Taitenschild

1-2 || The Feast (Part II)

With the Tyrant's dismissal, the crowd dispersed. Bidding Eliah farewell, Aramir went with the other hunters to deliver his deer to the designated butchers for this particular Feast, leaving the girl to deliver their forage baskets to the Clan Mothers assigned to cooking duty on her own. They eyed her as she presented the offerings to them, and with a wave of their hands, shooed her away.

'Put yourself somewhere where you won't be in the way, girl,' said the woman in charge of the duty. So back to her rock Eliah went, doing her best to look inconspicuous as the rest of the Clan prepared.

In a procession of well-practised routines, the fire pits that stood on the edge of the village centre were piled with dry wood and lit; the game collected by those who'd been sent to hunt and harvest was mounted onto spits; and the cooks set to work before their cauldrons, adding wild vegetables, herbs, mushrooms and the meat from smaller game with each bucket of water menials and helots brought in. The last vestiges of portal light dissipated into the night, and the air was filled with smoke and the mouth-watering scent of roasting meat and earthy stew instead.

Although her stomach growled, Eliah sat and waited. The food would be served to the Clan by the menials and helots, first to the Tyrants, then to the Titans, then to the soldiers and shieldmaidens, and continue to trickle down the line.

Strength was everything when you were Seren, and those perceived as weaklings were the last to be fed. The Feast may have been a celebration, but it was also a reminder to all of where in the Clan they stood. The food would not get to her for a long while.

Supposedly, the tradition had been born from the Godswar. The Seren and the three other Immortal Clans had united with the mortal Kyren to bring an end to the thousand year long reign of terror instigated by the Dark God's minions. After the war was ended, the Seren hero, Taiten, and the Mortal Commander, Kailen, had disappeared into the forest for three days. When the two of them returned, they had brought with them enough game to host a feast for the whole united army, and each had been served in the order of their contribution to the war.

Presumably the Seren had eaten first – if you believed the story.

Eliah never had. It sounded like complete and utter nonsense to her. After three days of being dragged around in the sun, surely the meat they had collected would be stinking and rancid. Not to mention that the Immortal and Mortal armies would have numbered tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of mouths to feed. Taiten and the Mortal commander may have been the best warriors in the Realms, but surely only a God could bless the people with that much food to eat.

Of course, these were thoughts she'd never voice aloud. The Feast was sacred, and Taiten was a paragon to all Seren – revered by some even more highly than their god himself. Anyone who spoke ill of either would be considered a traitor and a disgrace, and the Clan already had enough reasons to look upon her with shame.

Seated cross-legged on her rock, Eliah fiddled with the wraps that covered the flats of her hands and the bare skin of her her arms, double-checking the binds and ensuring they would stay in place.

A hand thrust a bowl of stew, laden with slices of roasted venison, in front of her face. She blinked, eyes instinctively darting upwards to check where the servers were up to. Aramir was surrounded by men and women his age, an easy smile on his face as he leaned against the wall of a stone-walled roundhouse and chatted. His hands were empty, which meant the older warrior-trainees had yet to be served.

'It's not my turn,' blurted Eliah, and turned to frown at the menial attempting to serve her.

A pale, pretty face looked up at her, dancing gold eyes speckled with flecks of silver as their owner treated her to an impish grin. 'That's for me to decide, isn't it?'