Blessing the Harvest

Liel stood in a golden field of waving grains; her hair was ruffled by the wind as she drew her blade. Hundreds of people had gathered around her at the edge of the field, watching her with adamant and eager eyes.

When she had awoken the next morning, she had met with one of the Elders of Estelle, the one responsible for sending the commission. This Elder was now joined with many, standing at her right as she began the ritual. Beside them, a man with scruffy black hair intermingled with grey stared down at Liel with his remaining eye, the other covered with a black eyepatch.

Liel ignored the multitude of gazes upon her, the calming rune on the side of her face swirling with a luminescent silver glow, easing her troubles.

She held the blade in two hands, staring at the dancing grain in the fields as she drew it along her palm, spilling the blood of her flesh onto the ground.

As a servant of the Deities, a Paladin would act as a conduit between the worlds and the Deities. Only through them could a Deity act.

“He who sprouted from the soil, the manifestation of ordinances, the Weaver of Worlds…” Liel started her first prayer by tying the harvest ritual to the Deity who had conjured the Worlds held up by the Tree, the creator, one of life and of growth. “Lord Lastus, we beseech you, offer witness. Let this ritual be done in your name...”

If the ritual reached him, it was sure that the harvest would be plentiful. Lastus was the creator of all worlds, and the beacon of all budding life. Such a ritual was meant to be offered to him.

As she spoke, all those that had gathered around her placed their hands on their chests, bowing their heads in reverence. This was the extent of the will of Gods, to be endowed in all men so equally.

“By the light that guides and the strength that shields, may this harvest be guarded from harm. No pest shall feast, no blight shall spread, for these fields are under divine protection.”

Liel reached down, grasping at a handful of the grains before her. The wound on her palm bleed into the golden grain, turning the stems a bright crimson colour. Then, she opened her palm, allowing the wind to carry the same grains far into the field, so that they may carry her with them.

“From Eddhet we reap, from her bounty we feed. May this harvest be plentiful, may every grain bring life. As the sun rises and sets, so shall this land be fruitful.”

After this line, she dragged her palm along the flat length of her blade, coating its freshly-polished surface in a thick layer of red.

“May Eddhet’s soil remain strong, the waters pure, and the sun warm upon these fields. By your divine will and our faithful hands, let this harvest thrive. Lord, I beg of you.”

Without hesitation, she reached high into the sky, and then drove her sword into the soil with all of her might. It sunk deep within, and as soon as she had done so, all eyes around her opened, gazing upon the field of grains. Gradually, the sky seemed to brighten, clouds dissipating high above, and an aqueous golden glow spread across the field, enveloping the crop.

Despite the chill of the air, there was warmth, and despite the sun overhead, the town of Estelle seemed even brighter in that moment. The same eyes that had stared with reverence were now filled with excitement and awe, watching as the golden glow wisped about the field, disappearing into the wind just as soon as it had appeared.

Of course, to Liel, this wasn’t such an exciting sight. She had performed such rituals a dozen times over, even more so in theory. The lines she recited had been burnt into the forefront of her mind over a hundred hours of repetition, and not even the pain in the palm of her hand was anything new.

Placing a hand against her chest and bowing her head, she offered a silent prayer to her own Lord. “The Blind Throne, The Watcher of Light, the Inevitability and the Martyr, please watch over me…”

Liel then bandaged her hand, wiping the blood off of her blade before sheathing it. She let out a sigh, relieved that it was over, so that she might retire to the inn and sleep once more. However, before she could adjourn without notice, the man with scruffy black hair and an eyepatch stepped forward, bowing his head slightly as he walked.

“My Lady, the way you performed the ritual with such grace, it was enlightening. Of course, I’ve seen many such rituals performed in Estelle throughout my lifetime, but you were able to do it so flawlessly, and yet still seem so young in years. If it pleases you, might I know your name?”

Liel glanced at the man through the corner of her eye, keeping a still expression. “It’s customary to offer your own name before asking for another’s, isn’t it?”

The man’s expression relaxed significantly, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Ah, you sound just like Sir Sif. He must still be spewing his endless wisdom in the Seminary, then?”

Liel’s eyes widened slightly, her seriousness dissipating. “Ah, my name is Liel. Liel de Astalette.” She bowed slightly as she spoke, sincerely introducing herself to the man. If he was someone that knew her Master well enough to call him ‘Sir’ rather than ‘Meister’, then he was definitely someone that she should offer her respects to.

“Ah, an Astalette. You’re quite far from home, aren’t you? My name is Calligan. I’m the Chieftain of this small town. In truth, I really should be called a ‘mayor’, but since the Duke of the South declared our village a town, I haven’t given myself the opportunity to get used to it… I hope you’ll oblige me in this regard.” The Chieftain’s smile was warm, and although she had the urge to hide herself away in the room of the inn as soon as possible, she didn’t mind staying beside him for a bit longer.

“Sir, do you truly know Meister Sif?”

Chieftain Calligan nodded his head, grinning. “Yes, Sir Sif spent many years here when training with Master Lautrec. Of course, an old man like Master Lautrec has long become bones under the field’s soil, and I’m sure Sir Sif has long forgotten his face by now, but he was quite the honourable man. I was only a boy at the time, and Sir Sif barely twenty, yet still I was offered a great impression of his sword skill in the time he spent here. More than that, Sir Sif had a great obsession with wisdom and information. I couldn’t believe that a Paladin like him would choose to serve anyone other than Lord Chimes.”

“Meister Sif doesn’t serve Lord Chimes?” This truly puzzled Liel. Of course, she had always assumed that it was the case that he was a servant of the Deity of Knowledge and Wisdom, so she had never thought to ask him. But in truth, it seemed it was always the case that Meister Sif was exactly like Liel, someone who loved knowledge, but chose to serve someone not obsessed with the pursuit of it. This caused Liel to laugh, the Chieftain unaware of her thoughts. “Ah, sorry Sir. I had assumed he was a servant of Lord Chimes. That’s quite a shocking declaration to me.”

“No, no. It was shocking to me as well. To think a man like that would choose to be a servant of Lord Leter, of all Gods…”

“The Sacrificial Pawn?” Liel’s eyes narrowed. ‘The God of sacrifice, the abandonment of one’s own life, a courage that is necessary to give one’s life for a greater cause? They say his own body rots, because his body does not matter, only his everlasting will… was Meister Sif always this kind of person? Is that why the Paladin’s Templar made him a Meister? So that he might give his life for a greater cause, the teaching of the scholars? How interesting…’

Chieftain Calligan’s gaze moved downwards, spotting a wisp of silver clinging to his leg. A small girl with stark-black hair intermingled with white had clung to his leg, staring up at him with stormy eyes. It was the young girl Liel had met the night previous, Isabelle.

“Oh, little one. How have you been in recent days?” The Chieftain looked down at the beaming expression of the small girl, smiling as he rustled through the interior of his coat, procuring a familiar shoddy-looking doll from his pocket. He handed this doll of straw and harsh cloth, black button eyes and a patchwork smile to Isabelle. She accepted it with bright eyes, the small doll taking up the whole of her tiny palms. “Run along to your mother now.”

The two watched as this girl tried desperately to return to her mother, Elienoire, in the distance with her two short legs. ‘So, this is where the girl gets the dolls. I wonder why Ms. Elienoire doesn’t know of this? Little Isabelle seems quite silent, so maybe she doesn’t tell her mother of such things?’

Calligan turned back towards Liel, placing a hand on her shoulder, which caused Liel to shiver slightly, drawing her attention.

“You should enjoy the Hallflower Festival, my Lady. Treat it as one of the perks of working so hard to help us out. All the villagers-“ Chieftain Calligan hesitated in his words, clearing his throat before correction himself, “all the townspeople have spent the entire morning preparing wondrous delicacies. It would be a shame to adjourn before trying a few of them, wouldn’t it?”

As soon as Chieftain Calligan spoke of food, Liel’s stomach began to rumble. She let out a sigh, bowing her head in defeat. “No, Sir, you’re quite right.”

‘I’m out of energy… I can’t handle people anymore. Maybe I can just steal the food and escape into the darkness…’

Soon after Liel and the Chieftain had said their goodbyes, he saw a familiar face walk up to the scruffy man, the lazy guard she had met the night prior. ‘Ah, right… as the Chieftain, he should know all the guards. I wonder how much he knows about this guard.’ Her lips curled up, humoured. ‘Does he know about this lazy guard’s lack of diligence?’

As soon as the harvest had ended, the Hallflower festival began. The hundreds that had gathered had begun to dance and converse at the edge of the town, long wooden tables set with various dishes and delicacies, and Bards strumming their instruments to a swaying rhythm. Of the many Bards that made up the line, one in particular caught her attention.

The Bard had a head of pitch-black curly hair, and irises as red as blood, holding a lyre between his slender hands. He had a stern expression, and the sort of face that would make one take a second look before moving on with their day. This is exactly what Liel did, but her purposes were far more introspective. She eyed this man suspiciously until he noticed her staring, nodding at her in return before returning to his music.

‘Something about him seems familiar… I should keep an eye on him until I leave.’

Just as she turned her head, she met once more with the woman that resembled a wolf, her daughter, the bird, held tightly in her arms.

“My Lady, are you enjoying the festival?” The wolf’s smile was bright, almost in a way that Liel felt her exhaustion rejuvenated.

Liel nodded her head. “Yes, it’s quite a… lively atmosphere. We don’t have such celebrations at the Seminary, so it’s not exactly something I’m used to.”

Elienoire set Isabelle down beside her, reaching out her hand. “Then, since it’s your first time, would you care to dance with me?”

Liel’s face reddened, her eyes filling with embarrassment. This wasn’t of a lack of knowledge or some sort of anxiety, but because she felt like she couldn’t refuse the woman, for some odd reason. She reached out her own hand, accepting Elienoire’s, who pulled her in closer, grasping at Liel’s hip. The hardened Paladin let out a yelp, staring straight into Elienoire’s eyes.

“You’re tall and strong, aren’t you? Dance like a man for me, Darling.” Elienoire smirked as she began to sway, hand-in-hand with Liel.

Of course, this wasn’t an unmeetable proposition. Liel had taken several dance classes in the Seminary, and so she definitely knew the steps. Women at the seminary who took such lessons were often taught the male dancing role to supplement the distinct lack of men who attended the formal dancing lectures. Liel was such a woman.

She let out a sigh, the rune on her cheek swirling with an illusory silver glow as she leaned forward, wrapping her bandaged hand around Elienoire’s waist. “Very well, Miss.” This caused Elienoire’s face to flush, but she kept her confident grin about her.

The two began to sway to the rhythm of the music, little Isabelle dancing with her new doll in her hands beside them, a beaming smile on her face.

“Miss, won’t your husband be jealous, seeing us dancing like this?”

Elienoire smiled in an embarrassed fashion.

“Husband? What husband?”

‘No Husband? Is little Isabelle’s father deceased? Or is he one of those people that have gone ‘missing’ recently? No, if that were the case, Elienoire wouldn’t speak on the topic so lightly. Is it the case that little Isabelle’s father is someone that Elienoire never married, and so he should remain an unspoken figure? How interesting…’

As Liel’s mind raced with her inane and endless logic, her vision began to dim, darkness slowly seeping to the center of her fading gaze. Her grasp on Elienoire’s waist relaxed, and before long, her knees buckled underneath her, suddenly falling to the ground unconscious.