A muffling blanket of snow transformed the quaint little village on the edge of the wild into a picturesque wonderland. The usually stinking, sucking mud of the street was frozen too solidly to indulge in its usual pastimes. The pristine veil went so far as to suggest that the rotting midden heaps outside each home were no more than innocent snowbanks. The people stayed inside whenever possible these days, huddled around their tiny fires, spending each twig like it was made of silver. But tonight they were taking a break from hard bread and preserved vegetables. Tonight they were celebrating the Solstice.
It was a celebration as old as memory. Where relief from the encroaching cold and hunger of winter can be found. It was a chance for the lord to impress the villagers with how generous, and more importantly, wealthy he was. The villagers, for their part, were dutifully awed with the lord, and his hall.
Under the snow, the stout walled tower-complex looked like a decadent wedding cake. Flickering torches by the doors completed the illusion as they valiantly kept the darkness at bay. While the shadowy tower bathed in their inconstant light, the sky blazed with uncounted stars, leaving the entire valley awash in their glow. Most of the town would celebrate under those stars, gathering around a bonfire in the courtyard as the men filed into the hall in order of relative importance and formally greeted their lord.
The lord’s hall was built snugly against the walls. It was festooned traditionally, if sparsely, with seasonal decorations. Freshly hewn evergreen boughs filled the air with their piny aroma. Bunches of bright winter berries hung from the rafters and mulled wine filled the hall with its rich, spiced aroma. The commoners praised the decorations effusively despite being the ones who had actually done the decorating. The lord sat before a roaring fire. While he was a little round around the middle from the easy life of the landed gentry, he still showed the signs of an earlier career in military service. He displayed his powerful, battle scarred arms proudly, and in defiance of local fashion. The peasants happily toasted his legendary prowess in battle, even though he hadn’t lifted his great-axe from its mount over the fire in three years. He wore a blue sleeveless surcoat embroidered with the device of his house in crimson. The Bear of Sire Forondo the Beast was well known, in a small province, for about a month after the tournament which won him this rustic domain tucked away in a corner of the wilderness.
His wife Lady Mildred, won at the same tournament, clung to his softening arm like a possessive kind of climbing vine. Her matching blue dress with red trim looked festive and distracted from her unfortunate face while emphasizing certain assets the peasants were careful not to be caught appreciating, let alone praising.
After the formal greetings were observed and the men of the village found benches, the Luminary stepped forward and the gathering immediately lapsed into respectful silence. His white robes of office were as immaculate as ever, an impressive feat in it’s own way given his lodgings. As was traditional, his sleeves were sewn end-to-end as insurance to keep the priest from inadvertently soiling his hands with the mundane. A cloth-of-gold sash displayed his rank in the church even as it advertised the church’s resources and strength. No one would dare even consider stealing from a man of the cloth. Those who scoffed at the metaphysical repercussions of such an act feared the busy blades of the knights templar.
The local representative of the church of light stepped with deliberate slowness to the lord’s unoccupied side and cleared his throat in a well-practiced maneuver that lent gravity to his resonant words.
“We are gathered here today, in the darkest night of the darkest season, to reaffirm our faith, and to share the divine sparks we each carry in our souls. By joining in fellowship, we rekindle those whose sparks have waned dangerously low. Jealously guarding your light will smother it in the end. It is only by combining your spark with others that it can grow. A lone candle is quick to succumb to the winds of fate, but a brace of candles may reinforce one another, relighting those which falter. In this gathering of souls, we share our light freely, and in doing so increase the light and warmth available to all. It is our sacred duty to not only safeguard our own light, but to spread it until shadow and cold are naught but unpleasant memories.”
“May the light guide the righteous, burn the wicked, and reveal the truth.” Intoned every witness to the rite.
The Luminary closed the ceremony with a simple blessing. “May the fuel of your souls blaze with holy light.”
After the benediction, and before the feasting, Lord Forondo held a brief court. Calling the gathering of villagers a court was generous, but it made the men feel important. Lady Mildred was wise enough to recognise the value in such things even if her less than subtle husband was not. The little town had an equally small amount of business to attend to. Beside granting his favorite retainers a few coveted boons to display the value of currying his favor, there was only one real point of business. The doddering old half-blind kennel master had passed away and needed replacement.
Lord Forondo never was one for hunting as he was common born, but with the plentiful wilds at his doorstep, it would have been foolish to ignore that potential revenue. God knew his village could barely scrape by as it was. The land was marginal at best and while the commoners managed to scrape some beans and barley out of the ground each year the main source of income was the herds of sheep that grew their wool so thickly in the cold north. The furs and meat provided by the forest were vital supplements and so he needed someone new to care for his pack of hounds.
With the business and social posturing out of the way, Sire Forondo called for the feast.
An enormous kettle of mutton stew, several honeyed hams, a keg of ale, freshly baked sweet buns, and wheels of creamy cheese made for the best meal most of these people had all year. Any restraint his tenants had before was forgotten as they kissed their lords ass with so much fervor, an outside observer might draw the conclusion that they were trying to polish it.
Fennec, the tailor, loudly observed just how rare and expensive such a vibrant blue dye must be. He complimented the Lady on her exquisite needlework as well, even though he had quietly taken the commission to embroider Sire Forondo’s best surcoat the month before.
Vincent, the guard captain, coaxed his lord into retelling old war stories. No one seemed to notice the newest embellishments even as they vocally approved of them.
Jorgen, the hulking lumberjack, was about to challenge the lord to an arm wrestling contest, a contest he had been diligently losing for years, when the worst possible thing happened during the lord’s tightly choreographed political theater, the unexpected.
Lisette, one of the villages more prominent spinsters, cracked the great oaken door open and slipped inside in an inexpertly executed attempt to be unobtrusive which caught everyone's attention.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“This is a holy feast madam. Please be so kind as to remove yourself before you drive the court to distraction.” The Luminary neatly dismissed her but instead of leaving she lowered her head and addressed the floor.
“Beggin’ your pardon Bright One. It’s just, well, Miss Ulinda has…”
“Out with it woman.” Barked Lord Fondoro as Lady Mildred’s eyes turned icy at the mention of her daughter. She loved her daughter of course, but she had never known a girl to get up to so much mischief. A special punishment would be required for interrupting the all-important feast.
“Ulinda has found a child.” Lisette admitted.
“A what?” asked Lord Forondo incredulously, a smile growing on his face, expecting some seasonal jest. His hope was dashed when his daughter pushed her way into the hall, clearly arguing with a couple of the village's goodwives. They had no power to stop the little princess however and she barged into the hall carrying a filthy baby boy who’s attempts to squirm his way free were ruining her finest dress.
“Ulinda!” Lady Mildred practically shrieked “Where on earth did that filthy urchin come from?”
“He’s mine!” She said defiantly, more to the women reaching to take the baby than to her mother. The court went deathly quiet and a muffled chortle was choked back hurriedly, but not fast enough to keep the lord from his rage.
“Explain yourself child.”
Ulinda was happy to, so enthralled with the baby that she hardly noticed the chilly atmosphere spreading through the hall.
“I was feasting with the ladies when I thought about the poor dogs. They haven’t had anyone caring for them since old Greg passed and it seemed so mean spirited to feast while they were excluded. You should have heard them, they were crying, just like people! I brought them some ham, they really liked that even if Sussanah said they didn’t deserve it.” She paused the story long enough to scrunch up her nose. “Well the dogs ate the ham in a flash, but I could still hear crying. I thought to myself “That’s odd, what dogs cry after getting ham?” so I went to investigate.”
“Against my advice!” interrupted Lisette in an attempt to keep her buns out of the fire.
“Yes,” Ulinda scowled at her “against your advice I went into the back and found an old bitch keeping this little one safe and warm. It’s a miracle!”
The rapid-fire storytelling of a young excited girl didn’t leave much room for comment but the Lumanry took her story’s conclusion as an insult.
“The Light does not perform miracles by hiding children in kennels.” He half-scoffed and half-proclaimed with the weight of religious authority. “This was no miracle. In fact, you have worked as an agent of the dark this night. You have sown discord in your father’s hall, you have ignored the wisdom of your elders and” He paused for effect “you have interrupted a holy feast with your mischief.”
Ulinda finally understood how everyone else viewed her discovery but instead of staying silent, as was expected, she compounded her error by arguing.
“I have never felt the warmth of the light more strongly than when I found this child. He is a gift, a font of light who can brighten our village by his simple presence! We must look after him. Is that not our sacred duty? To look after all the people who live under our dominion?”
The font of light in question chose that moment to release his bowels, staining Ulinda’s dress and scandalizing the court. She squealed in surprise and held the baby at arm’s length.
“Enough!” Roared Lord Forondo. “This mummer's play has gone on far too long. Ulinda, you will put that imp back where you found it. Lisette, ensure that she is properly purified before escorting her to her chambers. If anyone speaks of this episode, they will spend a night in the rat cage.”
“You can’t just leave him in the kennels, he’ll die!” The words escaped Ulinda before she could stop them.
“I can’t? If the sitting lord of a domain cannot dictate where a mere waif sleeps, then what makes you think you can? The Light puts people where they belong. It put me on this seat, it put you in your chambers, and it put him in his kennel. Do you presume to have better judgment than the Light itself? Would you reorder the world as you see fit? Would you take his place as he takes yours?”
“There’s room in my chambers for a cradle!” She objected.
“I have made my mind known. There will be no further discussion. Remove yourself now before you embarrass me any further. We will have words on the morrow daughter.”
Ulinda finally saw the wisdom in not digging an even deeper grave for herself and bowed her head in defeat, letting the clucking housewives of the village escort her back outside for a frigid bath.
As hard as Lord Forondo tried to recapture the festive mood from before, a nervous tension permeated the air as thickly as the scent of the infant’s leavings.
CH 2
Despite the lord’s dire warning, the mysterious child was nearly the only topic of gossip in the village for months afterward. No one within the lord's walls dared mention “The Dog” as he had come to be known but every cookfire in the village was accompanied by rampant speculation. The commoners came up with a half a dozen possible explanations for the child’s appearance.
The Dog could be a god-sent miracle child, but the Father’s negative reception made that an unpopular opinion. Some of the more fanciful villagers posited that The Dog was actually old Greg, given another chance at life. There was some precedent for that sort of thing happening in the mythos of the Church of Light but such honors were usually reserved for grand bishops and legendary heroes, not feeble kennel-masters. None considered the small troupe of minstrels which camped out in the kennel as part of their payment just before winter set in. The performers who couldn’t afford the expense and difficulties of raising a child on the road and instead left their newborn child’s fate to chance.
They reasoned, out loud, that being near a lord’s hall would give him opportunities in the future. More quietly, they understood he would most likely be eaten by the dogs. It was a kinder fate than starvation and freezing, or at least one they wouldn’t be forced to watch personally. Instead, after licking the babe clean, one dog with a new brace of puppies kept him warm and allowed him to suckle for milk just like any of her pups. The old kennel master’s eyes were too far gone to note the child mixed in among the pups and so the child was raised by the dogs for months before his discovery. WIth nothing but a straw floor and a pile of dogs to keep him warm, he somehow managed to survive through the winter and by spring, he was toddling adorably after his rambunctious adoptive brothers and sisters even as the tower’s staff pointedly ignored him.
Ulinda was kept under a tight watch, escorted everywhere by her maid, but she managed to distract her from time to time and slip away to play with the village’s dirtiest toddler.
