Chapter One: Festival Day

Everyone was out for Festival Day. In the small town, any possible excuse to join together and cease the backbreaking monotony of farm work was established and abused as often as possible. This particular Festival Day was dedicated to the celebration of a particular breed of myths that were created by Westerners. Not that anyone in the town had ever actually met a Westerner; they simply trusted those who went before them who swore that their Great-Great Grandfather had found a particularly drunk Westerner and coerced a few stories from them. On Festival Days, the accuracy that dictated their lives was thrown aside, and they threw themselves into the unknown and the make believe with reckless abandon.

 

They also threw themselves into the ale with reckless abandon, which was how Hardy came to find himself at the tavern. When the normally revered men of the town started falling too deeply into their tankards, the strong young men whose ladies were nowhere to be seen were promptly gathered to haul them away so they could regain their sense of composure. Unfortunately, Hardy was the only one who fit the criteria to be found.

 

“’E’s ovah there,” said the bar maid, Xara, pointing to the corner. Slumped against the wall, a herder known for his magnificent wool looked around the room, his eyes gleaming like a cats. While he was now quiet, only moments before Hardy could hear him screaming from up the road.

 

With a sigh, Hardy shook his head sadly. “I’ll get him off your hands.”

 

Xara gave his shoulder a squeeze. Hardy shuddered at the feel of her hand, which was wet from washing dishes behind the bar, through his linen shirt. It reminded him too much of another set of cold hands that he remembered from when he was a child, although he could not remember the face of the man they belonged to.

 

Under the pretence of removing the rowdy man, Hardy ducked out of Xara’s reach. “Hello, Myllan. Are you enjoying the Festival?” asked Hardy conversationally. The man’s head rolled towards him and he opened his mouth. Fortunately, he realized what Hardy had been sent for and no words came out. “Xara wants you out for now. I’m sure she’ll let you back in after you’ve had a walk and cleared your head.” Years spent in on the little town, Hardy new the ins and outs of every single custom. He knew as well as anyone that mentioning the reason for walking would not be tolerated if he wanted his nose to remain straight.

 

Myllan didn’t move. Although it hardly seemed possible, the burgundy shade of his face darkened and his eyes narrowed in Hardy’s general direction. Despite the boy’s following of all the unwritten rules, it seemed that the herder wasn’t about to have his honour infringed upon by some moonlight child who worked as a lowly hand at the store.

 

“Please don’t start; you’ll only make things worse. You know how things work on Festival Days,” Hardy said. He rolled his sleeves up when he realized that Myllan was lurching to his feet.

 

The bar fell silent the moment the large herder collapsed at Hardy’s feet. Once everyone had frantically turned away from the shameful demonstration of drunkenness, Hardy crouched down propped Myllan against his chest before heaving the man over his shoulders. He left out the back door and headed towards the creek that ran behind the tavern.

 

With a splash, he dumped his burden into the water, making sure that Myllan’s head was out of the water so he wouldn’t drown. Hardy didn’t wait for the man to wake up.

Author's Note

I'm writing this in a rush because this is my WriMo project (and I'm very far behind, which makes it worse), so I can't edit as much as I would like. If you notice any mistakes, I encourage you to let me know.