This story was written in the summer of 2022, long before similar events have tragically transpired in recent news.
“You’re saying they left for religious reasons?”
The question and his voice was drowned out by the cacophony of a siesta that had bled into night.
In the courtyard of the building perched atop the lone grassy hill, the stars expanded against the canvas of the open-air roof.
The sky flashed in color, turning from a pitch black to a bright green. The stars dilated, swarming like bubbles, expanding and frothing in explosions of hot white that spilled across the edges of the open-air roof.
The green of the sky melted back to a pitch black. The white auras of dilating stars became fading ghosts of flashing lights, dimming, but impressing their phantom flashes of color onto Karvhael’s eyesight as they died.
The two young women near Karvhael darkened against the swelling colors. Their thick locks of black hair swung to and fro. The one on the left had thickly curled hair, bouncing amidst her dance. The girl to her right had straight and luscious hair that sayed like a pendulum of fluid water.
A breeze grazed Karvhael, touching the right side of his face. The black masses of hair in front of him rustled. They were all surrounded by solid walls. The wind was coming from inside.
“I had to save up four months for this!” shouted the minstrel. He was a short stubby man standing over the cauldrons of foaming green liquid on a long black table standing at the right end of the room. He and his table were on a slightly raised platform of dark wood, looking over the crowd of entranced dancers. Bubbling green liquid oozed past the edges of the steaming black cauldrons, fizzing, popping and secreting a substance that dripped over the sides of the cauldrons. He hurriedly wiped off the spilling green. He muttered something unheard over the party’s noise and turned to a cabinet, opening it, fishing around empty cauldrons and packets of potion chemicals.
“Give us a bold one!” shouted Tivie, a large thick-armed young man standing to the corner of the room. “Give us Love Cauldron!”
“Uh, that one might be too strong for the kettle to handle,” the minstrel said. “And….we’ve heard that before……..too many times for me to hear.”
Karvhael could still make out these people through the lucid visionscape induced by the consumption potion he’d drank hours ago. The minstrel looked swarthy, his face’s rotund features and their sweat gleamed against the changing kaleidoscopic lights of the ballroom. Green— bright green upon yellowing hues turning to a bright orange and then bright pink, bleeding into a deep red.
Amidst the swaths of washing colors, young men stood with their eyes dancing over drinking cups they brought to their lips, coolly viewing the ballroom and its delights.
At the center of the room, vivacious young girls danced together in slim-fitting, loosely flowing robes. Their eyes were alight with mirth and ecstasy, illuminated by the glowing and changing colors of the room.
Long flowing hair and many limber limbs bounced, jiggled and danced in many other ways across the floor and around their own faces.
The limbs were of smooth youthful skin, flashing the bright reflecting colors. The girls’ curves were highlighted in the crevices and bumps of their narrow robes and dresses.
“What a pity,” thought Karvhael. “What a pity, here, tonight. What a pity that these lovely souls have to face slaughter.”
Karvhael’s conscious burned with the flaming sadness of his own inability to correct the course of events waiting outside in the darkness of night. The flames grew brighter and brighter, becoming pangs that pressed on his chest from within.
The world, however small, or however large had been teetering on the cataclysm of this very night.
The dancing was already underway. The Bloody Red Mystics were on their way.
Debauchery and warning. Pleasure or fear. Karvhael had found himself caught in the delights of the siesta. His focus teetered between the pleasure of his experience and the looming fear that he knew awaited them.
The room expanded so far that the sky began to enlarge. If Karvhael didn’t start moving his body faster, he would then feel like the ceiling was pressing in upon himself.
It was already happening.
Karvhael sputtered, feeling like too little and too much air was filling his lungs at once.
He heaved forward, feeling his panting press up from his chest to his face which felt like it was constricting.
Karvhael pushed himself back, lying against the wall. He leaned to the right, grabbing at darkly painted pots and pans with gold linings. His hand touched moist food and drink. Hot and cold. Yellow, steaming, brown. His face fell forward, enveloping in watery mush. Blackness seeped forth. He saw nothing and he blacked out.
G.R. Nanda 