Chapter 54 - Hanging Colors II

As the sun began to sink below the treeline, long shadows stretched across the forest floor like a vast interwoven web of crossing lines and shapes. The tall, straight trees became shadowy pillars, and all around the clearing, Carran’s residents lit torches and candles that were spread generously throughout the space. The resulting warm glow added a hazy golden hue to the branches.

Lazar rose, carefully eyeing the array of food now laid out across the ground. They’d wrapped most of the plates with paper to trap in the warmth, and even now the lingering smoke from the campfire carried with it the scent of savory meat and the rich aroma of roasted root vegetables and freshly baked bread.

“Wow, that’s a lot,” a voice said, and Lazar turned to face Madeline.

Compared to earlier, the woman looked much less tired, and her face seemed to glow in the light of the dancing fires. In her hands, she held four long strips of colored fabric. She pulled out a pale blue one and handed it to the seraph, who carefully took it.

“It’s for the festival,” Madeline explained. “After Alaric gives his speech, we’ll all hang them up on a branch!” She looked around, the second fabric piece—a bright scarlet red one—in her palm.

“Do you know where Ciel is?”

“I believe she was helping with the campfire, though I’m not sure where she is currently.”

Madeline frowned at that. “I haven’t seen her around; I was going to give her this.” She looked forlornly down at the piece.

Beside the red one, the remaining two cloths were matching lavender strips, one of which Lazar assumed was for Madeline and the other for Matilda.

“If you’d like, I can give it to her when I see her,” the seraph offered. Madeline’s face brightened.

“That would be great, thank you!” She handed the piece to him, and Lazar wound it neatly around the shaft of his halberd where he wouldn’t forget it.

“I’m going to go find Matilda,” Madeline said. “I’ll see you around!”

With those words, the woman turned and hurried off, wavy blond hair streaming behind her as she slipped into the crowd.

All around him, Lazar could see the other Carran villagers with similar pieces of cloth, each one varying in size, length, and color. It was odd to see such vibrant hues against the overcast, darkened sky; they appeared almost out of place for the muted colors of the first plane.

Lazar quietly stepped to the side where it was a little less crowded. The breeze hadn’t stopped at all. It was constantly blowing past and rattling the branches, but every time a fire was put out, someone was there right away to reignite it. Nothing, it seemed, could stop the festivities.

As the seraph carefully scanned the crowd for Ciel’s tall silhouette, a hush fell over the gathered crowd. Lazar stilled, grey eyes shifting over to the center of the masses, where a small space had been left open around Alaric’s familiar form.

The man stood tall, backlit against the dancing campfire as he eyed the villagers. It didn’t take long for the last few pieces of chatter to die down into silence, and Alaric nodded.

“People of Carran,” the man began. His voice wasn’t quite a shout, but it still rang clearly across the clearing. “I thank you for gathering here today, and I thank the Light for protecting us on our journey. May all our travels be so blessed.”

A few cheers rose. Alaric waited patiently for them to quiet before continuing.

“This has been a difficult year,” he said, voice slower and expression solemn. “Ascended demons attack in greater numbers than ever before. Tears rip apart the fabric of our plane. New souls fall to the Oblivion’s clutches. The Ash Riders continue to knock at our doors, and our crop yields remain sparse.”

The man exhaled a long breath. “Carran has faced many losses over the years. Too many are no longer with us.” His voice quieted at that, eyes clouding with a distant memory. Several people in the crowd lowered their heads.

“Still, we have continued to persevere. What is gone we remember. What is broken we rebuild. Time and again we have proven our resilience and strength.” He nodded to the villagers all around him.

“We have gathered here today not to mourn our losses, but to celebrate. We stand here in gratitude of the Light’s protection, of the hardworking souls who have kept Carran and our spirit alive. We stand here to celebrate a brighter future. We stand here connected not only through our struggles, but in our shared hope.”

Alaric gestured around him, and the crowd began to shift, the villagers moving to the trees surrounding the clearing.

Lazar carefully followed their actions as each one selected a branch and looped their strips of fabric over. They all kept their hands on the cloth, not letting them billow out or release just yet. Their eyes watched a waiting Alaric.

The seraph found a branch nearby that was a bit too high for him to reach. Using his covered halberd, he looped the fabric over and pressed down on the ends with the end of the shaft to keep them still. He noticed a few people had climbed up the trees to get to higher branches. There were even some children sitting on their parents’ shoulders.

Finally, once everyone was ready, silence fell across the clearing once again. All eyes trained on Alaric in anticipation, and the man closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again, he spoke a single line.

“Let them fly.”

All at once, everyone released their holds on the fabrics. The pieces flared up, billowing in the wind. Reds, blues, golds, violets, greens—seemingly every vibrant color that existed streamed outward, forming a canopy of saturated hues more beautiful and colorful than even the Cloud Forest of Elysium.

Cheers rang out, a few villagers hollering and letting out whoops, but the festival wasn’t done yet.

As that sea of colors rose all around them, surrounding them in those flickering shades, a few strips began to slip off the branches and soar into the sky.

Alaric breathed and moved his hands in distinct gestures, muttering a few words under his breath. An umber glow illuminated the palm of his hand, and he thrust his hand forward.

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Thin streams of fire snapped outwards, the sparks catching the ends of the drifting clothes and illuminating them in flashes of light.

Lazar heard delighted shouts and laughs ringing around him. His own eyes were transfixed on the sight of those colors, the shower of lights blooming in the night that, for a moment, managed to overpower even the eternal glow of the realm gate.

The sound of a fiddle snapped the seraph out of his reverie, and he looked over to see a group of villagers shifting to the edge of the clearing and picking up the instruments they’d brought. Others hurried to the food, pulling back wraps and releasing their aromas while others clapped their hands and began to dance.

The music swelled, and all around the clearing the seraph watched as the people of Carran celebrated. There was a liveliness to their movements, a rough sense of unfiltered joy that was entrancing in its honesty.

An old memory rose at the sight, the memory of a dance both like and so unlike this one.

—

Lazar stood to the side, halberd in hand as he scanned the shifting masses for any signs of a disturbance.

All around the chamber, seraphs soared through the air like drifting feathers, draping clothes and wings blending with the white marble pillars that stretched up to the arched ceiling. Through the glass, hazy light filtered down, softening the edges of the surroundings and casting the ball in an ephemeral glow.

The seraphs spun and twirled with an ease and elegance that was mesmerizing in its grace. No one crashed into each other, and every flap of white wings was perfectly in line with the flow of music.

Beside Lazar, Julius watched with furrowed brows, arms crossed in front of him as he observed the dancers. Though the ball had officially begun an hour ago, the guardian in training had yet to fly forward.

“You should join them,” Lazar suggested. The other seraph frowned.

“I’d rather not,” he said stiffly.

Lazar turned his way, smiling a little. “You’ve improved quite a bit. I’m sure the people would be happy to see their future guardian participating.”

Julius snorted at that.

“And what about you? You haven’t exactly joined the festivities yourself.”

“You know why,” Lazar murmured. Green eyes turned to him, and the other seraph frowned.

“I highly doubt anything will happen. Besides, there’s plenty of other guards.”

“Even so, it’s my duty.” Lazar’s gaze shifted briefly to two figures on the other side of the chamber.

Lord and Lady Andire spoke with a few other seraphs who Lazar couldn’t make out amidst the dancing. Neither of them turned in their direction, but his muscles still remained tense at the sight of them. Their presence was a constant in the periphery, inescapable in reach.

Around the chamber, the music shifted as the violinist drew out a long, ringing note. The current dance partners bowed to each other and shifted, the crowd temporarily scattering and reforming as a new round of dancers took their place for the next song.

Lazar stared pointedly at the crowd, and Julius released an exasperated sigh.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He shook his head and took a begrudging step forward, wings fanning out.

“Just one,” he muttered, and Lazar smiled.

“I hope you enjoy yourself,” he said with a slight bow. Julius shook his head again, but his green eyes gleamed with amusement.

“I’ll do my best.”

—

A crisp wind blew past, and Lazar heard a group of children giggle as they ducked behind a tree for cover. He shifted position, the memories still lingering in his mind as he took in the full blown festivities. It was hard to imagine that this was the same plane that had always been overcast, the place that was eternally cloaked in a grey sky.

Through the crowd, Lazar could see Alaric standing by the campfire, watching the dancing with a proud sort of fondness. A man the seraph recognized as Derrick, the village’s blacksmith, approached and tapped the man’s shoulder. Though it was too far and too loud to make out what they were saying, Alaric had on an exasperated, albeit amused expression. A few moments later, the two joined the dancing.

A little ways away, a flash of swaying blonde hair caught Lazar’s attention. There was Madeline right in the center of the crowd, laughing and swirling around to the rhythm of the music. There was no trace of weariness, her movements as carefree as the wind itself.

Lazar heard a rustle beside him, and he turned to see Matilda approaching. The woman was carrying a drink he recognized from the big pitchers they’d laid out for the feast.

“Not a dancer?” Her voice was calm and even.

Lazar shook his head. Despite standing guard for a number of different balls as well as Julius’s lessons, he’d never danced himself, and he didn’t think he could. Especially not when those dances had all required wings.

The emptiness on his back suddenly seemed all too present, and he quickly pushed the thought aside.

“I assume you aren’t either?”

“It’s not a hobby of mine, no,” Matilda said, a hint of amusement in her voice. The woman looked more relaxed than Lazar had ever seen her. She took a sip of her drink.

For the next few moments, the two simply stood in companionable silence watching the dance. One of the fiddlers seemed to have challenged the other, and the two were currently playing as fast as they could. The bolder residents of Carran had taken it upon themselves to try and keep up their dancing for as long as possible.

Madeline was among them, laughing all the while, and the ones not directly participating cheered them on.

It was strange, Lazar thought. Normally he didn’t particularly enjoy loud noises. Those were associated with fights and battles, with whipping wind and yells. They meant chaos—more places to constantly watch for. They were overwhelming and alienating.

And yet, as the seraph observed the festivities, he felt a strange sense of warmth rising in his chest, a lightness that he hadn’t felt in a long time. If he closed his eyes, it seemed like time itself could stop.

“You know, I was considering not letting Madeline come.”

Lazar glanced over at Matilda, who didn’t take her eyes off the crowd even as she continued to speak.

“Traveling is hard on her, even if she’s too stubborn to admit it.” A distant look clouded those blue eyes, and she shook her head. “I can’t do it though. She’s never more happy than at this festival. I can’t take that away from her.”

The seraph hummed in understanding.

“That’s very kind of you,” he said sincerely. Matilda didn’t respond, and he returned his attention to the dance.

The fiddlers’ competition had come to an end, and a number of villagers hollered at the apparent loser, who had dramatically fallen to his knees. Laughter filled the clearing, and someone shouted a request for the musicians.

As the lively notes of the next song began, a flash of movement caught the seraph’s eye.

Muscles tensing on instinct, Lazar’s grip on his halberd tightened as he turned to the source of the motion.

There, seated atop a branch high up in the canopy, was Ciel.

The demon lounged casually against the tree trunk, staring down at the dance with an almost bored ease. Lazar felt the tension drain away from his shoulders, and after a moment of consideration, he turned to Matilda.

“Please excuse me,” he said. The woman nodded, and Lazar turned and carefully moved around the perimeter of the clearing, avoiding the crowd and approaching where the demon was.

Finally, he came to a stop at the base of the tree.