“That’s ominous,” he said, and Zef smirked, sending him a playful wink.
At the front of the A-frame, between the entrance and the community garden, three bowls had been placed on three iron pillars. Zef led him past them, close enough he could look inside. Sand. Water. Burning coals.
“The sand, to represent the past. Water, flowing and life-giving, as the present. And fire, for the uncertainty of the future, while acknowledging that in the end, every flame burns out,” they explained.
“What are they for?” he asked.
“You will see,” they said mysteriously, and he tugged on the end of a small braid.
They sat close to the front near Toa Sian. An old Mantodea with stooped shoulders and wrinkled skin stood before the bowls, arms spread as they addressed the gathering, everyone taking their seats at the many tables. Food had already been set out, a spread of vegetarian dishes made in all manners of ways. The warm dishes rested on metal plates with little flames underneath to keep them hot.
No one ate, though. They watched the speaker with attentive respect, even the children. The smallest hatchlings cried every so often, and they were passed from adult to adult with no hint at who the birth parent might have been. Even Zef helped, taking a fussy toddler from a tired looking parent across from them.
They trilled deep in their chest, like a cricket chirping, as they rocked the baby in their lap. Since Bryce couldn’t understand the speaker, he entertained himself by playing peek-a-boo with the toddler, but it seemed even Mantodea babies were stoic. They barely cracked a smile at him, staring at him with unblinking, white eyes.
As if Bryce’s interactions with the toddler had communicated something, Zef handed him the baby. With an awkward noise of alarm, heaccepted the eerily serious child, grimacing down at them as they stared blankly up at him, like even at their young age, they were already over this shit.
“You and me both, kid,” Bryce muttered as he balanced the toddler on his knee and gently bounced them.
When the speaker concluded their speech, a drum beat started, a steady cadence that echoed in the twilight. A low hum rose from the Mantodeas in the gathering, like bees swarming in a hive. The speaker lifted an ancient-looking knife and pressed the tip to their thumb until purple blood welled and trickled to the heel of the hand. They chanted melodically as they held their bleeding hand over the bowl of sand.
The hum grew louder as a second drum joined the first, a similar rhythm but more beats, adding intensity. The bees were under Bryce’s skin now, and his breathing quickened. A shrill ululation sounded from the group, making him jump, but no one else was alarmed. If anything, it amped the tension higher.
Blood dripped into the water next, and another yipping cry echoed as the hum grew. Mantodeas were clicking now, a near threatening sound that set Bryce’s teeth on edge. Goosebumps exploded over his skin as the elder chanted louder, and he was suddenly grateful for the baby in his lap. He hugged the toddler close in comfort as the hum rose to a buzz.
As the blood dripped on the coals, it smoked, but Bryce couldn’t hear the sizzle over the bees roaring in his skull. Ululations and cries echoed one after another from the crowd. Even Zef threw their head back, releasing a piercing wail into the sky. The cacophony rose as the elder chanted louder, until they lifted their bloody hand with a shout, and every sound fell away at once.
The silence was deafening.
Everyone was breathing hard, chests heaving with emotion, faces lifted to the sky. Bryce was the only one with his eyes open, staring in awe and, sure, some honest-to-God terror. Then, as if they all had come to a silent agreement, everyone breathed deeply, then exhaled as one.
Opening their eyes, the elder spoke, and nearly everyone in the crowd echoed the words back to them. Then the speaker bowed, placed the knife back on the metal pillar, and accepted a scrap of white cloth from the Mantodea who had started the drum beat, bandaging their thumb.
As if the spell was broken, everyone started moving and talking at once, dishing food onto plates and serving the elderly and children first. Zef met Bryce’s wary gaze, their skin flushed from the intensity.
“Are you alright?” they asked, and Bryce nodded mutely.
He must have been holding the baby too tight because it squirmed and complained, and Zef took it from his hold, offering it to another. Then they scooted their chair closer to him and pressed two fingers to his biceps.
“You look frightened.”
“Yeah,” he croaked, clearly his throat. “That was, uh, intense.”
“Yes,” Zef agreed.
“You could have warned me.”
They grimaced in apology. “Some things are better experienced than explained.”
“I guess. Can you explain now?”
“It is a ritual to honor the ancestors, to celebrate the present—all we have been given and all we have created—and to look to the future with acceptance and courage,” they said. “The elder’s blood is symbolic of the whole, connecting all of us to what came before, to the now, to what is to come. It is grieving those we have lost and being grateful for those still withus and expressing our joy of the new ones yet to join. We chant and we shout, so the ancestors can hear our song.”
Rubbing the goosebumps from his arms, Bryce blew out a heavy breath. “Not gonna lie, that might have scared the crap out of me a little bit.”
“Yes, well, that is what the wine is for,” Zef said teasingly, handing Bryce a full goblet.
“Oh, so this is when the real party starts, huh? After you scare your guests half to death?” He took the wine gratefully, taking a hesitant sip. It was surprisingly sweet, and he took another, healthier gulp.
