4.8

Bolemir was tempted to eat the sacrament in one bite as soon as his mum handed it to him. Fasting for most of the day had dug a pit in his stomach that no amount of small beer could fill.

But he only had to wait like every other year. As soon as the lord took the first bite he would be allowed to eat the wonderful treats already being laid out on sturdy tables.

And of course the sacrament itself — which was not his favorite but bread was still bread.

Why did they call it black wheat bread? It was the palest bread he had ever eaten besides when the Lady Jewel had shared her noon-meal with him and the visitors at the boar festival.

The pyre filled the air with a magical smell like wildflowers and strange woods and so much more.

It smelled so strongly it was making him feel a little dizzy.

Or was that hunger from a day long fast?

The Lady Jewel Wyrmdaughter of Lord Rochford moved among them in the light of the fire and the heady smell of the woodsmoke. Sweet and sharp and crisp while hot and stinging at once.

Like the paths going up the hillsides towards the mountain where Father had shown him how to set snares for the wild goats.

And also the temple herb gardens and stronger wines that he was not allowed to drink.

Finally, Lord Rochford took his bite of the sacrament, tearing out a mouth full with great relish that made Bolemir wonder if there was something extra in the lord’s sacrament?

But no he got his from the temple like everyone else.

Bolemir’s stomach roared awake at the touch of the ‘black wheat’ cake on his tongue. It mostly tasted like bread, with a bit of a dirty flavor.

Like a rind left in the dust or when you got loam in your mouth.

Was it called black wheat because they used dirty grain and dust?

But there was no grit to it like some of the bread he had eaten.

Despite the taste he could not stop himself from watering at the mouth and he found himself in the throng of everyone else getting their own fluffy breads and cakes.

Hands clapping and feet stamping as some people who had already gotten their fill began to circle the fire in dance.

But he was here for the food, the hungry summer had not lived up to its name this year. But he remembered when his stomach had been a pit like this long before the wheat harvest. He was very small, the memory was fuzzy, but Bolemir could still recall that hunger.

Days of it where he spent the evening gnawing on a rind of bread so hard it hurt his teeth.

And he had made it through then.

According to his mum there were some whose children had not.

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And others, neighbors he didn't remember but people got sad or hard looks in their eyes when someone mentioned them

No more hunger here though!

It was the Harvest Festival and the closing of the Hungry Summer!

He could fill the emptiness in his stomach at last, and he definitely was going too!

Soft breads as good as the ones the Lady Jewel had shared!

Made even better for how they were wrapped around the tartness of berries or sweet temple honey!

It almost made him choke but there was watered wine in cool pitchers to help wash it down!

He ate until he felt full.

And then waited to see if this year the sacrament would make his stomach turn and set him to the floor or drive him forward with vigor.

It was important, he’d had to lie down for some years. Like others were already doing away from the fire.

But instead of immediately feeling tired or slow and heavy with a churning stomach he was getting quite the opposite.

The meal that might otherwise have laid him out with a heavy belly just seemed to be energizing him. He felt his legs buzzing with the kick and stamp and clap of feet and hands as his neighbors and liege family moved around the fire.

Voices rising in cheers and whoops and chants from the circling figures and the crowd around them.

And as he turned from eating to the dance he saw the Lady Jewel Wyrmdaughter of Lord Rochford.

She had not danced last year, she had barely been a tumbling disaster in the year before.

But all of that had been cast off from the vision before him now.

Stepping and sweeping through the crowd like a shining river of metal scales. A color not unlike a blend of steel and the bronze grain of the wheat fields.

Dark mane of hair gloriously shiny in a line all down her spine. Her wings furling and unfurling as she moved, billowing the fire and those that danced and circled around her in the night.

Bolemir was not entirely sure of himself as he felt the tingling lightness in his feet spread up through the warmth in his stomach and out through his fingers.

But the uncertainty passed as he felt the beat and rhythm of the dance.

He jumped as she bounded, he skipped with the others as she dipped her head. In waves she rode up and down around them and among them.

And it was with absolute surety that all of them followed her and she followed them.

Sometimes the Wyrm Daughter even sweeped over dancers as she moved in a circling wheel around the fire. Mostly apart and yet all the same together with them.

Other times she sweeped in with the cheers and clapping to surround the entire fire in a tight loop that cast everyone else into her frolicking shadows.

But in spite of the rising chill in the summer night and the strong winds whistling seemingly in time with this greater beat, the radiant warmth of her wings and body swept them all up and guarded them from the cold.

And then she began to sing.

Voice soft and buzzing, rolling over them. It was like a bird song, it was like crackling thunder.

He found his own voice and those of all the others joining her, he felt his knees move with her rhythm. He felt her wings, he sang and she sang and all of them danced.

Roiling and writhing even as the sky grew dark and black with obscured stars.

The crack of lightning in the sky did not startle him, instead he whooped and cheered and roared with his Lady Jewel alongside all her partners in the dance.

He had never felt a dance like this before but he knew that he would gladly fast for three days next year if it meant he could dance like this again!