Book 2 Ch 30: Revelry

The hidden village treated them to a feast and a celebration that night. They lit a bonfire at the foot of Bruntus’s statue and threw plants on it that created green and purple smoke. They started to barbecue what smelled like pork very shortly after they’d finished their discussion with Absalom and multiple men and women made sure to turn the meat carefully, letting it cook slowly and absorb as much of the smoky flavor of the fire as possible. The god of diligence’s people favoring bar-be-cue wasn’t something he could say that he expected, but it made perfect sense.

Michael took some time to heal anyone who was injured, but he found that everyone who had been injured farming, or herding, had had their wounds well cleaned and cared for and their breaks already reset. He was speeding the process of healing along, but he was almost certain that all of them would’ve made a full recovery anyway.

Pyotr occupied himself by learning a dance that a number of the villagers were engaging in as they waited for the food to be completed. Michael was impressed, as he always was, with how graceful the man could be. The dance was complex, requiring six people with a number of partner alterations, step changes, and moving through one another’s space. Pyotr only had to watch it a few times before making an attempt, and while there was a minor hiccup here and there, he was soon adding in his own little flourishes, leaps, and steps, putting his own twist on everything while still maintaining the pace and movements needed for the others to be able to continue the dance. He was just as focused on improving their coordination with one another as he was on adding his own steps.

Michael avoided the dance, and instead found himself drawn to sitting at the table with the Priest and a few of the other more wizened members of the village.

“How old were you before you came to this world?” asked Dina, an older woman with short cut gray hair and small black eyes.

“I was in my sixties,” he said, smiling as he watched Pyotr somehow figure out a way to be part of two separate groups of dancers at the same time.

“Practically a sage,” said Thazar, a small bald man with piercing blue eyes and eyebrows thick enough to hide an ambush in.

“I had plenty of life left to live, but I was definitely feeling distinctively ‘old’ even before I got cancer. I don’t think I was able to stand up without grunting, or wake up without feeling sore somewhere the next day.”

The woman chuckled. “Sounds like you your whole life, Absalom,” she said, smiling at the priest.

He grunted.

Michael had a sip of his tea. “You all don’t seem to be as… angry at takers as most other people I’ve met.”

“The western Humelands have always been more prejudiced against them then those in the East,” said Absalom. “Much of our history was lost during the cataclysm, but much of the oral traditions here have more mentions of heroic takers mixed in with the tales of villains. It’s not all like that in the East of course. In Burndan they still leave them to the elements to let the world choose whether they should live or die, but to them that is kinder than what Svict does even though the result is the same. Svict’s may even be kinder.”

Michael’s mind drifted to the large stone dyed red that he’d seen in the Svict village all those months ago. It was hard to imagine that as a kindness, but compared to being left to the elements for a slow death, perhaps the swiftness of it was a mercy.

“Swandia in particular seems to stand out. Letting the parents choose seems a good… compromise compared to some of the other choices.”

“They are not the only ones who do this, but they have been doing it from the beginning. We had a King a long time ago who let his wife decide what would happen to their newborn son. He wanted to ensure other parents had the same choice. We believe strongly in family here.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The food was done shortly after and Pyotr gestured for him to come and sit next to him. Michael grabbed a wooden plate covered in smoking meat. His mouth had been watering for the last several hours as the smell of it had covered the entire village. He went and sat next to Pyotr who was covered in sweat, but smiling ear to ear.

“I had forgotten how good it was to dance. Battle is similar in some ways, but your partners tend to die more often.”

Michael chuckled as he shoveled more meat into his mouth. It was tender and sweet with an underlying smokiness that ended each bite perfectly. He washed it down with some kind of liquor he was unsure of the origin of, and very quickly he started to feel the mix of caffeine and alcohol mix in a very odd way. He wound up eating and drinking everything available to him within only a few minutes.