From our vantage coming down the hill I can see people in the streets, drinking and smiling and chattering to one another in the torchlight. A series of masks atop poles line their celebration, not far from the entrance. “So they have something like the Festival of Pletuna here too?”
“Not exactly.”
We step into the light and there’s a shout atop the wall as we’re spotted by the guards. The gates are closed and the perimeter well defended. This is not Caten, but it’s no simple village, either.
“Atal!” The challenge is issued in our direction. I have no idea what it means.
Ostius is unconcerned. “Tá an draoi haearn ag teacht. Lig dúinn isteach.” He gestures to me and I take the cue, stepping forward confidently into the light. Diago pads to stand by my side.
A few quick shouts. The gate opens.
Ostius looks at me. “Analupi,” he murmurs, smiling and shaking his head delightedly. “As if the gods were real, my boy.”
We walk inside.
Crackling torches line the main street, which is little more than a dirt track that would undoubtedly turn to churning mud during the wet season. Simple thatched huts with simple fences. The smell of smoke and earth and wood, the occasional animal’s pen. I hear strange music from farther in. Laughter and shouting.
The guards greet us just inside, examining me and Diago with curious deference. One asks me a question I don’t understand but Ostius steps in, says something sharp. The guard nods and melts away into the shadows, resuming his duties.
As we walk on, I realise that the masks I saw were not masks at all.
I barely manage to not stumble to a stop, to conceal my horror. Glassy eyes and drooping mouths still open in what is not too hard to imagine was a final scream. “Those are heads,” I say in a sickened whisper.
“Very observant.”
“Did these people kill them?”
“Well it wasn’t suicide.”
Vek. “Is that what will happen to us, if they catch us?”
“You’re pretending to be a druid. That is the distantendof what they’ll do, my boy.”
He delivers it cheerfully and quietly, as if he’s remarking on the cold of the evening. I can’t tell if he’s joking. I don’t think he is. I don’t ask any more questions.
We walk the grisly parade, Diago’s hackles up and teeth bared as he eyes the still-dripping heads with as much uncertainty as I feel. The sight is dissonant with the unaffected laughter that comes from all around, the sound of cheering and feasting as children run around the pikes.
“This is barbaric.” I mutter the words.
“You prefer the civilized comforts of Caten, I take it?”
“No. I …” I trail off. “So Caten doesn’texisthere?”
“It’s another world. The concept of ceding your Will doesn’t exist here, either.”
I continue to follow him, dazed at the thought as we pass some fenced-in dogs. The animals bark vociferously as we draw near. As soon as they scent Diago, though, they fall silent. Slink to the back of their pen, eyes fixed on the alupi. Diago ignores them.
The people around us part as soon as they see my white cloak, and stop what they’re doing entirely when they see Diago padding along behind us. Many stare or double-take at my iron mask, too—it’s clearly unusual—but it’s the alupi who primarily has their attention. None move to stop us or to engage with me, for the most part resuming their conversations or drinking once we’re past.
We’re beyond the majority of the crowd, finally through the gauntlet of severed heads, when a shriek cuts through the night. Ignored by those around us but it’s not far away. A woman, clearly in distress.
“Leave it,” says Ostius immediately.
The shriek comes again, and this time doesn’t stop. “No.” I’m turning aside toward the source before Ostius can move to prevent me.
“You don’t know—” He tries to duck ahead of me, cut me off, but Diago bars his way. Ostius curses as I leave him in my wake.
He and Diago only catch up as I reach the doorway of the simple hut.
