Remnants Of The Sun

by J. A. Day

  Surprisingly, the inside was more cozy than opulent. The mahogany gave the space a dim light, great for meetings where friends drank whiskey. On the right wall was a large wardrobe, and on the left a small fireplace with a floral decorated coal box which could contain a crackling fire. The far back had a four poster bed with a silver curtain hung from wooden bars. Dominating the room was a wide desk with a felt green top, and arrayed around were comfy looking armchairs.

  Stacked neatly on top of the desk were various scrolls and pieces of paper. Sigrun peaked at a few. The scrolls were large maps of the local area, and the papers were various different laws that could be brought in, and the people on the Council that would most likely vote for them. One thing that caught her eye was a note about settling down. One of the lines talked about the problems of the Mission of Sol and how the only way they’d get permission to settle down was to get rid of them entirely. Seeing that made Sigrun feel a little uncomfortable, what had Hannes been planning?

  Sven stood at the door, examining the room like he belonged in it. “So what do you think of your new place?”

  She felt a sense that she didn’t belong here. Even if she scrubbed up clean, sorted out the mess of hair, and wore fancy tunics, she still only had experience of herding cows and drinking at parties. What did she know about what laws to bring in, what experience did she have of the world that would tell her where the wagon train should go, what relationships did she have that she could use to convince people to go with what she wanted?

  “Are you sure you’ve made the right decision here?”

  Sven stepped closer. His smile disappeared. “There were many that night we could have chosen, many with more experience of how to lead people, or had more connections with the families. But what Yael told my father, which convinced him, is that they were all too bland and safe. Most of them just talked about who we would trade with next, what potential resources we could take from the land, or how to keep our power against the Mission. Some of them just told us what we wanted to hear or worse just said they would do whatever we asked. None of them said what you said, how we were going about it all wrong, how we could have a vision of the future. All of them were tweaking around the edges, trying to keep what we already have, you gave us a chance to reach for greater than that.”

  “Yeah, but it’s one thing to have that vision and another to fulfill it. Am I really the best person to do that?”

  “Yes because you see it clearly and so you’ll know how to bring it about. We will help you with the rest, you’re not alone,” Sven said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  Sigrun examined him. There was a lot more depth to Sven than a lot of people realized. On the surface he seemed to not take anything seriously, but it turned out that he had thought about things to a good degree and knew what to say. It comforted her. Someone like that could be a good ally for her to have, though they could also be a worse enemy - you would never know if they were really on your side until it was too late.

  “So how’s it going to work, me living here?” she asked, feeling a bit more sure of herself. She had gone for this job after all. “What’s going to happen to my wagon and my cows?”

  “I’m sure we can find some lone farmer to take up cattle ranching. You’d be surprised how many say they want to do it, thinking that it's an easy and quiet job.”

  “Well tell them that it’s anything but easy. You have to wake up early in the morning, convince a herd of cows to come out of their pen, keep an eye on them so they don’t do anything stupid like run out of the Sol Shard’s protection and freeze to death, and not to mention you have to clean the shit out of the trailer every day. The quiet part is correct, but that eventually gets to you after a while and you get the desire to talk to anyone no matter what it’s about.”

  “I’ll make sure not to say any of that, I want people to actually go for the job,” Sven said, laughing.

  Sigrun smiled. She looked around the room still not believing that this was actually happening. She was going to be Jarl.

  Then it dawned on her how big a move that was going to be. All her life had been in her cattle rancher’s wagon, all her parents' life, and their parents. It was a big shift, and she worried for a second whether her parents would have approved. Maybe her father might not have, but her mother certainly would. Her mother had pursued her writing even though she had to look after Sigrun, and she always told Sigrun that she could do anything if she put her mind to it. Hearing those words again brought warmth in Sigrun’s heart and made her fear about the move dissipate.

  “How am I going to move my stuff?” she asked.

  “Ah, I have something for that. Let me quickly run to Bonde Square and I’ll get it for you.”

  Sven rushed out of the wagon, leaving Sigrun alone. While waiting, she wandered around the room, feeling the smooth wood planks, opening the wardrobe and pretending fantastic clothes were hung up, lying on the bed, and testing the armchair.

  She sat behind the desk and pretended some important family member was in front of her. What would her attitude towards them be? Would she be the demanding things done type, or the be your friend type? She felt her natural inclination was the latter, but sometimes that could backfire. If you were friends with everyone, people might think you were weak and they could take advantage of it. Sometimes it might go the other way and people stopped trusting you, feeling your friendliness was fake. But she understood that being a hard nut wasn’t any better, making people feel hostile towards you wasn’t usually a good way to get people to accept your will.

  There were so many avenues and potential pitfalls to think about. How would she get both the people and the important leaders on her side? How would she solve the problem Hannes clearly had with the Mission of Sol. It hurt her brain thinking about it all, which made her question again what she was doing in the Jarl role. But she told herself that she was going to try it at least, she couldn’t second guess everything before she did it. If she did she wouldn’t get anything done, nor would the vision Sven talked about be fulfilled.

  Sven came back with a wheelbarrow. Seeing it couldn't help but make Sigrun laugh. “All my stuff is going to go in there?”

  “You might have to do several trips, sorry it's the best I can do,” Sven said, chuckling.

  Sigrun shook her head. “If that’s the best you can do for a Jarl I might have to find someone else.”

  She stood up and took the handles of the wheelbarrow. She guessed she had to get back to gather all her things. Not to mention her cows did need some fresh air and lovely grass, even if it was raining.

  Sven must have seen some hesitation in her, because he said, “You know we do have other people we can choose to be Jarl.”

  “Is that for if I don’t want the job, or for when I screw up too much?”

  Sven laughed, and nodded his head. “You’ll do fine, especially if you keep that humor.”

  She grinned, trying to appear confident and sure. “I’ll do better than fine, I’ll be the best damn Jarl you’ve ever seen.”

  FOR SOL TO COME BACK THE WORLD NEEDS TO BE FREE FROM SHADOW

  ‘Scroll of Mission’

  Rain pelted down on Sonja. Her hair felt slimy and her face went numb. Droplets went down her back, making her shiver. Wagons had already driven over the grass several times, so the water hitting the ground just created a swirl of mud. On several occasions she found her boot getting stuck into it, and she had to pull on her leg to keep walking.

  She looked back through the streets and wondered whether she should stop this stupidity and go back to the encampment. But she remembered all the faithful staring at her, those piercing eyes of expectation, shuddered again, and kept on walking.

  However, the stare that haunted her the most in her mind, and made her the most afraid about being the Keeper, was the one on her mother’s portrait. Those wise eyes and passionate face seemed to tell her that she could be Keeper.

  She couldn’t be Keeper, she knew that with certaint
y. She was too full of shadow, too full of the burning desire for women, and too sick of hiding it any longer. If the faithful knew the truth about her they would strip the title of Keeper in a heartbeat, and tell her to get out of the enclosure.

  So was that what she was doing now? Was she finally running away from the faith for good? She wasn’t too sure.

  One of the things that haunted her about the stares the faithful gave when she was named Keeper were their certainty. They expected her to be Keeper, expected her to fulfill the role, and even though some cursed her for that they automatically gave her a look of respect because of it. And that look of respect was an intoxicating thing.

  In her adulthood, Sonja had always felt empty and felt the Mission might not be for her any more, but the one thing that kept her going was the respect and authority she got from being a senior Priestess. She was a General, which meant organizing the patrols across the wagon train, looking out for trouble in the distance, and defending the wagon train from raiders.

  That last one had happened twice in her role as General. She could still remember the smell of fear from the faithful around, and the roar of the raiders as they rushed at her. Before and during the battle she had felt sick in her stomach, but when they won, she had felt an elation so joyful that she had thought for one split second she could give up sex for it.

  The looks of respect and praise she got for doing her job were sometimes worth going through the pain of not being able to be who she was. Whenever she would think about quitting the faith, she would wonder what kind of job she would have in the wider wagon train. Would she be a farmer, a weaver, a cattle rancher? All those jobs felt empty in comparison to the one she was doing now, they didn't feel like she would be able to pursue something bigger than herself. Because that’s what she felt being a General in the Mission. She felt that she was doing it for a bigger cause, that her actions would bring back Sol in the sky and bring paradise back into the world.

  She ran to the edge of the caravan, where the hill dropped down to the valley below. She looked at the thick blanket of snow across the plain, the frozen ice floating in the river, the needles of white that formed the canopy of the forest. They couldn’t compare to the lush green grass, the deep blue water, and the golden autumn of the world that she was taught in the scrolls. How could anyone accept living in this icy and cold landscape?

  But she also couldn't accept living the way she was now. There were dark times in the past where she thought the easiest thing to do was to walk out of the protective bubble of the Sol Shard and freeze to death. She wouldn't have to feel the feeling of horrible desire, the wrench of shame, nor would her true self be discovered by her friends so she wouldn’t disappoint them. No, she could just be someone they found in the middle of the snow, a tragic end to someone that symbolized so much good within the Mission.

  She looked down the hill. Could that be the answer?

  No. Ever since seeing the lifeless bodies of the children in the workhouse she grew up in, she understood that death was never as clean as she imagined it to be. It was always a horrible trauma for everyone that witnessed it. She wanted to live. But she also knew she couldn’t be the Keeper. Could she?

  Sonja looked out at Kveg Plain, at the shabby wagons dotted about the grass. Could she really live this life? One Cattle Rancher stood several yards away, she had blond hair with a braid trailing at the back, and her tunic and trousers seemed to be covered in mud. She was putting a hand up to the herd of cows next to her, and stomping to and fro sideways. It seemed fascinating to Sonja, the movement looked almost like dancing. Could she really learn how to do that, would it be as satisfying as being the head of a religion?

  But would being the head of a religion be all that satisfying for her, a religion that didn’t allow her to be who she wanted to be, a religion whose teachings said that loving the gender she did was wrong for the world. And if she was head of that religion those would be the things she would have to teach. She would have to project an image of purity, when really she was just as muddy as the cattle rancher.

  Everyone else in the faith seemed to be clean. She sometimes wondered whether it was a true reflection, whether some of them were harboring shadows like hers. But she couldn’t ask because they would reject it, feeling you were attacking their commitment in the faith. Surely she couldn’t be the only person with shadow, but even if she wasn’t it still felt like she was. And that made her alone.

  She sighed, it was all too confusing and complicated. There was no decision she could make that made her feel happy. Being the Keeper would make her feel empty inside, and being a regular person in the wagon train would make her feel without purpose. It was a horrible decision, and she cursed the world for having to make it. Why couldn’t Sol make it easy?

  Sonja shook her head, and went to walk back to the encampment. She still had no idea what she would do about those stares.

  Sonja trudged across Kveg Plain. Unfortunately, the ground had become even more waterlogged and muddy, meaning that with every third step her boot would get stuck. The sky above was covered by a black cloud, which crackled with electricity. Not wanting to be struck by lightning, Sonja strode faster.

  Her foot squelched into the ground. It had gone below the swirl of brown mud. She tried to pull herself out but her foot wouldn’t budge. She kept twisting and pulling but the ground would not let her go. She grunted in frustration, realizing she would have to get someone to help her. She turned back to the blond cattle rancher that stood in the distance. The cattle rancher had her back to Sonja, but she was clearly trying to keep control of her cows. Sonja could hear their distressed moos.

  She was about to shout to the rancher, when a flash of lightning struck behind the cows. Smoke rose quickly above the herd. The cows all cried in alarm, and hoofed away from the flames behind. The cattle rancher had to jump out of their way.

  The cows were now stampeding towards Sonja.

  She tried to twist her boot frantically. She bent down and grabbed at her ankles, pulling with all her effort, not caring if she left the boot behind. The thunder of the hooves mixed with the crack of thunder in the sky. Sonja’s heart thumped louder and louder. She screamed, and savagely scratched and punched her boot and leg in a desperate attempt

  to get them to release.

  She looked up, the cows were nearly on her. She would not make it in time.

  A tear fell down her cheek. She didn’t want to die. She had never truly loved another person, never been in a long term relationship with anyone, had never felt that surge of joy that she heard her friends talk about feeling with their husbands. All the relations she had with other women had just been for sex, and usually of a transactional nature. It had always been fun at the time, but it never grew beyond that. And afterwards she always felt that shame and sense of emptiness. She wanted to feel more, but she was never going to.

  Mud flew in the air. She could smell the cows stink as they got closer. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about how stupid an end this was. Other Keepers had been killed by raiders, or executed by rulers, or nicely in their sleep. But she would be killed by stampeding cows. Maybe it would have been better just to freeze after all.

  She scrunched up her face, only feeling the vibration of the ground. A great force hit her, knocking all her breath out.

  The thing that Sonja found weird about death was how it didn't feel that much different to life. She was sure the cows must have hit her, and her soul was now in the place where Sol resided. But she still felt the squishy mud on her back and the drips of rain on her skin. The only thing that felt different was that a great weight pressed on her front.

  Wanting to know what Sol’s resting place was like, and what could be weighing on her, Sonja opened her eyes. All she could see was a sky full of black clouds. The rain pattered down on her face, and she could hear the faint sound of cows mooing in the distance.

  She was alive.

  That information shocked her. She was sure that th
e cows had been too close to get out of the way. She laughed, feeling a joy so big that she couldn’t help but want to jump up and dance about. But there was still that weight on top of her.

  She looked down to see what it was. It was a person, a woman in fact. It was the blond haired cattle rancher that had been trying to control the cows. The woman’s arms were thick, like the arms of the Priestesses that she liked to stare at. Her face had a strong jawline and fierce eyes. In fact Sonja couldn’t help admit that she found her saviour quite attractive.

  The cattle rancher pushed herself off, and offered a hand. Sonja took it.

  She felt a tingle go up her hand and through her body. A rush of warmth went up to her head. She felt dizzy.

  And then Sonja found herself leaning over and kissing the woman.

  The action was a shock to her, as it was to the blond haired woman. The woman with the braid widened her eyes and pushed her away. Sonja felt totally embarrassed, having no idea what she was doing. She glanced towards the woman, a little embarrassed. They seemed to stand there close to one another awkwardly. Sonja stepped back. The woman with the braid put her hand in her hair and laughed.

  “Well I’m glad you're ok. Usually people know my name before that happens. It’s Sigrun by the way.”

  “Sonja,” she said. Her face felt hot. “Sorry about the kiss, the situation and the push to the ground must have made me lose my senses.”

  “I don’t mind getting a kiss as a reward for my heroics, especially by a beautiful girl like you,” Sigrun said, staring at her with the kind of stare Sonja must have had when she stared at women she liked.

  Did Sigrun find other women attractive? Sonja knew that some women in the wider wagon train were like that, she did sleep with some of them at parties, but she had never known how wide spread the feelings of same sex love were and always felt ashamed to find out in case it got back to the faith.