Chapter 219 - Last Chance
Crash! Boom! Crackle!
Cheers filled the air as long strings of firecrackers sparked to life, filling the air with noise and smoke. Drummers beat on cart-pulled drums throughout the crowds as teams of sandlion dancers donned colourful multi-man costumes with oversized, fantastical heads.
Several teams of sandlions pounced and danced across the Tye-An Plaza, performing acrobatic jumps and rolls in sync with the yells and drums. An overwhelming, joyous energy filled the huge plaza, filled with tightly packed crowds of locals and visitors from across the continent.
The afternoon sun beamed brightly down from a gorgeous, endless blue sky with puffy cotton ball clouds. The crisp spring air was filled with smells of street food and the fragrance of blooming plum blossoms.
It was the opening day of the Five Kings Festival!
The biggest celebration of the year!
Street performer troupes performed their acts on temporary stages. There were juggling acts, choreographed martial arts demonstrations, acrobatic sets. Every person, young or old, wore grey bandanas either around their foreheads or tied around their arm. Many personalized their bandanas with bold black script declaring short phrases such as ‘Victory’ or ‘Unity’, or even simply ‘Noga’ or ‘Kumin’.
Children played in the streets with poles flying Noga’s flag - a mountain range with a sword piercing through the center. The adults eschewed their modern tailcoat jackets and petticoats and instead wore colourful gowns with patterned sashes, the traditional ceremonial wear from ages past.
Pop-up stalls lined the streets, selling exotic goods and foreign ingredients. Many a merchant had traveled weeks across the continent to make it to Noga City. Farmers and villagers from the mountain regions of Huan sold spicy delicacies and forged tools. Tattoo’d men and women from the southern part of the province showed off their leatherwork crafts. A bow legged man with wiry arms sat cross legged on a rug, selling lanterns and teapots with strange, twisted spouts.
The afternoon sun was high in the sky as the crowd gathered around the large stage at the center of the plaza to watch the traditional re-enactment of the end of the Five King’s War. The drama, played by actors wearing bold, exaggerated masks, was a five act play that focused on the political activities of the nobles in the final days of the war.
The principal villain of the play was the warlord, self-proclaimed King Bisun, former ruler of NianXing. A thousand years previous, NianXing was a land ruled by an iron fist. It was a lawless land where the local officials were corrupt and appointed by King Bisun.
He was a dominant figure on stage, a burly man with heavy black robes. His bright red mask had a long nose and an angry scowl. He stormed around the stage, barking orders and talking down to the other rulers who had gathered in his royal hall.
“King Bisun! The rebels have taken over Seline Harbour!” A quivering minister bowed at a ninety degree angle as he reported.
SMACK!
The angry king killed the man with a single blow.
“That damn Noga and his allies!” He cursed.
The poor minister tumbled off stage as a muscular man wearing tribal wear and a dragon-shaped head dress walked past him. He posed proudly as a chorus of boos and heckles came from the crowd.
This was King Vienne, lord of Fuha, who had gone down in history as an untrustworthy snake. The actor wore a bright green face that resembled a scheming goblin, and he basked in the audience’s cheers for a moment.
After the boos died down he chuckled and spoke proudly, “Bisun, I heard you have a problem with some wild dogs roaming around your kingdom.”
Blending into the midst of the crowd, Zwei Xing casually observed the play with a gloomy expression. From his spot he could see a number of monks that wore white robes with blue trimmings and embroidered with cloud patterns. They were busy behind the stage, carrying props and hauling carts.
These monks were from the Cloud Peak Monastery, they weren’t even hiding it. But of course, they didn’t need to.
A thousand years ago, the Cloud Peak Monastery had been a small reclusive monastery with an elite cadre of monks. They’d allied with Noga in his quest to liberate the people of NianXing and fought against the corrupt King Bisun.
They were heroes, once upon a time.
Zwei’s attention was drawn to the stage as the crowd lit up in cheers. The second act had begun, introducing the main protagonists. Noga, a merchant’s son, walked on stage with a confident, intelligent manner. His mask was a bright grey. Stern, yet handsome. He carried around a timepiece and a cane as his main accessories.
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His sworn brother, Matsuhara, was a wandering monk. The brown-robed man wearing a straw hat was good natured and loyal. He wore a bright blue smiling mask and had a toy bird propped on his shoulder, signifying his connection to nature.
Zwei’s spiritual intuition suddenly triggered as a couple wandered next to him. The pair was didn’t seem to be aware of him as they watched the play with some interest.
“They sure make Lord Matsuhara look funny.” A petite woman with short red hair frowned.
“I wonder if he’s bald underneath that hat.” The thin man next to her commented, “What do you think, Asuna?”
“It wouldn’t matter, he’s wearing a mask.”
“Then would the mask be bald?”
They were dressed in light brown robes, each carrying a pack on their shoulders. The colour and cut of the clothes identified them as travelers from Huan, seemingly enjoying the festival as they were wearing the grey bandanas and holding kebabs and street food. The cloth of their robes was not the roughly woven material that monks from Huan typically wore, but more silken, with subtle wave-like patterns sewn into the fabric. Every so often a muffled buzzing sound came from a flask hanging from the woman’s waist.
A pleasantly earthy scent wafted into Zwei’s nose, triggering an inherited memory. He frowned as he muttered under his breath, “…Everblossoming Valley?”
The red headed women tensed up ever so subtly as he muttered the words. Neither of the travelers looked his way, instead pretending to watch the play for a bit before casually walking away.
Zwei watched them depart with a pensive expression.
After the pair had walked into the crowd a bit, the woman glanced back the way they’d come, but Zwei had already vanished.
~
A few blocks away from the square, a tall monk with a long thin beard walked into a warehouse. His silvery white hair was tied into a bun, and his ears were pierced with seven silver rings that ran along the full edges of both ears.
Shafts of light poured in from the windows into the dimly lit space that was buzzing with activity. Monks in white and blue robes ran around making preparations for their performance.
“Abbott!” A monk exclaimed, bowing as the tall monk passed.
“Abbott!” Each monk that the Abbott passed would pay their respects by greeting him and bowing. If their hands were empty they would raise their hands in front of their chests and clasp them together. Otherwise, it was enough to bow their heads and continue on their way.
The esteemed leader of the Cloud Peak monastery walked through the warehouse with his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He observed the preparations carefully, providing guidance to the various group leaders that would occasionally come to him with questions.
On his left walked Rabi his bodyguard, a quiet monk with grey robes and a black sash around his waist.
On his right, was a thin man with sunken cheeks and spectacles. He was dressed in a grey officer’s uniform, the insignia on his shoulder indicating his rank of Police Chief. His boots thumped heavily against the wooden flooring, in contrast to the light steps of the monks.
Chief Vox adjusted his spectacles as he looked around the warehouse with a dismissive look, “Everything is prepared for tonight?”
“Yes. We received all the support we needed from the ministry. The set pieces are all in place for the performance.” The Abbott nodded, “I trust you are handling the security. Do you have officers watching the crucibles?”
“There are officers, but not from my team.” Vox replied calmly, “But I have my men strategically positioned to assist if needed. You sound like you are expecting trouble.”
They turned the corner around a set of shelves, reaching a set of locked doors. The Abbott pulled a jingling set of keys out of a pocket in his robes and inserted a long key into the lock, twisting it with a heavy clack.
“Yes, there is a fringe group that is looking to disrupt the performance.” The Abbott replied, “I hope I don’t have to impress on you that the opening act is critical. If you have any way to increase security, you must do so.”
“It’s not an issue.” The Chief replied with a twinge of annoyance, “And what about your side? You sure you won’t have any mishaps? I hope you realize the mess you made in the forest has made things extremely difficult for me.”
The double doors opened up to a dark room draped in shadow. The three men walked in, closing the door behind them.
Several oil lanterns burst to life spontaneously, extinguishing the darkness with a flickering orange light. The room was small and lined with shelves. At the center of the room a two meter tall object was covered by a thick tarp.
The Abbott withdraw a silver dagger from his robes and muttered a small ceremonial prayer. He channeled his spirituality into the dagger as he made a gentle cutting motion in front of him. The sounds from the warehouse grew muffled as a ritualistic bubble separated the room from the outside world.
“Mistakes were made on all sides. Let’s not fight.” The Abbott said, lowering the dagger, “This is our last chance, we cannot fail.”
“Agreed.” Chief Vox said calmly as he adjusted his spectacles. In the privacy of the bubble he didn’t bother speaking in euphemisms as he looked at the draped object with a frown, squinting slightly as he tried to discern what was underneath it. “You said you saved Deka’s head priest, will she be conducting the ritual tonight?”
“In a sense.” The Abbott replied. He gestured to his bodyguard, who walked forward and pulled down the tarp.
The fabric fell to the floor, revealing a twisted black tree growing in a large pot made of bone. The gnarled branches reached out in various directions, resembling hands grasping at the air. This black tree emanated with demonic energy.
Strapped to the trunk with her hands above her head was Medusa, the head priest of the Marked Devout. Her body was limp, her vine-like hair concealed her face. Her right arm ended in a stump at her elbow, the rest of it replaced by a wooden arm with twisted black sinew muscles. Her body was covered in runes written in blood.
She was unconscious, her breath subtle and faint.
“The ritual is an old one. Crude, but effective. She will serve as both the conduit and anchor.” The Abbott explained, “The crucibles lit on the inner city walls will form the extents of the ritual, encompassing the entire plaza and market.”
“Once we begin the sacrificial ritual, the life force of all non-exalted people within the walls will be drawn out in a chain reaction, providing ample energy for the Prince Deka to revive.”
“Then the critical piece I shall take care of is to ensure that all the crucibles are successfully lit.” Chief Vox nodded seriously, unaffected by the pitiful state of the priest.
“After tonight, Lord Noga’s blade shall be removed from the earth, and the wound he inflicted upon the land will be able to heal.” The Abbott said solemnly, drawing a line down from his lips to his heart. “Praise Lord Deka.”
Chief Vox nodded, repeating the gesture with sincerity. “Praise the Prince.”