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Caleb finds the candles at the market. They are sold for a copper per 8, and it’s not hard to tell why: the color a muddy brown and more a mass of wax than a cylinder, they are clearly mishaps of the candlemaker.
Still, it is more than he and Nott can permit themselves. With winter coming, food is sparse, and people are even less willing than usual to give money to beggars. A copper is half a loaf of bread, and that’s a meal, two if they stretch it.
But with winter coming, decorations for the Heart and Hearth Festival have also been put up, and it has been years, a decade, a life since he has lit a Heart Wreath.
So he buys the candles, and when Nott asks him about the bread he was supposed to buy, he shrugs and tells her he lost the coin, promising that it is him who’ll go without a meal.
With how often they change town (how often he makes them change town, paranoid that people will start to remember him) it’s not hard to cut some fir branches. It’s hard to bind them together, their thread cheap and he unused to the task after all these years. He does not remember, refuses to remember of how he was taught, refuses to remember his mother’s hands- refuses the memories, and instead, does his best to hide his project from Nott. It’s not easy, Nott too perceptive for her own good sometimes, and he is running out of time, the fourth Da’leysen before the festival fast approaching, but he wants this to be a surprise for her, wants to see her smile from something that isn’t a bottle of alcohol.
Of course, that’s not what happens in the end, but he likes to believe the intention still counts. What happens is that they are lucky to find a dirty shed for the night, the evening of the fourth Da’leysen before the Heart and Hearth Festival. It’s cold, and dirty, but it’s a roof over their head. When Nott runs off for a second, chasing a rat, he seizes the moment and pulls out the wreath he’s made from the branches, sticking four of the candles on it. He tries to clean the floor and puts down his scarf as an improvised tablecloth, then places the wreath in the middle. It’s small, and kind of pathetic, especially compared to the wreaths he remembers- red large candles, and deep green branches, bound with glittering thread, decorated with dried berries- but it’s a Heart Wreath, and it’s theirs, so when Nott comes back, he’s smiling, and his fingers itch to light the first candle.
“Caleb? What’s- did you make this? Is this where the missing copper piece went?”
He chuckles, and pats the floor next to himself. “Clever as always. I got the candles for that.”
Nott inspects the wrath, before sitting down next to him, rat unfortunately nowhere in sight.
“They are certainly…unique?”
Caleb sighs. “It’s not the pinnacle of craftsmanship, I give you that. But it’s a Zymnian tradition for the Heart and Hearth Festival, and I figured…well, we could certainly use a little light in our life, don’t you think?”
“I mean, always, but how exactly does this work? Do you light only the candles, or the candles and the branches, and then what do you do with it, do you roast food, like a hearth, or…?”
“Nothing that complicated. We simply light a candle, one on each of the four Da’leysens preceding the festival. So today we light one, and in a week two, and then three, and on the festival we light all four of them.”
“And you simply look at them?”
“They are decoration, yes. But they also serve to remind us that even in the darkest times, around the Barren Eve, better days are coming.”
Nott stares at the unlit wreath, wringing her hands.
“And do you believe that better days are coming for us?”
He sighs, and closes his eyes for a second, before ruffling her hair.
“Let’s just light the first candle, ja?”
“Would you do the honors, Caleb?”
It’s not complicated, to create the spark to light a candle. It’s not complicated, and his mother still was in awe of his powers, and every year, without fail, would smile at him over their Hearth Wreath and ask “Would you do the honors, Bren?”.
His fingers scratch the familiar rune into the air, and the candle comes to life, a flickering fire, and the fire is a burning house, his home is on fire, the smell of burned flesh acrid in the air, the screams ringing and ringing and ringing- “-eb, Caleb?”
The Hearth Wreath in front of him is a smoldering piece of ash. Wide eyed with concern, Nott is staring at him and he stares back, one second, two seconds, before he runs out off into the night. He struggles for air, gasps und heaves breaths until he can no longer smell burnt bodies.
What happens is that he loses control, and spends the night shivering under the cloudy sky.
When the other four candles go missing from his bag, Caleb doesn’t bat an eye. The week after the wreath fiasco has been utterly exhausting. He’s been more stressed, more anxious, more paranoid, as he always is after one of his episodes, and so Nott or whoever else stole the blasted candles can have them.
He is all too happy to be rid of a reminder of his failures.
What Caleb does not consider is that Nott is not only a talented thief, but also a terrible meddler in the affairs of others. So when he makes it to the dingy back alley they’ve claimed as their abode for the evening of the third Da’leysen before the Heart and Hearth Festival, at seeing two lit candles, his only thought is “I should have foreseen this”. He did not, however, and therefore freezes in his tracks, and stares at the candles, and Nott’s Heart Wreath.
It’s a better attempt than his own, more of a wreath than a vaguely round shape, and decorated too, with a few shiny buttons.
“Caleb?” Nott is looking at him, her brow furrowed in concern, ears drooped low. And to think he made his wreath to make her smile. He takes a deep breath, and forces himself out of his stupor. As he sits down next to her, he pulls her into his side and wraps his coat around both of them best he can, trying to block out the freezing cold.
“Your wreath looks a lot better than mine”, he says at last, because Nott is still staring expectantly at him.
“It’s the buttons, especially the shiny ones. They make allll the difference, I’m telling you.”
A small chuckle breaks free of him, surprising them both.
“I suppose it’s worth it then, that we got chased out of Millforth.”
“You better do suppose so. I told you the buttons were worth it. They always are, and uh. …” Nott hesitates for a moment, and burrows closer into his side. “…you’re not mad, Caleb? About the wreath, I mean, not the buttons.”
He sits still for a moment and tries to discern what he is feeling. There’s no anger, no burning heat in his veins, just the long familiar ache of regrets and sorrow, joined by a sliver of fond exasperation.
“I’m not angry, Nott. Exasperated maybe and thinking that we need to work on your meddling, but not angry.”
Nott sighs, and he can feel how her form relaxes a bit. “Good, that’s good… And are you- do you feel okay? With the candles, and the flames?”
“I- ja. Ja. I- it was- it was not the fire last time, not on it’s own- just- I-“
“You- you don’t need to tell me, if you don’t want to! It’s just- I mean- we don’t talk about the past- and honestly, that’s fine by me, we don’t need to talk about the past, absolutely not. But- uh- what you said a week ago? About better days coming? I- I would very much like some of that, and I think you do too.”
Caleb sighs, and closes his eyes, but he bright burn of the candles doesn’t leave him.
“You’re not wrong. The trouble is, I don’t think I quite deserve them.”
Whether he is deserving of them or not, it doesn’t matter, because better days they do not get. Instead they get a mix of snow and rain that leaves them wet and shivering at any given time, and makes surviving a priority, never mind living. He misses his scarf dearly, burnt to ashes with the first wreath.
The Barren Eve comes and goes. He only notices days after, too late to light a candle, candles for his parents. It puts him in a sullen mood, one that Nott tries and fails to pull him out of. More often than not he finds himself in memories of a winter farmland, bright windows, his parents laughter - their howls dying. Their corpses follow him into his dreams, gruesome nightmares that he wakes from screaming.
When they get thrown out of farmer’s shed they’d been meaning to spend the night of Yulisen, he’s almost relieved. The shorter his sleep, the fewer his nightmares. It is storming though, snow and hail coming down, and they are in between villages, without a place to stay.
There’s nothing to do but walk further, to keep moving so they don’t freeze. They keep going for hours and hours until Nott is slowing down, the snow almost up to her waist. He picks her up then and carries her in his arms, grateful for the heat of her body. She’s light too, lighter than she probably should be, and while worrisome, it’s the only reason he manages to carry her.
“Are you sure it’s fine, Caleb? I mean, I can walk, it’s just- it’s just a bit cold, but…”
“You’re not that heavy, Nott.”
“Well, we don’t eat enough for me to- is that a hut? Right there, between the bushes?”
It is indeed a hut. With a few holes in the roof, but they’ll take what they can get. Caleb all but collapses on the floor, and for a minute he just lies there, the shivering form of Nott in his arms.
“Do you want me to try and make a fire?”
“Please”
And so he peels his aching bones from the floor, and sets to work on the water logged fireplace. He does eventually manage a small flame, and they huddle in front of it, desperate for the warmth.
“Hey Caleb, is it Da’leysen yet?”
“It has been for a few hours, ja.”
“Then we get to light a third candle.”
“That we do.”
And so three candles are lit by Nott, the flames dancing merrily in time with the fireplace.
“Why is it four candles, anyway? Why not five?”
Caleb’s lips curve into a smile. “Because once the fifth candle is lit- well, dann hast’ das Festival verpennt.”
“You’ve what now?”
“You’ve overslept, and the Festival’s already over. It’s part of a Zymnian children’s rhyme, or to be more precise, an additional line that’s meant as a joke.”
“Do you know the full rhyme?”
“Ja, of course.” He clears his throat, and starts the sing-song of the long familiar text.
“Feuerstell, ein Lichtlein hell,
erst eins, dann zwei, dann drei, dann vier,
dann stehen Geschenke vor der Tür.”
His eyes are mist when he finishes, and he remembers, remembers so clearly what his mother sounded like singing it.
“You have a beautiful voice,” mutters Nott, and presses closer to him, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “Are you okay, Caleb?”
He squeezes her shoulder. “I- ja, ja. I’m fine, Nott.”
They sit in contemplative silence for a bit, before Nott asks: “What does the text mean?”
“It roughly translates to: Hearth, a small light shines brightly, first one, then two, then three, then four, then there are gifts in front of the door.”
“Gifts?”
“For the Heart and Hearth Festival.”
“Do you think we could- no, no, it’s a stupid idea, nevermind-“
“None of your ideas a stupid. Maybe a bit questionable, but not stupid.”
“Well, do you think we could do gifts? Just- something small, for each other?”
Caleb sighs. “We don’t have the money, we can’t-“ She pouts at him, eyes wide and pitiful.
“Please, Caleb?”
“I- Alright. Something small, if we have some coin to spear. And no stealing.”
Nott grins. “I am making no promises”
“Just-“ He sighs, already regretting his words. “Just be careful?”
“Always, always. Oh, and what about that additional line? Of the rhyme, I mean?”
“Und wenn das fünfte Lichtlein brennt , dann hast’ das Festival verpennt - And when the fifth light is lit, then you’ve overslept and the festival is over.”
“Well, I’m not going to miss the festival, but I’m sure oversleeping tomorrow!”
Caleb’s lip quirks up, and he blows out the candles, curling up on the floor. “Well, good night then, Nott.”
“Goodnight, Caleb”
True to her word, Nott does end up “scratching her itch”, as she would put it, the Da’leysen a week later. Caleb is perusing a market stand offering all kinds of pretty hair combs when she barrels straight into him, pressing her face in to his coat, crying loudly.
“Dad, Dad, these man are chasing me! They are scary, make them go away!”
Right on cue, two rather angry looking merchants come pushing through the market crowd, their faces red from running.
“Hold the thief! Hold the-“
“Dad, they are scaring meeee!”
“Mister, your daughter there-“
A familiar crowd of onlookers has formed around them, and Caleb sighs. One normal day shopping is, when traveling with Nott, too much to ask for. So he raises one hand in an appeasing gesture and wraps the other one protectively around her.
“Now, I’m sure this is all just a big misunderstanding, and we can figure-“
Except that’s when a third merchant arrives, two righteous brand soldiers in tow, recognition dawning on their faces: “You two again! I thought we told you not to set foot into Millforth-“
They go off running, weaving through people, jumping over market stands and dodging angry sellers. It’s what they always do, and despite the situation, Caleb finds himself smiling.
“This gift better be worth being kicked out here a second time.”
“Who says it was your gift that I stole?”
“Well-“ They turn around a corner, and come face to face with a group of guards. Behind them, their followers are not far of.
Their eyes meet. “Plan S!”, they say at the same time, and their separate ways they go, Caleb throwing himself under the back panel of a tent, hiding himself between the boxes he finds there. Outside, the two groups of guards converge.
“I just saw them-“
“Well, they’re obviously not here!”
“Oh, I can’t believe we lost them again, the next time I see these two dirty thieves-“
Silently chuckling, he takes a few careful steps away from the panel, and curiously opens up some of the boxes. Inside, there are hair ornaments, not unlike the ones he was looking at earlier. He’s about to leave them behind when his gaze catches on a hair needle, shaped like a flower at the end, and decorated with small rose quartz pieces, glittering even in the dim light of the tent. He knows, with absolute certainty, that the color would complement Nott’s skin very well. He takes the needle, then pulls out his copper wire. “Meet me at the northern end of the market?”
“Be there in 5”, comes the reply.
They have to climb over the city walls to get out unseen, but he supposes it could be worse. The weather has bettered considerably over the past days, so the wall is mercifully dry. As they’ve been to Millforth before, they even know where to spend their evening: there’s a farm about 15 minutes out of town, with a stable that has a dry, and relatively warm hayloft, that the owners don’t mind travelers sleeping in. The only thing they don’t want is fire up there, so Nott sets up their wreath at the steps of the stable, lighting all four candles, which they watch in comfortable silence.
That’s when dark figure steps out of the shadows, and Caleb jumps up, readying a spell, before recognizing the head of the farm, a muscular woman with a round face and red cheeks.
“Sorry, sorry, didn’t want to scare ya there! I’ve just thought,” and she gestures to their wreath, “you might like some tea and nuts? ‘S almost day of the festival, isn’t it?”
“We would like that very much. Thank you.” Caleb answers, and gladly takes the offerings from her. “You will be celebrating at the farm?”
She smiles and nods. “Yeah, my Ma is already deep in preparations for the food, has us banned from the kitchen.” She laughs. “But she’s already 80, so it’s good to see she’s still moving around! Anyways, I should head back, they are waiting for me with dinner. Have a good night.”
“Thank you. Have a good night too.”
As she goes back to the house, Nott comes out from where she hid behind him.
“She’s a kind lady. And she said nuts?”
Caleb hands her the small bag of them, and one of the tea cups. “Let’s save some for the festival?”
“Sure!”
They sit back down, Nott cuddling into his coat, and sip their tea, watching the candles flicker. The first one is considerably smaller than the others now.
Nott is humming, and it takes Caleb a second to realize it’s the tune of the Zymnian rhyme. After a moment of hesitation, he joins in, rather a hoarse whisper than full song. They go through it a few times, before Nott stops.
“We should put the candles out, at least the first one, right? So we can still light it on the Festival?”
He grunts in agreement. “Is there anything you’d like to do, the day of the festival?”
Nott shrugs. “In my- well- we used to do this big feast, right? All kinds of vegetables and meats, and lots of desserts too. And I mean, we won’t have that, but, we could try? Is there anything you’d like?”
He considers it. “We’d usually eat goose, or duck. With gravy, and red cabbage, and potato dumplings.”
“There’s a lake like a day from here, remember? You think we’d be able to catch some fowl? Maybe even sell some, and buy potatoes from that?”
“It might be worth a try”
Nott grins at him. “It certainly is!”
As it turns out, Nott is right. Not only do they get a duck to roast themselves, they also have enough to trade for cabbages, potatoes, and even a few measly tangerines from Nicodranas. The bigger hurdle turns out to be finding a place to cook, but an old lady, in high spirits about the festival, offers them her hut, in exchange for helping her travel one town over to her family.
It’s late when they finally make their track back from their escort mission, the sun already gone down. At the hut, they set to work in the small kitchen immediately, and in the end, are awarded for their efforts with the best meal they’ve had in- well, Caleb can’t remember, and he supposes that is rather telling. When they finally sit down to eat, they light the wreath too, and Nott starts scarfing down her food.
“You don’t want to slow down, maybe enjoy it? Who knows when we will get something this fine again.”
One of her ears flicks in annoyance. “I mean, yes, but also presents, Caleb, presents.”
He huffs. “The present won’t run away.”
“You-,“ she points with her knife at him, “can’t know that.”
“Considering I currently have yours, I feel in good authority to argue.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“Just like that?”
Nott takes her last bite. “Just like that. And now you hurry up eating, I want to give you your gift.”
Caleb shakes his head in exasperation, and pointedly continues eating slowly. It is a good meal, and he will savor it, no matter how impatiently Nott is fidgeting next to him. He finishes his plate when he’s sure she’s just about to explode, and after they have put away their plates, she does get her wish. They put down a blanket in front of the fireplace, and settle down.
“Do you want yours first?” Caleb wants to know.
Nott’s ears perk up. “Oh, absolutely.”
“Then close your eyes, and turn around.”
As she does, he pulls the hair needle from into the inner pocket know his coat.
“Is it ok if I touch your hair?”
She freezes for a second. “I- alright.” She takes down her hood, and nervously wrings her hands together. His heart gives a painful squeeze.
“I don’t need to, Nott, if you don’t want me to.”
She shakes her head. “I trust you. Just- just do it, before I lose my nerve?”
He squeezes her shoulders gently and then combs his fingers through her hair, trying to get out the worst of the tangles, before he gathers it all up, and in one fluid motion wraps it into a bun that he secures with the needle.
“All done. Happy Heart and Hearth Festival, Nott.”
She turns around again, and carefully reaches into her hair.
“A hair needle?”
“Ja” He gestures to the huts window, which is reflecting their forms. “Take a look?”
She hurries over, and carefully turns her head back and forth.
“It’s a flower?”
“Yeah. You want a closer look at it?”
“Sure, I just pull it out?” He nods, and she takes it out, her hair falling down. She’s quick to pull her hood back up, of course she is, before she looks at the needle. Caleb’s holds his breath, and then she barrels into his waist, hugging him.
“Thank you, Caleb. It’s beautiful, and I- I love it.”
He gently wraps his arms around her too. “I’m glad you like it. And for what it’s worth, I think you look rather beautiful with it, and without it too.”
She sniffles. “Thank you.”
They stay like that for a second longer, before she remembers his gift and excitedly wriggles out of the hug.
“You need to close your eyes too, and no peeking!”
Obediently, he does so. He hears her taking her bag, some rustling, and then something warm wraps around his neck. A smile spreads across his face as he reaches for it and his fingers meet fabric, soft like silk.
“Happy Heart and Heart Festival, Caleb.”
Opening his eyes, he takes a look into the window, and sure enough, it’s a new scarf, replacing the one that burnt to ashes.
“The color matches your eyes,” Nott points out and he pulls her into another hug.
“Thank you. It’s very soft.”
“I know, right? It’s made from the finest wool from the south, or at least that’s what their sign said.”
Caleb chuckles, and pats her on the head.
“I do have one other thing,” he tells her, and takes a bottle out of his bag. It’s wine, and not the sour thing they usually drink. Of course, nothing fancy either, but still a special treat.
Nott shoots up excitedly, and while he does wonder whether he shouldn’t enable her , it is a special occasion.
“Just for the evening, ja? And we share.”
“Sure, sure, give it to me!”
“Not so fast, let me get two glasses.”
“But-“ He pulls the bottle away just in time from Nott’s hands, and holds it over his head where she can’t reach.
“It’s a special occasion.”
Nott, undeterred, starts clambering up his back, and he curses, putting down the bottle on a high shelf, before throwing the goblin of his back.
“Leave it, Nott, leave it! And go get the glasses.”
“You’re no fun, Caleb, really!”
But she does get them, and they sit down once more in front of their Heart Wreath, each of the candles only a small stubble now.
“Thank you again, Nott. For the gift, and also for the wreath.”
She grins at him. “Always, Caleb, always.”
He fills their glasses, and they raise them in the candlelight.
“To better days,” proposes Nott, and smiling, he echoes: “To better days.”