"There's always another morning." Kayla lived with those words ringing through her skull. Usually, she reflected, that morning would be just like the one before, but today, everything would change. The annual Harvest Fair marked a rite of passage for West Harbor youths, a passage to adulthood. Everyone with less than nineteen summers was allowed to participate, but for those in their eighteenth year, it marked the official end of childhood. And this would be Kayla's last year.
Kayla's friends, Bevil Starling and Amie Fern, had helped her win the Harvest Cup. It was a small honor, as far as those things went, but the farmers of the village took it very seriously. Every year, the village youths would team up to compete in four challenges, the Harvest Brawl, the Archery Competition, the Tourney of Talent, and the Knave's Challenge. With the help of Bevil, Amie, and Kipp, of course, since they needed a rogue, and who better than the village's most aspiring rapscallion, she won all four. Georg told her that she had been the first since the legendary Cormick to do that. For once, Kayla believed him. She saw the truth of it in the face of her mentor, Brother Merring, who looked fit to burst with pride at her accomplishment. Kayla laughed aloud at the memory of the cleric's reaction to their victory. He'd knocked the wind out of Bevil with all his congratulatory back-thumping, and swept Kayla and Amie up in a jubilant hug before remembering that he was supposed to be impartial. But he'd treated them all to beakers of harvest mead, and regaled any within earshot with tales of their triumph over the Mossfelds in the Harvest Brawl until Daeghun sourly reminded him that the day also marked the end of Kayla's days as his accolyte.
But even Daeghun couldn't ruin Brother Merring's good humor. The man had superhuman reserves of it. And Kayla knew he needed all of it, since the farmers of West Harbor gave him little enough reason to be happy. They had not embraced Brother Merring's faith, though he never stopped trying. Kayla had been his sole pupil, though he told her often enough that he was content. He said that he'd rejoice in his one candle, rather than curse the darkness.
But Daeghun had been right. Kayla's novitiate had ended that morning. In Neverwinter, Brother Merring told her, her ordination would be celebrated with a ceremony at dawn, and then she and any other new Dawnbringers would be welcomed into Lathander's clergy with a breakfast banquet. Here in the Mere, though, she'd had to settle for leading the dawn rite herself, on her own for the first time, with Brother Merring offering encouragement and occasional hints when she stumbled over a word. Bevil and Amie had joined them for a celebratory breakfast consisting of bread, sweet butter, and bitter coffee. Brother Merring somberly informed her that the last item was absolutely essential for those who followed their faith, but whose bodies protested at rising before dawn every day.
"Dawnbringer Kayla," Brother Merring now called her, but he said it with a father's pride. Sometimes, she wished that the cleric had been her father, or had been given the care of her, instead of Daeghun. She'd told Brother Merring that once, more than ten years before, after he'd sat up all night nursing her through a childhood fever. He'd stammered something about the will of the gods, and how he was still her spiritual father, but he deferred to Daeghun. He could not have known then that her soul belonged to Lathander.
He'd been a fixture in West Harbor as long as she could remember, though she knew he had come to West Harbor after the war. Retta Starling, Bevil's mother, might have taught all the village children their letters, but it was always Brother Merring who supervised their games. He taught them to play hurley, a rough sport where players used flattened clubs to drive a wooden ball through opposing goals, and to throw javelins, and all the other noisy things that children love. Kayla had been an active child, with little patience for sitting indoors learning her lessons. It was only natural that she was drawn to physical challenges that tested her strength and her agility. But more than that, she was eager to hear all that Brother Merring told her of Lathander. The rebellious child who could not be bothered to properly learn her maths would still listen in wide-eyed wonder to lessons in faith. Daeghun was little pleased with his foster-daughter's obvious inclination toward Lathander, but he consented to her novitiate. At the time, Kayla thought he allowed it because he was too indifferent to protest, but in retrospect, he probably realized that he would have little chance of discouraging a legitimate calling.
Bevil had been her friend... forever? Yes, that sounded about right. The two of them were of an age, and had formed a fast friendship almost as soon as they were old enough to talk. But it was an unequal friendship. Though he was bigger than Kayla, and generally got along with everyone, he cheerfully deferred to her. Privately, Kayla wished he'd stand up for himself more, but she never really pushed him to do it. It was a shame, really, Kayla thought, because she knew that Bevil's morals might even have made a paladin of him, but he just never had the drive to see it through. And there were no paladins in the Mere.
Kayla's friendship with Amie was more recent, though no less treasured. Amie was a mage's apprentice, and somewhat of an oddity in West Harbor. It was the Mossfelds that precipitated their friendship.
Amie was a shy girl, not used to the brash, rough-and-tumble ways of West Harbor youths, so when Wyl Mossfeld flattered her, she believed him, little guessing how he would treat her once she gave him what he wanted. Kayla could have told Amie that surrendering her virginity to Wyl Mossfeld was foolish, that he would not treasure the gift, nor would he respect her afterward, but at the time, Amie had no friend to tell her that. No, it was afterward, when Wyl was bragging of his conquest with any that would listen, that Kayla sought out Amie's friendship. Amie was crushed by the malice of the rumors. At first, Kayla looked only to comfort her, to reassure her that no matter what Wyl Mossfeld said, Amie was a friend worth having. But Kayla, too, needed a female friend and confidante, and their friendship flourished. Bevil was inducted into Amie's small circle of friends, and the three of them became inseparable.
And so it was that the three of them won the Harvest Cup, and presided over the Harvest Ball. Now there was a contradiction. The only resemblance it bore to the name was that people were on their feet and sound was coming out of musical instruments. Georg Redfell, leader of the town militia, was sawing away on a fiddle, the farmer Orlen was pounding out the beat on the bottom of a washing copper, and Lazlo the mead-seller was doing a brisk business. Bevil blew across the mouth of one of Lazlo's jugs and drank from it by turns. Retta Starling and Brother Merring were the only ones actually dancing at the moment, swinging each other around and laughing. Kayla smiled at their antics. She'd never question her mentor, but she did wonder why he hadn't just made the widow the offer the entire village was speculating about. Retta Starling still had small children at home, but that wouldn't discourage a priest of Lathander. They loved children, she knew, and Bevil's younger siblings would gain a fine father in Brother Merring.
Kayla felt a tug on her cloak.
"Want to dance?" Ward Mossfeld asked sheepishly. Kayla blinked back her surprise. His eye was all but swolen shut from the beating she'd given him during the Harvest Brawl. But Ward wasn't the sort to take out his revenge on the green, so she accepted.
"You've got a good left," he observed.
"Thanks," Kayla replied. "I think you bruised a rib there, yourself."
"'S all good fun, right?" Ward's sincerity shone on his broad, simple face. "No hard feelings?"
"No, of course not," Kayla smiled. Ward was always the last to join in his brothers' fights, the least eager in their mischief. Kayla had long suspected that if his brothers would just leave him alone, Ward would have turned out all right. And it was just possible that Ward was a little brighter than his brothers. In a village like West Harbor, with its two dozen families, well, the boys had to marry sooner or later, and there just weren't that many girls.
Ward gave her hand a grateful squeeze, then went off to try to mend fences with Amie. Kayla's eyes opened wider. Bevil was standing right there! Surely Ward couldn't have forgotten how angry Bevil was with all the Mossfeld boys, for Amie's sake. Kira couldn't hear them, but she could see Bevil standing between Amie and Ward, posturing and puffing out his chest. Poor Ward. Kayla didn't doubt for a moment that Bevil had enough mead in him to start a brand new Harvest Brawl, right there on the green. But once more, Ward surprised her. Ward said something, Bevil's chest deflated, and he and Ward shook hands. Bevil offered Ward a pull from his jug, and the two of them went off to talk to Lazlo. Kayla hoped it wasn't about getting a refill.
Kayla was just walking over to talk to Amie when Pitney Lannon claimed her for a dance, so Kayla went over to stand by Pitney's sisters, instead. They sniffed and turned away at her approach, snubbing her. Fine, if that was they way they wanted it. She was spared the boredom of standing on the sidelines by Georg. He'd passed off his fiddle to Brother Merring, and asked her for a dance.
"So," he started, "who do you reckon will be wed first? Retta and Merring or Bevil and Amie?"
Georg did love his gossip, and he had a pack full of tall tales all his own. He amused her with both before the dance ended, then escorted her to the refreshments table and helped her to some cakes.
"You've got a bit of eating to do if you're going to fill out to proper Harborman size," Georg joked, but Kira caught him looking over her shoulder at the Lannon girls.
"Is that so, Georg?" she countered, raising an eyebrow and nodding in the direction of his gaze. "I don't see you complaining about slender builds in certain company. At least not in certain blonde company."
Georg had the good grace to blush. He cleared his throat, and offered her some fresh cider.
"I'd better go talk to Bevil," he remarked, with mild disapproval. "Bevil's in the militia now, and Ward Mossfeld, too, for that matter. And I think Bevil might just have had enough mead."
"Oh, let him have tonight," Kayla smiled. "Who knows? Maybe he'll work up enough courage to let you win your bet with Tarmas."
"Oh ho! So you know about that, do you? Seems like I'm not the only one who likes to know what's going on."
Kayla cursed her glibness. The idea that she might be as notorious a gossip as Georg Redfell was not one she relished. But West Harbor did not have many secrets, nor many cares beyond the everyday ones of survival. Who was courting whom was everyone's favorite topic. Some had placed bets on which marriage would happen first. Privately, Kayla hoped that Georg would lose, though she had no doubts that both couples would eventually wind up together. Brother Merring had been alone in this swamp far too long for her not to wish him happy.
Georg excused himself to see about setting out more lanterns, but he forbade the champions to take part. So the three of them sat on hay bales near the green, sipping harvest mead, half-listening to Brother Merring's increasingly sleepy stories of Fairs past, and watching the moon rise over the Mere.
"Still awake, I see," Daeghun was suddenly at her elbow. Though he stood a head shorter than Kayla, he somehow managed to loom over them. Brother Merring, who had drifted into a doze, snapped awake, and stammered something about the hour, though it was not yet two candles past sundown. Harvest Fair or no, West Harbor was a farming village, and farmers generally went to bed when the sun did.
"I'll need you to catch Gaelan before he leaves tomorrow," Daeghun continued, "and you'll want to be up at dawn for whatever it is you do every morning."
Kayla rolled her eyes sympathetically at Bevil's scowl and sighed. She loved her foster father in her way, but she inwardly lamented that it wouldn't have killed him to offer her even token congratulations. But she knew better than to expect them. She hugged Amie, waved goodnight to Bevil and gave Brother Merring a filial kiss on the forehead before turning to follow Daeghun.
"Just a moment, Kayla," Bevil caught at her sleeve. "There's... there's something I wanted to show you. Want to take a walk?"
Kayla shot a glance at Amie, who was yawning dramatically over her mug, and at Brother Merring, who was studying Bevil curiously, oddly alert for a man who had been visibly nodding over his cups not ten seconds before.
"I suppose," she agreed. "Want to go, Amie?"
Bevil's sputtering protest took Kayla by surprise, but Amie didn't take offense. She exchanged an amused glance with Brother Merring before getting up herself.
"Thanks, Kayla, but I'm just sooo sleepy," Amie giggled, not looking sleepy in the slightest, "and I've got chores at Tarmas' workshop before I can go to bed. You know how he is about his alembics and whatnot."
Bevil's rudeness and Amie's evasiveness were just about enough to discourage Kayla from following Bevil, but a look at Bevil's homely, earnest face convinced her that she'd be better off letting the young man say whatever it was he wanted to say. She thought back to that morning, when he and Amie had greeted her together, and smiled. If Bevil expected Kayla to object to a match between him and Amie, he was in for a disappointment. She smiled, congratulated herself on her perception, and allowed Bevil to lead her down the path toward the edge of the Mere.