reserved for him. His feet wobbled, and he nearly fell.

“Easy, Pa Uta,” Dan said and hurried to help the man to his seat. Uta whispered a thank you to Dan, before letting his walking stick to rest on the wall behind his chair. He murmured something about weak bones, before dropping his goatskin bag behind him.

“Let’s forget about him for now. We all know what is at stake,” Pa Bola said. He was about 20 years and from the Kingdom of Oru, hairy and good looking.

For a man his age, he was oddly hefty and looked like one of the giants’ myths and stories talked about. His deep sweet voice added an angelic grace that will leave every woman longing. His assets have caused him trouble as well before.

“The earlier we do something about it,” Bola suddenly with a loud voice, “the better for our families and us. Our children are dying every day, and our wives and daughters being sold as prostitutes to warm the beds of those barbarians. We must do something and fast.”

The cricket’s voice continued to sing outside as a small silence passed between the circle. Some of them were still having an easy-going time earlier, but when Bola had pointed out their biggest problem, no could take things lightly anymore.

“Our seers have seen.” Uche was the one that spoke this time. You could count the few number of teeth left in his mouth, “But we are as good as dead because unless we do what they predicted, the shackles of slavery will follow our children’s children.”

“God forbid. Not my portion” A man named Ikenna spat as he crunched his knuckles ready to fight.

“Oh, you can make a scene Ike, whose portion is it?” Uche asked, “It is not about shouting God forbid and revolting. If we don’t act, we are doom, period.”

“Will you bring your wife so that she could bore a child who has those accursed powers?” Ikenna asked with narrowed eyes.