Drone

22 Summer Festival.

A dull pain started in Niklas' chest, and his left arm grew numb. An uncontrollable fit of coughs seized him. He hacked and wheezed. His chest felt like it had had a sizable stone lodged in it.

Gagging, he fell onto the floor of his room and started to pant in panic. The cough was anything but ordinary.

The cramp in his chest intensified. Clenching a fist, he pounded himself in the chest repeatedly. "Have mercy, Gyva," he gasped and slammed his fist into his chest.

Suddenly, his airway opened up, and he gasped for air. The pain in his chest subsided as quickly as it came.

He rolled onto his back, enjoying the air he had always taken for granted.

Gyva, what's wrong with me?

"Niklas!" Rasmus cried as he ran up to him. "What's wrong?"

Niklas groaned as he climbed to his feet. "Nothing." Then he tasted the blood. Grunting, Niklas rushed to the window.

Rasmus watched him, eyes full of worry as he spit a mouthful of blood outside. "I'm telling Ma!"

"Rasmus!" Niklas hissed at the nine-year-old. "I'm fine!" There was no need to concern Lill. She eagerly prepared for the festival, and he didn't want to spoil the celebration.

"Niklas!" Rasmus pleaded.

"You tell Lill, and I'm never teaching you how to fight!"

The threat carried weight. Rasmus had been begging Niklas to teach him how to box for a while now.

He looked worried but reluctantly agreed.

"Boys!" Lill called. "It's time to go!"

"Coming!" Rasmus called back. "Aren't you going to get dressed?" He turned to Niklas with a curious eye.

"Why does my shirt have to be so...colorful?" Niklas fumbled in embarrassment. True enough, the traditional shirt was bright pink and yellow with bright patterns. Rasmus' was green and blue, and unfortunately, it was child-sized.

"I don't know," he said. "It's symbolic of...flowers or something."

"Great," Niklas complained. "Look at me, proud soldier...dressed as a flower."

"Boys!"

Trygve ran in. "Ma says if you don't come now, she'll beat you with a spoon!"

"Looks like we had better go," Niklas said reluctantly as he donned his flower shirt. The boys ran out of the apartment, and Niklas swooped Trygve off the ground and slung his short legs over his shoulders. The child laughed in glee at the sudden surprise.

Tord and Ivar carried a great pot that Lill would make joagh in. Niklas had roasted and ground some blackthorn beans and made them a pot of Sharderin Joagh; apparently, a new development as the Sommerfeldts had never even heard of it before. The bitter drink had been a sweet memory, but to Niklas' horror, they spit it out in disgust the first time they tried it. After defiling the drink with cream and sugar, they finally agreed that Lill had fixed it. It was horrible.

Niklas followed them into a large plot of land just outside town. It was usually vacant but converted into a celebratory carnival for the day's festival.

Niklas had never seen such an unorganized crowd. There were music, games, and food everywhere. Relrin Music relied heavily upon string instruments and flutes. They had drums but didn't know how to use them.

In Pit, the clan used only horns, drums, and voice. They chanted and played music intended to instill terror in their enemies.

The Relrin music, in stark contrast, was upbeat and peppy. It initially intrigued Niklas, but he quickly grew annoyed by its screeching nature.