The True Meaning of Springday

The sky over Eagleholm was beautifully clear – the palest shade of blue, wisped by cloud and tinted purple on the horizon. The sun had just barely begun to show in the East, and the air was cool and moist. All in all, a perfect Spring morning.

Arren Cardockson stifled a yawn. 'I can't wait to see it.'

'Oh, it's worth gettin' up for, trust me,' Bran said with a grin. 'Just wait 'till you've seen it! That moment when the light hits the altar – it's pure magic.'

'Are you going to hold your sword up?' Arren asked, glancing at the short bladed weapon which hung from his friend's hip.

'Well yeah!' said Bran. 'I wouldn't've brought it with me otherwise.' He patted the sword's hilt. 'The touch of the Springday sun blesses a sword an' makes the man who wields it valiant.'

'If you say so.' Arren tucked a curl of black hair behind his ear, and wondered if he should do the same with his own sword, which was currently strapped to his back.

Behind them, Eluna yawned widely. 'It will be good to see the humans bow to me,' she rasped. 'On Springday, your kind honours mine. As they should.'

Arren looked up fondly at her. 'I'd honour you any day of the week, Eluna. You know that.'

'I do.' Eluna lowered her great beaked head, and nibbled gently at his hair. 'You have always treated me with the greatest respect.'

There were plenty of other people about, which was unusual. Normally at this hour the city would have been relatively quiet. But now the mountaintop city was bustling. People were everywhere, most of them heading for the Sun Temple. Naturally every single one of them was a Southerner, and several of them cast sour looks at Arren.

He ignored it – he was used to being looked at that way. And this morning he was too excited to care either way.

'Oh, it's gonna be so great!' Bran said cheerfully. 'After the prayers we'll spend the whole day celebrating. Yeh can come an' party with us Redguards, no problem. Food an' wine an' dancing – all the good stuff. An' we'll bust out the sticks an' play a few games of Kubb. I'm warning yeh though – yeh'll never beat me in a thousand years.'

'Is that so?' Arren grinned. 'I wouldn't be too cocky if I were you!'

'Yer on, then,' said Bran. 'An' once I've beaten yeh six times running we'll see how smarmy yeh are!'

The Temple was ahead of them now, its dome rising high over the rooftops. The dawn sun shone golden just behind it – perfectly aligned. The streets around it were thronged with people jostling to get in.

Arren murmured in awe. 'The Spring solstice,' he said. 'I've read about it. The one day of the year when the sun is in the right position to rise exactly behind the Sun Temples. Apparently they're built that way on purpose.'

'If yeh say so,' said Bran, clearly uninterested. 'When do yer own people celebrate, anyway?'

Arren stiffened. 'I'm a griffiner,' he said sharply. 'I follow Gryphus just the same as you do. All griffiners do. I don't care what pagan nonsense my parents worship.'

'All right, fine,' Bran looked embarrassed. 'Sorry. I was just curious.'

'Northerners celebrate the Winter solstice,' said Arren, calming down. 'On Midwinter night. They make sacrifices to the Night God so she will make the snows melt and bring Spring. But that's all in the past. The griffiners put a stop to those sorts of barbaric rituals.'

'Yeah, just as well,' said Bran. 'Anyway, let's get inside! Thank Gryphus we've got Eluna with us.'

The white griffin pushed forward, and sure enough the crowds parted in front of her, bowing and murmuring in reverence. The two humans followed in her wake, and always they were opposites: Bran was a Southerner, with reddish brown hair and a thick beard, and a stocky, muscular build, and as such he fitted in with the others quite well. But Arren was tall – taller than anyone else there, with a pale complexion. His eyes were black, and so was his neatly combed curly hair, and his hands were slender and long-fingered. Here in Eagleholm, he stuck out like a cherry in a bowl of almonds.