Chapter 9

  The Fire Festival

  As the sun slowly sank beyond the mountains, the sky shifted from crimson to violet, and soon deep indigo began to spread.

  By the time night’s curtain fell, the air around the mountain village carried a quiet excitement, different from the bustle of the day.

  Lights flickered to life one by one at the eaves of houses and along the streets.

  Lanterns soaked in oil lined the path to the square, their glow gently illuminating the deepening darkness.

  Children’s laughter melted into the night air, followed by the lively voices of adults.

  Soon, the low rumble of drums echoing through the mountains joined the clear notes of flutes, announcing that the festival night was about to begin.

  In the square, Maya walked alone.

  Eryn had rejoined the other falconers, and Kiv, as usual, had spotted something and run off, shouting cheerfully.

  Before he knew it, Maya was standing before the five pillars set at the square’s center.

  Each pillar bore mysterious carvings.

  Maya could tell that each depicted a scene from some tale, but he could not grasp what they meant.

  At last, Maya stopped before one pillar.

  As he gazed at it, a restless sting pierced his chest. Yet he could not look away.

  “—Valkrumea.”

  A voice startled him, and turning, Maya saw Fael, the traveling merchant.

  Fael’s eyes rested on the carving as he spoke slowly.

  “These five pillars each depict an age long passed down in story.”

  Fael pointed to the first pillar.

  “The birth of the world… the Song of Creation.”

  Pointing to the next:

  “The myth of the Moon and Thunder Ancestors.”

  Then another:

  “The tale of the Five Tribes’ beginning.”

  Finally, he looked at the pillar before Maya, lowering his voice.

  “Maya, the pillar you cannot look away from depicts the War of Unification. That war later came to be called the Valkrumea War.”

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  Maya frowned.

  “The War of Unification…?”

  Fael nodded, speaking calmly.

  “Yes. A great battle where the people gathered under one king. The people of the royal capital still call it the Holy War.”

  Maya could hardly believe his ears.

  He had always thought the “King’s tales” Amna told at night were mere bedtime stories.

  Yet Fael spoke with a certainty that said otherwise.

  “Um… does the royal capital really exist? And this king… is he real?”

  Though confused, Maya asked.

  Fael answered without hesitation.

  “Yes, of course it does.”

  Maya felt as though his very mind were shaken.

  He tried desperately to recall Amna’s stories, but his heart only grew more restless.

  Just then, a small gentle voice called out.

  “Maya?”

  It was Eryn.

  “Ah… Eryn.”

  Maya felt somewhat grounded again.

  Maya tried to question Fael again, but the booming drums heralding the festival cut him off.

  “Maya, I must go now. If you wish to hear more, after the festival is fine. I will remain here in the village for some time—we will have plenty of chances. Is that acceptable?”

  At Fael’s gentle words, Maya nodded deeply, watching his retreating figure.

  A stage had been built at the center of the five pillars.

  The bustle quieted, and the drums sounded slow, steady beats.

  At that signal, a shrine maiden stepped onto the stage.

  Clad in white cloth and a delicate mask, her figure lit by flickering flames looked almost unearthly.

  She drew a sword and began to dance.

  At first her steps were quiet, but soon, matching the flute and drums, her movements grew sharper.

  Each time the sword cut through darkness, sparks flashed, blending with the firelight to capture the crowd’s gaze.

  The echo of her steps, the sword’s light, the sweep of her robes—all flowed like fragments of a tale.

  At the dance’s peak, she raised her sword high, slashing in a final great arc.

  At that moment, the whole square erupted in roars and applause.

  The maiden stood still for a moment, then slowly removed her mask. The revealed face was Amna’s.

  “Lady Amna!”

  Cheers shook the square. Adults cried her name as if long awaiting it, enthralled by her waving figure.

  Maya could only gaze in silence.

  This was not the Amna who told him bedtime tales.

  Standing with flames at her back, she seemed so mysterious, as though from another world.

  An indescribable awe spread through Maya’s chest.

  After a time, as cheers still shook the square, the low drums sounded again.

  Voices quieted, and the festival moved to its next stage.

  Five representatives stepped forth to the pillars’ center.

  The Chieftain of Dogs’ Valley, the Chieftain of Nutwood Hamlet, the Falconer Chieftain, the leader of the traveling merchant caravan, and Amna.

  As each took their place before a pillar, solemn tension filled the square.

  The Ritual of Heavenly Fire began.

  It was an ancient rite of prayer: to kindle fire on the earth, and to send it to the heavens.

  At the signal, the five raised their torches to the pillars.

  Flames traced the carvings’ lines, until each pillar blazed.

  Red fire climbed to the sky, the five light pillars joining at their peak.

  The people gasped.

  At the flame’s tip hung the full moon, as if answering the fire from below.

  All believed their flames had truly reached the moon.

  When the Heavenly Fire rite ended, five hunters advanced before the blazing pillar.

  And among the hunters, Maya recognized a familiar figure: Melvil.

  Heavy drums thundered, tearing the silence.

  —Boom… boom… boom…

  Like the heartbeat of the earth itself, the beats continued.

  Then, voices rose:

  “Sa… sa…”

  Growing from whispers to a swell, the chant merged with the drums, turning the square into a single pulse.

  Then Melvil cried “Sa!” sharply, raising his bow high toward the sky.

  At the next drumbeat, the hunter opposite him raised his bow in the same way.

  Another hunter followed, the chant and motions rippling onward.

  Their pattern formed the outline of a pentagram, recalling ancient rites.

  As the fifth hunter lifted his bow, the final drumbeat thundered, and every adult shouted in unison:

  ““Saaa!!!””

  The cry echoed through the mountains, shaking even the darkness.

  In the next instant, the five loosed their arrows together.

  Their arrows met at the pillar’s peak, exploding in dazzling light.

  Red, blue, yellow, green, and white sparks spread across the sky, encircling the flames and moon.

  The light spilled beyond the square, illuminating the whole village like day.

  Cheers and music erupted, people clapping and shouting as if to engrave the moment into their souls.

  This was the festival’s climax—the flames reaching the heavens.

  Flames blazed, colors staining the night sky.

  As the brilliance faded, silence fell.

  Music and cheers dwindled away—only the children stood frozen, unable to move or speak.

  Maya was among them.

  A hot surge welled within him, yet he could not name it.

  Joy, fear, longing—it was all these and more, too vast for words.

  Yet Maya knew this much.

  What he had seen was no fleeting dream, but a memory that would stay with him for life.

  And the same was true for every child in the square.

  Without words, they all gazed at the sky, sharing the same feeling deep in their hearts.

  —That night, the children first knew what it meant to hold “a memory beyond story and time.”

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  AI disclosure: I am a non-native English writer and have used AI for partial translation and light editing. No AI-generated prose.