Short Tales

The Land Of Famine

                                                               Hi :). Not back, just felt like sharing

The knight sat on the pew and watched the proceedings of the ceremony. The Parthena stood at the head of the clearing in their white robes, censers held in the hands of every other one. The smoke from the censers wasn't the one that was used for their private ceremonies, on account of the parishioners in attendance. Nevertheless, the ceremony took place as it would have with the asterace in the censers. The Parthenas hummed and sung around their Hyparthena, as they slit the throat of a lamb and burned it on cedar—again, without the asterace—and the Hyparthena exulted to nature and the waters, and exalted those same forces.

The knight had seen similar scenes before, and had been inured to the spectacle. The spectacle was also tempered by the fact that the ceremonies had always preceded a battle, and those ceremonies involved bull's and men's blood being spilt. His gaze drifted to the forest behind the Parthena. It had been 12 years since he'd seen the cedars here; the first one he saw had been on the last march back, and he'd been unable to hold back the tears. He hadn't been alone, and none of the soldiers that were present were able to blame those that had broken down in tears.

Some of the men had missed the deaths of family, and the lives of their children had likely come and gone. These men would go home and they would no doubt be strangers in their own homes. What good would it do to grudge them a few early tears? The knight himself had received word only 2 years after the beginning of the campaign that his grandmother had passed away. Not 2 months after that, he got word that his uncle had passed as well. His father passed at the 7 year mark, and 2 of his siblings, brother and sister, had both died in only year 3, before even knowing their adolescence. Now his mother and 3 brothers awaited his return, they awaited war stories, and bawdy tales, and the names of the colonels and generals he had slain. They'd be expecting their son and their brother.

The knight absentmindedly clenched and unclenched his armoured fist, then drummed his fingers against the pew. Now that he thought about it, he'd helped to make a few of these pews. He remembered felling the first cedar with his father—he'd been so jealous at first that his brothers had been too young to help with the work, he had wanted to go to the festival as he always had with his mother and siblings and grandmother, while the men worked.

               "You're old enough to be sneaking off to rub one out, you're old enough to cut a damned tree," his father had remarked.

So he went to chop the damned tree at the damned crack of dawn, his family's laughter pushing him out the door. Looking back at that day, it was the most fun he'd had doing anything at that point. The felling had only taken a few hours, but clearing the branches had taken half of the day, and the carving of the benches—done from the wood of festival days past—had taken until sundown.

The men worked in shifts, so the men had time to dice and sing and dance and eat and run off into the woods to, "whisper in the trees," his father called it. The knight had snuck off (he'd gotten quite good at it at this point) to the festival, and had met a certain Parthena, the very same one he was waiting for today. He and the Parthena, Hristjan, they had told the knight, had spent hours together that day, and hours together after it.

Hristjan had come by to the carving as well, to the shock of the men. The men had seen their white robe and went into an adoring panic. After they had gotten over the initial shock, they indulged Hristjan a bit and let him do some of the carving. Hristjan didn't last long—the carving was harder than it looked—but they'd tried their best.

The knight ran his hand over the pew in front of him. Was this the one Hristjan had helped with? Was it the one he was sitting on? He hadn't seen Hristjan in years, and the knight had changed. Yes, a few scars here and there, a tan, some height, some muscle and a scruffy, patchy beard, but he'd seen things as well. He'd done things. Things that he'd tell Hristjan readily, and things that would haunt him to the grave. He'd been fighting tooth and nail for 12 years, he was as hardened as any man on the continent, and he was scared shitless that he'd misremembered everything with Hristjan and they'd had nothing of significance, just a childish fling. He gripped the pew in front of him tightly.

The Hyparthena's keening and caterwauling had come to an end, and they and the Parthena filed deeper into the woods, no doubt to their convent. The knight waited patiently. He'd told one of the other Parthena that he'd come to see Hristjan the moment he'd entered the clearing. The Parthena had looked shocked and confused that a strange soldier was asking for one of their fellows, and had gotten a bit defensive with their requests for explanation, but it was remedied when the knight mentioned his name. The Parthena didn't know him, which had made the interaction significantly harder. And so, he'd been told to wait.

The clearing had been free of Parthena for a good while before he noticed one walking back from where the rest had gone. Empty-handed, no censer, no wood to burn, no asterace bundle underarm. They walked with purpose as well, and the knight could notice deep brown skin and reddish hair from a distance. The Parthena came closer, and the knight stood. Perhaps a bit too hastily, because the Parthena stopped and hesitated. The knight stood stock-still, afraid to even breathe and make the Parthena turn around. The Parthena came closer, and the knight could notice the freckled face, and that their hair had become a deeper brown, rather than the rust colour that they had had when they were younger. He noticed the large, expressive silver eyes, and the fear in them. The fact that that fear was directed to the knight made a knot form in his chest. The knight saw the plump lips, and saw that Hristjan was biting them just like he used to when he was nervous.

The knight hadn't removed his helmet, so he did so now. He let down his hair as well—he had grown it out after Hristjan had made a stray comment wondering what he would look like when he came back, and had mentioned that they'd like it if his hair was long—and put his helmet underarm. Hristjan came to a stop a distance away from him, and they looked nervous.

            "Hristjan," the knight began, and he realized that his voice would be near unrecognizable as well. "Hristjan," he continued, "I'm back."

            "Oh," Hristjan said, and brought a hand to their mouth.

            "I–" the knight's voice cracked, "I'm sorry that–" What good would it be to pick up where they left off with apologies. He could imagine his platoon hooting and laughing at his back. "I've wanted to see you for 12 years. A day hasn't gone by that I haven't thought about holding you again. I prayed before every battle that I'd live long enough to come back and hold you for just 12 more years, to make up for all the time I've missed. I love you, Hristjan."

Hristjan was in tears, and struggling to hold back sobs. Others in the clearing were staring at them, the knight specifically, with suspicion.

             "Dannio,"Hristjan said, "f-fuck." They couldn't get the rest of their words out, so they chose to hug him. Hristjan's tears streaked the knight's breastplate, and his choked cries reverberated across the knight's armoured body. Dannio had died somewhere in those 12 years. He'd kept the name, but the boy had met the sharp end of an axe, or spear or sword. The knight couldn't remember which.

The knight had been brought back by some Hyparthena that was travelling with the army, and he'd been brought back hungry and empty. At war, he'd filled the hunger and emptiness with conflict, and in tenuous peace he'd filled it with camaraderie. As he was now, the knight couldn't bare to be alone, or without something to occupy him. He was simply impulse, and his impulse, selfish as it was, drove him to Hristjan. The knight did love them, but he wasn't what they wanted. The knight would love Hristjan, and he would take this secret to his grave.