Light trickles in through the windows tell me it’s time to wake up. I am already awake though. The deep cold had prevented any sleep. My eyes had been watching the slow hands of the clock all night. I reach out to it and run my hands on the silver frame, as if to steal back the time I had lost to it. The deep cold and lack of sleep tells me what day it is.
Today the usual quiet streets of the village will be filled with laughing children and stalls. The sky will be bloated out by the streamers and banners, all depicting our village’s symbol of a flower. Music will fill the air that isn’t already busy with noise. When the clock rings four times all will fall silent and all Ringcat will go to the center and listen to the Elder ramble on our village’s legend. I let out a groan, I hate today. I hate the festival. I hate the Elder’s rambling. Most of all I hate that it all falls on my birthday. Today I should be celebrating with my circle of friends and making ourselves sick off of sweetbread.
I grab my sheets and throw them over my head, curling my tail around me for extra warmth. Maybe today I will just stay in bed and pretend I’m sick. It’s cold enough that they might believe me. I just get this feeling that today is going to be terrible. I hear the horns call out the beginning of the festival and the slow stream of people rising from their homes. The quiet morning shatters into the noises of the festival I hate so much. I try to drown it out in my head, pressing my pillow over my ears. It does very little to stop the sea of noise. I peer out of my blanket for a second and turn to the window, one last look at the festival before I spend the rest of the day huddled in my bed. I find myself staring into the eyes of a curious white bird. I would say it was smiling if I did not know better, which I do. Birds cannot smile, but yet I could feel it. I rise out of my bed and walk over to it. I should know better than to do that too. It opened its wings and flies off, disappearing into the canopy of trees that sheltered our village.
I stare out the window a while longer before I realize I was out of bed. This upset me. Now my plan to stay curled up in bed had already failed. I curse the white bird that had lured me out, not that it was around any longer to hear this. I walked to the other side of my house and pulled my scarf from its hook and throw it around my neck. It doesn't help the cold and I knew it wouldn’t. I’m a Ringcat. Ringcats have manes to protect them from the cold. If the mane couldn’t keep me warm then why would the scarf on top of it? It was the sentimental value I suppose. The only real birthday gift I’d ever gotten. Others gave me gifts but that was wholly tradition of the festival. Not birthday presents, festival gifts. This stung me a little more. My tail slapped the ground in anger. A loud THWAP came. I jump. I hadn’t hit it that hard had I? It comes again. I relax. It was the door. I walk to it and swing it open. My friend Svien stands over me. He stands over most other Ringcats but I’m one of the smallest Ringcats in the village. His yellow fur was lit up by the morning sun and he grabbed me for his traditional festival strangle that he had the nerves to call a hug.
“Teumess! Good morning and happy Flower Festival!”
I grunted. Half because he knows how I feel about it, half because my lungs were being crushed by him. He must of realized the second half because he lets go of me. I take a few seconds to collect the air that he had crushed out of me.
“Morning Svien.” I grumble back to him.
He beams at me, his tail wagging like an excited dog. Svien loves the Flower Festival because he’s a normal Ringcat and all Ringcats love the Flower Festival. I can’t even force a smile for him but he doesn’t seem to care. He pulls my arm and drags me into the streets of Uppsala. It’s just like a thought it would be. The streets are packed with people and stall and performers and flowers. The flowers are everywhere. No spot in the village is empty and if it is someone is throwing flowers on it. I suppose it makes sense but I can’t help but roll my eyes.
Svien and I spend the day wandering around looking at stalls and playing games. We get a few freebies from venders who think I’m a little kid. I don’t pass them off but it doesn’t stop me from getting a little flustered. Svien says it’s my nature to get upset easily, says it is the red fur. That’s just Ringcat superstition. Ringcats with red fur are dangerous and ill temper. I would still be ill tempered even if my fur was blue or yellow or whatever other stupid colour! That old superstition is just full of itself! Svien just laughs. I calm down, even if it’s my nature to get angry easy I can’t stay mad at Svien. Maybe that’s what makes us great friends.
“I wonder what kind of stunt they’ll pull this year.” I comment to Svien as we eat a lunch of berries and bread. Every year after the Elder rants on about the legend there is another event and then the festival ends. Some years it’s a play, sometimes it’s just a musical number. One year they had the guardian of the shrine fight with a tall black Sandtail. I think it was a Sandtail at least; she had a large bushy tail like one. I don’t remember what that was about but it was pretty cool. Svien swallows his mouthful of bread, “I hope it’s more than the performance they had last year.” I agree with him and pop a few berries in my mouth.
On cue the clock tower rings out four times and the noise of the festival vanishes. Everyone moves to the center of town, speaking in hushed whispers. On the stage is the Elder, a dusty purple Ringcat leaning against his cane. A taller green Ringcat stands next to him, holding a golden halberd close to her. I think she is the captain of the guards judging by her weapon. I contain my anger. The guards are a joke. The village is hidden in a veil of trees and we solemnly get visitors. Occasionally we get a caravan from another Ringcat village. Honestly they only thing that threatened the village was the cold wind.
Svien bumps my side with his arm, “Come on let’s go sit in the front.” I cross my arms to say no but he is already dragging me through the crowd. The multicoloured sea of Ringcats open as Svien pushes through. No one is going to oppose us going to the front. He’s huge and I have red fur. That’s one advantage of the silly tales I think. We push to the front and take a seat. The horns sound and even the whispers fade away. The Elder begins his tale.
My ears lay flat on my head, trying to bloat it out without being obvious. I’m sure if the green Ringcat saw me with my hands over my ears she’d stick me right there and then with her halberd. I try my best to block it out but to no avail. The story of the last flower of Yggdrasil is told for the one thousandth time. How beings born from these flowers are Yggdrasil’s children and protectors of peace and how the eldest All-Beings created fake children to mock Yggdrasil, then how the fake children allied themselves with the Children of the Flowers to imprison the eldest All-Beings. How the two formed the Kingdom and how the Kingdom fell into the hands of Nidhogg who banished the beast people of the world from the Kingdom and how she cursed the Children of the Flowers to become tainted. How every Child of the Flower now rots Yggdrasil from the inside out. Finally, how our village protects the last flower of Yggdrasil. How when it finally blooms the great Yggdrasil will collapse and bring about the end of the world.
Svien is eating it up, staring with huge eyes at the Elder as he spins his tale. I can’t help but roll my eyes, the tale is just that. A tale. No one really believes there is a race born from flowers. Plus no history book even mentions the banishment of the beast people from the Kingdom, heck it doesn’t even mention anything called an All-Being. It is just a story for this silly festival. I look back to the stage. At least the show will be entertaining. The Elder announces that for this year they will be doing a play. Good news, the plays are always good. The Elder and who I think is the captain walk off the stage to let the play begin. The actors take the stage and reenact another silly legend; however it is a thousand times more interesting. It is a tale of love between a princess of the Kingdom and a beast person. Forbidden love. Cheesy. Classic.
Towards the end the princess holds her slain lover in her arms. She goes to kiss him one last time. A bird lands on the stage and sends the two actors in a frenzy to make it go away. I laugh. Several others join me in doing so. I then stop. I notice the bird. It’s the same as this morning. The laughing dies. The actors scream. Everyone screams. The bird takes off once more. I don’t care where it goes. I’m busy staring at the creature emerging out of the streets. It stops and screeches at the trembling Ringcats. Everyone starts running away. The skeleton deer monster stamps its hooves and snatches up the closest Ringcat it can and tears them apart. Definitely the worst festival ever.
