Doggone Academy

The guard proceeded along the river. It was a pleasantly breezy and sunny day, which perhaps prompted Vivi to leave the carriage window open for once. I continued to march beside the Lady’s carriage.

Occasionally, I felt a prickly gaze upon me. Vivi seemed to be staring in my direction, whether she was actually looking at the scenery outside or not. When our eyes met, she abruptly seemed to sour, closing the window and drawing the curtains.

It was an utterly peaceful journey.

The only concern was about the “Sacred Festival,” but the wrinkle-free faces of the villagers we occasionally met suggested there wouldn’t be significant issues. Still, it warranted observation.

As we followed the path connecting villages alongside the downstream of the river, we came upon women doing laundry and children practicing dances on the pebbles. Singing and spinning around in joy.

The serene scene seemed to offer mental respite to the knights, worn from the journey. Vivi had the carriage stopped, showing interest.

“It’s peaceful and beautiful, unlike what I heard.”

She then inquired to her aide,

“Is it traditional here to hang strings from every tree and decorate them with flowers?”

“Before the farming season begins, they pray to the gods for a bountiful harvest during the Sacred Festival that’s about to take place. That’s why everyone is in such a festive mood.”

Then, a group of young maidens playing in the nearby water saw Vivi’s carriage and approached, splashing water as they did. They bowed awkwardly, showing respect. One of them spoke up,

“We heard a distinguished person was passing through Barvisia. We may not know much about the kingdom, but we recognize that you are a person of high status.”

The arrival of the young and innocent maidens brought a warm breeze into the predominantly male guard. Gerald stepped forward,

“Step back.”

“Won’t the Lady and knights join us for the Sacred Festival? It’s a tradition in Barvisia to welcome guests from afar on the day of the festival.”

The maidens seemed more intrigued by the sturdy and robust knights than by Vivi, casting flirtatious glances even my way. Understandably, opportunities for finding a match in these remote lands must be scarce.

Gerald and Nielrin cut through the gathering with a sharpness,

“Move along.”

Their stern approach left the girls looking dejected,

“We’re sorry.”

The knights too sighed with disappointment as they retreated.

Observing this, Vivi asked Gerald,

“What happens during the Sacred Festival?”

“It’s not entirely clear. However, settlers from around Barvisia gather to dance, feast on grains and alcohol, and sacrifice livestock. It’s a grand festival since it’s difficult to gather like this except during the dry season.”

“Call them back. A brief respite from a tiresome journey might not be so bad.”

***

We slightly veered off our initial path.

“To reach the altar of the Sacred Festival, you must cross the Furos River,” one of the village women pointed out. The river, embarrassingly small and shallow to be called such, required us to find a sturdy bridge capable of supporting several carriages. There was only one bridge across the Furos River.

Guided towards the distant bridge, we fortunately didn’t need to take a long detour.

Magicians lined up along the gently flowing river, chanting in unison. From the riverbed, icy pillars emerged, forming arches across the water. Within thirty minutes, an ice bridge, strong enough for carriages to cross, was born.

Even the knights of our guard, accustomed to many sights, couldn’t help but express their amazement at this uncommon spectacle.

However, I couldn’t merely admire; the thought of facing magicians filled me with concern.

Crossing the river, we arrived at the sacrificial grounds after about two hours. Circularly arranged stones surrounded a small pond in the center, with a towering white stone pillar behind it, known as the Sacred Stone, symbolizing the festival.

Approximately two hundred settlers were busy preparing for the festival’s eve. On one side, pigs and cows were gathered for slaughtering, while another group practiced songs and rituals.

Elsewhere, men and women, bare-chested, painted each other’s bodies with white clay.

The men’s gaze naturally drifted towards them.

An elderly woman, adorned with a necklace of beast fangs and claws, approached us, leaning on a staff decorated with skulls.

“It’s a noble person. A noble has come.”

Despite her appearance, she paid respect to Vivi’s carriage with a dignified gesture.

“Lady Vivi has come to join our Sacred Festival! Surely the gods will rejoice!”

She turned and yelled at the workers,

“Bring wine and meat for the honored guests, as per our hospitality tradition!”

***

The gathering around the altar where logs piled high ignited into a massive blaze, illuminating the evening. Surrounded by the flickering flames, a grand feast unfolded.

The guards, initially hesitant, began to relax and blend in after Vivi’s approval. The air filled with laughter and clinking glasses.

A folk string instrument played a lively tune, prompting young men and women to gather around the campfire and dance. Some knights joined the villagers’ maidens in the dance.

Commander Nielrin, staying close to Vivi’s tent, lightly sipped his drink alone.

Despite the peaceful scene, I couldn’t shake off my tension, knowing the guard’s journey wouldn’t end peacefully. My dislike for alcohol and unfamiliarity with festivals came second.

Vivi, perhaps preferring her soldiers to enjoy themselves without her oversight or simply tired, stayed inside her tent.

As the night deepened, I stood up. It was time for Vivi’s foot washing.

***

Entering the tent with a bucket of water, Vivi paused her writing and snapped irritably,

“Why aren’t you joining the feast?”

It was clear she was berating me for not knowing how to enjoy myself.

“It’s my duty.”

She sighed in resignation, removed her long socks, and turned the chair around, exposing her bare legs.

“Where did you fetch the water? It must have been a long way.”

“From the central pond at the sacrificial site.”

“Is that water considered sacred? Is it alright to use?”

“The villagers also draw water from that pond for drinking, cooking, and bathing.”

I placed the bucket before Vivi.

She was about to dip her feet when I stopped her,

“Not yet.”

I took out the holy water, dropped a few droplets into the bucket, and stirred. The Lady insisted on using water mixed with holy water.

But then, something strange happened.

Upon mixing the holy water, the water in the bucket turned ink-black.

“…”

“…”

We both paused, observing the peculiar change. Vivi asked as if double-checking,

“Are you playing a trick on me?”

“No.”

Holy water doesn’t react with ordinary impurities but turns black only with spiritual contamination. Vivi seemed aware of this too.

Realizing what had happened, Vivi’s expression turned grave.

“You fetched it from the pond?”

Yes, the same water the villagers confidently consumed and used in their daily lives.

“That’s right.”

Suddenly, hurried footsteps approached our location, and Nielrin burst into the tent without announcement.

Panting, he said,

“Lady, you need to come out and see this.”

Vivi turned towards him,

“What’s the matter?”

“There’s a problem that requires your direct observation.”

Nielrin looked gravely concerned. Vivi sensed the seriousness and hastily put on her shoes before stepping out.

***

Vivi’s guards were already assembled, weapons at the ready.

The festive atmosphere at the sacrificial site had dwindled, with everyone solemnly surrounding something in preparation for the ritual.

Then, the staff-wielding elderly woman led a group of young men and women towards the altar.

This was eerily reminiscent of the scene depicted in the cave paintings we saw while in the bait squad.

The youths were brought forth, naked, wrists bound with twine, to a prominently standing rock at the altar’s center. The woman proclaimed loudly,

“O gods, watching over this land of death, mercy upon your pitiful people, we offer these young ones as tribute, praying for another ten years of your blessings.”

Then, other men approached with pitchers, dousing the young pair in oil.

Realizing their fate, they trembled, eyes tightly shut.

“What are you doing!” Vivi burst out in anger, stepping forward with her armed soldiers following. A path cleared for her.

The elderly woman retorted,

“While you may be noble, this is our affair. Interfering with the ritual will bring severe consequences.”

“The laws of the kingdom do not condone human sacrifice, nor does any god demand such barbarism from its followers.”

“This is how we have survived. Did the kingdom care as our lands dried up and our children were torn apart by beasts? You were feasting in your palaces. We live and sustain ourselves in our ways.”

“Whether by sacrifice or beast, death is death. A meaningless ritual killing an innocent is the same.”

The elderly woman’s harsh voice echoed a curse,

“These children were raised to be offerings from birth. They know their fate. Interrupt, and you shall pay dearly.”

Vivi shouted back,

“This Sacred Festival or whatever it is ends today. As long as I am watching, this ritual will never be performed again.”

The knights quickly moved in, rescuing the oil-drenched youths from the altar.

The villagers, seeing their sacred ritual interrupted, looked panic-stricken. Yet, they could do little against the overwhelming force of the knights.

“Destroy this altar so it can never be used again! Fill this cursed pond with dirt!”

The soldiers roped the white rock, symbolizing the altar, pulled with all their might, and it tumbled, breaking into several pieces.

Some villagers attempted to rush the knights but were easily subdued.

As the high priestess glared at Vivi, she cursed,

“All who follow you shall die miserably. Your white skin will feed maggots and flies. Your status will become your shackles, strangling you. You will always suffer want and hunger, and you, woman, will wander the swamp alone until you rot away. No one will stand by you; everyone will only wish for your downfall.”

Nielrin bellowed,

“Shut her up!”

With a mad cackle, the elderly woman continued her curse and then raised her arms to the sky in prayer,

“O master of the swamp…”

Nielrin, his eyes fierce, charged at her and swung his sword. The blade flashed, and the woman’s head fell to the ground with her hair fluttering behind.

“Screams erupted,”

“The priestess!”

“The wrath of the gods will come!”

Watching in horror, the villagers screamed. Terror filled their eyes.

Nielrin, without wiping the blood, knelt before Vivi,

“Command us. Anyone who blasphemes will be executed on the spot.”

From afar, the villagers of Barvisia watched with fury, but Nielrin’s display deterred them from advancing.

Vivi shook her head,

“No more bloodshed is necessary.”

I agreed. Further provocation was unnecessary. Their hostility couldn’t simply be severed by a blade; it was a sticky web of grudges.

The elderly woman’s dying curse left a deep impression on those who witnessed it.

Her decapitated head, still laughing, added to the ominous atmosphere.

The festival concluded thus.

The vitality filling Barvisia vanished.

Something plopped onto Vivi’s shoulder.

Other soldiers, too, looked up, opening their palms to the sky.

And as if a lie, raindrops began to fall from the sky.

Just moments ago, the sky had cleared, stars twinkling brightly.

Someone among the villagers muttered,

“The gods… the gods are enraged.”

***

After the tumult, the guard hastily fled the scene, not waiting for the night to pass.

The air around us grew heavy in an instant, and the rain intensified with time.

Gerald, eyes wide, muttered to himself,

“But there was still a month until the rainy season…”

And at the Furos River, which we had crossed earlier, we faced the first ominous sign.

One of the knights exclaimed in dismay,

“How can this be?”

The small river had swollen rapidly.

The sky, now a murky gray, obscured by the dense rain, seemed like another world from where we had come.

The guard stood in silent awe, still not grasping their fate.

The magicians attempted several times to create an ice bridge, but their efforts were in vain against the swift current.

And it didn’t end there.

Suddenly, seemingly healthy soldiers began to clutch their stomachs, complaining of pain.

“My body… something’s wrong!”

“My stomach!”

They bent over in pain, and soon, one by one, began to vomit.

But it wasn’t just digested food mixed with alcohol that came out.

It was a black liquid, like ink.

The only ones unaffected were Vivi, who hadn’t partaken in the festival, and me.