She felt blessed, like the Stars themselves had granted her this. There was no limit, no rules or constraints. She was boundless; she was home, safe and secure in his unbreakable embrace.
~
Shackled in an abrupt and demanding upbringing, Althera is...
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Zephyra Wystealle of the Westwind Tribe stood, clearing her throat. The fur cape hanging from her shoulders cascaded down in waves behind her. Each face in the crowd below gazed up at her expectantly, silent. She spotted her mother amidst them, her thin features glowing in the sun. She averted her eyes.
On either side of her sat Kannto and Netrima, her brother and sister. Kannto was a toned, muscular man, and as tall as the tents erected on the grassy fields. Throughout the years, his hair had grown to his hips and he wore it in a thick, oily braid. Her sister, however, had her night-black hair cropped to her ears. It was easier to fight that way when engaged in battle. A woven band of silver stretched across her forehead, glistening intimidatingly. Neither of them looked at her, their lips pressed together with smoldering violet eyes drawn forward. Zephyra rotated her head back to watch as the sun began to set behind the distant horizon.
It was nearly time.
Beneath the dais the drummers started to pound their instruments. The noise rang in her ears, a beautiful, forlorn melody that danced with the wind. She raised her arms above her head, stretching them as far as they would go. Her fingers scraped the shielding above her seat. The people returned her greeting, their hands cupped and palms out. A traditional way to show respect to their elders.
She glimpsed the shadow of the moon lifting into the sky. The clouds had parted, allowing the glowing ball of light to illuminate the veins of the meadow, shining upon the faces of every person. The night was perfect.
A string of chants flowed from Zephyra's mouth, slithering past the crowd and into the air where it lingered. Her words were repeated, and soon, the open plain was filled with the murmurs of hushed voices. Each one was unique, musical. The ceremonial song began, the dancers shimmying onto the stage in satin clothes. Their faces were concealed by masks spun from the thinnest strands of silk. They were white, meaning hope and purity.
The chanting came to a stop, and silence fell once more, enveloping the people who surveyed the lithe, graceful swaying of the dancers. Zephyra perched herself on the seat behind her, dipping her head back to glance at the moon. It was high in the sky. A good sign.
Collected whispers of delight passed through the crowd as they looked upward. A swarm of Quenizae were soaring through the air, bright amethyst wings puncturing the night. They were the cherished birds of royalty and granted fortune and courage to those who were in need. They would not fail tonight.
Her source had told her this very night was the right time to make her first move. The first move that would be able to change all. She would only need to gather the other three tribes, and they would be unstoppable. Everything she'd been working toward would come true tonight. Her dreams would become reality.
The singing and dancing continued on as she sat back, her fingers folding together in her lap. Her siblings remained unmoving, and her mother was still staring at her from within the throng, eyes wide and impatient. She would be proud of her daughter after tonight. And she was going to admit it.
~
Colored flags dangled from lines fixed to the tents. It was the traditional way to send someone off. Especially when they had a long journey ahead of them. Zephyra saddled Xenta, her majestic black mare. The great beast leaned into her touch as she looped the leather straps around its neck.
She'd picked Xenta up from the icy Kitrine Mountains when she was just a child traveling with her tribal elders to collect rare herbs and other forms of medicine to last them through the winter. The foal had been injured during a snow slide and deserted by its family. It was lying in an empty cave on the side of the mountains, frozen and motionless when Zephyra arrived.
But its life was saved after she brought it back to camp, pleading the healers to treat the wounds. When the animal had recovered, they were inseparable, spending private nights on secret rides over the meadows. Xenta was the wind and blended in easily with the shadows around.
She stroked the head of the mare, running a hand through its dark mane. It snorted, rearing its head, hooves clattering against the soft ground. Sharp, steady brown eyes gaped at her through the horse armor fastened over the hide which had been fashioned by the experienced blacksmiths.
"Aekka, your people are ready," her servant informed her in a thick accent. Zephyra grasped the reins, silently beckoning to her horse.
She thanked her with a nod. The girl scurried away.
She strode out of the tent, lifting the flap for the stallion. It nudged her shoulder before raising its head, sniffing the air. It was thick with tension, and Zephyra could smell the bloodthirst stirring in the atmosphere. But the night was still young - there was much to come.
Gathered about the center of the field were the same crowd of people. Men, women, and children all spun around when she marched out in her flashing armor, a sword bouncing at her side. She'd swept her long hair up so it wouldn't be a nuisance when the time came.
"I thank you all for being here." Her voice rang out clearly, mixing with the whistling of the wind. "We have been enslaved in these plains for far too long. Our children need to see the world, learn for themselves what the truth is." A mother's cry of encouragement resounded in the air.
Zephyra drew a breath.
"Tonight will mark the end of our confinement," she continued. A chorus of cheers erupted from the group. Their eyes were bright with fierce determination. "We shall break through the chains that hold us captive and show them we are not weak!" She fought back the tears. "Because on this very night, we ride to victory!"
For all the people who had died fighting for what they believed was right. For all the power, the light, the magic, which had been wiped completely from the lands. For all the creatures the plants, which have wilted because every last drop of life was sucked away from the ground.
Shouts, yells, and shrieks resonated in her ears. She was panting slightly, watching in amazement as each person screamed out their rage, expressing whatever emotions they'd been caging up inside of them for these long years. One man battled his way to the front. He wore a dark blue tunic - the sacred color of the tribe.
"I wish you a safe journey, Aekka." He bent on one knee, lowering his head. Others followed his actions, sinking onto their haunches before her.
Zephyra's brother and sister came to her side on their horses. They were dressed in leather and steel of good quality, deadly weapons of bone and metal hanging from their hips and strapped to their backs. The crowd hooted supportively, fists punching the air. She guided her warriors to the edge of the plains where the longest stalks of grass grew.
As the moon gleamed with a knowing smile, the Queen of the Westwind Tribe mounted her night-black mare and rode into the night.
