Radegast

Nowhere were spring festivals as extravagant as in Radegast.

It wasn’t just the year-long warm weather or the constant agricultural yield; they made a special effort to do things bigger, louder, and fuller each time. The city centre would be cordoned off and the streets would be lined with all kinds of stalls, tents, and stores. Each was decorated with plants, ribbons, and colourful regional banners made unique with family crests and hand-woven designs. The squares became stages for performances, and the alleys that were too small for merchant stands were used as promenades by the slowly streaming crowds.

Artisans and traders from the entire province and beyond gathered to compete against the locals, bringing goods and performances not normally found in the area. For many, festivals were the only time of the year when they could travel and set up new business connections, so they put extra effort into their presentation.

Each year I doubted they could outdo the previous event, yet every time they surprised me.

When we made our way to the centre, we could hardly recognise the streets. Trees that I didn’t remember being there had emerged overnight. Flower beds, rose bushes, and wreaths decorated each corner, and ribbons extended from one streetlight to the next, drowning out the whites and greys of most houses. Sometimes cloth hung in painted sheets from one roof to the other, providing shade and mimicking the Capital’s famed covered markets. And despite the smouldering heat, the crowds were thicker than ever.

The spring festival wasn’t even as big as the winter ball, which itself was dwarfed by both summer and fall celebrations.

We joined the crowd forming near one of the larger stages set up in front of Town Hall. On it, performers in exotic western garments played with fire, dancing, juggling, and blowing flames from their torches. They weren’t real fireborn. Real ones were too dangerous to let near the public unrestrained. But the performers wielded the flames with enough mastery to fool most people. A rhythmic drum enhanced their dance routine, the music alone entrancing the crowds to gather, cheer, and applaud.

It also distracted the rookies long enough for Bren to draw a breath. He had tried asking Riza out, but somehow ended up inviting her whole class along. And now he was paying for it. For many, this was their first time outside their hometown, or the first time seeing a festival as large as this one, so he had to keep a group of overly excited students from scattering into the crowd and likely getting lost.

He did an excellent job, pointing out sights, telling stories, and answering questions from so many sides he couldn’t even pause between sentences. I tried to help as much as I could, filling in whatever he missed and making sure everyone was in the loop, but maintaining the telepathic link for hours was draining. When the excitement of the crowd and the unrestrained heat finally got too much, I pulled back, seeking refuge under a nearby tree.

For a while I watched people flow from one tent to the next, seemingly at random. A pattern started to emerge the more I looked at it — the thickest crowds always congregated around the brightest, loudest sites.

A glass appeared before me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“It’s a hot day,” Riza said, holding out one of her drinks, “I thought you might appreciate it.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you,” I said, watching Bren help the rest of the group get food and refreshments from a passing cart.

The drink was cold and fizzy and the heat was bearable for a moment. Riza sipped from her own glass, following my gaze to the group.

“It’s a local staple,” I said, drawing her attention back to me, “they make it out of old grain.”

She smiled politely. “So I’ve heard.” She sipped her drink again, watching me over the glass. “It was nice of Bren to take us out.”

“It can be hard when you don’t know the place.”

She cocked a brow. “And you’ve learned a lot during your stay here?”

I took it as a challenge. “I know the area is the largest wheat producer in the Governance.” Though we couldn’t see it from here, I instinctively glanced in the direction of the lake. “And that someone had the poor idea of building a fort at the edge of a lake.”

Radegast, the province, was a large agricultural area in the centre of the Governance. It was mostly flat, with few peaks hardly taller than a hill, and many rivers crisscrossing the land like spiderwebs.

Radegast, the city, had two parts — an old town sprouting from the remnants of the ancient fortification by the lake, and a newer residential district that had grown into the fields beyond. The latter was the bulk of the modern city, evolving into an industrial district that flowed over the hills, and eventually concluded with the military base. Bundled farms dotted the land beyond, growing fields of crops in every shape and form. Once Radegast had been the largest fortification in the area, providing protection and infrastructure to the agricultural lands in the province. Now half of the old city, including most of the stone wall, was in the lake, and its monumental entrance arch, which was still the tallest structure in the area, overhung the shoreline.

“It wasn’t always near the lake,” Riza said.

I glanced at her quizzically.

“They call it the moving city,” she continued, “something to do with the soil, because of groundwater and rainfall. We don’t have as many forests anymore, so rivers and lakes appear and disappear. They move over time and slowly swallow up land, farms, even whole cities. The flat terrain doesn’t help but the soil left behind is usually richer. That’s why we are the largest wheat, fruit, and vegetable producer,” she said, a matter-of-fact, and finished her drink in a swallow. “Radegast used to be in the middle of a field, not beside a lake.”

So much for enlightening her on the area, or Bren giving her a tour of the city.

“I don’t want to assume,” she spoke after a moment, “but you don’t seem to be from around here.”

I chuckled. “What gave that away?”

She eyed my long-sleeved shirt.

I shook my head, smiling. “East coast.”

“Lower or upper.”

“Tule.” I downed my drink. Far enough up the coast to hit the marshlands, but not cold enough to snow. Also close enough to the riots at the north border to affect the economy but too far for them to spread, so no one bothered doing anything about it.

Riza nodded. “So you’re from up north.” She eyed my clothes again, a daring smile shaping on her lips. “Afraid of a little sunburn?”

She wore loose beige linen pants and a similar short-sleeved blouse herself. Just like the people in the crowd, only less colourful. But she didn’t need colour.

I feigned offence. “Not all of us are born to bask in the sun.”

Riza laughed, gaze growing distant. “I’ve never seen the ocean,” she confessed. “But I’ve heard it can be both beautiful and terrifying.”

I’d never thought about it that way. The ocean was just the ocean, though it did have its moods.

“On a calm day, the surface is like a mirror,” I began, “the water is white near the shore, but it turns deeper and deeper blue toward the horizon. Weather can be unpredictable even in summer and, in a matter of hours, a perfectly calm sea can turn churning.” I paused. Her big blue eyes were boring into me, entrancing me to continue. “It’s ugliest in winter. You might not get sun for days and the sea is dark and stormy, and it eats up most of the shoreline.” She shuddered, so I added with a smile, “It’s not nearly as bad as the west coast. The ocean currents keep the summers cool and winters warm, and through most of the year the sea is as calm as your lake.” Yet so unlike the stale stillness of summer on the plains.

She nodded. “I’d like to see it one day.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the chance.” If there was one certain way to earn a travel permit, it was through the army. Depending on rank they even offered resort destinations for vacation.

“And what brought you here?” Riza asked.

I raised a brow. “It is the largest academy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean the army.”

I shrugged. “It goes in my family.”

She peeked up at me through locks of blond hair. “You never wanted to do anything different?” She brushed them away and tucked them behind an ear.

“My parents are in the army, and their parents, so we didn’t have much of a choice on the matter.”

“Us? As in siblings?”

“My brother just started service school. And my sister was…” I stopped myself. I had said too much already and the last thing I wanted today was to think about Kayla.

“Was?” Riza prompted.

I kept my gaze fixed on the performance. “It doesn’t matter.”

An awkward silence stretched between us, louder than the buzz of the crowd. “My parents are farmers,” Riza’s voice broke through it. And then she fell silent as if waiting for me to ask.

“You didn’t follow in the family profession?”

She shrugged. “Army pays better. Better job security too,” she said. “Besides, my grandma was a nurse, and I’ve always wanted to be a doctor.”

And getting into one of the Capital universities wasn’t easy without a patron. When I’d asked Bren the same question a few years ago, he’d looked me straight in the eyes and said: “The money, duh.” But you didn’t get paid as a student, so I’d helped him get hired at the Registrar’s Office. That way he could support his family in the meantime. They owned a few properties along the seashore, but that meant little when you couldn’t afford to get the permit and make the trip.

With the expansion of the state farms, it got harder and harder to make a living as an independent farmer. Although he never went into details, his family’s financial state wasn’t the best. One time they had almost lost their farm and permits. Since then they’ve found some stability, but no one knew how long it would last.

“Besides,” Riza added after a moment. “My granddad was in the army and he still had a few contacts.”

I nodded at Bren. “You two have a lot in common.”

She eyed me, then Bren and the cadets, who’d somehow made it near the stage. “I suppose.”

The fire performance concluded, the dancers bowed and then disappeared in the shade of the backstage. As soon as they were gone, the recruits descended upon Bren again, the force of their enquiries buzzing from across the street.

“You know a lot about the city,” I said to Riza. “You should probably go save him.”

She smiled. “I’ll be stealing your job.”

“I need a break.” I tapped my forehead where a headache was already forming.

She laughed, handed me her empty glass, and headed to where our group was peeling away from the crowd. As I deposited the glasses back at the seller’s cart, I felt an annoying itch at the back of my mind, like sparks flickering across my skin. At first, I thought I had overexerted my telepathy, but that didn’t explain the vague feeling of familiarity that overwhelmed me. I furrowed my brows.

It was the same sensation as that night.