The Festival of Shooting Stars

The three young men talking over their beers were merchants, foreigners from far away. You could obviously tell it by their looks, their clothes, and their accents -- but also, by the excitement in their voices.

"Yeah, I mean, I've heard the stories, right, but you know the stories you hear in port towns..."

"All made up—"

"Yeah, yeah. So I was hoping that what I'll see here will live up to a tenth of the hype, that would already be something... but no, this whole festival is really pretty much as they say!"

Their talk was loud enough to carry over the sunny inside of the inn. Two tables over Iden, his hand on a flagon of pear cider (blissfully cold thanks to those heroic blocks of ice that persisted in their straw-filled cellar even now in the dead of summer), smiled in an unexpected little surge of pride.

Kontaria tended to make a very deep impression on anyone who visited. It was a fairly small country, and at a glance an unassuming one -- a mess of lakes and ancient woodland by a cool sea, dotted with villages and pasturelands, no stone cities or castles or anything impressive like that. Yet even so, it did have its definite claims to fame.

In the kingdoms of the plains, the Kontarians were known for their horses and horsemanship. No passable stable could be really complete without one or two Kontarian purebreds. In the coastal towns, the Kontarians were known for their small swift ships, as far-going merchants and, at times, pirates. Don't ever actually say the "pirate" part out loud near a Kontarian, though -- or you risk receiving a pained look and a three-hour lecture on the practical, philosophical, and moral distinctions between piracy and buccaneering.

But everywhere, inland or by the sea, the Kontarians also had a reputation for another thing.

Often respectable youths from respectable places in respectable kingdoms would, over the course of their respectable education, acquire a vague sense that Kontaria was not very respectable. Yet if they ever asked their respectable tutors what, exactly, was the reason for that, the answer was almost always something cryptic like "they have a loose approach to some things where strictness is well advised," followed by a swift and firm change of subject.

"S'good?" The serving girl appeared beside Iden and pointed to his drink.

"As always, Besje."

"Okay. But now you need to down it and get out."

He turned to her with a crooked smile. "Kicking me out already?"

She leaned down to him, and indicated a group of three young women chatting by the main entrance. She then spoke in a quiet, conspirational voice. "That black-haired gal by the door is looking for some luck this year. She's just going to ask the first guy to leave the inn. So get moving, you loafer."

Iden glanced sideways, and his eyes lit up. "Yeah, I thought this might be the case." He finished the drink. "How do I look?"

Besje inspected him critically. His tawny hair was getting in his face with all the appropriate level of artful carelessness. His eyes were looking at her with their usual lively clarity.

"Smile wider," she said. He obliged her. She scowled. "Winsome as fuck," she declared. "You're good to go."

He discreetly raised his fist. "Thanks, Besje. You're a good person."

The serving girl bumped the offered fist, took away the flagon, and returned behind the bar. Iden glanced at the black-haired girl, who made a point to glance everywhere except at him.

Looking for some luck, then.

Let down by their tight-lipped tutors, some respectable youths from respectable places in respectable kingdoms would resort to books, and there they would sometimes find some more concrete hints. Let us see, for example, what Tobias Aquafresca, that godly man, that great teacher of faith, had to say on Kontaria:

"...and therefore guard yourselves from temptation, and seek out with your heart the gods, lest ye become base, like flocks of the field or beasts of the woods; heed the warning of Old Gebrans, who through their own intemperance are become nothing; wary ye, lest ye become like the savages of Contarya, who, at the starfalls of summer, permit themselves be seduced by evil, and who live proud of their own infamy!"

There was that season in late summer when meteor showers were particularly abundant. Many peoples marked it with some celebration or other. But none of them quite compared to the Kontarian Festival of Shooting Stars.

The Festival lasted one week, and was an excuse for the Kontarians to engage in all their favourite things -- dancing, drunken parades, and draping every building, rock, tree, bush or animal in sight with colourful flags. But the thing that made it really stand out was one particular folk tradition -- a popular belief that caught on among the Kontarian women.

This tradition maintained that any gal who managed to sleep with seven different people over the seven festival days would be blessed with good luck for the entire following year.

How do folk traditions start? Probably as bets. It's hard to tell how seriously did people take the luck part -- but the naturally adventurous Kontarians did like a good challenge. A great many fine daughters of the land made a point to test out this luck thing at least once. And because the naturally helpful Kontarians liked to see others succeed, they usually found in their quest plenty of enthusiastic assistance, from friends and strangers alike.

In short, this festival time was overwhelmingly well-liked. Today, it was Day Three.

Iden got up and casually headed for the exit. From the corner of his eye he saw an animated discussion suddenly break out among the group at the door. As he was passing them he slowed down a little, and suppressed a grin as the girl with the black hair lurched sideways and stepped right in his path.

"Hi!" she said, bared her teeth sheepishly, and brushed her hair away from her face. She was slim, had a pretty face, and wore a long black shirt that, together with her hair, made her look paler than she actually was -- and there was a whimsical sparkle in her grey eyes that Iden instantly found adorable.

"Hello," he replied. There was a playful encouragement in his voice, an assurance that he knew exactly what she was about to ask, and that he was going to accept.

This was, so far, a very efficient conversation.

"So, um. I'm doing this festival thing this year, you know, with sleeping with seven people, and I asked to want you..." she chortled, took a breath, and went again, slowly: "and I wanted to ask you if you'd maybe like to hook up?"

He gave her a bright smile. "Yeah. Sure!"

"Yeah?" Her eyes darted to her friends, then back to him, and the giggling fit that she had been trying to hold down now broke out. "Okay, cool," she managed. Her friends, one short, one tall, were observing all this with an air of studied coolness.

Iden took a step towards her and clasped his hands behind his back. "You're not from the village, right? Where are you staying?"

The girl straightened up. "Oh, we're not staying. We're from Olssi, across the lake."

"We're ferrying back at sundown," one of her friends interjected.

"Ah." Crap. Iden himself was an apprentice coppersmith, and roomed with two other apprentices above Enar the Coppersmith's workshop; and the old man had decided to take advantage of the work lulling during the festival to replace his main furnace, which meant a lot of noise and stench, and made the place completely unfit for any luck-related activities.

"Hey, Besje!" The serving girl looked at him. "Got any spare rooms upstairs?"

"All taken. It's the Festival, silly!"

The black-haired girl now looked mildly concerned. There weren't supposed to be complications after she'd mustered up her courage. But Iden's cheerful temper wouldn't waver. "It's okay, we'll ask at other inns. We'll figure something out."

The girl smiled and turned to her friends. "Okay, so let's meet at the pier at sundown? I'll go and figure something out with..." she trailed off.

"Iden."

"With Iden. I'm Ran, by the way!" She jutted out her hand.

"Ran. Nice to meet you!" he shook her hand. It was warm, and he thought he could almost feel with his fingers the jittery eagerness that seemed to animate Ran's whole person. A hint of pleasure puffed up in his stomach. He had a feeling that they were going to have a lot of fun together.

The heat of the summer afternoon descended upon them as they stepped outside. This village, deep in the woods by the lakeside, was actually the largest in all of Kontaria, and its main thoroughfare was full of people, noisy with talk and laughter. A lot of them had festive clothes on, of fine colourful linen. Some carried flags, carnival masks, and lanterns -- in preparation for the parade that would at twilight set out for the ritual field. Street food vendors filled the air with thin smoke, scented with roasted meats, chestnuts, and honey cakes. Over the din, on the porch of the long hall across the street a young boy was beating out a quick rhythm on a hand drum, and one of the village's bards was chanting out a song. Some obscure one, though -- if he tried to sing something popular, there was a very real danger that the entire street would join him in an elaborate musical number, and that would be just ridiculous.

Iden nodded and turned right, downwards toward the lake. Ran followed him into the crowd, and almost bumped into the side of a horse passing through. She caught up with her newly-made friend and walked by his side, not entirely sure how much distance she should keep.

"There's so many people," she said.

He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back. "Half of western Kontaria is here for the festival." From a bird's eye's view, the land was little more than a vast, primeval forest. From the ground level, you soon realized that you were rarely far from other humans -- homesteads, huts and lodges, connected by a vast network of trails, could be found huddled at almost every hillside. When all this forest folk got together -- which the gregarious Kontarians often did -- they could make a surprisingly great crowd.

"Think we'll find a free bed anywhere?"

"Some guesthouse has to have at least a free mattress. If not... well, there's the shrine, if you're into that..."

"The shrine?"

"Yeah. The shrine of the Shimmering Ones."

"Oh." She stumbled a little.

The Shimmering Ones were a tribe of spirits, the ones that people believed fed on pleasure. On their altars, you were supposed to offer pleasure. The easiest way to do it was of course a rigorous session of good old ritual sex.

"There's not much privacy at the shrine though, is there?" she said, carefully.

That much was true -- once in the shrine, you weren't supposed to conceal yourself from anyone else in there. Or the Shimmering Ones would think that you thought that you were doing something shameful and get offended, or something. "Yeah, it can get pretty intense. And there's no way it's empty now during the festival." He noticed the hint of uneasiness from her, and beamed. "We don't have to go there though. I mean, we can always just go into the woods and find a patch of soft moss."

She nodded, and relaxed. They now reached another inn; together they elbowed their way out of the crowd, moved past two young men lounging by the door, and stepped inside.

In the dining hall past the entrance, a plump and reddish woman was scrubbing a table with considerable energy, soap bubbles whirling in the air around her. She took one glance at Ran and Iden, and immediately raised a finger.

"Sorry lovebirds, no free beds! Try down the road!"

"Well," Iden smiled and pirouetted around, "to the next inn, then!"

"Had a free one even half an hour ago, I did. If you look around I'm sure you'll find something." Suddenly, she straightened up and took a stern expression. "But don't even think about sneaking into my stable stalls! Or I'll chase you both naked out into the street, I will! Already did twice today!" To emphasize her point, she whacked the table with her soapy rag, and laughed hugely.

Back outside Iden and Ran were about to exchange their views on that mildly terrifying encounter, but were cut off by a short redheaded girl, in her mid-twenties or so, who erupted out of the crowd in front of them and resolutely walked up to the two guys by the door.

"Hi, I'm Osk," she said. "My festival tally's at four, you guys want to make it six?"

The accosted pair paused. The one nearer to Osk, with curling dark hair and a short beard, was the first one to parse her greeting. "Like... both at once?" he asked. Osk shrugged.

"Sure, if you like."

The two glanced at each other, looked at Osk, and gave corresponding shrugs. A moment later, all three disappeared together in the tumult of the street.

Ran looked on for a moment, and started laughing. "Some people, man," she said, and brushed her hair from her eyes. "Some people just don't give a fuck."

Iden grinned. "Good for them, I guess."

"Yeah. Must be nice, to just... freely go for what you want."

He put his hand on her shoulder, and she welcomed this shortening of distance between them. She drew closer to him and they re-entered the street.

"You mean you don't freely go for what you want?" He paused to shoulder his way around a very tall man in a ritual demon mask. "You went for me pretty smoothly."

"I mean, I just like to overthink stuff sometimes." Iden was about to reply, when he got a faceful of a bright yellow flag carried by another passer-by. "Know what, let's take a side street, you can't even talk here."

Away from the main thoroughfare, the streets among the wooden buildings were narrow and pleasantly shadowy, filled with considerably less people, but with much more poultry. Iden clearly knew them all by heart; Ran could tell by the gentle downward slope that they were still going towards the lake.

"So, Ran. Ever done the festival before?"

She smiled and hesitated, but eventually did reply. "No, it's the first time I'm going for the lucky seven thing." She carefully sidestepped a chicken. "You know, I never thought I'd actually try."

"No?"

"Yeah, because, you know. It's easy to do when you live in a large place like this and actually have seven friends you can just ask."

"Actually, I think that not that many people do."

"Point is, I have two friends in my village that I'm comfortable asking. Which is my tally so far, two. I always knew that if I was ever going to do the festival, I'd have to travel to the large places and ask out strangers."

"But this is the spirit of the festival, no? People get out of their homesteads and hamlets and meet other people, and hopefully fuck them, too."

"Yeah but I just never pictured myself doing that, you know? Like, it was something that happened to other people?" They splayed themselves against a wall to make way for a man carrying a large bale of fragrant straw. "But this year I thought to myself, hey, wouldn't it be interesting to at least try? So I'm here today, and tomorrow we'll ride out to the coastal villages until the end of the festival, and... yeah, I'm..." she spread out her arms, "I'm doing this! I guess!" She laughed out again, and they moved on.

"See, you're doing it right! That's what's it all about!"

"Thanks. I mean, I know I'm not super good at this whole pick-up thing, but..."

"But you are pretty good. I was charmed at once."

"Yeah? Well."

"Well yeah! You're clearly fun to be around, and also you're cute as hell, so, what else do you want?"

The horrifying reality of having received a compliment caused her to shake her head, hurry her steps, and speed a little ahead of him. "Aaah, stop."

"But it's true, though! You have tons of appeal about you. I mean, I can't wait to see you naked!"

She chortled, then turned around to face him, suddenly thoughtful. He stopped.

"You can't wait, can you?" He gave her a bright, honest smile. She looked behind him; the man with the straw was now some way off, and aside from him and one goose, they were now alone in the street.

Her eyes caught Iden's again, and there was an unexpected, decisive glint to them. "Why didn't you say so?" she asked, then caught the hem of her shirt and pulled it quickly up to her neck.

Iden's mind was wiped clean. It suddenly registered only the sight immediately before him: a slim bared body, a pair of pert breasts, a sassy smile: a smile that she then tried to suppress and take on a serious, seductive expression, biting her lip and looking him deep in the eye. She leaned forward, grabbed at her breasts, she squeezed them, she yanked them up and then let them go, and they snapped back to their place with a spry little bounce. Iden's fingers twitched.

All of sudden there was a sound close by. Ran dropped her shirt back down just as a woman with a hand cart, loaded with beer casks, rounded the corner and rolled straight towards them. Ran nearly doubled over giggling, hid her mouth behind her hand, and glanced back and forth between the cart and Iden. The woman gave her a confused look and rolled on.

Iden never took his eyes off Ran; some last vestige of situational awareness told him to make way for the cart, so he leaned against the wall, stiffly like a piece of wood.

"Come on," Ran said, trying to calm herself. The cart disappeared behind another corner. "Let's get to that inn."

He took a deep breath. "I can't walk. I'm so hard right now." She immediately offered her hand, and beckoned with all her fingers.

"So whip it out, I'll hold it for you."

That giggling mess of a girl was impossible to endure any longer. With one long wobbly stride Iden reached her, grabbed her, put her up against the wall, and kissed her full on the mouth. If this was meant to release some of the pressure inside him, it failed; the taste of her lips, the scent of her hair, the jittering of her laughing body pressed against his, it only made him want her more urgently. He broke off, and exhaled heavily. Blood rushed to her face, and she was looking at him with intense, pupil-dilating hunger.

"Ran, I have half a mind to tear away your clothes and just take you here and now." He inclined his head. "But I'm kind of afraid that that goose would bite me in the dick."

"Honk."

She laughed again -- has she really stopped laughing ever since the cart appeared? "Is it far yet?"

The inn, mercifully, was by now close. It was similar to the others: the entrance lead to the dining hall, where around the tables two old men played dice and an old woman was busy embroidering. A man, about thirty, luxuriantly bearded and studiously gruff, was behind the bar on the opposite side of the room, and Iden went straight up to him.

"Aega! I know that you have a free bed for me!"

The man put down the clay pot he had been wiping and eyed Iden. Ran lagged behind, and stopped by the tables waiting for the end result.

"All taken, my man."

"Aw, come on! You don't have one tiny bed for your own cousin's best friend!"

"It's the festival! I would have nothing for the King of Harmen if he happened to stroll in."

At the table, the old woman lay her handiwork down on her knees and looked up at Ran. "Enjoying the festival, hun?" she said.

"Yes. Thank you." The woman smiled, the mesh of fine wrinkles in her skin deepening.

"You're aiming for luck this year, I see," she indicated Iden with a nod. "Tally looking good?"

Ran snorted lightly. "He'll be my third, if we can find a place."

Iden, meanwhile, was attempting to make his expression as agonized as possible. "So this is it? You refuse me in my hour of need?" The innkeeper smirked.

"Oh, it's a fine day. Just take your need to a cove by the lake or something."

There was nothing to be achieved here, and Iden's hands were now distinctly tingling, questioning him why was it that they weren't running down Ran's body yet. He rolled his eyes and wagged his finger. "Fine. But I will not forget this!" He brushed his hand past Ran's shoulder on his way out. "Come on, Ran, let's just do this outdoors."