Chapter 2

A Challenge would come when the stars aligned. Nobody really knew how soon that was. Only the Shaman would know, and even he had to wait until the Ancestors told him.

But a challenge was a challenge. The young would fight one another, spilling their blood to determine who was the strongest among all those who went through the Rite.

His father, the chieftain that came before him, and the chieftain before that had all been the greatest warriors among their peers. Therefore, the challenge of the young would determine the next leader as well.

Hakon understood what that meant. He had to emerge victorious in the challenge. It had to be him or…

Or I will never be able to prove myself to my father.

Becoming the next chieftain was a necessity. For his family but also himself. Because he would never truly surpass his father if he did not become a chieftain either.

Hakon had already failed his father too often. One more time, and it would be over. His father would abandon him. Just like he had abandoned Hakon’s mother. Memories of his mother pulled on old scars, but he quickly swallowed the sorrow and pain. As a Barbarian, a true warrior, he had to be strong and resilient. Emotions were for the weak, and Hakon refused to be one of them.

He was strong–or had been. The Rite turned the tide. It weakened him greatly. While the Bloodbearers and Blessed’s physique were already much greater than they used to be, he was the same. Nothing had changed for him. After all, Ancient Powers of the Mind did not reinforce the physique – the most important asset of all Barbarians. It was what they needed the most, for it protected them against the threats of the wilds, be it harsh winters or fierce monsters.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

Ulfar felt more dangerous than before, and so did his followers. Even the Giant Blood warriors were a threat now. The Ancient Power’s strength was one thing. That did not even include the power they would acquire from the older warrior’s teachings. For they too were Bloodbearers and Blessed.

Hakon narrowed his eyes as his senses perked up. Something stirred in the back of his mind, but he discarded the odd sensation when the Shaman’s voice rang out once more, each word resonating with the entire tribe.

“When the silver moon is ripe, Tribe Taskur’s young warriors will fight. Wield the Ancestors’ gift as a blade meant to kill, and grow strong enough to prove they chose right,” he intoned as the tattoos returned to their original places.

With that, the Rite came to an end. Excited, triumphant cheers echoed through the surroundings, and the older tribesmen joined the young. Many gathered around the Behemoth Blood. Most did, and their numbers included the men and women who had been with Hakon before the Rite started. They changed sides, and Hakon could not hold that against them.

Ulfar had awakened a great Ancient Power. Everyone could sense the presence of his power. It was everpresent, and he had yet to use it actively.

“Can you beat him?” Björn asked, the joy of his own awakening momentarily forgotten.

“No.” Hakon answered without hesitation. There were no ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’… Ulfar was stronger.

“You have several nights until the silver moon is ripe. That should be more than enough for you.” Astrid spoke in a manner that didn’t allow rebuttal.

Björn, however, did not recognize her tone and quipped, “Astrid might win.”

Several sets of footsteps rang out from the side before Astrid could punch Björn, and several presences, some tinged with bloodlust, weighed down on the group.

Ulfar greeted them with a smile that could not have been any more predatory as they turned around.

“The Ancestors recognized your worth. Or how worthless you are,” he bellowed, towering slightly above Hakon when he had been shorter before the Rite. His Ancient Power lived up to its legends and provided Ulfar with the strength needed to lead a tribe. He would soon be powerful enough to stand side by side with the older Barbarians and would surpass them. Just like he had surpassed Hakon.

And now it was time to make an example. To show the tribe that he was superior to the man everyone had once called his rival.

“Are you done?” Hakon asked.

He was not that easily swayed. His temper may not be the best, but Hakon trusted the Ancestors. They would not be so cruel as to give him an Ancient Power weaker than Ulfar’s. If they chose the Mind for him, so be it. He would use it to crush Ulfar. To show the tribe that he was more than just the chieftain’s son. Even his father would have to acknowledge him.

Ulfar’s right eye twitched and his face hardened, but he did not stoop to crush him in front of everyone. Not without a challenge. He knew better than to enrage the tribe.

“I will crush you,” he growled and left, his Giant Blood followers spitting “Failure” at him.

Hakon and Björn just stared at the leaving pack and then at each other. Ulfar was no fool, but he certainly acted like one at times.

“Astrid is going to kill them.” Björn let out a laugh as they both turned to look at Astrid.

She couldn’t hear them, her eyes as cold as the fiercest winter, a crimson hue pouring out of her as her Arcane Power triggered subconsciously.

Hakon shuddered, death looming over the group until Astrid finally calmed down.

“The chieftain would not mind the loss of a dozen Giant Bloods, would he?” she asked, a touch too calm.

He shrugged. “As long as you make up for the loss of their strength. So… no, he will not care.”

“Speaking about your father.” Björn had stopped laughing and looked to the side, lowering his head for a moment. “Chieftain.”

Astrid followed Björn’s example, and so did Hakon as he turned to see the chieftain.

His father didn’t grace him with a glance. He offered a nod to Björn, and his eyes gleamed ever so slightly as he looked at Astrid.

“The Ancestors favor you, child. Make use of their blessing. Fight well, child.” His gravelly voice rang in Hakon’s ears even though the words weren’t directed at him. This was as far as the chieftain ever went to praise someone. The words meant little from others, but from him–they were the greatest compliment Hakon had ever heard, and they were aimed at Astrid.

That stung. It shouldn’t have, not after so many cycles, but it still did.

The chieftain turned away and walked back to the hut. While he did not say anything to his son, Hakon knew better than to let his father wait.

“Do you want to hunt tomorrow? Together?” Astrid asked, but Hakon shook his head.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“I am sure your mother will pull you through the Deepshire Cavern Fracture. Even if she doesn’t want you to be a chieftain, Blood Fury changes everything,” he reasoned.

“It doesn’t change much,” Astrid sighed. “The old hag wants nothing more than to torture me.”

The young warriors knew she didn’t mean her words literally. Then again, Astrid’s mother had considered leaving Taskur for cycles, and her voice had grown louder with every season the Shaman did not return to perform the Rite.

Now that her daughter had awakened, that was no longer the case. She had a new project to pour her strength and energy into–Astrid

“Have fun,” Hakon announced and left to follow his father back to the hut.

The chieftain waited before the entrance, carrying a mace and a sword. No words were exchanged, but the meaning was clear when he lobbed the sword toward Hakon.

They walked silently to the back of the hut, where an open field waited–a small area void of greenery. Specks of dried blood adorned the ground, giving it a savage touch. And that it was: savage. What looked like a makeshift arena to spar in was more of a ring of punishment, depending on who looked at it.

“The Tribes are on the move. Unlike us, the Onyr, some of the smaller tribes, and the Pearot retained the Ancestors’ grace. Their warriors awakened every cycle, which the Pearot used to claim some of the smaller tribes. Or destroy them when they didn’t submit. The Onyr will probably submit to the Pearot in a cycle or two if nothing changes,” his father said matter-of-factly while hefting his massive mace.