DB Lazarus
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64. Celebrations - II
🕑 Added 2025-04-13 00:00:19 +0000 UTCBy the time we headed over to the Commons, the darkness of the long shadow cast by the ridge had deepened. Night was upon us, but the lights of the Commons stayed bright. However, Dorian and I entered to find it emptied save for our company and a few Volkski stragglers that hung out in the corner. I tried to ignore the chill that ran down my spine when those same Volk barred their unnaturally sharp teeth at me as soon as Dorian had looked away.
I am protected.
I tried to keep reminding myself that, though I couldn’t help but feel that this party would test the veracity of that statement.
At dinner, Dorian had clarified his word choice. This would be more of a celebration than a party, more food and drink than music and dancing. It fell in line with my expectations for Ættir, but maybe that was unfair. The most strait-laced people tended to be the wildest when they let loose, and after taking down a burrower and raking in the rewards, they had reason to celebrate.
The rest of the company had already gathered by the time we arrived. The normally stiff Ættir had a more casual air as they waited, and a dull hum of conversation carried across the large building’s expanse. They spread across multiple tables. It wasn’t separated by mining groups, but it was close. It might not be like the central table in the hall, but there was a hierarchy. Only those in the upper tiers sat with the Verndari. A set of longer tables covered with a spread of food flanked our company’s tables. Each had a couple of casks tapped and ready for drinking.
Even from halfway across the hall, my mouth had started watering. I whispered to Dorian, “How can that smell so good?”
“That is what happens when you use high-grade ingredients. Now aren’t you glad I told you to eat a light dinner? If you haven’t had it before, it will be an experience.”
Dorian pointed to a table with our mining group. “Looks like they saved us a seat.”
Rægnor eliminated any questions I had about inclusion when he waved us over to his table. We weaved through the other tables to take our seats. Our reception was warmer than I had expected. Dorian earned more than a few nods of respect from the Ættir. Sure, most came from our table, but he earned a few from others. Eiræk, who was visiting with the Verndari, was the only one of the leader’s direct subordinates who nodded.
It was a bit unfair given Dorian’s extensive role in slaying and harvesting the burrower, but at least most of the rewards had fallen into our hærlið’s lap. Dorian, after discussing with our hærlið, agreed to try extracting the crystal. Dorian had taken my advice, offering it free of charge as compensation for the opportunity. To Dorian’s surprise, Eiræk didn’t hesitate to take the deal. In hindsight, it was an easy decision for the Ættar. If Dorian succeeded, he got a win. If Dorian failed, he could pass off the blame. Not that it mattered. Dorian must have been underselling his expertise because he pulled off a flawless extraction. Even the Verndari made an appearance—begrudgingly, if I had a guess. He praised Eiræk for his proactive role with the burrower’s remains and the windfall from the crystal.
While I didn’t get the same reception as Dorian. It was far from frosty. I took it as a win that only a few Ættir frowned as we approached. Sure, they were concentrated at the top with our fearless leader showing the most obvious displeasure, but no one said a thing. A marked improvement from where we started.
I sat down next to Rægnor, and Dorian sat on my other side. Rægnor took a mug and poured a dark liquid from a pitcher before handing it to me.
“Take it slow. Unless you don’t want to make it to work tomorrow.”
“Try a few days,” Dorian added.
I eyed the mug. The dark liquid was topped with a thick, creamy foam. This place was rustic to the point of primitive, but one thing—beside medicine—that was better than home: the food. The beer had to be the same. Still… ”Should I—“
”Yes,” both said in unison. Even a few Ættir at the table shook their head at my questions.
Dorian took a long swig and let out a content sigh. “You see, Daniel. This is some of the good stuff. You almost never get to have this unless you want to pay an arm and a leg. Don’t miss out.”
I went to take a sip when the conversation in the room died down. Everyone had turned towards the head table. Verndari was standing with a mug in his hands.
“My brothers, we have come today to celebrate your courage and valor. We are a step closer to being free of this honorless pact.”
Honorless?
A susurration spread through the air. I wasn’t the only one surprised at the boldness of his words.
He continued not noticing or, more likely, not caring. “Know that this is why I push you so hard, why I ask you to fight. Not for riches but to free us so we may return to our kin.” Many Ættir nodded in agreement. “However,” he paused, and a large grin slowly spread across his lips. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take the time to celebrate our victories.”
Then he raised his cup, and everyone cheered. Everyone except Dorian and me. We sat while the many stood cheering. Dorian almost hid his shock behind his mug, but he couldn’t hide his furtive glances. It didn’t help that I also checked the room to see if any Volki were around. This place was a powder keg. If this speech made it back to the Alfa, what would happen? Verndari wasn’t the head, but he was in the leadership of the Ættarsk contingent.
The Ættir around me slammed their drinks. Thankfully, I took just a sip. As soon as the full-bodied ale hit my tongue, a dark-cherry explosion spread through my mouth carrying a wave of Energy and warmth. The warmth settled in my stomach, but the Energy spread through my body leaving me floating in a haze that I couldn’t—no, didn’t want to—shake off.
Dorian’s slap on my back brought me back to reality.
“Good, isn’t it?”
It took me a second to remember how to speak. “That might be an understatement. But you guys weren’t kidding when you said I needed to be careful.“ Really, really careful.
I put the mug down and stared at it. All that from one sip? This had the potential to mess with me. If I didn’t have to work the next day nor worry about being beaten by angry Volki and possibly Ættir, I would have been all in.
“I am going to have to pace myself.”
“I’ll finish what you don’t. Everyone knows that Humans can’t hold their beer.”
“Everyone?”
“Yes,” Rægnor confirmed. “Even Oresiani can barely hold theirs.”
A thunk came from my left. I turned my head to find Dorian glaring at Rægnor. I turned back to find a serious face on Rægnor. Crap, were those fighting words?
I raised my hands. “Guys…” They both laughed. My face grew warm, and I grumbled, “as if I don’t get enough grief here.”
Dorian chuckled. “It pains me to admit it, but compared to Ættir, Oresiani are lightweights. It is because they are all so damn oversized. Did you know that we have to make the tunnels twice our normal size to accommodate them?”
Rægnor just shook his head. “As if you are the one doing all the digging.”
I eyed the drink again. They were getting along way too well. What was in these drinks?
A shadow flashed over the table followed by a softer thunk. Our hærlið had arrived bearing food. Around us, the rest of the hærliðar had left the table to bring a tray of food to each of the tables. I kicked Dorian under the table as soon as he started to reach. He gave me a look, but I just slightly nodded to one of the other tables. While everyone was seated, no one had grabbed any food. The conversation had dropped from a roar to a quiet whisper.
Our hærlið sat down. While some of the other hærliðar projected, he didn’t try to make his voice carry. “I want to echo at least somewhat the Verndari had said. We have fought hard. We put our lives on the line. We contributed to the tribe. And most importantly, we did not lose a single person. For that, we celebrate.”
Everyone raised their mugs. Many spoke a single word in their native tongue agreement.
“I am going to say this once. It is obvious that we have those not of our people here with us. Some have traditionally been enemies.“ He looked directly at me, and I tried not to swallow. “However, I am here today because of one of them, and we are now much richer because of another.” He nodded to Dorian. ”I want you all to know that I consider them trúnaðar.“
There were more than a few quick intakes of breath. I scanned the table, and every one of them was staring at our hærlið.
Rægnor broke the silence. “They held the line.”
“They held the line,” our hærlið echoed.
That was apparently enough because the table raised the mugs to us in salute and then drank.
***
“Why is the moon pink?”
That sounded like my voice, but when did I pick up a slur?
“What other color would it be?”
The voice that responded was definitely different than the one that had asked the first question, but it was also strangely frustrated. That didn’t seem fair. It was a good question. Why the hell would the moon be pink?
It is pink, right?
I squinted as I stared up at the clear night sky. The world had a slow rotation to it—which didn’t seem right—but even then, I could make out the Moon’s color: pink. Yep, I was sure of it. It was muted pink, but far from the traditional pale, milky-white orb.
I squinted again. And is that a pink band?
“Hey, what happened to Moon?”
Yeah, the person with the slurred voice. That was a good question.
“By the Gods, did you stop channeling Energy?”
Channeling Energy? What a weird question. Who channels Energy? Are we at some weird spiritualist—
A hand slapped my face with enough force to bring tears to my eyes.
“A bit hard there,” came a deeper voice.
I blinked back the tears, missing the mumbled words—an apology? I couldn’t focus on it, not with the throbbing in my cheek. However, the pain was grounding. It brought my focus inward. Something in me moved, and soon a pleasant warmth flowed throughout my body.
The world’s spin started to slow, and then, it all came back to me.
***
The first and even second mug had gone fine. I had even caught my faulty assumption about using food to temper alcohol’s effects. The food for some inane reason increased, not decreased, the alcohol’s absorption—or whatever compound was affecting me. That had been a close one, but with some aggressive channeling, I had avoided getting drunk enough to slur, not that I had spoken much.
I could not say the same for Dorian. With the tension broken, Dorian’s gregarious personality had poured out. He may have started it, but the rest of the table quickly followed suit, swapping stories about battles against monsters. I hadn’t offered much, and no one had pushed me for details. At my level, how could I have competed? Better to let them believe that was why I had remained quiet than the impossible truth.
Their tales had bordered on fantastical. Maybe the drink had infused the stories with more grandeur, but even if they contained only a sliver of truth, the battles they spoke of—between mammoth bears, eagles with wings spanning the length of a truck, and dinosaurs that stalked forests and plains—would have earned a place in Earth’s ancient mythology. For all its horror, the world and the people who walked its lands inspired awe.
All was well until Dorian had revealed that he had leveled after extracting the crystal. It wasn’t a major level, but every level counted. The bastard had decided to announce it in front of our mining group as thanks for the opportunity. That alone would have been enough for Eiræk, but Dorian had gone further, pulling out a silver flask engraved with runes from his belt pocket. Dorian had taken my lesson and run with it. He also had run me into the ground.
The conversation had stopped as everyone at the table stared at the item in Dorian’s hand.
“Is that what I think it is,” Eiræk had asked. Dorian had cracked a shit-eating grin and nodded.
Somehow some tumblers had appeared on the table. Dorian had filled each to the brim with a vivid, eerie green liquid, save one. I tried to wave it away, but Dorian wouldn’t relent. I bowed to peer pressure. Dorian may have only filled mine to a quarter, but that had been a quarter too much.
In my infinite wisdom, I had taken it all in a single swig, and Dorian had cursed when he saw me slam the empty tumbler onto the table. Or, he probably had. My memory had become sketchy at best. The drink had hit like a hammer, leaving me leaning against a longhouse, struggling for lucidity, and wondering why the moon was pink.
To be fair, given my circumstances, it had been a reasonable question. Save for the coloring and subtle band behind it, the pink moon was a twin of Earth’s in its size and lack of company. I also had never been out in the night. The days here were long, and the work was grueling. This was the first night I hadn’t passed out before the stars had appeared.
Stars…
I cocked my head, blinking away a bit of the tears from the slap. As the stars came into focus, a set caught my attention. Night had fallen, but the moon’s light had dulled all but the most brilliant stars.
Is that the big dipper?
My eyes traced a pattern in the stars. They matched my memory. I followed the pointer stars like my dad had taught me until I ran into a single star—in the exact spot I expected the North Star to be. I swallowed. What did that mean?
“Fool,” came from the deep voice. “You hit him too hard. He just hit the second tier.”
Right. That deep voice had been Rægnor, but for some reason, he was shouting. I blinked. Maybe he hadn’t been. In fact, he and Dorian stood in front of me looking no worse for wear. Apparently, the old adage “beer before liquor, never been sicker” only applied to Humans.
A pressure started growing inside my head, but I managed to wave away Rægnor’s concerns. “I am fine.” I winced as my words caused my head to throb. “Mostly.” While I needed a few things right now—mainly water, what I didn’t need was a fight screwing up whatever camaraderie that had developed this evening.
“Sorry,” said Dorian sheepishly. “You had me worried with your comment on Teja. I didn’t think it was that hard.”
“It wasn’t.” It stung, but I had experienced worse here. “However, don’t go thinking you aren’t the root cause of my pain. What the hell was in that flask?”
Dorian rubbed the back of his head with his hand. “Yeah, sorry. That was probably too much for you.”
“You think?”
“Hey, you were doing so well with the ale. I didn’t think you would be dumb enough to drink it all at once.”
“Small sips would not have changed anything,” I grumbled—and regretted it.
My planned diatribe died as each successive word punched a spike deeper into my mind. I opted to stare at him in silence—definitely not swaying while doing so.
Dorian frowned. “Are you—“
“Oresian, he’s obviously not fine. Give him the flask. Given how coherently he was speaking, he must’ve purged the drink’s effect too quickly and now is suffering a backlash.”
That can happen?
I slowed down my Energy circulation. The fog shrouding my thoughts didn’t change, but the throbbing in my head had stopped escalating. I reached my hand out toward Dorian. “Gimme.” I would trade some fogginess for less pain in a heartbeat.
“Good thing I saved some,” Dorian mumbled, pulling out the flask. He gave me a once-over before reluctantly handing it to me. “Just a small sip. You have to treat it like when you enter Aether levels beyond your tolerance. Over-cycle to blunt the initial hit, but then slow down, or doing this will be a waste.”
I brought the flask to my lips but stopped. “Is more of what caused this—”
I couldn’t finish, not when each word came down like a hammer blow on the side of my head.
Dorian put a hand on my shoulder. “It will work far better than a potion.”
Rægnor just nodded in agreement.
“Fine.”
I took a small sip, and a wave slammed into me as soon as the liquid hit my tongue. However, this time I was prepared. I rode the surge to a wonderful haze and a pleasant warmth that enveloped my whole body. I was floating near the shore of a pristine, white-sand beach in the Caribbean Sea under the midday sun.
“Wow. That’s good.” That came out clear—probably.
Rægnor blurred as he shook it. “Humans really can’t hold their drink.”
I turned to shoot him a look, and the world lurched. I started to fall, but the grip on my shoulder tightened. With minimal effort, Dorian kept me upright. “Cycle. And go slowly.”
I followed his advice. The world, which had once again started to rotate, slowed to a standstill, and Rægnor, with his disapproving look, came back into focus.
“Oresian, it looks like you have this handled.” He scanned the area around us. “It’s quiet. I trust you can get him home?”
Dorian nodded. “I got him. It won’t be hard to get him tucked in.”
“Then I will leave you to clean up the mess you made.”
Before he could turn to walk away, I got out, “Rægnor, thanks for watching out for me.” Then a thought struck. “Did I do anything stupid when I was drunk?”
“No. You just sat there. We didn’t even realize what had happened until you didn’t respond.”
I let out a breath of relief. That could have gone worse.
Rægnor nodded before turning and heading towards the Ættarsk longhouses.
Dorian took my arm. “Why don’t we get you to bed?”
I was proud to say I made it there, only stumbling once.
Comments
SynTV
I’m glad you like it. That is also quite the comparison! The wandering inn is great. Some of those chapters hit so hard. They have built a wonderful world and created amazing characters.
Ruben B
I'm a fan of pirateba, and your writing hits in the same way for me. I love how well the world building, cultural and social interactive nuances are done. It has such great depth. Thank you for the chapter!
