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Dearest Readers, may fireworks brilliant and grand light up your evening summer sky.
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THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE
Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 28: Across the Sky, Fireworks (Part Two)
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Summer. And across the sky, fireworks.
Only as they were traced by her finger all over the deep blue canvas, framed by the window in the kitchen.
Purples and reds will shoot up from here, golds and greens from over there, oranges and silvers from the middle, she silently recited. Hand in the air, forcing the mind to stay in the now and not on the weighted iaito on a bench in the smithy. The elf had sat in the kitchen for a good couple of hours, at first fuming and seething, eventually stilled by a view of the cloudless calm outside.
Irse put down her hand and leaned back, admiring the grand display imagined on the horizon. Now if she could imitate the echoing crack as the fireworks shot up in the sky, and as they exploded, the thunderous boom…
And then her stomach rumbled.
A still moment passed, followed by a slow creak as Okami opened the door to his room.
They stared at each other.
Without another word, he stepped into the kitchen, and headed straight for the stove. Likewise, Irse rose from her seat, going to the cupboard to bring out a chopping board and a small basket of produce. Unbidden, the two set themselves to their tasks - the elf to slicing up strips of meat and cubing the carrots and potatoes, the man to boiling and seasoning.
Soon the aroma of simmering beef and vegetables filled the room. Irse laid down bowls and plates of bread while Okami brought the piping hot kettle at the table, setting it upon a potholder in the middle.
Then came his ceremonial custom – the blacksmith took his place beside the table and gestured to the spread.
"Midday meal is ready," he said with a bow. "Please, eat."
As he sat down, Irse ladled stew for both, diffidently sliding the bowl towards him.
"I have considered," Okami began, pausing when the elf looked at him. "You may train with the weighted sword."
"You'll… let me?" she whispered excitedly.
"I will. But you must tell me the reason why I should permit you." He crossed his arms.
"One reason, three opportunities to respond."
Irse whistled and clapped her palms together, eagerly rubbing them. A puzzle then! Like the tales in her childhood where to obtain some great treasure, the hero must solve a mysterious riddle with only three chances to get it right.
In one story, the riddle was posed by a sphinx, though Irse never got to finish reading for Brother Karan had hurriedly confiscated the chapbook and, with some embarrassment, pronounced it inappropriate for young minds.
But in other tales, the question would be posed by a crazy hermit, in others by a millennia-old guardian made of stone, in some by an evil dragon atop a treasure hoard.
And in Irse's, by her Teacher at their kitchen table.
The elf jabbed a spoon in her mouth, biting thoughtfully at it, looking up at the rafters. Irse pulled out the cutlery and wagged it at the blacksmith.
"I know! Strength. It is to develop the body, to be able to strike with greater power! To be stronger, and thus endure and outlast my opponent!" she exclaimed, then bit at the spoon once more, beaming at him expectantly.
"One of the results, a benefit from training with weighted instruments," Okami replied with a nod. "But such is not the reason why I would want you to practice with a weighted sword."
A clatter as the spoon fell from her mouth to the plate. "Eh? Not it?" she stammered.
Irse retrieved the cutlery, twirling it in her fingers in time with the whirring millwheel in her mind. Swiftly she lashed and swiped the spoon as it were a sword, ending the demonstration with a thrust and point at her Teacher.
"Speed, then. The weight acts as a resistance against your muscles and trains you to naturally exert more force, enabling you to move faster even after you take away the load."
In one of her foster father's bedtime stories, a baron made a wager with a pasha that his retainer could outrun any man and in great distances in a short span of time. And in this tale, the swift servant had to walk around with his ankles chained to a giant ball of iron. Irse had often wondered if the heavy ball and chain served to train the man to run faster, or to force him to walk at normal speed.
Now that she herself worked with iron, the elf had been itching to test the theory. Unfortunately, it was another matter to snare a volunteer willing to waive all rights to recompense in the event of injury, deliberate or otherwise.
"As with the increase in strength, it is likewise a benefit," Okami concurred.
Her eyes widened with anticipation.
"But that is also not my reason."
Huffing in disappointment, Irse slumped on the table. After a moment, she straightened herself and opened the mouth, about to venture another answer.
"May I remind you – this is your final chance. Another incorrect guess and you forfeit the training," he warned.
"But, Teacher!" she cried and slammed her fists on the table, then leaned forward with mooning eyes. "Could I wish for three more guesses?"
"A wish for three more attempts?" Okami asked with a hint of amusement. "I am a blacksmith, not a djinni."
Irse pouted at his refusal, grabbed the kettle between them and pulled it to herself.
"Then I shall have instead three more servings! May the final one grant me the wisdom to solve your knotty little wringer, Teacher!" she proclaimed, slamming the tip of her spoon on the table.
Okami bobbed his head, a faint crook at the corner of his lips, and quietly stirred his stew.
"Welcome to our shop! Please come in and find anything you need of iron and steel!" Irse greeted, nay, shouted at the top of her lungs.
Standing in front of their stall, the elf wore an apron, coppery hair tied back and partly covered by a kerchief. Smiling and bowing at passing shoppers, gesturing to their wares. Every now and then, a few heeded the invitation to browse and purchase the weapons and tools laid upon the display table and racks.
However today, the Open Market seemed to have forsaken its sole designation as a place of trade. Whereas on any day its narrow lanes overflowed with common folk and hawkers going about their business, Midsummer brought in revelers and performers as well. Competing for precious space, minstrels and dancers established themselves anywhere a flat and paved ground could be claimed. Meanwhile, merrymakers marched in inebriated gaiety, jostling among the throng of shoppers and fellow carousers, often stumbling into stores if not blacking out in a drunken stupor in the middle of the road.
Witnessing one such rowdy troop and their intoxicated antics in front of their stand, Irse shook her head and dug her hand in the apron pockets. And it's only afternoon.
"Eh, Teacher, do you think we could be getting more customers if we had a lucky charm on display?" the elf wondered aloud, extra loud over the roaring din of the crowd.
Okami looked up from oiling a kitchen knife. "If you are suggesting we nail a horseshoe upon the lintel, then you may, so long as you sell it as well before we leave."
"Bah. Too much bother. How about in Kozakura? What would a shopkeeper put up for good luck?"
The blacksmith paused. "In my homeland, one would set out a Maneki-neko, the Beckoning Cat."
"A cat? Hold on, maybe I can find one in the alleys. Catch something bigger than the sewer rats and with less ferocious fleas - now that's real luck there."
Okami chuckled indulgently. "It is no true cat, but a charm made of porcelain. A cat bearing a gold coin in the right paw while the left paw is raised up to beckon and call to good fortune and wealth."
He paused as if in recollection. "Though in our years of trade in this City, I have yet to find any seller of this talisman. If Cirio were to set up his tent here, I am certain he would have one in stock."
Grimacing, the elf remembered the carroty curio collector and his batty merchandise. "I wouldn't put it past that flake to try and sell off a stuffed dead weasel and call it a Mucky-neko."
Sighing, she plucked out a copper coin from her pocket, staring at it for a while. The elf shifted sideways by the entrance to face the flow of the crowd outside, pinched her ears as if to make them more prominent, held up the coin in the right hand, and waved at the passersby with her left palm as she sported a wide grin.
"Meow," Irse mewed scratchily.
Okami raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"
She cast him a side-eye. "What am I doing? Filling in for a lucky calling cat. I have the ears for it," Irse replied, pausing to feel at the upper lip to check if she likewise had the whiskers.
"Cease, now. You look more like a Bakeneko."
"Oh, does it mean a Beautiful Cat?" she chirped, squeezing in her shoulders and poking at a cheek.
"No, a Bakeneko is a demon monster cat. A naughty feline who has grown so old and ancient that they start to walk on hindlegs until they take on the guise of a human but with a towel perpetually wrapped around their heads, they devour anything and even prey larger than them. They also accidentally start house fires."
"Old and ancient! Do I look anything like a demon monster cat? And I don't do any of those things!"
Okami pointed and waved his knife around. "You have a cloth on your head at this very moment, you have so far eaten from every food stall within a mile's radius of our kiosk since this morning, and you once nearly burned down the kitchen in your quest to make cold porridge."
Irse stomped her foot as she counted off each retort. "Hey, I lost my comb so I gotta' do with this head scarf! I'm still hungry after breakfast and midday meal! And the cold porridge fought back – didn't they say to fight fire with fire?" she ranted just as a woman and a boy walked by.
"Mama! Look, a scary knife-ear with fangs!" the child gushed and pointed at Irse as he clung to his mother.
"Shush! Don't stare. What did I tell you about what happens when you point at Hags?" the mother hushed.
"The hag will magic my finger into sausage and eat it for breakfast!" the boy squeaked as his mother dragged him to a brisk pace.
Savagely Irse spun to face them. "Hey, Lady! Who are you calling a hag? Looking for a mirror that won't crack from your face? We have those!" she cried after the woman as the latter and her son skittered away.
"Oi! Just for you, we got a special today for ogres! Sorry- ogresses!" she shouted; hands cupped around her mouth.
Irse yelped in surprise as a flying leather glove made hard contact with the back of her head. The elf turned around, grinning guiltily at the sight of her Teacher, his empty hand still outstretched.
"Perhaps I should reconsider the offer from the orc-lady leathersmith to make and sell muzzles," Okami said with a pondering sigh.
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Dusk had already fallen upon the city and the partying grew more boisterous. Laughter and song filled the night air, accompanied by the blaring cacophony of pipes and fiddles. Though Iriaebor played home to the faithful of several deities, it was Tymora's flock that made the most of tonight's revels – ecstatically praising the goddess as they danced with wild abandon and engaged in audacious adventure.
Irse snickered as she observed them. More like pawing each other without shame while getting blind drunk, clambering up the magelight posts and wagons and balconies, so crocked they would lose their footing and fall, get knocked out or numbed and still seeking more to fill their quota of capers. So much for Midsummer, the Festival of Music and Love.
Granted reprieve from duties after supper, Irse took to the streets, no purpose in mind other than simple sightseeing. And finding something new to snack upon. The quest had been successful so far, for with the great gathering came hawkers from various corners of the realms, bringing with them the favored delicacies of their homes. Sausage rolls served with Silver Dragon Sauce from Cormyr, nut cheese from Mirabar, lemon-infused salbread from Luiren, among the host of other treats long since devoured by the hungry elf.
Someone handed her a flyer. Irse skimmed over the print as she walked. Fireworks Display Tonight at the Open Market Sponsored by The Merchants by Permission from Lord Bron and the Council, it read. Held every Midsummer Night, the event never failed its reputation as the anticipated cap to the festivities.
Folding the piece of parchment and tucking it in her pocket, Irse beamed to herself, remembering with fondness that one summer evening at the Clearspring Tor in Berdusk. How many years has it been since then, and how would her old friends be faring now? Perhaps Captain Shar-Teel has roped in new crewmates to man the, uh…
The elf paused – what was the name of that ship, again? 'Men Are… Lots of Things'. Right.
Oh, the poor unfortunate sailing souls to be coddled by Nells and terrorized by Dotie - the thought tickling a chuckle out of her.
Well then, if she were to catch the fireworks then she'd best hurry back to the stall. Irse made a sharp turn for the Boulevard of Brass, the most direct route back to the Open Market.
A pair of half-orcs in garishly hued doublets barred her entry.
"Way is closed. Private outdoor concert for the merchant master and his clan," one of guards barked at her.
Behind them, she spied a makeshift stage hastily assembled, a band of minstrels tuning their lutes, benches laid out, richly-dressed noblefolk milling about while servants glided in their midst, bearing trays stacked with wine goblets.
Why hold their party out here in the open and in the Lower City rather than in the luxurious privacy of their own towers? Aside from the obvious display of wealth and privilege, they were probably safer here where crowds and outright exposure might give pause to rival guilds. The elf chuckled at the irony.
Shrugging, Irse walked away. Shouldn't have dallied at sightseeing. Most likely too that other major thoroughfares have been blocked off for spontaneous parades and parties. No other choice but a roundabout course - a clip through the winding arteries behind the tallhouses along the Avenue of Agate, take her pick between the Lane of Lanterns to the left or right to Crockery Alley, both of which would bring her round to the other end of the Open Market.
Irse shuffled into the next street, jam-packed with people. Something must be happening for the mob gathered themselves around a circle, shoving at each other if not standing shoulder-to-shoulder, buzzing, hollering, goading.
"What now?" Irse groused as she pushed her way through the crowd to investigate.
A duel, two men going at it with their fists, surrounded by spectators not even bothering to conceal the coin passing among them. The elf rolled her eyes. Truly, so much for Midsummer, the Festival of Music and Love.
Through the bystanders she painstakingly weaved a path, suffering the occasional onlooker refusing to budge. Soon she broke free from the press and resumed her stroll, thoughts taking on a trail of their own – recollections of the day's happenings and of the things she had seen tonight.
Irse hummed absently as she leaned forward, quickened her pace, and turned into the next alley, walking the distance in deep thought, colors and voices and music streaming past, and left behind.
And in her next step, all lay dark and quiet before her eyes and beneath her feet.
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Summery scribblings more:
Credits to TripleF for the idea with the Bakeneko. ;D *tosses lucky kitteh-shaped confetti*
The tale of the baron and the pasha is loosely based on a scene in the 1988 film "The Adventures of Baron Munchausen".
Why fireworks as the theme for summer? Fireworks are one of the symbols of summer in Japan (i.e. Sumidagawa Festival), with the tradition dating back to 1732. *waves sparklers*
Imagining Irse the Store Greeter dragging rude customers outside the stall while shouting, "Irasshaimase, Idiots!" while a flustered Okami is facepalming behind the counter. XD
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