Marc nodded. “So that was how you ended up ’prenticed to the Royal Falconer.”
“Did you ever hear the birds speak again?” Lydia asked, her eyes wide.
He shook his head. “Not in words. And I can’t swear I heard them that night, either. I could’ve dreamed it all. But I have always known how the birds were feeling, what troubles them, what ails them. Marc has none of that for birds, but he has for the dogs.”
Marc nodded. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever heard them speak at midnight on Midwinter Eve.”
“That’s because your old papa always made sure you weren’t creeping about in the kennels on Midwinter Eve,” the Falconer chuckled.
And so the first part of the evening passed. There were no sad stories, no sad songs. Everything spoke of hope, even if some of the tales were, in Mags’ estimation, entirely absurd.
And then, just before midnight, they all stopped talking, and Lydia picked up the candles, distributing them to all the guests. As if that was a signal, the servants came in, doused the remaining lights and smothered the fire with a blanket. And they all sat there, in the dark, with the room growing colder and colder.
Mags wondered what it was they were waiting for. As the dark and cold closed in around him, he shivered, reminded all too clearly of those winter nights in the sleep-hole. None of the kiddies had ever actually died of cold in their sleep ... but some of the older miners had ....
Then, into the silence, bells began to ring.
Mags thought they began up at the Palace, but soon enough, bells were ringing all over Haven. And that was when the priest struck a light, using an iron, a flint, and a little ball of lint, all from the tinderbox on the table.
One spark jumped into the lint on his first try, and he managed to breathe it into a tiny flame successfully. Quickly he added bits of wood that must have been oil soaked from the way they flared up, and used it to light his candle.
Lydia began to sing.
“Spark of light, in the night, pass the flame burning bright—”
The others evidently knew this song, for they immediately joined in, as the priest touched his candleflame to Aiken’s, who touched his to Marc’s, and so on around the circle to Mags while they sang.
“Heart to heart, let it dart, pass the hope, let it start—”
When the flame came back to the priest, he exchanged his candle with Master Soren’s. Solemnly, Master Soren went to the hearth and rekindled the fire.
“Darkness fly from the sky, pass the flame burning high—”
Servants came then with small shovels, each taking a coal as the fire roared up again. After a moment it occurred to Mags that they must have put out all of the household fires, and now they were going to restart them as Master Soren had, from the first tiny spark of the new year.
The last of the servants remained, relighting all of the candles as the song ended.
Soren looked at the priest with a grin. “A good omen as always, Gellet, getting a flame with the first spark.”
The priest mock-saluted him. “Now I know why you invite me every year. For my fire-starting skills.”
Soren laughed. “Among other things. Now, my friends, we have one more thing we must do.”
He handed his candle to Lydia and opened the little box that had been beside the other things on the table, reaching into it and coming out with something small, black, and shiny. This, he pushed into the earth in the pot, and passed the box to Lydia. She did the same. When it got to Mags, he saw that they were seeds.
When they had all planted seeds, the priest held his hands over the pot and blessed it. “And may we all grow as strong as these seeds, and prosper,” he finished.
:You are planting the seeds of the new year. Soren will put this out in the garden to be dormant until spring, then the seedlings will be transplanted. They are probably trumpet vine, which is very hardy.:
Soren nodded, and stood up, looking expectant. “Well, shall we join the rest of the household for the vigil bonfire?”
Mags had no idea what that was, but he was more than willing to go along. They left their candles, still burning, in a special holder with enough sockets to take them all that stood beside the door. Then they all gathered up coats and cloaks and went out to an area of the home that Mags had never seen before—the kitchen yard and garden in the rear.
There was an enormous bonfire there, although from the look of it, it had only just been kindled and had been aided to its roaring state by the liberal application of oil. The servants were all gathered around, laughing and passing mugs of mulled cider and sausages impaled on sticks. The smell of both—the sausages especially, as they were toasted over the fire—made Mags’ stomach growl, and he was happy to accept one.
There was a glimmer of white in the darkness beyond the reach of the fire, and Dallen threaded his way through the humans with his head bobbing at every step. He nudged Mags with his nose. :Finally, now I can join you!:
He hugged his Companion’s head to his chest. :Well, we wouldn’ want hoofprints all over Master Soren s fine floors.:
:Bah. Bring logic into it.: Dallen whuffed at Mags’ hair. :Well, now we will be having sausages and roasted apples and drinking songs and games until the sun comes up. The ashes from this fire will be very good for the kitchen garden underneath; sometimes people bring objects of things they want to forget and burn them in this bonfire, but Master Soren, I hear, frowns on that sort of thing. It seems harmless enough, but it’s possible for such things to be used as digs at someone else that they know will be attending. And in some parts of the countryside, newly betrothed couples jump the fire together—once it burns much lower than this one is! Most people find this the really enjoyable part of the festivities, but I rather like the part up to midnight better.:.
Mags thought about that. “I think I’m on yer side,” he agreed aloud.
“What side would that be?” Amily asked, hobbling up to both of them. She was able to get about reasonably well for short distances using a crutch, Mags had learned. He had also learned to ignore the crutch since that seemed to be what she wanted. “You two sound just like Father and Rolan, with your one-sided conversations.”
“Dallen likes what we did better nor what we’re doin’ now, before midnight,” he explained. Dallen nodded vigorously, and Mags regarded the young woman for a moment. She looked awkward and uncomfortable and she was too short to really see anything, which was hardly fair. But it also didn’t seem fair for her to spend the rest of the vigil back inside, where no one else was. “Ye know what, there’s no reason why ye have t’stand there.”