Weyland's Zenith

The beginning of zenith watch saw Sari trimming the vines off the north face of her house, shears clicking away as her father pulled them off the building. Mother stripped the leaves and piled them in baskets then stretched the vines on a rack to dry. She was hanging the latest batch of plants on the rack when she stopped suddenly and said, “You’re awake!”

“In theory, at least,” Trick said, trudging around the corner of the house looking very poorly rested, truth be told. “Still, I appreciate your looking after me, first healer.”

“In this house I’m just Tasha,” she replied, finishing with her vines and dusting her hands off. “Are you still hurting anywhere?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Tasha said, stepping forward and, taking him by the chin, turned his face first one way, then the other as she scrutinized his face. “Well, you don’t have any signs of a hit to the head anymore. Did you have trouble sleeping?”

“A little.”

“It’s not bad to be up and moving about but don’t overdo it.” She planted one hand on her hip and drummed the fingers of her other on her forearm. “If you feel nauseous, be sure to sit down and rest.”

“Sure thing.” Trick looked over the garden work and raised an eyebrow. “What are you all up to?”

“Harvesting the spanaki vines,” Sari said, setting her shears aside. “What does it look like?”

He studied the drying rack, saying, “I didn’t realize you wove your baskets out of these vines. And you can eat them? That’s pretty impressive for a vine you can grow on your house. Is that what the zenith festival is about? Harvest time?”

“That’s a part of it, although zenith is not the only harvest time for food or lumi,” Cethvik said. He gestured to Sari. “Why don’t you take him down to the armillary and show him the festival grounds? He might understand it better there.”

“But be careful,” Tasha added. “He mustn’t strain himself or he could set back all the recovery he’s done so far.”

“I’ll be fine,” Trick said.

“But I’ll still keep an eye on him,” Sari added, getting to her feet and brushing her skirts off.

They left the house and started down the gently spiraling road that led to the bottom of Harbek Valley. As they walked she watched Trick out of the corner of her eyes. Mother had good reason to worry that he wasn’t feeling well, the sharp look that so often appeared in his eyes when he looked about was missing. He didn’t seem to be paying as much attention to his surroundings as usual. Something was off with him.

“Did you get back from the expedition okay?” Trick asked once the silence stretched long.

“Yes.”

He perked up a bit on hearing that. “That’s good.”

They rounded another corner and found themselves looking down the slope into the bottom of the valley where the bronze armillary gleamed gently in the pale topaz lumi. This time they approached the sphere from the opposite side. The cap of the well was visible off to the right, a few dozen feet above and behind the dome, and a lush field of grass spread out before them. Bright yellow pennant flags rose up from a dozen points around the field.

About a hundred people, more or less, milled about the field, driving stakes into the ground and connecting them with ropes or setting up small booths and attractions. Trick watched them work for a few minutes and Sari could see the edge coming back into his eyes. “They’re making constellations.”

“Just one,” Sari replied, pointing to a long stretch of red rope that was starting to connect the various flags together. “See? They’re mapping it out, now. That’s a duplicate of the constellation Weyland, which is at its highest point overhead this watch. We’ll walk it at the end of the festival to send him on his way as he passes into retrograde.”

“Do you walk from the armillary out or from here towards the dome?”

“It’s your choice whether you follow the stellar path, it’s not necessary unless you stay here until the end of the watch. If you do you will draw lots to decide which place you start from. But most people don’t walk the path.” She pointed to the only stall open so far, tended by a man who set up pegs and passed a throwing disc to children who tried to knock them over. “Those are the real attractions.”

“Oh, festival games?” He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking a little underwhelmed. “That’s fine, I guess. Is there food, too?”

“That will show up later in the watch,” she replied, surprised to get such a weak response. He was usually pretty interested in things happening around Harbek. “Do you not care for games?”

“I like games as much as the next guy, I just don’t think these are quite my speed.”

Sari frowned, surprised at what she was hearing. She hadn’t known Trick for even a full arc but she felt like she understood him pretty well. The dismissive tone in his voice was a shock. “Do you think you’re too good for festival games, Patrick Gallagher?”

“No, it’s just that games back-”

“Come on, Trick,” she said, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him down through the field. “It’s time you learned a little bit about zenith in Harbek.”

“Well I’d love to but I don’t think that festival games…”

She tuned him out, looking through the bustling crowd and wondering if the stall she hoped to find was set up yet. Finally she spotted what she was looking for when a strip of yellow cloth caught her eye. She headed towards it and stopped in front of an aging woman who held two baskets full of small wooden balls with large sashes looped through a hole drilled in their center.

There was a short line ahead of them so they were forced to wait a few seconds. She realized Trick was still talking.

“...more interested in something like that,” he was saying. Then one of the wooden balls shot up into the air and the sash billowed open, slowing its fall as it drifted across the lawn towards a ceramic bowl the size of a chair seat. Trick leaned so he could see around the line and watch it fall. After it landed on the ground a few steps away from the bowl he asked, “Is the idea to land the most throws in the bowl?”

“Exactly.”

“Why the parachutes, then?”

She frowned. Every so often Trick would say a word that sounded like gibberish and she couldn’t understand why. According to Gemma his poncho translated his words somehow. So why would it pick some words to ignore? “If you mean the sashes, then the point is to make the contest more difficult. It’s not just a game of perfect throwing. You have to pay attention to the environment and compensate for the breeze. Father says that in some parts of the sphere, particularly Melchior lands, there are birds that will snatch throws by the sash and carry them away so you must watch for that as well. We don’t have any birds that large here, though.”

“I see.” Trick didn’t say much more but he did watch two games before their turn with some interest, occasionally making a sympathetic noise when a good or bad throw landed.

Finally they stepped up to the line and the game keeper handed each of them their basket. She gave Trick his with a warm smile and a nod. Sari was handed hers without a second look.

“I’ll go first,” Sari said, scooping up one of her throwers by the sash and spinning it gently while watching the closest pennant to track the direction of the wind. Once she had a good read on the weight of the thrower she let it loose. At first she thought it was a perfect shot as it flew two thirds of the way to the target before the sash caught the air and slowed it. However she’d clearly put too much strength behind it. It overshot the target by a good three feet.

Trick pursed his lips as he watched it soar, clearly trying to avoid smiling. “Are… are you good at this game?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve played,” she said, trying to keep from being defensive. “It’s supposed to teach you to throw a bola. I’ve used the real thing a lot since the last time I was here and these are a lot lighter than I’m used to now.”

“That would explain it.” He was losing the fight against his smile. He picked up his first thrower, holding it by the wooden orb rather than the sash, and spun his arm around in a large circle perpendicular to the ground, first one way, then the other. The sash billowed and whipped about as he spun his arm.

After four or five rotations he nodded to himself and turned his latest spin into an underhanded throw. The thrower flew almost exactly half the distance to the target before the sash billowed all the way out and slowed it down. It bounced off the leading edge of the bowl and rolled off into the grass. Sari growled softly, wondering how he’d managed to get so close on his first shot.

After all five shots were thrown the game was a tie, with both of them landing three shots in the target. The two of them moved on although Sari couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated. “You took that awfully seriously for a festival game.”

Trick shrugged. “It’s my greatest flaw. I take things very seriously.”

“Well let’s see if we can get you to relax a bit.”

So they moved from throwing sashes to disc pins, egg stacking and another half dozen small games of steady hands and hand eye coordination. By the end of them Trick seemed back to his old self. He sauntered through the festival field, people watching while he whistled a mindless tune. Sari let herself smile, glad to see his mood improved.

Then he stopped and looked across the field, towards the sound of wood cracking on wood. Sari followed his line of sight. Chestin was dressed in full lensman drill clothing, using a wooden stick to spar with another man.

Trick stood a little straighter. “Hello, what’s this?”

“Trick…”

“Is he taking on all comers?”

“Trick, you just got over a major blow to the head.”

He didn’t reply, just headed in that direction at a rapid pace. With a frustrated sigh Sari trailed along after him, hoping he was just going to watch.