by Ryan Cahill
A few filthy looks were exchanged between the two groups of young men as they made their way out of the tent, but no words. None were silly enough to risk incurring Erdhardt’s wrath.
“Do you want me to go back with you?” Vars asked as they stepped out into the brisk night air.
“No, that’s okay. You all should stay. Start your celebrations. I can go clean up by myself,” Calen said with a weak smile. He did not want Freis and Vars fussing over him, and he could do with at least a few minutes on his own. If he could survive The Proving, then he could survive the walk home.
“Don’t be too long,” Freis said, cupping her hands on either side of Calen’s face and placing a kiss on his forehead. “I’ve left some clothes out for you.”
“I won’t. I’ll be back as soon as I’m ready – and thank you.” Calen turned to Dann and Rist, “I’ll see you two in about an hour?”
“You think I’ll miss the opportunity to get some free mead? I’ll need it after what those idiots got away with,” Dann said, a scowl on his face.
“They didn’t get away with anything, Dann,” Rist said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Have you ever known Erdhardt to let anyone get away with anything? He said he will revisit it tomorrow. For tonight, can we just get drunk?”
“Agreed,” Dann and Calen said together.
Calen felt a sense of relief as he stepped into his room, collapsing onto his bed with a sigh. He lay there for a few minutes, allowing his aching body to sink into his mattress. If it were up to him, he would have lain there all night. If it were up to him.
With a sigh, he dragged himself to his feet, scrubbed the dried dirt and blood from his skin, and began to dress in the clothes his mother had laid out. The trousers were a simple pale brown, secured at the waist with dark wooden buttons. The shirt was a pearlescent white, the front opening coming down to his collarbone. Finally, he pulled on a warm coat before stepping out into the chilly night air.
The feast tent was an entirely different spectacle upon Calen’s return. It was a cacophony of sound. Every table was packed from one end to the other. Serving girls glided between drunken revellers, ducking and diving under flailing arms, somehow never spilling a drop of mead or dropping a morsel of food. The cheery mead-induced conversations warmed Calen’s ears. If he could go the rest of his life without hearing the incessant noises of insects, he would be the happiest man alive.
Music blended with the din of merriment. Travelling bards ambled about between the tables, carrying lutes, harps, or the occasional flute. Their garb was as flamboyant as Calen had come to expect. Wildly ornate coats accented vibrant shirts and trousers, each one more extravagant than the last. Some wore wide-brimmed hats with feathers of all shapes and sizes pluming from the top. Others had beards that draped as low as their waistline, twisted in plaits and coloured with dyes.
“Come on, then. Let’s get some food in our bellies,” Dann said, appearing beside Calen. “Oh, and some mead.” He clapped one hand down on Calen’s shoulder; his other hand snatched a tankard of mead from the tray of a passing serving girl. Nothing ever seemed to faze Dann. No matter what happened, he was always back to himself before anyone could tell any different.
“For once, I’m with Dann,” Rist said, emerging from behind the flap of the tent, a stiff limp in his walk. He looked like a different man after cleaning the matted dirt and dust from his face.
Calen laughed and nodded in approval. His body ached, and exhaustion still held him firmly in its grasp, but the scene before him gave him a renewed feeling of vigour.
“You clean up well.”
Anya was beautiful. Her ember hair rolled down the side of her face. It was striking against her flowing green dress, decorated in a white floral pattern. The scent of honeysuckle drifted through the air around her.
Calen’s voice caught in his throat. He wanted to reply, “So do you,” but his lips wouldn’t listen to his brain. He couldn’t help but be angry with himself. He had just faced a bear and two Uraks, yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak when Anya stood in front of him.
“Come on, lover boy. We have to get to our table,” Dann said, wrapping his arm around Calen’s shoulder. Calen wanted to give him a swift elbow to the ribs, and he would have done if he hadn’t seen Anya blush.
“Dance with me later?” As soon as the words left Calen’s mouth, his heart sank into his stomach. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
“Find me after we eat,” Anya said. The dimples on either side of her mouth creased as she smiled. Calen felt like leaping into the air. His heart raced as Dann turned him around and walked him into the crowd.
“Smooth,” Dann said.
They caught up with Rist and made their way through the chaotic celebrations, over to the table where their families sat. When they arrived, Vars stood up and pulled Calen into a tight hug. He stepped back for a second and gripped Calen by both shoulders, beaming at him.
“My boy… You will always be my boy.” Vars’s eyes gleamed. “Come on – I’m sure you’re starving.”
“And thirsty!” Tharn Pimm extended a tankard of mead, placing it almost forcefully in Calen’s hand. Calen couldn’t stop his smile from spreading ear to ear as he looked around the table. The Havels, the Pimms, his mother and father, Ella. Family.
He joined Dann and Rist at the table, grabbing greedily at the wide assortment of food that was laid out in front of him. Even after eating earlier, his stomach still rumbled. The hours passed as they all ate and drank, telling stories and tales of days long gone. It was a welcome change from the cold nights in the forest.
Vars was deep in a story about when he and Lasch were young and stole a chicken from Old Master Pimm’s coop when Dann leaned in close enough so only Calen could hear, and whispered, “You think maybe, you might have somewhere to be?”
“What do you… oh.” A nervous knot twisted in Calen’s stomach as he remembered his conversation with Anya. “She probably doesn’t even—”
“Get out of that seat right now and go find Anya.” A grin crept across Dann’s face as he grabbed Calen’s hand and looked him dead in the eye. “You got this – now go.”
Calen took a deep breath inwards, steeling himself. “I got this.” I do not have this. He saw Rist nod at him as he stood up, a knowing smile on his face.
Calen tentatively pushed his way through the throng of people that filled the feast tent. Everywhere he looked, people danced and sang, and in every corner of the tent, bards played a different song. How was he meant to find Anya in this madness?
He recoiled as a chill shot up his right arm. “Fuck sake,” he said, feeling the damp patch on the sleeve of his shirt. “You just have to get it in your mouth—”
“Looking for me?” The sweet scent of honeysuckle hit Calen before he heard the words. Anya stood in front of him, her hands clutching at the corners of her green floral dress. Calen’s voice caught in his throat at the sight of her. Gods damn it. Say something. “Ehm… I was.” Say something better.
“I hope you came looking for that dance.” Anya raised an eyebrow as she gave Calen a cheeky smile. Her freckles always stood out when she smiled like that. “There’s a bard over there,” she said, nodding her head towards the other side of the tent, “apparently her music is beautiful, if you wanted to…”
“Let’s go!” Calen said, jumping at the opportunity before she changed her mind. “Lead the way.”
Calen couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face – or the shiver from running through his body when Anya took his hand. For some reason, pushing through the crowd again didn’t irritate Calen the way it had before. They didn’t speak as they made their way over to the other side of the tent. But that suited Calen just fine – he had no idea what to say.
The closer they got to where Anya had pointed out, the more the crowd thinned, and the soft, melodic sound of a woman singing drifted into Calen’s ears. He couldn’t make out the words, but her voice was mes
merising. A rapturous applause broke out just as they reached the edge of the crowd that stood around the bard.
“She is beautiful,” Anya whispered.
The woman sat on the edge of a long table with a lute in her hand, one foot rested on the cross-leg of a chair, and the other on the ground. Her skin was a dark chestnut brown, like the petals of the Dalya flowers that Calen had seen in the window of Anya’s home. Her short-cropped hair was as dark as jet, and two dimples held up the edges of her smile. She wore sturdy leather riding boots, and a long purple dress pulled in at the waist by a thin leather belt. It seemed an odd combination to Calen.
Anya was right – she was beautiful.
But Calen knew better than to say that out loud. His father had warned him of that once, when they were drinking in The Gilded Dragon. A woman can call another woman beautiful, but you can never agree.
“Thank you,” the woman said, giving a slight bow at the waist. “For those of you who have just arrived, my name is Belina Louna. I hail from the western lands of Narvona, and I am privileged to be passing through your village tonight. Now, would you like to hear a traditional Narvonan love song?”
A chorus of cheers broke out at the suggestion. But Calen thought he saw the woman smiling at him and Anya as she spoke.
“Okay, so we call this one, On Summer Nights.”
The melody that came from the woman’s lute was slow and sweet. Calen could still hear the rumbling of the louder, more up-tempo music coming from other spots inside the feast tent, but they drifted into the back of his mind when she started to sing.
“On summer nights, when the moon paints the sky,
On summer nights, when your touch is all I know.
When the stars shimmer in the sea up high,
And the warmth of your love holds me close…”
The touch of Anya’s hand broke Calen’s concentration. “Dance with me?”
As if by magic, Calen’s heart hammered against his chest, and he could have sworn that his forehead was slick with sweat. He nodded, unable to speak. He tried his best to smile as he took Anya’s hand and moved into the open space in front of the bard. How do you dance?
Anya reached out and took both of Calen’s hands into her own. The light from the candles flickered across her freckled cheeks. Before he knew it, they were moving. Calen followed Anya. He had danced before, but not with a woman – not like this. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. All he had to do was follow her feet. How did she know how to dance so well?
Calen blushed when he realised that he had been following Anya’s feet so closely that he hardly looked at her face. She giggled at him, letting her head rest on his chest, which only caused his heart to beat faster. It felt nice, though – comforting. He forced his mind to relax. They swayed back and forth, their feet drifting with the music.
“On summer nights, I will hold on to your memory.
When the air is warm, I will sit beneath the old Oak tree.
For your arms, I will yearn, for your voice I will hope.
We will be side by side, again my love, on summer nights.”
The crowd clapped and cheered as the lute played out the end of the song. Reluctantly, Calen lifted his head to find that five other couples had joined them in dancing. He felt Anya’s head lift off his chest. No, please stay there.
Her green eyes glistened as she looked up at him. “That was… lovely.”
“It was…”
All other sounds capitulated to the methodical beating of Calen’s heart as he held Anya’s gaze. It seemed as if time stood still.
“There you are!” Calen nearly leapt out of his skin as Dann clapped his hand down across his back. “Your dad said to come and get you. They’re about to announce the victors of The Hunt and… shit.” He muttered the last part and mouthed the word “sorry” to Calen as his eyes fell on Anya.
Calen let out a heavy sigh. Dann always had the worst timing. Calen looked back to Anya. “I’m sorry, I have to—”
“It’s okay,” she said. The smile on her face let Calen know that she meant it. “I’ll see you after they make the announcements. Go, go!”
Calen let his head hang back over his shoulders as he and Dann walked away from Anya. “You couldn’t have waited, just a minute?”
“Yeah… I’ll take that one. I probably could have.”
A loud clanging noise rang out through the tent as they sat back down at the table with their families. Erdhardt stood at his table, knocking a spoon off a steel tankard. The ringing resonated through the tent with surprising volume. “It is with great pride that we look out over these tables tonight. Our boys have become young men.” He paused for a second as his eyes swept through the tent. “Everyone that entered Ölm has returned to us, some with a few more scars than when they entered.” His voice dipped into a sombre tone. “But they have returned. That has not always been the case.”
He raised his tankard in the air. “I ask you all to join me in a toast. To all the young men who have returned to us, and to those that never did. To the young men who have passed through The Proving, and to the young women who have nothing to prove.”
A raucous cheer erupted all over the tent. Calen noticed a smug look on Ella’s face as she raised her cup in celebration.
Erdhardt raised his tankard slightly higher, and Calen joined the rest of the crowd in following suit. Erdhardt repeated the blessings of the gods, as he did before they entered Ölm. “May The Mother embrace you and The Father protect you. May The Warrior guide your hand and The Maiden guide your mind. May The Smith keep your blade sharp and The Sailor see you to safe shores.”
The words were echoed through the tent.
“And now it is time to announce the victors of The Hunt. Those young men who went above and beyond, those who stared fear in the eyes and did not blink. This year, The Proving has provided many a surprise and many a test. You have brought us the pelts of kats bigger than I have ever seen, and wolfpines and boars aplenty. It has truly been a year like no other. However, this year has brought us something that has not been seen before. Something that has united all the councils in unanimous vote.”
Each council member raised their tankards in the air in a note of agreement. The tension in the air was palpable as everyone sat in anticipation.
“A group of young men were driven through Ölm Forest, all the way to the foot of Wolfpine Ridge. They have proven themselves beyond their years, and I am proud to say that they hail from right here in The Glade.” Cheers and shouts erupted from the tables where villagers of The Glade were sitting. “They returned to us from the depths of Ölm Forest only a few hours ago. With them, they brought something that not one of us on this council expected to see – the head of an Urak.”
Shock and disbelief spread through the crowd like a wave.
“Settle down, settle down. The councils have spoken at length with regard to the possible Urak threat, and we have a plan of action. For now, join us one more time in raising your cups in a toast to these three young men. Calen Bryer, Dann Pimm, and Rist Havel – victors of The Hunt.”
CHAPTER 9
A Game of Chance
A couple of days had passed since the feast night, most of which were a blur. After Calen, Rist, and Dann were announced as victors of The Hunt, the tent had erupted in shouts and cheers, and the mead was free flowing until the early hours of the morning. Calen’s head still had not recovered from the mead-induced fuzziness he endured the morning after.
Calen winced as the morning sun sprayed through the dense clouds overhead, catching him by surprise. He was on his way to meet Dann and Rist at his father’s forge. A delivery of armour and weapons had to be made to the port in Milltown, and Vars had asked him if he would make the journey. It was a perfect opportunity to visit the Milltown markets and spend a bit of their victors’ purse.
When he arrived at the forge, he did not see any sign yet of Dann or Rist, but the clanging of hammer on steel emanated from within. Duck
ing out from the crispness of the frosty morning air, Calen felt the heat hit him like a wall as he stepped inside. He had spent an uncountable number of hours inside the walls of this forge, the sweltering air forcing his skin to rain sweat as he methodically beat the hammer down on folded steel. He never had the same love for it that his father did – nor the talent – but he enjoyed spending the time together. Ever since Haem died, he found himself in there more and more often.
Calen nodded at Kurtis, who stood in the corner, sweat streaming down his forehead as he worked the bellows. There was a grim look on his face, but he nodded back. He had taken his punishment a lot better than the other two. The night after The Proving, Kurtis, Fritz, and Dennet were called before the council. It was decided that each of them should spend one cycle of the moon working for Vars, Lasch, and Tharn as punishment for stealing the bear pelt and pushing the boys farther into the forest. There was protest, but in the end, Erdhardt’s word was law.
Vars stood over an anvil, hammer in hand. His chest was bare, besides the thick black cowhide apron that he wore while working. His forearms pulsed with effort from whatever it was he had just finished, and sweat dripped from every patch of exposed skin. When he saw Calen enter the forge, Vars patted invisible dust from his apron and tossed his hammer on the table beside him.
“Stay there, two seconds,” he said, not giving Calen a chance to speak. He disappeared into the back of the forge, then emerged a couple of seconds later with a thick cloth bundle in his hands. “I figured it was about time that you had one you could truly call your own.”
Calen took the bundle carefully into his outstretched arms, his eyes flitting between it and his father’s expectant face. It was surprisingly heavy.
“Well, unwrap it,” Vars said, a touch impatient, rubbing his hands back and forth over themselves. Calen felt a bit uneasy as he held the heavy cloth bundle. His father was not usually the type of man to show any kind of nerves. He peeled back the cloth as if whatever was inside might jump out and strike him. A glint of steel flashed at him from within the bundle. He let the cloth wrapping fall down around his hand, revealing a shimmering steel sword.