Foundation

Jakyr had shown earlier this morning, and the Herald even reached out and ruffled Mags’ hair. “Looks like you’re doing well, settling in and getting on. I am happy for you. I never would have dreamed that under all that mud was a fine young Trainee when I first saw you.”

Mags stretched his mouth in a grin. “Me neither, sir. Tha’s Dallen’s doin’. Seems he managed t’ housebreak me.”

Jakyr laughed aloud. “You get on down to Master Soren’s house and your friends. I have a bit of a ride ahead of me, and the sooner I start, the less ground I will have to cover after dark.”

Mags waved to him as he headed off down the road to the Herald’s Gate, but didn’t linger. Tonight was a highly significant night in a week of special days. It was Midwinter’s Eve, the longest night of the year, and the reason for the holiday in the first place. Mags had permission to spend the night at Master Soren’s house, by express invitation. Soren Mender was unusually casual in most things, but it seemed he was unusually sober in one; he kept the Midwinter Solstice in the old-fashioned way, or so he said.

Now there had been enough priests prattling about the mine for Mags to have picked up that most religions considered the night significant. And Dallen had explained the whole year-turning religious business to him—how this was, in most of Valdemar’s religions, the night that the dark forces tried (and failed) to keep the mother-god from giving birth to the god, or in some, to keep the dead god from rising and being reborn. And none of that really mattered much to Mags—

But it did seem to matter to Master Soren, so he would give this all his due attention.

Since Mags had no idea just what was meant by “keeping Midwinter Solstice the old-fashioned way,” he had simply nodded gravely, thanked Soren sincerely for the honor of the invitation, and went to get permission to spend the night away. As he had expected, Herald Caelen was only too pleased to give it.

Which was why he was packing up a small bag with overnight things now.

“You told me you’d explain,” he reminded Dallen, as he slung his slender pack behind his saddle. “You told me you’d tell me what it is that Master Soren is going to be doing tonight.”

:Oh, it’s simple enough. Midwinter Eve is the longest night of the year. Most religions here in Valdemar consider that significant; that on this night, the boundaries between the material world and the spirit world are thinner, that spirits can cross over, and that dark and evil things can, too. So on Midwinter Eve, the “old- fashioned” thing to do is spend the night in vigil and do what you can to keep evil at bay. Music usually, and singing, and remembering good things. There is a special ceremony at midnight. Then when the sun rises, everyone has a breakfast feast of foods that are supposed to be lucky, and goes to bed—or to celebrate further, depending on how hardy you are.: Dallen shook his head. :There will be many sore heads the day after tomorrow. I can promise that there will be no hammering on that day either.:

Mags considered this. :So I’m—:

:To hold as much of the vigil as you are up to, and to join everyone at the breakfast feast. The hardest time is just before dawn, anyway, and I can promise you that it will be lively enough you aren’t likely to fall asleep. In fact, things are likely to get a bit rowdy: Dallen looked back over his shoulder at his Chosen. I have every intention of holding vigil. I am rather old-fashioned myself.:

Well, if Dallen was going to, Mags didn’t intend to be outdone.

:They’ll take you to your room when you get there, and it would be wise to get a bit of a nap if you can,: Dallen added, stopping for a moment to let a swirl of partygoers cross the road in front of them. :I certainly will, and so will most of Soren’s guests. They’ll wake you when it is time for the vigil to start.:

When he arrived at Soren Mender’s house, it was, for the first time since he had begun coming there, completely quiet. The Great Hall was empty, and the only person visible was the man who opened the door to his knock. “Where is everyone?” he asked the servant at the door.

A smile warmed the man’s eyes. “Today and early tomorrow are for only a few, select guests, Herald-trainee Mags. In the evening the usual open house will prevail until the end of the season, but this is what the Master calls his ‘quiet holiday’ You will find that the opposite prevails among many other households here; there are so many parties tonight that people may attend as many as twelve between now and dawn.”

Mags head spun. “Twelve! How c’n anyone do that?”

The servant shrugged. “It is not my place to say. However ...” He raised an eyebrow. “It is perhaps easy for those whose time is almost entirely taken up in the pursuit of pleasure.” He consulted a list by the door. “Ah, you are the last of our expected guests. I can close and lock the gate now, while someone sees you to your room.” He rang for another servant. “Now, you are certainly free to do whatever you choose, sir, but as we are keeping vigil, most of our guests are sleeping before dinner, and you might want to do the same. Dinner will also be later than you may be accustomed to.” A boy a little younger than Mags appeared, and the servant gestured to him. “Dur, show Herald-trainee Mags to his room, if you please.”

Given what Dallen, and now the servant, had told him, Mags was not at all averse to getting some sleep. The room that the boy brought him to was certainly decorated with sleep in mind. The walls were covered by green embroidered hangings showing nothing more exciting than stylized flowers, small birds, and rabbits. There were heavy curtains over the window and a screened fire blazing cheerfully on the small hearth. A fleece covered part of the floor beside the bed, which took up most of the space. That construction was almost a room unto itself, curtained and covered with some soft but heavy green fabric, with a reading lamp and a bookcase built into the headboard. All of the mine kiddies could have fitted into it at once—a bit snugly, but they would have fit. The boy showed him what he called (to Mags’ vast amusement) “the necessary room” that was shared between his room and the next. There was a mug warming on a little shelf at the hearth that the boy offered to him. As he put down his bag, he noticed that on the same shelf was a plate of the little egg pies he had come to like so much. That was good, if dinner was going to be late.

Ah, Mags, ye’ve got spoiled! T’ think yer worried about one meal bein’ late! He almost laughed at himself. But still, it was hard to sleep if you were hungry, and he’d skipped luncheon to go hunting with Jakyr.

“What be in the cup?” Mags asked with interest.

“Milk, honey, spices and brandy wine,” the boy replied. “To help you sleep.”

Now Mags had never in his life had trouble sleeping, not even when he had nightmares, but he was not at all going to object to being served something that sounded so tasty. He thanked the boy, and since the youngling seemed to be waiting for something, wolfed down the pies and drank the potion down. And it was tasty. He found