Chapter Nine: Founder’s Eve

“It is time. Time for the boys to become men, and the girls to blossom like the flowers of spring.”

—Fel, First Mayor of Felhaven

“Rise and shine, Ein. It’s Founder’s Eve!”

Ein woke to find Evaine standing over him, a lively smile plastered across her face. Her mother’s recovery seemed to have taken a load of worry off her shoulders, placing her in high spirits. Her cheeks were red again, her eyes bright, and if it weren’t for the faint shadow beneath them she might have been indistinguishable from the normal Evaine.

“Is it morning already?” he grumbled. He shifted in his bedroll and looked outside the window. Daylight met him full in the face. It was a brilliant morning; as good a day could get without the sun itself coming out from behind the clouds. “Wyd help me, if I have to deal with you waking me up every day…”

“Don’t be mean, Ein,” Cinnamin chirped. She stood by the doorway, already dressed and groomed.

“I’ll only be here for one more night,” Evaine pouted. “Then I’ll be staying at the inn, remember.”

“Right. Good riddance.” Ein rolled over and blearily stood up. He’d spent half the night digesting the conversation at the Sleeping Twinn and the other half in a dreamlike state, neither awake nor asleep. He wasn’t sure if he had the patience to deal with Evaine for an entire day.

“Hurry up and get dressed,” Cinnamin urged. “The stalls have already opened.”

“We’ve got the whole day,” he muttered. “Just go by yourselves.”

“Mother didn’t give me any spending money,” she said, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “She said I have to go with you.”

Ein sighed. “Fine, then. Give me a moment.”

They wandered along the streets, making their way to the centre of Felhaven. Cinnamin and Evaine chattered amiably among themselves as Ein brooded over the events of last night and what they implied for his father.

By the time they set foot into the village square, Founder’s Eve was well underway. The stalls were decorated in bright, vivid colours, yellows and rosy reds of blossoming flowers, the blue of summer skies, the greens and golds of the earth. Founder’s Eve traditionally coincided with the start of spring, and if Ein were to ignore the patches of snow and barren dirt on the ground, he might have almost believed that winter was gone and ended. The villagers roamed in a bustle of excitement, an eclectic jumble of shouts, murmurs, chatter and cheers, their faces lifted towards the sky, the shadows of hardship gone, if only for the day. Today was not a day to brood on the past, nor the future. Today was a present, a day of celebrations.

Ein found himself at the mercy of Evaine and his sister as they dragged him all over the square, flitting from stall to stall as if they were mistresses on Market Day. They bought some candied fruit and sat down before a trouper as he sang and played The Tragedy of Selinn and Sonata, his fingers dancing a myriad of melodies across his fingerboard. They watched a storyteller for a while, listening to the familiar tales of Dagus Adem, Reuben Cowl and the Urudain. They saw jugglers and fire-breathers, sword-swallowers and animal whisperers.

Evaine stopped at the stage where the Wydlings were performing The Voyage of the Weatherwing and sat down to watch. Aren played the role of Captain Gerard Carandar as naturally as if he’d been born into it, fighting off monsters, laughing, smiling, crying, weeping, singing his parts with a voice like honey. A female actor was with him, a tall, graceful vixen with silky black hair, dressed in regal robes from a foreign land—Reyalin, the Lady of Lightning. Together they braved the oceans, alchemical thunderbolts cracking across the backboard, illusory rain sang by the Songweaver misting out towards the audience. The Lady sang a path through the storm, and her song was so powerful that Ein could feel the slashing wind on his face and the dampness of the air on his skin.

When the play finished with Gerard’s ascension to godhood, Aren found himself drowning in tokens and handkerchiefs and compliments on how handsome and strong he was. The Mistresses apparently still did not know of his true disposition. Evaine wanted to keep watching, but Cinnamin had grown hungry.

They ate lunch next—flatbread rolls with roasted pigeon, a salad made of winter vegetables and Maisie’s secret sauce, all washed down with chilled apple cider fresh from Koth’s cellar. They found Bran at the archery contest that had been set up. Evaine goaded Ein into entering.

The number of contenders fell quickly with the older Masters dropping out first, then the more experienced troupers and young Masters, until it was only Ein and Bran matching each other arrow for arrow. A small crowd had gathered when Ein missed a shot by a matter of inches and bowed his head, defeated. The butcher’s son made no attempt to hide how pleased he was by his victory. Ein shrugged it off to a poor night’s sleep while Bran was swamped by the female troupers who’d been watching.

“I guess the rumours about them knowing ‘ways to use the blade and bow’ from ‘ancient civilisations’ was nonsense, after all,” Evaine said. “I bet I could shoot better than half of them.”

“Maybe we’re just that good,” Bran grinned.

Once Ein had accepted his silver medal and new quiver, Bran joined them and they found themselves watching Talberon the Songweaver pull hares out of his cap and flowers from his sleeves. Ein scratched his head at some of the tricks he saw; had it been any other day he would have dismissed them as sleight of hand—however, he’d seen Talberon pull out Rhinegold blades and Kingsblade rings the night before. He wouldn’t surprised if the man knew real magic.

“Let’s head over there,” Bran whispered, pointing to an inconspicuous tent that had been erected a little way off the village square. “Garax said it’s the one place we should check out above all others.”

Ein saw no reason to refuse. The stolid trouper at the entrance eyed them up and down and extended an open palm.

“That’ll be three silvers,” he grunted.

Ein raised an eyebrow. “Three silvers?”

“Come on,” Bran urged. “Who knows when we’ll get another chance?”

“That’s a week’s worth of meals, Bran. What’s even inside, anyway?”

The trouper answered, and Ein’s eyebrows shot up despite himself. He argued half-heartedly with Bran, and then they both haggled the price down to two silvers. The two boys handed a silver each and were ushered through the flaps with a knowing wink.

When they emerged, both Ein and Bran were red-faced and sweating despite the cold. The trouper at the entrance grinned.

“Never tell Evaine what we saw in there,” Bran said. “Or our mothers, for that matter. Or anyone at all.”

“Agreed,” Ein swallowed. He didn’t think he could look another woman in the eye for a while.

And just like that, night came, and with it the annual Flower Dance.

#

Ein nervously shifted on his feet, making sure his sleeves were buttoned up and the drawstring around his collar pulled tight. Just about all the young and unmarried men of Felhaven were gathered in the village square under the stars, groomed and waiting with anticipation. Among them were a handful of young Masters Ein remembered from previous years, as well as the odd widower on the older end of the spectrum. The rest of the village sat around the square, eating and speaking of small things, or simply watching. The stalls had been packed and cleared away, the troupers returned to the crowds to unwind as Founder’s Eve proceeded to its grand finale.

Ein made his way to the edge of the square, away from the excited buzz of the other bachelors. Bran waved at him while Master Sanson watched, unimpressed. Cinnamin munched on a pastry nearby, hiding behind Rhea and Alend. Rhea had donned the expensive dress she saved for special occasions, and Alend had combed his hair into a slightly tidier mess than usual. He smiled encouragingly, but it was an empty smile and his eyes were looking past Ein’s head to a point in the distance.

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He’s leaving tomorrow, Ein thought. Leaving to save the world.

That thought removed any anxiety he might have had before, replacing it with worry and agitation. He needed to speak to Alend tonight; he needed to confront his father about what Talberon had said and what it all meant.

Somewhere to the side, a band began to play—a conglomeration of high-pitched flutes and vibrant lutes, dancing fiddles and fingerboards and the steady rumbling of trumpets and drums. As the melody began, the young Mistresses emerged from one of the tents and streamed into the square in single file, dresses trailing gracefully behind them. They were painted and perfumed like dolls, heads held high, hair unbound in lustrous waves down their slender waists, and they wore masks that covered the upper half of their faces with holes for the eyes. The men formed a half-circle as each woman moved to find a partner. Ein found himself with a petite blonde in a red dress, one whose figure was vaguely familiar, and as the music settled into a steady rhythm, they began to dance.

The first dance didn’t last long, perhaps a few minutes at most, a combination of steps, twists and twirls that Ein acted out with embarrassing ineptitude. The girl laughed every time he made a mistake, making him only more aware of all the people that were watching. Some of the other dancers were clearly more experienced and put on a show for all to see, but most of them were like Ein—boys fumbling their way into adulthood.

When the music ended, the girl extended her hand towards him. Inside her palm was a ring with a five-petalled flower inscribed upon it, matching the one his mother and father both wore on the fourth finger of their left hand. Ein looked into the girl’s eyes and shook his head, murmuring an apology. The girl pocketed her ring and shrugged, moving clockwise along the circle to her next partner as the music started up once more.

The Dance continued for several more rounds, each round ending with a handful of couples making their way off the square to the cheers and congratulations of others. Several women offered their rings to Ein, but he refused every one of them. Some he recognized from behind their masks, but most were decorated so exquisitely he couldn’t identify them at all. To him they were all the same, save the slight variations in size, shape or appearance.

He couldn’t do it. Even though he was supposed to be a man, he simply couldn’t bring himself to take a bride and seal his fate within the village. It was too early, and he felt too young. There was still so much more to do, to learn. He wasn’t ready.

The reactions he received were mixed. Some shrugged off his rejection with indifference, others made a show of storming away or even crying, but no one spoke. The women were not allowed to speak, for that would defeat the purpose of the masks. The night blended into a mix of music and laughter, sweat and perfume, the lanterns above blurring into a breathless haze. Ein lost count of how many women he’d danced with.

The half circle was almost a quarter of its original size now, the Dance drawing to a close. Ein had partnered with all but a handful of girls, and of that handful several had already left the stage having exchanged rings. As the voice of a flute led the beginning of yet another song, a brunette girl approached Ein and grasped him tightly by the hand. Ein had danced enough times by then to be somewhat competent, and he was able to match her aggressive pace step for step. Her face was familiar; the shape of her mouth and lips, her eyes, the way she fluttered around him as lightly as a bird. It wasn’t until the dance ended that she reached to her neck and tugged on the collar of her dress ever so slightly, revealing a small mole on her left breast. Ein frowned.

“Evaine?” he hissed. “What are you—”

She pressed a finger to her lips in a gesture to be quiet and quickly looked around. It was Evaine—it had to be. The way she moved, the shade of her skin, her eyes, the mole on her chest that only he and Bran knew was there—but what was she doing here? Why had she unbraided her hair?

The girl held out her ring to Ein, urging him to take it. He looked for his parents and Bran, but Bran was gone and Rhea and Alend were deep in conversation with the Mayor and his wife.

“You’d better have a good reason for this,” Ein said, taking the ring. The girl grabbed him by the wrist and towed him away from the village square.

They kept up the pretence of a newly formed couple until the sounds of the festival were far away. The girl took off her mask. Ein’s guess had been correct.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “Master Sutherland will kill me if he sees—”

“Shh!” Evaine shook her head. “We’re still too close to the village.”

She led him further away from Felhaven, away from the houses and streets, down and around to the lake. They tramped through the bushes and trees, fumbling in near blindness along the well-worn trail. At one point Evaine nearly fell, and Ein had to catch her to save them both from tumbling down the path.

They reached the lake and stopped, panting in the darkness. The waters lapped calmly against the shore, shimmering like a velvet drape, reflecting the light of a thousand stars above. The moon hung deep and still in the sky. Ein shivered beneath its gaze as Evaine inspected the hem of her outfit.

“Damned dresses,” she cursed. “I’d forgotten what it was like to wear them. They’re so long and tight-fitting.”

“What are you doing?” Ein began. “Your braid… the ring…”

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” she said. “Marry me, Ein.”

Ein blinked.

Marry her? The thought had crossed his mind more than once, but he’d never dwelled on if for long. Aside from how long they’d known each other for, there was Bran who she was already promised to, and the fact that he was not ready at all. He wanted to stay a child for a little longer, learning from his father in the forge, before becoming a fully fledged member of the community.

He waited for a while, waited her to break into a fit of laughter, to slap him on the back and tease him for taking her seriously. He waited and waited, his heart thrumming like a drumbeat. He waited some more.

She can’t be serious.

“I’m serious,” she said.

“You can’t,” Ein repeated, searching for the right words. “Bran—”

“Bran and I aren’t married yet,” she said. “I can back out, all the way until his birthday in a few weeks. Our parents won’t be happy, but as long as I find someone to take his place, I get the final say.”

“Do you really hate him that much?”

“That’s not true and you know it. Listen, Ein.” She took a step closer to him so that he could see the sweat on her skin, each individual lash above her eyes. They were dark and heavy with gravity. “I had an argument with Bran a while back. He’s as scared as mouse and stubborn as a mule. Nothing short of the world ending would get him to leave the Sleeping Twins.” She turned around and looked out towards the lake. “I don’t think you’re like him, Ein. If I marry you instead, we can go travelling outside of the valley and come back whenever we want to. I won’t be doomed to live the rest of my life as a farmer. I won’t be exiled either. I want to do something, Ein. I want to experience the world around me, see the world outside the village.”

“What makes you think I’d be up for it?” Ein asked. “We have our lives set out for us here, our families to support us, friends who we’ve known for our entire lives. What do the roads offer? Danger. Highwaymen. Monsters.” He thought to the wolves in the woods and the slaughtered sheep. “Where would we get the money? And why now, of all times? You were with me yesterday. You heard what the troupers said about the world outside. Do you want to get eaten by a relict? Do you want your throat slit by bandits as you sleep by the roadside?”

“That’s exactly the reason why I want to leave now,” she retorted. “If the world is going to end, I want to spend my last moments seeing what Faengard has to offer, not sowing seeds in the fields. Surely you feel the same way.”

There was a sudden noise like a thunderclap, startling them both. A stream of gold shot into the air above the lake and exploded into a shower of sparks. Several more streams rose, shimmering trails of ruby and sapphire that exploded like giant flowers blooming across the sky.

“The fireworks,” Evaine gasped. Whatever argument that had been on her lips died as she turned her attention to the sight.

The Songweaver had promised a fine display, and he kept true to his word. More and more orbs raced to join the stars—emeralds and amethysts, sparkling diamonds and liquid silver. They exploded in different shapes and sizes, painting pictures of flying eagles and roaring lions, swift steeds and racing rabbits, armies of Nullarmen from the east with shields and spears marching on guarded fortresses built into the sides of mountains. The air grew thick with smoke and dust as the stories in the sky grew more and more grand, until finally a barrage of rockets shattered in a thunderous clap to paint a giant dragon breathing fire from its maw. The dragon held its flame for a good few seconds before crumbling into stardust. When the last of the dust motes had faded into nothingness, a distant cheer rose from the village. Founder’s Eve was over.

Evaine and Ein stood in silence by the lake. For a moment, Ein forgot why he was even there.

“You weren’t always like this,” Evaine finally said, and the edge was gone from her words. “We used to play Heroes all the time. You, me and Bran in the woods, pretending to be the crew of the Weatherwing, killing dragons and rescuing princesses, casting spells and saving kingdoms, braving the seas to lands unknown.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Ein said.

Evaine sighed. “I know.”

She turned around and wiped the cosmetics from her face. They came off in a bleary mess on her sleeve.

“I really hoped you would say yes,” she said. “If there was anyone I wanted to take with me, I wanted it to be you.”

Ein held out her ring, head lowered. “I’m sorry.”

“Keep it.” Evaine raised her chin. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to resort to this, but I guess I don’t have a choice.” She looked him firmly in the eye. “I’m going to leave with the Wydlings tomorrow.”

Ein frowned. “What are you talking about? They already said they weren’t going to take you in.”

“I won’t ask to join their family,” she said. “I’ll just travel as far as I can before I have to leave. They should be able to take me a good way out of the valley.”

It took Ein a moment to realize what she was implying. Before he knew it, he had her by the shoulders. She flinched, her eyes darting away with a hint of fear.

“What are you saying?” he cried. “The villagers will never let you come back if you leave. You’ll be exiled!”

“I don’t care.”

Ein opened his mouth again, but no noise came out. Evaine placed her palms against his chest and shoved him backwards.

“I’ll miss you,” she said. “And Bran too. But I have to do this, Ein. I’m not like you two. I have to leave.”

“Evaine…”

It was at that moment a scream rose from the village, followed by a chorus of howls as cold and chilling as the night. Ein and Evaine turned to the path behind them. There was smoke in the air, but it wasn’t from the fireworks.

“The village,” Evaine cried out.

“Wait! Evaine—”

Evaine gathered the hem of her dress into a bundle and rushed off into the darkness. Ein swore and raced after her, as more people began to scream.