Nearly a month after the events in Tethrys, Zeni awoke to the sound of the village coming alive. The gentle hum of conversation and laughter floated in through her open window, creating a joyful thrumming in her chest as though she’d swallowed a hummingbird. Today was the beginning of preparations for the Festival of Ankhara, a time of celebration and gratitude for the village of Kephri's Rest. It would take place in a few days, and the villagers were abuzz with activity. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of roasting meats and baking breads already wafting through the village as preparations began for the feast and festivities.
She stepped out into the communal area she shared with her mentor, Neith, and stretched, a loud and extremely unbecoming yawn escaping from her jaws. She wiped the sleep from her eyes, and began rummaging around in the kitchen, foraging for something to break her fast before returning to her room to bathe and to change into her clothing for the day.
The outfit she chose had been lovingly crafted by the skilled artisans of her village—an early Festival gift from Neith, and she’d been so excited to wear it, she couldn’t stop herself from repeatedly placing everything on her body the night before. The base layer consisted of a soft, undyed linen tunic that reached just past her knees. The fabric was luxuriously soft against her skin, providing a gentle caress as she moved. Around her waist, she fastened a wide belt made of sturdy woven reeds, dyed a rich shade of indigo. The belt's practical design allowed her to attach various pouches and tools for her daily tasks.
Over the tunic, she donned a lightweight, flowing shawl of vibrant cotton. Its deep, earthy green hue was reminiscent of the lush vegetation surrounding the village, and it was adorned with patterns of sunbursts and desert fauna, a tribute to the natural beauty of the Upper Realm. The shawl draped elegantly over her shoulders and down her back, providing both style and protection from the sun's harsh rays.
Upon her feet, she slipped into a pair of simple yet comfortable leather sandals, their straps criss crossing her feet and ankles in a secure embrace. The soles, made of a durable, flexible material, provided her with perfect comfort and support as she walked upon the sun-baked paths of Kephri’s Rest.
To complete her ensemble, she chose a selection of jewelry that showcased her new connection to these people and their rich cultural heritage. Around her neck, she fastened a necklace made of brightly colored ceramic beads, each one hand-painted with intricate patterns and symbols. On her wrists, she wore a pair of slender bangles fashioned from polished brass, their smooth surfaces etched with images of desert creatures and rolling dunes. Finally, she placed a delicate circlet of braided reeds upon her head, a simple yet elegant crown that marked her as a member of the village. When Neith had presented the last piece to her, with no undue solemnity for its meaning, she’d actually teared up. It was something only those who belonged in the village received, and it was the greatest gift anyone could hope to receive—as far as she was concerned.
With excitement bubbling up inside her, Zeni decided to take the opportunity to explore the village and the surrounding landscape. She had been in Kephri's Rest for many months now, but her days had been filled with lessons and training, leaving her little time to truly experience the village she now called home. Today, however, was different. Today was a day for preparation and leisure, and Zeni intended to fully embrace it.
As she stepped out of Neith’s modest home, Zeni was greeted by the sight of the village bathed in the golden light of the morning sun. The thatched roofs of the homes glowed with a warm, honeyed hue, while the paths wound their way between the buildings like the veins of the earth itself. Trees heavy with ripe fruit swayed gently in the breeze, their branches casting patterns of light and shadow on the ground below. Everything was lovely, and beautiful, and perfect.
As she moved along, she could see the villagers were hard at work, setting up stalls and stands filled with a dizzying array of dry food and wares for the festival. Near the end of the road, Zeni could see Aken polishing a set of ornate brass bowls that gleamed in the sunlight. Nearby, a group of children chased one another around a stand filled with colorful textiles, their laughter like the tinkling of bells.
As Zeni strolled through the village, she paused to admire the stunning variety of goods on display: delicate dried pastries filled with sweet fruits and nuts, vibrant bolts of fabric adorned with intricate embroidery, and hand-carved wooden trinkets that seemed to have a life of their own. The air was filled with the sounds of good-natured banter, the villagers' voices mingling together in an orchestral score of elevated mood.
Leaving the village proper behind, Zeni ventured out into the surrounding countryside, the landscape unfolding before her like a beautiful tapestry and it was still hard for Zeni to imagine that this was a desert. In her mind, a desert was all heat and sand—but, being that they were just outside the cusp of it, that was hardly their experience. Rolling hills stretched out in every direction, their slopes blanketed with fields of golden wheat that seemed to ripple like waves on a sunlit sea. Ancient olive groves cast their gnarled shadows over the earth, their branches heavy with plump, purple fruit.
As she walked, Zeni stumbled upon a group of villagers tending to a vineyard, the vines laden with fat, juicy grapes that glistened like gemstones in the sunlight. The villagers moved with practiced grace, their hands deftly snipping the fruit from the vines and depositing it into wicker baskets. Zeni watched in awe, struck by the simple beauty of the scene before her.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Further along, she came across a small grove of date palms, their feathery fronds rustling softly in the breeze. A group of children clambered up the trunks, their excited shouts echoing through the grove as they tossed the ripe, sticky fruit down to their waiting friends below. Zeni couldn't help but smile at their antics, her heart swelling with the joy of the day.
As day went on, Zeni made her way back to the village, filled with a sense of peace and contentment. She had spent the morning exploring the beauty of the world around her, and now she was eager to take part in the preparations.
As Zeni returned to Kephri's Rest, she encountered a group of villagers gathered in the shade of a large, spreading sycamore. Their animated discussion filled the air with the rich timbre of their voices, and she was easily drawn in.
"Ah, Zeni!" one of the villagers, a man called Jer, called out as she approached, beckoning her over with a broad smile. "Come, join us! We were just discussing the legends surrounding the Festival of Ankhara and the blessings it brings to our village."
Zeni settled down amongst them, listening raptly as they spoke of the ancient stories that had been passed down through the generations. They were tales of bountiful harvests, divine favor, and the unity of the people during this time of celebration.
As the conversation wound down, the villagers began to disperse, each heading off to assist with additional festival duties. Zeni, eager to lend a hand, joined a group of men and women working to erect a series of large, colorful tents in the village square. They worked together with an easy familiarity, the sound of their laughter and the rhythmic pounding of mallets providing a lively soundtrack to their labors.
Each tent was a marvel, their vibrant hues lent to the skill of the village's dyers, who had somehow managed to wrestle the most elusive shades of crimson, cerulean, and gold from the reluctant desert flora. The fabrics billowed gracefully in the gentle breeze, creating the impression of a squadron of giant butterflies poised for flight.
As the tents rose from the ground, they revealed a dazzling array of patterns and images, masterfully woven into their very fibers. A veritable menagerie of desert creatures frolicked across the canvas, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that they were, in many cases, involved in activities that were patently absurd. A stately camel, clad in the finest of silken robes, seemed to be engaged in a heated debate with a rather indignant ibis, while a chorus line of scorpions performed a synchronized dance routine that would have been impressive, were it not for the fact that they were clearly not suited for such endeavors.
The villagers themselves appeared to be having a marvelous time, their good humor evident in every action. The more seasoned festival organizers offered gentle guidance to the less experienced, their laughter punctuating each lesson with shared delight in the absurdity of their task. It was a scene that would have melted the heart of even the most jaded observer, and the very air seemed to hum with anticipation for the festivities to come.
Between the hearty guffaws and the occasional misstep, such as one particularly exuberant villager accidentally flinging a mallet into the air and causing a brief, chaotic ballet of ducking and dodging, the village square transformed into a vibrant and inviting space. The tents stood proudly in their kaleidoscopic glory, an ode to the collective spirit of the villagers and their unwavering determination to create a festival that would be remembered for generations.
The sun began its slow descent towards the horizon, painting the sky with brilliant hues of orange and pink, as Zeni moved on to her next task: assisting Menna the baker with her preparations for the feast. The bakery was a warm, inviting space, the air heavy with the scent of fresh bread and sweet pastries. Menna, as always, welcomed Zeni with open arms.
"Ah, Zeni, my dear! I'm so glad you've come to help," she said, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. "There's so much to do, and your hands will be a great help."
Zeni rolled up her sleeves and set to work, following Menna's instructions as they kneaded dough, mixed batters, and filled trays with an assortment of delicious treats. The bakery was a hive of activity, the air filled with the comforting sounds of wooden spoons clattering against mixing bowls and the gentle hiss of baking bread.
"Have you tried this new recipe I've been working on?" Menna asked, gesturing towards a tray of delicate pastries covered in a soft bed of flaked cinnamon. "It's a mixture of honey, dates, and almonds, all wrapped up in what I can assure you is the flakiest pastry you've ever tasted."
Zeni's eyes widened in delight.
"I haven’t yet! But I’d like to see you try and stop me!"
As they continued to work, Menna chuckled.
"You know, Zeni, I hope I don't ruin the recipe like last year. You should have seen it! It was quite the debacle."
Zeni looked up, curious.
"Really? What happened?"
"Well, I was making a batch of basbousa for the festival,” Menna said, “and I accidentally used salt instead of sugar. I didn't realize my mistake until I had already served it to everyone."
Zeni gasped, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle.
"Oh no! Was it that bad?”
Menna shook her head, laughing at the memory.
"Oh, it was something of a scene. People took one bite and started making the most awful faces you've ever witnessed! Some of them even spat the basbousa out right there in the village square."
Zeni burst out laughing, imagining the shocked expressions of the unsuspecting dessert-tasters.
"I really do wish I could have seen that!"
Menna joined in her laughter, and the warmth of the bakery and the steady rhythm of their work created a cozy, companionable atmosphere amidst their baking endeavors.
Menna guided Zeni through the complex process of shaping dough into beautiful, intricate designs – braiding, twisting, and knotting the supple strands with the skill of a master artisan. The breads emerged from the oven like golden treasures, their crusts crackling with the promise of the soft, tender insides that awaited.
Pastries filled with sweet, fragrant fruits and rich, velvety creams sat nestled among trays of golden, flaky turnovers and airy, sugar-dusted puffs. The bakery's counters groaned under the weight of their bounty, each treat a tempting feast not only for the belly, but for the eyes as well.
In the middle of this whirlwind of delicious activity, Zeni and Menna shared stories, as they worked side by side to create a feast that would bring joy to the hearts and stomachs of their fellow villagers.
As evening fell, Zeni and Menna continued their work, the warm glow of the bakery's hearth casting flickering shadows across the room. The scent of fresh-baked bread and the rich, buttery aroma of pastries filled the air, tantalizing Zeni's senses and making her stomach rumble in anticipation.