This is the initial draft of the first chapter. While much of the content here has been previously published in earlier blog posts, I found it necessary to revise and seamlessly weave it together into a chapter spanning 1000+ words that was my goal.
Sitting atop the moss-blanketed boulder, my legs dangle over the ledge as I gaze out over the forest valley. The summer sun warms the ancient stone beneath me, and a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the tall beech trees lining the ridge. This is my peaceful spot, a refuge from the nagging chores and scrutinizing eyes back home.
Birdsong and the rustling of leaves fills the summer air, backed by the steady chorus of cicadas. The rich, earthy smell of soil and moss reaches the nose, underscored by the sweet perfume of wildflowers dotting the forest floor. A hawk circles high overhead, riding the warm updrafts rising from the fields. The shadows cast by clouds drifting lazily across the azure sky dance over the treetops, playing tricks on the eyes.
Closing the eyes, one soaks in the harmony of the birds, the whisper of leaves, the splash of the winding stream. This overlook offers a rare moment of tranquility before responsibilities must be returned to. But for now, the living valley fills the senses, the rough stone warm against skin. A slight breeze caresses the cheek, carrying the valley's verdant exhale to the heights.
Movement in the underbrush below catches my attention. A slender black snake, yellow spots on both sides of its head, slithers into view. Its forked tongue flicks rapidly, gathering invisible scent trails from the still air. The muscles ripple subtly under its glossy scales as it flows through the leaves, focused intently on some unseen target. Its unblinking eyes reflect no emotion, only cold calculation.
A frantic squeaking pierces the silence as a mouse bursts from its hiding place, sprinting for cover. The snake's head whips around in a blur, and it strikes with terrifying speed. Fangs glistening, its jaws clamp down on the struggling mouse with cruel precision. The rodent's shrill cries are cut short.
Transfixed, I watch the snake methodically swallow its prey whole, its neck distending grotesquely to accommodate the bulging contours of the mouse. With eerie patience, the snake consumes its victim. The mouse's body forms a revolting lump inching down the snake's throat. Finally, with a convulsive ripple of its muscles, the serpent pulls the last of its meal from sight.
A primal shiver runs through me at this cold display of nature's indifference. No mercy or emotion colors this passing - just the snake fulfilling its biological role. Life and death balanced upon one bloodstained moment. The mouse will nourish its cold-blooded killer, its existence erased without a thought. Even though I know I am the snake, I can't help but feel for the mouse destined to end up as sustenance.
The shadows are growing long, so I must head back before I'm missed. I taste the rich loam and sweet fruit scent on the air as I walk the winding forest trail. I let my own forked tongue flutter between my lips, sensing what others cannot. This is my secret gift, is it a blessing or a curse?
Shadows getting long and the air was already getting cooler, I know I need to collect the ritual offering basket I left hidden in the shade of the crooked old oak and make my way to the Jormas' cottage before darkness falls. There in the tree's deep shadow, the hamper of offerings for tonight's initiation ceremony waits undisturbed. I carefully gather it up, checking that everything is still in place as mother packed it. The jar and the wrapped packages are still there, no animals or nothing dared to mess with the offerings.
By now Mikael will be going through all the preparations, redying his mind and body for the rites to come. I remember well the terror and excitement that gripped me before my own initiation. The weeks of purification rituals, the long cleaning sauna bathing, the horrible food, all those sour berries and raw meat, and all those constant rhymes and songs that you need to repeat endlessly. Feeling both special and frightened about what was to come.
Poor Mikael has no idea what awaits him tonight. I wish I could comfort him and yet...he must face this trial as we all did, to awaken what dormant potential may lie within. The Jormas speak of great power, terrible costs, and fates intertwining below our everyday lives. Tonight, Mikael will glimpse behind that veil. And like me, he will never view our world the same way again. There are always spaces between what is said and what is known.
Treading lightly so as not to disturb the silence surrounding the Jorma’s old rickety house. And as always I feel the prickle of being watched as the small thatched roof hovel comes into view. The siblings have an uncanny knack for detecting arrivals before seen or heard.
Sure enough, the faded yellow door creaks open and I am beckoned inside by Annalie's clawlike, rheumatic hand, its parchment-thin skin spotted with age. The interior is dim and close, smelling of dried herbs and smoke. Hunched by the fire is Östen, Annalie's even older brother. Though likely nearing a century in age, the siblings are spry and keen of mind.
Annalie takes the hamper from my hands, inspecting its contents closely, while Östen mutters a monotonous song into the flames. The items - blood of a boar, charred rowan branches, bone shards - are ritual ingredients they prescribed. A shiver runs through me as the weight of eons presses down while the siblings commune in unspoken tongues. I've glimpsed the abyssal power they wield, threading fates and shaping destinies. Tonight Mikael will also undergo their initiation into hidden worlds.
Annalie limps over to the boiling iron pot hung over the fire, tossing in the ritual ingredients one by one. The blood sizzles and pops, the rowan blanches the bubbling water, and the bone shards disappear into the unholy soup. I stand uncertainly, not knowing if they require anything more of me. The humid cottage and strange fumes make my head spin. Blinking, I realize suddenly the small kitchen window has gone dark. Hours have passed, though it felt like mere moments. I need to hurry back before midnight, before the ritual.
Not saying anything, walking towards the front door, the warped floorboards silent under my soft steps. The ancient siblings remain hunched over their brew, already lost again in their secret arts. Emerging into the cool forest air comes as a relief. I quicken my pace along the winding path back home, knowing the initiation will soon begin.
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