He brought nothing with him on the trek across Issvak except for the clothes on his back. A part of him understood it would be dangerous without food or water but a larger part of him couldn’t stand to be with the Somas for even one moment longer, not even in a separate hut out in the desert away from most of them.
Ral needed to leave. But when he left, he found that the heaviness followed him. More than once he thought he saw a shape running after him on the horizon in the direction of the Somas camp but was disappointed every time to find that it was simply his imagination. Maybe if Mikol ran after him, Ral would forgive him.
No one came after him as he slowly walked away from the Somas. He was greeted by the growing heat of the sun throughout the day and he quickly grew thirsty and hungry. It must have gnawed at him but he ignored it. His feet steadily marched in the direction he thought was north, his eyes picking up landmarks to insure he wasn’t walking in a circle. He did all this without much thinking. Thinking hurt, it hurt more than any of the injuries he had been healing from.
The sun beat down and that probably hurt him too but he ignored it. His scraggy long hair covered the back of his neck and his tunic protected him from the sun, even as it got soaked in sweat. The sun lit everything around him into burning clarity. The sun was something to be celebrated, embraced, loved. But out here in Issvak, it was the hated enemy of everything as it burned out all life on the dried dirt ground.
He should have known he wouldn’t make it out here. Son of suns in a place where the sun was avoided and scorned.
Exhaustion caught up with him as the sun kept burning and burning and burning up in the sky. At one point Ral forgot where he was. He blinked and saw the tall jutting rocks of the Standing Soldiers looming before him. He had gravitated towards the shade they provided without realizing what they were. Long ago he was here trying to prove something. He forgot why exactly it was so important. What a fool!
He saw a familiar rock, one with a fist sized pit on its surface. It was the one he had broken to get a better grip on. He had tried to fix it the night after with the broken-off piece and dirt, but he saw that it had dried and fallen out. Bette had berated him that time about not respecting their beliefs. He had broken his shoulder that day and they were angrier that he had chipped one of their special rocks.
Mikol helped him back then. Perhaps Mikol had reasons to do what he did but then why did he ignore him afterwards? How could someone who treated him so well be so cold? He was the only one to vocalize the discrepancy between a broken rock and a broken shoulder that day. Mikol cared. Why did he suddenly stop?
Was it because Mikol got what he wanted? Did Ral overstay his usefulness? The difference between what matters and what doesn’t is divided by a thin line: was Mikol able to cross that line as easily as he does the one between stillness and lightning-movement?
Questions. It hurts to think.
Back then, Mikol joined him during his ‘punishment’ for breaking one of the Standing Soldiers. They talked underneath the starry sky. They decided to do a Trial together, if it ever came to pass. Was Mikol planning on using him all the way back then?
More questions.
Ral dully looked up at the Standing Soldier rock with the broken piece. Bette had once told him they were the epitome of stillness and that they all should aspire to be as still as stone. They endured the harsh weather and the stinging winds and so the Somas should too. They had sat on that rock that night, talking about their future. Mikol told him a new path was opening for them. He told him that they would go there together.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Mikol does not deserve your sympathy, friendship, kindness or love, Dalsk had told him. His only friend for years was not deserving of his love. What a fool he’d been!
Ral’s vision surged. He wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion, his injuries, the heat or the pain of remembering. Perhaps it was all those things at once that stirred up a maelstrom, making him sick to his stomach.
I’m going to make it right, Aris told him in that dream. She was always the one to make those promises. When will he be the one to make things right? He tried to do the right thing. He’s always tried that and nothing came of it. Often he failed, but when he did succeed, it wasn’t the right kind of success. He never knew what was the ‘right thing’ to do.
Frustration surged up and Ral balled his hands into fists. Then without thinking, he rammed his fists into the Standing Soldier rock in front of him. It felt good, the pain rippling down his arm like a jolt of electricity. He needed this. Collecting his manus ability and concentrating it in his arm, he steeled himself again and rammed his fist into the rock. It gave a satisfying cracking sound and deep lines suddenly appeared around the large rock.
Ral was panting from the exertion but he reared back again and slammed his fist back into the rock and it rumbled as it collapsed. The largest pieces tumbled back from the force of the impact, smaller pieces sprayed out to the adjacent rocks.
Satisfied, Ral straightened up to study the rubbled remains of the Standing Soldier. Once he had been scolded for chipping it and now it lay in ruins - he’s probably fully offended the tribe now. But that wasn’t anything new. Bette already openly admitted they never wanted him in the first place. What was even the point of keeping pretenses? No, better lay it out bare like the crumbled remains of the Somas landmark.
He needed to do this. He needed to destroy one of their ‘holy rocks’ to show that their epitomes of stillness could be felled, just like how their best soldiers could be felled. For once he didn’t feel resentment for being framed for the deaths of those participating in the Trial. Let them believe whatever they want. It no longer mattered.
The effort it took to topple the large rock made him sink to his knees. Ral found himself staring at the sky in the next moment of lucidity, the rocky dry dirt ground at this back. His limbs hurt anew, as if the closed and healed wounds returned.
Maybe he was going to die here. He wished he could talk to Aris before he went. That was his last thought before his eyes drifted shut and Mikol’s voice rang in his head:
Go to sleep now, Son of Suns, for it is night.
Ral would have given him the title if Mikol asked for it. He thought that Mikol deserved every bit of his love. It was the one thought that hurt the most: Mikol didn’t need to take anything from him for he would have given him anything. It was too late to tell him that now.
Ralos, son of suns, closed his eyes and tried to dream of happier days…
“Sir?”
He blearily opened his eyes. They felt gritty, the lids scraping across his eyeballs. A Gaian loomed over him with concern etched on his face. The merchant translator. Ral grasped at a name in his head. Kentor.
He heard the slosh of a water skin and the feeling of being propped up. Cool water flowed past his lips and he nearly choked, but he drank as quickly as he could. “There we go. Thank the Parts I found you. Why are you out here all alone?”
Ral was so parched he couldn’t speak.
“You’re okay now. I got more water,” Kentor said kindly. “Rest now and we can talk later, alright?”
Ral was set back down onto the ground but he could see Kentor settling nearby, water skin at hand. He cast his gaze back to the skies where the sun still blazed on in the cloudless skies, although it was shaded by the surrounding stones.
Kentor had water and probably food. “You are so very lucky I found you,” the merchant said jovially. “Perhaps you should consider trying your hand at gambling! I’m joking. It’s a vice of mine, just ignore me.”
It was surreal hearing such inane chatter in Gaian. Ral found his voice to ask for more water and Kentor carefully poured more into his mouth. And as Ral drank he realized he was going to live.
The sun had to keep shining and so will he.