Vyraja raked her clawed fingers through the soft leaves beneath her, their chill damp penetrating her skin. She breathed in the sacred earthy tones of the goddess, the great huntress of the forest. This was the day she’d dreamed of her whole life, when her childhood ended and she earned a place among the tribe’s adults… or would die trying. It should have been a great day; instead something was unnerving her. Something deep and foreboding. She could not say what it was, but it clung to her like the mist-soaked bear skin she wore.


    She looked towards the hometree, the giant oak, Zoryvyn, from which their shaman would soon come to start the Trial of Vyra and offered a silent prayer to the goddess for guidance. “Great huntress, Vyra, I ask your blessing on this, my day of proving. Send me a beast, ferocious and powerful, whose venomous claw and fang might test me. I will face it with nought but your blessing: no weapon, no clothing, no companions. If I am worthy, show me the path you choose for me in this life and the next. If I am not, then I pledge my body to the forest, to feed the beast you select.”


    Around her, the sounds of the tribe waking stirred the air. Campfires were lit for the morning meal. Bearers brought water from the nearby stream. Elders and hunters planned the day ahead. Occasionally, the cry of someone controlling an unruly child rang loud. Yet none of them approached her. Before the trial, she had been a child—seen and loved, but without purpose. After, dependent on her vision, she would be a hunter, speaker, shaman… or one of the unmarked, serving the tribe’s most basic needs. But until then, she was neither one nor the other. She did not exist. No one would see her until the shaman called her into being.


    She knelt alone in the gathering place and breathed deeply, trying to focus. The forest felt still, the earth steady beneath her knees—but the dread in her chest refused to fade. It wasn’t fear of death; she’d been taught to welcome that as part of the sacred cycle. It wasn’t fear of her future, either. Vyra would place her where she belonged. So why did it feel as though something was wrong? The more she struggled to understand it, the more worried she became.


    Her twin brother, Radek, should be here with her - his trial too was today. Yet it was only required that they be present by the time the trials began. She knew her brother. He was a good person, but a bit too playful when seriousness was needed. She pictured him laughing with friends or flirting with the young women of the tribe, stealing one last moment of joy before the trial. It brought her comfort to think of him that way, but it wasn’t enough to banish the shadow clinging to her thoughts.


    Vyraja turned back to prayer. “Vyra, great huntress of the forest, guide my feet to your chosen path. Let me face the beast with honor and joy, and may my fate be your will…”


    “Still praying, sister? Wasn’t all of last night enough? I think the goddess has heard you by now.”


    Vyraja opened her eyes and turned to see her brother enter the gathering place. Like her, he wore only the sacred fur of a forest bear. Just enough to cover them from the elements before their trial began. He was taller than her by a hand and a half, and sturdier too, but he had never had quite her pace and agility. When they played together, she generally came out on top.


    Radek ran a hand through his hair, his tresses a darker shade of green than her own, and she noticed the feathers and bones tied there.


    “What are you wearing, brother?” she said.


    “Just the bear fur like you.”


    She shook her head in warning. Much as she loved her brother, this wasn’t the time for his flippancy. He paused as his fingers fiddled with one of the charms.


    “Oh, these?” he said. “Just a gift or two from Lenyra and Velya to wish me luck in the trial.”


    “You know you cannot wear them,” said Vyraja. “We face the trial clad only in the blessing of the goddess until we return as adults, remember?”


    “Sister, I don’t think the goddess wastes her time counting every bead, bauble and feather,” Radek protested, sighing as he slowly began removing the charms. “Besides, if you want to talk about blessings, Len and Vel have shown me plenty…”


    Vyraja shook her head, unsure whether she was pleased or annoyed by her brother’s playfulness at such a sacred moment. In truth, it was usually a bit of both. “And by all accounts, they already think you’re a mighty hunter, brother. You may be of age, but perhaps you should wait before acting like that with too many women.”


    She could understand why people would find her brother desirable. His bark-mottled skin was a little darker than hers and had some of the most beautiful patterning among the males of the tribe. His golden eyes shone like the sun - bright and sensual. When he returned he would have no problem finding willing mates, even if he was unmarked by visions. This, however, was not the time.


    She scowled as she felt the wariness take her again. “You should join me in prayer, brother. Today weighs our fates in the balance.”


    “Why so serious, sister?” asked Radek.


    She looked at him and frowned. “Radek! It’s our trial! Our life path is set today!”


    He stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ve trained for this. By the end of the day, we’ll be celebrating with the tribe, sharing our visions and trophies!”


    “There’s death in the air!”


    Vyraja didn’t know where it had come from, but she’d finally said it.


    Radek paused, his humor deserting him for once. This wasn’t the kind of thing he expected her to say. “What do you mean? We’re strong enough that we will succeed in our trials, Vyraja. No forest beast will defeat either of us, you know that. Certainly not you. Your very name means ‘Daughter of the Goddess’!”


    Her thoughts raced, piecing together the strands. “What do you hear, Radek?”


    He paused. “Just the tribe.”


    “Exactly,” she said. “The birds don’t sing. The forest beasts don’t speak. The leaves don’t whisper with the breeze. It’s like the very air itself is dead.”


    His face softened with sympathy as he squeezed her shoulder. “It’s her, isn’t it? I heard you praying about her last night.”


    She glanced through the forest towards where the killing tree lay hidden. He was talking about their older sister. Vyraja had been closer to her than she even was to her twin. Her trial had been five autumns ago and the tribe had expected much of her. When she returned, however, she had lied about her vision… and been killed for betraying the goddess.


    “No, Radek,” she said. “It’s not that. I made my peace with what she did long ago and only prayed for her forgiveness last night that her soul might find peace. No. Something feels…” There was only one word. “Wrong.”


    A quiet rhythm drew their attention. The drummers had started the build up to the ritual. It began with a steady beat from the stone drummers of the unmarked. Soon, the hunters joined with their log drums covered by beaten hides. The domotkar, the tribal magic weaver who crafted living plants into the tribe’s homes, added the airy rhythm of his seed rattles. That only left the yedver, the spiritual worker who enhanced the poisons used in the hunts, whose bone flute brought the dance of life to the ritual. All around the edge of the gathering place, the tribe greeted the coming trials. Normally, the shaman-to-be would add their voice to the rhythm before Voice of Zoryvyn, the shaman himself, came from his home to begin the rite, but no trialist had been granted the vision of the hometree since the old shaman died twelve winters ago.


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    Radek shook his bear fur from his shoulders and reached down to take his sister’s hand. “It’s time,” he said. “Let your fear fade, sister. Voice of Zorovyn approaches.”


    Vyraja smiled at him. He was right. Whatever happened now had already started and she could only rely on herself and her goddess to ensure that she succeeded. She let the fur fall from her as she stood beside her brother and turned towards the approaching shaman. Both now naked, there was nowhere left for anything but the truth. The power of the rhythm increased as the rest of the tribe gathered around them. Still they would not see Radek and Vyraja, mere spirits while the goddess assessed them, until commanded to do so by the shaman. For the first time, Vyraja felt a tremor in her brother’s hand as he squeezed hers tightly. She glanced at him, surprised to see his golden eyes flicker with uncertainty. Radek, always so steady, so confident, was afraid.


    “It will be fine, Radek. I was worrying over nothing.” She hoped she could believe that herself.


    Vyraja felt her heart beating with the rhythm of the drums, excitement growing as she affirmed her faith in the goddess. The sound built, engulfing them like a solid wall of nature’s power. Around the outside of the gathering place, the tribesmen chanted as the woman danced; together bringing the power of the goddess’s creatures into the ritual. The beasts Vyraja and Radek would face lived in that moment and they each offered thanks to Vyra for what was to come.


    Then it dropped.


    The drums quieted to a heartbeat as Voice of Zoryvyn stepped from his home in the great tree. The dancing ended as the tribe stood in awe of the man approaching them, his slight stature belying the wisdom and power he wielded. They breathed as one, their spirits in time with his. The leaves of the hometree rustled, heralding the presence of the man who carried its will. Vyraja bowed her head as she saw him. A memory came unbidden of her sister’s failure. At first she’d thought the shaman had been the liar when he declared her vision false. But Vyraja had been a child then. Now she knew she had been wrong. The shaman was truth.


    In the distance, Vyraja heard a single bird sing, its voice light and fresh. She smiled as her fear lifted.


    The shaman raised his hands, spreading his arms like the branches of the hometree. “People of Zorovyn, two spirits stand before you. You knew them in childhood as Radek and Vyraja, the one boisterous and adventurous, the other dedicated and reverent. Soon they will rejoin us to take their place as adults of the tribe. You may feel you know their path. They may desire to join any one of our sacred groups. Yet our expectations and dreams mean nothing. It is only through the Trial of Vyra that they will receive the vision that seals their future; whether shaman, speaker, hunter or even unmarked. They will stride into the forest, each finding there a beast the goddess provides to test them, mighty and poisonous, a creature they must defeat armed only with their faith in Vyra’s will. And we must trust in her will too, for history has shown that this is the way our people thrive. But we can give these spirits our blessing as they go. Bring forth the hunting paints! Let us decorate them in the image of the forest kin that they may draw strength and guile for the trial ahead!”


    The drumming began again. This time, slow, a simple rhythm to mark the passing of time. Four of the tribe stepped into the gathering place, each pair carrying a bubbling pot of liquid between them. Brushes made of split branches and leaves hung at their waists. They stepped in front of Vyraja and Radek and set the pots on the ground before them. Slowly they dipped the brushes into the liquid and raised them to the twins’ faces ready to begin applying the concoction.


    Vyraja took a sharp breath to prepare herself. The hunting paints, a sacred mix of venom, thicksap, and vision-inducing mushrooms, would soon cling to her skin with the sting of spiritual magic.


    The pots had been heating in front of the yedver’s hut all night, binding the elements together into the mix that would dress her entire body in the patterns of the goddess. Even her people’s children had some resistance to poisons, so the brushes used were made of leaves and branches that had stings to scratch the flesh and allow the sacred paint to take effect.


    Her truest friends, Drazhan and Milenka, had been selected to apply the paints to Vyraja’s face. To her side, she was unsurprised to see her brother’s two paramours, Lenyra and Velya, had been chosen as his painters. Voice of Zoryvyn always made sure the ones who would apply the hunting paint were those closest to the trialist - it made their suffering more bearable.Still, as her friends made the first marks across her forehead and she felt the searing heat and the bite of the brushes, she only just suppressed a gasp. Beside her, Radek groaned. At first she thought it was pleasure and rolled her eyes, but then she heard his breathing. He was worried. Next came the marks on her cheeks, down the sides of her nose, and across her chin.


    A trickle of blood stung as the brushes tore at the bump on her neck. For a moment, she felt like crying out, but Drazhan, who had passed his trial several seasons ago, held her gaze with his. Welcome it, he seemed to say. Be worthy. She bit her lip and made no sound. The brushes continued to dig at her as her friends painted the rest of her body, arms, chest, abdomen and legs - her most sensitive parts were not spared - and the seething poisons seared her body and scourged her soul. From a dozen scratches and cuts she felt the blood drip. She focused on the drumming to keep her steady, part of her wishing to call a halt to the trial, the rest of her knowing that was impossible. When she could, she used Drazhan’s gaze to give her strength. She had never imagined it could feel like this.


    Finally, it was done. She stood gasping in shock as the world about her took a ghostly tinge. Her spirit felt closer to Vyra’s now. She was ready to begin the hunt


    “And so they are prepared,” said Voice of Zoryvyn as their friends finished painting them and stepped back. “Like so many before them the spirits of Vyraja and Radek are ready to face their trial in Vyra’s deep forest. We cannot guess what the goddess has in store for them, but we can be sure it will be the test they need to find their path. Perhaps they will face a great black snake or a forest spider, giant and menacing. Perhaps the slithering joola monster. Whatever it may be, let us send them off with the raucous motivation they deserve. Drum, my people, sing and dance. Let the energy flow through you and into them.”


    At once the drums rose strong, the shakers and flute joined in. The tribesmen and women began to dance and holler, singing the beasts of the forest to life once more in a vibrant and chaotic cacophony. Vyraja saw them before her; the great and dangerous predators, the small and vulnerable plant eaters, the flying birds, the swimming fish - they were present in the sound and movement of her tribe and her heart sang with joy.


    She took her brother’s arms in hers. Their gazes met and they found power in each other like never before. Throughout their childhood, the twins had been together, never too far for them to call each other whenever they wanted. Now they had to face their greatest challenge alone. Vyraja bent her brother’s head forward towards her and planted a kiss of honor on his crown. He did the same to her and with that they prayed together once more, not for themselves this time but for each other.


    “Leave now, spirits of our tribe to be,” said Voice of Zovyryn, “Leave and fulfill your duty to the goddess that you may return to us with the gift of destiny.”


    The two twins nodded their thanks to the holy man and turned to walk into the forest. Where once leather sandals had protected their feet, now the sting of twigs and thorns on bare flesh was a welcome pledge of their love of the goddess and dedication to her path.


    They reached the edge of the village together and faced each other once more.


    “Strength, brother,” said Vyraja.


    “You too, sister,” said Radek.


    And they turned from each other, striding off to meet their own individual trials.