Beneath the Blood Moon

Chapter Two: Begging Isn't My Forte

- 10 Days -

Nnandi cut across the courtyard in the center of the Ariete Territory, nodded at the bowing passersby, and smiled pleasantly at the Elders who would soon slit her throat.

Sweat beading on her forehead, dripping down her neck, the humidity clinging and mixing with it as she stalked along the path. Dark eyes forward, long hair pulled into a messy, black bun on top of her head, legs and arms glistening in the high noon sun. If she hadn't been so determined, and agitated, the heat would have beaten her back into the central air fortress of the farajah. But there was a mission more important than her comfort.

Late in the night, she felt something stir in her stomach. Not the magik she longed for. But purpose. Nnandi's spirit reawakened in a flicker of passion fueled by fury. She was pissed.

That morning, she threw on her sage green shorts and black tank top, pulling her hair in a rough bun, and laced up her combat boots. She was going to war, and it was hotter than the hinges of hell outside. Dread, determination, she couldn't be sure which, but both fueled her inner fire, pushing her towards a place she'd rather not go. To ask questions she'd rather not utter aloud. To people she used to know.

Sunrays pierced through the sky, slicing large chunks through the heavy clouds above and blanketing everything in a harsh glare. She squinted, swerving around low shrubbery. The trees surrounding the expansive territory were full, lush green and alive with color and birdsong. Offensively projecting a joyful liveliness that taunted Nnandi and the looming weight of death over her. The branches swayed in the breeze, and the treeline seemed to dance in it. Or what could be seen of it.

The House Ariete was enclosed almost completely on all sides, a hidden mecha within the courtyard of a large fortress. White stone walls, filled with glinting windows, surrounded the territory and served dual purpose as protection and housing for the coven. On one side sat the dominion of the strongest coven of the Four Great Houses. On the other, the sprawling, neon cityscape of Margo Bay.

The castle-like structure of Valda Cultural Institution and Museum was a stunning piece of architectural history for the city. There was enough money invested and produced by it, and enough safeguards in place, that wandering humans and witchkind were kept at bay.

It formed a giant, unconnected pentagon around the heart of Ariete Territory, where the most powerful, venerated, and influential of the Ariete stayed and worked. This included the Elders Council Chamber, the Sabat Spire, and a few other structures and contemplative gardens that dotted the well-manicured courtyard. And while it wasn't a sprawling expanse that stretched on into the sunset, it always took Nnandi forever to make any progress forward through the greenspace.

She tugged at the hem of her tank top, flapping it in a feeble attempt to generate some air across her slender torso. The sun roasted her from above as she pressed onward as best she could, thriving in the brief snatches of shade from the trees. This would have been so much easier if she weren't stopped every few feet by another salutation and near automated conversation

The usual pomp and circumstance that came with leaving the luxury of the farajah, a rare treat this close to a ritual sacrifice. The entire coven clamored around the Ram, hoping to fulfill their sacred duty to pamper and praise those to be slain. In return, they'd receive an ounce of relief on their conscience, Nnandi assumed.

She did her best to sidestep the onslaught of well wishes and good intentions that came rushing towards her as she marched toward the Menhir Court across the way. But her best wasn't nearly enough.

"How do you fair?" A voice called from the side, in that painful, monotone manner of speaking. There was nothing natural about this. Nothing natural about how they were forced to ask her every few feet. What more could she need from one step to the next?