by J. A. Day
“You must have lost your senses as well if you find me attractive,” she said, brushing her black hair away, which she now felt was full of mud. She would definitely need a bath, another reason why Sigrun's assessment of her must not be true.
Sigrun stepped closer and smudged her finger across Sonja’s cheek. “You’re a bit muddy, but I’d definitely want a drink with you.”
Sonja’s heart pounded like mad. The touch of Sigrun’s was only a few seconds but she definitely wanted more. They stood, staring at each other. Sigrun’s eyes were bright blue, burning with clear desire.
“In fact,” Sigrun said, smiling. “Let me return the favor.”
Sigrun leant forward and kissed her. It was like Sonja’s body got struck by lightning. She could feel every part of her body buzzing. Her head felt light. A burning desire ran through her, she wanted to grab a hold of Sigrun’s tunic and push her down in the mud.
But she stopped herself. Sonja had told herself that she didn’t just want sex she wanted a relationship: someone that wanted to know her, talk to her, and care about her. Having sex with this woman now would not lead to that. She stepped back
Sigrun also stepped back. She looked awkward and embarrassed. “Sorry, I should have asked whether you wanted that. Now I’m the one whose senses have been lost.”
Sonja didn’t want this woman to think that she had done something wrong. She wanted to be able to see her again. “I liked it, I just think we should have a drink first.”
“That sounds good,” Sigrun said, a little breathless. “All my drink is in the wagon over there, maybe come over one evening. Though tomorrow I’m not going to be at that wagon, I’m going to be at the Jarl’s wagon.”
Sonja’s eyes widened in surprise. She had just kissed the future leader of the wagon train!
Sigrun laughed. “Don’t worry it came as a shock to me as well.” She glanced behind Sonja, grimacing. “Sorry about this, but I’m going to have to sort out those cows. I don’t want them hurting anyone else. I can’t be asking multiple women back to my wagon today.”
She patted Sonja’s shoulders, gave her another grin, and ran off into the muddy field. Sonja turned and watched her race towards the cows, who weren’t stampeding anymore but they were roaming quickly across the grass.
Sonja still felt light headed and a little woozy, but she couldn’t feel the patter of rain on her hair anymore. The clouds in the sky broke apart. A small ray of red shone down. It felt like all of her worries and questions about being a Keeper had fallen away. Now, her brain buzzed, and it did it for one person: Sigrun.
ALWAYS CONNECT BACK TO YOUR PAST, IT’LL BE YOUR LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS, THE THING THAT CAN SHOW YOU THE PATH AHEAD
‘Meditations’ by Wilbur Paige
Sigrun laughed at the craziness of yesterday. She had saved a woman from stampeding cows and had gotten two kisses out of it. Afterwards she had wondered whether it had been a weird dream, only the mud on her trousers and tunic indicated it hadn’t been. She kind of wished that she could see Sonja again, have that drink together, but she didn’t know when she would turn up again, if she ever would. And at the moment she had some moving to do.
The inside of her home was shabby and messy: the wooden slats that made up the wagon were faded and peeling away, the rug on the floor had several hairs tufted out, the wardrobe door looked like it was about to fall off at any moment, the desk in the corner had so much dust over it, and the shelf on the left wall was slightly askew. But it was still her home, and it felt wrong to be packing it up like this. She didn’t even know whether all her stuff would fit in the wheelbarrow Sven had given her. She just would have to find out.
She started with the shelf, which held her mother’s books. They all had yellow-brown jackets with gold lettering on the spine. Most of it was filled up with volumes of ‘The History of the Wagon Train’. Her mother had gone out and spoken to the older people of the caravan to see if they knew any stories about how it had been founded. This meant going to the Keeper and some of the older Priests and Priestesses, because the Mission was the one that had ultimately founded the wagon train. Her mother pursued the whole endeavor with passion and exuberance, trying to write down every family the wagon train added, every fight the different people within had, and every major milestone that came about. It was a towering achievement for her mother, and the thing that had made her famous within the train. But they weren’t Sigrun’s favorite.
Sigrun’s favorite book was the thick book right at the end of the shelf. The gold lettering read ‘How Manang Ate The Sun, And Other Fables’. As a child, tucked up in bed with the covers up to Sigrun’s nose, her mother would read from this book. But it wasn’t just any reading. Her mother would narrate it with a dramatic voice, whenever the characters would speak she would give them a funny little accent, and when they would do some actions her mother would act them out herself.
Sigrun held the book reverentially. She smelt it, and even though it smelled like old dust it couldn’t help but transform into the smell of her mother, like sweet peaches. She felt a dull ache in her heart, and a tear ran down her cheek.
It still surprised her how much the pain of her mother’s death still affected her. She had been told time healed your wounds, which she found to be both true and untrue. Sure, the pain she felt about her mother wasn't as raw as the day she died - that had felt deep and scarring, like a black void that had swallowed her up - but neither was the pain fully gone. It was still deep down inside, and sometimes she would wake up feeling it like a weight. Those days would be the hardest to get through.
She carefully placed ‘How Manang Ate The Sun’ and the volumes of ‘The History of the Wagon Train’ in the wheelbarrow. The next place she went to for personal items were the drawers underneath the bed. In here she took out a square wooden box, which had an engraved title on the front: ‘The King’s Game’.
The boardgame was the only present she got from her father. They had played ‘The Kings Game’ together for many years. When her father played he didn't treat her like a child. He would play advanced tactics and moves, and when he resoundly beat her he would gloat. This would infuriate Sigrun, driving her to find any tactic in order for her to win. She would think about the games they had played, and experimented with different moves or strategies. Every time she got beaten again she would experiment some more. Eventually the work paid off.
One glorious afternoon, when Manang was high in the sky and the smell of flowers were within the air, Sigrun and her father had their final match. It was tense, and lasted several hours, but in the end she beat him, capturing his king. It was her time to gloat. He laughed and told her he was impressed. As a present for winning he said she could keep the game.
She placed ‘The Kings Game’ into the wheelbarrow. The next thing she took out of her drawer was a sword. After her parents died she was angry at the world, so she bought a sword. At night she would sneak within the Mission’s encampment to practice. At the time she didn’t know who she was going to fight. Her father, a big target of her anger because he had drifted away as soon as her mother had gotten sick, had already walked outside the wagon train and had frozen to death. Still, she felt like she wanted to attack or kill someone for taking away her mother. Thankfully, the process of trying to get better at sword fighting instilled a discipline within. This made the anger slowly dissipate. Unfortunately for her it was replaced by an empty feeling.
The final items from the drawer were two whiskey bottles. These, and the parties she attended, were the ways she had masked her empty feelings. Getting drunk, talking to people, and fucking, had been very good at getting rid of the numbness inside. How could you feel your life was going nowhere when you were blind drunk most of the time? Well after a few years she did actually start feeling it, but she couldn't think of anything else to do so kept on partying.
Now with the Jarl job she had a chance to change her life, and this new responsibility automatically gave her a purpose.
&nbs
p; She opened up the wardrobe, but decided to not take any of the clothes. None of them screamed Jarl material to her.
She turned back to the wheelbarrow. Books, a board game, a sword, and two whiskey bottles, that was the extent of her life. Seeing it all laid bare made her feel small. She imagined that many of the others at the feast that had wanted to be Jarl would have tonnes of treasures that would have needed several wheelbarrows. There’s would probably be filled with pendants, necklaces, swords, shields, furniture, and fine drinking glasses. Maybe when she was Jarl she would buy some for herself.
She looked around the wagon one last time, wiping the desk of dust, straightening the rug, and doing her bed. It now felt strangely empty, like the items she had taken out had also taken out the wagon’s soul. Sigrun was never going to see this place again, so she put her hand on the wood and said goodbye. She grabbed hold of the wheelbarrow handles, and pushed it out of the door.
IN REALITY THE SCROLLS ARE WRITTEN IN STORIES, TEACHINGS, AND MYTH. EVERY KEEPER HAS TO INTERPRET IT IN THEIR OWN WAY, AND TEACH THEIR INTERPRETATIONS TO THE MASSES
‘Diary of the Heretic Keeper’ by Unknown
Sonja stumbled through the Mission of Sol’s encampment in a daze. Her thoughts were on Sigrun: her blond hair and braid, her fierce face, her thick arms, and the two kisses. Her breath still caught a little thinking on them.
The light headedness and the feeling of euphoria slowly dimmed as she walked past the dormitory wagons and the training yard. Seeing Priests and Priestess in their yellow robes brought her back to the reality of the faith. The faithful would have called what she did with Sigrun a grave shadow. They would feel she was going against Sol with her wretched thoughts, and they would exile her. She could not have what she wanted in this encampment.
By the time she got to the yellow wood pews her thoughts had become bitter. What was so wrong with the feelings that she felt for Sigrun, how were they any less to the ones Priestesses had for farmers? Why did the fact that she was feeling it for someone of the same gender automatically make it come from Manang? It didn’t make sense in her eyes, but it had been so ingrained into the Acolytes from an early age that many would feel it made total sense.
It made her feel empty and dissatisfied. She could never be in the faith, they would never accept her.
Sonja walked up to the Keeper’s wagon, and found her friends waiting for her. Roose, Britta, and Teresa all had looks of concern, and rushed up to see how she was doing. Roose examined her robes, which were so caked full of mud that you could hardly see their yellow.
“What happened to you, Keeper?” Roose said.
Sonja gave her a strange glance, Keeper? And then she remembered why she ran away.
“We were worried about you,” Britta said, squeezing her arm. “We had feared your running away might have meant you didn’t want to be Keeper.”
Did she want to be Keeper? When it had been announced she felt she couldn’t be: she couldn’t compare to her mother’s leadership and she was too full of shadow. Nothing much had changed since she had run away really, but in a lot of ways it had. She had nearly died, she had met another woman, they had kissed, and it had all brought into her so clearly what she wanted.
Because all her thoughts while at the edge of the wagon train had been about how the faith gave her a sense of purpose, and she didn’t feel the jobs in the wider train would give her that. But the near death experience and the meeting with Sigrun had unlocked the desire to love who she wanted and to not be ashamed of that. She wanted to be both in the faith and to love women.
“It was all so much. I felt I had to think about it a lot,” she said to her friends.
“We understand,” Teresa said, giving her a caring smile. “It’s been an emotional time.”
“Have you thought about your decision then, are you going to be Keeper?” Britta asked, biting her lip.
Sonja looked at them all, beautiful Britta with the golden curls, thin and tall Roose with the smoky eyes, and short and dumpy Teresa with the kind smile. Would they really want her to be Keeper if she told them the truth, would the Mission? She didn’t totally think so, but would there be a way to change that? It felt that same sex love being wrong was a matter of being taught it, and if they were taught to hate it then surely they might be able to be taught to accept it? If she could teach them that someone that loved the same gender could still praise Sol and still be good, then they might just be able to change their attitude. And then she might be accepted for once. And there was only one way to change the teachings of the Mission.
“I have decided to accept the Keeper position,” she said.
Roose and Teresa exclaimed in joy, and hugged her. However Britta had a look of disappointment. It went away as soon as Sonja saw it, but she understood that Britta still felt that the Keeper job should have gone to her. Sonja wondered how she was going to deal with that.
“I won’t deny I’ve been worried whether another Keeper would come in and take away my job,” Britta said, giving her a fake smile.
Roose hit her in the arm. “It’s not about you.”
“It’s fine, I understand. But the exciting thing is that we can still work together. Though it also means you are going to have to follow my orders, whatever I say.”
“Tch, I can’t believe I’m going to be bossed by a youngster,” Teresa said, grinning.
“I’m sure the pupils would love to see the new Keeper,” Britta said, glancing behind her.
Sonja saw many Priests, Priestesses, and Acolytes hanging nearby. They looked like they were performing their jobs, but clearly they were listening in on the group's conversation. “I’m sure the whole Mission would like to as well. Probably the whole wagon train, just to see who they need to hate now.”
Britta frowned. “They’re all bunch of stupid shadow filled people. I don’t get why we tolerate them not being faithful to our commandments. This is our wagon train.”
She put a hand on her shoulder. “They are not all bad, they will see the light if we show it to them.”
Britta didn’t say anything but she didn’t look convinced.
“So are you going to be making a speech?” Teresa asked.
“I think before I do a lot of learning about the role is in order. I think I will read the scrolls, just to see if I can glean anything from them.”
“I would have thought you would have all the scrolls memorized by now,” Roose said.
“Well I have memorized the important ones, but none that I can remember say what the Keeper’s duties actually are. Besides, I want to look into something.” She clasped their shoulders and gave them all another hug. “You get on with your jobs, you don’t want to be hanging around me while I read.”
The inside of the Keeper’s wagon was still as dark as it had been that morning, when Sonja had stood in front of her mother’s coffin. The coffin wasn’t there anymore, and the painting had been moved to the glass cabinet on the right wall.
The cabinet contained urns, necklaces, and boxes from the significant Priestesses, Priests, and Keepers from the Mission’s history. The top half had rows of paintings of all the previous Keepers, most of them looked as leaderly and wise as her mother. Sonja wondered whether her painting would look just as regal and benevolent, and realized it was kind of crazy that she was going to get a painting, that she actually decided to be Keeper.
The only light that could be seen in the wagon came from the Sol Shard, a deep orange glow. She stared at the shard, wanting to touch it. This was hers to keep and protect. She wondered if she touched it whether she would feel Sol herself.
She shook her head, she had too much to do to stand and stare at the Sol Shard. Since she was the new Keeper it was her job to make sure this area was brightly lit, the rule of the Keeper’s wagon was that no shadow was allowed to be cast. She took out a match from a drawer and lit every torch and candle within. Every torch banished a large area of gloom, while each candle cast out the little shadows in the gaps between. S
oon it was so bright it hurt Sonja’s eyes to look at any one part of the wagon.
Once she was done, she went to the glass cabinet that stood on the left. In here, placed neatly on glass shelves, were many scrolls rolled up in mahogany wood. These were the sacred scrolls, the foundation of the Mission of Sol. They had been written by Keeper Joan, who had wanted all the faith’s teachings, stories, and history recorded. This was to make sure the tenants and commandments of their faith could be solidified and made permanent.
However, only the Keeper and the Head Teacher were allowed to see the scrolls. This meant that the solidified grounding sometimes shifted depending on the Keeper. Her mother’s teaching had been obsessed with purity. She banned drinking alcohol, and eating meat - though some rumors said this was more because the Mattsons refused to give them any meat - and drilled into every acolyte the importance of keeping any kind of shadow out of your lives. It was these teachings which had made Sonja feel miserable, and why she grew distanced from her mother near the end.
She opened up the glass case, and scanned the gold lettering on the wood. She wanted to read the scrolls that would tell her why being gay was a shadow. If she could see the faithful’s reasoning she might have more of an idea of what she could do to change people’s minds. And if the scrolls said categorically that it was a shadow and no one should change their mind, then she finally had her answer on whether to stay in the faith. But she doubted it would be that concrete.
The scrolls’ wisdom usually came from speeches of important faithful, or from stories. A lot of time in class Sonja wouldn’t always understand what these stories or speeches were trying to say, until a teacher would tell them how it related to this action or that shadow. Sometimes she questioned whether these passages really meant what the teacher said, but since she couldn’t read the scrolls at the time she had to take their word for it. Now she could actually check them.
