118 Two Sides (1/2)
The first half of the evening had been restrained, despite the interruption's best efforts. After a loud bang from the castle had brought a halt to all proceedings, a ripple of fear had gone through the isolated groups of commoners. How could it not, right after a loud bang had rocked the very foundations of the castle and with it, the foundation of the power they had subscribed to?
Bit by bit the thunder from across the river had turned into a rumble of the crowd. Already nervous as all of them were out of their element, the rumble of the commoners had soon developed into hysteria, as shouts took hold and pervaded through the air.
When the entire plaza, and with it all of Sillu Island, threatened to sink into utter chaos, a surprising visitor had appeared, to save the confused masses from themselves. Throughout the day he had sat across the yard and directed his blank stare into the pyre, that strange foreigner with the foppish clothing. Just as he seemed like a statue made of stone when things were calm, ineffectual and disinterested, he transformed into a whirlwind of activity as soon as a threat arrived. With a deep voice of great authority, the foreigner had begun his persuasion, in a Yakua so clean that even the cosmopolitan Tawo had been shocked.
Calm and authoritative, the man named Master Bombasticus had explained the true nature of the explosions, simple fireworks from the Chutwa Empire, bought specially to celebrate the harvest and the reign of the new king. Although at first he had only been another servant of the king's like many others, soon, Master Bombasticus, had become a part of the crowd. Once he had introduced himself as the man who created the fertilizer the villages had gained so much from throughout the year, he had become the most popular man within the city. Not only were his services valued by the peasants, the fact that he himself was nothing more than a craftsman endeared him further to the crowd of ordinary folk.
Once Bombasticus had won them over, he had broken up the first, unsuccessful part of the festival. With great confidence and even greater bravado, he had led all of them into the new town hall of Sillu Island. In here was where the real festival had started, the villagers unshackled now that they were away from prying eyes.
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Even though many of the people here were farmers, the drink and food, stacked high as a mountain, would be more than many of them had ever seen, more so in terms of variety. Not only were they presented with the ubiquitous rice, but also with all manner of bread, cake and noodles... and that was only the most basic of foods. Near the center of the room, broth of vegetables and animal bones bubbled and boiled in massive vats. Even earlier, several whole logs had been taken from the pyre outside and placed in between those very vats. All of it only to present the centerpiece, an entire cow that had been speared and suspended over the flames of the pyre. Roasted at a spit, the animal was basked in the mouth-watering broth around it from time to time, to create a divine smell.
At the tail-end of the hall, one could find the singers and dancers which would almost never make their way to the backwards villages the guests had come from. To their side, a troop of traveling folk prepared their masks and feathery costumes, to present their play which would no doubt be as raunchy as it would be political. Even more intoxicated by the atmosphere than by the free-flowing wine, the commoners danced and stumbled throughout the halls, to drink, eat, laugh and cry together. Although there was still a distinct separation between the Yaku and the foreigners from Arcavia, one which split the image down the middle, at least within these groups, one could find unfathomable harmony within the chaos.
Whenever Tawo had been allowed to partake in a proper banquet of the nobility, he had always been more than a little bit excited. Ever since his childhood, he had wished for nothing more than to be part of this veritable Eden. However, compared to the harmony and unity of the scene before him, the old noble banquets were nothing. Boastful and aggressive, the short stints of fun were always interrupted by challenges, fights, sometimes even wars. No matter how happy they seemed together, two lords put together could declare war in the blink of an eye. Without armies of warriors behind them to inflate their egos, the commoners were still careful even in exuberance, still showed respect for one another in revelry. What was presented in front of Tawo was truly a picture he could only describe in one possible way.
”Like a divine paradise,” he muttered. A surprised twitch from the man who sat before the painting brought Tawo back to his senses and made him understand his faux-pas. Careful and proper, the lanky man with the muddy black hair put down his charcoal pencil, before he turned on his low stool and looked at the warrior behind him with a smile. Only now did Tawo realize that he had admired the work of a foreigner, rather than that of a Yaku.
”Oh, excuse me. I didn't want to intrude.” Ready to retreat and return to the festival before him, Tawo bowed to leave. However, the foreigner's clear Yakua held him back as much as did his words.
”Rather than a divine paradise, I would call it a new dawn, light and dark combined in brilliance. Should a paradise not be more solemn? No one should wake from paradise with a headache I believe,” the lanky man quipped with a smirk.
Stunned, then elated, Tawo offered a frank laugh, and with it blew away all of his previous thoughts of leaving.
”Well, it seems like the artist should know best. Incredible how very lifelike the piece is, even when it is nothing but a sketch.”
”All I do is paint what I see. I don't believe I am much of a painter myself. It is nature itself which should be called the artist.”
Humble and direct, with no falsehood hidden in his eyes, that was how Tawo saw the painter before him. There was no way he could dislike such a frank character, and one of such skill.
”A philosophy right after the heart of the priests. With this attitude, master would be popular with the Yaku people. Maybe the lords would not be too happy with it however.”
Rather than be intimidated by the prospect of an insult to the nobles, the painter raised his eyebrows in interest.
”That is a surprise. Would they not enjoy a picture of good quality? How strange.”
With a smile colored dark, Tawo looked out of the window, towards the north, towards his home of Huaylas.
”I have been fortunate enough to see some great works of art appreciated by the great lords of Medala. Although the artists are proficient as well, they make no attempt to capture life, not like you have in your image. No, instead, any image is hidden behind secret meaning and exclusive symbols. Nothing is as it appears, not in Medalan art. After all, art is not a pleasure to be enjoyed, but a form of authority over the commoners below. Only the lords and warrior artists shall be allowed to ever understand and appreciate it. While your work speaks of great craftsmanship, it contains two inherent flaws which would make it unacceptable for most lords. First, it is too easy to read. No one in power would want the simple mortals to participate in their games. Second, you have shown the lives of the common people, in any context beyond submission and obedience. How can these lords claim that they own the world if they see these simple people happy and elated like they are today?”