Heart of Time (Ruined Heart Series Book 1)

by Skye MacKinnon

  “Do you want to go down there?”

  “Maybe later. Right now, I just like to watch them. It’s so nice up here. It feels like we are a part of the celebration, yet still, we have our own space. Down there it’s so loud, we probably couldn’t hear each other’s words anyway.” I lay back next to Jon, looking up at the stars above. From time to time, sparks from the bonfire made their way across the night sky, dancing with their brighter counterparts, until they disappeared quietly.

  We had come up here onto the roof when the sky had still been drenched in orange and red colours, with clouds illuminated by the golden light of the parting sun. The overlapping glazed roof tiles were still warm from basking in the afternoon sun, even though the air around us was rapidly cooling. I had wrapped myself in my light woollen cloak and watched the last preparations for the Autumn Fires being carried out in the large courtyard below. Men arranged large benches around the walls of the open space, while others put up paper lanterns on ropes above the ground. Boys were carrying faggots to the bonfire area and placed them around the already prepared cone of large pieces of timber. Before, others had carried kindling to the fire pit, which was surrounded by large stones that not only kept the logs and branches in place but also served as a safety barrier for the dancers that would later begin to circle around the fire. Around the kindling, men had built a large tripod made from thick, strong logs, that made up the basic structure of the bonfire. Then, they had filled the space between the logs with thinner branches and pieces of wood, until it looked like a perfect tepee. Even unlit, it was an impressive structure, twice as high as myself.

  On one side of the courtyards, small stalls had been built, offering drinks and refreshments. There would be more stalls outside the keep, where the main celebration was happening. This was the keep bonfire, where the nobles and maybe even the King himself would celebrate the Autumn Fires. Outside, in the town, there was a larger fairground, with not only one bonfire, but several. Jon had told me of the market stalls there, where merchants from far and wide sold their wares. He had bought candles that supposedly came from the distant kingdom of Nythea. They were large and heavily scented. Jon had been baffled by the strength of the scent they gave off, and planned to experiment with them to find out how they were made this way. It was a project that seemed to excite him greatly. He had also spoken of traders selling jewellery and beautiful fabric, wooden toys and colourful flower garlands that were supposed to last two weeks. Some merchants had travelled for more than a month to come to Gynt’s Keep. The Autumn Fires was one of the most important celebrations in the Fer’an calendar. Many people no longer knew what the purpose of the festival had been originally, for them it was just a reason to be happy and to celebrate - or to get drunk. Jon had prepared himself for an increased intake of patients within the next few days.

  “Most of them come with minor injuries from fights or falls, bruises or contusions, but sometimes, they arrive with broken bones or bigger wounds. Last year, I had several men with stabbing injuries; they had started a fight with a group of acrobats, not knowing that their speciality was the juggling and throwing of knives. They gave me a lot of grief back then, taking up time I should have spent with people who were actually sick, those that were not owing their pain to their own stupidity. This year, I’m prepared for all eventualities. Some nobles have one drink too many and then come to me, expecting a cure for their hangover. I might have some herbs or potions that might help, but most of the time I keep that a secret. Otherwise, I would have people coming to me all day asking for a hangover relief, before going to the tavern again to get a new one. Of course, some nobles I have to treat, I would be a fool to do otherwise. Those with influence are used to getting what they want, and will get dangerous if they don’t.”

  I had wanted to see the celebrations outside the keep, but Lassadar had refused to grant me leave to exit the castle. Too dangerous, he had said. There were too many people, too many strangers, and who knows how many of them had come here with ill intentions. I had been disappointed at first, having seen the preparations for the festival going on for days. The kitchens had prepared as much food as they possibly could, the tailors and seamstresses had been busy creating the latest trends in clothing for the nobles to showcase during the celebrations, the musicians had practised without pause or consideration for those wanting to sleep at night. Yet after some consideration, Lassadar had allowed me to visit the Autumn Fires within the keep, as long as I didn’t go on my own. The next day, Jon had asked me if I wished to accompany him to the festival. I was sure that Lassadar had put him up to this, but I didn’t mind. It was easy to be around Jon, there was always something to talk to him about. After he had discarded his shyness and self-doubts that had made longer conversations difficult in the beginning, when he had been continuously asking me whether he was taking up my time or whether I was interested in what he was explaining to me, it was a pleasure to be with him. He was an uncomplicated fellow, never complaining, never arguing. Having spent years of my life with a travelling group of dramatic and self-absorbed artists, it was refreshing to talk to someone who was not thinking about himself or his performance all the time.

  “Would you care to dance?” He was still lying beside me, his head turned to look straight into my eyes. A small smile played around his lips, showing off the dimples in his cheeks. I sat up, looking at the spectacle below. The fire was still burning strongly. Its thick smoke rose in a straight column, no wind reached the courtyard to change the smoke’s path. Most people were standing around the stalls, drinking from large tankards or eating one of the many delicacies that were offered by local and foreign cooks. Some were dancing around the fire, in pairs or alone, to the music of a small group of gleemen. One was playing the flute, another the cromorne, the other some kind of large string instrument that I didn’t know. They were playing a merry tune, one easy to dance to.

  Dancing had been one of the first things I had learned when I joined the Ghorres family. For them, it was something as essential as walking or breathing. Dancing was in their blood, and they jumped at every opportunity to do so. There was no system to the dance of the Ghorres, no steps to be learned, only a universal movement to music. It did not matter to them if you looked foolish or clumsy, as long as you listened to the tune and followed its path. At night, after the show had ended and everyone had come back from the taverns, those who could play an instrument would get it out and start to play. Once one had picked up a tune, the others would join in, adding their voices to the sound of the instruments. We would sing and play and dance, sometimes all night until the first sunlight would appear on the horizon. The Ghorres were a free folk, and times and schedules meant nothing to them. If everyone slept until lunchtime after dancing all night, so what. At some point, everyone would wake up and all would work together to pack up the tent and move on to the next village.

  “If you don’t want to, we can stay here, or go somewhere else. Whatever you prefer,” Jon’s voice called me from my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, I was just thinking of how we used to dance at night. I would very much like to dance with you. But before that, let’s go down, I’m thirsty. I saw them carrying large casks up from the King’s wine cellar. I’m sure they’ve got a few nice vintages down there. Not that I would know anything about wine, but it must be good if it’s been kept in the royal cellar.”

  We both got up and I followed Jon to the top of the roof. He was spreading his arms for balance, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. I was more at home up here on the roof, having walked on tightropes ever since I had been a child. The tiles were cold under my bare feet. It took me a second to notice that I had forgotten my shoes, they were still where we had lain on the roof. I scrambled down again and found them in the rain gutter where I had put them earlier. Calling to Jon to wait for me, I took one last look over the scene before me. I was standing in a sea of roofs, their smooth glazed tiles reflecting the sparse moonlight. In the distance, where th
e roofs ended, I could see the bright lights of the town’s fairground, illuminating the night with colourful lanterns and the shine of the bonfires. Just below the roof I was standing on, smoke was rising from the fire and orange light was flickering on the walls of the courtyard. The sound of the fire, mixed with music and the chatter of people drifted up to me. The crowd was getting thicker; more and more people were streaming into the courtyard. Other musicians had joined the ones we had seen earlier, and the tune they were playing now sounded foreign, but infectious. I turned around and climbed up the roof to where Jon was waiting, all the while walking in step with the flow of the music. This was a beautiful evening, and I was going to enjoy it.

  When we stepped out into the courtyard, most people had started dancing to a popular tune, The Contest of the Songbirds. The flute was taking the role of the birds, chirping and tweeting to the deep accompaniment of the cromorne and a bladder pipe, while a drum was keeping the beat. I smiled at Jon and began to hum along. With a grin, he joined in, his voice a beautiful tenor. Together we sang, our voices complimenting each other. Even though his was untrained, every note was in place. Around us, the crowd moved towards the fire, and we let ourselves be swept with it. When we reached the circle of dancers, we joined their dance. The nobles were dancing formally, observing every dance step they had learned, but I just let my body move as it saw fit, shaking my arms, turning and turning, swirling my skirt. I became one with the music, and I let it take me away, not thinking about how I was moving, but just dancing, dancing, until the tune ended, and another began. And on we went, turning around each other, clapping to the beat of the music, letting go of formality and control. We became part of the mass, circling the bonfire like moths, never stopping, dancing through song after song. Then, when one tune ended, the silence stayed, not broken by a new piece of music. We stopped, panting, our bodies tingling with the echo of dancing through the night. When it became evident that no new song was going to be played, we left the circle around the bonfire and approached the stalls on one side of the courtyard. Jon edged his way through the people leaning heavily on round tables in front of the wine seller and got us two tankards of red wine. Thankfully, I took one of them and drank greedily until half of it was gone. Only after my thirst had been stilled, I took the time to observe the fine taste of the wine. It was indeed a good vintage, fruity yet slightly dry. I had to smile. Here I was, a country girl, pretending to know something about fine wines.

  “What are you smiling about?” Jon asked me after taking a large sip from his tankard.

  “I’m just so happy. I’ve danced, and I’ve talked, and I’ve lain on a rooftop, all in one evening. I’m enjoying this change of my usual day to day routine.”

  “So do I. I wish we had celebrations like this more often. And this year, we’re pretty lucky, last year it was pouring rain all night, they had trouble keeping the bonfire alight.”

  “It’s all perfect. Yes, we are lucky to be here on such a fine evening. Look, there’s something happening over there, where the musicians stood earlier. Do you know what these people are doing?”

  “No idea, let’s find out.” He took my hand with a familiarity that surprised me. I followed him through the mass of people to one corner of the courtyard. Several people all dressed in gold had appeared there, standing together, talking. Then, one of them, a heavy cloak hanging from his broad shoulders, took a step forward, addressing the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please, make some space for Alesso’s performing troupe! We have been asked by King Gynt, may he live long and prosper, to prepare a special play for the lords and ladies of his court. This play has never been performed anywhere else, so please sit back and enjoy the spectacle!”

  At his last word, a drum began to play softly in the background, played unseen somewhere within the courtyard, the beat starting slowly, then becoming faster rapidly. While the man had been speaking, the other members of his company had disappeared into the crowd. The announcer left through a doorway, leaving an empty space in that corner of the courtyard. A second drum joined the beat of the first, adding to the suspense. Then, with a loud drum roll, a man entered through the doorway, his face hidden behind the hood of his black cloak. In his hand, he held a longbow, beautifully carved at the ends, and on his back, he carried a quiver sporting several white-feathered arrows. He stopped, looking at the ground, not revealing his face. From both sides, two of the gold-clad men we had seen earlier closed in on him, brandishing shiny swords. When they were within arm’s length of the man, they stopped.

  “Halt, stranger!” one of the golden men called out, his voice carrying across the courtyard. The silence of the audience was only broken by the crackling of the bonfire. His partner cried, “You are surrounded! Lay down your weapons and yield!”

  Swords drawn, they approached the man. One pointed his sword at the man’s throat. “Yield!” he shouted, and his call was taken up by another, hidden within the crowd, and another. “Yield!”

  The black-clad man turned towards the sword, not lowering his bow. There was no arrow on it, but his agility and grace betrayed the speed in which he could take one from his quiver.

  “Why are you threatening me?” he asked in a low, deep voice. “Leave a simple wayfarer such as myself in peace. I have done nothing wrong.”

  The second guard held his sword to the man’s waist as he answered, “We know who you are! We have searched far and wide for you, and now that we have found you, we will not let you flee again! Now, drop your weapons or we will force you.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” the man roared, and suddenly he threw himself up to his full height, towering over the two guards. With a fluid motion, he drew an arrow from his quiver and suddenly, one of the guards was lying on the ground, red fabric pouring out of a hidden pocket. Soon, he was covered by the fabric and moved no more. The other guard struck out with his sword, intending to strike a killing blow, but the sword met the hard wood of the bow and suddenly, the man in black was brandishing a knife, which he thrust into the ribcage of the guard. He went down, and again there was red fabric pouring from the wound. He writhed in pain, but his movements soon got slower and with a final rattling breath, he died. I had seen other theatre companies use fabric instead of fake blood, but in comparison to this performance, the other groups had looked amateurish.

  The victorious man threw back his hood, and screams of exclamation came from the crowd. His skin was painted red and yellow, flames seemed to lick on his face. His clothes beneath the cloak were similarly coloured as if fire was devouring his broad stature. Suddenly, the arrow on his bow ignited, and with a practised move, he shot the arrow into the air. High above the ground, the arrow exploded. Fireworks of every colour flew across the night sky, illuminating the darkness around it. Golden sparks were raining down over the crowd, to the ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ of the masses.

  The man, stepping out of the cloak that was now lying on the floor, addresses the cheering crowds.

  “I am Alef the Great. I have single-handedly unified the Western Counties, and while there are still some” - he pointed towards the lifeless figures on the ground - “who oppose me, they will soon learn better. I will crush them and their families until there is no one left of them. And to do this, I will seek the help of a most reclusive being, that many call mythical, but of whom I know that it exists. Some may call my venture foolish, but I will prove them wrong. I will soon return to these lands accompanied by” - the drum roll got louder and faster - “Noyr, the firebird!” At the last word, he thrust his bow into the air, and with that movement, his garment seemed to explode into flames. The crowd cheered.

  From somewhere, the announcer’s voice carried across the room, while the man began to walk around the bonfire in circles, pretending to cross vast distances.

  “Alef travelled far and wide in his search of Noyr. He crossed many mountains and lands until he reached the banks of the sea. On a beach, he saw large cliffs reaching up as high as any mountain.
At the top of the cliff, there was a cave, and even from down below, he could see the flickering shine of a fire coming out of the cave. At first, Alef called out to the firebird.”

  The man stood still, looked up and shouted, “Noyr, I have come from a distant land to worship you! I beg of you, come down so that I can adore your beauty!”

  There was only silence. Alef put down his bow and took off his quiver, placing them on the ground. Then, he approached the highest wall of the courtyard, while the watching crowd moved back to give him more space. Without warning, he began to scale the smooth wall. From my position, I could not see how he did it, and from Jon’s expression, I could read that he didn’t either. Higher and higher he climbed until he reached the rooftop. Somehow, there was the shine of a warm fire on the top of the roof, but I could not see any flames. “Noyr, I have found you!”, called the man from his high position, his voice carrying surprise and satisfaction. Everyone was staring up at the roof, where the actor had disappeared to. Then, suddenly, two large wings appeared, burning brightly, and when they got closer to the edge, I could see that they were attached to a man, as brightly dressed as Alef. His arms were his wings, and his feet were the bird’s tail. From down below, it looked as if real flames were dancing across his entire body. He beat his wings, and sparks filled the night. He gave off a shrill inhuman cry and threw himself off the roof. A collective gasp went through the audience, many backed away from where the man would fall onto the ground. But he wasn’t falling, he was flying. His large wings beat strongly, and with every beat, the firebird flew higher and higher, until the roof was far away. I couldn’t believe what I had just seen with my own eyes: A man had taken flight, with wings of fire. He circled over the courtyard, slowly coming lower again until he once more landed on the rooftop. Alef stepped into view, standing next to the firebird.