My sleep was fitful, dreadful even; a nightmare of being alone, in pain, and lost somewhere long abandoned.

The terrible images slowly fade from my mind as I dance on the edge of wakefulness. The world is soft... like sheep’s wool or… no, more like a cloud. Light, insubstantial and drifting.

The sounds of activity outside wake me from my slumber and I lay in my bed, sun streaming through the curtains. For a moment I consider rolling back over and returning to sleep, but such a thing would be unbecoming for a man of my position.

Instead, I count upwards from one rolling out of bed and onto my feet just before I reach ten and stretching my arms out and yawning. The aches in my bones make it apparent that a storm will be coming soon… or perhaps simply that I am growing old.

It takes a few moments to shake the grogginess from my mind, but it always helps to give thanks; turning to the carved icon of Ikenia in the corner of the room, I bow my head.

“I give thanks to you goddess; for the bright sun, the strong rain, the black soil, and the myriad fruits they make. I wake this day to go out and do good in your name.”

Those simple words always fill me with new vigor, renewed through faith I set about properly beginning my morning. Within fifteen minutes I am dressed in my robes, linen from the flax grown in our fields.

Leaving my chambers in the priory to enter the chapel proper, I see the younger clergy are already long since awake and preparing the morning meal for all; they woke with the early rays of sun to begin this work. The hunters went out even earlier than them to seek game, leaving in the crisp quiet of predawn with bows and swords to take down their most deadly quarry.

I am allotted the privilege of sleeping late by my age and position, though I do dislike how easily it comes to me these days… such things are however to be expected after my 112th year in this life.

This is the way things have been since we settled here and successfully built a home in a place where none would harm us; dreadful memories of the time before spring up in my mind but I put them away, they have no place here.

Breakfast however always has a place in my mind and the smell from the simmering pots and turning spits is enough to make one weak. Of course I am noticed by young Alma before I speak, good child that she is she comes to help me to a seat. 

“Ah, good morning Prior Jibal.”

“And a good morning to you Alma, what pray tell is the culinary masterpiece you’ve prepared for us today?”

“Porridge with roasted pork, pickled garlic, fresh greens, soft cooked egg and crushed peanuts for topping and a coal roasted potato for each today Prior.”

A veritable feast, a hog slaughtered in early spring is a rare thing only ever done in the direst of needs or the greatest of celebrations.

“Oh my, five accompaniments and fresh pork no less, how extravagant! What could the occasion be?”

“Prior… have you forgotten? Today is the [Ceremony of Affirmation], it happens every year in the early spring... are you feeling alright?”

“Ahhh, yes yes...“ I wave my hand in a placating manner and stifle a chuckle.

Of course I’m merely playing senile, but it entertains me to see them fret; mischievous behavior is a vice of mine I’ve never been able to dismiss. I am not often given many chances for diversion in my condition, so I take what fun I can get.

My body was strong when I acted in the role of a [Farmer] and [Hunter], but now that spiritual pursuits and the sacred arts have drawn me in as [High Priest of Ikenia], the feebleness of age is beginning to take root.

The bell in the high tower rings, announcing the food is ready and a great many of the people filter into the atrium from outside, sitting on benches and at tables or merely standing together when all the seats are filled.

Food is always made available three times a day here in the chapel for any who need it, though many choose to prepare their own at home; the turnout is much greater than usual, but with good reason on this most auspicious day. 

Cheerful conversation fills the air as all gathered work together to distribute the morning meal. Boys and girls of age gathered here are eager to become proper men and women, though at the moment perhaps more eager to eat at the moment.

I of course would love to begin eating now too… but first I am called upon to speak, a necessity of my position and the significance of the day.

“Today is a day of great import, not just for those of you about to receive the Blessings of Ikennia and a Class by which your first steps into adulthood will be defined… but for all of us. I beseech you all to remember the importance of the young, whose time is spring, their blooming will herald the fruits by which we are all sustained.

It may be easy for us to forget where we came from, the suffering of our forebears at the hands of those who would cast us down and have us submit; but we cannot and we will not forget.

It is held in our tradition that the first portion always goes to the eldest and youngest to ensure they have enough, a tradition that has not been necessary for nearly two decades now, but one we hold to in memory of harder times.

Young ones, work hard to support the life we have built, to learn our ways and workings; elders give them the benefit of your wisdom and gentle correction that they may grow up strong and kind.

With these words said… let us eat!”

The end of my speech is heralded with cheers and a bowl is pressed into my hands, ceramic warmed through by the rich porridge and mouthwatering pile of flavorants heaped atop; though I fear the cheering is more in favor of breakfast than my own meager words.

I am not offended by this though, I can plainly see why.

The food offered today is all perhaps a bit too heavy for a sedentary man like myself, but welcome fare for the many who work the fields, forage the wilds, and hunt the beasts beyond the safety of our island home.

The pork is tender and juicy with a delicious char and a glaze of honey and spice, each bowl comes with three slices as thick as a finger and each slice has a band of plump fat just as wide. 

The eggs gathered fresh from the foul have been simmered to a soft firmness in basins of water at the edge of the fire and their yolks spread like sunlight over the brown porridge; they come two to each bowl

The pickled garlic adds a tangy bite alongside the sweetness of the fresh spring greens wilted in a pan over the fire in the drippings of the pork, these are served in a heaping pile and their juices mingle into a sauce like no other.

Last, but not least, the humble peanut; when boiled in the shell in salted water it brings a delightful earthy note and a welcome crunchy texture to the soft porridge of boiled flax seed.

The porridge is a masterpiece on par with any work of art… but my true love lies elsewhere; the secret of our village’s success.

The humble potato; skin crisped by the coals with a kiss of bitterness parts to reveal an interior that is white, soft, and fluffy. 

When topped with a pat of goat’s butter and a sprinkling of chopped herbs, it is without comparison. In fact, I think I shall never tire of potatoes, no matter how many I eat; even if they should be the only thing I eat from now until the end of my life.

Eating this amazing meal I cannot help but reflect, most of the village was not alive when we first journeyed here… but I and a select few others were.

Thirty years ago when we first escaped the dogs of the inquisition and the thumb of the kingdom they prowled, we lost a great many of our number to hunger. 

Even before then with land stretching as far as the eye could see planted with wheat or barley, with herds of cattle and sheep, with all of these things we starved.

We were serfs, barely more than slaves.

Our lords would take their tax in grain or gold and, gold being rare, the tax was always paid in grain. What remained was never enough.

We prayed at the church of Usvalen to be given relief, a bigger yield, a lower tax, a softer hearted lord but our prayers went unanswered; it was only when the wandering priest of an unknown goddess came to bless our farms and fields that our hunger was sated.

The wheat grew so fat as to bend it’s stalk and the cows gave milk richer than cream.

He wanted no payment and refused when offered, instead simply asking to rest and speak to us. He told us of a goddess who was kind and loving, who’s sphere was the earth and plow rather than the bloodied blade.

He went to many nearby villages and did the same and word spread quickly, ‘The goddess Ikenia cares for you’.

Many of us believed but some were less grateful and hoping for reward went to the churchmen and told them of the infidelity. The inquisition came with fire and steel to purge us heretics and did so without remorse.

We fled with what we could carry, chased into the Ficklewood, and just like that the hunger returned with swords at our backs as well.

They must have expected we’d die to monsters or hunger but Ikenia is a kind goddess who provides.

Her greatest gift to us by far was the humble potato; the strange misshaped root with leaves like nightshade was all but unknown to us, but it offered a salvation from hunger growing heartily and swiftly into a full crop from a small stock of seed.

We found them through Ikenia’s guidance, growing in small patches amongst ruins older than any of us could have known. With that discovery our worries of starvation were put to rest.

More than just saving us, I believe the potato could save even more from starvation… since beginning trade with a few of the villages outside of the wood in secret, we’ve done our best to spread the word.

Now, even if the grain is taken by tyrants, they might not starve.

The potato is a symbol of our freedom and a chance at it for many others; this is why I will never grow tired of eating them.

“Elder Jibal? Are you alright?”

The voice of a young boy shakes me out of my reminiscence, bringing me back to the joyous moment at hand.

It seems I’ve gotten lost in thought again, it’s best not to worry him.

“Of course Bakai, simply remembering the day of my own [Ceremony of Affirmation], it’s a very important day you know.”

“Wooow, you can remember that far back?”

A few of the other elders around me stifle laughter at the comment, but I simply can’t manage to keep decorum.

“Ahahah, yes, yes I can… though it was indeed a long time ago.”

After hastily consuming breakfast and enjoying a hot drink of mint and ginger to aid in digestion, I set about doing my part for the ceremony. Behind the statue of our goddess is the entrance to the sacred sepulcher, where the greatest and most treasured of our possessions sleeps when not in use.

With practiced motion I retrieve my holy symbol and slot it into position, a key for opening the hidden chamber - the mechanism clicks and the sound of stone grinding against stone driven by arcane machinery precedes the opening of a stairwell lit by the glow of spiraling carvings in the stone.

“Oh how dramatic… I suppose it is a tradition but I did tell Savelle a simple lock would do… no one in the village would think to take it anyhow when they can use it whenever they like.”

Even if I say so, the object itself commands reverence simply by existing - the key to unlocking the powers of heroes, the key to changing one’s fate; no matter how many times I see the [Legend Stone] I am left in awe.

With this, the younger ones will be able to take up the sword to defend us… no, to defend themselves.

With anticipation I lift the slab and carry it up the stairs, today is a new beginning and with this rite our village will flourish.

The world stops and twists in strange ways. I break into two, not physically but mentally.

The ‘me’ standing there and the ‘me’ watching the moment frozen in time.

I look up at myself and begin to speak.

“But all of this already happened didn’t it? We didn’t flourish, we didn’t survive, did we Amber?”

A bloody sucking wound opens in my- no, his chest… his skin bloats and rots before sloughing off to reveal a familiar skeleton, but he still keeps talking.

“It’s okay, we’ve accepted this, but you still draw breath.”

“You’ve seen the ruins, Amber, you’ve seen our bones.”

“Survive for us. Survive in our stead.”

“Find the [Legend Stone] and carry our will.”

"Now... it is time for you to wake up."