Remnants Of The Sun

by J. A. Day

  Gregor looked to be having a long conversation with a few of the Hoademakers. A lot of the chubby faces looked excited and passionate about what they were telling him. Gregor didn’t look persuaded with anything they were saying, looking stern as usual. When the Hoademakers finished, he just gave a curt nod and stood up, walking down and taking a seat next to the blond man. Yael sat opposite Sven and his companion.

  Sigrun wondered who she was going to talk to and what she was going to say. She wished she knew what the two Elders were here for. From the talk about Hannes, it definitely felt connected to the Jarl in some way. She felt she needed more information, so she leaned forwards to hear the conversation between Gregor and the blond haired man.

  “What would you do if you had the power?” Gregor said, staring intently.

  “I’d trade more with the towns and cities. We produce great food, and we have found some good mines that haven’t been claimed around the area,” the blond haired man said.

  “Wouldn’t trading food exacerbate our consumption problems?”

  The blond haired man widened his eyes, and squeezed his hand. “Shit...but I think the mine thing can still work.”

  Gregor fiddled with the braids in his beard. “I’ll think about it.”

  He turned towards the gray dressed woman. The blond haired man looked crushed, he had just lost his chance.

  Sigrun found the whole exchange fascinating. Why had Gregor been asking the power question? What kind of answer was he and Yael wanting, and what would they do with the answer? But before Sigrun could figure it out, Yael’s cane hit the ground in front of her, and the Hoademaker Elder shook and grimaced while he sat down opposite.

  “I don’t think I’m aware of you,” Yael said, examining her.

  “You wouldn’t be, I’m just a cattle rancher that looks after cows,” she said, feeling as small and insignificant as her job role implied.

  “Interesting that Sven would choose someone outside of the family to be here. But we will see what you have to offer.”

  Yael’s stare made her feel uncomfortable. It was like he was scrutinizing her, judging her. She felt her stomach roil, and for a moment she didn’t know what to say, fearing she would throw up on the food. This was her moment, she couldn’t screw it up.

  Yael leant forwards, gripping the cane’s silver spinning wheel. “So, what would you do with the power of the Jarl?”

  Sigrun finally put everything about the party in place: the excitement, the talk about Hannes, the anger the Mattsons displayed, and the fact that two Elders were here. This feast was to choose who would be the next Jarl.

  This revelation brought a mixture of feelings within her. One of them was excitement, she wouldn’t just get the opportunity to be one of the important people in the wagon train, she would be the most important person in the wagon train. Only the Keeper of the Sol Shard, the head of the faith, had as much power as the Jarl did. They could decide where the wagon train went, who they traded with, and what laws were brought in. The other feeling was absolute terror, because she would curse herself all her life if she screwed this encounter up.

  However, she had an advantage. She knew exactly how to answer Yael’s question. “With the power of the Jarl I’d find a goal for the workers to have of their own.”

  “What do you mean? Our goal is to grow food, cook that food, make clothes, and fix the wagons when needed,” Yael said.

  “Yes, but what is that in service of? It is in service of the Mission of Sol. This is the faith’s wagon train, and we follow them because they want to proselytize to the world to bring back their dead sun. But a lot of the workers don’t really believe in that. I want to explore the world to find out about its history, Edven down the way wants to find some nice pasture to grow old in, and many of the farmers I’ve spoken to at parties just want to be stationary and tend to a proper land of their own.”

  “We have always been a nomadic tribe, that’s what people signed up for,” Yael said, leaning forwards. “Besides, it's not like it’s a prison. The people who want to settle down can always do so when we visit a town or city.”

  “That’s what their great grandfathers signed up for, not them,” Sigrun said, feeling excited about being able to talk to someone about this. “And people can’t just easily settle down even if they want to. They have friends here, family members, a community they are a part of. Not to mention the fact that this wagon train gives them more freedom and power than they might in some towns. We have been to a few where the workers are pretty much slaves.”

  “You're saying that we should all settle down somewhere? The Mission would not allow that for a second, they believe in their faith with zeal. It’s the reason why the workers have gone cold towards them. And it’s not like we have two Sol Shards.”

  Sigrun nodded. “You're right, we can’t easily split. Unlike raiders we can’t live out in the icy world without a Sol Shard. But previous Jarls have never really thought about solutions that could work, all they try to gain is power within the system. But the system is always going to be on the Mission’s side, they do have the weapons and the Sol Shard.”

  “There’s always taking over,” Yael said, grimacing.

  “Too bloody, and it would take a lot of training for farmers and weavers to get to the same level of swordsmanship a Priestess and Priest has.”

  Yael shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. He rubbed his cane, letting silence fill the table. It was at that point that Sigrun realized that everyone at the feast wasn’t talking anymore. Most of the people that surrounded them were listening in on their conversation. Gregor stood behind Yael, finished with his talks.

  Sigrun could feel the hatred coming from the other people staring at her. They seemed to ask, “who are you to be talking about this stuff?” There was a part of her that agreed with that assessment. She was nobody really, just some woman that had spent a lot of time thinking about these things because she didn’t like the way things were going with her life, and she had decided that changing the system would improve her own life as well.

  Yael glanced around. “Hmm we seem to have gotten an audience. Well, last question, what are the solutions you feel could work?”

  Sigrun sipped her drink, calming her nerves. “There are two solutions I see: convince the Mission that the majority of people in the wagon train want to settle down and they should follow that, or convince them to go out into the world and find another Sol Shard so the people who want to settle down can.”

  “And you think we could convince them of either of those?”

  “I think the first one would be very hard, but the second one might be doable. I heard a rumor that the current Keeper has died, and who knows who the next one is going to be. They could be more reasonable.”

  Yael furrowed his brow. He gripped the spinning wheel on his cane, pushed himself up, and turned around to Gregor. While the two Elders whispered to one another, everyone on the table sat and stared at Sigrun in silence. She had no idea whether what was happening was good or bad. All she could do was sip her beer and wave at the people looking at her.

  The talk between Yael and Gregor seemed animated. Yael was gesturing a lot with his non cane hand. Gregor looked skeptical, and pointed to the woman in the gray dress and one of the Hoademakers. Yael shook his head and pointed back to Sigrun. Gregor rubbed his braids, and mouthed, “Are you sure?” Yael nodded.

  The Elder Hoademaker turned around, putting up his hands to the men and women sitting at the table. “We have come to a decision. The person we are naming Jarl, actually I don’t know her name.” He stepped towards Sigrun, and asked. “What’s your name?”

  “Sigrun,” she said, shocked at what was happening. Were they really giving her the Jarl job?

  “Yes, the person we are naming as the next Jarl is Sigrun.”

  Many at the table gasped, including Sigrun herself. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a joke. All she wanted from going to the feast was to get to know the important
family members of the wagon train, maybe at most get some low level job from one of them. She had definitely not expected at the end of the night to be named Jarl.

  But the clap of her back, and the handshake from both Yael and Gregor didn’t feel like a joke. And Gregor wasn’t known to be the type to play practical jokes. His son Sven was, but Gregor certainly wasn’t.

  Sigrun still felt disbelief, still internalized the narrowed eyed stares that told her she didn’t deserve this. But there was a part of her that felt pure joy from the announcement. Jarl Sigrun, hey, that was a name that was going to be written in the history books.

  AFTER YOU DIE YOUR SOUL GETS TRANSPORTED INTO THE SKY, AND RESIDES IN SOL’S RESTING PLACE

  ‘Scroll of Spirit’

  Sonja’s mother had died. It happened a few days ago, her mother had just gone to bed after prayers and never woke up again. It was a peaceful death, one many would wish for, but that didn’t mean the death didn’t cause a massive amount of trauma for everyone in the Mission. For Sonja’s mother wasn’t just her mother, she was also the Keeper of the Sol Shard, and leader of the Mission of Sol, the faith that founded the wagon train.

  Outside the wagon where Sonja’s mother rested, there was a whole crowd of faithful waiting for their chance to see the coffin. Sonja and her friends were lucky to get a private viewing because of their special connection to her.

  The Keeper wasn’t really Sonja’s mother, neither was she Roose’s, Britta’s, or Teresa’s. But they felt like she was. The Keeper had saved them all from orphaned lives of misery. She gave them a place within the Mission, cared and taught them personally, and even promoted them to the most important jobs in the faith when they became adults. Their mother meant the most to them, so why couldn’t Sonja feel anything about her death?

  The wooden coffin had a portrait of the Keeper on top. It was a striking portrait, it showed off her mother’s passionate face and wise eyes. It was a big contrast to Sonja herself. Her eyes were always too wide and her face narrow. Her mother had bright blond hair, while Sonja’s hair was black

  Staring at her mother’s wise eyes made her feel nothing. She wasn’t sad, she wasn’t empty, she wasn’t in shock, or numb. She just felt...normal. Like it was just another day of prayers and work.

  It was a little awkward not feeling anything Roose, Britta, and Teresa were all bent over with tears, crying about how it was too soon and how they were going to miss their mother. Sonja made sure not to catch their gaze, just so they wouldn’t complain about her not showing enough emotion.

  Most of Sonja’s focus was not on the coffin but on the Sol Shard. The white crystal hung on a golden chain. The crystal glowed inside, a deep orange glow. The glow emanated a protective heat which allowed the people within the wagon train to live in the icy wasteland that the world had become. Sonja could feel the Shard calling to her, like Sol wanted her to touch it.

  The value of the crystal didn’t just lie in the life it gave, it was also a piece of Sol. A connection to the goddess that used to rule the earth and had made it a paradise full of green grass, trees, and flowers. The Mission, and Sonja, deeply believed that one day Sol would come back to rule the skies, and the people of the earth would all be able to live in that paradise land again. The only way they could do that was to get rid of Manang’s influence, his shadow.

  Maybe that was why she didn’t feel anything for the Keeper, because her heart and mind was too full of shadow. It had been for most of her life.

  The shadow had started innocently enough. Sonja had always noticed girls: the way they styled their hair, the way they dressed, the grace in which they walked, and in particular the way their arms moved while fighting with the blade. Sometimes she could stare at another girl quite intently for a few minutes, getting lost in admiration. Unfortunately, she got caught staring during Scroll Class.

  She had been staring at Britta, liking her golden curly hair and the way the back of her neck looked. But when Britta turned she noticed Sonja, and gave her a disgusted look. Britta went up to the teacher and told on her. This got Sonja’s mother involved.

  Sonja was called out of class by the Keeper. She was led to the yellow wood pews placed in rows outside the Keeper’s wagon. The Keeper sat, and patted the space next to her for Sonja to sit.

  Sonja’s heart pounded, She rubbed her hands, and didn’t want to look her mother in the eye. Sonja didn’t know what she had done wrong, but she knew it must be something big.

  "Why do you think you were staring at that girl?" her mother asked.

  "Have I done something wrong?” she said, feeling her stomach roil.

  "That really depends on the answer that you give."

  Sonja had no idea what answer her mother wanted. What was so wrong with staring at Britta in the way she had? She just shook her head.

  "Do you think it has anything to do with being gay? You know how we forbid that," The Keeper said.

  She looked up at her, surprised at the statement. Her mother’s face looked stern, the question was a serious one.

  At that moment she didn’t understand how what she was doing could be connected to being gay. She was only staring at other girls, liking...and then it dawned on her.

  She had seen some of the older girls look appreciatively at the farmers in the wagon train, and heard them talk about the way they worked or the look of their muscular arms. She had been looking at girls and appreciating them in the same way.

  And then the second thing her mother had said hit her: it was forbidden. If she told the Keeper what she wanted deep down was the love of another woman then the Keeper would have no choice but to exile her from the Mission. Maybe her mother would even send her back to the workhouse, where hundreds of children slept on dirty floors, and the adults made them work until they exhausted themselves to death. She couldn’t go back there, couldn’t be chucked out of the Mission that had given her a purpose in life. So she lied.

  "I guess I was staring at Britta because I admire the way she goes about learning the scrolls, but I understand now that it disturbs her, and others around me. I will make sure to not let it happen again."

  The Keeper examined her, a stare that felt like it dug in and exposed her. Did her mother know she was lying, could she suspect what staring at Britta truly meant?

  “And you’re sure this won’t happen again?”

  Sonja bowed her head. "I make a solemn promise, Keeper."

  Her mother squeezed her shoulder. “Good, now run along back to class.”

  But those desires could not be so easily held back, especially as Sonja got older. The desires became more burning, more urgent. She didn’t just want to stare at other women, she wanted to kiss them, touch them, and she wanted them to touch her.

  The burning desire got so bad one evening that she couldn’t sleep. She just wanted someone, anyone, to fulfil her desire. And it couldn’t just be herself, that wasn’t enough, plus it was hard to do when she slept in a room full of bunk beds with other Priestesses in.

  Sonja decided she had enough and tiptoed out of the wagon. Avoiding the guard on patrol, she went out of the Mission’s encampment and into the wider wagon train.

  Every follower of the faith knew that people within the wagon train held parties full of drinking, feasting, and casual sex. There was a game that some Priestesses would play about who could devise the worst punishment to the people who went to these parties, or what the most sordid thing was happening within them. In one of these games Roose had told them that she knew how to find the parties, that they needed to follow certain runes and randomly placed bits of furniture within the wagon train. Many Priestesses thought she was having them on.

  But when Sonja went out into the darkness of the wagon train that night, she actually found small runes painted on the sides of wagons, which led her down streets where random pieces of furniture were placed in odd directions, following these eventually led her towards a party.

  She found a small grassy square, full of tables with fo
od and drink. People danced around bonfires, grinding against each other in very sexual ways. The smoke of the bonfires quickly filled her lungs, and the smell of roasting pork or beef made her hungry. Everything happening within the party was against what the faith taught, but at that moment, with what she was feeling, she didn’t care.

  Sonja didn’t know how long she danced and drank for, but she felt good just letting go. Eventually, another woman caught her eye, this one had long blond hair and strong arms. She decided to go up to her for a chat. The chat became flirtatious, and the flirting became a burning desire to go back to her wagon, which Sonja did.

  It was only when she woke up that Sonja felt regret and shame. She had gone against her teachings in a big way. She had committed many shadows, the worst one being same sex love. Sonja snuck out of the blond woman’s wagon, feeling a loathing within herself.

  She felt like she needed to be punished. She would tell her mother that she had committed this grave shadow, but when she thought about it a flash came into her mind of being dragged out of the wagon train and into the workhouse. There she would be whipped and beaten until she couldn't take it anymore. Even though that punishment may be what she deserved, she felt a paralyzing fear of having to experience it.