Fete
Chapter 116
A village fete was both familiar and alien to Tiller. She’d seen plenty of them in various places, but she’d always been passing through. Being present for the entirety of one was surreal.
Spending a fair part of it behind a tree holding Elim’s hair back while he threw up was also strange. Not terribly unusual in the happening, but rather it was because of pie, rather than drink. Soldiering, she’d found herself seeing and assisting someone vomiting more than she’d seen combat.
“You ought to drink that potion,” Tiller said quietly, despite no one being nearby. The system had rendered up a bottle in the shape of a stomach and guts with green fluid in it. Elim had been unlucky and couldn't take advantage at the time. They’d been helping set up and he just bit back on the urge until he couldn’t anymore.
“Sweet merciful-” Elim huffed when he finally got a moment between heaves to breathe. He downed the potion without further preamble. Tiller handed him a flask of water to rinse his mouth out with when he was done. After some spitting, he took a couple steps away from the mess he’d made to collapse.
“Better?” Tiller asked. Elim just nodded, doing his best to just enjoy taking lungfuls rather than hasty snatches of air between bouts. Tiller sat on the grass beside him, amused but sympathetic enough to keep that to herself. Jessica had asked him to try an ungodly number of pie samples as she fussed with her recipe and the ones 42 had provided.
Still, Erica hadn't complained when Tiller begged off once full. Something Elim probably would have caught on to if he wasn’t chasing so desperately after his mother's forgiveness. She wondered if he’d figured out he already had it and his mother was just letting him run himself ragged until his own conscience was assuaged.
Erica had told her in confidence that when someone wanted to make amends they apologized and asked the other party how. When you felt like shit and just wanted to not be in trouble though, you started flailing about for things to make it better. Elim tended toward the latter more than the former. A trait he’d inherited from his father and she, fortunately, found endearing.
“Ugh, if I don’t see a pie for a year, I won’t miss it,” Elim moaned, laying out on the grass fully. Laying with his eyes closed he was still for a few moments, a rather rare turn of events. Tiller was used to seeing him animated no matter what he was doing.
“Especially apple?” Tiller asked sweetly. Elim reached up to give her a little shove in response.
“Especially apple,” Elim agreed with a moan.
While Elim was indisposed, Tiller helped herself to the potion bottle. She couldn’t say she cared much for the anatomical ones in particular, but they all had a kind of beauty. With the possibility of working for 42 and her continued association with Elim still firmly up in the air, she’d taken to collecting them.
“So, what all happens at a fete? Can’t say I’ve ever really been to one longer than it took to fill my belly,” Tiller asked. Elim cracked an eye open at that, but shut it once again.
“You spend most of the evenin’ trying to balance getting just drunk enough to dance willingly with eating enough not to be hung over,” Elim said and chuckled.
“The games just for kids then?” Tiller asked, honestly a little disappointed.
Thinking of children, Tiller looked over to find Bess still glued to Erica. She had been all morning and didn’t seem interested in anything but the contest. She’d helped with making the various entries, a first for her, so she was heavily invested in the outcome.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
“Depends on how attached to your dignity you are,” Elim replied. “Me personally? I’ve yet to be bested at hoop darts and I intend to keep it that way.”
Elim went from laying on the ground to offering Tiller his hand up in a single fluid motion. She was caught off guard but accepted, pulled easily to her feet. It was odd seeing how differently he moved after his class had changed. She’d have called him agile before, but now she saw the odd shadow of gracefulness in it which contrasted strangely with his mischievous grin.
Once the setup was done, Elim proved that he was serious about not being beaten at hoop darts. He was gracious to the village kids about it and helped them improve. The adults were left to salvage their pride as they could.
It wasn’t long, though, before Erica and Bess were hunting them down. Both looked a touch impatient, though it didn’t have anything to do with Elim and Tiller themselves.
“Weddings and pledges happen now, but they don't take long. We do it all at once every year since it's easier to have a priest come by when we've got a bunch,” Erica explained. People were already heading for the other side of the open green. Blankets were laid out, and families with children who’d be pledging or having weddings have staked out spots. Everyone else moved more leisurely while they did their last-minute fussing about outfits.
True to Erica’s pronouncement, the ceremonies didn’t take long. The pledges were all done at once with little fuss. Wrapping a cord around wrists and reciting a few lines wasn’t exactly difficult, even for children.
The weddings took a bit longer, but there were only four of them. Mostly there was a ceremonial exchange of goods then the pair recited their preferred verses and it was done. Nobody objected or made a fuss, though Aalid Holt's wedding seemed to have a few boys in the crowd hiding tears or glaring at her groom, Oter.
Tiller meant to ask a question, but when she looked over at Elim she found him looking at her and forgot what exactly it was. By the time she got her wits about her again, the weddings were over. There was a bit of shuffling, but not much, people had more or less already settled in where they intended to stay for the next leg of the festivities.
It was finally time for the food contests. The feast itself was also getting underway and nothing had a particularly formal air to it. Everyone who’d entered just sat next to their entries to hand out samples. People who wanted to vote for them threw a colored stone in a cup. The colors corresponded to the category like red for pies and blue for sweets.
Elim politely declined to try anything in the sweets category. Everyone just laughed when he went up and bluntly voted for his mother. Tiller herself made a bit more of a show out of it, actually eating the samples of the competition's offerings though she wasn’t much keener on sweets than Elim at this point.
Tiller found the pies all varied quite a bit in fillings but were generally good. Everyone knew what they were about, either inheriting recipes and tinkering a little or thoroughly testing a new idea before the fete arrived. Doris and Erica’s pies were definitely the standouts.
Doris made a kind-of custard one while Jessica made an apple one. Both were good and Tiller had to wonder what she’d think had she gone into it blind rather than sick of pie. As it stood though she liked Erica’s better and voted for it fairly.
While the votes were being counted Tiller and Elim both went to get drinks before coming back for the final announcement. In the end, only ten votes didn’t go directly to family members. Doris and Erica tied, not a first though more often than not Doris won.
“You alright with this?” Tiller asked quietly. They all knew that Erica could have done any number of things to tip the contest in her favor. Despite that, she’d only looked at Doris’s recipe to understand it better, then focused on refining her own in her own way. Elim had supplied a few goods and tools, but nothing exceptionally fancy, at her request.
“Definitely. She’s got half a sack of sugar in that thing,” Jessica said with a little smirk. Doris looked mildly upset at first but recovered. She’d come over to try a sample of Erica’s pie once the results were announced. That had seemed to change her mind in the end.
“Long as you're happy,” Tiller said with a shrug. Elim just looked at his mother with naked suspicion. Erica didn’t deign to meet his gaze.
“Though, to be fair… I might have made that ridiculous version 42 sent me the recipe for and left it in Doris’s kitchen,” Jessica finally offered.
“She’s probably going to drive herself mad trying to figure out how to make it,” she added with a smirk. Tiller choked on her ale while Elim started laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe either.