Chapter 35: Festival Fare

“Damn insects.”

Behind him, a trail of cracked carapace and broken wings lay strewn over the trampled underbrush. The procession of dead insects led eastwards towards the rising sun where it ended with his latest victim: a long and thin insect that swooped down from overhead with long slicing pinchers. The canopy was sparse now, and already the morning light cast warm beams upon his heaving back as he crushed the final child-sized insect with the end of his simple wooden staff.

They were more tenacious than he’d originally expected; a lighter blow wouldn’t do more than knock one away. And annoy it. No, he put his full strength into each and every blow, and then some.

His belly growled, but he ignored it in favour of leaning against a large stem to catch his breath. He was out of suitable food anyway, and these insects did not look appetizing. He popped one of his few remaining Refresh Mints into his mouth, savouring the cool wave that eased his sore muscles alongside the sight of the rising sun. They’d sustained him through a lot of fighting this past week, and without them he’d be too bruised up to make decent time.

Far above, a lone dandelion seed drifted meandering on the wind northwards. He wondered if it was from the grove. He hadn’t seen any other dandelions since leaving, so it was possible. On a whim, he followed it, hoping to catch it when it landed. It helped that the seed seemed to weave an easy path through the forest floor, avoiding the denser patches of flora below, though it drifted on the breeze far above.

He made his way through the underbrush for some time, the paths that once lay invisible to him seemed to present themselves for his travel, and for it, he made good pace.

Without thinking, he followed the seed for nearly an hour before it caught a petal of a particularly large flower with lots of leaves.

With a start, he realized he’d probably gone way off course. Checking the sun revealed that, indeed, he’d followed the seed north, not east. Not that he knew where to go anyway. He shrugged, figuring it might be just as well.

Again, his stomach rumbled, this time more insistently. Candy was nice and all, but it did little to sate his appetite. He looked up at the seed stuck in the tree. You could eat seeds, right? He figured it wouldn’t hurt to try, and the flower it was currently caught on had many thick vines that would make climbing a simple task.

He soon found himself above the canopy, sitting on a long pink petal with streaks of white, looking out over the jungle below. Not so far below, like with the sunflowers, but enough to get a good lay of the land since the flowers weren’t as tightly packed here as they were. Just high enough to see the water barely peeking over the horizon to the north. He looked back and saw the massive violet reaching up into the clouds. He’d come a long way, but it was still just as large, it seemed.

His stomach rumbled again. Right. The seed.

It was bigger up close than he imagined, the white fluffy parasol that transported the fist sized seed stood about as tall as he did. He grabbed the seed. It looked rather unappetizing, though he was rather hungry. And looks could be deceiving after all.

With a sigh he made to descend the flower when a big gust of wind wrenched at the seed. Unwilling to give up his meal, he maintained an iron grip, but before he realised it, it had pulled him off the flower, tumbling… upwards?

Indeed, after flailing around for anything to grab and finding nothing, he quickly realised he was not falling, but rather rising slightly, drifting alongside the gust.

He gulped, resolving not to look down. Nothing could be as bad as Windcrown, but he was still not fond of heights. Not like this at least.

Soon, the gust passed, and he was left drifting on warm air currents, pulling him seaward. As he calmed down, he slowly mulled over his thoughts and feelings.

If Mitty wanted it, they would still be friends, but did she want it? There had been that letter with the bag, but it wasn’t really clear if she left it on purpose or not… Or was he just overthinking it? No, the best way would just be to ask her directly. And then after that, never let her go, ever. If she said yes. That part was important. He’d likely have to fight cultists to get to her too, where she might be held in a dank cell, or the pinnacle of a tower, guarded by a dragon, like in that play. Masterful writing on that one. He’d never heard a story quite like it. Hmm, those snacks they’d served during that play were quite nice. Some sort of light but crunchy balls, glazed in sweet and salty sauces, or buttered. Yum. He wondered if Mitty would be able to recreate those. Great for a snack.

His stomach rumbled again at the thought of food. He’d need more than a snack. A five course meal might not be adequate. Not that he had choices. He’d take what he could get.

As seemed to be common in the jungle, a buzzing interrupted his thoughts.

A speck approached him above the treeline, though from where it came, he hadn’t seen. It certainly wasn’t around moments ago. As it approached, he recognized it as one of the wasps the cultists rode.

His brow furrowed as he drew his staff with his free hand, growing it to combat size. He’d never done midair combat on a giant dandelion seed, but he was a quick learner. A single cultist would be no trouble for him anyhow.

As the rider approached, he could see he didn’t wear the regular garb of the cult, those long flowing black and gold robes, but intricate leather armor, dyed with the same coloring.

“Hey, you got a permit for that?” came a harsh voice.

“…What?” Dantes responded.

“A permit. For flying. You got one?”

“I’m not flying, I’m drifting, and I would quite like to land.”

“You need a permit for drifting too, vagrant. Follow me to the enforcer’s office and we’ll get your fine sorted out.”

“Fine?”

“Good, then follow me.” The man wheeled his wasp around before realising something and tossing Dantes a rope which he caught.

He figured it must seem a weird sight, a man riding a wasp towing behind him a man clinging onto a giant dandelion seed, but perhaps such things were normal in this world. He didn’t know. It seemed like something that would’ve come up in conversations by now though.

Soon enough they came to a small village built at the base of one of the few giant flowers in the area. The canopy was now nonexistent, and rather than a dense jungle, there were large flowers only every couple hundred meters. The village was more of a collection of huts connected by flattened earth paths. From his vantage point he could tell the sea would be a decent walk from here, and a small river snaked past the village on one side.

The grumpy enforcer led them to the largest building in the village, a big hut of sticks and petals and leaves and mud, but arranged in a vaguely aesthetic sense, he thought.

The man landed ahead of him and reeled him in with the rope, tying the end off on a post once he was near enough grounded. He let go of the white parasol that had carried him so far, dropping the couple feet to the ground and it flew away on the sea breeze, leaving him with just the lumpy seed firmly in his grasp. When it had come loose, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t one to look a gift dog in the mouth. He loosened his grip, noticing his fingers were white from holding on for dear life even though he didn’t recall it being physically straining to hold on.

A second enforcer emerged from the hut, and she shot a questioning look at the first.

“I caught this one drifting without a license, sheriff.”

“Hmm, I see. Drifting was it? The penalties for that are quite steep. 13 gold pieces. But look at his attire. Not wearing patriotic colours. Another 4 gold. Ragged appearance on our day of worship. Additional 2 gold fine. And usage of our hitching post, for an additional gold… for a total of 20 gold pieces.”

He blinked in confusion, before remembering currencies existed. He usually just left that stuff to Mitty.

“I’m afraid I don’t really have that. I have a dandelion seed if you want though.”

The woman appeared nonplussed.

“It’s either gold, or we can take you to the ziggurat to work off your debt.”

“Oh, is that where the cultists are? Yeah, sounds good, take me there.”

The first enforcer’s face grew red as he barked out “Calling the Order of the New Sun a cult carries a fine of 40 gold. Now follow me inside, drifter. We have paperwork to fill out.”

He felt that seemed a bit unfair, expecting him to do paperwork after such a long journey, but if they were willing to take him to where Mitty was, he figured it was the least he could do. They seemed decent folk.

After a grueling 5 minutes of paperwork, mostly consisting of trying to decide on a sufficiently squiggly signature, he was led to the back of a cart, where a battered looking man grinned at him lopsidedly.

“Even jumpin strangers now are dey? Watcha in for? Smelling de flowers?”

“Drifting, apparently. And calling their cult a cult. I’m Dantes, by the way. Have you seen a woman named Mitty?”

The man chuckled to himself as though he’d said something particularly funny and the cart lurched to a slow trot. They were underway.

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“Aye, they’re a touchy bunch, the order is. Very cultlike indeed. I hear der’s a ritual comin up on the darkest day. Most don’t call me nothin but crazy old man or grandpa. And nae, I ain’t seen a lass by that name. If yer lookin fer someone who ain’t where she ought to be, where we be goin’s a decent bet though. The order be pullin in all sorts of folk for their lil ritual they be putting on. Half the village be pulled in.”

“So they’re arresting everyone they can? Why?”

The man brushed off a fly from the side of his face gently.

“Lot’s o work to be done, Dantes. Feasts to prepare, stones to stack, buildings to build. Don’t fret about yer fine. They ferget about it after they get their time in the sun” he stopped to chuckle at his joke. “Ey don’t normally cause too much problem for us jungle folk but once every 200 years or so, so we don’t make a big fuss about it normally. They ‘ave been a lil more nasty this time though.”

By now the cart was bumping along a dirt road meandering towards the coast

“You sound like you’ve experienced a few of these, but you say it only happens once every 200 years…”

“Aye, I’m an old coot, even by my order’s standards. Us druids tend to age a bit slower than most. Ye must be… what 60?”

“6 years old, actually.”

“Right, well point is, when I looked yer age, I was 600 er so. And I certainly ain’t no spring lark no more.” He gave another hearty guffaw at that.

“So what’s the ritual about?”

“Oh, a long time ago, some idiot got it into his ‘ead that the sun actually went out during an eclipse ya see, and that they needed a big ritual ta make sure a new one was born so we wouldn’t be without a sun. So usually there’s lots o’ dancing and feastin’ and chantin’ and fires. Sometimes they throw food an’ stuff into the fire, but they ain’t done that of late. Waste of a good meal, ya know? Anyhow, the New Sun folk seem a bit more on edge this time about. Hopefully it’s nothin, ya feel me?”

“So what did you do to get sent over?”

The man burst out laughing again. He seemed very liberal with his joy, which Dantes appreciated.

“Ah turned that lil prick Grant into an earwig. He was givin me attitude I didn’t need ta here, ya know? But ah figure ‘e woulda got me on somethin’ eventually, so figured I’d do it on me own terms. Haha, ya shoulda seen the look on his lil’ earwig face.”

Like this, the two spent the midmorning chatting about the benefits of grilling versus frying (a matter Dantes rather considered himself an expert in), and whether the ritual feast should come before or after the dancing (before and after was his preference).

As they spoke, the big flowers slowly petered out until there were just fields of long grass blowing in the wind. He even saw a little mouse scamper along the path up ahead once, a welcome sight to see anything aside from insects.

Once, the cart got stuck in a particularly deep rut, but Dantes helped the driver with a casual push to have them soon back on their way. The faster he made it to Mitty, the better. Apparently, the ritual was tomorrow so he wouldn’t want her to miss out on all the free food. And dancing. Maybe he should ask her to dance with him… That was something friends did, right?

Soon enough, a large stone pyramid-with-its-top-cut-off crested the horizon, built on a small cliff overlooking the sea. It was unnaturally dark, as though it stole refused to surrender a proper image of its shape, though there were gold highlights that glinted pleasingly, even from this distance. From the moment the ziggurat poked over the horizon, the cart was surrounded by fields of poppies, as though they could only grow within sight of the monument.

As the ziggurat loomed large, a sprawling settlement came into view. Closer to the base there were permanent structures of stone and wood, but at the outskirts the housing looked very temporary, most structures seeming more like stalls at a festival or tents at a campsite than proper dwellings.

Which is what it was, he realised. The tone seemed mostly jovial, jungle residents bustling about in preparations, carrying materials and food and brightly colored masks. He saw a stage being set up in a field, for what purpose, he didn’t know.

As the cart slowly made its way to a stop near the innermost circle, he saw a robed cultist awaiting them, smiling. They were instructed to dismount, so they did.

“Took you long enough Jerry. This would be the last bunch, I take it? Very well, stable the horses, then make yourself useful. All these the preparations need to be done this time tomorrow after all.”

The driver departed, leaving them alone with the cultist who approached them, leafing through some papers.

“Lots of work to do… Old Man Dickhead? I’ll have to speak to Grant about filling out forms properly… And also… Dantes? Is that actually your name?”

Dantes nodded.

The man paused for several breaths, his face paling noticeably.

“Wait here, you two.”

The man darted inside the building.

The two exchanged glances and shrugged, wandering back down the street towards the festival. The old man quickly disappeared into the crowd ahead of him, slipping between people like a fish through water.

Vines with luminous bulbs grew up the side of tall poles lining the packed earth streets and festival goers in colorful attire held animated conversation lost in the noise. Everyone seemed to have their hands full with tools, or materials, or food.

While he searched for a food stand, his attention caught on a man dressed in a patchwork of every color next to a large device. As if sensing his gaze, the man called out to him.

“Ho there, stranger! What brings you to our festival? Oh, the New Sun lads? They’re mostly harmless, don’t worry about ‘em. They’re the only ones who take this eclipse stuff serious anyhow. Just let ‘em do their chanting and whatever and enjoy the day. Say you look like a strong lad. Care to try your hand at this here game? There’s a prize if you can ring the bell.”

Dantes examined the device that stood tall beside the rainbow man. There was a large wooden mallet that lay against it, and a bell at the top of the pole.

It did not seem challenging or requiring of much strength to win, so Dantes picked up the mallet and lightly tapped the bell with it, letting out a dull ring that was quickly lost in the hubbub.

The man seemed unimpressed, but in good humour regardless.

“Not what I had in mind sonny. I suppose I’ll have to explain it better next time. Here’s your prize. One weird lookin sea thingy.”

The man handed him a fish. One he recognized as a Featherfish. Unsure what to do with it, he decided to hold on to it, making his way to the stage he saw earlier. There was a gathering crowd already. For what, he meant to find out.

Through the scents of the crowd, he detected something delicious. Mouth watering. He pushed his way towards the front, hearing a voice from the stage counting down.

“3…2…1… and time! That’s a respectable 8 slices of pie scoffed in one minute! Impressive, but not enough to claim the lead from our current champion, Harvest in Spring, with a total of 23 slices! One slice short of three full pies! Now, do we have any other challengers? No fee for entry on this fine day!”

Dantes waved his hand to the man wildly. He still hadn’t eaten today, and 23 slices of pie seemed too low for a respectable high score anyhow.

“Ah, you, tall lad! Care to challenge the high score? Yes, step right up. Now what’s your name? Dantes? Well the rules are simple. Eat as much pie as you can in a minute. As a reminder to the audience, these pies were kindly donated by Bluebell Grove for today’s event. Their stall is in by the entrance and they accept donations if you enjoy the show you’re seeing today.”

Being seated at the table facing the audience, several pies were brought out on large wooden platters. There were covered pies, and pies with strips of dough, braided together, and open pies, and red pies and blue pies, and more pies than he knew existed, all brought out, displayed around the table.

“Well folks, you know the rules! The contestant will have 1 minute to scoff as much pie as he can fit! The prize for winning? Pie! Time will start on the first bite!”

Deciding it didn’t much matter what he started with, since everything on this table was going to get eaten either way, he pulled a pie dusted with blue powder onto his plate, not bothering with the slices.

As he made to eat the tantalizing pastry, a shout came from below as a group of 5 cultists parted the crowd.

“Stop right there! Dantes! You’re under arrest! That’s him!” they shouted over each other.

“Do you guys mind? I’m in the middle of something. Surely it can wait until after?” Dantes said.

The lead cultist approached, rolling his shoulders.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, criminal. But either way, my bet’s on you getting chained up and thrown in the deepest hole we can find” he said with a sneer. The man had a look in his eye, like he was hoping for violence. Seeking it even.

Dantes narrowed his eyes. This was more like the cult he knew. The enforcers had seemed if not friendly, not evil, and the atmosphere of the festival had led him astray. The line between enforcer and cultist was clear now. He’d almost forgotten how cultists swarmed the grove in the middle of the night, trampling those in their path. How they’d injured those who took him in and fed him. Had they taken Mitty similarly? No, this was the cult he knew.

From within his robe the man produced a set of manacles glowing faintly red against the black fabric.

Dantes growled, his lip pulling up in a snarl, grabbing for his staff, the pie forgotten. Nothing was worse than being chained.

“The hard way, then. Good.”

The man stepped forward suddenly, steel flashing from under his sleeves. Trying to gain space, Dantes kicked the table into the man, catching him in stomach with a pained gasp, a crimson dagger tumbled out his grasp, pies spilling onto the floor.

Already his compatriots swarmed the stage behind him, fanning out, the announcer jumping off the stage to seek safety in the spectating crowd.

The lead cultist let out another sneer and made to say something, but Dantes lashed forward in a burst of [Speed] and clubbed him over his head in a blur.

There was some swearing, and one of the others threw a potion onto the ground, a pillar of black smoke emerging. Another threw a dagger at him, but he was already on the move, lunging forward at an impossibly low angle under the blade and thrusting his staff into the stomach of another, sending him flying into the crowd.

He caught himself with his free hand and pivoted to sweep the feet out from under the one who’d thrown the dagger. A quick punch glazed his eyes over as he turned his attention to the remaining two.

One was fiddling with a glowing wand and the other was glancing about nervously, unarmed.

Unwilling to wait and find out what it did, he hurled a chair at the one with the wand, clipping him in the shoulder and sending it skittering away. Not long after the cultist joined his wand on the stage as Dantes once again quickly closed the gap and delivered a blistering strike to his side.

The nervous one almost jumped as Dantes flickered his attention towards him, before hopping off the stage into the crowd, who were mostly cheering, experiencing a different show than they had expected, but enjoying it nonetheless.

Chest heaving, more from adrenaline than exertion, he took stock of the stage. Four robed cultists lay crumpled amidst dozens of pies, the thing one had thrown still emitting waves of black smoke, and… he quickly checked each of the men… all breathing. He did snap the manacles carried by the leader around the man’s wrists, however. Anyone threatening to chain someone up should be prepared to have the same done to him, he thought. It seemed fair when he put it like that.

He looked around for the old man, not seeing him anywhere, but his attention was drawn to a new group of cultists filing into the plaza from the far end, as well as one more climbing the stage to face him.

The man had a sword in one hand, and was fumbling around in his pouch for something, not breaking eye contact.

Not wanting to be surprised by some cheating magic, he once again threw a chair. The man dodged to the side with minimal movement, sword still raised in a guard.

“Will you jerks just leave me alone?” he roared, striking high in a round swing before following it up with a thrust, which were both cleanly dodged, the thrust being pushed slightly to one side.

“Dantes” said the man in a growly voice, parrying another sweep before stepping back out of range of a low strike.

“I just wanted to enjoy food with my friend. My family.” He flickered forward delivering sideways strike to the man’s midsection with all his [Strength]

“Dantes” he repeated, this time, more strained, his sword arm trembling to keep the blow at bay.

“And you took her away!” he shouted.

The man withdrew his hand from his pouch, and Dantes quickly let his staff fall to his side as his other hand grabbed out to the man’s wrist to stop whatever he was going to do and pulled him in for a headbutt.

“I have a letter for yo-” with a crack, their heads collided. The man winced, but made no aggressive actions, so Dantes stopped and looked what was in his hands.

A pink envelope with ‘Dantes’ written in needlessly curly handwriting, and the outline of a cat’s paw next to it. The paw was unneeded, as he would’ve recognized it had it been hastily scribbled on a piece of toilet paper.

He unfolded it clumsily, hands shaking somewhat.

Dantes,

Get your fluffin’ butt up here already. I need to talk with you.

-Your Favourite Feline Friend

The anger that had filled his veins moments ago vanished, leaving only the sea breeze blowing lightly across his face, soothing his throbbing forehead.

The taciturn cultist offered him a cool gaze despite the growing bump on his head.

“Come with me. The priestess has been waiting for you.”

Dantes nodded, off guard, and followed.