14. 13 #2
The killing of the boy from Merriment earlier this year.
Petros had mentioned it, and had called the murderer ‘one of Dytho’s finest mad men’.
The bulletin read that the boy had raised cuts on his back, and that he had been killed by strangulation.
The child was apparently the son of a devotee, too.
The Oath of Light had torn the truth from the killer’s mouth. The sheet suggested he had shown repentance in the end.
I disagreed.
“I failed him. I failed you, O great one! I only brought you one. Take him, anyway. I sliced him well. Circles, circles! Let me be punished for not finishing your work. Forgive me. Forgive me. Please.”
When I left the library, I felt quite defeated. Nowhere else in Dytho contained such a wealth of information. I wondered if Davian ever had the power to help me, or if that was a lie by omission, too, or some new cruelty he would reveal once I helped him.
It was the fifth day when the closest person I had to a friend at The Curved Eclipse, Daisy, suggested we attend the Festival of Fenren.
I accepted. If I was not working, and there was nothing to be learnt, I may as well enjoy the festivities.
As an Ekrissian, we were permitted to enjoy the festivals of the other Gods only sparingly, and always in our red gowns. We could not be seen dancing or drinking with the masses, and our participation in the God of Agriculture’s giant feast was on our own table, veiled and in silence.
If this would be the only year of my life when I was not an Ekrissian, and I hoped it was now that Robar had abandoned me, I would use it to the fullest.
Daisy and I set out, and to my surprise Francine joined us, too.
In the agora by the harbour of Dytho, it seemed as if the entire city had come to celebrate the God of Agriculture.
The roofed market hall was an unstoppable hoard of noise.
To our left as we entered, acrobats performed on a low stage.
To our right, a number of men were locked into a game of knucklebones.
Traders touted rare and expensive dyes in blues and purples, and merchants sold an eclectic mix of items, from imported Aralaji perfumes to the local olive oil pressed on the hillside only a mile away.
And everywhere in between, tables held banquets of hot and cold foods, even offering pork and mutton.
Many of our Craeteran practices had ended as our society advanced and our trade expanded, but our religious festivals and love of celebration had not gone anywhere.
Agriculture’s closest House was out of the city towards the farmland to the north east. I remembered the sight from my journey here, my too-small shoes swaying over the back of a peddler’s cart as he trundled towards the city.
The entire cart has been piled high with fresh rosemary, and the heady scent of it had overpowered everything as he pointed out Fenren’s House.
Then, it was the grandest building I had ever seen, set in fields of wheat and flourishing orchards of olives. It was, of course, modelled like any other House, but since it was my first sighting of one, it was glorious.
Fenren’s devotees stayed in the fields for the most part, so seeing them here today, opening the Festival at noon, was a rarity.
Their traditional clothing made me miss my House’s wardrobe keenly.
They wore bright green himations, wrapped over the left shoulder and completed with brass cornucopia insignias.
The harvests had been kind, and the food flowed from our vast stocks to the tables.
Only the youngest, gleefully grabbing up handfuls of fruits, had forgotten the famine from ten years ago, when Fenren caused a two-year drought to punish our complacency towards him.
Since those years, no one neglected him in their prayers.
We ate until we were full. Then we wandered the streets past wandering minstrels, before eating even more.
When I thought I was fit to burst, Francine suggested we find some wine, and I volunteered to procure it.
I weaved through the side street back to the agora, my skin pleasantly warm and my spirits high, recalling a stall with a wine merchant just ahead.
It had been a carefree day, filled with gratitude and laughter.
It was so different from my experience of these festivities as an Ekrissian. I felt alive, I felt part of the city.
Then something touched my elbow, and I knew it was different from every other jostle. I knew it was him before he spoke my name.
“Annie.”
I stopped, and then wished I hadn’t.
He was all-consuming in his appearance; dressed entirely in black with his hood covering his face in shadow, but not enough that I couldn’t see the glint of his mask or the penetrating study of those grey eyes.
Every mean word he had said hit me like a pail of cold water. I swallowed, and turned back to my goal. Wine. I was here for wine.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed, as he walked alongside me.
“We have a killer to find.”
His words were so simple. As if no time had passed, as if nothing had changed.
I kept my gaze right ahead as my skin tingled and I ground my jaw. “I left.”
“I noticed.”
I forced myself to look up at him, but I didn’t stop again. “I don’t want to speak to you.” He looked down at me as if I had just made a comment on the weather and nothing more. “Please leave.”
Then I set my eyes forward. It was all I could say. It was as firm as I knew how to be, as much as I could express without getting upset and embarrassing myself.
He kept pace with me, dodging past a group of laughing children and then emerging right in front of me. “Annie, I was too hard on you the other day.”
I stared at my shoes, focusing on not tripping. I could still see his own boots, polished and shining, as they reversed in front of me. I increased my speed, and he only matched it, walking backwards smoothly, waiting for me to reply.
Too hard on me? That was all he wanted to say? It wasn’t even an apology. Not truly.
Then, two men collided into his back and he rounded, barking some curse at one as I took the opportunity to duck around him. I was nearly to the end of the street; I could see the wine merchant in the distance. Good. I had gone the right way, at least.
Davian was at my side, walking beside me again. Once more, I ignored him.
He sighed. “I can’t coddle you. I can’t pretend like Ekris and Robar. But I do respect you. I want your help.”
A sharp intake of breath was my only reply, but I could see from my peripheral vision that his eyes had snapped to my mouth.
It took everything to keep my eyes forward, even as I could tell my focus wasn’t on the wine merchant but so firmly on him.
Even in trying to ignore him, he consumed everything.
But I said nothing.
I reached the wine merchant and joined the short queue.
Davian stopped beside me, as if we were queuing together, like the couple that joined the wait behind us. I clenched my hands into fists.
“Annie,” he said. “Talk to me.”
I shuddered as his voice dropped lower. Still, I kept my eyes on the merchant, and painted a smile when it was my turn.
He offered me the same blank spiel, and I chose a clay oenochoe at random.
Two silver, he said. Festival prices, he apologised with an unapologetic shrug.
I paid it with a wan expression, trying to forget I had been scammed out of two silver for a single cup of wine a week prior.
Davian was still at my side, and I had to move around him to walk back to my friends. This I did, keeping my eyes at his chest-level, which was also just my own eye-level.
He groaned as I stepped lightly away, my hands holding the jug tight to keep from shaking.
Davian touched my arm then, and I nearly dropped it. I stopped dead, wanting to scream at him, but instead saying absolutely nothing.
He whispered into my ear. “Please stop avoiding me. I don’t do well with it. Come to the House.”