They climbed back up the hill, to the abandoned turf homes at the eastern edge of the village. Feden didn’t say a word, and Jamila could tell he was still thinking about the soldiers.
"At least they aren’t in the commons, like last summer," she said as they brushed past a thin veil of branches and stepped onto the packed dirt road.
"Captain Esvon isn't as bad as some of the others we've known, but he’s no friend of Raven Grove," Feden said. "He grants us small freedoms to keep us from fighting back. I don’t know what Elder Leatos gave up when he negotiated with Esvon to keep the soldiers out. I'm sure it cost us something."
They weren’t the last stragglers making their way to the festival. Ahead of them walked a trio of robed men. "You were saying about Elder Leatos?" she smiled. The village elder and his two most trusted grey-hairs heard their approach and waited for them to catch up. Feden and Jamila looked both ways for soldiers, then greeted the old men in the traditional style. The tallest one said, "None of that now, children, you’ll miss the Jester!"
"Come on now, Ao Leatos. We haven’t played with the children for years now," Jamila replied.
Leatos chuckled, which sounded like a large stones moving about underwater. "Well, I trust you found your share of bluecaps this year?"
"The biggest since the occupation." Feden bragged.
"Oooh, that’s bold talk for someone so young. But I hope you’re right. Your crop last year was pitiful." A smile crossed his tiny lips. Leatos was thin of frame and face and tan as prime leather. Feden always thought he would have been a sorcerer, like in the old tales, if magic weren’t vehemently prohibited by the Temple of Thanus.
"Well the feast is nearly ready," Leatos added. "What is your aunt bringing this year?"
"Same as last year. Brawnock-root pie."
"Mmm. Just making sure." One of his associates pulled on Leatos’ sleeve. The elder said, "don’t wait for us tired old men. Go on ahead."
Jamila happily obeyed and yanked Feden toward the commons.
"Are you ready for the bluecap essence?" Feden asked.
"Are they ready?" She replied, with one raised eyebrow. Together they hurried to Feden’s workshop, where the bounty was hidden. Three heaping baskets of fragrant bluecap mushrooms.
"It will be better this year, rose petal. Can you feel it?"
The Festival
The commons of Raven Grove was a crooked patch of grass with a well and a rough stone platform for traveling bards and criers. On a typical day, the villagers gathered water while goats trimmed the weeds. Today it was crowded with tables, banners, stone rings full of firewood, and all the extended families of Raven Grove. This year was the largest festival in Feden’s memory, and despite the day-to-day struggles, everybody contributed something.
As Feden and Jamila entered, baskets in hand, they were barraged by greetings. Children hugged their knees and latched on for a ride while their parents complemented their clothes and asked about health and family and farm. The sight of distant cousins elicited joyful shouts of surprise.
Most of the limestone miners were there, and the charcoal burners too, some still sooty despite the holiday. Old Porik’s three daughters were back from Coerb, the only real town in the Hills of Bech. The baker’s son and his new grandson were back from Wyeth, a two day walk north, which was among the few villages that the denizens of Raven Grove consider trustworthy.
Past the wreath-laden tables they found Det mock wrestling with Yunis, even thought the latter didn’t have a chance. In generations past, the festival began with feats of strength and contests of bow and blade. But these were among the first traditions banned by the Temple of Thanus. The great stag hunt was banned next.
Jamila and Tahnin merged in a long hug. Their friendship mirrored that of the young men. They were joined by Neffa, Yunis’s sister of fifteen summers. The girls relished new opportunities for gossip as their lives were so intertwined that good stuff was hard to come by. Tahnin lived next to Det, and her family farmed both his land and their own. Yunis was their farm hand, though they could barely afford to pay him after the Temple and garrison took their share. Feden grazed his two dairy cows on their meager pastures, and Neffa was his milkmaid by trade. Jamila’s farm was on the far west side of the village, and her family’s hay helped feed Tahnin’s and Feden’s cattle.
Soon the feast began. In addition to the traditional dishes, homemade spirits were passed around. The tales grew fantastic and the laughter contagious. Feden even heard some of the old words. Not loudly, of course, but none-the-less spoken under the sky.
With bellies full the villagers broke off into groups of peers. The mothers laid to bed their dozing toddlers. The young children played games in the square or spun in circles just to fall down giggling. The teenagers, like all teenagers from the various corners of the Land of Night and Day, sauntered off and stalked the periphery of the village, where they secretly chewed Becherum and drank their stashes of stolen wine.
When the sun fell behind the tall ashes, and the birch fires kindled, Ao Dama returned to the square with the concentrated and consecrated bluecap essence. The cloudy liquid tasted chalky and bitter, but each adult of the village passed the gourd without complaint. As the essence took effect, they experienced something Raven Grove can without question call their own.
A pleasurable churning leached upward from the earth into their toes, to the tops of their heads, and upward into the evening sky. For the first time since the last festival, they forgot about the poor yields, the severe taxes, and their petty squabbles. They even forgot about the Eye of Thanus, the unmoving, moon-like beacon that stared at them nightly from its lofty perch in the sky.
A comforting unity washed over the villagers of Raven Grove. Words were impossible to form, but weren’t needed, as a glance or smile expressed volumes. The fires died low, but the Grove quivered and shimmered with its own soft light. The dances were banned long ago, but their minds danced, and they hummed the songs of their grandmothers, who learned them from their own grandmothers. The Grove hummed along, and stroked them with undulating waves of bliss. The villagers reveled in its embrace.
But by the time the true moon was at its brightest, the power of the essence had waned, and the Grove gradually returned to wood and bark and leaf. The young adults retreated to the village tavern to wash away the lingering effects of the bluecap essence with bowls of barley wine. After many drinks, and sighs and light caresses, Rohn, Det’s father, entered with the older men of the village. The youngsters graciously conceded the small oaken tables, and idled by the wine, staggered to Det’s farm. In the east field, abutting the Grove, was an underused barn with a root cellar. Slightly smaller than the tavern, and mustier, but cool. It was theirs, and nobody could overhear their musings, trivial or not.
In the candle-lit cellar the laughter and mirth continued on, but with longer pauses between jokes and longer, heavier blinks of the eye. Det embarrassed Feden and Yunis by retelling the story of their first time taking the essence. Yunis recounted his trip to the ruined village along Black Creek, in forbidden territory regularly patrolled by Temple’s garrison. Meanwhile the girls slouched, half-heartedly trying to hide their sleepiness.
What little local brew remained made its way around when they heard a knock above their heads. Det climbed the ladder while the others sat still in nervous silence. Everyone exhaled at once when Det returned with the boys from Wyeth and two other young men from the deep forest. The girls were happy to retire and let the boys discuss the korso in private.
PART 2
Strange Happenings
Feden awoke and sat up too quickly. When his mind caught up with his head he groaned. His tongue was stuck to his pallet. Much to his surprise, his gums tasted like Becharum. It took him a moment to remember chewing the red leaf, as he usually refrained. Grudgingly he arose, wincing at the sharp pain in his forehead. He settled for yesterday’s water and walked slowly and stiff-necked into the street. The sun’s brightness was shocki
ng. An unnatural shimmer coated every surface, as if the bluecap essence had never worn off. With his hand as a shade his eyes adjusted, and there, standing before her crumbling turf home, was his neighbor, looking toward the sky. And her husband too, and the girl from across the road. Confused, he asked to nobody in particular, "Why is everyone out so early?"
His elderly neighbor answered, "Early? Have you seen the sun today? Almost noon."
Feden squinted against the oppressive sun. "I had a long night."
She snickered. "You slept through a strange morning."
"What are you talking about?" He groaned again.
"Open your eyes, Feden."
"And your ears" her husband added.
He obeyed and the light condensed into the familiar ragged homes and shops of the village, but covered with shifting black blots. They were in the air, on the eaves of homes, atop fence posts, and in the trees of the Grove. Then within the sound of windblown leaves, he made out high-pitched shrieks. In his neighbor’s almond tree, nearly within reach, was a single black bird. It stared directly at him, head atilt. Its call was foreign to his ears.
"What is it?" Feden asked.
"It’s our village namesake. A raven." Feden’s jaw dropped. "Like I said. Strange morning."
"I’ve never seen a raven before." Feden replied, eyes still locked with those of the black bird.
"They left before you were born." Her husband added.
"But where did they go? I mean, where did they come from?" Feden asked.
"Who knows?"
Shaking his head, Feden reentered his home. Festival or not, he had to pay the tax collectors. Slowly, he went about his preparations for a day of work. His first task was a leather tool belt. Each hammer stroke, despite its delicacy, sent bolts between his ears. The point of his awl refused to stay in focus. After a second poor effort he gave up. Feden let out a low moan and put his head down on his arms.
"Feden?" He looked up fast, and the room spun like he was a top. When the walls settled back down, he saw Neffa, the younger sister of Yunis, standing at his doorstep. She was short and thin, with a narrow face and large nose. He wondered for a moment if it was time to milk the cows, then he noticed the tears. She looked frightened.
"Is everything alright?"
"No. It’s Yunis. He’s acting strange."
"He’s probably just sick from the barley wine last night."
"No, it’s not that. He’s…” she sniffled and her lips quavered. "Just come over, please?"
"Of course, sure."
As he gathered himself, he asked, "Did you see the ravens?"
"The what?"
"The ravens? The big crows? No?" She just pushed her hair behind her ear.
"Come on!" she blurted, arms still at her sides.
Without further banter they took the fastest path to Yunis’s house, a narrow dirt track around the town that they had made themselves with a thousand footfalls. A growing sense of concern tightened up his chest. Never had he seen Neffa so lost. She was always shy, but he couldn’t understand how she could have missed the ravens. One cawed directly above them. He grabbed her and pointed up at the bird.
"See? Raven."
She twisted out of his grip. "Let’s just go, alright?!" She spat. Feden's chest tightened most. He doubled the pace.
Over a ridge were the humble holdings of Yunis’s family. The soil was rocky and tree-stumps abounded, as if the Grove fought to regain its territory. The family lived in a small, single room mud and turf home with an outdoor kitchen. As usual, the yard was bustling with activity. It took Feden a moment to figure it all out. Det was there, and Tahnin too, and Yunis, waving a garden hoe back and forth. The others had their hands out in entreaty, and Yunis thrashed about wildly, his face contorted. His grimaces and groans were punctuated with laughs and perfectly understandable curses. As Feden approached, Yunis dropped the hoe, put his back to the turf wall and dropped to his rear. There he wailed loudly, pulling at his own hair.
"Yunis," Feden said softly. Yunis just stared back, but with someone else's amber eyes. "It’s alright. Let us help you." Feden took another step and waved for the others to hold still. Yunis sat silently in the dirt. Another step and Yunis started shaking his head. He raised his head, a look of desperation in his amber eyes. Another step. Yunis climbed to his feet, bringing the hoe up with him, and without warning, sprung. But Det was ready, and with a cooper’s mallet, clubbed Yunis on the side of the head. The young man crumbled.
"Det!" Feden shouted. "You could have killed him. Was that really necessary?" In chorus everyone in the yard yelled, "Yes!"
"Sorry. What did I miss?" All three spoke up at once. From what seemed like an impossible blabber he managed to gather that since he awoke, Yunis raved like a maniac, took no head of their pleas, was visibly confused and very frightened, mumbled to himself, and conversed with something only he could hear. Nobody offered any reasons as to why.
Like a sack of seed corn, Det carried Yunis to the old leaning barn, where they had spent the previous evening. He and Feden hoped he would feel comfortable awakening in a familiar place. As children, they had incorporated the barn into a number of their games, always as a place of safety and rest. Feden made him a bed of hay and an old blanket. For a moment both just stared at their friend since their earliest memories.
Feden offered a theory. "It couldn’t have been the bluecap essence. This is our fourth…"
"Fifth" Det cut him off.
"Fifth festival as adults. I’ve never heard of anything like this. You?"
"No." Det kicked up dust. "My father never mentioned it."
"It couldn’t have been the plum liquor."
"We all drank that. Out of the exact same gourd. You know what it was, Feden. You know." Det stared into his eyes. Feden couldn’t think of a response. There wasn’t one. Det cursed to himself.
"What are we going to do?"
"This might pass." Feden said.
"It had better. If not, then Bardet will cast a korso spell on him. And if he recovers, he will say that Thanus healed him, and triumphed over the traditional ways. One more chip out of our past. One more dead root of the ash tree.
"Maybe Dama can help him." Feden asked softly, even though nobody was around. "Discreetly, of course."
"We have to try."
Yunis’ Home
Det and Feden approached Yunis’s farm, the former carefully carrying a pail of milk, the latter a bunch of radishes. Upon crossing the threshold, they were immediately barraged by a ballad of woeful sounds. The youngest baby girl wailed in a full-lunged soprano, despite the expert attentions of her mother, Yaffa. Yunis’s father, a wood-cutter/farmer/porter groaned in baritone, due to a lacerated foot that took infection. For percussion, the second oldest daughter cracked bones with a stone mallet. Yunis laid on the house’s only bed, Tahnin beside him. With eyes lost he breathed unevenly. To his head she held a gratt-leaf poultice.
Feden’s nose caught a scent, something other than sweat or marrow or festering wound.
"Is that djak root I smell?" Feden asked. Tahnin reluctantly nodded.
"You’d better get that hidden. Bardet might come by any time to try his false God's healing powers."
Yaffa replied without looking up, "He is not welcome here. Not anymore. That faker did nothing for my husband’s foot, he won’t do nothing for my boy either."
Neffa entered the crowded home, with a few more bones and a turnip. The villagers have been generous since the family’s two strongest men could no longer work. To her daughter Yaffa asked, "What say the village?"
She was shy because of the guests, but managed to whimper, "People saw ghosts." Feden realized her discomfort and took over for her. He raised his voice above the miserable din.
"Ravens have returned to the Grove. Villagers have been seeing and hearing things. Some have been asking Bardet for protection from spirits of the forest. Of course, he denies the existence of the spirits, and sends them away with one of his worthless
mantras."
With a frown, Yaffa nodded, as if she already knew. Just then Yunis jerked upright and looked around as if he didn’t recognize a single person. Tahnin stroked him and put a clay bowl to his lips. He slapped the bowl away and pushed Tahnin onto her rear. With a frightened moan he bounded toward the door. Det and Feden reacted fast. After a short but fierce struggle, Yunis tired and collapsed to the dirt floor. The only casualty was the bowl of marrow and tendon. The lost meat elicited further shouting from all parties. When the young boy began to cry, the father bellowed hoarsely for quiet.
His ears ringing, Feden realized that Yunis couldn’t stay. No hope for rest here, no hope for recovery.
"Yaffa," he said, perhaps too softly for anyone to notice. An ache reminiscent of this morning's suffering restarted in Feden’s head. "Yaffa!" he barked, which halted the racket. Her face was drained of energy, her hair grayer and knotted. She looked miserably at him, waiting patiently for him to continue, tears budding in her eyes.
"You’re boy can live with me." She sucked in a breath. "I mean, I’m taking him with me. We’ll care for him. Tahnin and Jamila and me."
Yaffa stared blankly, hesitating only out of pride.
"And me too." Neffa added timidly. Her mother tried to protest, but it was obviously half-hearted. Tahnin too was at the verge of tears. Neffa wordlessly gathered her brother's few belongings, or rather those that he couldn’t use as a weapon.
The familiar sounds slowly restarted. Scraping of bones, periodic coughs. As they left the turf home, nobody thanked him. He didn’t want them to. Back at Feden’s shop, Tahnin and Neffa got Yunis comfortable and gave him a bowl of enriched wine. He drank it on his own, then mumbled nonsense to himself.
Before she left, Tahnin embraced Feden with damp cheeks. "I can’t thank you enough. I’d do it if I could, but my farm is no better than Yaffa's."
9 Tales From Elsewhere 3 Page 9
