Collective Consciousness I Midsummer Festival

The journey had started at meditation hour, so that when the wall was in sight, it was pink. Fyodor had not expected a rosy hue, he wondered aloud to Xan why no one mentioned it. “The argilcoline is a different color each time the sky changes,” Xan explained. “Of course,” Fyodor replied. Xan was referring to a clay that Fyodor had watched do precisely that, shine and deepen with the light around it. His mother had several large, glossy pieces that he’d played near most of his life. He’d never seen anything as enormous as Renata’s city wall constructed from his land’s original, most precious resource, long exploited. Terra, as the people named the wall- also the common name for argilcoline- was worshiped as an extension of the Earth Goddess, named Terra. Incredible to anyone, especially the outsider, in ancient days, before it was commoditized. Seeing the wall he’d only read of, Fyodor understood why, generations ago, the clay was considered Her flesh, the argilcoline stone, the Goddess’s bones, for every kiss of the sun glowed in refractions of colors and changed as the men approached from the North. The entire wall of Renata took on its own personality, as it was constructed of homage, objects of great importance, bricked together with Terra. From this direction, a bronze, armillary sundial, the size of a cottage, was clearly seen atop the middle of the wall. Each direction had its own extravagant ornament. In the South, there was a brass Gimbal compass the size of an elephant, rendered by the Torne family. In the East, a clock, a bit larger, of silver, was donated by the Moya family. In the west, a chiseled puzzle ball, only about six feet in diameter, had been dedicated by the Edna political party. The northern sundial was the original installation and commissioned by a very powerful family called Munze. Torne was their competitor in mercantilism, and as a show of status, had the compass erected. The third to join were the Moyas who added something functional; the clock had a double sided face, for use in and outside of the gates. The fourth followed suit after many generations of Edna activists tiraded against the entire concept of commissioning costly displays of dominion. Edna was not a bloodline, but a group of mystics, artists, philosophers and politicians. The Ednas incorporated the guilds of artists who created all the other families’ accolades and were perfectly capable of making the most intricate and boisterous for themselves. The designer of the Ednas’ contribution was a scientist and inventor, and chose to carve an inceptuous spherical puzzle in great detail of curves and juts, from huge cow bones, now smooth and sunbleached. The Ednas were unanimous in their decision to give her the project. Her work was known for being modest, yet somehow elaborate. She made it comparatively smaller than its counterparts, and called the art piece “The game”, an answer to the raging commerce of the time. The city was split into these quarters, the four families having created their own businesses and social circles. Fyodor had read all of this in his studies. Xan had told him tales of Renata since he could remember. Something dependable to feed his adventurous spirit and curious mind, when Xan returned home from the city, he would always have new chapters. The woods were now becoming more sparse as Fyodor and Xan’s horses trotted, but they were not coming to a clearing. It was well known that the city and even the wall were built to accommodate the trees. The larger objects in Terra were becoming clearer; mosaics, sculptures, totems, winding around and through their fellows of the woods, great oaks and pines. Some artifacts were very brightly colored, regardless of how ancient. The larger stanchions belonged to well-off families caring for them, preserving the artifacts mounted and inlaid in argilicoline. The most exciting, as far as Fyodor was concerned, were the smaller details no one wrote in books. He approached the objects of adoration for the first time. A million people’s collected consciousness sparkled and glowed in the rose-gold morning light. There were enormous cuts of semi-precious stones. There were tea cups and urns, candleholders, spoons, jewelry, timepieces and lots of pottery inset in the city wall. There were dolls and love tokens, poems and art chiseled into stone and carved into wood. Fyodor had been under the impression that the treasures were affixed to it, but to his surprise, they were the wall. All the possessions and prayers were a motley of colors and rust, clay-sealed into the fortress. Argilcoline was used by each family or individual to build their city wall from their prized possessions. Each apex had to be reinforced for the first time, before anyone could remember. This was surely the reason that construction hadn’t continued for a very long time. There was also a lot of superstition surrounding touching the wall. This was all very fascinating to Fyodor and he was elated. Even the sad state of broken things here and there made him feel he’d made a stronger connection with his country. A country he would inherit. No one was allowed to touch Terra without specific permission and rituals. If a party made physical contact with the city walls, it was well documented that misfortune would befall them. Fyodor suddenly realized all he wanted to do was reach out a finger to a glimmering stone or soft splinters of wood protruding toward him. He thought he might relate to thieves for the first moment of his life, finding himself fantasizing about degrading sacred objects with his dirty traveler’s print. He’d been obsessed with this moment his entire life. Here he was, almost in the sacred city. The wall was radiating a heat that was welcoming but did not feel safe, like a pot on embers. He had spent so much time imagining it, that the wall itself preoccupied any room in his head that could have processed what lay beyond. Fyodor turned to face Xan. He wore a patient smile, “Alright, let's get to a gate before she sucks you in the wrong way.” The young man laughed in response and looked past his mentor, where one could make out a guard on the horizon. The wall went beyond its own vanishing point and as they moved in that direction, more and more of Terra became visible. The guard he’d spotted had a reaction to them as they neared. He bounced on his feet and swayed erratically, then began to wave with his whole arm. Xan waved in return, “That’s Bethon, he’s always on protection after meditation.” he told his pupil. When Bethon became an entire person, instead of a figure in the distance, at his post, he was projecting greetings to them, “I thought that was you, Patron!” “Hello, Dear Keeper!” A full conversation was well underway by the time the horses made it to the gate. Bethon and Xan laughed a few times together. Brief introductions were exchanged and more humor, as the pair dismounted their steeds. Fyodor stepped up to the gates he’d only dreamt of till now. Bethon followed them and attempted to engage Fyodor several times but the boy had no words. He grunted softly and tried a couple of sounds, but nothing formed. The two older men nodded to one another knowingly as they observed the dazed look in Fyodor’s eyes. Bethon stooped in a casual bow towards his prince, even though Fyodor barely seemed to notice. The two older men were talking, much in the way all of Xan’s friends along the journey had conversed with him. They were exchanging pleasantries and concerns about the other’s well-being as Fyodor brought himself into the moment. He didn’t want to miss anything, though the wall had somehow made him feel slightly removed from his head. Bethon gave an order to someone by ringing a large bell on a rope. The sound was low-pitched, but piercingly loud. The gears and pulley system along the hinges of large gates ground into motion and as the heavy iron opened, the street was revealed, with its thousands of purple silks, hanging from all the buildings and posts. It was midsummer and the violet dye, collected along Renata’s shores, from its seashells, stained everything, even the streets underfoot. All season, the neighboring kingdoms would import the miles and miles of silk, spun by Renata’s worms and colored with its sealife. During this time of the year, the nighttime barely lasted five hours and seemed bright with stars and moonlight. In the blazing sun, everyone hid in the shade or stayed in the water and every evening there were buzzing bodies all over the streets, under the silks and in the taverns. It was festival time. Xan had told Fyodor this was the most opportune time in which to become a man and how lucky his stars were, but all Fyodor had cared about was not being left behind, in their community’s fortress, this time when his only friend went on midsummer journeys. He’d finally grown old enough to leave anytime he needed to, and was excited and empowered to turn 18. He’d wanted nothing more than this his whole life; to climb down that mountain with the only person who understood him. Here, the trio stepped into Merchants' Landing and led the horses to drink in a grand fountain, creamy white stone curves, beset with a pyre aflame, high atop. A baker was the only business owner who was unlocking his shop, and he was happy to see Bethon, asking if he could make them some strong tea. He bowed to the young prince and turned red when he noticed him. Fyodor gazed into his round face and the window of his bakery, with its purple silk streamers and empty plates, waiting for their goods. The brickwork on the buildings in this area were the oldest, made of argilicoline clay blends. The cobblestones underfoot sparkled with tiny flecks of minerals, the soft sunrise was quickly becoming a summer blaze. The three bid the baker good morning and continued toward the temple. Bethon, as happy as he was to meet his prince and see his old friend, explained he had an obligation to stand guard and left them here, as Terra cast her cool shadow upon the Merchant's Landing, glowing in the great firelight there, in it’s center. The cobblestones led all the way around the fountain, to a wide road, the shops continuing on either side, punctuated with great trees between the buildings. They crossed an alley so narrow on either side that Fyodor couldn’t see into it, only the way a wall bent around a thin tree next to his shoulder. It had a stump that had once been the tree’s mother. Now there was no end and beginning between the stump and her sprout. On the stump, a little altar, with a depiction of The Goddess whittled from the same wood. Fyodor wanted to stop to admire the altar and wedge himself into the alley around it, but Xan pressed forward and he followed. The shops seemed to never end, there were more alleys, altars and alcoves to intrigue Fyodor. An elderly person in the most layers of brightly colored silk one could imagine sat in the entrance of one alley. They smiled up at Fyodor and c****d their head in a bow, acknowledging the young prince and making the waves of wrinkles upon their face shift into new features. The oldest person Fyodor had ever met was nowhere near this ancient. A living pile of bones came to mind and he felt it was a shallow thought, but couldn’t help feeling unsettled. He wondered what this person was doing sitting alone like that. Xan was walking briskly. There weren’t many people to greet at this early hour. Occasionally someone would pass by looking intentional, Fyodor assumed they were going to work. He assumed they must work in these shops. The businesses were stacked upon each other, there were a million signs waving upon fabric and swaying wood on hinges, advertising products for your hair, to consume, to wear, to keep you entertained, healthy or earn people’s company. All the while, the purple silks were in every window, floating on every balcony, hung between buildings and lampposts. There were violet valariums over entire blocks and shading cafe patios. This was the most color Fyodor had ever seen. His mountain was all white and some gray, with small evergreens jutting into the sky, year round. Every spring he felt absolutely overwhelmed and his mind conveyed by the bursting greenery when he'd visit the wood. This is how he felt now, but this constant movement of sensory input was making him dizzy. “Xan? Can we slow down?” “We’ll come back when everything is open tomorrow evening. Don’t worry.” “I don’t think I could do that.” Xan chuckled, “Why not?” “There’s too much of it now!” Xan laughed harder this time, “Don’t try to take it all in at once, especially at the moment, because we're passing through the fish market. After that, we’ll be at the Western Center.”