“Pita, is that you? What are you doing here? And what is all this…?” A gruff man wearing coarse, brown leather stepped into the clearing.
“I- I was just making pictures, dad.” The kid had turned white.
“Making pictures in stone?! You know that’s forbidden. That is not the way of our people!” The man was furious, turning to Cira, “And you! You’re just an outsider, you shouldn’t be encouraging his behavior!”
He spent a couple minutes berating his son while Cira looked on at a loss. She didn’t expect anything like this and stonework being taboo had really blindsided her. Nobody said a word. Before long the man’s eyes landed on the sundial.
“And what is that? Did you do that, witch?!” This was a derogatory term for female spellcasters.
“It’s a clock,” She shrugged, comparing it to the one in the village square, “Nothing like your own, I admit.”
“A clock?” He looked at it confused, then decidedly didn’t care, “You have no right. I expect you to remove it immediately. In fact, you should probably leave when you’re done.”
The man’s words dripped with spite and Cira was flummoxed, “I-I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean any offense, honestly. But Sam really wanted to see me at the festival, I would at least like to say my farewells and thank him for the hospitality.”
“You’re actually coming to the festival?” Disbelief was thick on his voice.
“Yes, well, I wanted to see it.”
His brows creased and he looked at her for a moment before shaking his head and turning around, “Yeah, we’ll see… Pita, come on! We’re going home.”
The boy was on the verge of tears, but as he ran after his father he turned back to wave. He gave the sundial one last forlorn look—the gift that was supposed to last forever. Cira returned the wave with a troubled smile and watched the two disappear through the trees.
“This is why I never stay too long…” She sighed. She usually stayed more than a mere three days, but this interaction made it feel much longer.
The man told her to remove the sundial, but she had taken extra care to ensure its permanence. She could easily remove it, but it was a gift for the boy, not him, she reasoned. One could argue it was disrespectful to the local customs, which would be taboo, but Cira saw it a little different than that. Had she followed her own homeland’s traditions, she never would have met her father who took her in.
The locals may have ambitions that clash with one another, and she just stumbled into the middle of it by mistake. So, she chose to leave the gift for this boy. First come first serve, as it were. They’d have to build a furnace around it using something much stronger than wood or hire a sorcerer to melt it down. Hopefully by that time the boy would have found his way.
Before departing, she left him two more gifts sitting on the rim of the sundial—a hammer and a chisel. They too would last for ten thousand years. Well, maybe not if he put them to good use.
Having lost her appetite and sense of adventure for the day, Cira turned in early, dragging her feet all the way home. Part of her wanted to leave then and there, but it’d leave a bad taste in her mouth if she didn’t say anything to Sam first. Part of her was worried he would admonish her along with everyone else. Recalling the last few days of working together and making friends, her heart grew heavy. Anxiety reared its ugly head, and she decided the best thing to do was take a nap. She wanted to apologize personally, but it could wait until later.
Cira didn’t wake until the sun was setting. The pleasant orange glow brought a smile to her face until she remembered the events earlier that day. With a pout, she walked over to her wardrobe and picked out an outfit. “Nicest clothes” was rather arbitrary. Nice for what? Self-defense? Work? She knew, of course, that usually meant they expected you to wear fineries or otherwise formal wear, though she couldn’t picture most of the village folk wearing such things.
When in doubt of dress-code, a sorcerer just wears their favorite set, though she erred on the side of extravagance and emerged donning white robes with a smattering of gold on the edges. A pearlescent hat that had a star hanging off its point adorned her head, with a frilled brim that brought out the gold in her hair. She emerged from the front door with the semblance of a spring returning to her step, only to freeze upon realizing what she was seeing.
She thought it was sunset, but she must have overslept. Night had already fallen, and the sky was lit not by remnants of the sun but with flame. She gasped, almost stumbling back before jumping to action. She ran down the steps, summoning an ornate staff into her hand. It was a staff that only saw use in emergencies and appeared in her hand with a wisp of light.
As the pillar of fire grew, so did the column of smoke. It rose to the skies beyond and could be for miles around. Cira ran through old tomes in her head that she’d pored over when she was younger, trying to figure out the best way to deal with the mess. She had conjured rainclouds to water fields in a desert, but putting out a fire the size of a small city? Her father could do it, she was certain, but he wasn’t around anymore.
I have to do this myself. All I can do Is try!
Just as she started condensing clouds overhead, silhouettes emerged from the smoke and walked towards her through the yet unburned gate. More and more appeared, each held a torch and some carried clay pots with rags sticking out the top. She recognized them as rudimentary bombs.
“Traveler Cira,” Sam called out, “I was saddened not to see you at the festival. Did you decide to leave after all?”
Huh? That line of questioning didn’t quite click with her yet. “I think I must have overslept, but… What is all this?” Half the village was gathered before her home with torches and bombs, while the other half formed a circle around the village, singing.
“This is the festival of the Heron,” Sam’s smile grew broad as he spread out his arms, “We burn it all down and start anew!”
Cira struggled to find words, “But, the village… You all put so much work into it, and you’re just burning it down?”
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“Of course. as we do every thirty years. With each generation, the village is rebuilt more robust than ever before. Then we spread out the ash, and the land on which we used to live grows into a forest taller and more full of life than it has ever been. This is the way our people have always lived.”
She was floored. Cira couldn’t reason how such a village was built in a mere thirty years. Every hand in the village carefully crafted it down to the smallest detail, fully intending to destroy it when this day came. The clock in the town square—a marvel of craftsmanship that she’d never seen before. Most of the villagers had spent years working on it, precisely carving the designs, or remaking the same part until it was just perfect.
“Are you familiar with the Heron of which our village is named?” He asked.
“I… suppose not.”
“It is said the very first festival was not held on purpose. Our founders lived peacefully here for a long time, then one day the island was visited by a great beast. A flaming heron the size of our village, who burned everything down before disappearing into the night sky. Travelers in the past have called it a phoenix. Once our founders rebuilt, they discovered the village vastly improved, and the children that grew up to take their place much wiser. So, it became tradition to recreate the day the heron fell upon us for each generation by burning everything down.”
“Everything…? Even that clock? You said it took a decade to craft!” She was speechless, but Sam only smiled.
“That’s right. Everything but the clothes on our back.” He was wearing a thick wool coat and sturdy pants that looked like they were just tailored today. So it was nicest clothes for work after all. “If we can build it once, our children can build it better. That is our way. I was honestly surprised that you would join in the festival… but I thought you understood.”
Looking back, the signs were all there. She literally turned the village into a pyre, strung kindling up and everything. On the second day one man made a joke about how he couldn’t wait to burn the log towers down… Was he not joking? I suppose not…
Cira flushed red as hot coals with the magnitude of her own thoughtlessness and the embarrassment was nearly enough to stop her heart. Seeing this, Sam chuckled and continued.
“It’s okay, really. I understand. This way of life is not for everybody. We truly appreciate all that you’ve done for us and thank you for staying with us even for a short while. We won’t force you to participate, but you’re welcome to stay if you’d like, we really could use some help cutting trees down in the coming weeks.”
Of course you could, she thought. As she recovered from the shock and half-heartedly considered the offer, a familiar face stepped in to seal the deal.
“Hang on, Chief,” It was the man from earlier whom she offended greatly, “She said she wants to participate, right? So, let’s give her a hand!”
With hate in his eyes, he hurled a clay pot at her house. Cira experienced a moment of panic before the pot exploded in the air above her garden. She had forgotten because it didn’t come up much, but like any other projectile it was repelled by the protective barrier her father had built around their home. Its workings were beyond her grasp, but maintaining it was simple enough. She sighed a breath of relief watching the fiery shrapnel fall harmlessly to the ground outside her yard.
While most of the villagers’ jaws had dropped, Sam alone was furious.
“That is NOT how we do things!” He glared at the man, “I told you she does not know our ways! It is not our right to force them upon her.”
“But she—”
“Must I repeat myself? She was unaware of our ways. I will hear no more of the incident this afternoon, do I make myself clear?” Then he turned to Cira with fear of retribution wearing on his face, “Please forgive us, madam sorcerer! He does not speak for us all. We hold nothing but gratitude for you!”
This was the part she hated most. Spending so much time bonding with people only to have them look at her with fear the next day. They would always adopt a stiff manner of speech and walk on eggshells around her. Cira didn’t enjoy fighting, nor did she consider herself a scary person. People just feared power. Sorcerers weren’t exactly rare, but they were on backwoods islands like this. She understood, but it just… hurt.
“Don’t worry, Sam, It’s fine. No harm no foul, right?” While her house was fine, her feelings had been weathered. “But I do think it’s best if I take off.”
“I understand…” His tone betrayed regret and a tinge of sadness, but there was nothing to be done about that. Cira couldn’t just burn her house down and start a new life on this island. Even if she could build a house, she could never replace the one her father built. Could anyone? She wondered. It was truly one of a kind. She was going to say her farewells when a young boy pushed his way through the crowd shouting.
“Wait, don’t go yet!” Pita, the boy from earlier, ran up to her, “Take me with you! Anywhere, just please, I don’t want to stay here! There’s nothing left!”
It hurt her heart to look at the boy with tears in his eyes. His father’s face flashed with surprise and then anger directed at Cira, but he did not approach or speak up—probably out of fear. Pita wasn’t built for this way of life, but he was far too young to do anything about it. She was like him once, but she couldn’t be like her father.
“I’m sorry…” She spoke softly, struggling to meet his eyes, “I can’t take you with me… It’s dangerous out there, and I can hardly take care of myself.”
The boy’s father looked as if his soul had left his body but was slowly coming back. He fell to his knees, breathing heavy and in a daze. He was certain the scary witch was going to take his boy away.
Pita cried and pleaded, grabbing at her robes. Only Sam approached to put a hand on his shoulder, calming the boy down.
“There, there…” He turned, “Cira… I wish our meeting didn’t have to end so tragically.”
“As do I,” She exhaled slowly then turned around towards her yard, only to look back “I really did enjoy my time here, even if today wasn’t quite what I expected. Thanks for everything, Sam, truly.”
She made to walk up the steps, but he stopped her, “If I may, madam sorcerer, you could still help us celebrate on your way out. This gate here has yet to burn, and everybody’s already outside.”
He was right, the gate she entered and exited the village through was standing strong.
“Thanks,” Coming from the chief of such a village, this was a great consideration. Given her father’s teachings, it would be a shame to let a festival go uncelebrated, no matter how bizarre the method seemed to her, “I think I’ll take you up on that.”
Cira closed the little garden gate behind her and walked up to the lawn. At her whim, the ground beyond her yard began to fall away. Her house, her garden, and her yard all the way down to the mailbox all rose up from the dirt. She watched the village people buzzing with wonder get smaller and smaller as her miniature island gracefully ascended. This was her own little piece of the sky. The Island of Breeze Haven, her father called it.
Since she already had her favorite staff in hand, she thought she’d give them a show. The crystal atop this staff glowed an intense crimson. At the same time, an ominous light grew from between the village gates, and in an instant, a torrent of flames burst forth creating a whirlwind of ash. From the ashen cyclone a giant bird of conjured flame flew up and circled over the burning village before dispersing into shooting stars that fell over it all.
Cheers could be heard from below and she watched the villagers dance around the pyre, joining hands in a circle and singing. Soon she was beyond the island’s shore and out in the open sky yet again. Cira hoped her phoenix display would make this festival one to remember and disappeared into the sky above with a bittersweet feeling hanging over her. Just then, as she gazed down at the festival a breath caught in her throat.
It looked more like a natural disaster than a bonfire to celebrate their humble village. Each of the towers they built together burned bright, and with the ropes they strung between, formed a beautiful golden pinwheel. Even from such a distance, the radiance burned up the night, casting orange clouds onto the distant horizon.
“I’ll be damned,” Her thoughts leaked out, “It sure is magical under the night sky.”
Darkness returned as the clouds lost their luster and she sailed ever higher. Cira watched the island shrink into the horizon until nothing was left but a lone firefly disappearing into the shroud of night.