The Festival of Passage commenced, and a bizarre sense of gaiety could be felt throughout the household. The Keldons observed a holiday to commemorate the beginning of change for the approaching year. The festival celebrated the completion of the flight from their enemy in ancient times. Even the slaves were happy, for by custom, punishments for everything except serious crimes were waived or delayed. Not that the slaves ran wild with freedom, for the Keldons had a long memory and were always ready to punish when the festival was over. But for a few days, the slaves were free of the heavy hands of their masters.
Warriors competed in fights with blunted and padded weapons, their aggression channeled against each other as it was inside the cradle house. Winners of the contest gained the attention of the commanders and perhaps a chance to advance on the next mission. Slaves aped their masters with feats of strength, and Haddad watched the stableman win the wrestling matches. Other slaves gave the victor trinkets, but no overseer took any notice. Haddad could see the fights inside the cradle house enclosure grow more and more vicious as children sought dominance. More and more he saw single males mastering their fellows while the girls bonded together into separate groups. Everyone was locked in contests for position but Haddad. The struggles seemed irrelevant as he worked on the steel ant. Each day saw him closer to completing it, but his work furthered his enemies' plans. Each part fixed and oiled felt like a betrayal.
Haddad tried to appear content under the eyes of Iola, but he could not. So far his living conditions were comparatively pleasant when contrasted with his earlier captivity, but at least at the colony the illusion of escape or the more improbable rescue by Kipamu League forces kept his spirits up. Despite the run of the kitchen and the respect he received from the other servants as an arm-banded slave, Haddad felt impotent.
His mood did not improve as a round of guests appeared from the cradle house. Erissa was accompanied by a new set of female followers. They were well groomed, and the male servants took advantage of an opportunity they hardly ever had-the chance to talk to a woman of their own race. The cradle women were soon surrounded by as many admirers as any socialite beauty at a League ball. Haddad had no desire to speak with them. Each one collaborated in the enslavement and controlled breeding of humanity. Whole nations might flow under the hands of the cradle mistress and midwife, but only Keldons marched away as their slave mothers bore more Keldon children.
Erissa was talking quietly with Iola. Stooped and eating a small cake and tea, the cradle woman reminded him of an elderly maiden aunt. Then he saw the young warrior standing behind her. The youth was near his full growth and clad in fine clothes, a sword at his side. His stance and alertness unnerved the technical officer, but he had no idea why. Then the soldier turned, and he got a glimpse of the extra-wide mouth. It was Erissa's demonic servant grown large- either that or a close sibling. Haddad was unable to say which would be worse. He began moving as far away as possible. Then an announcement rang through the hall.
"All gather for Sirk, the storyteller." All present flowed to the side of the room and stopped a respectful distance from an old warrior. The man was scarred and infirm though not missing any limbs as many other older Keldons.
His clothing and weapons were of fine quality but jarring in the clash of color and styles. It wasn't until after Sirk walked to stand before the crowd and bumped into a table with a searching hand that Haddad realized the man was blind.
More warriors and women poured in from other parts of the house and the grounds. A large crowd began to push each other for better viewing positions. Haddad moved to the rear of the room and could catch only glimpses of the storyteller, but once the Keldon spoke, his voice filled the space.
"Not all great tales are finished. Listen to the prophecies of the final days," Sirk said, and he gestured grandly in a style of speaking that Haddad was unfamiliar with. "Keld was created from the blood of heroes, drifting from our ancient shores until we landed north. At first these children were timid, holding only enough land to live and selfishly thinking of themselves before the people. In time the blood ran thin, and the spirit of the people gasped for relief and for the taste of battle they had left behind. On that day the first Keldon Witch King was born." Sirk paused to wet his throat with wine.
"He towered over the north as giants loom over normal men. 'A great destiny awaits me,' were his words when soon out of the womb. 'I shall bring forth a nation to cleanse the world from all darkness.' The king lay down with the women of his enemies and brought forth sons and daughters to swell his army. At last he stood upon the mountain and called forth, 'I am ready for the darkness, let my enemy stand forth and the final battle begin.' But the servants of evil were cowards and hid from the witch king, plotting his death. Many times they tried to pull him down but always failed. Still they refused battle, denying the witch king his rightful victory. At last the king called to his people. 'I am growing old, and a new leader must follow and claim my victory.' With that, the king passed the crown and went to the Necropolis, falling into a sleeping death. Each king has followed him into his palace as the millennia have passed. Each waits for the enemy to reveal himself, for the final days to begin the final battle. And on that day, all the witch kings interred in the palace will arise from their slumber, and a great host shall march and crack the world." Sirk finished his recitation with a flourish.
"But the final days are upon us," rang out a warrior's voice. One of Latulla's guards climbed on a table and began speaking to the crowd. "Death is spreading throughout the land. Children die in the cradle houses as the enemy seeks to choke our numbers! We must awaken the witch kings and take the battle to the enemy!"
"And where shall we march?" argued a gate guard. "The enemy hides as he has always hidden. Until he reveals himself, we cannot raise the kings!"
"Blasphemy!" cried yet another warrior. "The kings shall rise when they are ready, and you imperil the final victory by your talk of disturbing them." A multitude of voices broke out as every Keldon forgot their usual deference to their superiors and tried to shout each other down. The respect and awe that all Keldons felt for those of greater strength fled as religious fever drove each to define what was right and true.
Swords were drawn, and cries of pain began to sound in the hall as steel punctuated arguments. The cradle women and the slaves were caught up as well, and Haddad wondered how many would die before the fight ended.
"Enough!" The shout was punctuated by the chandeliers and candles throughout the room flaring and then exploding in blasts of boiling wax. Arguments were forgotten as all present squinted their eyes and desperately wiped off the fiery debris. Latulla had returned home.
Iola ran through the crowd to explain to the artificer but was waved silent before she could reach the mistress of the house.
"Dogs baying in the night!" Latulla said intently. "Arguments that have been said a hundred times and solved nothing! I came to celebrate passage, but it appears that you are stuck in my way." She drew herself up and looked over the crowd. "The festival is over. A new passage has begun." She pointed off to the side. "We travel for the Necropolis tomorrow, and the witch kings will awaken, or we will drag them into the light of day."