Kitshaar
patreon
Vol.2 Ch. 34: The Procession
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 03:15:56 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note:
Recurring Characters:
Peter: The protagonist of this novel.
Mariah: Peter's mother. You can find her picture in the Art collection.
Lidia: One of Mariah's friends, whom Matteo (Mariah's younger brother) used to have a crush on. She had been explored in the chapter "Dream and the past" if you're interested in her appearance when she was young.
Tessa: Lidia and Matteo's second child.
Mira: Lidia and Matteo's first child.
Elena: Mariah and Matteo's mother. She first appeared in the chapter "Dream and the Past".
Gregor: Mariah and Matteo's father. He first appeared in the chapter "Dream and the Past". He's a former adventurer.
Recap:
Most offered a tired smile or muttered thank-you. Some just nodded, too weak to say much, but grateful nonetheless. People moved forward, either going to other shops or toward the cathedral, while Peter focused on his task.
…End of Author's Note...
...
The sun was fully up by the time the stew ran out. It was decided that Gregor, Elena, and Matteo would stay behind at the inn while the others enjoyed the festivities. After all, the inn couldn’t be left unattended.
Peter felt a bit sorry for Mira. She was excited about her performance at the cathedral, but her father and grandparents wouldn’t be there to see it. Mariah seemed to feel the same. She offered to stay behind at the inn so they could go and return later.
After a lot of discussion, where Gregor and Elena insisted on staying, she was at least able to convince Matteo to tag along.
“I can’t just leave you two here alone,” he had said at first, arms crossed.
Elena waved him off. “We’re not helpless, Matteo. Go. Enjoy yourself.”
Gregor rolled his eyes. “She’s right. You shouldn’t forget that we used to run this place before you.”
In the end, Matteo gave in, muttering something about keeping an eye on the kids.
The group stepped out into the morning light, blinking against the brightness. Everyone was wearing their best clothes. Coldness in the air had evaporated and been replaced with a bit of warmth. Peter noted the distinct earthly scent of marigolds and the sharper spice of street food frying in oil.
He looked around and spotted colourful streamers hanging across the street in crisscrossing lines, fluttering with each passing breeze. Powdered pigments in open baskets lined the vendor stalls—bright reds, deep blues, yellow like crushed turmeric—ready to be scooped and flung.
Children darted past, shrieking with laughter, their cheeks smeared in green and pink. A boy skidded to a stop in front of Tess and grinned up at her before tossing a puff of orange powder at her feet. She gasped in surprise, then laughed, brushing the colour off her skirt as the boy ran off.
Mira walked a little ahead, her steps light, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She kept glancing toward the cathedral, eyes shining with anticipation.
Peter found himself enjoying it all silently. There was something in the noise, the movement of people, the feeling of celebration so alive it pressed against his skin that he felt a bit overwhelmed. The city itself felt like it was enjoying the day along with its residents.
They continued to move toward their destination, and soon, the steady beat of drums started to be heard in the distance.
The rhythm was deep and slow at first, like a heartbeat echoing through stone, but it grew louder with every step. People along the road began to turn their heads, murmuring to one another. Some climbed onto crates or steps to get a better view. The crowd thickened near the intersection where the main road curved toward the cathedral.
Peter followed their example and climbed over the stairs of a shop and craned his neck to look ahead. Over the heads of the gathering crowd, he caught glimpses of movement. It was a procession, with guards moving in front, parting the way, covered in shining armour. Tall flags swayed amid their group, carried by flagbearers, who waved them in sync with the rhythm of the drums.
“That must be them,” Tessa said, standing on tiptoe beside him.
“Who?” Peter asked, turning toward her.
“Who else? The nobles.”
A faster rhythm joined the slow drums, sharp and vibrant. The air seemed to thrum with it. A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd as children squealed and mothers pulled them closer. Tessa leaned forward, her eyes scanning eagerly.
The guard at the front turned at the bend, proceeding forward, allowing Peter to see the first dancers of the procession. They were barefoot, their clothes streaked with coloured powder, moving in perfect rhythm. Behind them were the musicians who played pipes and hand drums, their instruments making the air vibrate as the viscount’s carriage approached.
The dancers moved aside, forming two lines along the road. Between them came the carriage, pulled by a pair of spotless white horses draped in embroidered harnesses. The carriage itself was open-topped, polished to a gleam, and trimmed with banners in pale blue and gold—the colours of House Vauclain. Onlookers gasped and applauded as it rolled past.
Viscount Garridan Vauclain stood at the front of the carriage, one hand raised in greeting, his ceremonial cloak trailing behind him. Beside him stood his wife, dressed in pale silk and adorned with a circlet of flowers. Their daughters stood between them, each holding a small basket of petals that they tossed gently into the crowd.
Tessa leaned slightly toward Peter. “Don’t fall for her innocent looks. The younger daughter, I mean.”
Peter glanced at the girl in question. She had just flung a handful of petals into the air, laughing as the wind scattered them over the crowd. Her smile was wide, her posture graceful, and nothing about her seemed out of place.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“She looks sweet enough,” Tessa said, though her tone was sceptical. “But people talk. They say she’s not like the rest of them.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Rest who? And in what way? Be clearer.”
Tessa gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Her family. The Vauclain family are one of the nicer noble households. They care for the city, and each member of the family has polished manners and wonderful personalities. Everyone, but her.”
“How do you know?”
“Just like everyone else,” Tessa shrugged. “She’s rude, ill-mannered and often trouble for the servants. I heard people at the academy don’t like her much either.”
Peter followed her gaze, but all he saw was a girl smiling faintly, tossing the last of her petals to the wind. “Or maybe she’s just a normal person.”
Tessa let out a snort. “If that’s true, then why do people speak ill of her?”
Peter didn’t argue. He didn’t know much about the noble family and the person in question, to defend her.
The carriage rolled past them, the wheels rattling softly over the cobblestones. The crowd bowed their heads or raised their hands in greetings as the viscount and his family passed. Behind the carriage came other nobles, riding atop horses or terror birds, their banners a bit smaller, but still a reminder of their lineage and power.
At the end was the offering for the ceremony. Wagons filled with barrels full of milk.
Mira stood silently beside them, her hands clasped in front of her, but her fingers twitched with barely contained excitement.
“The performance is after the offering, right?” Tess asked her.
Mira nodded. “Once the statue is bathed and the dishes are presented. We perform during the prayer.”
Peter glanced at her. “Are you nervous?”
Mira hesitated. “A little. But mostly excited. I’ve never performed for the cathedral before.”
The procession moved much faster than them. The sound of the drums softened, replaced by the murmurs of the crowd and the occasional shout of a vendor trying to sell coloured powders or flower garlands.
The road ahead had been cleared, marked off with rope and the occasional guard or holy knight kept people from spilling into the centre. On either side, the crowd pressed in tightly. There were well-dressed commoners in bright festival robes, but also the poor, their clothes patched and faded, children perched on their shoulders to get a better view. Everyone was here for the same reason.
It didn’t take long before the cathedral’s spires became visible, rising above the rooftops, gleaming in the sunlight. The stone had been scrubbed clean, and garlands hung between the arches and the pillars. A line of priests and priestesses stood near the gates, holding censers that gave off slow trails of white smoke.
The group slowed down as the crowd thickened at the front. This was the first time Peter had seen the cathedral, and he couldn’t help but admire it.
It was enormous, taller than anything he’d seen in the city so far. The front façade was carved with intricate patterns, showing scenes from what he guessed were old legends, or sacred stories. He recognised a few that he had been taught in his childhood. Coloured glass windows ran along the higher walls, casting shifting shades of blue and gold across the cathedral steps.
“I almost forgot how big it is,” Mariah murmured behind him.
Peter looked away from the cathedral, his eyes falling upon the equally enormous statue of Avaris situated beside it.
She stood on a raised platform overlooking the square, one hand forward, palm open, a wheat stem resting atop it, while the other cradled a baby gently in her bosom. Her expression was gentle, with a faint smile on her lips.
Peter couldn’t help but stare. The statue was likely a masterpiece of some master craftsman, for it was so well made that it stole his breath away. It wasn’t just the sheer size or the detail in the carving. It was the way she looked down at the crowd, as if she saw each person.
A silence had settled over the gathered crowd, quiet but complete. Even the vendors had stopped calling out. There was a kind of weight in the air—expectation, reverence, something unspoken but shared. Only the steady drift of incense smoke and the faint rustle of petals underfoot seemed to move.
From the base of the cathedral steps, a conch shell sounded. The sound was eerily similar to what woke him up in the morning.
Mira turned to her parents. “It’s almost time. I should meet up with the rest of the dancers,” she said.
Lidia nodded at once. “We’ll go with you. No sense letting you push through that crowd alone.”
“I’ll come too,” Tessa said.
Matteo looked over the crowd. “It’s packed tighter near the front. If we don't move now, we’ll lose the chance.”
Mariah gave Mira’s hand a light squeeze. “You’ll do great.”
Mira smiled in return. “Don’t forget to cheer for me.”
Matteo nodded at Mariah. “We’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine. Take your time.” Mariah chuckled.
“Good luck,” Peter said to Mira, stepping aside to let them through, a soft, encouraging smile on his face. He watched as Mira, Tessa, and their parents slowly made their way along the edge of the square, sliding between bodies and moving toward the side entrance of the cathedral.
Within moments, they were swallowed by the crowd.
Peter glanced at Mariah. She stood beside him, arms folded loosely, watching the statue with a thoughtful look. The square felt larger now, somehow, and the conch’s call still echoed faintly in his ears.
“I should get going too,” he said.
“Where?” Mariah asked, her brow furrowing as her gaze shifted to him.
“Anywhere but here. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be so close to the cathedral,” Peter replied, his eyes flicking back to the statue of the goddess looming over the square. It almost felt like she was looking directly at him.
“Deathknell isn’t here, but my contract with it still stands,” he added.
Mariah fell silent for a moment. The sounds of the square surrounded them—soft prayers, shifting feet, the low murmur of conversation, the sound of a conch shell—but none of it seemed to touch the space between them.
“You didn’t have any problem getting inside the city,” she said, not liking the fact that he had to go away. It dampened her mood. She had grown fond of his presence.
“This is different,” Peter shook his head. “The guards at the wall only checked my status, and I had the means to hide what I didn’t want them to see. I think I can do the same with the clergy present here, but… the same couldn’t be said about the goddess.”
His eyes lingered on the statue once more. Its stone gaze seemed fixed, unmoving, but something about it made his skin crawl.
“This place… it’s like her sanctuary in more ways than one. Who knows when she turns her gaze here and ends up spotting me? I’d rather not test whether my skills can hide me from her.”
Mariah followed his gaze but said nothing. She didn’t believe the goddess would strike him down in a square full of people—but she also knew better than to argue when Peter’s instincts spoke.
Peter gave her a faint smile. “I’ll keep to the edges. Find a quiet spot until it’s all over.”
Mariah nodded, though her frown lingered. “I’ll see you later.”
He took one last look at the towering statue, then turned and slipped into the moving crowd, letting it swallow him.
As Mariah watched him go, the conch shell sounded again. Louder this time. A hush fell over the square.
The ceremony was about to begin.
…End of Chapter…
Comments
Cameron Yourell
Thanks for the chapter.
