When she saw the monk with the cute face puckering his lips, Mecora knew she had to get him to stay the week with her family. She didn’t really know right away how she was going to convince her mother, but she would.
Her friends giggled at her when she told them. “Mecora! Where are you going to get enough food? Men eat a lot,” protested her lightest friend, Mereo.
“But monks are different. They don’t eat as much because they don’t have to work as hard.”
“Sure, Mecora.”
“And anyway, I’ve been saving for a long time. If I have to, I’ll buy food myself.”
Ueal, another light friend, was shocked. “But you were saving that to go to Palace Meadow.”
“The King can wait.”
“You’re besotten, Mecora. Besotten with a monk!”
“I know.”
Ueal tried again. “Don’t you know that it can never go anywhere? I mean, besides the fact that he’s at least twenty years older than you.”
“That never stopped Mother.”
“Yeah, and look what it got her? Four kids and half a life alone!”
“Well, it’s not like he died of old age.”
“But if he’d been twenty years younger, he’d have been able to dodge that sword.”
“Mereo, do you always have to bring that up? Coming from you, that really hurts.” The sword in question had been held by a light Vle brigand’s hand.
“Oh. Sorry.” A pause. “But anyway, he’s a monk!”
“So?”
“They take vows not to marry, duh!”
“They do not! I happen to have an uncle who’s a monk, and he told me all the vows he had to make. ‘No marriage’ is not one of them.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t any of the monks up there have wives?”
“Because... they’re so dedicated.”
“Exactly!”
Mecora decided she’d been outfoxed logically, but she could still have the monk as a guest. If she asked, and he accepted (as he was honor-bound to do) then Mom couldn’t say no.
The last of the novices went by, and the crowd was beginning to break out of its solemnity. The next place to be was the cathedral, and much of the crowd already had the best spots.
“Let’s split up,” suggested Ueal. “We oughta be able to get through the crowd easier.”
“No,” countered Mereo, “If we split up, we’ll never find each other! We’d better stick together.”
That’s what they agreed on, and they slipped through the moving crowd toward the cathedral.
Just like every year, the energy and excitement of the moment was exhilarating. Everyone singing the same, old-tongue words at the top of their lungs made Mecora feel as if there was really nothing between her and the Great Master himself, and she knew others felt the same. However, some of the older kids said that the singing didn’t really bring you any closer, that it was just a ritual that everybody did because they were supposed to.
Mecora wouldn’t buy that, and couldn’t understand how anyone could get so jaded in such a short life. She and her friends just sang their lungs out and enjoyed it.
Well... the first few verses. During the last one, they usually snuck away to get home and changed into their finest clothes (while Mom was still at the songfest) for the party. Although finest was probably not the best word for these clothes, Mecora had once decided.
“Hey, Mereo, what do you think, the blue or the red top?”
“Which is the off-the shoulders one?”
“You have an off-the shoulders?” asked Ueal, amazed. “How do you keep it hidden?”
“It’s in my most private box. Mom’ll never touch it.”
“Hey, cool idea.”
Handa, a dark girl who was a bit heavier than the others, asked, “Why do you even bother? It’s not like the boys are even looking for us yet.”
“Well, it’s not for the boys, it’s for us, almost like pretend. Besides, maybe we can get some of the men to look at us.”
Handa seemed unconvinced of that as she put on her yellow shirt. It was relatively conservative in that company, since it had shoulders and a bonafide neckline. No one really bothered her for it, though.
With a few flowers in their hair and essence of rilic dribbled in certain places, they were ready. They went as quickly as possible to the plaza, where everyone would now be gathered for the annual Deschule drinkfest.
“If you ask me,” said Ueal, “this is where I get closest to the Great Master.”
“What, when you’re drunk?!” asked Mecora.
“Yeah! What else can explain why I get so happy?”
“Lots of people get happy when they’re drunk, and they don’t seem very close to the Great Master.”
“Well, of course not. They’re not truly Redeemed!”
“Fine, then, let’s go get Redeemed, and maybe some men will come along!” said Mereo, and they strode into a pub.
It was crowded, of course, but since all drinks were free (paid for by those who made it) all the bartenders had to do was just pour glass after glass after pint after pint. There were those who stuck to wine, sipping it and enjoying the celebration from an almost observatory point-of-view; and there were those who downed beer after beer and didn’t even know they were enjoying anything.
Each of the girls grabbed a glass and took a drink of the thick, sweet liquid. It had an almost immediate heady effect. Glasses in hand, they went wandering. Mecora even forgot about the monk for a time, until seeing him in the middle of the plaza. “Wait! We gotta find my Mom!”
“Why?”
“There’s that monk!” And she was off, even as the others shook their heads. Finally, they followed.
Mecora found her mother just a few doors down, with a small glass of peach wine. “Hi!”
“Hello, dear. I see you’re getting in the swing of things.”
“Yeah, it’s great! Hey, c’mere, I wann show you something.” Mecora pulled on her mother’s sleeve, and she came reluctantly.
“What is it, dear? Can’t you just bring it?”
“No, Mom, ya gotta come with me.”
Meanwhile, the other girls giggled, watching as Mecora’ mother made up her mind. She downed the last sip of wine, and stood. “All right, let’s go.”
“Great!” And they wound through the crowd, on a path that seemed to take forever, around people standing as if rooted to the deck. Luckily, so was the monk. Belatedly, Mecora realized that there was another, older monk there as well.
The pressure was growing. What was she going to say? How should she phrase it? Was she going to make a fool of herself? She answered each question with a swig of beer. And then she was there.
He didn’t notice her at first, and the others just watched to see what she was going to do. “Mecora—”
Quickly, before her mom could object, she tugged on his robe. He looked down at her, a slightly surprised look on his face. Her friends giggled behind her. “H-hi!” she stammered. “Um, I just wanted to ask a question...”
The monk joked with her, before she could even formulate what she wanted to say. Finally, she just blurted it out. “I’m just inviting you to spend Holy Week with my family!”
“Oh! Well, I’ll be delighted,” he replied. He also gave her mother a wink.
And then it was her turn to say something, but she had no idea what. When to come, she supposed, or where...
Her mother spoke up, saving her. “I’ll be happy to have you stay, but I must apologize. Since my husband died, we haven’t had much to spare.”
“I understand. Your hospitality is well appreciated.”
“My name is Caile.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Brother Hyran.”
“If you would like to come this way...?” Mecora breathed a sigh. It had worked. As he followed her mother, she gathered up her courage and took his hand. Her friends gathered around, forming a nice, safe island that broke through the crowd. After all, a monk was passing through...
