All Hail the Shifter King
Title: Procession of the Willing
Word Count: 487
Crossposted here at runaway_tales
The pounding of the drums grew louder as she returned to the rooftop patio with their drinks, and found Gavin gesturing to her from the railing. "This is why I brought you out here," he said as she joined him, taking his martini with a grateful nod. "You've never seen anything like this, Kitkat, I assure you."
Leaning over the railing, she saw a procession of men and women walking down the narrow street, their bodies wrapped in bands of linen dyed a rusty red like dried blood. She was so used to seeing the locals in their shorts and t-shirts that it was startling to see them in more traditional garb, and the contrast of people in modern clothing wandering down the streets - seemingly oblivious to the dozens being led by the drummers - was disorienting.
"They're beautiful," she said, tapping her fingers against the metal rail in time with the drums, entranced. "What are they doing?"
"It's the Nipora Ki'mai," he told her. "The Procession of the Willing." He sipped his drink, made a face, and dumped half of it over the railing. "It only happens once every six years," he continued, pulling his flask from his jacket and topping the glass off with vodka. "See those ruins out yonder?" He gestured with his drink to the double ring of huge stones on the outskirts of the city, near the border of the rainforest. It was like a Stonehenge of monoliths, a shorter outer ring surrounding an inner ring that clawed into the darkening sky. "Those are what the people call kata-casei, the sun grounds. The Fel'danai believed that when those deemed worthy by the high priests stood there, before the Gods, some would be chosen to shed their skin and become immortal guardians of the rainforest." He toasted the men and women walking beneath them. "So romantic, isn't it? I love their legends."
Katrina smiled and said nothing, sipping her beer thoughtfully as she watched the crowd. While the red-wrapped youngsters were working through way through the city, crossing through the small tourism district and weaving through the residential slums, a fair portion of the rest of the locals were headed toward the ruins. Clapping in rhythm with the drums, their voices soared into the evening sky, a melodic and joyous song that echoed across the city.
"When I was growing up," Gavin said, pulling her from her thoughts, "I would see things like this on television and marvel at how these civilizations could keep tradition alive in the face of the changing world. Back home, we pick up and abandon new ideas every week, but here they are, hanging on to rituals that have defined their culture for thousands of years." He picked at the wooden beads of his necklace, his expression wistful. "Their culture is so unchanged, so certain of who they are. We could learn so much from them."
Word Count: 487
Crossposted here at runaway_tales
The pounding of the drums grew louder as she returned to the rooftop patio with their drinks, and found Gavin gesturing to her from the railing. "This is why I brought you out here," he said as she joined him, taking his martini with a grateful nod. "You've never seen anything like this, Kitkat, I assure you."
Leaning over the railing, she saw a procession of men and women walking down the narrow street, their bodies wrapped in bands of linen dyed a rusty red like dried blood. She was so used to seeing the locals in their shorts and t-shirts that it was startling to see them in more traditional garb, and the contrast of people in modern clothing wandering down the streets - seemingly oblivious to the dozens being led by the drummers - was disorienting.
"They're beautiful," she said, tapping her fingers against the metal rail in time with the drums, entranced. "What are they doing?"
"It's the Nipora Ki'mai," he told her. "The Procession of the Willing." He sipped his drink, made a face, and dumped half of it over the railing. "It only happens once every six years," he continued, pulling his flask from his jacket and topping the glass off with vodka. "See those ruins out yonder?" He gestured with his drink to the double ring of huge stones on the outskirts of the city, near the border of the rainforest. It was like a Stonehenge of monoliths, a shorter outer ring surrounding an inner ring that clawed into the darkening sky. "Those are what the people call kata-casei, the sun grounds. The Fel'danai believed that when those deemed worthy by the high priests stood there, before the Gods, some would be chosen to shed their skin and become immortal guardians of the rainforest." He toasted the men and women walking beneath them. "So romantic, isn't it? I love their legends."
Katrina smiled and said nothing, sipping her beer thoughtfully as she watched the crowd. While the red-wrapped youngsters were working through way through the city, crossing through the small tourism district and weaving through the residential slums, a fair portion of the rest of the locals were headed toward the ruins. Clapping in rhythm with the drums, their voices soared into the evening sky, a melodic and joyous song that echoed across the city.
"When I was growing up," Gavin said, pulling her from her thoughts, "I would see things like this on television and marvel at how these civilizations could keep tradition alive in the face of the changing world. Back home, we pick up and abandon new ideas every week, but here they are, hanging on to rituals that have defined their culture for thousands of years." He picked at the wooden beads of his necklace, his expression wistful. "Their culture is so unchanged, so certain of who they are. We could learn so much from them."