14.8 Same Sky, Same Moon

General Summary

Day 165

Finally with the immediate danger behind us we can settle into the Harvest Festival. The sleepy morning fades into warmth, laughter, and bartering as the townsfolk wake up and join the festival.   The games are fun and familiar but somehow very human in their execution. Children are playing a game kicking around a ball, there’s a stage where people sign up and sing or play instruments. There’s a game of tug-of-war that ends with me, Alder, Camellia, and Rabiya being dragged into the mud by Bran, Hella, Dawn, and Nina. And an archery booth where an older man and his teenage daughter are shooting with an unusual bow.   It’s shorter than the longbows I’m used to and made of a curved horn. It’s very different from the bows I prefer but it’s still a bow, and I’m still an excellent shot. I’m always better off further away from an opponent! After the competition the man introduces himself as Debran and his daughter as Mel (“Melody,” she corrects him). Apparently he was one of the people that chased me out of the village last we were here, for which he apologizes. I laugh it off - the entire village has clearly shifted their opinion on me and I understand the forces that were at play last I was here. Moreover I ask if he would be interested in a trade of some kind for a bow made by his hand. On closer inspection I can see that they’re beautifully carved works of art and I’m ready to replace the simple longbow I’ve been carrying since I landed here. I’d be honoured to have one of his bows take its place.   He shrugs off this offer of a trade.   “A person only needs so much. More than you can carry just weighs you down,” he tells me. Apparently his father came here from across the sea and that’s who taught him to carve these. Yet another human who ended up here from so far away! There really is something special going on here…   Melody looks annoyed when her father expresses this disinterest in “things” and I nod at her. I’ll think of something. I bet that much like the knitted cloth I made earlier, I could make her a quiver that always volunteers an arrow when it’s needed.   As the competitions die down, the village turns to feasting and stories. Brinnon is a masterful storyteller - telling us all of the wars fought in distant lands. He weaves not only the battles and clashes but the leaders’ fears and hopes - how neither side was right or wrong. Every so often I see Belle nodding along or, sometimes, clearing her throat to send Brinnon back on the ‘right’ path of the story.   Through his stories I feel like I get a better glimpse into human warfare. These don’t sound like wars fought between people who could never see one another as brothers. These are wars fought over land, over perceptions of honour, and in some cases over women (willing and otherwise). Idly I wonder if I have a human reason to declare war on Sir Martin...but that’s neither here nor there.   Eating turns into dancing, which I watch with amusement. Hella is laughing and dancing with her friend and with boys who give her plenty of gifts, all of which get safely tucked into her pouch. She’s wearing a simple necklace with my emblem on it and gracefully refuses one hapless boy who tries to fasten another necklace around her neck. Bran has a steady stream of women following after him and he begins deflecting them to Alder who handles them gracefully until it turns to dancing. I’ve never seen such a graceful assassin so awkward!   I leave them to it and settle in at a table with Rabiya and a few of the village council. Tonight might be a party but I’ve had to do enough politics to know that this is a good opportunity. And when I’m offered a pipe of what seems to be a smoky hallucinogenic weed, I take a deep drag of it.   Their conversation is mundane at first - the lord in Ipth has been expanding their reach and may eventually expect them to pay a tax to him. A village closer to the city was effectively taken into a protection racket about 8 years ago. They worry that perhaps this lord may not look to expand Northward but maybe his son will. Human dynasties have a tendency to do things like that.   I can’t exactly tell them that the current Baron of Ipth is no danger at all to them so instead I tell them that my people will happily stand with them if they ever need to resist Ipth. One of them in particular, Nisset, is adamant that any problem faced by the village will be within it, not outside it. He seems terribly put off by the revelations about Hamman in the recent days, as befits a man with so many children and grandchildren.   I can feel that it’s a reach and the smoke is clouding my mind a bit but I propose it anyway: Why not just move?   And that unlocks yet another layer to the conversation. Nisset tells me that the spring after which the town is named is special. It’s purported to have healing properties but the truth is that it fades the memories that you don’t want to remember. You don’t forget, but it’s softer. People have come here on the wind seeking peace and peace is what they find here. He himself came from the other side of the ocean with pain in his heart and found a family here. He looks at me directly and tells me that Alder seems like someone he understands - someone who makes trouble go away. And if he ever needs to talk to someone about that...Nisset will be here. An assassin, perhaps? Long ago and far away in a different place - was this unassuming man an assassin?   Alder looks at me with some confusion when I mention this to him (as he slides into the bench with me). He seems distracted. All these women are apparently quite bold (and specific) in proposing things to him. I sling an arm around him and rest my head on his shoulder for a while.   The town square dies down even more as people retire to their homes, tipsy and warm with the happiness of the festival. In the flickering light of the campfires I take Alder’s hand and lead him in some elvish dancing. He still seems awkward and I don’t quite perceive why. Maybe still distracted or maybe dancing just isn’t something he’s done a lot of. I turn the dance into a game of kill-each-other-with-conjured-knives and the discomfort melts away from him.   And finally as even the embers of the bonfires die down and I steal away to the top of a hill with Rabiya and Dawn. The sky is clear and cloudless and both moons are nearly full, lighting up the surrounding leaves. With just the two of them here I recite a Carthian poem about the silver moon and we sit quietly, taking in the moonlight and music.   “I never thought about it before,” remarks Dawn, “That on the other side of the mountains we would see the same sky, same moon. Some things we all share,”