The town seldom held bonfires, and they were always a grand affair. Well, grand for Burrick, at least. The village square was converted into a massive fire pit and great pines were felled from the forest to fuel the inferno. Huge wild hogs slow-roasted upon each side, sweet fat dripping from them and falling, sizzling into the flames below.
The food was plenty, and the mead flowed freely, but I barely ate or drank. I was too distracted for that, too full of nervous anticipation. Instead, and in an effort to ease my nerves, I sat on one of the many wide logs that served as makeshift benches for the partygoers, and watched.
I watched the villagers. The old and the young. I watched them laugh and chatter. I watched flagons raise and be toasted. I watched the children play, racing around the pit, followed every which way by their mothers' hawkish eyes. Celebrations were often rowdy, but this was something more.
I could almost hear it in the song, despite the noise. It shone forth from the eyes of each villager, spilled from their beaming mouths, present in every animated gesture.
Hope. Something that came by all too rarely out here.
A single girl detached herself from the throng and made her way over to me, drink in hand. Her shoulder-length locks were a thick and rich red-orange. So vibrant, it almost looked like she'd stolen away a piece of the bonfire itself and wove it seamlessly throughout her mane. A scant few freckles peppered her face, a smile graced her lips, and mischief twinkled behind her eyes.
"Hey, Taiv," she sang, the words dancing playfully upon her tongue as she offered me her drink.
"Hey, Raynie," I declined.
Pouting slightly, she sat beside me. Raynie was perhaps the only person in the village, aside from Ewan of course, that I actually spent time with. We got along well together. We'd been friends since we were both quite young, our first time long ago by now. Aside from our trysts, though, nothing deep had ever blossomed between us.
My fault, probably. I didn't want to remain in this town forever, and seldom had patience for anything besides training. I had a good idea of what she wanted here, tonight, but no intention of giving it to her.
We made idle conversation for a while, and then simply sat in silence. That's what I liked most about Raynie. She didn't overwhelm me with words, content to simply feel the moment, allowing me to listen. She reclined against me, resting her head upon my shoulder as we watched the flames. Her song was smoke and roses.
Eventually, though, she gathered my disposition, and with a swift peck from impossibly soft lips, made her way back out into the crowd.
"In another life, disciple, you'd have made a wonderful Aristocrat."
A gruff, rumbling baritone, thrummed forth from the darkness behind me. I stood immediately at attention, arms clasped behind me, back straight as a sword.
"Master Ewan," I greeted, inclining my head slightly. The figure before me was short, almost a full head shorter than I was. With grey hair cropped short, a well-shaven face, and dull grey eyes, there was almost nothing remarkable about him. He wasn't even carrying a weapon.
But there was a fluidity, an economy to his motion that gave one pause. His stance was firm, unassailable, immovable. Thick muscles like cables rippled beneath his skin. His entire body was a coiled spring, ready to be released. Ewan didn't carry a weapon because he didn't need one. He was the weapon.
My teacher sighed. "For what must be the thousandth time, Taiven, you needn't call me that. I'm no master, never have been."
"That girl," he gestured towards Raynie's departing form, "Is in love with you. I guarantee it. You are aware of this, I assume?"
"Yes, Master."
"Yes, Master," he parroted, before exhaling once more. "And may I inquire as to why, then, you choose not to act upon this knowledge?"
"It's a distraction, Master. I need to be ready for tomorrow."
"A distraction," he murmured contemplatively, sitting down with a huff upon the log before him, and inviting me to do the same. "Many men would jump at just such a distraction before the night of a great battle."
"Would you, Master?" I asked. He just smiled, grey eyes glinting like sharpened steel.
"An Aristocrat, then," he continued, still mocking. "A different woman every night, strung along by broken heartstrings. Are you quite sure you're not already Blessed?"
I said nothing in reply, and for a spell we simply watched the people scurry back and forth as the fire crackled. It was dimming now, roaring pines devolving into glowing embers. A cat, black as the void with a single sea-green stripe in its fur, watched us from afar.
"I missed you at the smithy today," Ewan stated, though it was just as much a question. "You didn't come by to see me."
"I'm sorry, Master," I replied, quickly, then paused. "I thought…you might be upset, not being part of the delve."
At this, Ewan threw back his head and laughed loudly, roaring with mirth. "Upset," he chuckled. Then his face twisted into a grimace. "I'm ecstatic. I want nothing to do with Titans, never," he spat out. He looked me straight in the eyes. "I told Aldwyn not to go. I begged him not to."
He spread his arms wide, gesturing towards the dwindling mob that lay before us. "You all think this is a gift. You think you'll go down there and get treasures and weapons and Blessings, but you're wrong. Mark my words, disciple, nothing but death lies within the body of Knossos, within that cursed Labyrinth."
He ran a hand through his coarse hair. "You imagine the bounty, but you don't consider the cost. Because you haven't seen it. Not like I have," he said simply.
I didn't know what to say, how to reply. So I said nothing. Ewan quirked his head to the side.
"Have I ever told you about the Devoted?" He asked. I shook my head. "They're fanatics. They worship the Titans, revere them as gods. All the while they commit atrocities in their august masters' names."
He stroked his chin consideringly. "They're quite popular in the Old World, actually, less so over here." His face hardened.
"But they're wrong. Even without the war crimes, they're wrong. Nothing good comes from the Titans, nothing at all. They're not gods. They're demons. Primeval calamities, that care only for destruction and death." He looked at me once more.
"But they do have quite the credo, those Devoted. Very catchy. Would you like to hear it, disciple?"
Even the embers had begun to die now, most of the village having returned to their homes. I needed to do the same, lest I not be well rested for tomorrow. Still, I nodded.
Like reciting a song, or some sinister mantra, Ewan spoke.
Balmut lights your form aglow,
Lotan pulls you down below.
Simurgh sings from up on high,
Vile makes the fearless cry.
Knossos tests those who delve deep,
Sothoth's spawn, like tumors, creep.
Qet turns wasteland into glade,
Trifle not with Dainsleif's blade.
None dare stand in Hermes' way,
And Golem shapes the world like clay.
His chant echoed in the dark, empty square, reverberating eerily off the vacant market stands and exposed innards of the dilapidated church to the west. The only ones left here were Ewan, myself, and the black-green cat from before. He stood, and brushed off his breeches.
"You're a good student, Taiven. You're very good. Maybe even as good as you think you are. Given time, you'll be better than me. You're the kind of talent that comes around once in a generation. Centuries ago, before the collapse, you'd have been a savant. Renowned across the whole world." He smiled down at me, sarcastically.
"But you're not Blessed, which means all that talent is for nothing. Hurts, doesn't it?" He said, chuckling.
"I've seen far stronger than you delve deep, thinking themselves immortal, never to return."
He looked right at me, piercing grey eyes barely visible by the light of what few embers remained.
"If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn't leave with them tomorrow. If you knew what was good for you, you'd give up the sword and go north. You're a smart kid-you'd make a fine living in manufacturing. A safe living. But you won't."
He turned to leave.
"You're a smart kid, but you won't make the smart choice. You'll go down there tomorrow. And you'll die. You'll become just another casualty, another corpse on the growing pile, dead too young while dreaming of glory."
"I hope your dreams are sweet, disciple," he said as he walked away, vanishing into the night. The cat sniffed, and left with him.
I didn't sleep a wink that night.