Chapter 2 - Of The Devil
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Morning was dawning as Gudja trod down the path which led toward the closest village.
He crossed paths with a young shepherd ushering some fifty, sixty sheep up the steep hill who glanced at him with a disturbed look on his face. For a moment he wondered why, but Gudja’s mind was too occupied, speculating the curiosities he would face in the village, that he did not dwell on the thought.
As the sun rose higher, he encountered more men and women working the field, children kicking a sack of rags on the dusty path and the occasional cart pulled by a donkey. It was only once he noticed that he received the same awkward reaction from most of these people, that he begun to grow nervous.
He was now within sight of the village well, surrounded by a small cluster of houses, when he felt a sharp thud against his back followed by a small round of cheering.
“Demon! Demon!”, he heard children shouting and more stones came flying.
He instinctively shielded his head and turned around to see a couple of boys scurry away behind a building.
“You heard it demon, get out”, a gruff voice spoke.
As if out of no-where, a small audience had gathered around him and a man of rough demeanor was confronting Gudja with his arms folded, flexing his bulging shoulders.
Still confused, Gudja stuttered, “I… I mean no harm …”
Thoughts were racing through his mind, trying to grasp the situation, based on what little he understood of the world. Did they hate him for his senses? Did he offend them? Were they enemies of the Peaceful God? Or were they believers of the Peaceful God and abhorred him because he was the failed sacrifice?
“There is no place for a cursed lad like you in our village.”
“But sir, I’m not cursed. I just came from the mountain”, he tried again.
Doubt and fear were rapidly growing as his memories flashed back to all the times he had been called cursed growing up.
By that time though, the angry mob had lost its patience. One hysteric woman threw a stone which was enough to set off the rest and soon more stones were being hurled towards him amidst cries of hatred and panic.
Left with no other choice, Gudja, the outsider, turned his back and ran from the scene.
“Get out!”
“Demon!”
"Devil!"
“Don’t you dare come back!”
Shouts followed him to the edge of the village. Some stones struck his legs and back, he tripped on a small ditch and felt a painful shock run through his ankle but did not stop until he reached the woods. In a hollow beneath the shrubs he collapsed onto the damp ground, curled up his body and clasped his hands around his ankle. A throbbing pain was growing and he could feel it swelling.
Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Relieved of panic, a sob escaped his throat. A second later, he was crying out loud, choking on his own tears. Loathed by his own people, unable to return, unwelcome elsewhere…
“I am sorry”, he whispered through his sobs. “I should not exist. I should have been sacrificed. I am cursed. Please, please just take me, and forgive me for my greed, please….”
A drop of water fell from dark clouds which had gathered overhead and soon his tears were indistinguishable from the pouring rain. Shivering from the rain and from exhaustion, he slowly fell asleep.
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Smoke. Something was burning.
Gudja awoke from his deep sleep to a familiar crackling sound. Through a narrow crack beneath his half-closed eyelids, he made out a dark dusty room, lit dimly by the smoldering hearth. A small hunched person was crouched by the fire, peeling potatoes.
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He tried twisting his body just a slight bit to see more, which gave the bed – which was just a bunch of crates under a pile of straw – a large creak and gave him away.
“Ah, the young man is woke”, the crone rasped. “How is you feeling, my dear?”
“Good day to you, my lady… I feel alive, thanks to you”, Gudja tried to respond as politely as he knew how, but only managed a croak. His throat and mouth were as dry as the wood burning in the hearth.
The old woman laughed at his attempt to speak. This made her sound like a broken gate swinging on it’s last hinge.
“Here, have some water young man. You sounds as old as I!” she exclaimed, and laughed her broken laugh again as she brought a small cup of water which Gudja gratefully accepted.
“If you is well enough to drink then you is well enough to eat”, she continued and handed him a potato roasted over the fire. He now also saw that his belongings were placed neatly beside the bed.
“My lady, how may I thank you for your hospitality…?”, he asked cautiously.
“Hah, hah, hah! 'My lady' hah! Where on the turtle’s belly did you learn to speak like that, boy! You sounds like a stuck up rich’n from the capital! Just call me baba.”
“My apologies… baba … but, why do you help me?”
“Young man, you could have died! Injured, passed out in the rain… only the devil himself would have ignored you.”
“The devil…”
His face clouded at the word and the woman did not miss it.
“Ohhh yes, I heard. They was talking of the devil in human form over at the village today. That must be you, eh?”
He nodded.
“Well, ain’t going to blame them. You does look like it after all.”
“But why? Please, tell me!”, he jumped at the chance to solve the mystery.
“What you mean why”, she cackled. “Them baby horns on your head!”
Seeing the confused look on the youngster’s face, her wrinkly eyes widened in disbelief.
“Don’t you tell me, you doesn’t understand? You been living under the turtle’s shell or what?”, she shook her head. “Listen young man. People around here thinks the devil comes in different shapes, but mostly, they thinks the devil has two horns, just like yours.”
She shook her head again.
“Just eat that food, then think eh?”
The warmth of the potato had been spreading through Gudja’s hand and he took in a deep breath to enjoy the scent of the skin. The woman was right.
First, eat. Then, think.
If it was true what she said, then the devil the villagers spoke of had nothing to do with his curse according to the Peaceful God of his tribe. It gave him a slice of consolation to be able to believe that he was, perhaps, just an unfortunate and hated human.
“Do you not fear me though, baba?”, he wondered and asked the crone.
“Hah! I have seen men far more devilish than you my dear”, she laughed in response.
He took a large bite from the potato, realizing that he had been starving. When he finished one, the baba handed him a fresh potato directly from the prong over the fire. She watched him with her toothless grin as he munched away five whole potatoes in silence. It was strange. He could faintly sense the wishes and greed of the villagers somewhere not too far away, but from this old woman, he sensed nothing.
He had been taught of enlightenment by the elders and wondered whether perhaps this was what they were speaking of.
The light of the hearth flickered in the draft which crept through the gaps in the walls and the woman pulled a blanket closer around her shoulders.
“Is you going to tell me where you came from?”, she broke the silence.
“I, I apologise for my late introduction. My name is Gudja, I came from the villages of the Peaceful God, in the mountains, West of here.”
“Eh? Never heard of ‘em. Thought this was the farthest West village in this area.”
“Yes… we wish to stay hidden. It is forbidden for us to descend the mountain. So now that I have escaped, I cannot return.”
Tears were starting to swell up in his eyes again which he desperately fought back, hoping that they would not be noticed in the dark room.
“You wants to go back?”
He jerked and shook his head frantically.
“Then where does you want to go, young man?”
“If…”, he started, “if people think I am the devil, there is no place for me anywhere.”
“Hm”, the woman thought for a little while. “Young man, you speaks like you is from the capital. You calls me a lady.” She chuckled. “Does you also read and write?”
“Of course, baba”, he answered, unsure of her her intentions.
“Has you heard what a city is?”
“Well, I know it to be a place where many humans live, and that it is dangerous, and that men kill each other.”
The baba's eyes narrowed as she let out her cackling laughter.
“Men is killing each other everywhere! Ah, the cities, young man, is where life really begins. When I was young I served for some time in a home in the capital. The bigger the city, the more peculiar the people. Not a soul cares for a few little horns here and there! You go to the city eh?”
“Ah, don’t give me that unconvinced look, where else has you to go anyway.”
He nodded. She was right. He did not have any better idea.
“How do I get to the city?”, he asked.
“Tomorrow I take you to a fella I know who runs a cart to Tolbrij.”
“Tolbrij is a city?”
“No, dear, just a town. The cities are much farther…much, much farther... ”
With that, the old woman prodded the fire one last time, lifted her self into her bed and started to snore.
The embers glowed weakly, exuding a small amount of warmth to the room. The wind continued to whistle through the gaps in the walls. The houses in his village in the mountain had been built much sturdier than this. While the winters were certainly cold, the timber had been aligned well enough to provide protection from the outside air, clay plastered the outside to close any smaller gaps and furs kept the inside warm.
Gudja wondered how an old woman could survive in such a shack all alone. Life must be tough for her, yet she had saved both his body and heart and shown him guidance.
After watching the blanket on the other side of the room rise and sink steadily for some time, Gudja wrapped his own blanket closer to his body and buried him self as far as he could in the straw.