Chapter 3 A Tale Of Rituals

• Fyn.
• Panic took over Fyn's mind the exact moment an old woman placed the very same macabre flower crown he had associated with death on top of his head. Thoughts of the endless pain he would experience once he reached the woods crept up in his mind. What if he never got to see the dawn break? What if the demon decided he wanted his death a few steps into his domain? Wave after wave of anxiety kept coming, and Fyn tried his hardest to stop his tears from falling.
• Desperate for some form of relief, he sought every solution. Ignoring it, working through it, using it to fuel his strength. But nothing seemed to work. He even repeated the same rhyme that often brought him comfort, but right now, it was nothing but a jumbled collection of letters. He closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles. He took a deep breath, and then another. When he opened his eyes again, an old woman was looking at him with a worried expression.
• "Don't run away now," The woman reprimanded, lifting his chin up. "Many people are depending on you. It's about time that you become useful to your town, Fyn."
• His lips trembled, "You... you know it's not supposed to be me."
• "The bride is whoever wears the crown," The woman said, her eyes falling on the small white flowers adorning Fyn's curly black hair. It looked like snowflakes. He would have appreciated it if it didn't mean certain death. "There's no one here who's wearing the crown aside from you."
• Averting his gaze, he stared at his wrists. Thankfully, the chief had decided that he no longer needed to be tied down. There on his skin were bloodied red welts. Even with the ointment that the woman had placed there, he could still feel the pain. He let his fingers trail his wrist slowly, flinching from the pain it brought. It felt sore and all he could do was sigh.
• "It's time," He heard Hana's voice say from behind him. With all the thoughts running through his mind at that moment, he didn't even hear her enter the room. "Everyone's waiting to meet this year's bride."
• Fyn had never considered himself an aggressive person. The most he had ever gotten to experiencing something akin to anger was when he realized a raven had dropped pebbles one by one into one of his pitcher jars, allowing it to drink. The day had been hot, and he had been looking forward to drinking from his water jar only to discover there was nothing there.
• He had felt anger then.
• But nothing could compare to the intense pure fiery rage he felt building up inside of him.
• Fyn had the urge to smash something. Preferably porcelain, something that would crack, and would injure Hana's face until her outward appearance could reflect just how rotten she truly was inside. Anger thrummed through his veins. Scowling, he clenched his fists. He hissed through clenched teeth, "You're going to regret doing this one day."
• Hana flipped her hair, looking at her nails, "Maybe one day, but not today."
• Then, with her sharp nails, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him outside. The sun shined brightly, and Fyn looked up, lifting one of his hands to shield his eyes away from the sudden illumination. Adjusting to the light, he looked around. Townsfolk looked at him with curious glances. The sudden attention made him flush. Back at his hut, he had been alone. Their stares felt heavy, and all Fyn wanted was for the ground to open up and eat him whole.
• "Well?" Hana hissed, "Walk towards the platform and lift the torch up."
• He felt her hand push him behind his back and he stumbled forward. Steadying himself, he was sure that if his knees had been weak, he would have fallen on the ground, flat on his face. Gulping, he felt his blood run cold. The path towards the platform where the concave mirror was only but a few steps away. Still, with all that he's feeling, it seemed like it was miles away from him.
• Forcing himself to focus on the platform, he pushed himself forward. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead down to the middle of his back, but he tried his hardest to remain strong.
• At least in his last moments, they would see him as someone brave.
• Even though he felt anything but.
• Especially when he heard the townsfolk murmuring to themselves.
• "Isn't that... a man?"
• "Are you sure the demon wouldn't punish us if we sent him that?"
• "Mommy, why is a man wearing flower crowns. Would the demon want him as a bride? Can a man and a man even get married? Mommy?"
• With each step he took, the closer he got to the platform. Until he was there, at the bottom, staring at the mirror on top of the wooden makeshift stage. Nodding to himself, he takes a deep breath and climbed up, grabbing a torch that the men had prepared. He places it just below the mirror and moved it so that it could reflect and focus the Sun’s rays. Enough to start a fire.
• After a few moments, fire erupts at the top of the torch. Satisfied, he grips the lit torch in his right hand. Following tradition, he lifts it up with his right hand. His eyes falling on every single townsfolk who would become an accessory to his death. When his eyes reached where Hana and the chief were, he narrowed his eyes and stood straight.
• This is unfair.
• Gritting his teeth, he gripped the torch, and with as much strength as he could muster, he threw it to the ground. Just below the conniving father and daughter duo. Hana squeaked, the tips of her long skirt almost burning from the fire. The chief bellowed orders, pointing towards the torch and telling his men to put it out.
• Almost choking on his rage, Fyn barked, "This is unfair!"
• "You!" The chief bellowed, his voice turning into a terrifying octave. "Have you completely lost your mind?!"
• Fyn answered back, "Have you completely lost your mind?"
• Hana's shrill laughter echoed across the village square. It overpowered the gasps and murmurs of the townsfolk. The people of Gashea were strict when it came to following traditions. The mere throwing of the symbolic torch could mean their certain downfall. Fyn couldn't even care.
• If he was going down, might as well bring everyone with him.
• "Y-you," Hana stammered, closing the distance between them and grabbing his hair roughly. Fyn gasped, falling down to his knees. Grabbing Hana's wrist, he tried to pry her fingers away from his hair. To no avail, his body fell more to the dirty ground as she started dragging him through the gravelly pavement. "Breaking tradition, scandalizing this important event, and probably angering the demon. You're just wishing for death, aren't you?"
• Fyn grit his teeth, "You broke tradition first by putting someone else in your place. You should be the offering, not me!"
• "Hah," Hana cackled again, her eyes turning crazy wide. Fyn gasped at the sight, tremors of fear coursing through his body. "If you don't want to honor tradition, might as well not wait for nightfall. Give me the bride's cloaks!"
• Immediately, the familiar cloak entered Fyn's field of vision. The same old woman who placed the flower crown on him had pushed the brown cloak towards Hana's free hand. Fyn could feel the erratic beating of his heart when he noticed Hana was dragging him towards the forest. Tremors started to rattle his body, and he tried yet again to remove Hana's hold of his hair. His scalp was hurting. The girl truly had a powerful grip.
• "Let go!"
• Hana huffed, "No!"
• Before he knew it, the townsfolk started disappearing from his sight. The only ones remaining and following them were the chief and some of his men. He was familiar with two of them, they were the ones that kidnapped him. Before he knew it, Hana had pushed him down on the ground, throwing the brown cloak in his direction.
• "Wear it," She demanded. "Wear it and be proud, demon's bride!"
• At first, he didn't move. He simply stared at the cloak. The same brown cloak that the other brides had worn. The same brown cloak he watched drift through the river behind his lone hut away from the village. He knew the villagers had dozens of cloaks. Still, with the lack of resources, he couldn't help but feel like they might have just stripped down a random corpse and taken the cloak it had been wearing.
• The chief crouched before him, "Are you going to wear it, or do I have to make my men force it on you?"
• Clenching his jaw, he grabbed the cloak and wore it. It felt rough on his skin.
• "I can manage," He spat, standing up, posture straight. "Leave."
• The chief shook his head, "This is the first time we're going to watch a bride walk through the forest in broad daylight. We want to see how the forest would consume them. Now, walk, Fyn. We don't want to throw you there unconscious."
• He wondered if everything had just been a tremendous joke.
• Maybe he was just having a bad dream, and he was still sleeping on his bed, inside the safety of his hut. As the wind blew, sending loose strands of his hair across his cheeks, he knew this was his life. His village has betrayed him, they brought him towards his death, they were going to watch him die. This was happening.
• And he might as well just get it over with.
• Jutting his chin, he lifted the hood of his cloak and wore it proudly. Placing his hands inside the deep pockets of the brown cloth they had just given him. Brave, he whispered softly in his mind, Be brave. With a tight-lipped smile, he turned back to glance at them once and shook his head, chuckling.
• He wished for their morbid deaths.
• Then he started walking, his eyes never straying away from the road.
• It didn't take long for the woods to consume him. The forest looked weird in broad daylight. For a second, he thought he was never in the forest of Gashea. The forest he was currently in looked whimsical, like it was from a storybook. Leaves and vines surrounded the top of his head, insects and butterflies flew all around him in a mixture of vibrant colors.
• He smiled softly. Maybe the demon would ignore him and let him live in the forest in peace.
• A wail echoed in the sky.
• Fyn froze.
• Behind him, he felt a rush of air, followed by a loud thump that shook the earth. Blood drains from his face, and his knees felt wobbly.
• It was behind him. Feeling both dumb and courageous, Fyn slowly turned around.
• And his eyes widened.
• A large man with broad shoulders stood behind him. Haphazardly cut short hair covered its vibrant red eyes. Its chest was bare, and Fyn shamelessly looked at the toned body behind him. Dozens of scars crisscrossed the otherwise perfect skin. Around its waist was an animal pelt hung over gray pants. And over everything was a ragged black hooded pelt.
• "Mortal," Its voice was deep, "Why are you here?"
• Fyn felt something stir inside of him.
• He wanted to slap himself. Blood rushed to his face at the realization.
• It wasn't fear that he felt.