Chapter 4 – Celebration
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Greetings from Felix to his friend Thoth,
You will be pleased to hear that I have arrived at Rashnu. I intend to remain here for a while more. I haven't seen the great city since before the rise of the Craglean Empire. To think that Rashnu's Kings would be the ones to conquer the Medes! Hard to believe really, though stranger things have happened. To the surprise of no one, the King has declared a lavish feast in celebration of his latest triumph. It's almost bizarre in my eyes, considering that only six months ago he was mired in the bloodiest civil war I've yet to see. It saddens me when I think of the part Titus played in it, though I suppose we must all stand by our friends when push comes to shove. Farewell.
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The bonfire roared. Childrens' laughter pealed through the air. Sunlight shone down on hundreds of Tolmin revelers. The village streets were thronged. The sounds of flutes and pipes floated through the air. At the heart of the feast was the Druid's hall; the large, circular structure, though tightly packed, held easily a hundred people within.
Titus stepped through the front door. The scent of roasting pork and hearty stew sank into his bones. The foods were mostly unfamiliar. The dancing was strange. Few of the songs were known to him. Nonetheless, the sights and sounds of merriment were as familiar to him as any he had seen since leaving home.
At the center of the druid's hall, Lavonius stood waving his hands and reciting a rough poem, regaling his listeners with the details of the night before. A crowd had gathered around him. Every member of it was dead silent.
Titus stepped into the group of onlookers, watching with folded arms as Lavonius chanted his poem. He told a tale of creeping horror, of a corpse-lined road into the forest, littered with death omens. Ravens crowed and black cats scurried across the intrepid heroes' path.
His voice rose as he described how the heroic Titus and his handsome bard fought through countless lesser demons as they strove to reach the great spider that haunted the Viridias Forest. Funny - Titus didn't remember Lavonius doing much fighting the night before.
The loremaster spoke in a hypnotic chant, his voice a baritone that carried to every listener's ear with ease. Titus was impressed at the man's poetry - he had known many poets among his people. Every Custos man was expected to compose his own epics, and it was not unknown for women to take up the artform themselves. Yet this outsider outstripped the best poets Titus had known among his clan. He almost felt shame that Lavonius was the one telling their tale, but he knew he couldn't stop the loremaster without making a scene.
The pale man's hands swooped wide as he described the fell beast that had terrorized the village for weeks. It was larger than a barn, its jaws dripping with searing hot venom. Its legs were razor blades sharper than any sword, stained in gore, that eviscerated a grizzly bear even as the intrepid heroes came upon it. The beast's roar inspired fear in the stoutest hearts, but the fearless Titus and his handsome companion stood firm in the face of it. The crowd cheered.
Everyone knew of the famous fire powers that the Custos used to slay monsters - but alas, the demon seemed immune! The Guardian launched massive blasts of flame into the beast, all to no avail!
The beast leapt atop the bard, pinning him to the ground! Oh no's and gasps issued from a dozen throats. All was lost!
Lavonius paused dramatically, his eyes dancing as he leaned forward. He reveled in the attention, drinking it in like so much water.
The tension piqued, and the storyteller's voice filled the hall once more. For it was then that the great hero revealed his cunning and strength! The beast was distracted, so he reached out with his mighty hands, grabbing ahold of its legs! With the strength of ten men, he hurled the beast into a tree!
More cheering. Lavonius waited for it to die down before he continued. The beast roared once more, and the mighty hero stood unfazed before it, his hair waving in the wind! Never had the demon faced a hero such as he!
Standing amidst the onlookers, Titus almost laughed aloud. How could there possibly be a heavy wind in the middle of the forest? Wouldn't the trees have blocked it? Why would he bother throwing the monster when it had its back turned? A huntsman with half a brain would just go for the kill.
Lavonius continued. In his epic poem, the beautiful bard leapt to his feet, and the pair assaulted about the beast in tandem. The bard distracted it, and Titus lashed out with his mighty fists! Valerian himself could not have struck with such great power!
Lavonius played the crowd with practiced ease. He always kept them on the edge of their seats. Sometimes his voice would sink to a whisper that somehow reached the very back of the crowd. Other times, it would rise to a mighty shout that somehow failed to hurt the ears. Titus had never witnessed a master storyteller at work, but he was forced to admit to himself that he was impressed.
Titus's clever stratagem had weakened the monster, he needed only to deliver the finishing blow! With a mighty warcry, Titus leapt a hundred feet into the air, and landed upon its back. The creature screeched and roared, its great fangs spewing acid all across the forest!
The loremaster's voice rose to a towering crescendo as he described the spider's final moments. The protagonist shouted something heroic, and buried his fists into its carapace. In a display of great cunning, Titus channeled fire beneath its skin. Gouts of flame twenty feet long shot from its eyes as it shrieked its last shriek! And so was slain the monster of the Veridias Forest!
Feet stamped, hands clapped, and voices hooted their approval. Even the stone-hearted Guardian was forced to clap politely. The Loremaster stood tall and proud before bowing humbly before his audience.
“Thank you, thank you!” Lavonius touched his heart,” truly, your praise means the world to me!” The thin man's gaze fell upon Titus,” but really, I'm not the one you should be praising! Look there!” A single pale finger pointed,” that is your hero!”
A new wave of cheering arose, this time focused on Titus. His shoulders crept ever so slightly upward, and he looked around without truly seeing anything. His cheeks turned red. Hands clapped him on the shoulder. People called him hero. Men twenty years his senior raised their drinks in his honour. He wanted to sink into the ground.
It was entirely unlike anything Titus had experienced before. They had certainly celebrated successful hunts back at the Keep, but it had always been with an air of expectations met. Every Custos was a warrior. Even the baker Hanno had been trained to fight when he was young. Killing monsters was expected, and there were no civilians.
This, however, was true adulation. Titus hated it. He plastered an awkward smile to his face and forced himself not to flee before it. Battle was easy. People were hard.
Then Titus's gaze shifted. The faces snapped back into focus. Suddenly, he understood. They weren't just cheering a successful hunt. Most of those eyes remained as sad as they had been when he arrived. This wasn't just some creature in the mountains - it had killed husbands and wives, fathers and mothers. It had left widows. It had left parents to grieve their dead children. These people weren't cheering for a hero - they were cheering for vengeance.
The Custos knew death intimately. Titus had first faced it when he was four. Uncle Caius left to hunt a demon, never to return. Caisus's body was recovered eventually, and the funeral pyre was matched by a great party - a celebration of the warrior's life and deeds. Death and life were intertwined, each was a call for mourning and rejoicing. It was normal.
These people, though, had never known death quite like he had. They had their Druid to protect them from disease. They had the Empire to protect them from foreigners. They had their walls to protect them from bandits and Faceless Men. When a man died at twenty, it was not seen as expected - it was a tragedy. These people were as alien to Titus as a lapdog is to a direwolf.
Lavonius walked up to him. The warmth in the loremaster's eyes contrasted with the chill of his arm as he wrapped it around Titus's shoulders. “You're a hero, now, Titus.”
“Aye.”
Lavonius led him out of the crowd and over to a surpisingly open corner of the Druid's roundhouse. A large rug was spread out across the ground, with bowls and platters of food arrayed upon it.
At one end of the carpet, Druid Rikua sat cross-legged alongside two others, a withered crone and a hard-looking man. Some unspoken rule ensured that a wide berth was given to the trio.
Titus took a mental note that the man and the druid were armed with the characteristically long swords their people were known for, in contrast to the simple knives that most of the village wore.
The druid met Lavonius's eyes," quite a tale that was, loremaster. Would you do me the honor of dining with us?”
“Of course, my lady.”
Lavonius and Titus sat among the trio. Rikua broke a loaf of flatbread before ladling stew into a pair of bowls that she handed to the two strangers.
As she did so, the crowd of listeners gradually funneled out of her huge roundhouse into the daylight, leaving roughly two dozen people spread across several other rugs throughout the roundhouse. Huge stewpots were set over blazing fires in the village green, and the rest of the villagers would doubtless gather around them for their own lunch.
“Titus Miloka Julianus, this is Afton son of Afton and Raelin daughter of Kegan, both of the line of Brennos.” Rikua gestured respectfully to each person in turn.
“Blessings of the Architect upon you both.”
The crone and the man nodded politely.
“A pretty story,” Afton son of Afton wore a skeptical look on his face.
“Indeed,” Titus said,” some of it's even true.”
They all chuckled.
Lavonius immediately clapped Titus on the shoulder,“ Oh, the boy's just being modest! I can assure you, I have never seen such a clever warrior in action. Seeing him in battle was like watching a painter at work!”
“High praise indeed,” Raelin daughter of Kegan said. Her ancient voice was the sound of a flute that had been knocked around a few too many times, but somehow still managed to play. ”By Tam, when I saw them carting the carcass out of the forest, I almost could not believe my eyes.”
“We sent a dozen good men, including a ranger, into those woods,” Afton's voice was gruff and unyielding as stone,” They never came back.” He leaned forward,” I've heard the stories. Hell, I even had a duel with a Guardian ten years back, knocked me on me arse. I've seen how you move. But those weren't some green boys what go down easy. Torin was a warchief the last time we raided up North, they was veterans all.”
Titus's eyes flashed. “Tell me, Afton son of Afton. Scypio's hunt for the Ritonan Eagle - have you heard of it?”
“Course I have. What of it?”
“How many veterans did the Eagle kill before Scypio came along?”
Afton shifted uncomfortably,” if the song be true, four score.”
“Aye, Afton. Four score. Nine of them were rangers. All were hunters. I doubt I need to recite the epic. But for the sake of argument, let's cut that number in half. Forty men were laid low by the eagle. And Scypio killed it by himself.” Titus leaned toward the older man, his voice turned hard,” my Tribe exists for a single reason. One. Are you doubting if I can do the one thing my people were made to do?”
“Easy, there. There's no call for anger, my boy.” Lavonius's whisper caught Titus off guard. Angry? He wasn't angry! He was never angry! Lavonius must have misunderstood him.
“Look, lad, I'm not calling either of you a liar!” Afton raised his hands in a placating gesture,” this whole situation is just a little odd, is all! We haven't lost so many people since our Tribe first settled these lands. With Cyrus's men so close, we rarely even have to defend ourselves. To lose so many so quick like that - Torin was my brother, ya see.”
Titus's cheeks flushed. Why was everyone acting like was angry? He hadn't even shouted! “I'm sorry you had to lose him,” Titus mumbled.
Lavonius suddenly interjected, loudly complementing Rikua on the food. Rikua thanked him for his kind words, insisting that her sister did most of the work. The bard and Raelin launched into a lively discussion about the virtues and vices of the young.
The conversation flowed onward, but Titus's mind remained on his exchange with Afton. He felt vaguely ashamed for some reason.
The feasting and celebrations continued well into the day. There were pastries and sweets, singing and dancing, games and ceremonies. Burnt offerings to the Architect were sent into the sky, and thanks were given to Him and the Weavers He used to work His will.
The wine began to flow.
Night had fallen by the time the games began. Torches and lanterns were lit. The men of the village competed to see who was the strongest or the fastest, though Rikua and a few other women joined in (much to Titus's surprise). The Darien Priesthood have infected the people of this land with their habit of allowing women to compete with men in the games. Although such things have never been to your liking, my good Librarian, I find myself rather partial to the custom.
Titus lost to Lavonius in the footrace, but beat him in javelin throwing. In the long jump, both of them lost to a skinny Tolmin man who looked too weak to stand, let alone leap forward over twenty-five feet.
Titus chose not to join in the sword-fighting, in keeping with the disdain for weapons he had inherited from his Tribe. Titus was surprised when Lavonius bested everyone with the sword - who knew the bard could fight! What surprised him even more was that only Druid Rikua presented a challenge to the loremaster - to think that a woman would be the best swordfighter in the village!
Then it came time for boxing. The usual drunken boasts flew through the air - 'I'll beat you with one hand behind my back!' and 'I'll knock you out with the first punch!'
One shout in particular was aimed directly at Titus. “Ah, you're nothing without that fancy armor of yours! I bet I could knock you into the dirt in five seconds flat!” The people around the boy fell silent.
At five foot ten, Titus had been average height back home, but nearly every man in this village stood taller than him. The one in front of Titus stood taller still - a giant of a man, all brawn and bluster. The giant's name was Brennis.
Titus met Brennis's challenge silently. He stood unphased before the huge man, his dead, grey eyes boring into the older man's proud brown ones. There was something about Titus's eyes - a certain coldness to them that spoke of death and a cold grave. Though Brennis stood head and shoulders taller than Titus, Brennis was the one to look away. I have yet to encounter the mortal who can meet Titus's gaze without flinching. Even I have struggled to do so on occasion.
“Bah! One punch! That's all it'll take!” Brennis beat his chest, the loud thumping meant to make up for the slump that had entered his shoulders and the fear creeping into his eyes. “I'll knock you out in one punch!”
There were few rules. No takedowns or throws, no eye-gouging, no running away, and no kicking.
A rough ring was scratched into the dirt. The combatants stood at either end of it, with Druid Rikua officiating. The whole village stood around the ring, rows, and rows of people striving to see Titus and the towering Tolmin man.
Bets were made. Brennis continued boasting. Titus stood silently in his corner, dead eyes watching his opponent. A predator studying his prey.
A rag was thrown into the ring. The fight began. People all around the ring shouted and cheered. Most thought Titus would get flattened. All it would take was one punch, after all - they just had to look at how large Brennis was, and they knew the outcome before the fight ever started.
Titus raised his fists, one hand closely guarding his chin while the other was raised in front of him. Brennis shuffled toward the smaller man, and Titus danced around him on the balls of his feet.
Brennis attacked. First Titus slipped a straight jab, then deflected a powerful rear-handed cross. More shouting. Jeering. Cheering.
Another jab, another cross. Now a hook. Titus slipped and pulled, bobbed and weaved, parried and dodged. He was untouchable.
“Stand and fight you coward!” Brennis roared.
Titus smirked. Life returned to his eyes.
It looked like a match of speed versus power. In the minds of the onlookers, it was only a matter of time until Brennis landed a blow and Titus went down. Nobody beat Brennis in boxing. He was just too big, and altogether too tough. It would take a rhinoceros to knock Brennis down.
Brennis shot a powerful fist forward. Once again, Titus slipped aside - but this time, he pivoted and launched a counterstrike hurtling back. Titus's fist crashed into his foe's temple. Brennis's legs went slack for an instant, and he stumbled backward. The giant barely kept his feet under him.
An instant of doubt flashed across Brennis's face. Then he snarled and shook himself like a great bear. “Stop fucking dancing and fight me!”
Titus reached his hand out and beckoned Brennis onward,” maybe you should learn how to throw a punch.”
Brennis growled and dove into the fray once more, his fists hurtling through the air. First one titanic punch, then another crashed toward the smaller man. Titus slipped the first, then pulled his head back as the second stopped a hair's breadth in front of his nose.
In the split second it took Brennis to pull his fist back, Titus launched himself forward with his legs. Every ounce of Titus's weight was behind his fist as it snapped forward. The first punch impacted Brennis's jaw, stunning him long enough for the second to crash into his nose. With a sickening crack, Brennis's nose shattered and a jet of blood shot out of it. In the same instant, Titus's hips twisted and a third punch crashed into Brennis's jaw, a hammerblow that sent the giant crashing down.
For an instant, the ring was silent. Rikua looked at her fallen cousin with eyes round as saucers. Without a word, she walked over, grabbed Titus's hand, and raised it overhead. Cheers and hoots were torn from a hundred throats at once.
Nobody could believe it! How could this little man have beaten mighty Brennis!? He didn't even use magic! Their voices were deafening.
Just outside of the ring, several sullen-looking men handed Lavonius bits of silver jewelry and a few coins. One man even unbelted a sword and handed it over.
The crowd charged into the ring, clapping Titus on the back and begging him to tell them how he did it. What was his secret technique? How was he so strong? Was he the son of Calestros? Had he inherited his father's power? Dozens of questions, one chasing after the other, each coming too rapidly for Titus to possibly answer them.
Brennis groaned and clutched at the blood gushing from his nose. Rikua was quickly at this side, helping him stem the bleeding. She sat him up, and, with a sickening crunch, re-set his broken nose.
Titus was slightly disappointed; he had expected some kind of incantation and a healing spell from the woman. Perhaps the tales of druidic magic were exaggerated.
Suddenly, Brennis struggled to his feet. “THAT BASTARD CHEATED! Check his hands!” The giant staggered forward,” he's holding weights in his hands, he cheated!”
The crowd fell silent, and stepped back from the fighters. Titus raised his hands, palms outward for all to see. Empty.
Several people spat in the dirt, hoping to ward off the bad luck Brennis had brought onto them.
“Man up, Brennis! You lost!”
“No, he cheated! No way he punched that hard, look at him!” Brennis snarled, his teeth stained with blood,” He must have hidden the weights, just look around, I know they're here somewhere!”
“Shut up!”
“You're just mad you finally lost, ya bastard!”
Rikua pulled the ranting Brennis away, nudging him through the crowd while he ranted and raved. She shot an apologetic look at Titus as they went.
Lavonius was notably absent, having disappeared almost immediately upon collecting his winnings. Titus assumed one of the local women had pulled him off to continue the revelry in private. It would have been impossible to miss the admiring eyes that followed the loremaster's handsome form wherever he went.
The games continued. Nobody wanted to box with Titus after that, though there were several more matches between others. Most of them seemed to end when one person or the other was knocked to the ground, though one of the matches ended because Rikua decided a fighters was too bloody to keep going.
Wrestling matches capped the night off. Titus was decidedly less competent a wrestler than he was a boxer, though he still proved the second best of the lot. One of the Tolmin men, taller than Titus but far smaller than the giant Brennis, claimed the victory in wrestling.
So went the games.
Even after the games ended, there was more drinking. People broke off in their ones and twos. Children were sent home while their elders gathered round fires to tell stories.
The loremaster returned, looking far heartier than he had before his sudden disappearance. Once more, his smooth voice captivated onlookers; this time, he chose the tale of Afton son of Keir, the great Tolmin King who had defended Tolmepolis from the Vampire Army.
Titus also saw Lorna for the first time since returning from the hunt. The young woman looked strangely pale and sickly, though she had been quite hale the day before. How odd.
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