The chief came over for a "chat" earlier. A nice little get together. His mother made some of her stew. The chief enjoyed it so much. Then it prompted him to ask the boy's mother who taught her how to make it. She hesitated, then she answered quietly. Her husband shifted his eyes to the floor. Taking notice, he quickly shifted the topic.

"The festival is coming soon." He said, his face turning to the boy's father. This was the woman's cue to leave the room. Women weren't supposed to know about the festival from the men's perspective. It was a taboo.

Now if the boy wasn't seen hiding behind the vases (they're huge vases) by his mother, he would have heard what would happen, and maybe ran away from the village the next day.

"Yes, the festival." The father replied, with an uneasy smile. The man never enjoyed the hunts. The running, the sounds, the blood everywhere, on his hands, his weapons, his body, which makes me wonder what it must've felt like to actually-

Be quiet. Wait your turn.

Where was I? Yes, the festival.

The chief noticed the man's face and placed a hand on his shoulder for comfort.

"I know blood sacrifices don't appeal to you. It takes time before you..." a slight pause "get used to it"

"Yes, 55 years of doing this and I'll be fine." It felt sharp, those words, against the chiefs ears.

"I've explained it to you. You know why this has to be done."

"To keep the others in line, just the way we have had it for years. I know this. But why do we have to do it like this? There has to be some other way."

"There is no other way, except this. Our culture has died out because of those people from the land in the south."

The man knew what the chief was talking about. But he didn't agree.

"Anyway," the chief continued on "the reason I brought it up is because of your son. He is 10 years of age, correct?"

"Yes, but-" The chief put his hand up to silence the man.

"He won't have to participate in the ritual the way the others do. I will spare him from that."

The man sighed in relief. His son wouldn't have to ever -

"However, I have a proposition for you, in exchange for sparing him."

The hopeful light in the man's eyes was swallowed by fear.

"What is it?" He almost regretted asking. The chief laughed.

"You look like I'm asking you to kill him! It's nothing like that. No, no, no. I want your son to be in charge."

Confused doesn't describe how the man feels.

"But you said you were sparing him!"

"That is how I plan to spare him. Your son is a gift. He is the product of the rebellion against an archaic system. If he is in charge of the rituals, then we would be starting a brand new era for our people. You of all people know how important that is."

The man didn't respond, his fists clenched. It felt like his stomach was trying to crawl out from his mouth.

"And the boy has to do it properly. He must follow every rule precisely. And failure to do that... you know the consequences."

The chief got up from his wooden stool, not aware of the man's look. Or at least tried to ignore it. He dropped some shell pieces beside the man.

"Use this to get your wife some nice clothes from the market. Her favorite color is red, isn't it?"

"And what if the boy refuses?"

No response. The man repeated his question. The chief chuckled his response as he made his way for the door.

"My brother, you already know the answer to that one."

*

In this land, there are 5 tiers of power that you could be born into. The cream of the crop, the royals, are the chiefs of different villages.  They keep everyone in check, make the rules, that sort of thing. The chaplains are beneath them. They make sure everyone is doing what the chiefs wants, and decide the punishments for those who don't follow the rules. A good number of them make up armies. Think of them as dogs of the military.

The "first classers", or as the proper term dictates, the treasury, take care of the finances in each village. They collect taxes for the "well-being" of the village, specifically the higher ups, and in exchange, get to keep all of their wealth. They consist of merchants and farmers with the largest amount of land.

The working class , better known by the uppers as the first foundation, are your average people. They are common townsfolk; small-scale farmers and merchants, hunters, builders, you get the idea. They make the basis of the structure that is the society. They are just as important as the royals themselves, for if the people weren't there, how else would a kingdom stand?

The last group is an almost forgotten one. They don't even have a name for themselves. The people in this group aren't given names at birth. They are the outcast of the land. After all, the common man is not supposed to associate with beings with almost the same level of class as the animals. They aren't worthy enough to be servants to the royals. They mainly live on the streets, some without clothes, many without money, all without dignity.

Ah, I can see the question in your eyes; why? I mean, there has to be a reason behind this treatment, right? Was it an ancient sin? A curse? A war? Religion, perhaps?

Alas, this is not the time to discuss that, for now I must get to the point.

In this land, the laws, no matter how "insignificant", must be followed. This is to ensure that people are safe, and that there is order. This includes laws that have to do with the you-know-whos.

Like don't interact with them. Ever. Treat them like you would a rabid dog, because who knows what filth they've picked up on the streets.

Well, there is also a social stigma, but I guess it wasn't that important to mention, since no one knows where the rule came from.

Are the pieces coming together now? I hope so, because I need to move on.

*

It was the night before the festival. Dinner had come and gone and the boy was looking out the window. The moon looked like one of his mother's pastries after he'd taken a bite. A big one. He wondered what the moon would look like when he caught wild animals. Would it be pitch black? How would he see? Would he fall into one of his own traps? Would someone else fall into them?

Naïve little boy. If only he knew what the hunt was really about.

I told you to wait your turn.

But at some point she'll have to know, right?

Yes, I'm getting to that.

You're taking too damn long-

QUIET!

I do apologize if I scared you. His voice is loud and irritating. Should I continue? Okay.

He was nervous, like any other 10 year old would be. This was his walk into manhood! He would finally feel like he fit in with the older kids. He would actually deserve the respect he got. He wanted to be treated the way he was because the people knew his strengths. Not because they were sorry for him.

He knew his parents were worried that he might fail. He understood this. He was small. He wanted his parents to believe he wasn't strong. It was strange, he knew, but he still did it.

He never told them that 2 years back, he and his friend caught a she-wolf with only shearing knives. Or how he had left home for a week to just climb the tallest trees of the forest. They were with the chief that week, so they didn't know he never went to the neighbor's house.

He didn't think his parents understood who he was. He didn't want to be a farmer like his father. He wanted to be a warrior. He didn't want to get married or have children like his mother kept suggesting. He wanted to cook like the girls in his tribe had taught him. He also wanted to go beyond the forest. He wondered if there were people just like him on the other side.

Such thoughts would get him killed, he knew. The people would leave the forest when the time came, the chief would say. They were waiting on some messenger of the gods. He thought to hell with the gods (There isn't exactly a hell in their culture, but that's how I would translate the thought). They hadn't helped them at all. Families had lost so much because of the "gods". The priests demand more and more from the people every harvest season. His family is the exception, and for some reason, it felt wrong.

Someday I'll find out, he yawned. He looked at the sky one last time before he closed his eyes.

Someday.

*

Sunset. The beginning of the end. 

The boy watched the sun sink slowly behind the trees and the orange sky fade into dark blue. He knew this was the end of his childhood, the end of his parents coddling him. It was the end of his childhood.

It was also the beginning. The beginning of new times.

The beginning of a time where he would be in charge of his own life! His heart thumped with excitement as he packed his hunting equipment.

But what about the festival? You may be asking. Well it's not...important to the story. Unless HE feels it is.

If I don't get on with it, she'd probably...never mind.

The village men met at the edge of the forest, forming a ring around the chief and the soon to be newly made men. The light from their lanterns grew brighter as the sun stepped back into the horizon.

"Gentlemen!" The chief boomed into the night. Over the distance, the sounds of laughter and singing could be heard. The boy thought of his mother, but that thought was cut out as quickly as it came in.

"We now commence the annual hunt!" Cheers and howls erupted from the circle.

"However, a few things are different this year." Mumbles floated around.

The chief grabbed the boy and pulled him to his side.

"This young one shall lead us into the hunt." The silence from the older men was painful. The chief had a big smile, almost as if he had received applause rather than cold contempt for his bold statement.

The boy felt the tense atmosphere. What's going on? Why am I leading the hunt?

"You all know this is important," continued the chief, "since he is the future of the village. So he has to survive."

"This is playing favorites!" Someone yelled.

"I'm so sorry you feel that way" The chief said dryly. He looked at the boy, eyeing him as a hungry man eyes a plate of meat. Then he turned to the young ones in the center.

"Now, you may be still wondering what the hunt deals with." The young ones looked at one another, their eyes lighting up with joy. This was it. This was their moment.

"Tonight will be a show of strength, wit and valor, a bloody viscous battle, a fight for survival. Tonight, we shall be hunting you." The chief poked at the ribs of one of the young ones as the light in their eyes faded. One immediately started crying.

The boy was confused. Surely the chief was making a jest. Surely there was a mistake. There was no way he was going to be hunting down the friends he grew up with.

"This isn't right." The boy said, pulling away from the chief. "We can't do this."

The chief's smile disappeared. He fumed.

"Don't be daft! This is the way that things have always been done! Did you really think that those who never came back were attacked by some beast? No, this is the way things are done and always will be done! We kill the weak off and-"

"I'll join them." The boy walked defiantly towards his mates. "I won't have their blood on my hands,"

The chief grabbed the boy by his neck and slammed him to the ground. The man rushed forward but was held back by some of the other men.

"Little boy, who told you that you had a say in any of this?" The chief's face was over the boy's own and had a sinister look to it.

Blood lust. The word he is looking for was blood lust.