Chapter 10: Spring Festival, Part I

Two weeks passed after the brawl without word–Lucho insisting he had to “…connect with María…” before something could be established–and I waited with Vidal by the great sequoia on Sunday, day one of week three, upon finally receiving notice.

Vidal stood with his back to the Bazaar, arms tense and crossed, hugging his chest as if he were feeling chilly. Speaking, Vidal raised his voice with a sense of impatience, “I can’t keep my legs from wobbling, Jack. This is getting out of hand.”

His insistence was firm, almost curt, which elicited an indignant look I immediately regretted upon seeing the surprise wash across his face, “Vidal, please understand that I too am frustrated with the delay and promise of meeting. Now, apparently, they want some public affair-obviously…” I broke my steady speaking pace to gesture at our surroundings.

The Bazaar was in the midst of being transformed into a cornucopia of colour and light. Ringed, swirling, and straight streamers wrapped and clung to wires that flew across the square from rooftops to a tall central pole that bound them all together like a spoke.

Paper lanterns and cards with hand-drawn naturalistic designs hung from the wires, slipping between breaks in the streamers, clinging to string just above the heads of passersby. Fluttering in the wind and hanging in the shade of that archaic tree, the paper displays flared-up with dancing light, providing a sense of life to the otherwise two dimensional floral scenes.

The market stalls, tables, and rugs, alongside the many imposing business buildings, needed little decoration, defaultly being rather distinguished with a sense of jovial flare necessary to stand out in crowds of hundreds of exciteds and drunks.

Before I could continue after drawing Vidal’s attention momentarily away from his own unease and to the magnificence of the ongoing construction, he caught sight of and alerted me to the approach of three men from across the way, of whom one, the lead figure, he identified as Lucho.

This did far more than any distraction or justification I could manage had done; I watched as Vidal had his own transformation from jitters and withdrawal to a broad grin and open arms, as if anticipating a hug. Lucho broke into a short jog as he neared us, his lackeys tailing behind, and he stopped before Vidal, grasping one of his hands to pull him into a brief half-hug.

“Fantastic gentlemen!” He praisingly exclaimed, “I know this is going to sound sudden, but would you please come with me? My love is ready to see you both, just outside that little tea house.”

It took a glance away, in whatever direction removed Lucho entirely from my vision, and great withholding strength, to prevent myself from sighing oh-so rudely. Obviously it was sudden, and obviously that made it discomforting. Yet, Vidal, overwhelmed, I reckon, with anticipation and a lust for shattered monotony, had already started walking with Lucho by the time I turned my head back.

Neither so much as looked for me, called for me, or hailed me even with an afterthought of a wave-without-looking. So, I let them disappear ‘round the bend leading east, towards the district wall and their appointment. Vidal ought not to trip over himself too badly. Even if he did, I could fix it.

As soon as they were entirely out of sight, my attention lingered on blurred air until the figure of that great sequoia caught my mind’s eye. On easing my gaze over to it, it came clearly into view, and I spotted the old man from my arrival kneeling on its lower stone step.

Approaching, I stalked, careful not to rouse him from what I took to be prayer. He put his weight, surprisingly, on both creaky knees, and left his walking stick behind, on the road. His fingers interlaced and held his palms together tightly, which braced his nose and obscured his lips, whispering unintelligibly.

“I thank God, you know…” He spoke–he spoke to me! I was struck with surprise that knit my lips together, leaving me speechless in my strange observation just behind him.

“…that Veha goes on in its carnivals and cash. In these artistic shows…in this four-times-annual reverence for God. Do you thank him for it all?”

“I can’t say that I do.” I honestly spat, “I’m not from Veha, just a visitor of a friend. So, what do I have to be thankful for for a place that isn’t my home?”

As I gave the man my reply, he ached and groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. I considered, for a second, stepping forward to offer my assistance, but a following second’s hesitation was just enough for me to witness his rise and, with an agile kick of the foot, the return of his cane to his hand. He then stood, facing me, decrepitly.

“That Veha makes herself your home, for so long as you’re here. Right? Or is she just a hostel?”

“You mean Veha becomes homely?”

He nodded, so I asked “What defines homely?”

“That for-granted, consuming peace of knowing it’ll always be here, as you’ve known it, so for-granted that it retires from your conscious awareness.”

“That…yes I suppose.” I drew my arms across and in, in a self-hugging sort of way, “I suppose I should see it that way. Would you have me donate something, again, to show my appreciation for that…forgetfulness defining peace?”

“Never. Only in appreciation of God. God’s light, wisdom, and health. Yes? The health of the great sequoia is the health of Veha.”

“How could that be?” I asked him, sensing no connection between the tree and the city. While old, so obviously old, for however many times I passed that great sequoia by, never once did even the faintest waft of magic, ascension, or evil exude from within the perpetuity of its bark. It sat, merely, in peace, gifted all it would need to live, and then some, by the people.

“Because it speaks for the people and their Lord.” As he spoke ‘Lord’ he lifted his free right hand to point, vaguely, in the direction of the keep, “The tree lives, is loved, and is hugged…this says that the people of Veha acknowledge its spirituality–its connection with God. You know, the tree really is good for nothing.”

“How can you conflate its use and uselessness? How can you say it is both so important as to be the life of the city, and to be good for nothing?” My scepticism roped my end of the conversation, and took a single, aggressive step forward. I regretted the way I said it, but was relieved to find the old man didn’t seem to care.

“When I watched you arrive in Veha, I watched you spy the tree when you survived the gauntlet of the crowd. You see its burls and its dancing branches, and you see its height and its hourglass trunk. This tree couldn’t possibly shoulder roofs or form coffins. This tree is good for nothing.”

I sighed, letting my arms fall back to my sides. Feeling some relief, a tenseness I hadn’t recognised fell out of my shoulders, “You mean, it’s good for nothing as far as people concerned with use go. Being, I guess, most people?”

His smirk was mischievous, coming as an answer to my question. I went on, “So, for so long as they can love it for its being this great sequoia, and nothing more, like they love God for being that God, it speaks to the city’s life.”

I neglected to inflect, feeling I had gotten the point of the elder’s lecture. Knowing some pride, I diverted my eyes from the old man and to the tree, peeking through its sprawling, spreading branches that grew smaller and smaller as they neared the sky.

When I looked down again the old man was walking off, heading for the roads west. “What an odd man.” I thought, looking then to the east where I noticed Vidal and Lucho returning to me, deep in conversation, with Lucho’s two men and a new, older woman in tail. She seemed to be in the midst of senescence, but without the physical turmoil the old man so obviously suffered, needing no cane nor hobble.

Vidal spoke immediately as they reached me, “There you are Jack, just where we thought we’d left you. Why didn’t you come with us? I assumed you were going to catch up after your daydream. What’s on your mind, anyway?”

As soon as Vidal finished his diatribe, my musculature re-found its previously shirked tightness. Discomfort accompanied this, leaving me angrier than I was when he abandoned me to chat and chortle with Lucho. I spoke rudely, I knew it, and I didn’t care, “Be quiet Vidal. Lucho, thank you for returning so speedily. I’m Jack.” From Vidal to Lucho to the woman who I could only assume was, finally, the promised María Cristina.

I instantly sidestepped Vidal’s offence, Lucho nodding and removing himself from my path to approach her as I moved so as to step between them. Lucho’s men had retreated to flank her, watching me.

“Charmed.” She said to me, affirming it was her. I responded,

“I’m glad that we can finally–” She cut me off…brash.

“Do, please, cut the shit, Jack. You and I are low on time, as has been seen by the rash assassination attempt you and my husband endured two weeks ago.”

Another Lucho. Great. Genuinely, someone with whom I can abandon choice-words and rococo standards, “Absolutely. Shall we talk here?”

“Yes.” I didn’t have the time to mention the possibility of onlookers before I sensed that she’d begun casting. Her right and left hands simultaneously twirled and lifted up to her mid-biceps, causing a translucent bubble to appear around us that, rather obviously, only myself, Vidal, Lucho, and her could see.

The men that flanked her acted and peered about as if all were normal, and the surrounding labourers and passers didn’t so much as glance. Speaking, I moved right onto the point, “Adorjan is our shared problem, correct? What do you know about him and his connection to the assassins?”

“Unlike Lucho and I and our beloved citizens, we do not have the support of the crown. For men of similar origin, you and Adorjan couldn’t be more different, Jack. He broke one of the Principle Codes. He revealed himself and leveraged that to influence the Lord.”

I was promptly disgusted, sidelining my desire to spout curses so as to move the revealing conversation forward, “He–ahem…” I paused only to clear my throat and organise my words, “…so the Lord of Veha is aware that we exist, in some form or fashion. Adorjan has the Lord’s protection and so presumably the Lord’s muscle, yes?”

“Oh, absolutely. What a marvel it is, I must tell you, to witness the innocent being butchered while the guard watches or wanderers away, deaf to the screams of the dying. We are in this business for Her Jack, to make money and to support Her. She wouldn’t want this.”

“Then I have to ask why She hasn’t dispatched an Inquisitor. Yhortor was blind to all of this until I arrived at Santiago's request. It made no mention or allusion to anything worse.”

“You would know better than any of us as to why. If you are unaware, then She must have other plans. Perhaps, knowing Santiago would call you, She deemed your coming sufficient. You’ve been here, what Jack, a month? The waves you’ve made have already undone years of damage.”

“I’ve acted spontaneously. You understand this is a non-strategy, regardless of how thought-through some of my–” I caught myself, barely uttering ‘my’ before correcting myself, “–our actions have been.” Vidal seemed ignorant of my flash blunder, looking pleased at my acknowledgement of his efforts. I hope it allowed him to leave behind whatever huff he’d been feeling after I steamrolled his excitement.

“Surely, this time of all times, you wouldn’t have us continue this parade of open bloodshed. Would you, Jack? How lucky are you that none of the Humans noticed the stunts that word of crossed my desk? Ash on the tavern floor in the morning? Ash in the alleyways so frequented by beggars and thieves?”

“I wouldn’t, but it’s also obvious that we’re at war with Adorjan whether we like it or not. He sent those assassins after us, didn’t he?” She nodded, so I kept speaking, “War necessitates sudden and unexpected changes. We have to mark successive targets, yes, but so too must we prepare to be somewhat open about this whole unruly affair.”

“But not today, nor any time this week. Even Adorjan, for however brutal and unorthodox he’s become, will respect the Spring Festival–its appreciation of God presupposes peace.”

“Why would an Ascended respect a Human festival dedicated to God of all people?”

“People?” María sounded startled, “She relies on the herding of the chattel as much as we do to go on, Jack. Where would you be if not for that contractual syphoning? By existing and allowing their little world to go on, undisturbed, the bargain is upheld and your life persists mightily.”

Where was I, today? Where was my mind? Situated, clearly, off balance, to forget something so foundational, “I’m sorry, you’re absolutely right.” I felt hideous, “Even if Adorjan has betrayed the Mother, he understands that he cannot disrupt the Human world, lest he loses his entire existence, and foils himself.”

“Precisamente.” María said, confirming my recall.