A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

The only difference was, for the shadows, their robes were their whole identity. It covered every inch of their body. Beam had not even been able to see whether they wore shoes or not. Nor had he been able to see their faces. They had drifted across the earth like phantoms. The memory was enough to give Beam chills by itself.

Merely on appearance alone, he could not deduce that the Elder was indeed involved. But he could not shake that terrible feeling of foreboding he saw when he looked at the man. He studied him closely now, as he walked. He lumbered along, with that staff of his, making a show of his slow movements, every step seeming to take all his strength.

But as he looked more closely now, Beam thought his movements to be exaggerated, to the point of unnatural. He found himself thinking that the Elder was surely fitter than he made himself appear.

He had a silver chain hanging over his neck, and loose-fitting dark grey robes, more like what a priest would wear. Perhaps it was fitting then, that he would be the one to lead this ceremony.

The children came behind him, each of them carrying a small box. They had sombre expressions on their face, struggling to hide their lack of heart. Beam's heart ached to see it. He wondered if he'd looked the same, back when he had first been enslaved.

He looked to check Lombard's reaction, wondering if the nobility would have anything to say about these children, with silver collars around their neck, mimicking that of their master. But the Captain seemed unmoved. He barely even glanced in their direction.

As the village Elder drew nearer, Beam could make out humming coming from the party of people. The crowd heard it too – and they soon quietened.

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It was a steady hum. Hummmm… Hum… Hummmm. One long drawn-out hum, followed by a short hum, followed by a long one again. It seemed ominous. Whereas a long hum seemed more meditative to Beam, the inclusion of the short one made it feel more like a battle cry. It provoked nervousness in him.

He saw the hairs on his arm stick up. He wasn't sure if it was the cold giving him those goosebumps.

The children, the Elder, those ominous servants of his, they all hummed their eerie song, drawing ever closer, with slow and deliberate steps. The crowd parted silently to let them through. Some even joined in the humming, as though hypnotised, but most simply remained quiet, watching the affair with wary eyes.

The village Elder ascended the steps of his platform once he was close enough. Beam noted that the old man had no trouble with the steepness of those steps, despite that act of weakness that he put on.

With his platform being as small as it was, his servants gathered around it, with the children in the middle, holding their parcels, and One and Two at either side of them, as if to guard them.

The Elder tapped his cane three times for silence, though the crowd had already gone silent long ago.

"Winter has arrived," he declared, matter-of-factly, not in the tone one would usually expect from a speech, but more similar to a man staring into the flames of a fire, late into the evening, talking to himself. Indeed, it seemed as though that was what he was doing – as though the Elder was merely talking to himself, and they had the misfortune of overhearing.

"We had been bathing in the light of the summer months for too long – now comes again the time for the world to return to the darkness, for us to pay what we owe, for us to become subservient to that which is above us, so that we might reach for greater light," the Elder said.

Beam thought his words to be odd, but as he glanced around, he saw no reaction from the villagers. Their heads were lowered respectfully, like they were praying.

"The Dark Gods that we fear, it is they that own these winter months, where Claudia's reach does not extend. It is they that govern how harsh the winter snows will be, how many of our children will die before spring. And it is to them that we must beg for mercy, that we must offer sacrifice to, in the hopes that they will spare us the harshest of treatment."

"There are many Dark Gods that wander through these winter months, but we, the weakest, the old and the infirm, we dare to take our chances with the strongest of them. We call upon the Master of Despair, the King of Darkness, his Dark Lord Ingolsol, ruler of the Seven Nights. We pray that you do accept our sacrifices," the Elder intoned.

At the mention of Ingolol's name, Beam looked around in alarm, almost assured that such a thing wasn't normal. But it was only the nobility who looked the slightest bit off-put. Lombard was wearing a heavy frown as he glared at the Elder, whilst Tolsey looked white as a ghost, as he was glancing at Lombard in the same way that Beam was stealing looks at everyone else.

"What is it, Beam?" Nila whispered to him, just quietly enough that only he could hear.

"Ingolsol – praying to him – is that normal?" He inquired.

Nila tilted her head. "Is it not normal elsewhere? We've prayed to Ingolsol for as long as I can remember. He's one of the few Dark Gods capable of affecting the physical world directly, right?"

Beam said nothing. It didn't feel right to him, but yet the ceremony continued, with no one but him and the nobility feeling that something was even the slightest bit off.

"Sacrifice," the village Elder said once more.

At the repetition of his word, one of the Elder's serving girls – Beam couldn't tell whether it was One or Two – jabbed a little boy in the arm, indicating that he should start moving. He looked up at her slowly, a confused and dazed look. But after a moment, he seemed to understand, for he unwrapped his package, and revealed a wooden box.