~Chapter 2~

If, Then

A mix of savory, earthy and sweet scents hit Bradán all at once when she set foot inside. The lighting was dim, a steady soft orange that had a gentle heat to it. The sconces along the walls held small glowing orange rocks, the source of the light and warmth inside the building. Along with the aroma of food there was a faint hint of smoke lingering in the air.

“You’re blocking the door, youngwan.”

Stéig’s voice was followed by one of his large hands coming down to give her a gentle nudge on one shoulder. Standing just inside the doorway, eyes half-closed and sleepier than before the fire, Bradán gave a sudden start and scurried out of the way. Stifling a yawn, the traveler watched as a steady stream of villagers poured into the building.

Guiding her through the hand he had on her shoulder, Stéig led Bradán past rows and rows of tables. Long ones, with benches for seating. The villagers were all taking seats seemingly on a whim, chatting amongst themselves and bringing some energy and life to the sleepy atmosphere. Stéig and Bradán took their own seats towards the end of one of the tables halfway down the hall, with the short girl on the outer edge and the much taller orchard tender to the right of her.

Much to her own private dismay, Bradán’s feet dangled just shy of the floor - she could brush the tips of her toes against the ground if she really tried, though!

“Does everyone come here to eat every day?”

Bradán asked idly, curiously glancing around. The building was one large rectangle, much as it appeared from the outside, with no internal walls and doors dividing it into rooms. Towards the center, she could see hand carts loaded with foodstuffs, dishes, and other odds and ends. In the very middle were countertops, stoves and ovens all made of stone and great big cauldrons bubbling away. A man tending to the oven dumped a small stone bucket of glowing orange rocks in the space underneath the oven, larger ones that glowed brighter than the ones in the wall sconces.

“Only for feasts.” Stéig answered with a cheeky grin. Bradán turned her attention back to him. “Surely even a culchie like yourself knows about feasts?”

Puffing her cheeks out, arms crossing over her chest, Bradán craned her head back to look Stéig in the eye and huffed. “I didn’t live under a rock, of course I know what a feast is.” Then she paused, relaxing her expression and resting her arms on the table as she asked. “What are you celebrating?”

Stéig’s expression betrayed his amusement, and Bradán could already feel her pale freckled cheeks turning pink in pre-emptive embarrassment. Stéig didn’t make fun of her though, instead resting his own arms on the table and explaining.

“Feast of Ash, today. On account of that building what burned down a bit ago. And tomorrow, Feast of Renewal when we rebuild it. The day after that, who can say?”

“That’s a lot of feasts… How often do things burn down?”

“Every couple days usually. Sometimes things burn the same day we put it back up! Those feasts are something else.”

Bradán rolled her eyes at that - now she knew why he had that grin on his face. But, it did help her put a few pieces together. If the villagers were so calm when something burned down, then things burned down all the time around here. If they celebrated every time something was burned down and rebuilt, then of course they would be in good spirits about it. If they had feasts all the time, then maybe Stéig really did have a point about why she was so small - everyone else, except the young children, were much taller than she was.

“So when you said you’d pay me back with lunch…”

“Aye, was a joke. Though, it’d be a shame to miss out on a feast by rushing on your way wouldn’t it?”

Bradán couldn’t argue with that, and she really was feeling pretty tired. Good food and some rest would help make the journey ahead a lot easier, wouldn’t it? Nodding to herself, propping one elbow on the table and resting her chin in her palm, the traveler watched curiously as the people in charge of the feasting hall rushed about getting things prepared while half-listening to Stéig talk about Apple Valley’s traditions when it came to feasts.

It wasn’t long before drinks were brought out, handcarts loaded with casks and wooden mugs ready to be filled to the brim. Two at a time, drinks were handed over to loud cheers, Bradán giving an awkward smile and a quiet “Thanks.” even as Stéig got in on the cheering when he received his own drink. Bringing the mug to her lips, the warm scent of apples and spice hit her nose. Letting the mug linger there for a moment, Bradán closed her eyes and all tension seemed to fall away for a moment.

It was loud, and the villagers rambunctious, but it was all in good spirits. She could hear Stéig briefly engaging in a shouted conversation across the hall with another villager, laughing at jokes, and similar conversations were happening all over. Loud boos filling the air prompted her to peek one eye open, and she realized why Stéig had chosen a seat in the middle. The drink cart had come up empty and needed to return to the back to restock, the tables of villagers forced to wait cupping their hands over their mouths to boo in mock-disapproval while their neighbors held their mugs up in a mocking gesture of their own. Once the cart returned and more drinks were being handed out, the booing was replaced with cheers once more.

Cracking a grin around the rim of her mug, Bradán took her first sip. It tasted even better than it smelled, tart apples mixed with earthy spices and a soft, smooth consistency that went down easy and spread a warm heat through her chest. As the taste of apple and spice faded, a honey-sweet after taste settled in its place and left her with a delighted look on her face.

“Great craic! What is this?”

Bradán held her left arm, mug in hand, up in the air and leaned over to nudge Stéig with her right shoulder. The man glanced down, dropping the conversation he was having as he processed her question with a quizzical look on his face. Then his expression lit up and he gave a proud gesture at his own mug.

“Apple Valley’s very own Cyser! Won’t find any better in all the six lands.”

“Bang on!”

Bradán didn’t stick to sipping after that, and while she couldn’t knock back a drink as well as Stéig or most of the other villagers she could manage a good gulp that had her chest burning warm and needing to catch her breath after.

As plates and bowls and bone-carved utensils were set out a villager started playing a wooden flute, filling the feasting hall with earthy tones. Shortly after the deep rumbles of a wooden rod on a hand drum joined in. Then a fiddle, and shortly after the sound of bone spoons snapping against each other rang out at random. It was a chaotic way to play music, with no planned tune, but it all fell together into a strange harmony of its own and Bradán couldn’t help but drum her fingers against the table and bob her head from side to side.

The feasting officially began with loaves of bread. Squat and round, and cut across into four wedges and passed around.

Setting her drink aside to tentatively try the somewhat familiar food - she was no stranger to soda bread, but the kind she was used to was plain and a little dry. This soda bread, however, pulled apart like soft fluff in her hands and was filled with small chunks of baked apple and raisins, and a dusting of sweet, crystal-like sugar on top. When she took a bite, there was a harder crunch from the sugar that had melted through the cracks in the top of the bread. The sweetness mixed with and complimented the tart apples and the tangy raisins, and the bread itself practically melted in her mouth.

Suffice to say, the bread didn’t last long.

The cauldrons came around next, on carts of their own. Wooden bowls were filled with a thick, hearty stew still bubbling as piping hot trails of steam twisted off into the air. She spent a moment fishing up a proper spoonful with a little bit of everything in it before popping it in her mouth. The broth was rich and every bit as thick as it looked, and sprinkled with gratings of hazelnut that added a delightful crunch and earthy flavor. Soft slices of boiled apple, onion and celery added to hints of sour, bitter and salty all serving one common goal - to compliment the tough, fatty chunks of savory mutton.

Once she managed to finish chewing and swallowing a particularly tasty piece of mutton, Bradán gave a quiet cheer.

“Delira and excira, this is good.”

Stéig, working on his own share of the feast, simply laughed and declared.

“That's proper Apple Valley cooking!”

The stew and bread alone had Bradán feeling warm and full and in need of a nap, but the feasting hall had more in store. Glazed ham, shimmering in the orange light of the feasting hall, was sliced into great big chunks. Chunks that swiftly became the object of many of the villagers' attention, calls and requests for specific pieces shouted out from those seated. Bradán herself was happy enough with whatever she happened to receive, but not everyone seemed to feel that way as a fight broke out.

Shouts of “Feck off!” and “Gombeen!” - the latter insult prompting “Oohs”and whistles from the crowd, and two men with copper colored hair trying to wrestle a plate with a large chunk of ham out of each other's hands. Bradán furrowed her brow and pursed her lips in concern, contemplating intervening in some way, but the rest of the villagers just laughed and continued feasting.

Uncertainly downing her drink and letting the cozy warmth in her chest help keep her relaxed, Bradán concluded that if the villagers were unconcerned, then it was probably nothing serious. Which turned out to be true, as one man grabbed the other around the middle and with a great shout and much exertion tossed his opponent over the table. The man that got thrown tumbled head over heels before landing halfway out the room, and with a triumphant cheer the victor speared the hunk of ham upon a bone fork and took a large bite out of it.

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The display left Bradán staring wide eyed, mug still raised to her lips as the rest of the villagers cheered. The man that had won was tall and wide, with an impressive mustache and no doubt every bit as strong as he looked. Yet, the other man wasn’t small either - smaller and younger, but certainly tall and square-shouldered. She couldn’t imagine the strength it would take to toss someone like that.

“Ah, don’t mind them none. Just Caoireoil and Caoireola going at it again.”

Stéig waved a hand from side to side, forkful of his own cut of ham flopping this way and that. Bradán blinked, lowering her mug and tilting her head slightly to the side as she asked.

“Brothers?”

“Naw, father and son. Might not believe it, but Caoireoil looked just like his son when he was his age. You can tell by the eyes, and the hair.”

“Now that you mention it.”

Peering at the younger man that had been tossed, she couldn’t tell much from a distance in dim light but he certainly had the same coppery hair as his father. His face was clean shaven, though, and as he picked himself up and rubbed at the back of his neck in embarrassment with a sheepish grin on his face she got the impression that he was younger than she had first thought. Everything really did seem to be fine though, as Caoireola rejoined his father at the table and - aside from what seemed to be some smug taunting from the exaggerated way Caoireoil was eating his ham in his son’s face - they seemed to be getting along just fine.

Turning her attention to her own share of ham, Bradán took up her bone fork and knife and cut off a slice to try. The meat was tender, glazed in an apple syrup and baked to a perfect golden brown. The sugar in the syrup must have been added late into the baking, because it was just caramelized enough without leaving the ham undercooked and tough. It was sweet at first, mostly tasting of apples and she spent a moment simply letting it sit there in her mouth. When she bit down to chew, a wave of savory juices locked inside the soft meat danced across her tongue.

Bradán immediately understood why those two men had been willing to fight over the better cut of meat, cupping the side of her face with her free hand and giving a delighted sigh.

It took a lot longer to work through a hunk of ham, even as delicious as it was, and it took more than one refill of Cyser. By the time she was done with it, Bradán’s pale freckled cheeks had taken on a rosy pink hue and she took to tipping from one side to the other in tune with the music.

After ham was had by all, Stéig stood from his seat, and cleared his throat, and in a mix of deep speaking voice and song he joined in with the music.

“I was walking home when it burst into flames,

Inside was everything I owned and everything I had.

Breac Dea-dhathach must have seen the dismay on my face,

Because he said to me ‘You should be glad!’”

The villagers all raised their mugs and echoed “You should be glad!” and Stéig continued.

“He said ‘Your house was old,

The floor had holes and the walls were rotten.

Cracks in the ceiling and a nasty draft,

A place like that is better off forgotten!’”

Another cheer, this time “Better off forgotten!” and Bradán pursed her lips in thought as she listened to the ballad.

“So we built a place much better than the first,

I filled it with new things just for me.

It was a better life than I’d ever had,

Too bad it burned down eventually!”

Once more the villagers repeated the final verse, and Stéig drew the song to a close in a gentler speaking voice.

“That day I learned an important thing,

I say listen up and take this to heart.

No matter who you are or what you have,

You never know when a fire will start!”

A greater cheer accompanied that very last verse, and everyone proceeded to slam back whatever remained in their mugs, save for Bradán and Stéig. Taking his seat once more, doing much the same with his own mug, Stéig cleared his throat with a ‘whew’. Catching the puzzled look on her face, he laughed and quipped.

“Never heard a ballad at a feast before, culchie?”

Bradán’s cheeks would have turned pink if they weren’t already, and she raised her mug up with a cheer of “Deadly ballad, Stéig.” before avoiding the question entirely by downing what was left of her drink.

Thankfully the feast wasn’t over, and the arrival of dessert saved her from further prodding. New mugs nearly overflowing with a fluffy, bready pudding were passed around, and the traveler quickly forgot all about dodging questions. It was an awfully large mug for pudding, especially after so much food already, and there was visible doubt on Bradán’s face as she tentatively poked her spoon into the top of the pudding. Pulling away the smallest of scoops, she popped it into her mouth.

When she did she was met with hints of nutmeg and cinnamon, blended with sweet and the unmistakable taste of milk and bread. It was warm and gooey and the very small bite she had sampled was gone before she knew it, the taste lingering for only a brief moment. Where the ham had taken her quite a while to eat, the mug of pudding was practically inhaled on the spot.

Much to Stéig’s amusement, as he gave her a hearty slap on the back and quipped.

“Might not be a kid, but you take to Goodie like one.”

Bradán puffed out her cheeks at that, but paused as something caught her attention. Expression shifting to smug, she gave an exaggerated shrug as she peered at the inside of the mug in the hopes of spotting an overlooked spoonful of Goodie.

“You’re one to talk.”

Stéig held his hands up helplessly, making no move to deny having eaten his just as fast and instead defending himself with a simple excuse.

“I’m old, have to eat it while I’m still kicking.”

That got a chuckle out of Bradán, though it turned into a stifled yawn midway through. Folding her arms across the table and resting her head atop them, one hand still holding a fresh mug of Cyser, she let out another yawn and murmured half-seriously.

“Feasting every other day would kill me, how do you all manage?”

Stéig shook his head in amusement at that, waving a hand dismissively as he attributed it to “Heartier valley folk”. Though, Bradán was hardly the only one winding down as the feast came to an end and the music trickled down into ambient chattering. Some were in a similar, drowsy and overly full state as Bradán and others had full on passed out and were snoring away. After a few quiet moments passed, Stéig cracked his knuckles and spoke up in a serious tone.

“Right, then, now that you’re sated and in no position to run off or argue, I’ll tell you all about Orange Orchard.”

Bradán stuck her tongue out at him, but aside from a grin in response the orchard tender just rolled right past it.

“First off, you saw how the trees out in the orchard caught fire? And the house here in the village?”

Bradán managed a nod, delicately attempting to tip her mug against her lips without sitting upright.

“All of Orange Orchard, since long before it was called that, is like that. Volcanic hills, you see, filled to the brim with Orange Mana. Makes things burst into flames with no rhyme or reason. In the old days, and out where you’re from in the middle of nowhere I suppose, putting fires out was a constant chore. You’d have to keep it from going to bits over and over and over again until the mana decided it was done. By exploding it, it makes it finish the job quicker,”

Here Stéig paused to mime the motions he had made before when he dealt with the burning building.

“You make it safe, you rebuild. No fuss, no repeated fires, and life moves on. That’s what Breac Dea-dhathach taught us, and it’s made life here a lot simpler ever since. The entire orchard wouldn’t be possible without that little nugget of wisdom.”

Bradán scrunched her nose up at that idea. “Sounds wasteful.”

Stéig shook his head at that.

“It might seem that way at first, but once Mana decides it's time for something to go, there’s no arguing with it.”

“Mana’s stupid.”

That got a loud laugh from Stéig, and he plopped a hand down on Bradán’s head in an encouragingly patronizing ruffle of her brown hair that prompted the girl to swat at his arm with her free hand half-heartedly.

“Naw, Mana just has a strange way of thinking none of us can rightly figure out. Except the Manafest, of course, and I figure if it's anyone so far it's Breac Dea-dhatchach. Anyways, that's why you need to keep someone who can tap Orange Mana around when you’re traveling. Not to mention, wild beasts and whatnot would gobble you up like a mug of Goodie, and a bit of fire can spook them off more often than not. Understand?”

Bradán started to say something, before simply giving an awkward smile and nodding. Which seemed to be enough for Stéig, because he pulled his hand away and dropped his hands down onto the table before continuing.

“Grand, grand. Now, I reckon I can arrange for you to tag along with an apple shipment. Might have to do some heavy lifting or other labor to pay your way, though. You good at anything?”

“Lots.”

The vague answer, accompanied by a yawn, prompted Stéig to give an amused shake of his head.

“I’ll figure something out, don’t fret none about it.” Bringing a hand up to scratch at the unevenly short side of his beard, Stéig added in a half-murmur to himself. “Might have to put you up somewhere for a day or two if you don’t mind staying put. You don’t mind that, do you?”

Stéig didn’t get a response, Bradán sleeping off the feast where she sat. The orchard tender sighed and shook his head, rising from his seat and leaving Bradán where she was for the time being. The feast of ash coming to a close, dishes and mugs collected, the villagers mingled and socialized amongst themselves. Many jokes were had, bets and silly contests placed, and stories told. It went on that way for hours, until everyone was sufficiently recovered from feasting to head back to their normal routines and errands and work that needed done.

Or they were going to, when another man entered the feasting hall.

Tall and thin, with pale blonde hair swept off to one side in one large swirling curl. His skin was tan, and he had piercing amber eyes, a pointed nose and a narrow face ending in a sharp chin. And, most notably, he had one arm in a sling, and a massively discolored bruise across the side of his neck and halfway up the right side of his face.

Pulling away from his conversation, Stéig was quick to approach the man with a mix of friendliness and concern on his face.

“Ginearál Yellowman! Howsagoin? You look absolutely knackered. Are you on leave due to injury? Bad dose of it too, looks like. Sad to say you just missed a feast of ash, but returning alive is cause enough for another celebrat-”

“Naw, not on leave, and there is certainly no cause for celebration!”

Yellowman was quick to interrupt, adjusting his orange and black uniform with his good hand in a manner not unlike a bird preening itself. The gesture was in vain though, and out of vanity, as no amount of fussing could patch up the cuts and tears in the sturdy fabric. Giving Stéig a clap on the shoulder that served to also nudge the larger man aside, Yellowman raised his voice as he stepped into the middle of the room.

“The safety you all enjoy here, being able to have feasts and celebrations whenever you please, is all thanks to the efforts of the Orange Orchard Company! Without us defending the borders of these lands, and containing the fires from the lands itself, this village would have been wiped off the map ten times over!”

All of the villagers murmured amongst themselves at that, tension and unease replacing the cozy atmosphere in the feasting hall. Those sleeping woke up on their own or were stirred awake by others. Bradán was among those that woke up on her own, arms still folded underneath her head from her position at the table. Eyes closed, and easily overlooked with the crowd standing at attention for Yellowman, the traveler mulled over what she was hearing. Not just from Yellowman either - but the concerned murmurs of the villagers near her, who didn’t seem to realize she could hear them. Mothers quietly fretting over children, even fully grown ones, and children quietly fretting over mothers and fathers in turn.

If Yellowman wasn’t visiting, then he was here on business. If his business was able to so thoroughly change the mood of the upbeat villagers right after a feast, it must be serious. If it was serious, and he was a high ranking officer of Orange Orchard Company, then there were only a few things he would be here for. If it wasn’t to weed anyone out, then…

Seeming pleased with having everyone's undivided attention, a self-assured smile settled on Yellowman’s face. Only for a moment though, as he brought his good hand up to splay his fingers across his chest in a flourishing gesture and put on an air of overwrought regret.

“Without those that serve among the ranks of the Orange Orchard Company, we would not be able to keep these lands free. Regrettably, my forces have faced disastrous casualties turning back the cragland tribes. Were it not for our efforts, and my leadership, this part of the orchard would have been overrun already! Even now, the craglands no doubt are assembling their forces, horned devils intent to trample all our hills and valleys into flat and barren wastelands! They will stop at nothing less than the downfall of the entire Orange Orchard Company and their blasphemous champion heralded as the Manafest returned!”

Yellowman’s description sparked a wave of alarm through the villagers, some seeming to turn fear into resolve by standing straighter and others shrinking in on themselves. Stéig, however, seemed conflicted and crossed his arms over his chest as a contemplative frown settled onto his face. Paying the less than enthused reactions no mind, Yellowman brought his good hand away from his chest and balled it into a fist to thrust up into the air.

“So, I am here with a call to arms! Any and all, from ages eight to thirty-nine, with the ability to tap Orange Mana must depart with me at once!”

Most of the villagers raised their arms up in the same manner, cheering in affirming solidarity, and were prepared to commit themselves to sudden farewells.

“Bollox to that.”

All paused as Bradán propped herself upright, hazel eyes staring down Yellowman from her seat. Which might have been intimidating, if she wasn’t quite so small or if she didn’t currently have a bad case of bedhead. Yellowman raised an eyebrow, seeming more perplexed than offended.

“Yes?”

The question was said more like a greeting, and Yellowman dropped the hand held in the air down to his side as Bradán planted her palms firmly on the table and rose to her full and unimpressively short height. In a firm tone, brow furrowed and a frown on her face, she leveled a blunt accusation at him.

“You’re a bleeding liar.”