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In front of the Great Temple the crowd was so dense that they barely could breathe. Everybody was trying to get as far in the front as they could, and still the crowd was stretching far beyond the edges of the great clearing. And more could be seen coming, in the distance, like ants scurrying over the now rusty expanse of mountain tall grasses. In front of the Temple entrance, a large pit of burning embers was heating the cool air of the afternoon. Already the dusk was near, and the sun had started disappearing below the peaks far away to the west, and the stars were faintly glittering to the east, in the darker sky. In long rows, the Wolf Warriors, smooth soft pelts covering their loins, shiny bronze bracers matching their skin, were surrounding the Temple, falx held straight, as straight as their gaze. Their helmets, the upper part of a wolf head with the rest of the pelt hanging down their napes and backs, were shadowing their faces, and in the growing darkness, their eyes were slowly showing the feral glow. On each side of the great stairs leading to the entrance, two Wolf Warriors were standing tall, wearing short white robes and wreaths of ivy on their heads, bare-handed and bare-footed, but their eyes shone with the same greenish yellow light. When the sun had left only a sliver of pink on the sky, and the moon could be seen in all her silvery round splendor, the sound of the drums started in the Temple. Whatever murmurs and whispered talks could be heard until then, now died, and the people started to stand on their toes to have a better view, making the crowd look like a sea at high tide. They all watched in silence the drummers coming out of the Temple in two rows and lining around the walls. The Thirteen came out, with their unusual walk, looking like swans gliding on the smooth waters of a lake, and like swans in flight, they came out on top of the stairs with Hestia in their middle. With her ageless face and perfect figure, long silvery-blond braids almost reaching the ground, white staff in her right hand, in the flickering torch-light, she looked now more than ever like a beautiful white marble statue. The beat of the drums slowly faded. And her voice over the crowd was like the sound of a great silver bell. “My children, the time has come. The power of the Gods, the power to be your Great Priest, and your King, will be given to my son Zalmoxes tonight. He is to lead you from now on, so our people can thrive in the world.” From the dark depths of the Temple, the white silhouette of the High Priest came to light, and he came to stand tall behind the Great Priestess. His frame, his white long hair and beard, his chiseled face, made him look no less like a stone statue than she did. Hestia turned around, facing him. “Zalmoxes! The time has come for you to bear the full burden of leading our people, as is the Gods’ wish. Are you ready for the task ahead of you, my son? Are you ready to sacrifice your life for centuries for the good of our people? Are you ready to lead them with justice and honor and love, until the day the Gods will call you to them?” “I am, Mother, Queen and Goddess.” He said, looking her in the eyes, then looked over the crowd, his gaze fierce and sharp as an eagle. “In front of the Gods I swear that my life will be in the service of our people, that I will lead them by the Laws of the Great Ages, in honor and justice and love, until the Gods will call me back to the Underworld!” “So be it, Zalmoxes!” and solemnly, she handed him her white staff. Then, carefully, she lifted from her brow the golden circlet of the ruler and set it on his white head. Turning around to face the crowd, her voice raised again. “There is one more thing to do, for the Gods to know that their will has been done, and show us their approval. We need to send a Messenger. Is there a warrior pure of heart, pure of soul, pure of body, and with unmatched bravery who wants to bring the message to the Gods?” At these words, the young Wolf Warriors on both sides of the stairs took a step forward, looking at her, and on the other side of the great pit full of burning embers, their leader spoke. “There are these six, My Lady. They have passed all the trials, and only the Trial of Fire is left, to choose among them the best, the purest and the bravest.” “Then let the trial begin!” said Hestia, lifting both arms above her head, signaling the drummers to start their beat. The leader of the Wolf Warriors made a sign, and the first of the young men approached the pit. With fast steps he crossed over the burning embers, only to reach the opposite side and crumble to the ground wailing, the soles of his feet burned almost to the bones. He was lifted by two of the other warriors and pushed to the side. The second youth tried to pass even faster, but when he almost had reached the other side, he stumbled and fell on his face. He straightened himself in a split second and reached the safe ground, but there he collapsed, not only the soles of his feet, but his front and face as well covered with horrible burns. The third youth, when his turn came, swallowed hard, then ran as fast as he could, and reached the far side with tears in his eyes, but stood straight, even if his soles were burned too. When the turn of the fourth young Wolf Warrior came, he looked up to the Queen, then looked around to the crowd, then finally, lifted his gaze to the moon up in the skies, crossed his arms on his chest and started walking on the embers with a slow pace. The hot coals were sizzling around his feet, but, miraculously, when he reached the other side, his flesh was unburned and his gaze serene. In the cheers of the crowd, Zalmoxes pointed at him with the staff, and he came up the stairs to join the Great Priest and Priestess. Following him, two strong warriors climbed the steps of the stairs while three others lined themselves at the bottom of the stairs, holding their falx straight in front of them with steady arms. In the beat of the drums, now faster and faster, the two strong warriors grabbed the youth, one at his arms and one at his feet, and started swinging him back and forth towards the waiting warriors at the bottom of the stairs. When the rhythm of the drums had reached the peak, they suddenly threw him in the waiting falx points. Without a flinch, his body impaled through the heart, the youth died instantly, his big feral eyes still looking at the silvery full moon. The crowd went wild with cheers of joy while Hestia, her gaze lifting higher and higher towards the night sky, shouted: “The was pure of heart, and pure of soul, and pure of body, and of unmatched bravery! I see him on his journey to the Gods!” The people cheered a while more, and then everybody fell silent, watching the sky. All of a sudden, clouds started wiping the stars out, and sudden darkness engulfed everything as the moon itself was hidden under the thick black cloud cover. Then blinding lightning and deafening thunder made everybody cower to the ground, as the rain, in heavy sheets, started pouring, drenching the embers in the fire pit, washing the blood from the falx blades, filling the air with a fresh smell of wet dirt. In the renewed cheers of the crowd, the Great Priestess shouted in her booming voice, covering the noise “The Gods have shown us how pleased they are with our deeds! Rejoice! Rejoice! For the Dacians are destined to great future, and now you have a new King, Great Priest and God!” From behind her, Zalmoxes stepped forward, and bent his head, arm raising the staff towards the skies. A white glow started surrounding him, growing stronger, and from the tip of the staff lightning erupted, arching up in the sky, parting the clouds and scattering them, until the stars shone again and the full moon showed her bright face. The people, wet and happy, were now jumping up and down, and at a sign of the King, bearers of big casks of wine rushed out of the Temple, and the crowd gathered around them, all eating their fill and dancing in the beat of the drums. The glow around Zalmoxes had faded, and he went down the stairs, to put his hands on the body of the young warrior, still impaled on the falx blades. “Take him to the stone altar and burn him in honor, for his soul is with the Gods now”.
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