by Sever Bronny
Ms. Singh, too, looked at her daughter, who stared back in distress, wringing her hands under the table. “Panjita feels this a great dishonor to the family name—”
Her daughter covered her mouth with her hands, tears streaming from her eyes.
“However, Panjita also realizes we live in a distant land, with very …” she glanced around distastefully, “… different people.” She straightened. “Whether Panjita likes it or not, Solia is now the Singh home, and as much as this match unsettles Panjita, she, too, will attempt to … understand it.”
Priya melted. “Oh, Mother—”
“Good, it is settled then,” Mrs. Stone said. “I can trust you to all keep the secret of what you have seen in the other room to yourselves, for we live in dangerous times, and I am sure none of us want the Legion razing Milham to the ground.” She glared at them. “Now I will return to a much-needed rest, and if anyone wakes me for anything short of an apocalypse, I shall turn them into a goat where they stand.” She stared a moment longer, making sure there was not one iota of dissent, before shuffling off to Jengo’s room.
Jengo and Priya kept stealing furtive but victorious glances at each other, while Bridget gave the bulky Chaska a friendly smile. He returned it, face reddening.
Mr. Goss cleared his throat delicately. “Perhaps I shall return to fixing apple pie for tonight’s feast. Leland, come along and help your father.”
Leland moaned, got up from the table and pawed his way over to the kitchen.
Everyone else slowly stood, smoothing their attire or fixing their hair.
“Ms. Singh,” Mr. Okeke began in a somewhat strained tone, “may I invite you to sit and have some tea?”
Ms. Singh looked about to protest but caught the eye of her daughter, who was making an imploring face. She sighed. “Panjita will sit with Mr. Okeke, but he is yet to prove he is not a demon.”
Mr. Okeke seemed to accept that was as good as it was going to get right now and gracefully led Ms. Singh to the settee.
Now that the adults had gone off to chat or make food, the youths sat back down at the table.
“Chaska,” Jengo began, towering over everyone even while sitting, “I didn’t have a chance to say this earlier, but I accept your apology. My wound was grievous and I endured great pain but—oof!” (Priya had apparently given him a kick under the table), “uh, right, everything’s fine now between us is what I mean.”
Chaska glanced to Bridget quickly before dropping his eyes. “And I apologize for saying those things about your mother.”
Bridget smiled before glancing at Augum. “You know, Aug, I love you like a brother, but you can be quite thick sometimes—”
“—yes, he can be.” Leera nodded vigorously.
Augum rubbed his face. “I know I know …”
“I hate to break up the occasion,” Mr. Goss said, “but there is still quite a lot of work to do. I am sure there will be plenty of time to socialize at the feast tonight.”
Everyone immediately scrambled to help, including Chaska, who gave Bridget a hand with the vegetables. Leera mashed the potatoes with Augum while Jengo and Priya worked alongside Mr. Goss, occasionally stealing glances at their parents, deep in strained, but polite, conversation.
The night moved along until at last all the food sat prepared before them. Everyone was starving for, as per tradition, they had all skipped supper. It took a lot of willpower for Augum not to sneak a bite. Leera repeatedly attempted to strip the honey-roasted chicken of one of its legs. “But it’s got honey,” she whispered when Bridget gave her a disapproving look.
Mr. Goss, meanwhile, made sure Erika remained tied. “Would not want her getting loose now, would we?” he said cheerfully, pressing the bridge of his nose out of habit.
“I will need assistance bringing our contribution of food, Mother,” Priya said.
“Panjita’s daughter is not to go unattended. I will—”
“That is hardly necessary, Ms. Singh,” Jengo said,” I will escort your daughter with the utmost dignity.”
Ms. Singh scowled at him. “Should the young demon lay a single hand on Panjita’s daughter—”
“Mother—”
“I promise to be most civil, Ms. Singh.”
Ms. Singh sniffed. “Very well, Priya has her mother’s leave to abandon her to this villainous and barbaric household.”
Priya rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Mother.”
Jengo opened the door for Priya and they left, suppressing giggles.
“Let us pack everything into baskets now,” Mr. Okeke said. He fetched a bundle of them and laid them on the benches. The trio, Leland, Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke then stuffed them with food while Ms. Singh sourly inspected the ebony nightmare carvings.
Bridget and Leera disappeared into Jengo’s room, and when they emerged with their hair done up and pinned with white ribbon, Augum and Chaska stood gaping like fools. Bridget’s was in a twisted ponytail, and there was emerald eyeshadow around her eyes. Leera’s raven hair had a light curl to it and she had smoky eyeliner that somehow accented her sharp brows. Her freckles sparkled with what Bridget proudly called “pixie dust”.
Leera twirled gracefully. “So … what do you think?”
When Augum and Chaska couldn’t get a word out, Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke promptly stood.
“Marvelous—!”
“Most charming—!”
Both seemed to hint for Augum and Chaska to say something, anything.
Chaska swallowed. “Very pretty, Bridget.”
Bridget reddened. “Thank you.”
Leera looked expectantly at Augum.
“Nice, um, ribbon.”
Leera gaped.
“Yes, a very nice ribbon indeed,” Mr. Goss said, nodding along with Mr. Okeke.
Augum wanted to punch himself in the face. Nice ribbon? Nice ribbon?
Luckily, Bridget whispered something into Leera’s ear and she brightened forgivingly.
Priya and Jengo soon returned carrying two covered baskets apiece. As tradition demanded, everyone assembled around the Endyear candle.
Mr. Okeke glanced out the dark window. “The council should have the tables ready by now. It is almost time.”
“Shall we sing The March of the Stars?” Mr. Goss asked.
“A wonderful idea, Albert,” Mr. Okeke said. “I shall begin. Let all who dwell beneath the skies—”
“I hate this song,” Leera muttered as everyone joined in.
“—gather round to feast and favor—”
“Barely know it,” Augum whispered, struggling with the words. Sir Westwood hadn’t been very fond of singing and the Pendersons only knew vulgar tunes.
“—duck and goose and chicken turkey pies—”
“Kill me now,” Leera muttered.
“—every nuance will be savored, for the stars never cease marching—”
“Here comes the fun part,” Leera said tonelessly, readying to make the traditional gestures that went with the song. “Not for you—” She jabbed Augum in the chest. “Not for me—” She pointed listlessly at herself. “No, they never cease marching …”
The chorus was repeated, Augum even managing to poke Leera in the arm, always aware of his burning cheeks.
The group went on to sing some notable favorites, including It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Endyear, All I Want for Endyear is Boar Pie (Leera made sure to tell Augum how much she hated boar pie), A Maiden’s Love, and A Widow’s Heart. During the last two, Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke’s eyes watered while Leera stepped closer to Augum.
At long last, with less than an hour to midnight, the expected time of the feast, festive singing floated in from outside. Mr. Okeke opened the door, revealing a throng of people slowly walking by holding baskets, blankets, steaming covered dishes, torches, candles, and wreaths of ivy. They sang traditional Endyear melodies, the young belting out altered versions, the old singing with aplomb.
The group gathered their things and joined the procession, whic
h wound its way past the Okeke home along a path through the towering snowy evergreens. A full moon made the great sagging branches visible and cast long thin shadows through the pristine forest.
Augum snuck peeks at the clear and starry sky, noting how the wind had calmed. He still had a hard time believing he was going to the Star Feast with a girl. With Leera, whose cheeks sparkled like the snow.
“Who are you looking for, Chaska?” Bridget asked, walking by his side.
“Oh, no one …”
“No one? Not your father?”
Chaska shrugged bulky shoulders. “Guess it’d be all right to see him before I went. Oh, here, let me carry that for you.” He gently took Bridget’s basket, which she had been lugging with both hands.
“Thank you,” Bridget said, smiling sheepishly.
Chaska now carried two baskets and both seemed to defeat his posture, yet he instantly straightened every time Bridget glanced his way.
“Here.” A grinning Leera dumped her basket into Augum’s arms, giving little care to the fact he was already burdened with blankets and a basket brimming with vegetables.
We’ll see about that, Augum thought, mustering his concentration. Soon everyone, Chaska included, was giving him admiring looks for the way he seemed to effortlessly carry such a large load.
“Now you’re just showing off,” Leera said, snatching the basket back, mumbling, “Cheater …”
“So where are you going, Chaska?” Jengo asked, trailing just behind with Priya.
“He’s going on his nemana.” Bridget then went on to explain what it meant.
“I know in Nodia a boy has to hunt a red bear,” Augum said.
“In some parts of Sierra it’s a lion,” Jengo said. “What a horrible way to die. Wonder which one’s worse …”
“Glad all we Solians have to do is turn sixteen,” Leera mumbled.
“What, you mean the womanhood and manhood feasts aren’t embarrassing enough?” Bridget asked. “I’d rather take the lion.”
“At least we get presents.” Leera made a face. “Then there’s all the pressure to get married. I plan to be nowhere near a village when I turn sixteen. Year and four months to go.”
“Year and a month for me, give or take,” Augum said.
Bridget smiled. “Year, six months and a few days.”
Leland moaned while holding Mr. Goss’ hand.
“Seven years and ten months for my son.”
That drew chuckles from everyone.
“But lest we forget,” Mr. Goss threw in, “if you live in a Legion town, sixteen is the year of conscription.”
That sobering thought silenced them.
The trail narrowed and became rockier. It dipped and rose over steepening hills, until they walked single file, torches ablaze, the night filled with cheerful song. After climbing one last tall hill, they spilled out onto a hilltop glade surrounded by stubby evergreens, branches bent with snow. The vastness of the night sky presented itself like a great luminous canvas. The Muranians, dimly lit by the moon, curved around them like some distant but enormous half-finished wall.
People milled around long trestle tables and benches. Torches decorated with ivy and holly dotted the clearing. As tradition dictated, three large central fires burned in a triangle in homage to the ancient witch. The flames of each fire licked at a pig, four chickens and a boar, all slowly turning on spits manned by village youths dressed in fur coats. Folks placed their plates and flatware on the tables, already brimming with candles, ivy, and evergreen branches.
Mr. Goss, Leland, Mr. Okeke, and Ms. Singh all walked ahead to reserve a table for the group, while the youths stayed behind to gawk at the sky, baskets at their feet.
“Beautiful …” Priya whispered, leaning close to Jengo.
“Everyone’s dressed so pretty,” Leera said, head swiveling to take in the gowns, doublets and cloaks. “And look at us—still wearing the same charred and patched apprentice robes …”
Jengo smiled. “It’s a mining town and it’s Endyear, I don’t think anyone minds. Besides, to them, they look like school robes.”
Leera grimaced. “They kind of are school robes.”
Augum mustered his courage. “I think you look nice,” and immediately turned away, feeling her stare. He pretended to inspect the jagged outline of the Muranians.
Bridget, too, glanced at the looming rock, blacker than the night. “They look so close, yet they’re so far away. It’s scary to think we’ll have to climb them soon.”
“Is that what you were talking about earlier, that castle?” Chaska asked.
“Yes, Bahbell …”
“ ‘Gateway to hell’,” Leera said.
“Why do you have to go there?” he pressed. “Is it some kind of nemana?”
“We have to find something to prevent a great evil,” Bridget replied.
And find it before my father does, Augum thought.
Chaska scratched at his short milky hair. “If this Mrs. Stone is as powerful as you told me, why doesn’t she just do it on her own?”
“Because she needs our help, Chaska,” Bridget replied.
“She wants to train you in the old way,” Jengo said, staring up at the stars. “The way before the academies, when apprentices learned by trial and adventure.”
“How do you know that?” Bridget asked.
“It was in your book, the blue one, near the beginning in the history section.”
“Ah, we’ve really got to read that thing …”
“I don’t have two lifetimes to spare,” Leera muttered.
Priya smiled and reached up to pinch Jengo’s cheek. “My Jengo wants to become a warlock. How cute.”
Leera scowled. “It’s not ‘cute’, it’s dangerous. Do you know how many apprentices—oof!”
Bridget had elbowed her, flashing a reprimanding look.
“Well, they deserve to know, don’t they?”
“It’s Endyear, Lee—”
Priya’s face darkened. “Know what?”
“She’s right, my sweet Priya. It’s better for you to know. There is a great chance I shall die learning the arcane way—”
“Slight chance,” Leera corrected.
“What’s worse,” Jengo continued, “is that nowadays warlocks are hunted by the Legion. When they’re captured, they’re given a choice—serve or die. The ones that serve are forced to convert to necromancy. If I do not perish in the training, I shall surely perish as a necromancer. I just hope it will be a noble death.”
“Oh, Jengo.” Priya looked up at the towering Sierran. “Then I shall be by your side every step of the way.”
He met her gaze and smiled.
“Panjita is waiting for her ungrateful daughter!” Ms. Singh called from a distant table.
“We better go,” Jengo said. He reached out to hold Priya’s hand but she immediately withdrew, whispering, “Not in public!”
“Oh, right …”
They joined a table consisting of innkeeper Huan, a woman with pale skin and dirty blonde hair, and a youth with a striking resemblance to both of them. Ms. Singh, Priya, Jengo and Mr. Okeke took a seat beside them; Mr. Goss, Leland, Leera, Augum, Bridget and Chaska opposite.
Everyone exchanged the requisite pleasantries and Endyear well wishes. The singing continued throughout, as did the steady arrival of villagers, petering out now to only a few stragglers. Finally, a dark-skinned old man with a short black beard wandered to stand between the three fires. He wore a full-length cotton-white robe cinched at the waist, a loose white headdress, and a golden sash across his chest. He held an ornate golden lantern, inside of which sat a fat candle, more than two-thirds gone. Augum surmised it to be Milham’s official Endyear candle as every village had one.
“That’s Mr. Hanad Haroun,” Jengo whispered. “He’s originally from Sierra, but now he’s the senior town elder.”
Mr. Haroun raised a hand and the singing died as heads turned in his direction. “Welcome to all who reside in our little mi
ning village of Milham!” His voice was gravelly and travelled well. “And welcome to those passing through. On behalf of the other elders, I impart Endyear blessings upon you all.”
“Happy Endyear!” the crowd chanted.
“I start my yearly speech, which I promise will be short—” some among the crowd tittered, “—with dark tidings.” Everyone fell silent. “As many of you know, we have recently had a visit from a Legion herald.” Many people hissed, those at the trio’s table loudest of all.
Mr. Haroun raised his hand again. “All able-bodied men were to assemble in Eastspear. As you look around at your loved ones, your friends and neighbors, you will note many men did not heed this call. Help them be strong. Let us be united.”
The crowd muttered in agreement.
Augum looked around at the rapt faces and realized this kind of talk was highly treasonous. He suddenly feared what had happened at Sparrow’s Perch happening here.
“Regardless, the Legion grows stronger every day,” Mr. Haroun continued. “This we know. They march eastward to Tiberra in search of war. This, too, we know. They promise us eternal life if we give them seven ancient artifacts. They call this the ‘Great Quest’. Alas, this we also know.”
Augum nodded solemnly. Eternal life was supposed to come from the Leyan plane, a place his father intended to conquer. Yet Thomas Stone—Augum’s great-grandfather and Mrs. Stone’s husband—left that plane only to age before their eyes, finally dying in Augum’s arms. He did it to prove to them that the power of eternal life couldn’t be brought into the mortal world. His great-grandfather had given his life to make a point, and Augum swore to himself his sacrifice would not be for nothing.
Mr. Haroun glanced down at the snow as he absently stroked his pointed beard. “But what we do not know, my dear friends, is how it will affect us. There may come a day when the Legion rides into our town to snatch men for their wars. They may also take our women to serve as unpaid servants—slaves, if you will. They may burn Milham to the ground for our impudence. Some of you have already born witness to such a thing.” More nods among the crowd, including the trio and Mr. Goss.
