Friday Funwrite: Celebration
Minet’s last Merkentak
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Minet Stone launched three light orbs into the night sky above Talopia. Purple. Red. Blue. They joined hundreds of others, mostly white, in lines arching down from the parapet of the tower. The cascade of light illuminated even the darkest of cobbled streets below, where city and country folk mingled together, anticipating the Merkentak celebration.
Purple. Red. Blue.
“How do you do it, Minet?” Belgu stared up at him with a strained face. A white orb, half the size of Minet’s colored ones, left his hand and joined a line.
Minet rubbed the younger boy’s head. “It’ll come, Belgu. A few more years of Merkentak and your orbs will push mine out of the way.” If I’m still here making them. Behind him, three other sculas sent their white orbs out to join others.
Purple. Red. Blue.
“No. No. I over heard Master Zandt making the assignments. Ugh!” He sent another orb out. “He said he only put me here because they needed a lot of little white orbs and that was all I could do.” The boy looked down, curly red locks falling on his face. “And you, he said you could take care of all the colored ones alone.”
Purple. Red. Blue.
I could do it all on my own, if I had to. Master Zandt told me so. “Perhaps he knew you were listening and said what you needed to hear. He’s like that sometimes.” A sharp laugh from behind him on the parapet made him cringe.
“That’s right, Stone!” Kip stopped tossing his white orbs and stomped over to stand next to Belgu. “Remember when he said the likes of you never make it to apprentice and never ever has one been made a Master?” He put his arm around Belgu and pulled him close, pointing at Minet with his other hand. “It’s true, you know. You shouldn’t envy him, Belgu. He might make pretty colored orbs, but Stones just don’t have the pedigree to do real magic.” His lanky figure hovered over Belgu, who looked like he wanted to jump off the tower if it meant getting away from the bully.
Kip always used Minet’s surname Stone, wielded it more like a weapon than a term of recognition. The generic name assigned to all orphans whose parents were unknown, Kip’s continued use of it hurt less now than it used to. He’d proven himself in every test the Scularih had given him so far, often besting Kip. All he has are his insults. Don’t believe them. “Time will tell, Kip. There’s always a first.”
“Don’t count on it being you, Stone. This is as good as it gets for the likes of you. Next year, when you fail to make apprentice, they’ll ship you off to some place that needs colored lights. And there you’ll stay.” He poked Minet’s shoulder, his thin boney finger hitting a nerve.
Minet’s palms burned. He extinguished the blue flames before he gave himself to their power. Before he did something that would really get him kicked out of the Scularih. “Time will tell.”
Blue. Blue. Blue.
The same-colored orbs, with blue fire roiling around the edges, bobbed around one another in the open air, searching for a space in the pattern of existing lights.
Purple. Purple. Purple.
Red. Red. Red.
The complete sets of colors zoomed off together, the blue ones having extinguished their fire.
Kip glared at him. He raised his hands and narrowed his eyes.
“Sculas!” A piercing cry came from the top of the stairs leading down the tower. Master Wiln strode out, her festive robes matching the colors of Minet’s orbs.
Kip stood straight.
“Yes, Master Wiln!” the sculas all said in unison.
“Job well done! The feasting run is about to begin. Go now, before you miss it!”
Minet pretended to go but hung back at the top of the stairs. When the others, including Master Wiln, were out of sight he positioned himself back at the edge of the parapet with a clear view to the last stretch of the run. Though he’d joined in every year he was eligible, this year he wanted to watch. Kip could be right, that he might be sent away before the next Merkentak. He should have wanted to do it even more, but his desire for the fun, and the food, had waned. I just want to see it, remember casting these lights and how they move. Whatever what happens next year, I can still claim this.
The lines of lights undulated high in the sky, following the runners fleeing from the enchanted merkfrut that chased them through the city. Screams of delight and distress rose and faded, so loud they reached him at the top of the tower, no matter how far away they were. He leaned over the edge. Near the base of the tower, a half dozen stone-topped tables rested on a raised platform. City officials, and others too important to run in the celebration, already sat eating their feast. One table was set aside for the Scularih, recognizing their role in the Merkentak and the daily lives of all Talopians. It remained empty; the Masters refusing to take food or rest until the run completed.
The open market square that surrounded the tower on three sides had filled with wooden tables, without chairs, topped with piles of food once the runners had left. Those too old or too young to run hovered around the edges, waiting for the chance to dash in and grab a spot near their favorite dishes when the run ended. The smells enticed him to go do the same, but he waited. Won’t be long now.
The shifting light orbs, waving with the runners, neared the last stretch. The first dozen or so runners turned the corner, untouched by merkfrut. Behind them came those who couldn’t escape all the soft, goopy fruit flying down the streets after them. Purple or blue stains, he couldn’t tell so far away, dotted their clothes and occasionally their heads.
Cheers greeted them all, even as they continued their dash to start their feast.
The rest of the runners came in waves. Many wiped away the merkfrut slime from their eyes, stumbling as they went.
There’s no red.
He’d watched the Masters enchant the merkfrut that morning. They had been meticulously counted to ensure equal numbers of the three colors. Something’s gone wrong. He couldn’t imagine how the Masters could have made a mistake. They were the Masters. Maybe I just can’t tell the difference between colors from up here.
Finally he spotted three red splotches, all on children younger than Belgu. They flared red. Undeniably red. He sighed in relief, still curious why they were so bright when the purple and blue were almost indistinguishable.
The final group of runners crossed into the square, so covered in merkfrut he couldn’t be sure if they had red or not. The crowd waiting to eat rushed in after them, young and old seemingly vitalized by the chaos.
Masters Zandt and Wiln sat at their table along with the other masters.
His stomach rumbled. Belgu is probably looking for me, or will once he’s eaten all the choclind he can find. Master Zandt had implied he should take the boy under his care, and he knew he should prevent him from overeating the sweet treats.
He just couldn’t take his eyes off the three red spots. An no one below seemed to notice how bright they were, almost luminous. He searched the mass of people and couldn’t find any other red stains. It appeared the marked boys were all from the same family, standing together and being doted on by the same adults.
At the edge of the square, the throng of people split, as if making a path for someone to pass through. It was narrow and quickly filled in. Two more appeared on opposite sides and glided through the crowd like a knife slicing cheese.
He couldn’t make out who or what was moving, but the people shifting to make room didn’t react. No one seemed to notice at all, not even the Masters.
The movement converged, then reversed, heading back out toward the edge of the square.
Where did they go? The red dots were gone.
He moved across the parapet, leaning and looking for any sign of the marked young ones. All he could really see was the motion through the crowd. He focused on one path and watched it reach the edge. The people moved aside and returned together like a flap opening and closing. Nothing came out.
Nothing I can see.
His heart pounded, instinctively knowing what had happened but unable to believe it. Hopefully Master Zandt would.
He flew down the tower stairs. I hope I’m not too late.
This is the Friday Funwrite for December 20 , 2024 using the prompt “celebration.”
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Notes on This Story:
This story was supposed to be about celebration. I had intended to write something light-hearted and potentially humorous about a festival where people ran away from enchanted fruit. It was a merging of the running of the bulls and several food-fighting celebrations I researched (the biggest is in Italy if I remember right).
It should have been a great time.
But Minet, who I decided to have as the main character, grabbed the reigns and insisted on his story being told. It unfolded as if he were dictating the story to me, even controlling my fingers as I typed. No matter how I tried to bring the focus back to the celebration, to detail the scene of a wall of enchanted fruit rolling and flying down the city streets after a hoard of hungry people…he pulled me back to this moment when he realizes something isn’t right with the beloved Merkentak. And there’s more to the story. So much more. But I had to stop him somewhere or he’d derail all my other projects.
This snippet of his story is just a preview, then. His full story will be told in good time. In the meantime I hope the darker turn to this celebration doesn’t sting too much. Here. I’ll throw a merkfrut at you. They don’t hurt, I promise. They do stain though, so I hope you weren’t wearing something that mattered.
Thanks for reading!