Collective Consciousness I Midsummer Festival

Chapter 2 Renata

The fish market was as open as the boutiques were closed. There were a couple hundred carts, processing and selling the early morning catch. There were many hundreds of buyers, some in chef's uniforms and butcher's aprons, local residents, all with baskets and bags, a couple, their own buggies, loading pounds at a time. It was loud and rank with the stench of brine.The streets were smoother here, made of flat, plain bricks, scrubbed each day by fishermen. People avoided bumping into Fyodor, but didn’t look at him. They navigated around the horses and one shouted at Xan in a language Fyodor barely recognized. Xan simply shrugged at him and moved further into the middle of the street, where a carriage had to avoid their equine companions.

People had the purple silks tucked around the poles of their carts or used as umbrellas and canopies, but the purple had become more sparse here. Everyone was throwing fish and produce everywhere and using huge gestures to one another and to manipulate large wooden crates, but even with the smell, Fyodor found this less dizzying than the festive crowding of colors in the last district. He could focus now on the faces of people of all ages and angles. They looked harried and intent, but he could watch them without returned attention. This was the first time he’d experienced this possibility in his life. Back home, everyone not only knew him personally and greeted him with ceremony, but also were authentically interested in his every breath, which he found overwhelming in other ways.

He was the youngest son of the queen and was beloved for his gentle nature. A close eye and encouraging word was never far from him, and as of late, redirection seemed to follow him everywhere. He didn’t know that constant attention was the source of an ever-present irritability that had grown inside him from the seeds of grief. On the journey, everyone along Xan’s familiar route to Renata, of course, knew of Fyodor and had expected his passing through their town for years. The population of each village was small, just beginning to recover from a very bad winter that happened the year before his birth. The towns up and down the mountains and valleys, into the woods, and around the river, some 300 miles in all directions, had anticipated this summer, his first journey to the city, indicating his passage into adulthood. They had gifts for him and children hugged his legs. It was a lovely admiration to experience, but made him very uncomfortable. He felt possibly the most peaceful he ever had in this chaos, where he was just some noble kid with a horse in someone’s way.

At the edge of the fish market, the road forked towards the beach in one direction and towards the temple in the other. The men mounted their horses again, now that the road leading to the temple had widened, with only a sporadic carriage or rickshaw passing. This thoroughfare was smoother than the street at the fish market and as straight as a city incorporating woods allowed. The shade of buildings disappeared here and the sun had risen completely, so that the pastel of the well-masoned bricks shone bright. The homes, painted light colors, on each side of the road, boasted sprawling yards, filled with succulents and flowers. A soft song was almost heard, floating lazily over the neighborhood. The marine layer was burning off, and could be seen steaming out of the shadows of oaks and willows.

The trees became dense around each home, as they went lazily clopping upon their horses and talking about the fish market. Xan was surprised how content Fyodor was and how well he was adjusting to the stimulation of the city. He was pleased that his pupil felt at ease. The neighborhood became quite woody as the pair went up a steep hill upon horseback. Xan reported that they were almost there and noted a path that pedestrians took to the hilltop, so Fyodor could use it later when he needed. Instead of entering what looked like secret arches made of vines, they went past and Fyodor swore he heard a little giggle that could have been a bell.

A second archway, this one made of branches tangled together, became visible just around a sharp turn. The horses were guided through the arch just high enough to accommodate them. This is where the caretakers were awaiting their arrival, the bells for the city could be heard here and messages by word traveled faster than horse. The handlers took the animals and Xan greeted yet another cohort heartily.

The grounds of the temple were already beautiful just stepping inside. People further from Renata than Fyodor’s mountain told tales of the temple as though it was a paradise, an imaginary place, unattainable. Fyodor grew up with these folktales all around him, knowing that, in his position, he would be able to come live here, visit the temple every day. His peers revered this privilege as lofty as that of a blessing from The Goddess.

Fyodor had always been considered very fortunate by everyone around him. He was the first baby to be born in a very long time, anywhere anyone knew of, then. It had been five years since anyone had made it through a healthy pregnancy locally, and the winters had blurred into spring for many years, on the mountain. No one had been able to send many messages, so the people thought that the curse must be upon the entire world. Then, in late spring, the queen herself birthed a big, loud and gorgeous baby boy. Then, another noble woman and a servant girl were able to have successful births and the curse was considered broken. Winter also lessened, autumn was back to expected temperatures and weather that very same year. It was one of the reasons everyone loved Fyodor and called him magic. His quiet mischievousness and love for fairy tales solidified him in some peoples’ minds as a mystical being when he was very young. Xan said that he loved fairies because people put silly things about magic in his head and that a prince does not need anyone to encourage his ego. Xan also said more than once that he was very proud of how little Fyodor cared about praise and how gracefully he reacted. Xan said he was simply a special person, a verbalization of all the people's gestures who would wink down at him. Xan had always been there as the voice of reason.

Today, his mentor led the way up a little flagstone path towards a barrier made entirely of hedges. There was an ornate entrance, just as almost every place in Renata had. This stone was made of argicoline and very old, fresh morning glories winding their way in and around every engraving. The men in front of Fyodor spoke gaily of the festivities. They laughed and tried to include him, but Fyodor found himself unable to speak again. He shook it off faster this time and asked Xan why that kept happening. “Oh. everyone has a different reaction to Terra, pure and unwashed. Especially the older pieces. It doesn’t seem to present any serious health concerns, but for some reason, if you aren’t used to it, it’ll make you a little sleepy or dizzy. The minerals have an effect.”

“Some people aren’t affected at all, some people pass out. You never know.” Shrugged the devotee who was leading them around. Fyodor realized suddenly that he had been in a maze for longer than he knew. He vaguely remembered some turns and it occurred to him that he had asked his question about the Terra long after they’d passed through.

“Xan,” Fyodor asked again.

“Yes, Highness?”

“How much of the temple is made from it?”

“Terra?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Fyodor replied in a low throaty noise.

“Only the oldest parts at first.”

“Am I gonna faint, you think? In a whole room made of Arglicoline?” Fyodor was concerned.

“Oh, if you didn’t, at the wall, you probably won’t, I think.” Xan looked at his friend hopefully for some confirmation.

The other just sort of shrugged in return, "He's one of the sensitive ones, we knew that would be the case."

Now the hedges on either side got so narrow that the men had to walk single-file and their shoulders still brushed each side, then the path suddenly widened and there was a vast courtyard. They walked right through it and back into hedges on the other side. Now they had enough room to walk in a clump again, conversing, but they were meandering sharply,only five, or even three steps and they had to turn, repeatedly like a dance.

At the end of this chaotic maze, a new path began, but this time lined by trees. Fyodor was very familiar with birches, as they were abundant upon the mountain. The old ladies said that they all share the same roots under the earth, that a gathering of birch trees are actually all one organism, connected and breathing together, always. He’d always loved that tale. Soon, Fyodor found himself walking in a circle. The beginning or outer part of the circle was lined with a wood of birches that seemed to go on for a long time, before it gave way to rose bushes, and now, still in a wide circular motion, they were walking through a dense garden, filled with varying plants all around, lots of herbs were fragrant here. The path was marked with huge semi-precious stones and otherwise just soft dirt underfoot. Fyodor wondered if he’d been stricken with some sort of spell. He felt hazy and yet everything was hyper-focused and so real, it was surreal. Dragon flies buzzed around doing their business, hummingbirds and bees were apparently attracted by all of the pollen everywhere. Bright colors burst all around every bush. Even some leaves of non-flowering plants were blue, some purple and the sun was still very bright even through thick foliage that grew overhead as well as on all sides. There were still trees, even here, and they actually seemed to get bigger and stronger as one went along. The circle was closing in on itself, the path was ending, and at the center was a very tall, very thin woman.

Her clothes were so white they were transparent. There were three or four layers so you couldn’t make out much of her frame, only the suggestion of skin, as her silks fluttered in the breeze. Her face was quite long and her eyes were very narrow. She looked Fyodor directly in the eye, which most women couldn’t and most people wouldn’t. He was the most revered person on his mountain and very handsome.

She didn’t exactly smile, but the lady in white's expression was open and looked authentically happy to see him. He couldn’t tell. He felt altered and he thought dully she had a knowingness about her. She reached out a hand and he took it. She bowed and kissed his middle knuckle, “I am Resilda, Your Highness.” Fyodor bowed deeply in return and felt he’d stayed that way too long when he lifted. The other three laughed little polite chortles, and exchanged meaningful looks and then pleasantries. Fyodor knew that Resilda was the High Priestess and that his behavior in greetings was awkward at best, since he had not been able to speak, but this embarrassment soon subsided, as they moved into a great hall and gave way to distraction. He hadn't noticed, but the three of them had been walking as Xan and Resilda spoke to each other like old friends, with some dry wit and playful challenges in their conversation, surprisingly to Fyodor, backwards in the same spiral where he'd approached Resilda. The spiral was a walking meditation, meant to clear the mind and it did help. Without the spiral, Fyodor was certain he wouldn't have been as aware as he was currently managing.

Statues lined the walls and there was a grand staircase that was equally gilded, with not only argicoline but precious metals and stones of all kinds. It led to a wide platform and a grouping of chairs that looked like large branches. From the chair, rose the council of Renata, there to greet their prince.