Two tapestries descended from the sides of the entrance and depicted a scarlet flame.
The two travellers crossed the borderline that separated the pine forest from the city, while the door closed slowly and creakily behind them. The main street was crowded with people from everywhere. Some children were running, some were sneaking under the stalls of the poor sellers who were shouting at them; on the sides there were shops and taverns from which people came out with smiles printed on their faces. The incitements of the street vendors overlapped with the din of the steps on the stone and the chatter of the Belethians and foreigners who filled every corner of the town: Selene’s eyes were shining with amazement: she had never had the opportunity to attend such a big fair, those organized by the villagers of Lezhen were nothing in comparison.
Trust, on the other hand, could not help but hide a tear of nostalgia at the thought of the numerous events he had seen as a young man during his voyages. Being there was something unexpected and went beyond the outcome of the Great Talents; the efforts would have allowed him the possibility to relive, once again, a day as an adventurer. A day of his past.
He turned toward Selene, who continued looking at everything, enjoying the atmosphere that was as strange as it was delightful. “Selene!” he called.
The girl shook her head as if she had just awaken from a long sleep and she turned to the blacksmith.
“Yes?”
“I see that you like it,” Trust observed.
“Well, I’ve never seen anything like this before. Maybe this won’t be a wasted journey!” she smiled and continued looking around.
“It’s nearly midday,” she said looking up at the sun. “We still have a few hours before registering in the competition.”
“Supposing Viktor succeeds to arrive on time with the rod… I’m beginning to be worried, Trust,” the girl declared. “For the rod or for Viktor?” Trust asked sarcastically. “Anyway, I suggest to book into the inn I saw at the entrance for a few hours.”
A sign hung from an iron support, on the wall, with a drawing of a candle saying: “The wayfarer’s candle.”
Trust opened the engraved wooden door while the sign of the inn continued swaying back and forth.
When the two entered, they were hit by a strange smell in the air, the smell of spices that only Selene remembered, inhaling repeatedly.
“Jerrall’s berries, red leaves and oriental poppy seeds,” she commented.
“You’re referring to these scents, aren’t you? How do you know them?”
“In my free time I study a lot. This type of plants is used in medicine too, with their brew you can create a potent remedy against bronchitis,” she explained.
Trust listened to her with curiosity and nodded.
Inside, the inn had a semi-circular shape.
Trust stopped and looked at some paintings of far-off landscapes, on the brown walls, the same colour as the pavement.
The innkeepers were giving drinks to the customers, loading broad copper trays with pints of foamy beer, while a thin boy with an exhausted look on his face brought them into the room. Near the wall, a wide staircase brought to the second floor of the building.
Trust moved slowly from the entrance to the counter to ask for a room, while Selene continued looking around.
“Excuse me, Miss….I’d like to know if you still have a free room for a few days.”
“You’re lucky for two reasons: the first is that we have only one free room and the second is because of the bell. Just before it knells we don’t give rooms to anyone and I think that it’s about to ring.”
“I understand,” Trust answered.
“This is the key to the room, it’s the last one on the left. It’s thirty shiners for two days…but you can pay when you leave, today there are too many people to serve and I’d prefer not making them wait longer,” the young woman answered, putting a big brass key on the counter.
Trust made a gesture of thanks and went toward the stairs, covered with a thick indigo-coloured carpet.
When they arrived upstairs, the two went down the hall and arrived in front of the door of their room. The lock clicked and made a rusty metal noise.
The door opened to reveal a very large window on the front side of the room and four single beds, arranged two by two along the side walls.
There was a violet curtain over the window embroidered with a yellow cotton candle in the centre. Selene opened the curtains, allowing the light to radiate the room; Trust, instead, put the saddlebags in a corner of the entrance and opened a door that overlooked a bathroom: inside there was a large tub and some buckets full of water.
“If you want, you can wash up first. I’ll put the leftover supplies away and leave something for Viktor. I think he can’t wait to get something to eat,” Trust stated.
“I really think that I will take advantage of the bathtub,” then she turned to the blacksmith with curiosity.
“What was the girl downstairs referring to when she spoke of “the knell of the bell?”
“Oh, it was about the great fair and all the rest,” Trust answered, setting the knapsacks down, “The great fair is an annual manifestation organized in honour of the patron of Beleth, who died trying to defend the town. The story says that a boy named Noul was part of the army of Beleth and he was a sentinel who had to control the entrance to the town, from the top of the local church. All he had to do was ring the church bells if there was an attack by the bandits of the area. It is said that one night, although the bells rang uninterruptedly, no one came to help the boy who was killed by the bandits. Later they discovered that this happened because nearly all the soldiers had been corrupted by the same bandits, who had promised them a part of the stolen loot. The corrupted soldiers were processed and condemned to death with the bandits,” he explained. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath before continuing. “They had also proposed to Noul to keep silent in exchange for a part of the money but the boy refused until the end, having a profound sense of justice. The boy died after having been pierced by various arrows: only one was not enough to stop him. From that day on, every year, the knell of Noul’s bell can be heard in the air as a solitary, sad lament. After the knelling of the bell, the doors to Beleth are closed the whole time of the jugglers’ parade. The girl downstairs wanted to make it clear that she wouldn’t have arranged for lodging just before the bell rang because she didn’t want to miss the parade.”
Selene reflected on what she had heard. “It’s sad,” she answered.
“I know,” agreed the blacksmith, looking out of the shining windows to the roof of the church.
******
Viktor continued to walk in long strides, ignoring the pain in his legs.
The blood under the cuts of his hands had already coagulated, but his upper limbs were still aching and the hand holding the mithril shaft burned.
After hours of walking in an environment that never changed, he began to look forward to reaching his destination, but the more he desired it, the more difficult it seemed. The thought of seeing Trust and Selene infused him with new energy and he began to run.
His heartbeat accelerated, his legs torn apart.
He fell to the ground, his heart pounding.
He barely got up and scrabbled for the shaft that had flown somewhere in the thick grass. After a few seconds he managed to retrieve it, still wrapped up in its cloths.
He breathed deeply and began to run again, this time more slowly, while he could feel the fatigue return to the state of alert that had made him fall.
Step after step, it seemed that he was losing his balance and his legs trembled, beginning to tingle.
Although the pine trees protected him from sunlight, he sensed that midday must have passed a while ago and this only worsened his fear of arriving late.
“I can’t give up now,” he repeated to himself.
By now, dripping in sweat, Victor saw the walls of Beleth on the horizon.
Reassured by t
hat sight, he slowed down and was forced to stop completely when he saw the sentinel’s raised hand at the entrance to the town.
“Where are you going in such a hurry and in such a state, boy?” asked one of the guards.
Viktor looked up to the sky closing his eyes and recovered oxygen inhaling deeply.
“An appointment… an important appointment with a friend of mine, I have to bring him this for the Great Talents competition. I’m not hostile.”
The guard looked at the object the young man referred to, surrounded by his fingers.
Viktor understood that to be able to enter the city he had to show the rod to the guard and so he did. The sentinel observed Trust’s work spellbound, then he looked away and smiled to the boy.
“It will be an interesting competition,” he concluded, signalling to his friends to let the boy in.
Viktor smiled and approached the great portal to Beleth, seeing his father’s wagon against the walls of the city.
“Hand over that rod and try to find a way to wash up or they will throw you out like a beggar,” the sentinel yelled behind Viktor, who didn’t have the strength to answer.
In the meantime the doors to the city were sealed from outside, while Viktor went toward the inn on the right, “The wayfarer’s candle,” to ask for information about his friends, in case someone had seen them.
In that precise moment, every sound was smothered by the deep knell of a bell.
THE GREAT TALENTS
T he bell toll made the city silent.
It tolled at regular intervals and the people stopped to look in the direction of the sound.
Viktor was surprised when, entering the inn, he saw even the people inside remain silent. Ignoring the people in the semi-circular room, the boy went towards the counter where he asked the owners repeatedly if they had seen a middle-aged man with grey hair and beard and a fairly squat body.
The two seemed absent until, after asking the question various times, the man pointed to the stairs to the upper floor.
“The last room on the left,” he finally whispered, trying not to disturb anyone from the toll of the bell, as if it was a sublime concert of bows.
Viktor went trembling upstairs and repeatedly knocked at the door of Trust and Selene’s room, until the blacksmith came to open it.
“Viktor!” he exclaimed, hugging him tight and making sure of his conditions.
On the other hand Selene approached and slapped him hard even before beginning to speak: “You’ve been irresponsible! You don’t know how you frightened me!” she shouted as Viktor tried to recover from the slap that had almost left him stunned on the floor.
Hours later, Viktor was perfectly clean and tidy thanks to the relaxing bath in which he would have gladly remained for a long time.
“Where’s Trust?” he asked when he joined the girl.
“He went to sign up for the Great Talents…. and to throw away the bloody cloths around the rod that we will present,” Selene replied with a note of rebuke.
The bell had stopped knelling and the noise that animated the town was back with a new addition: drums and trumpets were playing behind the queue of jugglers parading on the main square of Beleth, visible from the window of the room. Selene noticed the cuts on Viktor’s hands when he put on his grey shirt, but she preferred not to get angrier than she already was.
“Why did everyone stop suddenly when the church bell began ringing?” the boy asked, aware of the anger that his friend was trying to repress against him.
Therefore, Selene quickly told him the story that she had heard a short time earlier from Trust. Viktor noticed a note of melancholy in her words.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her.
“He died because he wanted to defend his village. It’s as if those with good intentions get the worse part…life is curious at times,” she answered.
“Often, I’d say,” the boy corrected her, standing beside her as she watched the parade of jugglers sitting on a trunk under the window.
The jugglers walked in two parallel rows and wore red and white costumes with jesters’ hats. Their painted faces contracted and extended, while they sang well-known, old, well-know songs, moving their hands quickly, throwing and grabbing flaming torches that didn’t hesitate to stay lit despite the repeated twists and the bright circles that they drew in the air.
The band enjoyed speeding up the rhythm and then returning to the original rhythm, increasing and decreasing the playing time of the games the entertainers in red and white played.
Viktor and Selene stared at the show for a long time without saying a word: the boy realized he had not noticed the atmosphere of the feast and the environment when he had hurriedly arrived in Beleth, and only then was he discovering what he had missed. Now he was experiencing the amazement of the first impact, of the surprise, of the unexpected.
When the music grew to the point of extinction, a blatant applause spread from the square of Beleth far beyond its walls.
The applause flickered like the flame of a candle struck by a whiff of sudden wind, while a short fat man announced the beginning of the competition that everyone was waiting for. The man slipped as soon as he opened his mouth as he walked on the stage. He got up and started again, trying to distract the spectators from the bad impression he had given, even though many of them kept laughing.
Viktor looked away from the square crowded with people, turning to Selene who was watching the grotesque man gesticulate and speak.
“I’m sorry you were worried about me. It wasn’t my intention,” he said in a low voice.
The girl ignored him for a few moments, then she turned to him in an unexpectedly quiet voice.
“I can’t believe you’re apologizing on your own initiative!”
“Perhaps I’m beginning to understand when it’s time to take initiatives without waiting for someone to try to make me realize it.”
“Maybe you’re growing up,” the girl corrected, keeping her voice calm even if she still kept her distance from him.
Considering his imprudence, Viktor thought it would take a bit of time before his friend would be able to forgive him.
The door opening interrupted his thoughts and Trust entered breathless with heavy steps.
“The competition…. is about to begin!” he informed them, breathing heavily between words.
“That’s what the chap on the stage announced. From here I didn’t understand much,” observed the boy, getting up with Selene and going down the stairs,
“Maybe you were too busy talking to your friend,” Trust suggested, laughing. “Come on!” he urged a moment later.
Downstairs the noise had begun again, although a part of the clientele had left.
Following the flow of people, the three arrived in the large square of Beleth, where they noticed a rudimentary wooden platform in the centre of the area. On the small stage there was a table with three chairs on one side, where the three judges took their seats.
The people stood in front of the stage, waiting for the short, pot-bellied gentleman to start speaking: “Memorial Day is a day that means a lot to us and always reminds us how good-hearted people with ideals can make sacrifices to attain what they believe in. This day that we remember, drinking and having fun, conceals a precious meaning and a great teaching, a teaching from which everyone should learn love for their cause, sacrifice, determination. But also the importance of our choices, choices that are sometimes greater than us, but, coming back to today, it is also right that you have fun and, on a day like this, there is nothing better than the fiftieth review of the Great Talents! “
An applause crowned the emphasis of the speech.
“Now no more talk and let’s call this year’s competitors on the stage!”
Trust and five other men came out of the crowd, stepping forward to take their place on the stage. Soon after, two women and a man appeared from the last row of spectators and, after bowing to the audience as a sign of kindness, sat down on the t
hree chairs behind the table; they exchanged a few words and nodded to the presenter.
When the presenter urged the first of the six competitors to come forward, he advanced towards the centre of the stage, waved to the audience with his hand and took a spherical casing with the other. He took off the cloth that enveloped it, showing an unusual natural mineral: it was as transparent as water when it was not directed towards a light source, but it changed colour when pointed at a light source. The sun’s rays coloured the sphere red, yellow, green; depending on where the light touched it.
The audience watched carefully, and then the man came under the gaze of the judges with their impassive faces.
The first contestant was dismissed to make room for the next one, who presented himself clutching a terracotta model of a woman with a hand on her chest, a half-open mouth and a tear running down her face.
“Tamara’s tears,” Selene said.
“Tamara’s tears?” Viktor asked, widening his eyes.
“I see that you’ve spent more time in a forge than reading,” replied the girl with a smile. “It’s a very popular story, it’s about a woman who could not have children and who prayed to heaven every night so she wouldn’t spend her old age alone.” The gods are said to have been moved by her tears and despair, and awarded her with the gift of a baby girl.”
“A beautiful story,” Viktor concluded.
“It is,” Selene pointed out.
When the judges had studied the model, the second competitor also returned to occupy his place in the row at the back of the stage, giving room to the third competitor. This one pointed his hands to the sky with his legs slightly bent, assuming a rather ridiculous position to which no one gave importance: everyone was curious to know what he would show.
Everyone’s expectations collapsed when they saw the man with a very slim body begin dancing and clapping his hands to the right and left. The competition admitted all kinds of talent, but if that meant knowing how to dance, Viktor could have sung with the birds without much difficulty. The jury, embittered, had to stop the unwatchable dance and make the aspirant return to his place, while the audience continued laughing.
Viktor Page 6
