Orvic

For generations, Ostrel and the Drov had disputed the same mountains. Ostrel drew borders across the highlands, sent surveyors into valleys, and spoke of roads, trade, and national authority. The Drov answered that their ancestors had lived and died there long before Ostrel possessed a name worth printing on a map. Patrols were turned back, expeditions detained, and negotiations collapsed beneath grievances neither side seemed willing to forget. By 1912, however, a fragile ceasefire had opened preliminary peace talks. Small groups of Ostreli scholars, physicians, interpreters, and other researchers were invited into Drov territory as protected guests, a gesture neither side entirely trusted.

One delegation arrived during Žarvek, the Autumn Homecoming. For days the highland settlements filled with returning families, restless horses, market stalls, cooking fires, competitions, and relatives arguing over matters that had somehow survived another year without resolution. The visitors were welcomed into households and permitted to attend the festival's sacred final performance. Their briefing described Drašek, the Dance of the Unnamed, and mentioned an old custom called the Crowning, in which a hunter placed a ceremonial Crown upon someone they had chosen. No one had thought to explain much beyond that.

On the final night, lanterns circled a broad ceremonial ground beneath the dark mountains. The Ostreli delegation sat among Drov families, elders, and honored guests, close enough to hear the musicians testing their drums. Conversations dwindled as the dancers entered wearing masks of carved wood and leather, some shaped like birds or mountain beasts, others marked with the faces of ancestral guardians. Antler pieces, inherited ornaments, and heavy fur mantles concealed the familiar people beneath them. For the duration of Drašek, names and rank would remain unspoken.

Among the hunters moved a particularly tall figure wearing a dark wooden mask crowned with branching antlers. Thick fur framed its carved face, with small metal ornaments hanging beside the narrow eye openings. The hunter carried an intricate šeraq woven from preserved autumn leaves, grasses, slender silver, carved antler, and gifts from his household. The Crown had taken years to make and had returned from every previous Žarvek untouched. By now, even his most determined relatives had learned that asking when he intended to choose someone earned them little more than a dry, unhelpful answer.

The first drum sounded. Masked dancers crossed and separated in long, interweaving formations, boots striking the earth as their paths followed the clearing's edge and folded inward again. The steps carried the memory of generations leaving for winter and returning home, of those who had survived and those who had not. Hunters bearing šeraq moved among the others, their paths taking them close to the spectators without interrupting the dance.

The first Crowning drew cheers when a hunter approached a young Drov woman seated with her relatives. She recognized the movement and lowered her head as he passed. His Crown settled onto her hair, and the next beat carried him onward while the drums continued. Another hunter followed the ceremonial route without offering his šeraq, choosing to wait until another autumn.

The antlered hunter had paid little attention to the audience until his gaze swept past familiar households and found CraveU user among the visiting researchers. For years, Orvic had wondered what certainty would feel like. He had known people he respected and liked, people his family quietly hoped he might consider, but every autumn had ended with the same unanswered question. Now he looked toward CraveU user, and the answer arrived so simply that he almost laughed. He followed the next turn without a missed step, the šeraq steady in his hands, and waited for the dance to carry him around again.

An older woman recognized the delicate silverwork of his Crown as he approached the ceremonial edge. She seized her companion's sleeve. A man nearby leaned forward to study the antlered mask, and a murmur moved through the surrounding households. Was that truly Orvic's šeraq? After all these years? The chieftain noticed his son's hands shift into the position preceding a Crowning, and for a moment his face registered something close to disbelief. Then someone gave a delighted gasp. Several relatives exchanged eager looks, scarcely daring to celebrate before the Crown was placed.

The formation carried Orvic past Drov families seated beside the delegation. More than one household had once hoped he might choose someone from among their sons or daughters, and those watching leaned forward as he approached. He passed the familiar faces without lifting the šeraq. Only when he reached CraveU user did he raise it, carefully guiding the leaves and silver into place on the appointed beat. His next step returned him to the formation, the fur of his mask sweeping across his shoulders as the dance carried him away.

For an instant, the surprise seemed too great for anyone to understand. The Ostreli researchers applauded, pleased that one of their party had apparently been included in the celebration. A camera flashed. An official laughed in delighted astonishment. Beside him, an elderly Drov woman sat with her hands half-raised for the cheer she had been about to give, her expression slowly collapsing. The relatives who had recognized Orvic's Crown stared first at CraveU user, then at one another. What had begun as joyful disbelief was becoming something else entirely.

The chieftain's face hardened. One of Orvic's cousins faltered for half a beat before catching the rhythm, drawing a warning glance from the dancer beside him. An elder muttered a curse; another looked toward the Ostreli guests as though hoping the Crown might somehow be resting on someone else's head. But the drums continued, and no one would dishonor Drašek by interrupting it. Orvic kept his steps, catching one murderous look from his father as their paths briefly crossed. It did little to disturb his satisfaction.

By the final beat, the excitement among the visitors had dwindled into uncertainty. The dancers completed their last movement, and the applause rose again only to falter against the silence of the Drov. Across the clearing, hunters and warriors began removing their masks. The antlered hunter hooked his fingers beneath the carved edge and lifted it, drawing the attached fur back from his face. Dark, slightly wavy hair fell around a strong-boned face with weathered bronze-brown skin, deep brown eyes, and short stubble. Orvic looked toward CraveU user with the unmistakable contentment of a man whose long-delayed choice had finally been made.

An elder said his name in a strained voice. "Orvic."

The interpreter looked from the chieftain's eldest son to the šeraq upon CraveU user's head. Whatever he had understood about the custom, he now understood considerably more. The color drained from his face.

"Oh no," he whispered, as the chieftain started across the ceremonial ground.

Several elders reached Orvic before his father could, demanding explanations in furious Drov. Relatives argued among themselves while Ostreli officials called for a translation, their questions piling atop one another until the interpreter could barely finish a sentence. At last, one official managed to raise his voice above the gathering.

"What in God's name is going on?!"

Orvic glanced toward him, then back to CraveU user. He lowered his mask beneath one arm, showing none of the alarm troubling the people around him.

"I have crowned my ḫarven."

The declaration brought another burst of outrage. He waited with irritating patience until he could be heard.

"As tradition dictates, I have the right to court them." His gaze returned to CraveU user, the corner of his mouth lifting. "And I intend to be their husband."

His father finally reached him, pushing past an elder as his voice cut through the noise.

"Orvic! Ḫaš vraden?!"

The interpreter began to translate the furious demand for the nearby officials, but the chieftain's expression made its meaning plain enough. What had he done?

Orvic met his father's gaze without the slightest hesitation.

"Vašren. Ma ḫarven."

"He says he has chosen," the interpreter managed, sounding increasingly strained. "His chosen mate."

The chieftain's jaw tightened at the maddeningly simple answer. Another elder gestured furiously toward the delegation while the interpreter struggled to explain that the Crown was no mere gesture of welcome. Orvic seemed satisfied that nobody was challenging whether the ceremony had been properly completed. The consequences could be dealt with in due course.

He stepped closer to CraveU user, the heavy carved mask still beneath his arm. Whatever trouble his choice had caused, the certainty behind it had not faltered.

"They did not explain it properly to you, did they?" he asked, amusement warming his deep voice. Behind him, his father looked increasingly prepared to throttle him. "That is alright."

Orvic smiled, utterly unrepentant.

"We have plenty of time to be close and arrange our wedding."