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Dearest Readers, may you always find pockets of happiness and rejoice for the wide-open fields that they truly are.
A brief and happy interlude before things go south… well, more accurately, south-west of the map.
THE HIDDEN SWORD
Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 39: Wheat and Roses, Wood and Steel
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"As the Great Mother blesses the union of earth and sky, the miracle of seed and rain, so unto the end of the seasons may she make you fruitful, heart and hearth, the womb and the whole," Wisewoman Daserah proclaimed.
Beneath the headdress of woven wheat on her brow, Irse sighed, lightheaded, hardly believing the realness of this very moment.
A lifetime it seemed she wondered if she'd ever see this day, not once regretting the words and decision made to bring everything to this point. Nothing, not even the shadows of yesterday and the clouds of tomorrow could mar the joy now brimming in her heart.
Beneath his own threaded crown, normally unruly raven hair this time dressed and combed, garb clean and simple yet for once fitting not for the forge but for a nuptial, Okami beamed serenely, leaning down to whisper at her ear.
"Calm your heart, people might mistake your tears for regret," he teased.
Forgetting herself, Irse dabbed at the corner of her eye and rubbed away a forming sniffle. "I can't help it, all these years I wished for this and now it's come true – this is the happiest day of my life!"
And with a wink, Irse flashed a victorious thumbs-up at Kerda, her dear friend and today the radiant bride.
Kerda replied with a shy smile and a small wave of her hand, glowing and lovely in her simple gown of white linen belted with forest-green silk. And what of the lucky groom? Standing prouder and taller than ever in his best coat and clothes, Thadd looked every bit the part of the charming prince.
All who came to the ceremony wore symbols sacred to Chauntea upon their heads, the bride and groom with their wreaths of roses, the Wisewoman and witnesses with their circlets of wheat sheaves, standing in the shade of a great oak upon a mound overlooking the fields.
Despite the solemnity of their pledges, the pair giggled shyly once in a while, but to everyone present, their love shone clear in the tender way they gazed into each other's eyes. Watching the couple clasp hands bound together by a crimson cord, receiving the blessings intoned by the Wisewoman, Irse fought to stifle a happy sob.
And how could she not celebrate for them? Few the years may have been, not even half a decade, yet seeing her friends growing to care for each other felt akin to nurturing a sapling through the seasons.
Playing the counselor and bridge when neither knew how to speak their hearts, soothing their tempers after the occasional fights – food always proved to be the great peacemaker, and lately, encouraging them when it seemed Farmer Mozes wouldn't approve of the poetic and expressive young man for his daughter. Of the last, Thadd had proven himself worthy in his own ways, finally winning the grudging respect of his future father-in-law, and he didn't even need to write an embellished war epic on goblin-slaying to do so.
All of those and more, and now this day had finally come.
"Aw, look at them, just look at them," Irse croaked. "I'm sorry, but I think I'm going to cry."
Okami reached into his coat and pulled out a folded napkin, pressing it surreptitiously into her hand. Irse opened the cloth and grinned.
"My thanks," she whispered, biting into the unwrapped cookie, chewing slowly to avoid any audible crunches, impending tears in the eyes forgotten and replaced by buttery crumbs on the chin.
With the rite done, the newlyweds faced their families and friends who ran up to them, the ladies including the young elf squealing and crying for joy while the menfolk whooped and roared their congratulations.
Best thing about a village wedding? The simplicity in ceremony, no long-winded sermons, only throw pledges at each other whether to till no other's field nor ever milk someone else's cow, ask Chauntea to bless them and field and cow, then head straight for the feast.
And what a feast awaited them - laid upon long tables at the square, the generous spread meant to cheer their spirits and disprove what troubles clouded the present and future. Pottages and fritters and cheese to whet the appetite, followed by open pork pies, roasted birds mainly pheasant and mallard and partridges, boiled eel and trout, freshly baked trenchers to mop up the sauces and gravies. Generous sponsors hauled a roasted boar with an apple in its mouth, drawing appreciative murmurs from the guests. On a separate roundtable sat the Bride's Pie, a large, rounded pastry adorned with sugar roses and stuffed with mincemeat and currants, bordered by scones and spiced buns.
Everyone gathered around the tables, the recently minted parents-in-law striving to outdo each other in fussing over their guests who took plates or bowls of food and wandered about to chat among themselves.
Meanwhile, Irse took her role as Best Mate to the Couple with unparalleled seriousness, going over each dish, pecking and tasting, all in fulfillment of the most important task in a feast – ensuring there would be no leftovers.
Done with her seconds and seconds and seconds after that, she piled on her plate once more until it resembled the Old City on the Tor with its own miniature spires of roast fowl, and pastries, then made her way to her friends, joined by her Teacher and an uncle from Thadd's side of the family visiting from Asbravn.
"So, my dear boy, are you two following in the grand and ancient tradition of Chaunteans?" Uncle Onwen teased his nephew with a nudge, face and nose close to the hue of a ripe tomato, wine sloshing over the brim of his cup.
"What tradition?" Irse asked with bright interest, munching on a fritter followed by a slice of fowl dripping with gravy.
Traditions always mean something important – like special dishes made just for such an occasion.
"The old tradition! You should know, where the new couple spends their first night as man and wife out in the fields."
Turning a bright shade of red, Thadd and Kerda avoided each other's gaze. Okami suddenly seemed more interested in his half-empty plate, concentrating on the fragments of a pastry crust as if they were complicated forge work. Irse furrowed her brows, puzzled as to the purpose of such a practice.
"But why? Oh, I know! It's so the husband can prove his worth in front of his wife," Irse guessed excitedly, feeling a slip of pride when her friends and Teacher looked at her curiously.
"How?" Kerda dared to asked in a tone skeptical of her friend's assumption.
Irse swallowed a morsel of pie and swung her fork as it were a sword. "How? By hunting a wild animal or slaying a goblin by himself on the spot. How else should a man prove himself useful?"
She poked Thadd in the shoulder with the same fork. "Hey, if you want, you can even borrow my sword for that."
"There'll be no need for him to use your sword, lass. They're not slaying goblins, more like making little goblins. Eh hehe?" the uncle needled, elbowing his nephew in the other shoulder.
"Little goblins?" Irse asked, her gaze blank for a second before bobbing her head. "Ah, I see… I understand."
"You do?" Thadd questioned, suspicious this time.
"Of course, making little goblins? By that, you mean slaying goblins and turning them to itty bitty tiny pieces!"
For such a grave and most imperative task, one would require the sharpest blade to finely chop those pesky little monsters, and sufficient length to decapitate at least twice as much in one swing.
"But you're going to need a longer sword!" Irse exclaimed, and urgently nudged at Okami. "Teacher, can we lend them your tachi just for tonight?"
Okami blinked. "The Kogitsune?"
"Aw, come now, Teacher. It's practically indestructible, I'm sure nothing they stab it in will cause a scratch. But if you don't trust Thadd enough not to carve his leg when unsheathing the Kogitsune, then maybe we should join them!
"Join them?" Okami echoed, frowning.
"Just to make sure everything goes right without a hitch and he doesn't lose a finger when putting the sword back in the scabbard."
Everyone blinked, while Okami coughed and craned his neck.
"Is that pickled daikon I see on the table?"
"Why, yes, Mister Okami. I told Mother you have a liking for cured radish, so we had some brought out today," Kerda answered hastily.
"I appreciate the consideration. Pardon me, but my plate needs… ah, restocking," the blacksmith mumbled and excused himself.
"Let me help you with that," Kerda blurted then followed in his heels.
Irse watched her Teacher rushing for the table, baffled. The uncle chortled into his drink while Thadd grinned awkwardly.
"Oh well, if you don't want a sword," Irse continued, tapping a fist on the young man's shoulder. "Perhaps a hammer will do?"
Eyeing her over his wine, Uncle Onwen guffawed. "I see now why you're more interested in fighting than marrying, Elf."
Thadd leveled a glare at the man, mumbling a voiceless warning at his clueless relative. Irse tilted her head.
"It's because none of these village boys will ever strike your fancy, won't they?"
Irse narrowed her eyes while Thadd shut his and uttered prayers.
"Earthmother, let there be no funeral on my wedding day," he pleaded to himself.
Onwen swept a clumsy arm, waving at the guests. "After all, all of us here, even myself and my fifty summers, are nothing more than a bunch of babes in the sight of a four hundred-year-old elven granny like yourself."
"Four hundred-year old… elven… granny," Irse echoed, an eye twitching.
With a nervous chuckle Thadd grasped his inebriated relative by the arm to steer him away. "Over there, Uncle, they've brought out a new keg, you should go see to it."
Shrugging, Uncle Onwen shuffled off, blissfully unaware of the mortal peril he had just escaped. Thadd shot his friend a look of reprimand but Irse responded with a pout, and the young man eased, a bright smile gracing his face.
"Well, still, I should thank you… for everything," he said, his voice quiet and earnest.
Irse huffed jokingly. "Pssh! I should be apologizing to Kerda for foisting you on her, and for speaking up for you whenever she had the rare sense to think about dropping you like the idiot potato you've always been."
Thadd laughed, evidently remembering fond times.
"Must be her relations from the Dalelands. They're calling for you," Irse urged, pointing to the guests congregating at the head of the table with the bride.
Thadd nodded with a grin and jogged over to where his new extended family stood, beckoning to him. Irse wiped at the remaining spot of sauce in her plate with a piece of trencher, looking up when the Wisewoman approached, the elf giving her a courteous tilt of the head.
"Ah, Irse," Daserah greeted with a kindly smile. "Always gladdens my heart to see you enjoying and appreciating the Great Mother's bounty."
"I can't cook nor grow a single thing for cooking," Irse said with a grin. "But I give my thanks to her for sending grain and vegetables to my Teacher's cooking pot."
The Wisewoman hummed an affirmative and fell silent, perhaps ruminating over the concluded rite. Guessing at where Daserah might be gazing at, Irse cleared her throat.
"How old do you think that oak is now?" the elf inquired, pointing at the massive tree and its vast verdant canopy.
"Perhaps a century or three," Daserah confirmed. "Sprouted long before the births of those who served this village before me."
Irse whistled. "Whoa, that old, huh?"
"And yet," the Wisewoman said, casting an indulgent eye on the elf. "It was a young sapling once, humbly pushing its way through the soil, at first overwhelmed by the grass and wildflowers that came before, until it found its perch in the light of the sun."
"All that, the mighty oak from a little acorn," Irse murmured, then brightened. "Just like the sword, from a small piece of ore."
Daserah beamed, bobbing her head agreeably. "Wood and steel, one living and the other is not, both from humble beginnings biding their time beneath the earth until drawn to grow or be fashioned into their final purpose. Both outlasting men and their generations, so quick and short are the lives of humans… in comparison."
Irse caught the meaning in the Wisewoman's words – being an elf, she will outlive them all. Often said to her by others whether in jest over envy of the Tel'Quessir's agelessness, or in admonition for her to exercise more forethought in her actions, Irse tried to dismiss their reminders, aware and agreeing but unable to accept the consequences of possessing this lifespan while living alongside humans, pushing the inevitable at the back of her mind.
Yet here now, in what seemed like a blink from yesterday, her own friends were moving towards lifelong paths of their choosing, joining everyone else in the constant march of the years, ultimately to gray and age and wither.
To fade like the grass and wildflowers beneath the oak.
Irse pursed her mouth, brows furrowed as she pondered the older woman's words. Daserah broke the silence, saying something about planting and harvesting, but as she spoke, her voice faded, and the Wisewoman along with the rest of the world blurred and slowed.
A familiar feeling washed over everything, of having fallen asleep and waking up in the same world yet now webbed with a weave no longer hidden, when mortal sight ceased and one's vision pierced through the veil.
Flowers began to bloom at her feet, spreading swiftly outwards in a living carpet to blanket the tilled fields and wild meadows beyond. To her senses came the overpowering perfume of roses, the sharp singing of larks and red robins bursting through treetops, and before her sight there floated chaff blown from an unseen threshing floor and dissolving into light motes against the blue sky.
A presence surrounded her- vast and deep, ancient yet vibrant, stern yet kindly, as it were a mother looming over her child. Unsettled by the overwhelming manifestation, Irse's knees buckled for a moment, fearing she would sink to be swallowed by the ground. As if sensing her faintness, a solid hand reached out to grasp her arm, a hand gnarled more than human age allowed, yet tenderly holding her up with strength rooted from the earth.
"You see, Child, not all things that come from my womb will grow from grain and flourish in the sun and rain," the presence said to her in a voice that seemed to rise from the earth and echo across the fields. "Some are as seeds of steel, taken with force from my breast, laid bare upon the anvil to be subject to the violence of fire and iron."
"Not like the oak which roots itself in one place and stands by its dignity and wisdom, these are the ones who must find their purpose – whether to hunt and kill, or to seek and protect. I would that it were otherwise, for all to flourish in peace and abundance but sadly it is not the way of mortals."
The voice sighed, deep and long, a primeval river cutting through the stones of ages, then took on a resigned but hopeful note. "Like rain, blood will always water the earth, but what must grow after will be shaped by the path they have chosen – whether of destruction or preservation."
Then as sudden as the passing of a shadow, the world righted again, the scent of roses and the flashing motes gone, replaced by laughter and the aroma of food.
Irse gasped, finding her breath. Beside her and evidently unaware of what had just passed, Daserah looked on worriedly at the elf's unsteady motions.
"Are you all right?" the Wisewoman asked, feeling at Irse's temple. "Perhaps you need to catch up on rest. I heard you and Kerda's sisters spent the whole night until dawn preparing the bridal chamber."
Though still somewhat disoriented, Irse replied with a nod. The new couple would be moving in with Thadd's family for the meantime while they sorted out where to put up their own cottage. More than merely laying rose petals all over the bed and floor, that meant fixing up the young man's quarters to livable standards. Having seen the not-so-poetic state of Thadd's room, Irse had taken it upon herself to have the entire room stripped bare and whitewashed a couple of days in advance, helped by Thadd alone for his brothers were more keen on working the fields than pitching in. Perhaps what had worn her out more than the frantic scrubbings and painting were the yelling and smacking and prodding at the groom-to-be to work a little faster.
"I'll be fine, Wisewoman. Nothing a nap on a full belly won't fix."
"Good, then. Hmmm, I see they've brought out the chalice, it is time for the traditional toast," Daserah said, taking her leave to walk towards the rest of the gathering.
Irse gazed down at her feet, dragging a foot across the bare grass to trace where the ethereal flowers had budded. Something about the words bode a warning, but the end of them felt more like a query, a choice, another vision like the others before it, planting more questions than harvesting answers. No longer bothered, she had come to accept them, these odd trances as rare inconveniences that might have been passed down from her parents, hopefully something linked to the strange and wondrous magic her People were known for practicing.
Or…
Master of Blades and Lemonade, someone must have tossed in some seriously strong mushrooms in the stew again.
Thadd's parents paraded the ceremonial chalice from which the newlyweds must take their first sip of wine as a couple, a great two-handled wooden goblet with a rim wide enough for two people check-to-cheek to drink from at the same time. Likewise, someone passed around cups to the guests for the toast, Okami handed with one just as Irse approached.
"Wait," the elf called after the lad who bore the trays of wine, almost giving chase at the boy who went on to give away the last of his servings to the other guests.
"Ah, now I've nothing to toast them with," she groused.
"If you do not mind," Okami offered, gesturing at his cup. "We can share mine."
Irse smiled, relieved. "Sure, I'm good with that."
They watched as the Wisewoman pronounced the final blessing while the parents of the couple took turns filling the wedding chalice. Each taking hold of one side, the bride and groom raised the large goblet to their guests, and all lifted theirs to hail the newlyweds.
Having raised his cup, Okami took a sip then passed it to Irse who hastily made a silent toast of her own before downing the wine and giving it back to him.
"Oh," he murmured, peering into the now empty goblet.
"Sorry, I was thirsty," Irse muttered sheepishly, wresting the cup from him. "Here, I'm going back for seconds anyway, I may as well fill it up."
Okami shrugged with a quirk of his lips and she made her way to the tables, goblet and plate in hands. While waiting for one of the women to finish pouring for a few guests ahead of her, Irse gazed around, taking in the sight of her dearest friends, the happy folk celebrating with them, of her Teacher conversing with some of the visitors, the breezy summer afternoon and laughter in the air all warming her heart with a sense of peace and rightness.
Unconsciously, Irse's eyes wandered back to the ceremonial chalice in the hands of the bride and groom, a mental picture of herself grasping one of the handles and an inescapable question blossoming in her mind.
With a cup of such size, how much stew can it possibly hold without spilling over?
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Seedlings and Scribblings:
Chauntea's holy symbols are a sheaf of wheat or a rose blooming over a sheaf of grain. Her minor manifestations are the appearance of light motes and flowers growing as if watered with Red Bull and fertilized with steroids.
And lest we forget what year it is, our baby elf is long past drinking age now. XD
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