by L J Chappell
A number of the larger and more organised groups had erected tents offering a variety of food to their fellow pilgrims. In addition, a cleared area in the centre hosted a dozen stalls selling freshly prepared local produce: judging by their dark and warm clothing, these were operated by natives of Tremark rather than by pilgrims. There was a small village set further back from the road, and Lanvik wondered how long the villagers had stocked up and prepared for these few midwinter days. Or perhaps the merchants and stalls and provisions came from elsewhere. Before the pilgrimage of the faithful, was there a pilgrimage of traders, entertainers, pickpockets and con-men arriving a day or two earlier?
‘It’s best to avoid any food which is free,’ Menska recommended. ‘We have money, so there is no reason to take the risk. When it comes to preparing food, the faithful are often more enthusiastic than careful, or competent.’
After they had eaten, they rearranged the seating again. It seemed that Magda and Lanvik would be the only ones who would not have walked at least one stretch since Din’dorroden.
‘I should take my turn walking,’ he suggested.
‘No,’ she disagreed. ‘You would struggle to keep this pace for four hours. We are not here in the back because the others feel sorry for us, or are protecting us. We ride because we are least able to walk in these conditions, so we would slow the whole Company down – I am the smallest and youngest, you are weakest.’
The arrangement still seemed unfair, but what she had said was true. ‘Be grateful for the rest,’ she advised, ‘and be grateful that you are out of the cold.’
A few hours later, when the sun was high in the sky as it was likely to reach, they entered the outskirts of Darkfall. With the first permanent buildings still some distance ahead, the road first took them through a great belt of temporary campsites around the town – a whole city of tents. The light snow of the past day had thinned and finally stopped, so they removed and folded the wagon’s makeshift canvas roof. Each of them was sore after the constant jolting of the journey, but they ignored the stiffness and the aches as they rode into Darkfall in the midst of a dense river of ecstatic religious devotees.
Whenever Darkfall had been mentioned by the others it had sounded like a small place, but from what Lanvik could already see it was a city thronged with people and was certainly larger than Stormhaven. Almost everyone he could see was here for the Festival. Even those who weren’t wearing obviously foreign and outlandish clothing were gazing about them with wide open and wonder-filled eyes, or else were intently studying letters and bills – presumably deciphering cryptic directions and descriptions.
‘There are so many people,’ he said. ‘Darkfall must be deserted normally, compared with this.’
‘They say that more than a hundred thousand souls travel here for the Festival,’ Kiergard Slorn responded: ‘but for the rest of the year, most of the buildings lie empty and boarded up. The inns and hostelries, the shops, the taverns, the stalls, the private rooms and apartments, the embassies and the compounds for the larger delegations – these are all closed. A few hundred people are paid a retainer to maintain the place, but otherwise there’s no reason for anyone to be here.’
‘Darkfall is on a headland,’ Karuin said, ‘A cliff. There’s no natural harbour nearby, so it doesn’t even have a port. The whole city exists for the Festival: without it, Darkfall would be a dead place.’
‘Not only the city, but the entire economy of all Tremark likely exists to serve the Festival,’ Vorrigan commented: ‘a few weeks at high midwinter, every three years. I suppose there are pilgrims through the year, especially at the holy times, but this Festival probably supports everything else. What else do they have? Snow and trees and fish?’ After a moment’s thought, he added: ‘And this hard black stone, that they build everything from.’
‘But now, everyone has come and the place is full of people,’ Slorn added. ‘There’s minor royalty from every kingdom you can think of, from the Empire down to the tiniest island. There are leaders from the Confederacy, priests and prophets from Corvak, mystics from the deep deserts, Merchant-Princes from the Inner Sea and even tribesmen from the distant jungles. There are official representatives of all the Nine Clans. Everyone’s here, except mages.’
‘There are Humans,’ Menska said.
‘Yes, but no mages.’
‘Or Dragon Lords,’ Vrosko Din added.
‘What?’
‘Dragon Lords – they’re not here either.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t expect them to be,’ Ubrik shrugged. ‘This is an Elven thing.’
‘And it’s cold,’ Tremano said. ‘They say that Dragon Lords hate the cold.’
As they drove further into town, they passed hardly any normal houses. Most of the buildings were large accommodation blocks: simple dormitories with lines of beds inside and perhaps a burning fire at either end. The doors and the walls were daubed with symbols and insignia: presumably most of them belonged to nations or religious orders, and they had been built entirely for the benefit of their own citizens or members.
Scattered among these long and dull blocks were equally featureless warehouses with thick padlocked doors and few windows, if any. Several were being loaded and unloaded as they passed, and through the occasional open door they could see that they were filled with the supplies that a hundred thousand visitors would require, either in mountainous stacks of wooden crates or in loose piles. If anything, these storage buildings were of an even lower quality build than the dormitories – quickly built and maximising the space for as little cost as possible.
‘Are we in one of these?’ Menska asked, indicating one of the dormitory blocks.
‘Not if the description is to be believed,’ Vorrigan assured her.
‘I don’t suppose this establishment might also have stables?’ Slorn asked. ‘For the wagon, and the animals?’
‘We only asked about rooms, but they might.’
‘So, which way is it?’
‘The establishment is known as The Devout Supplicant and faces onto Lower Market Street, wherever that might be.’
‘The Devout Supplicant?’ Garran repeated, laughing.
‘They all have such names,’ Vorrigan shrugged. ‘They must cater to their patrons, after all.’
‘Could you not have found one called The Sleeping Drunk, for my brother?’ Ubrik asked.
Garran ignored him: ‘And how do we find Lower Market Street?’
‘We ask,’ Karuin said.
They spent the next few minutes asking people “Lower Market Street?” or “Do you know which street is Lower Market Street?”, but everyone they asked seemed to be a visitor to the town, and most were trying to find somewhere themselves. A few, who had perhaps been here a few hours or days longer, told them: ‘The Grotto of the Crown is that way,’ and pointed helpfully.
At last they found a young boy, running around the town with the sole purpose of guiding the lost and the newly-arrived to their destinations, for a fee.
The Devout Supplicant turned out to be less glowing than its description, which was only to be expected, but was not nearly as poor as it might have been. It was certainly of higher quality than the dormitory blocks that they had passed further out.
‘Well,’ Magda said, as she jumped down from the wagon, rubbing her hands together against the cold. ‘That journey was far easier than I had been expecting, and dreading.’
‘For us, yes,’ Ethryk agreed. ‘But the buffalo will need well rested.’
‘Perhaps we should keep them, for the return,’ Menska suggested.
‘I thought so,’ Kiergard Slorn agreed. ‘And we’ll ask whether they have somewhere we can lock up the wagon.’
There was a courtyard and stables at the back of the inn, but they were occupied already. The innkeeper suggested a number of other places nearby and, after they had unloaded the back of the wagon, Ethryk and Vorrigan drove off again to find somewhere to house the animals for a few nights. The others gathered their pa
cks and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Their two rooms were right beneath the roof timbers and largely bare except for beds in rows against the walls, a couple of simple wooden chests and an open stone fireplace in each.
Lanvik had no idea how they would divide the rooms, or which group he would be with, but the Company split casually without any discussion. Everyone simply stowed their pack under a convenient bed.
One room had six beds and the other seven but there would be fourteen of them, once Vorrigan and Ethryk returned.
‘You’re in with us,’ Thawn told him, from the room with six beds. He would share it with Thawn, Lisamel and Tremano, Magda and Vrosko Din: that left an empty bed, but someone had already laid Ethryk’s pack on top.
‘We don’t have enough beds, but that’s because Kiergard didn’t tell anyone he’d be coming back with someone new,’ Karuin explained. ‘It shouldn’t matter, though – we paid by the room, not by the number of beds. I’ll talk to the landlord – there may be a spare bed we can use.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Bane told her.
‘To intimidate the fellow into a more reasonable price?’
‘That, and to carry the bed up the stairs.’
The room had a shuttered window, and Lanvik opened it while they waited. It looked onto the street side, and there was no view except for an endless procession of roofs. It seemed that there were no taller buildings or monuments to break up the skyline.
‘Leave it open for a while and let some fresh air in,’ Magda told him. ‘This room stinks.’
It was not only the room – the entire building stank of sweat and dirt and underneath was a faint fusty, mouldy odour of neglect. He guessed that the inn had been closed since last midwinter or perhaps even since last Festival, three years ago, and had only recently re-opened its doors.
Bane appeared at the door carrying two halves of a bed, one in each hand. Behind him, Karuin had two or three blankets.
‘They only had a half-sized bed,’ she apologised: ‘this cot.’
‘For a child, I imagine,’ Tremano said.
‘Everything else is taken, and even this cost us a small fortune,’ Bane said.
They pushed three beds closer together, and assembled the cot near the window.
‘You’ll never fit on that,’ Thawn said. ‘I’ll take it – you take mine.’
‘No,’ Lisamel disagreed. ‘I’m the lightest, so I should take the cot.’
Lanvik was ready to protest, but there was no point – what she said was true. ‘Thank you,’ he accepted graciously.
‘Am I in here?’ Ethryk looked in.
‘Over there,’ Thawn pointed. ‘Did you find somewhere for the animals?’
‘Yes. It’s pretty shoddy, and stupidly expensive, and they’re three or four blocks away. We booked them in for a two hour rest and told the owner we’d think about a longer stay: if we go back, hopefully he’ll drop his price a bit. Vorrigan’s going to talk to Kiergard about what he wants to do.’
That conversation was already finished, it seemed, since Kiergard walked into their room. ‘Bane and I have things to do,’ he told them. ‘We’ll meet back here this evening. Try not to get into too much trouble.’
He left, and the others started splitting into small groups. Magda grinned at Lisamel and Tremano, pulled her boots back on, buckled her jacket tight and left with them. The others started putting on their outer clothes again.
‘I’ll stay here and sleep, I think,’ Ethryk said. ‘So I’ll hang on to the key.’ They only had one key to each room.
‘This is a religious place and time,’ Vrosko Din told Lanvik. ‘You should go with a priest, to look around. I intend exploring Darkfall now anyway, while there is light to see it properly: I can tell you about the legends, and the different parties who will be here, and what will unfold over the next few days.’
‘Look after him,’ Thawn warned. ‘Remember that he is still weak. And without his memories he may not recognise danger.’
‘We shall do everything with the utmost care and attention,’ Vrosko Din promised her.
Because they were both curious, they looked around the inn first, discovering where the staircases and the doors and the bathrooms were. They discovered that the ground floor was a few steps higher than the street outside and, beneath it, there was a basement level of cheaper rooms. If those rooms had windows at all, they must have been tiny and right up towards the ceiling, like his prison cell.
They found the long, dark dining hall on the ground floor – food and drink were also served outside, in the courtyard. As well as being sheltered by the four sides of the inn itself, canopies ran around the top of the courtyard to further keep the snow out and the warmth in.
There were people everywhere they looked: praying in the dining room, sleeping in the corridors, chanting in corners of the courtyard. They all looked tired and some seemed tense and nervous, but there were no raised voices – no-one was angry and no-one was fighting.
Outside was just as busy, just as crowded. As well as the throng in the streets, there were people sleeping in wagons, in doorways, in groups along narrow alleyways.
‘Take special care to remember directions and landmarks of where we are,’ Vrosko Din advised, ‘so that we can find our way back. Thankfully, our street is wide and busy, so it should be easy to find.’
‘Where do we start?’
‘I think we should start with the Grotto: the Statue and the Crown. Those are the things that we really should not miss: the things that in later life we can boast that we have seen. And I feel lucky today – perhaps I will be able to take the Crown.’
Surprisingly, the Grotto of the Crown was on the outskirts of the city rather than near the centre. Despite that, it was the easiest place to find in Darkfall: everyone they met was eager to direct them there.
On the way they passed more inns and taverns, dormitory blocks, giant refectories, a few open squares and snow-covered parks, and a number of brightly coloured temples. Of these, the temples were busiest: some smelled of incense, some were ringing bells and the sounds of singing and chanting could be heard from inside others. All of them had queues of people outside.
‘The temples are doing good business,’ Vrosko Din remarked.
‘Business?’
‘The line separating fees and charges from donations and sacrifices is a pretty vague one. People come here to make a midwinter sacrifice, to encourage the sun to return and to turn the new year in their favour. They bring things that are precious to them – gold, money, jewellery and gemstones as well as small animals and birds. The larger, living sacrifices are made in public, of course: that’s what the whole midwinter spectacle is all about, and a public sacrifice is always good for the soul. But otherwise, where better to make your sacrifice than at a temple of your particular religion? A temple where they worship the God of your own household? It’s almost like a double sacrifice – one for midwinter, but also one to your personal Gods. So there are temples here to every God you can imagine.
‘Most of them are boarded up for the rest of the year, but every midwinter priests arrive from the south to open them up. In a couple of weeks’ time, they’ll close them down again and head back with the takings from the faithful.’
‘You make them sound very mercenary.’
‘They are,’ Vrosko Din agreed,’ but they also provide a service. Pilgrims will feel comfortable and at ease in a temple of their own religion. Like the dormitory blocks and the delegations these places will provide a meeting point, a source of information, a place where help can be sought in emergencies.’
As they walked, Vrosko Din talked about the temples they passed.
‘Most of these are dedicated to one or more of the Gods of Corvak, sometimes under slightly different names and with slightly different features, but the usual pantheon,’ he explained. ‘There are some very specific faiths represented here as well, though:
‘That temple is to the Illian God, Armandir. His follow
ers believe that he lives in all water, and that he sacrifices himself whenever someone drinks, in order to sustain life. The Jakatti are also followers of Armandir but they add that he was born of a Sea Eagle, which seems not only impractical but also makes them heretics in the eyes of most of their fellow worshippers. Sometimes they fight wars over these things.
‘Those are the Brothers of Duraxi. Inside each temple is a copy of their holy book, which they believe was dictated to them by Durac, the Blind God of Hope. Unfortunately they have a couple of slightly different versions.
‘And that is a Wailing House, where the Criers of Souls meet to … well, to Wail together.’ Vrosko Din turned to watch as a group of soldiers in uniform marched loudly past. ‘Oh look,’ he remarked. ‘We also have soldiers from the Confederacy, strutting about the place as they like to do. Who else would send soldiers to a religious festival …? Ah well, maybe they’re holy soldiers.’ He frowned at them as they passed. Smart and organised and synchronised, their precision broadcast a kind of angry intolerance. They seemed completely alien and out of place among the shambling groups of worshippers and pilgrims.
‘Above that door,’ Vrosko Din continued his tour, ‘you can see a carved bird. That represents Harruth Atravon, the Messenger of the Four Races and Intercessor between the different Gods of the Land, the Sky and the Heavens. In his nest, he guards the souls of the Vampire Brood.
‘That is a Temple to the God Shagranth. Those symbols on the walls represent seven of the eight aspects of Shagranth. The eighth aspect is a circle, but the circle is only displayed inside.’
‘If people believe all these different things, then why are they here together? Even if some of what they say is true, they can’t all be right. So why are they not fighting and arguing with each other?’
‘Well, for one thing this is a holy place and a holy time, so there’s a general truce. Any kind of violence, or even passionate argument, would seem pretty offensive to most of the people here. And also, most of the people here are simple followers of their own faiths – they probably don’t know or understand enough about what other people believe to properly disagree with them. Their priests are too busy tending to the devout and managing their donations to argue with each other. And actually, all these faiths have a lot in common.’