The quintet was led through the doorway by a different servant. Sounds that were already loud enough from outside rose to an ear ringing level once inside. People in their best fabrics conversed with each other over cups of wine that were being constantly ferried out of the kitchen by gray-cloaked servants. The alcohol consumed on empty stomachs only served to hasten the revelry to rowdier heights.
The attendant stopped at a table to the right side of the room. The table could easily sit twenty fully grown adults. A bronze plaque with the name ‘Guerros’ engraved upon it reserved the table for the guests.
It was a significant distance from the Tiarna’s table in the back, nestled between the open seating that merchants and low esteemed nobles would fight over. The fineries that adorned the table offered a sharp contrast to the less endowed seating that surrounded it. This placement, in all but words, blatantly showcased to all the tiarna’s opinion of their Marshal.
“Thank you,” Yvonne said sweetly to the attendant who quickly fled from her presence. She sat down without much comment on their placement.
It was when the clan had taken their seats at such a massive table did Valentin understand the extent of his aunt’s slight on the Tiarna of Verbosc. At first, an outsider could reasonably assume that the clan might be arriving in separate groups. After all, there is only so much seating available in those vehicles. Yet, as time stretched on and the line outside dwindled to a handful of stragglers, there was no denying the protest the Guerros clan was engaging in.
Their table was not the only that was conspicuously left unfilled. A couple tables on the opposite side of the hall only had a handful of seats occupied by guests. Those that faced the Guerros clan table from those sparsely populated seats were staring directly at the Marshal.
“Subjects, welcome to my clan’s humble Killicia gathering,” a man’s voice boomed from the primary table, eliciting a few chuckles. “For those that do not recognize me, I am Guillaume Bellafon and it is my pleasure to host such a special holiday. It is humanity’s six hundred and nineteenth cycle celebrating our freedom from the Novesse and honoring the being that made it possible. Like all the cycles that predate it, this one has had its share of hardships and triumphs. Even our clan was no exception to hardship. My father, Tiarna Wandrille Bellafon, has been combatting a decline in his health. A consequence of his advanced age. However, my father continues to remain in high spirits and his fight rages on. While he is recovering, the responsibility falls upon myself to manage Verbosc.”
A low murmur passed over the crowd at the man’s announcement. Yvonne sat in serenity with her hands clasped together. Sleibhin looked visibly stressed and wrung his hands together. Allaine tapped his fingers on the table while Arlo only offered a thin smile of courtesy.
The murmurs died down and the man continued his speech. “As Father’s designated heir and replacement, I promise to all of you that I will endeavor to live up to the expectations that come with such a responsibility. Every single day of my life, I have watched the care and attention that my father has placed in this city and the demesne. It serves as my inspiration and it is my greatest hope that I am regarded with the same fondness and respect that my father receives from all of you.”
Applause echoed out from the audience as many were moved by the gregarious nature of the speaker. Some rose from their seats to show extra appreciation and display their loyalty to the man while others called out their approval. However, none were louder than those that occupied the seating closest to the speaker. They clamored and shouted praises for the substitute tiarna, lifting their arms in the air to encourage others to not be so bashful in their praise.
While the overwhelming majority of guests did not hesitate to exalt their host, there was still a noticeable minority that did not share in the sentiments. Valentin’s table was chief among those that refrained from applause. The sparsely populated tables opposite them and a smattering of other groups showed solidarity in their abstinence.
“However, none are more regretful than I to say that my father is no less human than the rest of you. He too, was not immune to folly. My father loved and trusted too much. In that love, he gave a long leash to those that proclaimed fealty to him. He was too willing to offer titles to those that did not deserve it. Instead of showing gratitude, they choose to flaunt his authority to preserve their own ill-begotten gains. Even now, they show their insubordination through their disrespectful attendance of this feast.”
Some groans and boos echoed from the audience, encouraged further by those that sat at the front. The crowd fed on the energy given off by Guillaume and were more than willing to reciprocate his emotions. Those that protested with their attendance felt ever smaller against the wall of noise that indirectly faced them.
“It is my promise that I will remove those from my court that do not espouse virtuous ideals,” Guillaume proclaimed. “We can and will do better. Now, let us feast in honor of our efforts for the cycle and the one that allowed such bounty to be possible.”
The crowd cheered as the man took his seat back at his table. Those that surrounded him seemed to be cheering enthusiastically. A few stray glances passed in the direction of the empty tables. Satisfied grins crossed their faces.
Music began to play from a band set up in the far corner of the room. The tones did not travel well through the acoustics of the room and arrived to Valentin’s ears muted and warbled. Trays of food brought by an army of servants began to populate every table. Sauced meats and vegetables and breads suffocated every inch of the table, only further showing how dramatic the absence truly was.
“He has quite the tongue,” Allaine commented to be barely audible over the clamor. “He’s turned a meal into a political oration and speaks as though his father is already deceased.”
“It is but a small escalation in hostilities,” Yvonne responded, seemingly unaffected by the current state of the room. She brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. “All that’s changed is that his intentions are in the open.”
Valentin reached an apprehensive hand above an appetizing looking chicken leg. His stomach had been gurgling and growling for some time during the speech. His nose was assailed with a variety of pleasant scents that only watered his mouth. Yet none at his table had made a move on the meal.
“Are we supposed to eat?” Valentin asked.
“There is no need for you to starve yourself,” Yvonne responded, allowing the boy to grab the meat. “Guillaume would not dare do something underhanded to the food. He would lose his moral upper hand and fail to kill enough of us to break the clans.”
“I see,” Valentin responded, poison not being a consideration that had crossed his mind. The idea did temporarily turn him off the meal until the animal part of his soul instructed him to tear into the food.
The rest of the table helped themselves to more modest portions of food. If one of them tasted a dish they found particularly delicious, they provided a portion to the voracious boy. For the most part, the table was silent, barring the sounds of Valentin eating. The others were more focused on their surroundings.
To Valentin’s surprise, no performers appeared in the hall. Was there no performance that explained the story of Killik and the Mother? Was the only attraction the music and the man’s politically charged speech? He could not help but find it peculiar.
“Is there no play of the origins?” Valentin asked after completing his third plate of food and setting the stage for his fourth. The boy’s efforts were the only thing bringing down the overwhelming amount of food provided.
“The Temple of Verbosc hosts their own performances,” Arlo explained. “Their main show is likely already ongoing.”
“Oh did you want to go see?” Yvonne asked apologetically. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I had known.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Valentin responded, not wishing to inadvertently make things into a larger issue. “It was just tradition to have the performance at the same place as the main feast. I guess Verbosc is just so big that that’s not possible.”
He didn’t particularly feel disappointed that there was no performance. The food was enough of an attraction for a growing boy his age. However, for such an opulent venue, the event itself felt lacking in a way like bread with a beautiful crust and no filling. The room was not built for music and many that attended would enjoy little of it. Outside of nice decor and a speech, Valentin was generally unimpressed with what was presented to him.
Once he was full, Valentin only grew more bored with the event. He wondered how much longer Yvonne would choose to stay here as an unwelcome guest. He fidgeted with unspent energy. Perhaps he should have trained today even if Hrost had given him a day off. His leg bounced over and over again from the excess boredom.
After an unknown amount of time of suffering through the dullness of the event, new guests arrived at the doorway to the feast. They wore clothes made of animal pelts, their boots were filled with fur, and they were adorned in necklaces of teeth. The skulls of small mammals covered their hoods and obscured their tattooed faces. In the hand of the lead druid was a familiar crystal with a knife in the other. The rest held chains holding pots of burning incense that spewed the scent of burning wood.
Their presence sucked the atmosphere from the room. Conversations were brutally murdered and fell to silence. All eyes locked on the passing invaders in their macabre holiday garb. The finale of the celebration was finally present. Those few children of age will now know what blessings their lives hold.
Valentin’s heart had stopped as soon as he saw the entrants. While the druids of his home did not dress so elaborately, it was hard to misinterpret the purpose of their arrival. The Bloodstone Ceremony, an event that the boy had tried not to think about. The still fresh memories of his escape penetrated the protective wall around his mind and filled him with dread. Paranoia ripped through his spirit, turning it to ribbons. Would someone here be blessed the same way that Valentin had? Would such a reveal have already been predicted like his own had? Would the Bothair be dispatched to hunt them down? Were they already here? He had only seen two of them. If they had sent any others, he would never know how to identify them.
“Valentin, all you alright?”
The concerned voice of his aunt pierced his spiraling mind and brought him back to the present moment. He saw that the entire table was looking at him. All were aware of his secret and they provided him with pitying expressions.
“I’ll be fine,” Valentin reassured. “If I run out now, it will only make things worse.”
“Good,” Yvonne responded, impressed with the maturity of his answer. “You will just need to hold tight until this is over. I’ll be sure to give you something nice after we leave.”
The prospects of a gift stirred the boy slightly but did not calm the tumult inside him. He could not help but feel how much he was now unrecognizable to himself. An event that filled him with such joy now filled him with apprehension. He sat with a clan that he did not know existed this time last cycle and engaged in battle that he only dreamed of. Even his body was no longer what it once looked like. It was a deeply melancholic experience.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Guillaume Bellafon again rose to his feet to make an announcement to his guests. “It is time for the most anticipated moment of the celebration. It is the moment that every child dreams of, to finally know whether or not they have been favored by the Mother and the Great Spirit. Even if you are not blessed, do not lose heart. You are all members of the esteemed clans of Verbosc and we are all proud of you regardless. Who knows, maybe an Heir will bless this city with their appearance.”
An excited murmur spread over the crowd. Valentin was coated in a cold sweat. His irrational mind did not interpret the words as motivation. They were accusations of his existence. He felt trapped in the room, any mistake would ensure his death.
A hand gripped his arm and the boy recoiled away. His aunt was staring at him sternly. The immensity of the boy’s worry seemed to finally reach her.
“Breathe,” she ordered. “Nobody here knows about you. I will not allow it.”
Valentin nodded and began to cycle his favor. He tried to shut his mind from all the noise that surrounded him. He needed to be serene, panic would only serve to betray him. He could not be rattled, it would only serve to prevent him from action when the need arose. He had to be calm, emotionless, so that others would not smell the enticing weakness and feed upon him. He was not allowed to lose.
Valentin’s internal mantra had tuned out the rest of Guillaume’s speech. When he became aware again at that moment, the druids had already finished their preparations and were awaiting the first child. It seemed that the principle of the Conqueror’s First and the Fool’s first existed within these walls as well. Though, at the moment, the Fool’s first had a greater influence on the children within. Valentin wondered that in a hall full of proud nobles and people of fortune, there were silent arguments over who would be the last to go.
However, unlike the ceremony in Roucotte, there were no impoverished children willing to be brave and go first. Where were those of lesser fortune that were able to taste the opulence of ruling society at least once? Where were the displays that brought sparkles to their eyes and gave them the understanding of the future that awaited them if they were to succeed?
“Why are there only nicely dressed people here?” Valentin asked his table. “Where are the common people?”
“There are ceremonies all over the city,” Allaine explained. “There is even a ceremony occurring within our own estate on behalf of our vassals and those that live within the Aranelle Quarter. We have delegates at every gathering we are aware of to make offers to any promising candidates found there before our rivals can. This event is only for those at the top of Verbosc’s social hierarchy and some fortunate loyal guests.”
It appeared that Guillaume Bellafon and the other nobles found great joy in the pageantry of this ceremony. This was the entertainment that the venue was lacking. However, Valentin found no great joy in their apprehension. His own fears were too fresh in his mind to feel nothing but pity for these kids. The most anticipated moment in their lives used as a game and pretenses to establish a silent order amongst their parents.
“I’ve had enough of this,” a boisterous boy proclaimed, pulling himself away from the steady hands of his parents.
Finally, the first child of the ceremony stood before the druids and reached out his hand. He stood with a posture of the utmost confidence. It seemed that the boy’s bravado seemed to throw even the host who immediately turned to softly speak some words to the people close to him.
The druid explained the procedure to the boy at a low volume. Valentin could only discern the discussion by the hand gestures offered by the druid. He grabbed the boy’s wrist and slid the knife across the palm.
Valentin was too far away to see the minutiae of the interaction. He could not observe the boy’s facial expression or the thin stream of blood that trickled atop the stone. All he could see were the expectation faces of those with a better view. All he could hear was the heightened murmurs of those that filled the room. Through these other sources he would know how that boy’s future would turn out.
However, no applause came. The stone did not reward the courage of the boy that went first. Today, the Fool’s First became the truth of this ceremony. The unfavored boy kept his chin up. He made a quip that elicited some chuckling for those in immediate earshot and returned to his parents after his hand had been treated.
The boy’s spiritual resilience was something that Valentin felt envious of. He kept himself together despite his courage going unrewarded. His embarrassment was viewed by the most powerful people in the city. Yet he returned to his seat without much fuss. Why could Valentin not possess such effortless confidence? Why could he not be so carefree towards the prospects of failure? It was disheartening to think about. By all rights, he should be the one that possessed those qualities. Such traits would suit his lot in life.
He did not have much time to dwell on things that could not be easily changed. Unlike the Conqueror’s First, where children are terrified of going second, the Fool’s First offers an entirely different tone. Now, there is no designated position that is likely for success. There is no Strategist’s Second or Winner’s Third on which a person could draw upon for higher odds of success. Additionally, among many of the lower nobles and merchants invited by Guillaume, it appeared that the goal was to simply not be viewed as the first to go. To be the lowest in the hierarchy. Since the first child came forth from a position of bravery and not surrender, the order no longer mattered. Only who went last had any true importance.
Guests who lacked the ambition or ability to reach for those hopes now sent their children forth without much reservation. A queue formed at the druid holding the stone and wound and wove around the groups of diners nearby.
The next fifteen children were turned away in disappointment. Their readings were quick and without the same pageantry as the one who came before them. They meekly shuffled back to their seats. Some cried in disappointment while others sat silently and came to terms with the results of the test. Others seemed entirely unaffected by the result. Their future was already determined by the standing of their parents and whether or not their blood had favor in it was irrelevant.
“It’d be better for them if they weren’t,” Valentin muttered to himself, echoing the words of his father at last cycle’s ceremony.
The seventeenth child finally broke the streak of blank readings. The crowd politely clapped for the modest glow produced by the stone. An exuberant little cheer rang out from the child’s mouth and they ran towards their parents without receiving treatment. Blood splattered from their hand as they excitedly ran away and droplets speckled the ground and any fabric in the way.
One of the druids had to collect the child and apply appropriate treatment. The crowd laughed at the child’s sheepish expression once confronted by the holy man. Those in the path of blood generally took the potential marks on clothes in good humor. Some scowled but did not vocalize their displeasure.
The crowd had hardly any time to regroup before the stone glowed brightly for the very next child. This one stood in a stupor, not quite sure if it was their own power or residual favor not properly cleaned off from the previous child. However, when the druid confirmed the reading, a wide smile crossed their face and a sigh of relief passed their lips. The crowd once again offered applause for the blessed child.
Favor would not strike a third time in a row. Twenty-eight more children came and went without as much as a twinkle from the stone. The guest list was almost exhausted and all that remained were four children from the tables that bordered the walls of the hall. In the same fashion as Valentin’s ceremony the previous year, the child that sat closest to Guillaume would go last. However, there was no competition for the honor. Those that sat along the far walls sent their children up with little care for order. Whether that was due to feeling slighted at their placement or a show of contempt towards the future ruler of Verbosc, Valentin could not say.
The first child of the four did not stir the stone. It was a result that the crowd was now accustomed to and the unfavored made their exit with little ceremony. It appeared that even though these were children of the highest pedigree, a restlessness had befallen the crowd. It had already grown to be late in the day and many were looking towards the windows to judge the amount of time Ortus would be illuminating the day. The light was waning and there was likely less than an hour left before darkness fell upon the city.
The second child approached the stone. Another splash of blood upon the stone. However, this time, there was once again a healthy, warrior’s glow that shone from the stone.
The crowd that had been half paying attention to the child now, once again turned their attention towards the ceremony. The results so far would be considered disappointing by any standards. Less than one out of every ten that passed through had failed to generate favor. The last two would have to possess favor in order for the results to be even considered an average showing. The embarrassment would only be compounded by the aristocratic background of the attendees.
That information was surely weighing on Guillaume’s mind. His display of power would be tarnished by a poor result at the Bloodstone Ceremony. It would only be compounded if his rivals had fruitful findings at their own, private, readings. Valentin was certain that those behind the table were praying to the Great Spirit that they would be rewarded.
It was certain that the next child felt that external pressure weighing down upon them. True to their upbringing, the child appeared to be serene in their approach to the druids. They held out their hand without instruction and did not wince when the blade passed through. Their blood pooled in their hand and drizzled upon the stone.
Unfortunately, things were not fair. Despite the child’s excellent display, they were not rewarded by the higher planes. The stone remained inert. There was no applause, no smiles from those at the primary table, and no favor for the child.
The final child for the ceremony now made their entrance into the overwhelming amount of eyes that plastered themselves atop the unfortunate soul. It was an unenviable position to be in, even for one of such high standing. It would be easily forgiven to look highly anxious. It’s unavoidable to feel crushing pressure. One cannot even dare hope that they are the one that will be favored. Yet, there is nothing else that they are dreaming of.
The druids did not care whether they were the first, the twelfth, or the last attendee. They performed the ceremony with the same pacing as they had for all that came before the final child. The blood spilled before the crowd had the opportunity to prepare themselves for the moment.
However, there was no climax to the ceremony. The stone remained silent while drenched in the blood of the highest born of the attendees. Once the druids attended to the boy and cleaned the bloodstone, they departed at a methodical pace from the hall.
The doors swung open to allow them to exit. The frigid gust that invaded the hall spurred the other guests in attendance to depart swiftly before darkness encroached upon the day. There was no closing speech offered that instructed them to stay.
Valentin’s table was no exception to this mass departure from the hall. Yvonne rose and turned towards the door. After the speech provided by Guillaume, it seemed that the Marshal had no interest in offering a farewell to her host. It was not as though he would have received her anyways. The tiarna to be was too engaged with greeting the parents of the three children that passed their ceremonies, no doubt to provide offers and promises in exchange for loyalty.
The crowd exited the massive doors and spilled into the honored streets of the main square. Many had arrived by carriage and chaos gripped the streets and various coachmen vied for the optimal spots along the main road.
A sparse dusting of snow had accumulated in the streets while flakes drifted lightly down from the sky. Valentin reached out his hand to let the flakes gather on his gloves. It was not the first time he had seen snow. Snow banks that had yet to melt covered the rocks of Pitanabre Pass. However, this was the first time he had seen it falling from the sky. It was only then did he understand the beauty of the phenomenon. The sight was ethereal, yet ephemeral. The flakes that landed on his skin immediately melted from his body heat. The flakes that fell to the ground mixed with the muck of the street and turned into a frosted slurry. It was only when it fell when it was truly beautiful.
The white world made all the colors that still existed become even more pronounced. Clothing appeared even more colorful, reminding Valentin of the vivacious witch. How would her dresses look in such conditions?
The Marshal and her clansmen entered their cart, much to Valentin’s displeasure. However, the chilled air of the night did much to assuage the boy’s nausea. At the very least, he would be able to hold a conversation with his clan. Yet, he was not so comfortable that he could nap off his digesting meal.
“If there was any doubt as to Guillaume’s plans last cycle, he has made them abundantly clear this time,” Yvonne commented once they had broken free of the traffic of the immediate environs of the Bellafon estate.
“If there were any reservations held among our clansmen, they will be dashed by this news,” Allaine agreed.
“They feel it,” Sleibhin added. “Even our warriors speak of the unease that they feel in the streets. We are in the precursors to battle and it is good to know that we are not the only clan under the scrutiny of Guillaume Bellafon.”
“Then we can only hope that he grows too greedy with his need to please his staunch allies,” Yvonne quipped. “I will have to meet those that arrived with similarly poor attendance to see if we are of a shared mind.”
“I wonder if any Heirs were found,” Valentin wondered aloud, stealing the focus of the conversation with his own careless thoughts.
“It is doubtful,” Yvonne responded. “Across all the realms, there is only one found every cycle. The odds of a new finding in Verbosc is slim. Some even claim that there will be none discovered in this cycle.”
“Why is that?” Valentin asked.
“Because, last Killicia was very special,” Yvonne explained. “For the first time in at least ten cycles, there were two Heirs discovered at the same time.”
Valentin leaned forward from his lounging pose. This information was new to him. As far as he knew, he was the only one found at that time. Where was this other person discovered? A faraway realm perhaps, living a life that Valentin would have never been exposed to.
“Fortunately for us,” Yvonne spoke. “The world only knows of one of them. The other is our little hidden secret.”