Midsummer was a hot day. Fristad was smouldering in the sun and the air was distorting over the ocean. Fishing boats flickered in the distance. Despite the lazy heat, the people of Fristad were on their feet. Barrels of wine were being carted to every plaza, inn, and bar. The Harbour Inn was decorated with flowers and leaves. Fishers cleaned and prepared the catch. Farmers were sweating in the fields, harvesting tomatoes, green beans, and lettuce. Strawberries were picked and cherries heaved into large baskets. Inside the library, Afi was fanning himself with the book he was supposed to read.

An arm draped over the armrest of his chair, he let his head hang and sighed. He would have loved to spend the entire day in the cool bathhouse, or at the beach, where he could have his feet in the water, but Sylvia insisted on the library. She was sitting in the corner, hunched over a book as per usual. Dana was sitting by the counter, reading the slender blue tome about magic again. He must have read it at least six times already. Reading was hard enough to do in the first place. Why anyone would reread things was beyond Afi. Scribes were strange people, he concluded.

Sylvia stood up with a start, her chair screeching against the floorboards, and Afi jerked out of his chair as well. He looked around wildly, but there was no threat that he could see. Sylvia swept the book off the desk and hurried through the library. Afi followed at once.

“What is happening?”, Afi asked bewildered.

“I found it!”, Sylvia said happily.

When she reached the counter, Dana was already beaming at her. “You found it?”, he asked.

“Yes!” Sylvia placed the book on the counter and hopped up onto the second chair. “Here”, she said, pointing at the text.

Dana pulled the book toward himself. Adjusting his glasses, he began to read.

Afi exhaled and shook his head. “You had me thinking there was an attack”, he grumbled.

“Sorry”, Sylvia chuckled. “But this is huge! I found the soul reference. It is real. There is research from before Sev independence, before we separated from Severn”, she grinned.

Afi did not look impressed. He flopped down in the next best chair and began fanning himself again. “Soul reference. Right.”

Sylvia turned in her chair. “Remember the book you owned? The one about the hollow boy in the mountains?”

Afi nodded.

“The master removed the boy’s soul and after that he became a wizard. He had magic”, Sylvia reminded.

“And?”, Afi asked.

“Magic is the interaction of soul and Gaia, right?”

“I guess?”, Afi frowned.

“So, the state of a soul should affect the way this interaction happens, right?”

Afi blinked at Sylvia and shrugged.

Waving an arm, Sylvia asked, “So, what if affinity has to do with the state of the soul?”

“Then what?”, Afi asked.

Sylvia’s shoulders fell. “Are you not curious about magic at all? Would it not be cool to know how it works? What it is? What makes someone a mage?”

Afi shrugged again.

Sylvia shook her head. “You are no fun”, she teased.

Afi stuck his tongue out. Sylvia giggled before turning back around.

After a while, Dana began nodding repeatedly. He turned the page and nodded more. A smile spread over his face. “Yes. Yes, I think you are on to something here. As you say, a lot of texts refer to this. It is probable that it is true. So, there is nothing that says magic is confined to any specific population. In theory, and”—He waved a hand—“I would not know, of course, but according to all I have read, yes, affinity ought to be obtainable by anyone.”

“But how?”, Sylvia interrupted. “Breaking your soul does not seem like a great way to become a mage. Not to mention pulling soul out of someone's chest. Besides, there are plenty of people with broken souls, and even missing pieces, who do not exhibit affinity.”

Dana shrugged broadly, waving his arms. “It may be a prerequisite, but not a sole cause. It would certainly explain the apprehension a lot of texts have about magic, and the people who wield it. A broken soul often comes with a cold heart. Those who are broken cannot feel other souls the way you and I can. The lack of empathy leaves them unaffected by the suffering of others.” He placed a hand over his chest for emphasis.

“I do not buy that explanation”, Sylvia rebutted. “Just because someone does not feel other souls, that does not automatically mean they do not care about other people. I find it hard to believe that someone could look upon suffering and be indifferent, whether it affects them directly or not.”

Dana shrugged. “Maybe it is just the trauma. It takes a lot of strain to break a soul. Who knows what that does to a person.”

“Maybe.”

Dana eyed the text again. “It makes some amount of sense that mages would be broken. More contact area to interact with certainly improves many reactions. Take a simple fire. If you spread the coals out, it will have more air. If you spread out seed, it will grow stronger roots. So, who is to say more contact area for the soul would not help interactions with Gaia? It seems reasonable.”

Leaning in conspiratorially, he smiled. “I have a theory that someone has figured it out, but decided to keep it secret. There was an entire scholarship under the Crown. It is said that there used to be many magicians in the Crown Castle back in the day. Even further back, there were entire magic schools in the mountains. I am sure you have heard the stories. Who is to say they are not true? I think it is true, and something must have caused this concentration of mages, right? There must be something that made people into mages.” He trailed off and shook his head. Motioning at the slender blue book Sylvia had brought, he said, “Like this book. I am pretty sure this comes from the capital. The style is clearly northern, and the language is formal, so it must be a scholar’s text, probably someone under the Crown.”

“Priest Ryther said his teacher made him copy it. He also claimed that he was studying in Storhjärd under the Crown”, Sylvia nodded.

“I knew it!”, Dana exclaimed. He lowered his voice again, balling a hand and striking the air triumphantly. “I just knew it.” He blew air between his clenched teeth and shook his head. “Oh, one day I want to see the capital. I want to walk into that beautiful castle and rummage through its archives.” He made an uncomfortable face. “If they are still intact. Oh, I hope they are. What a dream to have just an hour in there…” He caught himself and closed his mouth. “Excuse my ranting.”

“Not at all”, Sylvia smiled. “I am much the same, I am afraid. I was just taught not to let it show.”

Dana placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded. “Ah, yes. I can relate to that. I try to keep it together around the sisters. They want information, not a lecture.”

Sylvia giggled. “But Yri likes giving them.”

Dana laughed heartedly, patting her shoulder. “Oh yes, she can give a speech like any priest. It is all those stories she memorized. It rubs off on you.”

Dana took a slow breath to calm himself and removed his hand. Meeting Sylvia’s eyes, he smiled so broad that every hint of a wrinkle around his eyes became visible. Reminded of Father Ryther, Sylvia’s soul made itself known, weighing down her chest. The stench of his corpse crept into her nose.

“I am glad you are here”, Dana said. “Really. It has been a long time since I have had someone to study with.”

“I am glad as well”, Sylvia replied. She bowed her head lightly. “And I am honoured to find an elder who is willing to share his wisdom.”

“Oh, no no, a Fri does not bow”, Dana waved it off. “But I am glad to be of service”, he added, winking at her. “We should lock up soon. The solstice prayer should begin within the hour.”

“Speaking of magic”, Sylvia jested.

Placing a wooden bookmark between the pages, she closed the tome about souls and returned it to her desk.

Turning to Afi, Dana wondered, “Are you going to pray with us?”

“I might as well”, Afi agreed, rising from his chair.

Dana led on to the temple by the western gate. Brushing up against the thin modern wall, the temple was a comparatively modest building. Uncut stone had been stacked into a wooden frame and slathered with daub. It was simple, but large and comfortable. The thick stone layer kept the temple cool in summer and warm in winter. Bowing to the space, they stepped into the shade.

Afi’s eyes danced over the wood and hay ceiling while they walked past the rows and rows of benches. Finding seats far from the centre, they ended up sitting right against the cool wall. Sections had been chiselled out in even intervals along both sides of the temple to place windows. The seam between window and wall was lined with cut stone, but the same type of daub had been used to seal it. Afi peeked through the thick tinted glass. The blue light softened his face.

“It is a gorgeous colour”, Dana commented cheerfully.

“It reminds me of Safeharbour”, Afi agreed.

“What is it like? I have never been.”

“Dark. Cold. Dirty”, Afi answered. “But home”, he added before drawing his gaze from the stained glass and letting it settle on the floor.

The temple was soon filled with ample chatter. When there was no more space on the benches, people stood in the back and children were seated all along the aisles. When Yri and Thorun entered with their sworn, people scooted aside to make space on the innermost ring of benches. Sylvia noticed Frida at Yri’s side. They sat down together and Yri draped an arm over Frida’s shoulder.

It was not long after the sisters’ arrival that a woman in a long yellow gown strode into the temple. She stepped onto the platform in the middle. Placing a small metal box down on the old stone altar, she made a show of unlocking it. Swinging the lid open, she raised her head, and blue light danced over the ceiling. Sylvia remembered this trick. A candle was placed under a blue glass, and hidden beside the god in its container. Smiling to herself, she enjoyed the show.

The priest slowly lowered her hands and placed them firmly on the altar. She surveyed the audience. She even made a point of looking behind herself, eyeing every row, until the temple was completely quiet. She drew a deep breath and began.

“Fri! Sworn! Fristad! Today is the day of the summer solstice. This, the longest day of the year, we celebrate by praying to our god, prosperity, fertility, and rich, lush fields, as well as ample fish at our coast. Do not be shy. You need not conform your prayer. You need not heed the call of a priest nor a noble. Speak from your heart. Speak your intent! Let Gaia know what your god is!”

She placed a hand over her soul and closed her eyes. As she opened her mouth to pray, so did the citizens of Fristad. It was a buzz of disorganised prayer, of individual wishes and dreams.

Afi looked around in bewilderment. “Need not conform your prayer?”

Sylvia shrugged in answer.

Afi placed a hand on his chest and cleared his throat. Closing his eyes, he tried, “God of Fristad, offer me the strength to protect my liege. Feed her and keep her safe, always.”

Closing her eyes as well, Sylvia opened her mouth to speak, but something else caught her attention. She felt the tug in her chest, but it was not the god of Fristad that coaxed. She was drawn to something much closer. Slipping a hand into her pocket, she could feel the god of Nyberg flutter in her hand. Sylvia slipped it out of her pocket just far enough to steal a glance. Among the blue spilling in from the windows, the shine of her little god did not stand out. The nebulous matter within the crystal spun and whirled wildly, growing thicker and brighter as the prayer continued all around it. The cloud of magic grew so thick it turned fluid, splashing around within the crystal. Shaking it, Sylvia watched the thin liquid swirl. Closing her hand around the god, she could feel her soul straining in her chest, urging her to reach out. She joined the prayer in a careful whisper.

“Let the fallen wander in peace and reunite with Gaia, mother of all. Let their sacrifice not be in vain. Give us their strength and let us protect these lands in their name. Let this terror end and never befall another soul.”

She peeked at the god. She could feel it respond to her, easing its presence in her hand. The liquid settled down. Turning the crystal, she noticed the fluid only slowly followed the natural order of things, running down in a thick lump, like thick honey falling off a spoon. Pocketing the god of Nyberg again, she exhaled and looked up to see Afi’s eyes on her. Shrugging again, she got a shrug back. Afi turned his gaze forward and they waited until every last murmur had died down. The room was vibrating with intent.

The priest raised a hand to the ceiling again, directing their attention to the light. The blue hue covered nearly the entire roofing now. “Gaia has heard you, Fristad. Your intent is clear and our god is strong”, she declared. Closing the box and covering the blue lantern, she let a dramatic pause linger. Then, she lifted the box. Cradling the precious container in her arms, she offered, “Enjoy the solstice.”

As soon as she had left the temple, the audience was on their feet, shuffling out the doors in excited chatter. Dana stood and patted his trousers. “Have a pleasant solstice, you two”, he smiled.

“You will not be staying for the feast?”, Sylvia asked.

“No. I am not enthusiastic about these events. Much too loud”, Dana said. He bowed his head and departed.

“Just us then”, Sylvia said.

“Seems like it”, Afi agreed.

They waited until most of the temple had cleared before getting up as well. The intent still hung in the air. It was very peculiar. Sylvia paused for a moment to take it all in. Just what sort of disorganised prayer was this? What did the priest want with it, if she did not bother collecting it and directing it to the god? Shaking her head in confusion, Sylvia finally headed outside. The sunlight was harsh compared to the soft blue glow of the temple.

Once they were out of the bustle, Afi asked in a hushed voice. “Did your god respond?”

Sylvia nodded. “It turned liquid.”

“I thought gods were in crystals?”, Afi frowned

Sylvia turned around, so she stood facing a wall, and slipped the god out of her pocket to show Afi the thick liquid within. He stared at it wide eyed.

“Woah. And it was not like that before?”

“No. it was like a cloud before.”

“Strange”, Afi mumbled. “Do you think that is good or bad?”

“I am not sure that it is either. It should be stronger if it does this after prayer, right? I guess it means the god absorbed some of the intent”, Sylvia suggested. She placed the god back into her pocket.

“That makes sense”, Afi said. “How about you ask the priest?”, he suggested.

“Absolutely not. What if she claims it?”, Sylvia protested.

“Right.” Afi ran a hand over his neck. “Maybe there is a book on it in the library?”, he suggested instead.

Sylvia nodded in agreement. “I was thinking the same thing. I also have some questions about this prayer. What use is an unorganized chatter like that? I will look for answers tomorrow. For now, let us just enjoy the solstice.”

“Good plan.”

When they reached the Harbour Inn, almost every table was occupied. Easing into a chair at the bar, Sylvia waved Frida over.

“Coming right up!”, Frida shouted. A moment later, she emerged from the kitchen with two large plates, filled to the brim with fruit, cheese, and fish. “Say the word and there is more”, she said hastily. “Drinks?”

“Water”, Sylvia said.

“Beer”, Afi requested.

Frida did not even bother confirming it. She spun around and returned a moment later with an entire tray of drinks. Placing theirs down, she then made her way around a nearby table to serve drinks to the gathered soldiers.

“Busy day”, Sylvia remarked.

Afi hummed into his mug. He set the beer down with a satisfied sigh. Sylvia giggled and pointed at his face. Huffing a laugh as well, Afi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, removing the foam.

“Happy?”, Sylvia asked.

“Very. You never drink?”, Afi wondered, motioning toward her glass of water.

“I do not like it”, Sylvia shrugged.

Afi blinked a few times. It took him a moment to process the fact that someone would not enjoy alcohol, but eventually he simply shrugged, and turned his attention to the array of delicacies before him. Picking a small fruit to start, he bit down. He groaned in delight when the sweet taste coated his tongue. Holding the fruit up, he mumbled around his mouthful. “Whas is?”

“A strawberry”, Sylvia answered.

Afi raised his eyebrows. “Is so sweet.”

Sylvia chuckled. She took one as well and tried it. “Tastes normal”, she concluded. “Ripe, but normal.”

“Damn. I have been living in the wrong city.”

“Welcome to the south”, Sylvia jested, holding the red berry up by the stem.

Afi lightly touched his berry to hers before eagerly enjoying the rest.

“Come on! Tell the story!”

Sylvia turned her head as people began to pound on tables and heckle someone sitting near the middle.

“Story! Story! Story!”

“Fine, fine, alright. Settle down. Settle down”, a man yielded.

He rose out of his chair and climbed onto the table. Sylvia looked up to see it was Bothilder who had been pressured into the spotlight. He placed his boots firmly between plates and mugs and cleared his throat. The inn quieted in an instant, all heads turned to him.

“Once upon a time, in a land far far away, meaning it was probably in Severn.” He paused for laughter, and the hint of a smile made it through his bothered aspect. “There was a city called”—He waved a hand—“Who-gives-a-shit.”

People giggled around the inn.

“Who-gives-a-shit was a powerful and rich city. Trade boomed. Every day was market day, and tradesmen entered and left through the gates in a steady stream. Every citizen wore jewels around their neck. It was hard to find any sturdy clothing, because everything was silk, with golden embroidery and crystal buttons. Citizens often had to go see healers, because their fingers would not uncurl under the weight of all their rings.” Bothilder stretched his fingers dramatically and groaned. “The people of Who-gives-a-shit had a hard life. Can you imagine the drudgery? Every day, they had to wake up, be dressed, eat, spend their money, and go to bed again. Oh, it was hard times indeed.”

Bothilder held up a finger and reached down for his mug. Swinging the remaining beer back, he sighed and set the mug down. He stood back up and stretched his back. “Urgh. Such hard work.”

Another giggle went through the room. Frida stopped in the door to the kitchen and smiled.

Turning around so he faced the other half of the audience, Bothilder continued, “But these were clever folk, let me tell you. Oh yes, they were experts at making their lives as easy as possible. They did not walk down to the market like peasants. They sent someone to go spend their money for them. But! The smartest of them all was the priest. He came up with a genial plan. What if, instead of all these poor exhausted citizens dragging their heavy gold and jewel decorated selves to the temple, they simply sent a peasant to make an offering instead?” Bothilder held his arms out demonstratively, grinning over both ears. “Genius!”

“Clearly!”, someone shouted.

“So it was! The citizens of Who-gives-a-shit stayed at home, and sent money to the temple. The priest could soon build a second temple, and a third! It was splendid! Planning temples is hard work, let me tell you. It took a lot of time and effort. So who could blame the busy priest for forgetting about a little god?” Bothilder waved his arms about, dramatising his indifference. “Sure, there was a little less rain after the god died, but it is not like anyone noticed. They simply bought food from the surrounding farms. No problem. Until the timber grew too dry, and on a solstice day, it all went terribly awry. The sun had not forgot, and twelve on the dot, up the bright flames shot!” He lifted his arms and flexed his fingers. “The poor citizens in their heavy jewellery had no chance. Only the lightly dressed swift peasantry made it out. What a loss.”

Kaija handed him another drink and he raised it high. All around the inn, people raised their mugs and spoke as one. Afi raised his mug as well. “And that is why we pray on this solstice day”, he laughed.

“You know the story?”, Sylvia asked happily.

“The solstice fire? Who does not know about it? Though, the way my mother told it, the priest tried to tell people that they need to pray, but they kept sending him gold instead, and no one survived”, Afi chuckled.

“Ryther said it was true. This actually happened. A city lost its god due to neglect, and then burned down soon after”, Sylvia said.

Afi raised his eyebrows. “Huh”, he shrugged, and lifted the mug to his mouth again.