The Festival

Sweat drenched the kerchief around Ryn Talmair’s head as the heat of four brick ovens undulated around her. She had lost count of how many trays of pastries had gone in and out of the ovens since she had started baking early that morning. The owner Tom and his wife Celeste were working alongside her, as hot and harried as her, but none of them complained. The food was being made for the Festival of Vanya that night, the celebration of the coming autumn and the goddess of the harvest, crafts, and girlhood, and the treats would be enjoyed by all the townspeople of Styl. The busy work kept Ryn’s mind off the argument she had with her mother before she left, who complained of her missing out on the day’s traditional activities with her family. She had already been so against her getting a job that Ryn thought she might forbid her to go back ever again, but her father’s quiet words had calmed her for the moment. Pursing her damp lips, Ryn wondered if she would be going home to another fight.

            The afternoon air was cool when Ryn stepped out, sweat drenched, tired, covered in batter and flour, she couldn’t tell if the cool breeze was more noticeable after the heat of the bakery, or if it was the coming chill of the autumn season. Despite her fatigue, there was a bounce in her step that carried her quickly to her home in Westend, the smattering of country style houses to the west of Styl. As much as she liked the business and bustle of the center of town, she would never want to live anywhere but her cozy home on its generous plot of land, close to the forest and the lake. She waved to whatever neighbour she saw, the warmth of the sun keeping her contented mood, though she sighed in relief at the sight of the willow tree on her front yard. She followed the large cobbled stones through the waning flower garden at the front of the house, the shadow of the two story building noticeably colder than it had been through the summer. Ryn rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms, admiring the ever continuous change of seasons that never failed.

            Ryn loved her home, and though she spent as much time as she could away from the place in the warmer seasons, there was nowhere she would rather be than tucked beside her mother in front of the fire, reading a good book and sipping warm tea while her younger siblings played and her father worked on business while smoking his pipe. The rooms were large and airy with windows in almost every room. The first floor was the original structure and made of stone, but her great-great-grandfather had added a second story made of wood to accommodate his ever growing family, which eventually consisted of eighteen children. Ryn couldn’t imagine how they had all fit in to the six rooms upstairs, nor how many distant relations she must have all over the country of Algaila.

            Though entry into her home was usually followed by the smell of some freshly made delicacy at the hand of her mother, it was not the case that day. Festivals were always preceded by a day of fasting, along with prayer, and any final steps taken in finishing the sacrifice that would be offered to the Festival’s appropriate deity. The main reason Ryn’s mother had been so upset with her was that she would miss three out of four prayers that the family would take part in at their altar. She had assured her that she would say the prayers with Tom and Celeste at the bakery, but she still did protest. It wasn’t that she did not feel guilty for missing the prayer with her family, but she felt dedicated to her commitment to the bakery, which she promised she would help with the day before. The last thing Ryn wanted was to make a bad impression within the first month of being hired. Ryn took off her dusty shoes and replaced them with slippers before entering further in to the house. She stood for a moment on the landing and listened to the sounds of the house, trying to guess as she often did, what the rest of her family was up to.

            Right away she could hear muffled footsteps above her that slowed and quickened as if the feet would go between running, walking, and stopping. There was a rambling chuckle before a shriek, followed by more footsteps. So her younger sister and brother were playing upstairs. Closing her eyes, Ryn listened more intently " there were no sounds of water, so it wasn’t likely that there was anyone in the washing room, and likely not anyone in the kitchen due to the fast. The egg-like ping of china hitting china came from her right. Her father was probably in his office, which took up a third of the first floor since before the walls were knocked down it had been the original three bedrooms of the house.

            Once more, Ryn closed her eyes and listened, but she could not hear anything that would give away the location of her mother. Without announcing herself to her father, Ryn went upstairs to her room to grab a change of clothes, then to the washing room to bathe. She set her clothes on a stool, ignored the tub that would take ages to fill, and used the waterfall instead. The basin that stood on posts above Ryn had been filled the day before and the water would be enough for the five of them to use once each for three days. Then the basin would be lowered, taken to the well, and filled again. On the side of the basin was a spigot-like device that allowed the water to run out above them at a slow, steady stream, not all at once like out of a pitcher, but like out of a bucket with holes on the bottom to not waste water. The elven technology was one of many picked up hundreds of years before when the first Algailan settlers came to the country. Ryn kept her bath short and to the point, getting clean of all the mess of the bakery and washing her hair. After, she felt so much more refreshed.

            As she exited the washing room, her mother entered from the back door of the house. From the few errant strands of hay that clung to her hair and clothes, Ryn knew she had been caring for the horses. Ryn’s mother, Senna, smiled warmly at her daughter, “And how was it at work?” She patted down her clothes and undid her hair to try and get rid of the dust and hay that had collected on her.

            “Busy.” Ryn replied, “But it will be worth it tonight. Tom thought up this new apply cherry pastry that tastes delightful, I’m sure everyone will love it.” Senna embraced Ryn and Ryn kissed her mother on the cheek. “How has it been here?” Ryn asked, the question meant to gauge her mother’s attitude towards her. Senna waved her hand,

            “Oh fine, you know.  I hope you did your prayers at the bakery. We don’t want you to get in trouble with Vanya for the next year.” Ryn understood her mother’s worry, since blaspheming against the Gods was taken seriously and missing prayers and the sacrifice, especially on their patron Festival day, was not something anyone wanted to do. Ill fortune was the common outcome of such action, and when much in one’s year depended on the favour of all four gods, no one wanted to do them injustice. “But you’re back in time for the last prayer and I’m happy for it. In fact, ready the altar for us and I’ll gather everyone in.” Ryn was glad her mother was no longer angry with her.

            The altar was a nestled in a recess in a corner of the house. It was customary to keep the center of the table focused on the God whose season it was, but still keep a small section for the others beside in order to invoke them if needed. The cabinet under the table kept the icons and other affects, like candles and offering vessels, until they were needed. This morning Ryn’s parents had set out the things needed to begin the season of autumn, of whom Vanya was the patron goddess. Vanya’s father Vilnoth was the patron of winter, mother Veska was the patron of spring, and brother Vorshem was the patron of summer. The gods represented other aspects of Algailan life as well and those were also uniquely represented at every Festival.

            There was no absolute standard for the icons and anyone could make one, and the icon’s that the Talmair’s used had been carved by Senna’s grandfather, a master woodworker. Ryn had always liked Vanya’s icon the best, in one hand she held a basket of fruit and vegetables and with the other she held a hammer. On her torso was carved Vanya’s symbol, a south facing arrow with a line coming up from the point and a circle at the end of the line. The line represented the harvest and the circle was a female symbol. Vanya was usually depicted as young, a girl just come upon womanhood, and even in the basic element of stained wood there was conveyed a sense of peace and virtue. Vanya was patron to girls, menses, the harvest, craft, and trade, and all girls begin a monthly prayer in her honour until they are married, when mother Veska becomes their patron. Ryn did not look forward to the day that Vanya would leave her.

            Ryn cleaned out the herbs that had been burned earlier by her family in the previous prayer session, replacing them with fresh ones. She left the melted wax, since the last session would melt the candles completely and would be cleaned later. She removed the previous offerings as well " a bit of cloth, stone, a leaf, and half a broken coin. Everyone brought something different to each of the four prayers, something representing Vanya’s elements. Ryn had brought a piece of scone she had made earlier at the bakery. Once the altar had been reset, Ryn settled on the floor and waited for her family. 

            Senna ushered Kendra and Enni to the altar. They took a moment to hug Ryn, whom they hadn’t seen all day, before settling on the ground. Even they, with their wild youthfulness, understood the importance of the prayer and Festivals. Allen, Ryn’s father, winked at her and kissed her atop the head.

            “You did well setting it up, thank you.”

            Ryn flushed, pleased, “You’re welcome, father.”

            The Talmair’s began their prayer, first by lighting the candles and then the herbs. They said the customary prayer,

            “Vanya, we thank you for your blessing upon our lives, for the skills you imbue into our hands to allow us to provide for ourselves and for the ones we love. We thank you for allowing us to share in your cleverness, we thank you for taking care of our young girls, we thank you for sharing your wisdom. Fa-mo-bro-da.” The whole prayer was said while each person clasped together their hands, their fore and middle fingers extended to make the shape of a “V”, and the incantation at the end paid homage to all of the holy family. Then, each person starting from the oldest to youngest, gave their small offering.

            “I give you this sacrifice in payment for your guidance.” Ryn said, like her father and mother had before her, as she placed her small piece of pastry in the dish in front of the idol. Ryn followed her father back to his office. She lingered in the doorway until he rolled his eyes at her, “Come in then, don’t just hang there like a shadow.” Ryn smiled and despite herself, skipped to him, hugging him.

            “I am truly sorry for missing today’s prayers, but I promise I did them with Tom and Celeste.” Allen kissed her hair again,

            “I know that this obligation is important, and frankly I would have thought less of you if you didn’t fight to go. It’s important that others know that you can be kept to your word.” Ryn grinned, happy to be on even terms with her father. “But next time, please ask your mother and me what we think especially when it comes to important days like this.”

            “Yes father.”

            “Now don’t you have a dress to finish? It’s almost sundown.” Ryn nodded, she did have to finished her sacrifice " the dress she had been hand embroidering for the past two months had only a few more leaves until it was finally complete. She had never undertaken such an immense project for her sacrifice, in the past making simple things like small stitched sceneries or embroidering napkins, but this was likely the last festival wherein Vanya would be her patron, especially at the rate that her mother and father kept bringing suitors in to the house. The hairs on the back of Ryn’s neck prickled at the thought of the suitors, but she pushed it out of her mind " that was not what she wanted to focus on that night.

 

            Perhaps it was because of the fifth cup of wine, or perhaps it was knowing that her sacrifice was the best she’d ever made, Ryn felt totally at peace in the chaos of the Festival. Ryn was always amazed that the entire town could fit in to the temple four times a year, yet every Wednesday during the weekly sermons, people bickered over seating. Long separated from her family, Ryn stood with her friends in the throng of people. Anna and Flyn, never missing a moment to be close to each other, stood arms twined around torsos, moving together through the crown as one. Awra, no longer flirting inappropriately with another married man, looked uncharacteristically solemn as she watched the sacrificial fire at the center of the temple grow larger as more items were added to the flames. Finally finished eating, Bennett fidgeted with the model carriage he had made, the minute detail surprising Ryn, who often forgot the extent of his talent. The Priest has just finished his short sermon and the townspeople of Styl had begun offering their sacrifices.

            Something stirred in Ryn when she flung the dress she had made into the flames. Though she never wanted to enter into service of the temple, she had always felt a reverence for the gods. She loved the Family, trusted in their love of her, and took part in all the small and large practices that were a part of Algailan religion. Warmth and peace settled into Ryn’s heart, as if Vanya herself had embraced her. As she turned from the flames and made to leave the temple and find her family, there was a commotion near the entrance. Ryn could hear gasps and expressions of surprise echoing across the lofty walls of the temple, but she could not see what caused them. Had a fight broken out? Then a voice cried out, loud but weak, as if the person it belonged to was out of breath,

            “The king! The king- king is dead!”

            Shock hit Ryn like she had been kicked in the stomach and a chill ran through her despite the wine. She did not remember finding her family or going home, and only realized where she was the moment before sleep took her, in her bed with her mother blowing out the candle beside her bed.

 

            Ryn woke in the same fashion many did the morning after a Festival " with a pounding head and turning stomach, but that day was not like any other morning because consciousness and illness was followed by the gut-wrenching knowledge that the King was dead. King Jacobi was the only ruler that Ryn had known, having already been in power for thirty years by the time Ryn was born. He would die eventually, as all do, but Ryn never expected the news to come so unexpectedly. She tried to settle her stomach and her thoughts in the comfort of routine: pulling her hair into a braid, washing her face with the cool water in the basin on her dresser, stretching out her limbs before getting dressed and going downstairs to the kitchen. Her mother not yet awake, Ryn took it upon herself to prepare the morning meal.

            After cutting up some mushrooms and peppers, Ryn put a pan on the stove. Once the vegetables had cooked some, she added eggs, letting the whole thing bake. Though the bread was not fresh, she could still warm it up with the heat of the stove and spread some butter, softening up the two day old bread. And with the absence of fresh meat, Ryn took the picked beef to the table. After putting some water to boil, Ryn went to wake her family. She knocked softly on the door of her parent’s room, letting them know that food was ready and tea would be too, once they came downstairs. She passed her brother Timothy’s room, the door kept closed, touching a finger softly on the handle. Next door was Michael’s room, bare aside from the essentials of a bed and dresser. It was used a guest room, if at all, and Eni would inherit it within the year once Kendra was too old to share a room. Kendra and Eni were still sleeping and Ryn woke them up with a kiss on head and a soft rub on the back.

            “Food’s ready downstairs. Put on a robe and come.”

            “Thanks, Ryn.” Said Kendra, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. People said that she looked like her, but Ryn thought she looked more like Timothy than anyone, at least from what she remembered of him. Her mother and father greeted her as she exited her sibling’s room. From their dull eyes and hunched shoulders, they seemed to be in the same state as Ryn.

            The food was incredibly satisfying, filling the emptiness that had appeared overnight in Ryn’s stomach. Everyone ate steadily but voraciously and conversation was sparse. Without giving herself a chance to rest, Ryn went to care for the horses. She always enjoyed the process of caring for them, finding it relaxing to turn their hay, sweep out their stalls, refill their water and grain, and then take both horses out for a run in the fenced off field adjacent the barn. Pillar was her father’s horse, a giant blue roan beast with a temperamental personality and fondness for bucking any rider other than her father. Ryn had taken a year to earn his trust enough so that he would not throw her and still he liked to toss her around in the saddle just to test her. The other horse, Ama, was her mother’s, but not being one to enjoy riding, she had given Ryn permission to ride her whenever she liked. She was a sweet buckskin with a completely opposite temperament of Pillar. Ryn’s ride with Ama was steady and practiced, the two bodies working in perfect harmony. Ryn used only the slightest touch to steer and the horse responded instantly. When they were done, Ryn led her back to her stall and brushed her.

            “Such a sweet girl, aren’t you Ama?” Ryn cooed, stroking the horse’s soft nose. Ama blinked her long eyelashes over light brown eyes and huffed. Ryn could not help but smile, she loved the animal so much.

            Back inside the house everyone else had come to life. Senna worked with Kendra to sweep and mop all the floors while Eni had gone down the street to a neighbours to play.

            “Where’s daddy?” Ryn asked her mother.

            “He had to go in to town. There’s a council meeting about… the King.” Her last words hung in the air.

            “Are they talking to the man from last night?” Ryn grew excited; maybe they would know everything about the situation by the end of the day and no longer be in suspense. Her mother shrugged her shoulders,

            “I believe so. But don’t you pester him the moment he comes back. It won’t be for hours anyhow. Aren’t you going out to the lake with everyone like you always do?”

            “I didn’t know if we still should, on account of… you know.” Ryn would feel guilty going to the lake to relax with her friends while the state of the kingdom was unknown.

            “Oh go on then. It’s almost time for you all to be down there. Here,” Senna handed Ryn a basket, “I already put together some treats for you all, and there’s some water skins in there too.” Tip-toeing across the still wet floor, Ryn kissed her mother and took the basket.

            “Thank you. They’ll appreciate it.”

            Ryn went upstairs to quickly change in to some trousers and boots, and grabbed a light coat in case it became cooler in the afternoon. She decided not bother taking Ama and walked to the lake. It was just past noon when she passed the final house and came closer to the tree line. While the north, east, and south of Styl was cradled by mountains, the west was bordered by a lush expanse of forest that had never been broken into. Ryn and her friends had never gone very deep into the forest; the farthest they had ventured was the elven ruins, beyond which the trees became almost ominous. Even Styl had nearly never been discovered, being over the tall peaks of the _____________ mountains, but one adventurous King had demanded they be crossed and on the other side had been discovered the bigby plants, which had an almost narcotic hold on the taste buds of Algailans and would not be abandoned despite the difficulty of the mountain pass.

            Lake Olias was not far from the start of the trees and was a sizable piece of water. In the height of summer it was nearly always inhabited by townsfolk, whether swimming, fishing, or boating. Now though, in the crisp chill of early autumn, the lake sat quietly. As Ryn approached the water, she saw a lone figure sitting on the end of the long wooden dock.

            “Hiya!” She called, not certain who the figure was. The person turned around and Ryn made out the round, bearded face of her friend Bennett. He sat of the edge of the dock, feet dangling in the water. “Not too cold?” Ryn called out. Bennett grinned,

            “Could be colder. Figured why not have one last dip before it freezes over.” Ryn took a seat beside him, cross legged and facing parallel the dock so she could see anyone coming down the path.

            “Pipe?” he asked, offering the tobacco he had been smoking. Ryn nodded and inhaled the woody sweetness. It was goblin tobacco, more expensive then the kind grown in Algaila, but of far higher quality as the goblins made tobacco smoking an art form. On market days Ryn had seen many goblin made pipes in ridiculous shapes, carved to the likeness of horses, castles, mountains, many intricate things. Bennett had several he made himself, attempting to copy the ancient art.

            “What do you think about last night?” he asked her, tamping out the spent tobacco and refilling the pipe with more. Ryn shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. I just can’t believe he’s dead.”

            “I want to know how. There hadn’t been any news of illness.”

            “They could have kept it from everyone.”

            “But Jacobi wasn’t secretive like that. He shared everything with us.”

            “Maybe someone else was forcing him to keep it a secret, like his councilmen?” Ryn suggested, though she couldn’t believe that herself. King Jacobi’s council was one of few in Algailan history that was not wrought with secrets and plots.

            “I wonder when his son’s coronation will be.” Said Bennett, taking his feet out of the lake and setting them on the deck to dry.

            “I suppose shortly after his funeral.”

            The two did not get a chance to wonder further as Ryn caught sight of three figures coming down the trail. Awra rode her horse behind Anna and Flyn who walked in front. Ryn and Bennett waved to them. While Awra dismounted, tied her horse, and stopped to fish something out of the saddle bags, Flyn and Anna came and settled beside their friends on the deck. Ryn offered the food her mother had packed.

            “Oh gracious, thank you. I didn’t have the stomach for anything this morning and now I’m just starved.” Anna pulled out a scone and ate it without thought to grace or manners. Flyn took one too, tearing off small pieces before eating them. And never one to say no to food, Bennett took one as well.

            “Have you stopped since last night?” asked Awra, her comment directed at Bennett.

            “Of course I have, had to sleep didn’t I?” Many years of back-handed remarks had trained Bennett to always be ready with his own comments.

            “Here, I took a few bottles from the kitchen.” Awra shoved a bottle of wine in Ryn’s face.

            “Didn’t think to bring some glasses?” asked Bennett.

            “You won’t die drinking from the bottle.” Awra scowled, seating herself beside the rest of them.

            “What’s got you in a temper?” Anna asked accepting the bottle from Ryn, taking a drink, then handing it to Flyn.

            “What do you think? I’ve got a headache the size of a mountain and the king is dead.”

            “You don’t care for politics, at least beyond what they wear and who they marry, what’s it to you that he’s died?” Fly asked.

            “Well he was our king wasn’t he? I know that was important and I know that means that things are uncertain until his son becomes king, right?” Awra suddenly reddened, not wanting to seem stupid.

            Ryn nodded, “She’s not wrong. Its times like these that all sorts of people come out to try and claim lineage.” Awra grinned, pleased that she was right.

            “I think he was assassinated.”

            “Ben!” Anna actually gasped, mouth hanging open, “Flyn that can’t be true, can it?” She turned to him, clutching his hands. Ryn rolled her eyes, partly at Ben and partly at Anna. Ben had a knack for saying the worst thing at the worst time, and Anna always tried to hide ugly truths behind Flyn’s comforting words. Flyn stroked Anna’s cheek and shook his head, “Of course not, Annie. Jacobi was well into his seventies, I’m sure it was just his time.”

            “He could have been assassinated.” Said Ryn, more a jibe towards Anna than because she agreed with Ben. Anna gasped again. Ryn swore that sometimes she was more melodramatic than even Awra.

            “Really, Ryn? Today is not the day for attitude.” Flyn scolded, holding Anna who had begun to tear up. Ryn scoffed, rolled her eyes, then crossed her arms.

            “I’m sorry, Anna, but today is not a day for tiptoeing around either.” She stood up, leaving the bag of food and water. “I’m going. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

            “You think there’ll be school?” asked Anna, who had managed to stifle tears.

            “Of course. The world won’t stop for one dead king.”

 

Author's Note

Feel free to review, working draft.

Reviews

[Miguel Chicas]

This was amazingly well written, the characters and locations names are really unique and the religion they practice gave me a feel of the norse type of gods. The religion and the ending really got me interested to read the next chapter. Also, I think I've been saying ryn wrong as I was saying it as "Ryan" but I think I now know the right pronunciation.amazing work looking forward to the next CH.