“Maybe we should tell someone, you know, about what happened?” Rhudedth suggested carefully. “Not the boar part, but how Eydeth and his friends attacked us?”
“No,” Jahrra said automatically.
For one reason or another, she didn’t want anyone to know about the incident, and she really didn’t see the point. Telling people about Eydeth’s attacks hadn’t helped her before, why would it help now?
“Besides,” she continued after noticing Rhudedth’s crestfallen expression, “I have a feeling they’re long gone.”
More importantly, Jahrra didn’t want anyone to know about the stranger who’d tried to capture her. If Eydeth’s name was brought up, he may be questioned and he might say something about the man who had frightened them. Jahrra wanted to keep on believing that the stranger wasn’t dangerous, and investigating the matter further could prove that he was. She shivered at the thought of someone actually wanting to kidnap her, and then suddenly remembered the look she’d seen on Eydeth’s face once he spotted her would-be captor.
Jahrra squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to believe that the look of fear on her classmate’s face was just a reaction to seeing someone who could actually harm him. It wasn’t because this dark stranger was evil or particularly dangerous; it was because, no matter how much Eydeth told everyone how tough he was, he really was a big coward. Yes, Jahrra reassured herself, that man was just a hermit or a drifter and we startled him. And no one got hurt, so why bother telling anyone at all? What good would that do?
She relayed her thoughts to her friends and they all agreed to keep what happened tonight secret. They all accepted the incident as just another one of Eydeth’s foiled attempts to terrorize Jahrra. They were just grateful the boar showed up in the nick of time to save their friend.
“You’re right, telling on them is a bit childish, and it won’t do any good,” Gieaun fumed after they’d made their decision. “But now I really want to get him back for this. Throw us in the river? I’d like to throw him in the river!”
“I know, Gieaun,” Jahrra sighed with a slight smile. “But just think! We’ve had a real life Sobledthe adventure!”
“I hate to take the thrill away from your enjoyment of our narrow escape with death Jahrra, but can we walk a little faster please?” Rhudedth breathed as a raccoon emerged from the fields and onto the path in front of them. “I can’t wait to get back into town!”
“I agree,” Pahrdh added nervously as he lengthened his stride. “Besides, I don’t want to give Eydeth and his friends another chance to attack us.”
Just as the children were coming up to the embankment of the main road that led into town, the sky suddenly lit with a flurry of burning red, gold and violet sparks.
“Ohhh!” Jahrra groaned in disappointment. “That’s the end of the hunt! Someone’s figured out all the riddles.”
“Finally! Civilization!” cried Scede happily, ignoring Jahrra’s obvious chagrin.
The five of them stepped a little lighter as they traveled past the ghostly white houses on the edge of town, every last one of them now guarded by small armies of glowing jack-o’-lanterns. Jahrra squealed and then laughed nervously when a black cat hissed and went darting into the shadows. Immediately after she recovered, however, a group of young children jumped out from behind a shrub and caused everyone to leap out of their skins. The children laughed gleefully, proud of themselves for scaring Jahrra and her friends and then tripped off to find another unsuspecting victim.
“I don’t know if I can take any more surprises tonight!” Gieaun said in exasperation.
Scede, Rhudedth, Jahrra and Pahrdh nodded their agreement. They were all ready to grab some hot cider and enjoy the rest of the evening, without Eydeth, without wild boars and without strangers lurking in dark corners.
“I wonder what the prize was,” Gieaun speculated.
Jahrra wondered too, trying not to feel too disappointed about it. It was our first try, she told herself. And besides, she thought with a shiver, there was no way we could’ve prepared for what happened.
As the blazing town square came into full view, the five friends noticed that someone was about to announce the winning team: four adults dressed in elaborate, tropical bird costumes.
“Congratulations to the winners,” the man in the black robes boomed. “They have won ten gold pieces each!”
The crowd began to murmur wildly and Jahrra noted the disgruntled looks on the faces of the other people she could only assume had come to the last clue just behind the winners.
“And,” continued the elder joyfully, bringing the crowd back to silence, “for an extra five silvers each, what is this year’s celebrated animal? The answer is in the riddles . . . ”
The man and his two comrades appeared mischievous with glee as the four bird heads lifted to reveal the faces of four Nesnan men, their expressions stony and rigid as they concentrated on the papers they held. After only a few minutes and a banter of harsh whispering, the four of them stood facing the three men in the ceremonial gowns.
“Do you have an answer?” the man dressed in red asked anxiously.
“This year’s honorary animal is,” one of the Nesnan men paused for dramatic effect, “the Raven!”
“Correct!” the elders shouted, and just as the crowd began to cheer, one final firecracker shot up and exploded into a blackish purple rain of embers, outlining the figure of a giant raven.
“How about that, Jahrra. You’re the honorary animal!” Scede said, elbowing his friend in the ribs.
“That’s why some letters were capitalized! Look,” Pahrdh interjected, pulling out the paper they’d written the clues on, “we had R, A and V. The other two clues would have had all of their E’s and N’s capitalized. I bet you anything!”
“How clever!” Rhudedth commented.
But they didn’t have much time to ponder the intricacies of the clues, for the sounds of their voices were soon drowned out by cheering, laughter and music.
Jahrra smiled as she watched the start of the celebration unfold before her eyes. After the fiery raven floated back down to earth, the bonfire ignited in one large plume of violet flame, slowly dying down into a tower of dancing orange and scarlet. The musicians began playing pipes and flutes and drums, and fifty dancers, all dressed in matching raven costumes much more ornate than Jahrra’s, began chanting and prancing around the fire. The people were all invited to join in the celebration, and before long, the hallowed rituals of the festival began.
Jahrra, Gieaun, Scede, Pahrdh and Rhudedth all watched in awe as corn, wheat and a variety of squashes were brought to the fire and thrown in. Dried meat and leather goods were also sacrificed, along with old shoes and clothes and even a few pieces of jewelry. Over the next several minutes, a multitude of objects were added to the fire, all of which symbolized an ending to the old year and the beginning of a new one.
Jahrra watched as the figures acted out the sacred vow, the fragile connection between life and death displayed for all to see. She remembered the words of Hroombra and Denaeh as the music and the chanting voices drifted through the enchanted air: “Anything that distracts the people of Ethoes from the sacred Goddess and the importance of protecting and honoring her is fed to the flames on this holy night. Everything old and worn out is thrown into the fire to show the acceptance of a New Beginning. For the Dark Half of the year starts on this day, and both life and death are to be revered and respected during this festival. Life is celebrated in the food that has been harvested for all to live on during the cold months, while death is acknowledged as these living things die to feed the people and creatures of the world. The celebration of Sobledthe ensures that this respect and sacred cycle is instilled in all, a respect for life and a respect for Ethoes herself. No one person ever leaves the Fall Festival not knowing how important it is to honor the one that gave life.”