Page 21 of The Lost Guard's Healer

Chapter nine

Rourk

So quickly, everyone seems content to go on as if nothing at all had happened. As if three fresh graves were not just out of eyesight.

The Shanti People decide to continue with The Patron’s Blessings Festival, and the next evening was a stark contrast to the dour day that preceded it. Though people still grieved their dead and nursed wounds, music was played, a feast was prepared, and the drink flowed.

I woke that day to find my legs were surprisingly more capable, despite the excessive use and strain on them recently. I figure I need to push the muscles to get them working again, and go through several periods of pain and rest on the road to recovery.

The large field between the tents and huts is alive with people mingling, filling bowls of food and cups of wine, and breaking into sporadic dancing. Those with the musical instruments are playing a jolly, whimsical melody that feels both fun and somber. I notice several small groups who are sitting to the side and clearly not engaged with the frivolities, the weight of the recent devastation and deaths keeping them separate from the rest.

I was told I should wear something green for the festival this evening, although of course I have no clothes other than my old uniform and what I’ve been given so far. Before the central bonfire is to be lit to mark the beginning of the festival, Leila approaches to hand me a forest-green tunic.

“This was my Geralt’s,” she tells me with a sad smile. “Might as well put it to some use.”

“No, that’s unnecessary,” I say, taking a step back. “Thank you for the offer, but—”

“Nonsense,” Leila says, and thrusts the clothes into my arms. “You must. Geralt would want to see it used for good rather than collecting dust, don’t you think?”

“You don’t even know me,” I say slowly. “Are you sure you want me to wear his clothes?”

“I am sure,” she says with ease, giving me a smile. “Besides, it would be rude to not wear green to the festival. It is meant to mimic the land. Do you know that? And your garb there reminds me more of rot. Not the growing, blooming earth around us.” She pats my cheek lovingly. “Wear the clothes, boy,” she says. “And do so with confidence. Geralt had good taste.” She winks and pinches my face before strolling off.

People try to soak in the celebration, but I can see that it’s not as easy for some people to ignore what happened as it is for others. Some look around with nerves, as if expecting Wildmen to appear any minute. The Elders insist they won’t be back for a while, that no two attacks have ever happened so close together before, but it’s easier to say something than it is to believe it.

I'm glad to see that they have listened to my advice and placed lookouts at regular intervals on the outskirts of the village. Each lookout has a horn they can blow the moment that any danger is spotted. I’ve never liked taking chances. In my experience, it’s always best to be prepared.

I make my way around the festival in a slow stroll, taking in the merriment. These are not my people, but it is nice to be with them on this special occasion. While I’ve been learning so much about them in the short time I’ve been here, they are also fairly secretive about certain matters. Which I understand. I’m still a stranger to them and the Oathlands have not had a peaceful history with their people.

I come to one table laid with food and see Galene is there, filling her plate. She is in a flowing white corseted gown with emerald adornments, and leaf-like ornaments are in her dark hair which is smooth this evening.

She tenses when she sees me, but it is a subtle flinch that is almost imperceptible.

“Enjoying the festival?” I ask as I pick up a cup of wine from the table.

She focuses on placing vegetables on her plate. “The Patron’s Blessings Festival is to bless the world and bring us good fortune. It is not for enjoyment.”

“And yet, I can’t help but detect a sense of merriment,” I say, looking around. “Must be my imagination.”

Galene turns to me and pauses, her face dropping. She storms up to me and jabs a spoon at me. “Where did you get that? That tunic does not belong to you.”

“Leila gave it to me. She said she wanted me to wear it.”

She looks at me with uncomprehending eyes. I can see her building up her next argument. She sighs and says, “You should not be wearing that. Geralt was a great man. A greater man than you’ll ever be.”

“Some people think I’m pretty great,” I say with a playful grin.

Her scowl tells me she doesn’t appreciate that.

“Speaking of clothing,” I say. “That is a wonderful gown on you.”

She glares at me and her eyes narrow mistrustfully. “I am relieved to know this garment, which I specifically wore for you, pleases you.”

When she turns back to the table of food, I say, “I know you don’t like me. But that doesn’t mean we have to hate each other. Have I done something to offend you personally? If I have, then I apologize deeply.”

A hint of hesitation passes on Galene’s face. She shakes her head. “I do not think of you at all.”

I consider pushing the matter further, but finally concede. “Very well.” I take a step closer and she looks up at me with those bright blue eyes. “Despite it not being the purpose, I hope you enjoy your evening.”

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