The Rifts of Rime (Quickened Chronicles) by Steven L. Peck

Author:Steven L. Peck [Peck, Steven L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cedar Fort, Inc.
Published: 2012-06-11T17:00:00+00:00

Courage, kindness, honor, love,

these the Wealdend adore.

Cowardice, cruelty, lying, and hatred,

these the Wealdend will not abide.

HIS WAS NOT THE HARVEST FESTIVAL OF FORMER years. Where there once would have been music, laughter, and Folk scurrying up and down the trees in great delight, now a few bedraggled squirrels sat on preassigned branches in small groups. In former times, bright colors would have draped every tree, and the wind would have carried the banners of each major division of the Folk: those Born-for-Planting, those Born-for-Wood, and those Born-for-Words—but now even the trees seemed a drab yellow with little merriment to recommend gaiety. Shopkeepers would have had their wares displayed on many of the fine oak branches in the gathering grove, and parents would have been shouting at the children scampering up and down the trees to be careful. Now there was little chatter, even though the guards did not seem as concerned with talking as on most days.

The only noise came from the large branch where the Thane, drinking acorn ale and eating hazelnuts, sat with his entourage. A moon ago the assembled Folk would have had something to say about such blasphemy. Hazelnuts were only for the Day of the Quickening and then only after a blessing by the Foreteller in remembrance of the charges of the species Quickened. But the sacrilege went unchallenged. There was a sense of relief in the air. Relief that they were going to spend the day in the trees rather than working in the dirt like unquickened moles—that, at least, was a gift from the Wealdend.

The arrival of the Marmots got everyone's attention. A group of maybe a hundred Marmots arrived, with dozens of soldiers herding them into the coppice that made up the festival grounds and to the meadow where the Stump of Telling stood. They were a bedraggled-looking group. Their fur was matted and unwashed, and several bore the marks of spear cuts. They did not seem to notice or care where they were. When the soldiers said “stop,” they stopped. When they said “move,” they moved. The Folk stared. Many of the children had never seen a Marmot, and those that had did not recognize the philosophical race that stood so hollow-eyed below them.

Suddenly another Marmot entered the scene. He was rather fat and seemed to be attended by the soldiers, rather than guarded by them. He was huffing and blowing as he was escorted to the tree where the Thane was sitting, and, with great effort, several warriors managed to get him into the tree. There was much yelling, pushing, and pulling before the beast was perched precariously and comically on a branch. Just as this scene ended, another began. There was the sound of flutes and in marched the High-Female. Someone began a hiss, but it was cut short and one of the Folk fell from the tree with an arrow piercing his side. No one moved to help him, and finally several soldiers carried him away so that the presence of the body would not affect the celebrations of the day.

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