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It was the night before Wishmas,
And quaint Bellhart stirred,
The shopkeeps, pilgrims and Pavo conferred.
To celebrate certainly would be tough this year,
For the silken curse had brought upon them great fear.
Yet they still prepared to welcome the day,
As for Pharloom Eternal, their faith must not fray.
Hornet thought at first that she would feign inattention, sharpen her needle and wait to see if she could discern what exactly the bugs of Bellhart were discussing. If it turned out to be trivial matters, she could leave and continue her journey to the Citadel without the unnecessary side-tracking.
What she had failed to learn by now, however, was that her fixative attitude would not get her far here. Her home laid barren for generations, and she had grown accustomed to the solitude that let her do what she pleased without resistance- Pharloom was inconveniently alive, and she found herself constantly serving the wishes of pilgrims.
Wishes; it was a practice alien to a visitor like Hornet, but she did like it. Rosaries, shell shards and other resources would have to be collected one way or another, and the willingness of bugs to speak their desires and payment so plainly made the process much simpler. Perhaps, if the Bellhart residents came to an agreement soon enough, she could help them with one of these transactions. She listened in closer;
“Surely we could get away with not doing decorations?”
“No! Absolutely not! The decorations are non-negotiable!”
“Ah, he does have a point though. If we go easy on the shell rosaries when we decorate, we’ll have enough left over for the offerings.”
“That’s true!”
“…And then, we will’ve given enough to put out all of our wishes.”
“Right. So if you and Pavo sort that out, I can sort out something for us to eat—”
“B-but, sir Pondcatcher…”
“—And then when I get back, I’ll help with the high up decorations.”
“Ah. Well yes, that’s the perfect plan!”
“But, ehh.. what about—”
“HOY, RED MAIDEN!”
Hornet jumped with a squeak that she hoped only Sherma heard.
“Oh! My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. Were you off in your own world there, sharpening your trusty needle?”
“You could say that.”
Sherma did not seem to question her response. “Well, how lucky it is that you’ve found yourself here on this fine Wishmas eve! It’ll be such a privilege to get to celebrate on our pilgrimages!”
As Hornet responded, a sense of foreboding set in. “Wishmas eve?”, she asked. “I am not familiar. I assume it is some sort of holiday, but could you please explain?”
With those words, her fate was sealed. She would not be departing for her final climb for at least another day.
“Of course! Every year, the bugs of Pharloom honour the day that the holy Citadel was passed down from the First Children by leaving offerings out for Pharloom to collect, along with their greatest wishes in writing.”
Hornet tilted her head. “For Pharloom to collect?”
“Yes! The First Children promised us devout all our wishes granted, so offerings are left in return for our eventual reward. They leave rosaries in piles after their celebrations on Wishmas eve, and come the morning, they are taken by Pharloom herself, and our wishes are this much closer to coming true!”
“…I see.” Sometimes, she struggled to reckon with the fact that intelligent, masked bugs can be fooled this easily. “And you intend to… ‘celebrate’, with the residents of this town?”
“It will be an absolute honour- things are difficult for them this year, as they have only just been freed from those haunted strings, but I’ve been working hard to help them make it a truly special Wishmas! And of course, it’s all thanks to you that they’ve been freed in the first place. Pavo did say that it would be a joy to have you there, maiden, but it’s no trouble if youre too busy!”
There it was. Under the guise of considering if she could attend, she thought for a moment; this was clearly another twisted ritual strung together to keep these bugs tightly under control. Every year, they give away their rosaries to oblivion along with any hope of working their way to success or independence. It was incredible, the sheer power that faith could hold in a place so hopeless and cruel, to the extent of even being their currency; and in that sense, it was never truly theirs, yet valued by them so much more.
But to those who weren’t victim to this sick system, rosaries remain merely currency- of which Hornet had been sorely lacking.
“So, there will be a celebration, at which rosaries are left out to be taken by… Pharloom, overnight, in exchange for good fortune in the future?”
Sherma nodded enthusiastically.
“… I will gladly attend, Sherma, but please understand if I am unable to partake in the ritual itself, as I find myself without enough rosaries to make an offering.”
It must just be taken by Snitchbugs, Hornet thought. No wonder there’s so many here- it’s like a yearly salary.
They probably won’t be coming prepared for a fight. Especially not one against me.
The festivities came and went- they set out to Shellwood lake in the evening, where a toll bench had been fashioned into a shrine, and had a feast- a modest one, but far better than what they usually had to eat- before the most important part of celebration. Each bug came to the shrine in a trance-like state, leaving a neatly rolled scroll with an offering of rosaries, tools, or anything else that was too valuable to be parted with so willingly. The area they celebrated in had been decorated in a similar fashion, with rosaries strung up on the walls for the thieves to take after they had departed; Hornet was incredibly concerned by the notion that this was the part they had cut corners on.
Engaging with the Bellhart bugs and appearing amused by this ridiculous farce was no trouble to her, but at some points she would get lost in a train of thought; intending to plan her heist, realising how easy it was going to be, and instead trying to figure out how this tradition came about. It went unnoticed, and at the end of the night everyone went their separate ways. Hornet said she had somewhere else to stay for the night, found a good hiding spot, and waited.
She was shocked by how long it took for the thieves to arrive- almost an hour that their goods were out in the open for.
What she was right about, however, was that they definitely weren’t expecting a fight. It was only four snitchbugs that came, and they savoured the affair, snickering as they looked at all of the rosaries that were left out for “Pharloom” to collect. That was ample time for Hornet to strike. She pounced from her hiding spot, immediately eliminating one from behind, and dispatched of the rest within seconds, preferring that they didn’t get to touch any of the offerings. There was no sympathy for them- their methods were criminal, so hers could be too. And she had already killed far more pilgrims for far less rosaries.
Hornet then turned her attention to the offerings she had just earnt. It was around five thousand rosaries- for the bugs of Bellhart, who had only recently been freed from Widow’s curse, this was far too much to be giving away. For Hornet, this was the perfect amount to be able to carry with her, and hopefully enough to see her through the rest of her journey.
As she began pocketing the rosaries it occurred to her that she would have to take the scrolls away for this to look convincing. Naturally, she decided to read one.
I wish for my hunts to go well this year. I can’t stand seeing bugs go hungry on my accord.
Hornet knew that was Pondcatcher Reed’s wish; she had seen him at the lake, defeated, hunting with brittle tools and faltering strength. Her chest ached for a moment with sympathy. To fail to provide for those that rely on you is an unbearable pain.
She read another.
I just wish I could be with my Melatolla, but the strength to leave some flowers for her would be enough.
And another.
I wish, more than anything, for a selfish thing. I have not had the time or strength to tend to our glorious statue, and I just want Bellhart to shine once more!
…
I just wish for some more rosaries. Nobodies got any at the minute, so there’s no business at my shop.
I wish to know where Wishmas came from! There’s nothing about it in my collection!
And then, the final one:
I wish for the salvation of all pilgrims, but most of all, I wish for the red maiden to be safe, and know how grateful we all are for her!
Hornet looked up to the shrine. If he wished for me to feel appreciated, this payment would absolutely suffice. She continued collecting the offerings.
Relic Seeker Scrounge’s wish… if Hornet wished for anything, it would likely be the same. But, unlike Scrounge, she was far too familiar with the lifespan of a kingdom, and understood that this sick ceremony- Wishmas- likely evolved from another tradition. Though she could never know for certain, the remnants of Pharloom’s culture surrounding wishes, and the knowledge that the Citadel and its devout had not always been here, led her to an uneasy conclusion.
Wishmas probably used to be about bugs granting each other’s wishes, before the Citadel turned it into another great sacrifice. It would make no sense otherwise.
As Hornet stood there, now carrying the offerings and respective wishes of these bugs, she had an idea.
The wishes the Bellhart bugs had made would truly not be difficult to fulfil. And this would be another way to spite her captors- even if their beliefs were technically being affirmed, the system they had put so much blind faith in would finally give them something in return. What this was not, Hornet reminded herself, was a way to justify taking the bugs’ rosaries. They had already forfeited them to nothingness- in fact, this would turn this grand, anticlimactic venture into something more… satisfying. Yes. She knew she had all night, which came as somewhat of a relief, as the Wishmas celebration had left her stiff with boredom and certainly not in the mood to rest yet. In the order she had read the wishes in, she got to work.
Pondcatcher Reed’s wish excited her the most, so it was pleasant to begin with that. She spent a while crafting a bundle of longpins with special care, reinforcing them with craftmetal in the core (and ignoring the waste of valuable resources) so that they could be reused for longer. If time permitted, she could have spent all night on just that, but there were many other things to do.
For the next wish, Hornet was relieved she had recognised the name “Melatolla” from a grave deep in Shellwood, making it a short journey. The flowers could even be picked on the way there, and she was no stranger to the art of quickly- but still tastefully- decorating a grave. Perhaps she would find a way to bring up in conversation that she would take him there, but for now she left some flowers with his scroll at the shrine and hoped he’d understand the gesture.
Hornet then reread Pavo’s wish, for the statue in Bellhart to be “tended to”, trying to find some way to avoid the fact she was going to spend the next 2 hours polishing a giant golden ball. It was surprising how well her skillset- stalking prey in ruins and repairing tools- transferred to cleaning in the centre of a town without waking up its residents.
She then returned to the shrine and read the next scroll.
“I just wish for some more rosaries.”
She shrugged, and put some of the rosaries she had just taken back next to the wish.
Now there were only 2 left; Scrounge and Sherma. Scrounge had asked to know where Wishmas came from, potentially to acquire some sort of relic related to it, but the best Hornet could do was offer a theory. She couldn’t exactly manifest a historical artefact into existence, nor was she willing to test the relic seeker’s ability to spot a fake one. Instead, she wrote below Scrounge:
“Those that you worship- the First Children- took this ritual from a time before their existence, when bugs of Pharloom had faith in each other to grant their wishes, instead of so-called higher beings. It is another way to exercise control over those devout.”
If the bugs of Bellhart are willing to give most of their possessions to thieves on a yearly basis, then they’ll have no issue with taking my best guess as gospel, Hornet thought.
She wondered who exactly the “First Children” Sherma had described to her were. They were most likely higher beings, and the circumstances of her capture inclined her to believe they were Weavers, but she would decidedly not know for certain until she reached the Citadel, and—
Footsteps. Not again.
Her whole body snapped to face Sherma with a speed unbefitting of a friendly greeting.
“Hello, Sherma. What are you doing here at this early hour?”
“Ah! Erm…Yes… Good morning, red maiden! I was woken not too long ago, and I really couldn’t get back to sleep- I had to come and see if the miracle of Wishmas was true, and if…”
At that moment, Sherma processed the scene in front of him.
The makeshift shrine that was earlier that night buried in offerings was now empty, save for 6 scrolls, a bundle of longpins, some flowers, a cloth stained with polish and a much smaller pile of rosaries than what had been there previously. Over it stood the mysterious red maiden, who was clearly not expecting company- save for the four fresh snitchbug corpses that floated in the lake nearby.
The long moment of silence was broken by the clink of a rosary falling out of Hornet’s cloak.
She looked down at it, rolling at her feet, and then back up to Sherma. He had a look on his face that indicated something between disappointment and having witnessed a miracle, so she tried to explain herself.
“You partook in this ritual, as did the bugs of Bellhart, having faith that the karmic laws of this land would trade your currency for your desires fulfilled.”
Another moment of silence as Sherma considered how this slotted into his worldview.
“D-does that mean that, that the tales of Wishmas are true, maiden? That our faith has finally been rewarded?”
“…I suppose it does, little one.”
The hunter spoke not another word,
As she dove back to the dark,
Leaving Sherma agape by her final remark.
Was the Wishmas miracle true? Had they been rewarded?
The bugs of Bellhart could never know for sure.
But what the hunter knew,
As she thought on that night,
Was that Sherma’s face- that addictive sight-
Had left a mark, and some bugs say,
That the hunter’s small heart grew three sizes that day.