Mags waved to him as he headed off down the road to the Herald’s Gate, but didn’t linger. Tonight was a highly significant night in a week of special days. It was Midwinter’s Eve, the longest night of the year, and the reason for the holiday in the first place. Mags had permission to spend the night at Master Soren’s house, by express invitation. Soren Mender was unusually casual in most things, but it seemed he was unusually sober in one; he kept the Midwinter Solstice in the old-fashioned way, or so he said.

Now there had been enough priests prattling about the mine for Mags to have picked up that most religions considered the night significant. And Dallen had explained the whole year-turning religious business to him—how this was, in most of Valdemar’s religions, the night that the dark forces tried (and failed) to keep the mother-god from giving birth to the god, or in some, to keep the dead god from rising and being reborn. And none of that really mattered much to Mags—

But it did seem to matter to Master Soren, so he would give this all his due attention.

Since Mags had no idea just what was meant by “keeping Midwinter Solstice the old-fashioned way,” he had simply nodded gravely, thanked Soren sincerely for the honor of the invitation, and went to get permission to spend the night away. As he had expected, Herald Caelen was only too pleased to give it.

Which was why he was packing up a small bag with overnight things now.

“You told me you’d explain,” he reminded Dallen, as he slung his slender pack behind his saddle. “You told me you’d tell me what it is that Master Soren is going to be doing tonight.”

:Oh, it’s simple enough. Midwinter Eve is the longest night of the year. Most religions here in Valdemar consider that significant; that on this night, the boundaries between the material world and the spirit world are thinner, that spirits can cross over, and that dark and evil things can, too. So on Midwinter Eve, the “old-fashioned” thing to do is spend the night in vigil and do what you can to keep evil at bay. Music usually, and singing, and remembering good things. There is a special ceremony at midnight. Then when the sun rises, everyone has a breakfast feast of foods that are supposed to be lucky, and goes to bed—or to celebrate further, depending on how hardy you are.: Dallen shook his head. :There will be many sore heads the day after tomorrow. I can promise that there will be no hammering on that day either.:

Mags considered this. :So I’m—: