10. Kal: The Festival of First Harvest

  The day of the Festival of First Harvest arrived in a flash.

  If at first, Kal had told himself that a week was more than enough time to practice the folk song, ‘Sun on the Fields’, chosen for him by the mayor, he quickly realized it wasn’t.

  He still didn’t feel confident enough.

  He wished he had another week.

  Or two.

  Or three.

  His father had been busier than ever, overseeing the final preparations for Terenhill’s largest event of the season – maybe even the year. As the Lead Farmer, it was his duty to ensure that the crops were properly harvested, sorted, and displayed for both the festival’s offerings and the baron’s visit.

  For the past six days, Reinar and the other farmhands had worked from dawn until the last light of dusk, moving cartloads of golden rye into the central granary, and organizing freshly milled flour to be distributed among the village families.

  The largest task, however, had been preparing the ceremonial offering – a massive cornucopia filled with golden rye, carefully arranged in the village’s square as a symbol of prosperity and gratitude to the gods of harvest.

  And since Baron Rodan was attending this year, Mayor Barnes and the village elders had pushed for something grander than usual.

  The men of the village had worked tirelessly to construct a wooden archway at the festival grounds, adorned with woven strands of golden rye and sprigs of flowers. And a second one, similar but smaller in size, to be placed on the elevated stage that was built in the village square.

  While his father had been occupied with festival preparations, his mother had her hands full with baby Lucas, keeping their home in order, and preparing some food for the festival’s stalls.

  Kal helped whenever he could, glad he could experience something like this, but Elara encouraged him to focus on his practice.

  “I can handle thing just fine.” She would tell him with a warm smile. “You just focus on giving us all a good performance, alright?”

  Sometimes when Kal practiced, she would bring Lucas along, sitting him on her lap as she pretended they were an audience, cheering Kal on.

  “Your big brother is going to play for the whole village.” She would whisper to Lucas.

  Lucas, of course, would gurgle happily, but Kal was unsure if he understood any of it.

  As much as Kal appreciated the gesture and support, it didn’t ease his nerves.

  On Earth, the only people who had ever actually heard him play were his parents and his twin brother.

  This wasn’t much different.

  His brother…He tightened his grip on his lyroca every time he thought about him, pained by the fact he still couldn't remember his name.

  Kal had also managed to learn about the mage his father had requested from the capital.

  It was all tied to the arriving autumn.

  When autumn settled, the barley fields were at risk of a mold outbreak caused by excessive moisture in the air. When unchecked, this could lead to rot, ruining their stored grain right when winter arrived.

  For smaller farms, it was merely a frustrating, minor setback – but for Terenhill, where barley was a primary crop in the cold months, it could mean a severe loss for the village’s trade.

  There were conventional methods of battling this issue, but Reinar decided a mage would speed things up and save them the hassle. So, he made sure to send a formal request to the Ministry of Agriculture as soon as he could, as he had expected them to take their sweet time responding. But the Ministry had surprised him – they had approved the request and a guild mage specializing in crop preservation had been assigned to reach the village any day now.

  His father hadn’t spoken much about it, too busy with festival preparations, but Kal had overheard his parents talking late at night.

  His father was glad a mage would arrive so soon – three months before winter starts. His mother was worried that they would need to house the mage in their tiny house for said three months. Having a stranger living with them when they had two small children was an unsettling thought for her.

  Kal was thinking about the mage, curious to meet another one after Gusto the Great, when his mother called him.

  “Hey, Kal, baby, I’m sorry to mess with your practice, but can you run to Old Berta’s and pick up some beeswax for me?”

  She had been working all morning, making fresh candles for their home and as village decorations for the festival.

  Lucas, meanwhile, was fussy as ever, refusing to let go of her. His tiny hands were curled into her tunic, his face scrunched up as if he was thinking about crying.

  Kal was more than happy for an excuse to take a break and breathe some fresh air.

  He set his lyroca aside and stood up, stretching.

  “Sure, I’ll go now!” He called out, already eager to step outside and clear his head.

  Before he could leave, his mother stopped him, her voice gentle but firm.

  “Kal.”

  He turned back, meeting her serious gaze.

  “Be careful, alright?” She warned. “I trust you with my eyes closed. But there are a lot of strangers passing through the village this week because of the festival. Stay away from people you don’t recognize. Just get the wax and come straight back.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Kal smirked, rolling his eyes. He was an adult, after all. “Mom, it’s just Old Berta’s. I’ll be fine.”

  “Kal.” she repeated, her expression unchanging.

  He sighed, raising his hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Straight there, straight back. Promise.”

  Elara exhaled, satisfied. “Good. And thank you, baby.”

  With that, Kal stepped outside, the cool air welcoming him, offering to wash away his worries.

  ***

  Kal walked the familiar dirt path toward the village.

  It wasn’t the first time his parents had let him run some errands for them on his own. He showed incredible maturity for someone his age, and the rest of the villagers were all trustworthy people that would keep an eye on him.

  Before he could make it much farther from his house, a sharp voice called out from his side.

  “Oi, Kal! Wait up!”

  Kal turned, already recognizing the voice before he saw the speaker.

  It was Gerrin Berell – one of the dairy farmer’s kids, a boy his age, always full of energy. He had a curly brown hair, sunburned cheeks, and mud stains all over his tunic – or maybe it wasn’t mud…

  Kal had played with Gerrin plenty of times, along with the other farm kids from the outskirts. They were all friendly enough, but he wasn’t sure if he’d call them friends.

  Gerrin ran up to him, grinning, climbing the wooden fence and sitting on top of it.

  “Where ya goin’?” He asked immediately, squinting at Kal as if interrogating him.

  “Just running an errand for my mom.” Kal replied.

  “What kinda errand?” Gerrin pressed, his eyes lighting up.

  Before Kal could answer, he just kept talking.

  “Wait – oh! Is it somethin’ for the festival? Are ya gettin’ sweets? Are the roasted nuts out yet? I heard the Brandons got honey on ‘em this time! Or – or – wait – are you goin’ to spy on the Baron’s fancy carriage? It’s Huge! It’s got gold on the wheels an’ everythin’!”

  “Gold on the wheels?” Kal echoed, genuinely curious to find out if it was true.

  Gerrin nodded aggressively.

  “Did you see it?” Kal asked, growing excited.

  Gerring shook his head, still grinning. “Mom won’t let me.”

  Kal narrowed his eyes. “Then how would you even know?”

  Gerrin shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s just how I imagine a fancy carriage.”

  Kal rolled his eyes, then allowed himself a short laugh, forgetting about his tension for the moment.

  ***

  Kal made his way to Old Berta’s house, the roads of the village alive with activity as everyone was busy with last-minute preparations.

  It was quite literally impossible to walk ten steps without someone calling out to him and wishing him good luck at the performance.

  As he stepped into the village square, Kal slowed his pace to take in the full sight of the stage.

  The elevated platform had been built of sturdy wooden beams, standing in the center of the square, hiding the well behind it. Positioned right on top of it, still being worked on, was the wooden arc. Several men from the village stood on ladders, hammering the final nails into place, adjusting the decorations to make sure the arc stood strong for tonight’s festival.

  One of them, a burly man with thick arms, called out to Kal.

  “Yo, Kal! Lend a quick hand, would ya?”

  Kal didn’t hesitate, hurrying over.

  The man was Balric Tonnel, one of the village carpenters, known especially for his size. He was balancing on a wooden beam, securing the last few nails.

  Kal spotted the hammer the man had likely dropped and quickly grabbed it. He jumped on the ladder and held it out. “Here you go.”

  Balric took it with a thankful grunt. “Good lad.” He said, resuming his work on the arc. “You’ll do fine on this stage, don’t you worry.”

  “Break a string, Kal!” Harvin, the second carpenter of the village, called, grinning.

  Balric rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s ‘break a leg’, you dumbass.”

  Kal let out a laugh, rubbed his arm, and left the men to their work.

  Before he could leave the square, Kal’s eyes lingered on the wooden platform, recalling all the rehearsals under Mayor Barnes’ supervision, hoping everything will end up okay.

  ***

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Festival of First Harvest began.

  The scents of bread, roasted meats, and cinnamon-spiced cider filled the air – coming from the many stalls lined in the village square. While the torches and hanging lanterns lit the village with a warm, golden light.

  A dozen of long, wooden benches were placed in front of the stage allowing families and visitors to relax and prepare for the show.

  Separated from the benches, and slightly to the left, was a smaller raised platform where the Baron and his family were seated.

  Baron Rodan wore a navy-blue attire, his black hair and beard neatly groomed. Beside him, his wife and two daughters sat elegantly, dressed in modest but still very expensive dresses. They exchanged laughs and seemed to be in a good mood, which made Kal relax slightly.

  Around them stood several guards, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, ready for anything. And next to them was a man wearing a blue robe who Kal assumed was the Baron’s private mage. It just made sense to him.

  When the baron was introduced by Mayor Barnes, he stood up and addressed the crowd shortly. “Dear citizens of Terenhill, you contribution to Stulan’s agriculture are paramount to the growth and prosperity of our kingdom.” He said, his voice deep and smooth. “May this prosperity continue for as long as possible. In the name of our king, I thank you.”

  With the formalities out of the way, the festival truly began – mostly religious prayers and official announcements, but also traditional dances and a short play depicting the Spirits of Harvest and their gifts to Leyvan – who people believed was the first human to work the land.

  Kal sat with his parents and brother, watching it all unfold, his heart hammering in his chest.

  Lucas, sitting on Elara’s lap, looked happy enough, enjoying the show.

  Kal wished he could feel that carefree. He thought how an actual six-year-old would probably feel like that. But not he – not with his adult anxiety-poisoned mind.

  His mother must’ve sensed his nerves, because she gently rubbed his back.

  “You’ll be wonderful, baby.” She said, smiling warmly.

  “Look for us in the crowd, forget about everyone else, and imagine you’re playing just for us.” Reinar suggested.

  Kal tried to smile, but his stomach felt too tight.

  It became even tighter when Mayor Barnes returned to the stage and was about to call him.

  She thanked the play’s performers and turned to the baron, addressing him directly. “And now, my lord, I’d like to introduce a young musician, one whose talent had moved us all. Terenhill’s own, six-year-old Kal Varren, playing the lyroca!”

  A wave of applause followed, and even the baron shot a curious glance and smiled toward Kal who stood up, swallowed hard and made his way to the stage, clutching the lyroca tightly.

  Kal stepped onto the stage, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

  Each step felt like a battle, but he forced himself up.

  ‘Calm down. Breathe.’ He told himself, but nothing helped.

  He sat on the wooden stool prepared for him in the center of the stage and adjusted the lyroca on his lap. The crowd was silent, waiting, their gazes on him.

  His mind drifted to his twin brother. To how they used to karaoke rock songs in their stolen Cadillac Seville. He’d get the lyrics wrong most of the time, driving Kal mad, but he tried his best. He drummed beats against the dashboard as the city lights blurred past their windshield.

  Beautiful memories.

  ‘Why can’t I remember his name…?’

  Just then – a sharp snap.

  Above him, the wooden arc broke loose – its heave beams splintering mid-air, its weight rushing down toward him.

  “KAL!” He heard his mother.

  He looked up. He had seen the incoming danger.

  But he couldn’t move. It was too fast.

  Right as he wondered if that’s how his second life ends, the crashing arc suddenly stopped – suspended in the air.

  The festival square fell silent, all eyes now turned not to Kal, but to her.

  A short young woman stood just beyond the stage, her hands raised, fingers splayed wide as if she was holding the wooden arc with the power of her mind.

  She looked young – a teenager, with long black hair that reached down to her knees.

  A dark green cloak billowed gently around her.

  The villagers stared in shock at the young mage, amazed by her powers.

  Kal stared at her in shock believing it was love at first sight.

  “Tsk. Would you roll away already, kid?” She said impatiently, rolling her eyes. “This thing is heavier than it looks.”