A dull pain started in Niklas’ chest, and his left arm grew numb. An uncontrollable fit of coughs seized him. He hacked and wheezed. His chest felt like it had had a sizable stone lodged in it.

Gagging, he fell onto the floor of his room and started to pant in panic. The cough was anything but ordinary.

The cramp in his chest intensified. Clenching a fist, he pounded himself in the chest repeatedly. “Have mercy, Gyva,” he gasped and slammed his fist into his chest.

Suddenly, his airway opened up, and he gasped for air. The pain in his chest subsided as quickly as it came.

He rolled onto his back, enjoying the air he had always taken for granted.

Gyva, what’s wrong with me?

“Niklas!” Rasmus cried as he ran up to him. “What’s wrong?”

Niklas groaned as he climbed to his feet. “Nothing.” Then he tasted the blood. Grunting, Niklas rushed to the window.

Rasmus watched him, eyes full of worry as he spit a mouthful of blood outside. “I’m telling Ma!”

“Rasmus!” Niklas hissed at the nine-year-old. “I’m fine!” There was no need to concern Lill. She eagerly prepared for the festival, and he didn’t want to spoil the celebration.

“Niklas!” Rasmus pleaded.

“You tell Lill, and I’m never teaching you how to fight!”

The threat carried weight. Rasmus had been begging Niklas to teach him how to box for a while now.

He looked worried but reluctantly agreed.

“Boys!” Lill called. “It’s time to go!”

“Coming!” Rasmus called back. “Aren't you going to get dressed?” He turned to Niklas with a curious eye.

“Why does my shirt have to be so...colorful?” Niklas fumbled in embarrassment. True enough, the traditional shirt was bright pink and yellow with bright patterns. Rasmus’ was green and blue, and unfortunately, it was child-sized.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s symbolic of...flowers or something.”

“Great,” Niklas complained. “Look at me, proud soldier...dressed as a flower.”

“Boys!”

Trygve ran in. “Ma says if you don’t come now, she’ll beat you with a spoon!”

“Looks like we had better go,” Niklas said reluctantly as he donned his flower shirt. The boys ran out of the apartment, and Niklas swooped Trygve off the ground and slung his short legs over his shoulders. The child laughed in glee at the sudden surprise.

Tord and Ivar carried a great pot that Lill would make joagh in. Niklas had roasted and ground some blackthorn beans and made them a pot of Sharderin Joagh; apparently, a new development as the Sommerfeldts had never even heard of it before. The bitter drink had been a sweet memory, but to Niklas’ horror, they spit it out in disgust the first time they tried it. After defiling the drink with cream and sugar, they finally agreed that Lill had fixed it. It was horrible.

Niklas followed them into a large plot of land just outside town. It was usually vacant but converted into a celebratory carnival for the day’s festival.

Niklas had never seen such an unorganized crowd. There were music, games, and food everywhere. Relrin Music relied heavily upon string instruments and flutes. They had drums but didn’t know how to use them.

In Pit, the clan used only horns, drums, and voice. They chanted and played music intended to instill terror in their enemies.

The Relrin music, in stark contrast, was upbeat and peppy. It initially intrigued Niklas, but he quickly grew annoyed by its screeching nature.

Niklas continued to help Lill as she cried out to passers to try her brand new foreign drink. Unfortunately, only a few people seemed interested in giving it a try. Niklas was a little help as she was working in her element, but he used the time to continually scan the crowd for Esther. As an hour passed, he started to lose hope. He would have to ask one of the guys to help him find her.

His thoughts returned to that mother who passed him in the carriage for no reason. She must have been a few years younger than he was. Her face was Relrin Pink and flawless. Her hair was so black a raven might lose in a contest of color, but the thing that stuck with him was the look she had given him. At the time, she seemed startled but had no reason to be.

Niklas shook his head as he tried to find Esther in the crowd.

That Relrin girl was beautiful. All mothers were beautiful; it felt like a doctrinal fact, but she was special. Niklas struggled to focus on the tasks at hand. He thumped the table with his fingers in a familiar drum rhythm. The more he thought of that mother, the faster his rhythm intensified.

“Enough of that,” Lill cried.

Niklas blinked and looked at her.

“You have less patience than Rasmus. Off with you then, I can tell when a lad wants to be elsewhere. I am perfectly capable of managing on my own.”

“No, I’m sorry, I’m here to help,” Niklas muttered in a clumsy rebound.

“You’re getting in my way now. Off with you, go enjoy your first festival. Maybe a pretty lass will catch your eye.”

Niklas had no clue where to start or where to go.

“Go, shoo!” She waved him into the crowd.

Niklas stumbled around, looking at all of the people and activities. He didn’t know where to start, so he didn’t. He just sort of watched everyone. Most everyone moved around with friends and family. Niklas had neither, so he wandered aimlessly until he saw the strangest thing he had ever seen: men and women dancing together. In Pit, they only had line dances. Men didn’t dance together in pairs. Somehow, the Renrin dancing felt inappropriate.

He watched, unsure if he should be amazed or disgusted, as they skipped, clapped, and spun together.

He could have never imagined such a strange activity. They all moved to the beat, very different from Sharderin war dances. They all had smiles, and many of them were laughing.

His thoughts were interrupted by the motion next to him.

“Word on the street is that you wanted to talk to me, Wildman.”

Niklas turned to find himself face to face with Esther, her arms folded and stern.

With a gasp, Niklas nearly dropped to his face but caught himself and settled on a bowed head instead.

“I offer my deepest apology for my savage behavior, Esther. You may punish me in whatever way you see fit.”

“Punish?” Esther stammered in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Probably a lot,” Niklas admitted. “I, er- is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“No, no, forget it. Just stop acting like a fool.”

Niklas eyed her inquisitively, noting to himself that, for the first time, eye contact with her didn’t feel dirty. “I am sorry. We don’t have many women where I am from. I am still learning how to conduct myself.”

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

She looked at him with a new light. Confused and intrigued. “When you said you were scared of women before, you were being serious, weren’t you?”

Niklas smiles sheepishly. “Like you said, I’m a wildman.”

She contemplated that for a moment, and Niklas thought back to the humiliation of being marched past her in chains.

Niklas tried to break the silence. “Am I forgiven?”

She frowned sternly, but it quickly melted into a chuckle. “Fine, wildman, I forgive you, but only on one condition.”

“Anything,” he said eagerly. The prospect of atoning for his sins was the greatest stroke of mercy he had received in a long while.

“You have to dance with me.”

“What?” he cried and stepped back instinctually. “Anything except for that!”

“What’s the matter, wildman? You look like you have never been asked to dance before,” She snapped playfully.

“I have never seen anyone dance before!”

“What kind of man doesn’t know how to dance?” she teased. “You owe me, and it’s too late to turn back now.” She grabbed him by the hand and towed him into the dread mass of merriment. Niklas was so stunned by the fact that a Mother was touching him that he was unable to brace himself for anything that might happen in the bloody skirmish.

Dancing couples instantly barraged him on all sides as they moved in intricate patterns.

Esther grabbed him by the hands. “Relax. Just follow the best you can.” With that, she pulled him into the current of dancers. “Left, right, left, right, one, two,” she counted as she skipped perfectly with the music. “Your other left!”

Niklas let out a cry of alarm as he tripped over his own ankles. He was an expert in movement and combative maneuvers, trained practically since birth to move over, under, around, or through any obstacle that blocked his path with tactical precision. All those years of training did nothing to prepare him for this.

Esther pulled him back up and looked at him sternly. “Niklas, stop thinking and just follow.”

Niklas nodded desperately. Again, they joined the most disorienting battle of his life, but it started to make sense. He stumbled a little less and began to move on beat.

Niklas laughed. Unbelievably, he was actually doing it. Undoubtedly, he was the worst dancer at the festival; he was off-beat and stumbled regularly, but he started to understand the steps.

Esther beamed at him encouragingly. “See, it’s easy!”

Suddenly, the fiddlers started to speed up.

“Here it comes,” she warned.

“Here, what comes?” Niklas cried back, a sense of confusion creeping over him. He was already fighting for his life, and he wasn’t ready for a change.

“The finale! Now we do it all again while spinning!”

Everyone, as if on cue, started spinning faster and faster. Esther pulled Niklas into the pattern, and the others blurred as they began spinning. The music sped up and got louder, the crescendo building up to the piece's finale.

“Esther!” Niklas cried as he felt his grip start to slip. Too late, he tripped and was flung backward at another dancing pair. The airborne drone tried to throw his weight and twist to avoid the couple, but he overcorrected and stumbled. Niklas tripped on his own feet and ended up diving, hard, face-first into a mud patch.

The last note was struck, and everyone started to cheer and clap.

“Niklas!” Esther cried as she ran into the mud and knelt by his side. “Niklas, are you okay?”

With a groan, Niklas rolled over.

She looked at his mud-covered face and covered her mouth with both hands to stifle a giggle.

Niklas glared back. Was she mocking him?

She stood straight, planted her feet, and put her hands on her hips. “I guess this makes us even.”

Niklas looked at himself lying in the mud and her standing over him triumphantly. She was right. Niklas let out his own chuckle.

“I knew you could smile,” she huffed victoriously. “Come on.” She offered him her hand.

Niklas looked at her offered hand for a moment. The Drone inside twisted uncomfortably. Both touching a Mother and burdening one was a sin.

Niklas stuffed the Drone away and accepted her hand.

She slipped as they made their way out of the mud pit and grabbed his arm for stability. She continued to hold him until they reached dry ground. Niklas turned red, but he also swelled with pride that she trusted his footing to use him for support.

Niklas looked down at their muddy shoes. “Esther,” he cried!

“What?”

“Your dress,” Niklas said, pointing to the mud around the hem and the mud patches caked on her knees. “Why did you come in after me?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved a dismissive hand. It’s a cheap dress—nothing that won’t wash out.”

Niklas had been in Relgar long enough to recognize the low quality of the dress, but Esther was a debtbond. He also knew how much they looked forward to the festival. It was undoubtedly her best one.

Still, he felt terrible.

“Esther,” he said more seriously.

“Yes?”

“I really am sorry.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s my fault, really. I had no business touching you and asking about your personal life. Honestly, I’ve been more worried than offended.”

“Worried about what?” Niklas asked.

“Worried that I may have ruined our friendship.” She bit her lip nervously as though she weren't entirely sure that wasn’t the case.

“You still want to be my friend?” Niklas asked. “You want to be friends with a stranger from Pit who shows up in shackles, gets caught with black money, fights at night, and whatever else your tea friend may have told you about me. Is that really the kind of person you want to be friends with?”

She smiled shyly. “If you weren't such a Wildman, those things wouldn’t be as acceptable.” She stepped in closer. “But it looks like It’s up to me to teach you how to be decent.”

“Esther,” someone called, “what did you do?” A tall man approached and looked at them with their fresh mud coating. Niklas recognized him as the head herdsman.

“Dancing, obviously.” She rolled her eyes. “Niklas, this is my brother, John.”

That’s right, Niklas remembered that Esther had two brothers. John’s hair was black like a Relrin’s. His foreign blood wasn’t as evident as in Robin or Esther, but his faint accent was the same.

He scowled at Niklas and began to roll up his sleeves. “Listen, pal. You don’t get to push my sister and not have to face up to me for it.

“Stop it,” Esther stepped in. “Just because Father is gone doesn’t mean I need you to puff your chest at any man who comes near me. It was a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“Esther–”

“I mean it, John!” She pushed his arm down. “Let – it – go.”

He glared at Niklas again and nodded. “I don’t want to exchange blows with you, but if you hurt her again, I swear I will, even if she tells me not to. I don’t care if you whipped several men at the lumber yard.”

Niklas bowed slightly in acknowledgment. “I’ll give you no reason to fight me. I am sorry.”

He sniffed. “It’s concerning to think those men you beat are all dead.”

Niklas felt a chill as he recalled Inspector Graham showing up at his door. “Have you heard anything else about that?” Niklas asked, still worried about Robin.

John shook his head. “Everything I’ve heard I heard from Robin. He says they were ripped, sawed, and chopped to pieces with only the testimony of a petrified foreman and a bloody hieroglyph on the wall. They say it was a demon. If you believe such things.

“Was the foreman who saw it, Osred?” Niklas asked.

John nodded.

“He wasn’t hurt, was he?”

“I don’t think so. But the yard has been shut down while investigations are underway.”

“Niklas?” Robin cried as he ran to them, hand in hand with a young Relrin woman. “I see you met John. Has he already tried to fight you?”

Niklas chuckled. “We’ve managed to bypass the event.”

Robin smiled. “Good thing, too, I can’t afford to take him to a physician. Then he turned to Esther. “I’m not supposed to fight Niklas, am I? Isn’t that in the Big Brother code somewhere?” His lady friend giggled at that.

“Please.” Esther rolled her eyes. “We all know you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Ah, but that’s not true,” Robin said, holding a corrective finger. “In fact, this morning alone, I swatted three flies!”

His Mother companion giggled again, and John smiled, obviously pleased with himself.

“Well, Niklas, where to from here?” she said.

“I really don’t know. I am here alone, and I’ve never done this before.”

“Not anymore,” Esther insisted. “We’ll show you how to really enjoy a festival. You’re coming with us.”

Niklas looked at them, grateful for their direction. He wouldn’t feel so out of place now that he had friends.

They lost themselves in the festival, wandering, trying the food, playing games, and meeting new people. Niklas enjoyed field exercises in Pit and took pleasure in doing war simulations, but the festival was a new, lighthearted, yet impactful kind of fun.

As the day grew, he grew more tired than a day full of work. Robin eventually found an excuse to sneak off with Cindelsa, his female friend, and John had to go back to the herd. They left Esther and Niklas alone. It grew late, and Niklas realized that the Sommerfeldts would probably be wondering where he was. He was conditioned to return and report.

“Esther,” he said.

“Yes, Niklas?”

“I need to go. My family will be wondering where I am.”

“Oh? Are you not your own man?” she asked, slightly disappointed.

Niklas felt slightly embarrassed but insisted. “They are expecting me.”

She nodded in understanding. “Here,” she said, removing a small paper-wrapped cake from a pocket in her dress.

He eyed her inquisitively.

“What, friends don’t give gifts where you are from?”

Friends. Niklas smiled. That’s right, they were friends. He accepted it graciously. He didn’t mention that he hated Relrin cakes; they were far too sweet for his taste.

Niklas reached into his pocket, looking for anything to give in return. They were the pants he had worn when he first came to Relgar. He felt his reaper knife, but he couldn’t give that away.

“I, eh, don’t have anything,” he muttered as his hand felt something in a side pocket. He reached in and pulled out an empty bullet casing, forgotten enough to make it through several washes. It must have been there when he got the pants from the supply depot.

He handed it to her, blushing slightly.

She took it curiously. “Interesting,” she said, “Is this what you give friends where you come from?”

“Yes,” he lied.

She smiled. “Well then, I love it.”

“When will I see you again?” Niklas asked.

“Visit me tomorrow before I’m summoned to prepare for the Alred’s gathering banquet.

“I will,” Niklas promised.

She stepped in and gave him a hug. He just managed to keep in a yelp of surprise. She squeezed him tight. “Goodness, man, you are so tense. Do you ever relax?”

“No.”

“Well then, we shall have to teach you. Goodbye, Niklas.”

“Farewell, Esther,” Niklas said. He didn’t want to go but felt he was stealing her time.

As he went his way, Niklas couldn’t hide his smile. He had a friend, and she was a Mother! Relrins were strange people. Niklas’ smile widened; he must have looked ridiculous, but he was okay with that.