Sowilo’s Festival

I am a clown. Have I always been? Did I become over time? The answer won’t change anything.

    For a long time, though, all I wanted was to believe in people. As long as I cared, as I showed it, as long as I kept making them smile,.. I was convinced it would be enough.

    Somehow it worked for years. Maybe it would have lasted even longer if not for the pandemic.

    I always took time to visit my friends. In particular, there was a childhood friend with whom I used to share a meal every Saturday. Like it’s often the case, it was a habit we took on naturally, without noticing it first-hand.

    As the rain caught us one afternoon while we were outside, we took shelter at a nearby ramen shop. The following weeks happened to be rainy as well, and just like that we ended there each time, around a bowl of ramen. They made the best broth I’ve ever tasted, spicy and never failing to warm us up.

    But, when people began to avoid going outside, so did we.

    At the beginning, it didn’t change much, we still spent a lot of time on the phone.

    Or was I the only one to think so?

    We were friends for more than a decade. It was already more than half of the time I spent on Earth.

    Before I noticed it, I was the one calling him. This, until he stopped answering.

    The streets, devoid of people, became suffocating.

“Hello? Shinji-kun?”

    Feminine chuckles in the background were the first thing I heard. I wanted to ignore them, but it gave me a little twinge of sorrow.

“Yes?”

“It’s been a while, how are you?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“…”

“Hey, is everything okay? You weren’t answering, I was worried about you.”

“I’m doing w-”

“Who’s that?” The girl’s voice interrupted.

“Nobody.” He told her, hardly lowering his voice.

“Hey, that’s rude Shinji! Don’t talk to me like that, we’re friends!”

    A sigh was the first thing that answered me.

“Listen, can you stop calling me by my first name? That’s embarrassing.”

“Ehh-”

“What?”

“What?? But we’re-”

“Friends? Oh, please, we’re not kids any more.”

    It was the last time I heard the sound of his voice.

    My room fell silent, just like the streets. In a sense, the absence of sound was at least appeasing. I ended up getting accustomed to that loneliness. Luckily, I still had my keyboard. I kept writing. Sometimes watching anime. Sometimes getting a bowl of ramen on my own.

    When I found the resolve to talk back to my other friends, most of them simply told me they didn’t have time to spend with me, nor did they have the desire to.

    I spent years trying my best to be a good friend while it only took them a blink of an eye to undo everything.

    The pandemic was long behind me, but I kept wearing one of these white masks.

    It was senseless to spend time making efforts. Whatever I did, my story was written without me having any influence on it. All I could do was to keep pretending, knowing I was but a bystander of my own story. No more vain efforts. No more empty hopes.

    We all end up pretending, don’t we?

***

Staring at my reflection in one of the spherical crystals adorning the King’s table, I take a while to observe that silhouette. These short blond locks topped by two buns, these blue-green eyes.

    The Saintess.

“Is this my body? Is this truly my life? The end has already been written. Can I do more than enjoy the time remaining?”

    Once more, I am just an onlooker. Even if I wanted to change her fate…

    I sigh before taking furtive glances around me, only to notice that King Erlkœnig is busy chatting with other Daoine Sidhes, important enough to have a seat at his table. Laughter and bubbling chatter fill the air along with the crackling of the fire, torches rammed into the ground, tracing a spiral. Inside the latter, elven maidens spin, scarlet fabric floating along. Following their moves.

    Discreetly sinking down my seat, I take advantage of these distractions to sneak under the table.

“Damn it, this dress is too long for a proper escape.”

    Crawling as best I can despite the troublesome fabric, I carefully avoid the noble feet spread forward here and there.

    Once I reach the edge of the table, I put the tablecloth aside, displaying a smug smile as I already move away from the table. A last glance behind me to make sure they did not notice me, I st-

“Ouch-”

    A complaint escapes my lips as I bump into an unidentified obstacle. Turning my gaze back in front of me, I take sight of a pair of chestnut boots. Dang.

    Still leaning against my hands, I raise my head to catch sight of Tyffeon’s frowning figure, arms crossed.

“Heeeh, Tyffeon. What a pleasure to see you there. Pretty evening, isn’t it?”

“May I know what you are attempting to do?”

“Contemplating the majesty of Tir-nan-cnocc’s grass, of course.”

“Ughh…”

    After what seems to be enough time for him to internally sigh, Tyffeon reaches out his hand towards me. I blink at the gesture but take it, standing up.

“Thank you.

“Now return by the King’s side.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Look, it reminds me of these neverending family meals. I just want to go to a more secluded spot to enjoy the festival.” I shrug, my palms raised, turned to the sky. “Hey, don’t frown like this! I bet it was the first time you had a woman at your feet.”

    As much as he puts effort into avoiding to react, the way his brow twitches does not get unnoticed. Though Tyffeon soon turns away, glancing back at me.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Huh? You… uhh… don’t try to bring me back to the King?”

“You would escape once more.”

“True.”

    My, how did he guess?

    As we go around the central square of the village, I take a look at the red suns sewn upon numerous decorations, at the people following in pairs the rhythm of a whimsical flute.

“It’s a shame, for you, not having been summoned last Spring. Sowilo isn’t quite an important festival in our kingdom.”

“So each season has its festival?” I ask, avoiding to show how much I already know.

    At the same time I point a finger at the ramparts, and we begin to head towards them.

“Indeed. The seasons are the source of this world’s magic, so we owe them much. Depending of the season, different kinds of spirits influence the world. It’s only natural to show them our gratefulness. That said, according to the place, they don’t hold the same value. This way, our folk favours Lignum magic, associated with Spring. Since the season of your birth defines your magical abilities, it’s also at this time of the year that our women give birth.” He explains to me as we take a stone stair bordering Rathard’s walls. Tufts of grass topped by a flower grow here and there, where the stone offers rough spots.

“What happens if a child is born at another moment?”

    A silence.

“It doesn’t happen.” He claims in a fleeting ruthless tone.

    I hold his gaze. Of course, none of the Daoine Sidhes would like their child to be born with a magic that would get them despised.

“As for the other seasons,” he continues, “Ignis magic finds its source in Summer, Metallum in Autumn, Aqua in Winter. The fifth season is kind of different since it takes place at the end and beginning of the other seasons. Terra is the type of magic that resides in it.”

“I wish I could master magic as well.” I sigh in despair while we reach the top of the ramparts.

“The Saintesses aren’t born in our world, so magic can’t permeate them.”

    We sit down at the edge of the ramparts. From here, we have an impressive view over the festival, clearly seeing the spiral shape defined by the torches below.

“However, there’s another thing which can bring some sort of magic to someone. A benediction that is bestowed to any sentient being.”