(Apologies for the length. I'm afraid that one I'd started, the tale took on a life of its own.)Summerfaire - A Fantasy NarrativeIt was during the fourth annual Summerfaire celebration when Genevieve decided upon the astoundingly spontaneous idea to throw open the guild hall for what would be the first
Annual Summer’s Eve Fantasy Masquerade. A mouthful, if ever there was one.
Combining the latest fashions in decor and entertainment, she claimed, with a grand prize awarded at the end of the evening for the most flamboyant and original mask, it would to be heralded as the must-attend social event of the season; an opportunity to show off, laugh, be merry, to welcome back the warm days and balmy night of Summer in the company of friends, neighbors and, more likely than not, more than a little of the fermented stuff.
For my part, I was skeptical. The old hall was in need of a number of… shall we say…
renovations. On top of that, where precisely she planned on acquiring the resources needed to transform the hall into the ‘
spectacle to end all spectacles’ which she envisioned, I had no idea. While we all might have been prepared to lend a hand in the necessary preparations, none of us could quite afford the seemingly staggering cost associated with such a venture.
Nobody was saying that the Masquerade was a bad idea. Far from it. However, Gen would likely have to be satisfied with a spectacle which, while perhaps not capable of putting an end to all others, might
just be sufficient to rival them.
Gen, however, merely replied to my concerned queries with a small, mischievous smile and a peculiar twinkling of her eyes, claiming that all would become clear upon the morrow. That was how she was.
Gen. I had known her but four short years, having joined the Guild shortly after my induction into the ‘Chanter’s life, but even before that, sighting her upon the road to Dundee, or seated at the Milltown inn with a glass of wine near at hand, there had always been something enigmatic about her; a certain air of enchanted amusement which sparkled in her features, an almost visible glow which seemed to surround her, spreading smiles and laughter wherever she went.
Thinking back, I might have suspected something. Possessed of an often pressing curiosity, I
should have suspected something. Yet I expect now, it was not my place to suspect. Mine, or anyone else’s.
True to her word, I had barely roused myself from my chamber the following morning when the wagons began to draw into the courtyard. Great wagons loaded with fabrics of the most fantastic hues, textures, weaves, patterns. Wagons piled with sumptuous cushions, intricately carved furnishings of the highest craftsmanship, gleaming richly in the scant morning light. Wagons inside which countless serving dishes, bowls, goblets, tankards, and vases sat carefully arranged, a queen’s ransom in gold and silver, all swathed in sheaths of soft cloth to stave off any chance scratches. Wagons bearing meats, great barrels of ales, wines, lemonades, wagons heavy with produce from Milltown, fresh fish, breads.
Enough food to feed an army. A bounty worthy of a palace feast. More than anything we could hope to afford even with a year’s careful hoarding.
I believe I stood upon the entrance steps for some time with my mouth hanging open, watching the steady procession of men and women traipse past, bearing the numerous components indoors, before hurrying back in to find Genevieve. She stood at the center of the main hall, resplendent even in the simple purple dress and dark shawl she had chosen for that morning, already directing the workers with the same calm authority she exerted upon all aspects of Guild life.
Spotting me across the room, she waggled her fingers in a brief wave, offering me a bemused smile through the moving throngs before turning to lead a group of drapers into the adjoining banquet hall.
For my part, I could simply stare. Wondering where she had found the plat to fund all of it. Deciding whether to hurry after her, demand an explanation. Gen loved her mysteries, I knew, but this was too much.
How had she accomplished it?
Yet when I reached the banquet hall, she was nowhere in sight. Moving onto the kitchens, the gardens, back to the entrance hall, I could find no sign of her. The work carried on all around me, an army of workers hurrying about, busy with their set tasks. Of Gen, there was no sign.
Upon finally entering my own chamber in a last bid to locate her, I discovered the package upon my bed. A small note in her flamboyant handwriting.
“
Dear Crowe. All revealed, in good time. G”
……
Without any of us knowing, the invitations had been dispatched two days before. Night had barely fallen, and the guests had begun to arrive in carriages, on foot, before I let myself out of my chamber and made my way down to the gardens, apprehensive and more than a little giddy with the sudden wonder of it all.
The fine black robes inside the package had taken my breath away. Of intricate weave and the finest cut, they were unlike anything that I had ever owned, more fit for a royal than the likes of a simple enchanter such as myself. Set atop the fine wrappings, like something out of the most fantastical dream, was the mask I wore as I exited into the garden, a spray of midnight-black feathers interspersed with tiny red rubies, eye apertures framed in clusters of black stones unlike any gem I had seen before.
Yet even with these surprises as precursors, nothing could prepare me for the manner in which the hall had been transformed in the space of a day. An array of small candelabra dotted the gardens, suffusing the brightly-hued marquees with just the right amount of ambient light, bringing out the shade and shape of every dress, gown and set of robes while allowing for a quieter, more intimate atmosphere apart from the bright exuberance of the hall’s interiors. And they were exuberant. Tapestries I had never encountered covered almost every bit of rough stone wall, some of apparent age, others of more recent weave. Drapes of rich velvets and lace lined the tall windows, arranged about the doorways in frilly borders; lush rugs covered the floors in luxuriant softness, interspersed with the new furnishings, great tables bearing a feast fit for the whole of Valorn. More food and drink than I had seen in my life.
As the guests filled in, and the musicians began to flesh out the atmosphere with their playing, I moved through the crowds, greeting, chatting, stopping when I managed to catch up with one of my guild kin to share whispered discussion over the sheer spectacle of the event, murmured contemplations over where Gen had found the means for it all. Everywhere, keeping an eye open for her, waiting for her to make her appearance. Yet it was near midnight before I spotted her, set in a corner of the grand hall, her amused smile giving her away behind the startling array of violet feathers which masked her eyes and framed her carefully coiffed hair.
The room was in full motion as I weaved my way through our friends and neighbors to where she sat. Her outfit was a darker shade of the violet which coloured her mask, a subdued silk edged in hints of dark lace, embroidered with a simple pattern of flowering vines in black. Apart from a slender bracelet of silver links at her left wrist, her exposed skin was bare of adornment, incredibly pale in the glare cast by the overhead chandelier. By contrast, the red of her lips served to accentuate her small smile as she marked my approach.
“I must have missed your entrance,” I said, taking a seat beside her on the low marble bench which had been part of the hall since time out of mind. Up close, she seemed to glow in the light, her blue eyes borrowing from the hue of her masque. I thought she had never looked lovelier.
“Not for want of watching for it, I am sure.” She pursed her lips, glancing thoughtfully up toward the chandelier, before her gaze drifted down to take in the guests, the soft fondness which always coloured her gaze seeming to soften further.
“I believe I will miss this,” she sighed quietly. Wistfully. “Being here, with you. All of you.”
I frowned as her gaze drifted back to me, and she smiled sweetly. “Not that I will ever be far.”
My confusion must have been evident in my face, for she laughed, a sound like the tinkling of small silver bells, leaning in to lay her hand gently upon mine.
“I must thank you for making my stay so enjoyable, Crowe. You, and your kin. Without this little family, I fear that this experience might not have been quite so lovely.”
She squeezed my hand, and for a moment all the color in her eyes seemed to pale to the barest hint of blue beyond her mask.
“
Take care of them, my dear Crowe.”
There was something like lightning. Something white and blinding that snapped at us from the ceiling, a blazing tongue of light accompanied by a sudden crack like a breaking bough. Even as I brought my hands up I registered her absence, the bench beside me abruptly empty as the white flared and died, leaving me momentarily dazed. Blinded. Alone.
Cries of alarm erupted. Music broke off mid-song. I clawed at my mask, ripping it from my face, opening my eyes wide as my vision fought to reassert itself through the white. The hall was in uproar, voices clamoring, feet pounding, a dish crashing to the floor somewhere with a resounding ring. I heard the Demon Lord’s name tear itself from more than one throat, and as fresh commotion erupted outside I staggered toward the garden, stumbling, bumping against still-indistinct figures. Rushing unarmed into I knew not what.
I had made it outdoors when light flared in the sky, drawing everyone’s gaze to the heavens as night became day around us. Awestruck, incapable of speech at the sight of the clouds rolling swiftly back overhead, at the spectacle of Sunrifter blazing down on us from a crater of bluest sky where night had been mere moments before, spreading light and warmth like a sudden embrace.
Closing my eyes against the light, I sensed more than heard those gathered on the grass break into awed whispers. I felt the amazement in my own chest overflow into a slow-blooming smile as my skin drank up the warmth, and my heart, suddenly suffused with bittersweet understanding, relaxed gradually into its regular rhythm.
I thought of a young, enigmatic cleric possessed of unfailingly sweet temperament. A cleric who moved through the world like a figment out of a pleasant dream, spreading light and joy among those she encountered. Invariably fair. Immutably endearing.
Otherworldly.
Gen. You certainly got your spectacle…Damask -
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