Chapter 3

The next several weeks were different from the last. Color had not fully returned to my world, but I was at least seeing in shades of grey instead of black. Light was starting to appear for me, as I was beginning to gather the rough shape of a plan. Like the clay people that Lena had created, I was taking the drops of water around me to break apart the rough patch of dirt that my family lived in. With enough work and crawling through the grime, I would maybe help get us unburied.

While I waited for an idea to come to me, I returned to reading. It wasn't exactly the same as it used to be, because I read the words with a new form of….how to describe it. I was looking at the people in the books with a certain meanness. I expected the worst now, whereas I used to read with a sense of wonder. When bad things would happen in the stories, I was less surprised. I expected it now. And so there was a slight death that happened in me. But really, I guess I didn't miss that child-like feeling. It was easy to forget how bright everything used to be. As a side effect to my return to words, I grew in my ability to communicate. As I found letters and phrases that were unknown to me, I would copy them, and think over them. Finding them again in other books would give me context as to their meaning. Context was a good word. When I found it, I thought on the word for days. I used it as much as I could. I would "find context" for using the word. It was a hilarious two days where I drove my family insane with my new found knowledge. My world grew in complexity with each word I learned. It gave my inner voice the means to understand and express itself.

At the same time as my reading, I also picked up writing. Stories about what I was reading, filled in with my own thoughts. I would change details, filling them in with my own ideas. A song about a farmer gave me the idea to write about our own family. But what to put in there. I thought about writing about the terrible things. But that seemed dangerous. What if someone saw? What if dad saw? But still, I felt the need to write. I changed his name and the rest of my family. But I didn’t change my own name. I imagined I was in a make believe family of good people. Who fought the evil of the world around them. They were kind to nice people but fair yet strong against evil ones.

After a couple weeks, I returned back to a closer shade of colors. The greys in my life became shades of greyish-green, greyish-blue. I still didn't return to what I was. But I did stop bleeding. Literally. The time in the woods became more rare. I relearned how to find comfort in the warm glow of a day and the feeling of paper in my hands. And in rain I could feel the weight of my feelings and the longing for the trees to bleed from. But the hunger for that release was far away. As far away as the gloom created on the other side of my vision through the dripping windows on those watery days. Life almost had a feeling of normalcy again. Sometimes it wouldn't be so great, but the idea of "one day" meeting Bela's mom was another refuge for me. I could draw on that as a plan in the back of my mind. It was an evil scheme that gave me warmth for tough days. Days when dad would come home livid.

Books took on a second meaning to me now. As I read, I looked for means to grow in power. To become powerful enough to fix my family. I reread the second book that our family had, learning about the tragic endings of family feuds and what to avoid. It also caused me to start looking at people in a new way. I wanted to know what they were thinking...how to use their thoughts against them. I started to watch dad and how he talked. When he would leave for town, I would try to guess at when he would be visiting the woman. Could I realize when he was lying, just by the way he acted? This gave me an idea that I would later act on when next in town. But for now, I studied, watched, and thought.

All of this made my life almost like a story, in a way, and I was viewing it not as an actor on the stage, but as someone watching, and at times directing. And I removed myself in a more healthy way I think. Maybe not totally the right thing to do, but I wasn’t in a survival instinct anymore. I was practicing the dance of a predator now. I was feeling less out of control over life. Even though the emotion of power slowly creeping through me was poisonous, I still drank it into my veins. The dance was keeping me alive, even though I knew it was a dangerous dance, designed to cripple me if I should falter. Yet still I danced higher up the steps.

A new outlet opened itself to me, as I took to protecting our garden with new vigor. Dad had been teaching us for a while (Bela and I) on how to set traps for the animals that would eat our fruits and vegetables, but now I requested several books from Gahn (in secret of course) that explained exactly how to build the best ones. I quickly found through my reading that some of dad's ideas and tricks had been passed down it seemed, as a lot of them relied on conventional wisdom and general common sense about how animals worked or thought (or didn’t think). Some of my improvements to the traps and changing the placement did more harm. Within a few days I was checking the traps each morning and night. More often than not, I would need to make use of the knife that dad let us use for such occasions. And the garden started to flourish more, without the feeding of the varmint my dad would call “leeches of hard work”. Working with my own hands had two purposes of keeping my mind distracted: one, I was killing things. It felt good, devilishly good, to be taking life rather than slowly bleeding from my own. Second, trappening just kept me busy. Gave me a sense of purpose. If nothing else, I was providing for my family in an entirely different way.

Dad seemed to also lay off of me in exchange for my improvement in trapping, which brought almost a semblance of joy to my life. That illusion became shattered though, when I found out one night that Bela was taking more of the brunt. I heard him crying loudly outside once as dad took a switch to him, yelling, “Why can’t you be worth more, like your younger brother?”

The blood boiled hot that day, and I took to the garden, away from the house, once I knew dad was inside. The slight swaying of wind hit me as I meditated on my thoughts and feelings, shaping them according to my will. Eventually, I set a plan in motion after a few hours of planning.

"Mom?"

"Yes?" The shucking of corn filled the background and Nela helped prepare for lunch. The house was otherwise completely silent. Bela was who knows where, and dad was in the living room, smoking a pipe. The unspoken violence of a couple hours ago was beginning to “go away”. We just didn’t talk about it. And that’s how it stayed ever present but also unresolved.

"I've been reading the Yghtl…" A brief pause to see if she would react in surprise. Originally I had fought tooth and nail to learn the words. The religion went against a lot of what I thought just made sense about the world. There was so much superstition in it. So to be reading it willingly...but she didn't say anything. "And I have some questions about the beliefs. I was wondering if you could help?"

"Oh.” She stopped the work for a second. “Well, I don't know if I can answer anything. That might be better for you to ask Dran. He knows more than I do."

"I was only just wondering when the next festival will take place."

"Oh that's easy. The harvest festival is next week. I thought I told you that a few days ago."

She had. I remembered. "Yeah, I mean I have a question about it. We're supposed to bring grains and fruits to it for sacrifice but I'm curious about why we're supposed to do that."

"Oh. Well that I don't know. You should probably ask him."

"All right...but do you mind if I tell dad that you want to know? Cause he might let me go into town with him to find out."

"Sure. But also could you please take Nela with you? She's fighting me on learning the Yghtl."

There was no other answer that I could give than to agree. Hopefully it wouldn't mess up my plans too much.

“Dad?” I approached him a few minutes after talking to mom, and after I had made sure he’d settled into his favorite chair.

Silence again. Typical.

“Dad? Do you mind if I go into town next time you go out?”

"For what reason?"

"I'd like to head to the seer, for mom. She was curious about the next festival. And she also asked that I take Nela to him."

"Well, I guess. But also I wanted you to go into town with me anyway. So you can ask after we pick up supplies."

Guess that was easier than I thought.

When we entered I'lochin and finished buying some common recurring goods, dad gave me permission to go talk to Dran. He was always very vocal about how much he despised Ygh and the religion revolving around it, and it didn't need to be said that Nela and I would be going alone. I had figured as much. It was a pretty safe bet that I wouldn't be watched too closely or even followed by him. I walked over to Dran's house, off a side street not too far from the town circle. I'd been there a lot of times with mom, in earlier years.

The house was decked out with streamers in shades of dark blue and forest green. There was mold on the house, even though a lot of the houses around didn't show signs of age. It was either done so on purpose, or if someone really believed in Ygh, they would say the forest (the world, really) followed the devout. Moss was one of many ways to prove that someone was blessed and had shown themselves worthy by their deeds and dedication. I personally think he coated his walls with something that attracted the growth. Mom had quietly chided me several times when I first came here, because I was smelling the walls for anything suspicious. They definitely didn't smell like normal trees or anything. How did they get the moss to grow just on the front of the house?

Adding to the whole mystique of Dran's house was a single strand of teeth on a string by the front door. It was to the left of the door frame, walking in, and all of the teeth had been painted red. "A reminder of death" Dran would tell everyone, in a somber voice. He wasn't very old, but the way he spoke it was like he was hundreds if not thousands. His speech wasn't slow, it was just so very serious. As if he'd seen everything and come away very, very depressed. Personally I would be too if I'd removed all my head hair by age 15. But according to mom, Dran had started his beard just a couple weeks after he fully shaved the scalp. It was the way with the seer's. It was as if it was an exchange of sorts. But no one knew why it happened. And as he would stand at the door, holding the teeth from many different animals and deceased humans, he spoke as if to a mountain way way far off. But he wouldn't raise his voice. He would get really quiet in fact, and the teeth would be brought unbearably close to his thoroughly combed beard, but they wouldn’t quite meet. The first time I saw him speak that way I was so mesmerized that I actually grabbed Bela and Nela and told them the seer had special news. When I told him that I'd forgotten what he said about the teeth, he did the same thing, as if it was a rehearsed part of a play. Bela and Nela talked about him for several days after that, and I realized that I might have inadvertently just done some recruiting for their religion. So I felt slightly guilty and stopped talking about Dran to others or even visiting him. The few times we spoke after that, I usually argued with him about my “disapproving notions” of his faith (as he would call them). The conversations would devolve into arguments or pointless debates and so we actually just avoided each other. I was a lost cause in his book. And he was a hopeless fanatic in mine.

"Are we going inside?" Nela looked rather displeased with being dragged along for this trip, but I had totally forgotten to ask why. Probably for the better. It was the first time I'd had time alone with her since we'd started traveling the road with dad. He barely tolerated the religious talk as it was, and I didn't want to stir up his anger for any reason.

"Nela. Why did mom want you to come along?"

She shuffled in place nervously. "I've been reading some of the Yghtl…"

"...Yeah? And?"

"Well…I know you don’t like what it says, so I'm not sure I should say."

"About what?"

"Stuff…"

"Nela. Tell me."

"Promise not to get mad?"

"Promise."

"Well, you've been killing the animals that eat our food. But, the book says that all life is supposed to be kept alive."

"Yeah…" I knew where this was going already. I'd had the same discussion in my own mind, but had figured out how to resolve it without asking anyone. I disagreed with the book, but I was pretending to be a good acolyte so as to not make mom or dad question me. Now Nela was doing what I wished I had the freedom to do. Ask the questions out loud to someone safe enough to listen.

"Why do we kill animals just because we want to stay alive?"

I sighed slightly. " I get why that doesn't make sense. But it's because we need to stay alive. And it means disobeying the Yghtl."

"But...the book is supposed to be about what's right and wrong."

"I know. And the thing is, Nela, dad doesn't care about the book as much as mom does. It's why she wants us to read it. To understand how things work." I twinged a little as I told this lie. "Or I mean, how she thinks the world works…"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that mom believes in Ygh. Dad doesn't."

"But why?"

I stopped to think about that. I didn't really know, and I told Nela as much. She wasn't too happy with the answer, but I was frowning too, so we were both miffed at the problem together.

"Ya know Nela, I see why you're so worried. The book says one thing, and mom believes it. And dad says something else that the book doesn't say. And I do what he says. Not what mom says."

"Yeah." She stuck out her bottom lip in deep thought and stern determination to figure it all out.

I thought about the reality of dad’s power over our entire family. The way he took power and abused any of us for whatever reason. But I wouldn’t tell Nela that’s the reason I followed dad’s hatred of religion. I couldn’t care less what he thought. And Nela wasn’t old enough to understand all of this. So I kept it simple. "So here's the thing. I don't think you ever remember meeting Dran. And can I tell you a secret?"

Her eyes went wide and the lips parted slightly, the pouting disappearing in an instant.

"I've met Dran. A bunch of times." I whispered a little, but not too much. Just enough to convey my words as a secret. "I don't like him too much. And I don't think you will either. So will you trust me? I think we should just skip talking to him. Is that ok?"

Rosy processed this information with all the weight on her shoulders. But after a full three seconds she agreed. "Ok, big brother."

I felt like I was betraying her a little, because she was so heavily putting her trust in me, thinking that I could just have her best interest at heart. Which I did...but it required doing some amount of lying or misdirection. I didn't feel the greatest about it, but definitely felt it was required.

After our little conversation, I actually almost knocked on the door to Dren's house, but caught myself in time. I'd been so lost in thought that I almost forgot why I was really here. A quick check down the alley and into the town square showed that dad was unlocking his store front. It would be a half hour or so before he had all the materials setup and I knew he was somewhat hesitant to come looking for me while I was "with Dran". When he entered the building, I popped out of the alley and headed to Uncle Nelg's shop.

"Where we going, Ty?"

"I just wanted to say hi to Rosy. Do you mind waiting out here for one minute?"

"Why I gotta wait out here?! I wanna meet Rosy!"

I had kept her current on everything going on in I'lochin during each of my visits, including how things were going at Uncle Nelg’s. And Up until a few weeks ago, there was nothing I had kept from Nela.

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"I promise you'll get to meet her soon. Just wait here."

Rosy was behind the counter, and there were several customers browsing. That didn't matter. I wouldn't be in here long. "Rosy." She looked up from the counter, out from behind a book, going wide eyed for a mere second.

"Ty!" She smiled. "Good to see you!"

"Can't stay long. Can you agree to watch Nela next time we come into town, for the next Yghtl?"

"Umm...yeah I guess. She can stay here in the shop. But…"

"Thanks. Don't worry. I'll owe you." I left the shop.

Now that I had done the most important part, it was time to meet back up with dad.

“Ready to go, Nela?”

“What did you talk about? She stomped a little and pouted. “That was so quick!”

“I’ll tell you later. Just trust me.”

Entering dad’s shop across the town circle, we were greeted by the familiar mixture of smells both earthy and strange. Bottles lined the wall shelves with long words written in quill under them, the pieces of paper only held there by the weight of the bottles that sat on them. For smaller bottles, stones were also used to keep the half-folded sheets in place. Dad would handle the papers almost with the same delicacy in which he brewed and carried the tinctures. Mixing up the papers meant selling the wrong thing. That could be very bad.

Looking back over my short life, the word “tincture” was funny. It was odd to know such a very specific word but not know so many others. I had been brought up and trained by my father to know certain things, but not know others. Because they didn’t matter. Or because he didn’t know them himself. Or he didn’t want me to know. I guess it didn’t matter. I could not ask him why that was. It wasn’t that kind of relationship. It was barely a relationship, at all. I wasn’t expected to ask too many questions. In fact, it would do more harm than good.

Dad had asked me to come into town with him, like he had done so many times before, but this time because he was expecting a bit more volume today. Most of the time, he was right. There would be bigger orders he was expecting to roll through, like certain people who would need such and such amount of sogroot. Or someone else would need a very special amount of Kos, weighed out in advance. Today was no exception, although a very silent scare broke the monotony of the day, when Gahn walked into the shop.

We locked eyes for a second as he walked up to the counter. I'd had a couple seconds of warning before then, because I saw him as the door opened. I was lucky. When we locked eyes I saw the very quick surprise flash on his eyes. A split second later I moved away, looking over a random ledger detailing inventory for the shop. Looking back a second later, he was already moving towards us, only looking at my dad. There didn't seem to be anything left on his face besides a determination to conduct business. The short walk he had from the front door to the counter didn't betray anything. For the life of me, I wanted (and earnestly believed) that he would pretend we'd never met before. Dad would flip if he knew I'd been getting copies of books. Mostly for the simple fact that I didn't tell him. His rage was simple like that. It was easy to predict what his reaction would be to most things: anger.

Gahn was here to pick up several things, but I did my best to avoid the conversation. There was another customer in the shop and even though I was standing right next to dad, I put all of my attention on watching the elderly gentleman across the floor. He was currently looking at a small amount of purple liquid in a medium-large sized vial. The liquid sloshed as he picked it up, and the viscosity (another dad-taught word) caused it to move even faster than water. Where the liquid would hit the sides of the glass tube, it would run immediately back to the base, quick as lightning.

I'd learned about that particular liquid early on in my apprenticeship. Trxa. Highly toxic and used mostly for getting rid of stains in wood or marble. Diluted with a massive amount of water of course. And then after you had to slap some thick mud onto the spot to neutralize any residual Trxa particles. When it wasn’t diluted, it would peel the skin off your bones. Diluted in water, it would leave burns where it touched you. Nasty stuff. Dad had mentioned he once saw a horse sniff at it, before a farmer could apply the mud to set. The horse stomped around like mad and kicked the farmer several times. He died. The horse was put down.

The vial that this older gentleman was holding had a lock near the top. Dad had the key. The glass was tempered several times and specially made from a far off land that dad ordered it from. The vial could survive anything but a direct blow from a hammer. If the customer wasn’t a complete fool, he would notice the label on the vial and be very careful with it. Which he was. I watched him hold it tightly, the lines on his knuckles starting to crease as he gripped the thing. Though he had to be much older than dad, he wasn’t squinting at the label. He must’ve known what it was. So he would be a very well-to-do client if he ended up buying it. Trxa was not cheap. Part of our poverty came from the fight to make very dangerous, very expensive things. Our take on things we sold wasn’t good either. Dad owed a lot of people money for the things we were selling here. “One day” he said. One day we’ll be rich.

Dad was looking in the direction of the elderly gentleman several times, though his conversation never veered from dealing with Gahn. Dad was practical like that. About business. He had a family to feed and the way he made his living was by selling. He would likely talk to the old man after getting Gahn squared away, but he also didn’t want an idiot releasing Trxa inside his shop. It would likely kill whoever made the mistake. His eyes moved from Gahn and to the other customer every couple seconds and I could almost feel the tension in the air around him.

After a couple seconds, I’d missed pretty much everything Gahn and dad had been talking about. That was good. Being lost in my own world would keep dad thinking I knew who Gahn was. When the time came for bagging up what ingredients were sold, I would likely take them out to a wagon or (if someone lived in town) I would carry them to the home. Especially for older folks. That would be the time when I could talk to Gahn. And now, in the moment, I knew what I needed to do. I took one of the two bags of materials into my arms without asking and then told Gahn, “I’ll help you take this one outside.”

“You haven’t been by recently.”

"I've been busy, Gahn."

"Didn’t know you’d be in today." He shot a wary eye back to the front door of the shop.

"Neither did I." The jars were loaded into the cart as we spoke. "But I need something from you."

"More books?"

"Yeah. But I need to talk. Can you meet during the festival?"

Gahn shot me one of the wary looks.

"I'm not asking you to go to it. I'm asking to meet you in the usual spot during it."

He wasted half a second. "K".

Dad was at the door a moment later, asking me to help the other gentleman with an order.

The rest of the day passed normally. It occured to me that Dad hadn't bothered to ask me about what I'd gone to Dran for.

Next week, at the festival, I met Gahn at the usual place, over the roof of his place in downtown. The festival had taken place early in the evening and I waited til dusk before stealing away. My excuse to mom was that after I'd spoken with Dran, I thought there were some flowers on the outside of the I'lochin that might make a good offering. She agreed. Dad wasn't here to stop or question me, obviously. Mom trusted me a whole lot more than he did.

"How much do you know about the books you write?"

"Not a lot. Why?"

He'd joined me on top of the building, and we could see in the distance that the festival was in full swing. Drums were beating and the glow of several large bonfires were going. The festival pulled all of I'lochin out for the day, and many people from an hour or two of travel in each direction came in for the event. My dad was one of the few who wouldn't attend. It wasn't unheard of, just uncommon. Most people attended even if they didn't believe in the ways of Ygh. The free-flowing alcohol and quality grains offered to the participants were enticing to most. I’d learned early on in my relationship with Gahn that he would also not attend, for reasons unknown. And I also learned not to try and pry into the story behind the choice.

"Just curious if you'd read the Yghtl."

A little paper with some unknown weed was dangling in Gahn's left hand. In answer to my question, he looked past me, down the street to the crowd of people in full-swing revelry. Continuing to stare at them, he brought the roll to his lips and pulled a nice long puff. Only when the smoke cleared did he give a retort. "No." He said this while jabbing a finger at the people, non-verbally singling them out.

"Oh…" I fell silent, not sure what to do or how to proceed. But he unwittingly saved me, probably out of his own curiosity.

"Why do you ask?"

A slight ponder on my part. I'd negotiated with myself all ready on how much I should tell him. "I've been reading about the 'rules' under Ygh. But...a lot of things, like stealing or talking bad about Ygh, I haven't seen anyone in I'lochin punished for those things."

"'Course not." I would've been offended by his dismissiveness, but I'd gotten a read on him by now. Just needed to wait for him to continue. It was his way. "You're not gonna see any of that unless you're in V'alen. Out here you don't get The King's Domain unless it's needed. Like murder or somethin'."

"Wait, what? The King's Domain?"

"Yeah. The law."

"Law?" I stared blankly at him.

"Yeah. The law. Ya know?" It was now his turn to stare blankly back at me.

"I know what the law is." Part lie. I'd read it in books and heard about it used in V'alen, though I knew little of it. "But...I don't know a lot about it." Better to be truthful with someone I was asking a favor of.

A small flaring at the nostrils while Gahn released a short sigh. "Man I forget how country you are." Again, not an insult on his part. "Ok. The law is something imposed by the king. You know about him?"

"Yeah I know of him."

"Well he's the guy writing and imposing rules. Like what you hear about in the Ygthl. That stuff, the stealing, the thievery, the lying about how much something costs, hell even horse thievin'. Those are punished."

"And are all of the rules in the Yghtl enforced in V'alen?"

"Like what?"

I had to be careful. "Umm...like I don't know. Anything." I scrambled for all of the ones but the ones I didn't know about. Came up empty. "I don't know. Just curious."

"Well, if you wanna know if it's covered, it’s in The King's Domain."

“Where do I find it?”

After a slow drag and a look up at the stars, he answered. “I don’t think we’ve got it right now.”

“It’s a book?”

Without breaking eye contact with the heavens, Gahn nodded.

"Can you get it for me?"

For the first time I'd met him, Gahn frowned, if only slightly. I guess it shouldn't have been surprising to me, since I didn't know him that well. But I realize that I'd regarded him as a tool to my own means, and not as a person.

He continued. "...I'll need to find a way." I surmised he meant that it'd have to be done without drawing attention from the shop owner. It then occurred to me that I also didn't know the bookstore owner's name. A brief guilt came over me, but I shoved it to the side. Needed to focus on this now.

"Would you be willing?"

Walking back to the festival, a slight weight was lifted. Gahn had agreed, and in some indeterminate amount of time I would have a book. A book that would maybe give me the answers I was seeking. Now for the next piece of the puzzle.

Against the fire light I could make out the shape of Dran as he yelled out words to people nearby. He was standing above everyone, using what looked definitely like people as a makeshift platform. His words barely caught to the edge of my hearing, as I searched through the crowd:

“We are stained! We are marred! Oh my Ygh, how do you break us apart in dirt and grass to find the stone! Stone to build! To keep us captured! To keep us from life! You take the word of King M'ark as pure water, forgetting the clear air I push you along with! We cannot feel you inside those dead walls! Do you see us hide behind cold logic! NO! Hot energy burns us to new strength! You die when trapped! Escape your prison and join the Ygh once more! The Ygh cries out for salvation! Burn the offerings of quiet death!”

While Dran spoke, people threw small pieces of lumber and mortar into the fire. Chunks of their houses or buildings that could be broken off, without destroying or making them unsafe. The very places they worked and lived from. I shook my head slightly as I considered the weird and stupidity of it all.

Before long, Nela was spotted, off in a small group of her friends. One of the parents of those children was standing nearby, keeping an eye on them. When I walked up to Nela, the adult recognized me and continued chatting away with one of the other adults, likely another one of the parents. I had seen mom over near the edges of the inner circle of the largest fire. Although not engaged, she was definitely on the outside, watching everything with a keen interest.

“Nela,” I tapped on her shoulder to get her attention. The drums had increased into a tempo that was just ripe for dancing. Nela and a couple of her friends were jumping around and enjoying the music. When I spoke her name she stopped to spin around and look at me. A smile had broken on her face. People were always her thing, and she practically floated off the ground for days after being in big groups like this. To be honest, I never got the point of large gatherings. Not that they scared me. They were just so pointless it seemed. “I need to talk to you. Alone.” I tried to convey concern but also calm. Having done that, I thought she was able to understand me, since her expression faded from joy but there was only calm seriousness remaining, not panic.

Holding my little sister by the hand, I walked with her to the edge of the entire festival, near the beginning of I'lochin’s houses. Gahn’s house was here, and as Nela stood in front of me, her back was now turned to that building which I’d just come from.

“Why are you holding flowers?”

“They’re for the festival. But that’s not why I need to talk to you. I have a favor to ask you.”

It was only a matter of moments before she agreed to it, not even knowing what it was. “Anything for you, Ty.”

A brief pause from me, and a pang of guilt. This would be a betrayal. But a necessary one.

“I’m going to. . .do you remember when we ‘pretended’ to visit Dran the other day?”

“Mhmmm.” The serious eyes she had given moments before in the festival were now reaching her eyebrows, as they furrowed maddenly. My little sister’s head also bowed slightly, a slight sign I’d seen her give when we were playing pretend as spys, passing secret messages back and forth on our plots to save I'lochin from invisible foes.

“I need to ‘pretend’ to see Dran much more often. Can you help me do that?”

“I mean...sure. But why?” At the end of her question, and as her eyebrows furrowed, a light hit her eyes, likely agitated by the flames just out of sight by the crowds. “Ohhh...you want to see Rosy again, don’t you?” A wicked grin went on her face.

I honestly blushed, even though I knew she was going to be asking. I’d been dodging it all this week, the conversation Nela had been trying to start all of this past week. Anytime we would play alone, she would whisper the question to me, much like the same she was doing now. Throughout the week I’d been telling her, “Soon. You’ll find out. And it will make sense.”

“You’re right, Nela. I like Rosy. But there’s something you don’t know.”

The reaction on her face could’ve started a match if you held it on her cheek. Quickly, as if she was playing a part in a play, she went from intrigue to surprise. The eyebrows gave up and took towards the top of her forehead as her mouth also split a crack from her tongue making a dash for her lower lip. And all of it in less than a second. “A secret?”

“Yeah. And you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not Bela. Not mom. Not dad. Not Dran. No one. You understand?”

Vigorous head nodding.

“Good.” I exhaled slowly before continuing. “Bela also likes Rosy.”

Nela, for her part, did her best to take the information in stride. It still hit her like a building collapsing, though she didn’t fall from the weight. More like finding yourself on hot coals, come to think of it, as she started fidgeting nervously and eventually pacing in place a little bit, wringing her hands nervously.

“What are you going to do, Ty?”

“I’m going to talk to Rosy. She needs to decide. But...it will take time. I need to be delicate here. I don’t want to hurt Bela.”

There was a deep and unspoken pause here, as we both thought about our brother. I, for my part, deeply pitied him. What Nela thought (or could comprehend) was another matter, and I was curious how she would respond. I was fairly confident that she would want the best for him. But how much Nela knew or could know about Bela’s mental state was something that might just need time. It was a complex thing to grasp, but Nela was smart and very caring.

“I hope no one gets hurt.”

“So do I.”

It was likely that Nela knew that Bela needed special attention. I just wasn’t prepared at this moment to roll the dice by teaching her about how exactly Bela was ‘special’. The outcome would be uncertain, and I had too much uncertainty already. It would wait for another time.

“So what do you need me to do?”

“I need to ‘pretend’ to see Dran much more often,” I reiterated slowly. It was a lot for her little heart to take in. “So to do that, I need a reason.” A small, pregnant space for her to gather the information. “That’s where you come in.”

I waited, wanting her to ask the logical question. “How can I help?”

All right. We were on the path now. Just needed to set the plan in motion and let the ball roll down the hill. “If you can pretend to be interested in learning the Yghtl, then I can bring you into town. Not mom or dad or Bela will suspect us. You can even ask that I be the one to bring you in. I’ll pretend to also want to know more about the ways of Mom’s faith.”

“Mom’s faith?”

“Yeah. She’s the one who’s been teaching it to us.”

“But don’t we all believe in Ygh?”

“No.” I shook my head softly. “Dad doesn’t either.”

Nela looked away from me, finally. Something was clicking in her head. “I don’t know if I wanna believe in Ygh either, then.”

A slow sigh escaped me and I resisted the desire to point a finger at her. “You can’t do that yet. I mean, I agree that you should believe whatever you want, but if you want to help me then I need you to pretend. Can you do that?”

The decision was weighed before she responded. “Yeah, I can do that. If it will help you and Bela.”

“It will.” And that wasn’t one hundred percent a lie. “Here’s what we need to do…”

After I dropped Nela back with her friends, I found Dran right near the edge of the biggest fire. He was dressed in the most colorful and exotic of his makeups and standing much closer to the inferno than anyone else. It was almost comical to look at him, wearing branches lashed to his garment by strings made from grass and bramble. But he was a very intelligent man and I respected how dangerously sharp I would need to play this interaction, and all of the future interactions I would have with him.

“Dran.”

“Yes, Tyth?” He stopped from his own exuberant dancing to address me. The only difference between his dance and Nela’s had been the somberness in which he did it, as if beseeching the very heavens themselves for all knowledge and wisdom in the world. For all I knew, he was probably doing just that.

“Nela and I would like to start stopping by - I mean - start to stop by to see you regularly for the next several weeks.”

His inquisition was immediate. “Why?”

“We have questions about the Yghtl and Nela herself knows very little. I’d rather that you teach us than I just set her down a wrong path.”

The man made no action to hide his distrust as he squinted at me, and his response was slow as he responded, laced with suspicion. “You’re a smart kid, Ty...and I know that from the last time we spoke.” He looked me dead in the eyes before continuing. There was almost a palpable malice to the way in which he regarded me now, which was close to the way we’d left things previously. “I have no doubt that you could, if you WANTED to, teach Nela everything she needs to know.”

“I’m actually no longer sure about that. She was wondering about the Yghtl and as we both know, I am not too keen on studying it anymore than I’m forced to. So I don’t know many things. For instance, she asked about why we bring fruit and grain to this harvest but not these:” I held up the flowers I’d picked from outside our farm earlier that day. They’d been hiding in my clothes and stunk from the heat of the day and after doing some dancing myself. A sick fascination to put them in Dran’s face washed over me and receded as I let it go. It was all I could do to not smile as I thought about him groaning in disgust. They were already beginning to wilt and he could probably get a whiff of them anyway.

Dran looked at the flowers and then at me with appalling shock and disbelief on his face. Eventually he just bypassed me. “Fine. You can bring her here every week on whatever day your parents will let you. We’ll arrange a time that works best and get to work. As for you, I don't think I care if you show up or not.”

That was perfect for me.

Mom was next, but she turned out to be really easy to convince.

Once I had mom on my side, and Nela in cahoots, dad and Bela fell in line. It became easy to line up with Dran when to take Nela into town for "indoctrination classes" (<- as I secretly called them to myself). He made his schedule open and as mom was under the impression that I was now falling in line, she was willing to turn my days for "class" (such as they were) into days spent with Dran. To keep the ruse, I now had free reign to either read, talk to Rosy, or plan for my ultimate goal. Dad was easy to predict, he wouldn't come into town on the days I was taking Nela, or if he had to, he kept to his shop. I spent time stalking him. Watching him. I didn't need to see him visiting the woman (I'd learned her name was Tesim from Bela earlier after much careful prodding). That mark was still too fresh. And being spotted by him or my talking to her could maybe ruin any plans I had.