2: Death Of A Dream (Patreon)

Aliscia grasped Vir’s shoulders and stared at him with her hazel eyes. “Even if you are prana  scorned, what of it? I don’t have any affinities myself and I manage  just fine, don’t I? Vir, there are many paths through life, even for  those who aren’t good at magic,” she said with the warm smile of a  mother.

“Well sure, but magic makes things easier.” Magic gets you respect. “Don’t you wish you had an affinity, Aliscia aunty?”

“Wishes do not  make dreams come true. But you know what does? Hard work,” she said,  handing him his broom. “Chin up, Vir. And be sure to see Maiya later.  She has a surprise planned for you,” Aliscia said with a wink.

A surprise? Vir thought. He was already growing excited thinking about Maiya’s gift, despite himself.

Vir resolved to overcome this setback. He had no idea how, but he would. He just somehow knew.

“And for the millionth time, I’m not your aunt!” Aliscia huffed as she stood up to leave.

“Yes, aunty,” said Vir with a sly smile.

The Magic Clock on the wall pinged again. Only forty-five more minutes until congregation. He was late, and he had a lot of work to do.

First came the  lighting. He picked up his lantern and went around lighting the candles  placed all around the temple, the ancient wooden floorboards creaking  underfoot.

Magic Lamps were  safer, of course, but Apramor always said that there was a quality to  real fire that magic could never replace. Vir liked the thought, even if  he knew the priest was just being considerate.

Ping! The Magic Clock showed only a half hour left.

Vir finished  lighting the incense sticks in front of the tarnished altars of the  gods, filling the temple with the soothing smell of sandalwood. He put  fresh flower garlands on the icons of the gods, then swept the floor  clean with practiced efficiency. Ten minutes.

Last came the  faded cushions, which he placed all around the room on the floor. The  temple was devoid of any chairs, but Vir found these lounging cushions  more comfortable, anyway. He finished the task with five minutes to  spare.

Apramor appeared from his private room just as Vir was finishing up with the cushions and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I heard…”

Vir had finally distracted himself from the results of his magic test, but now his mood came crashing down once again.

“I shall offer  you no words of comfort, for I know they will not help you,” the priest  said. “Instead, I hope you listen carefully to today’s sermon. It may  very well contain the answer to your plight.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. I doubt it.

The priest took a moment to gaze at his handiwork.

“Fine job, as always, Vir. I appreciate your help.”

“Of course, sir. It’s my pleasure.”

“Tis your pleasure, is  it? I see that my daughter’s been rubbing off on you,” Apramor  chuckled. “Now, settle in. I think you will enjoy this,” he said. Vir  was sure he saw a glint in the priest’s eyes.

Villagers had  already filtered in, and the silent temple filled with hushed chatter.  Some greeted Apramor. Others took their seats and prayed. All looked  away the moment they saw Vir, which reminded him to flip up the hood on  his cloak.

“Apramor, why do you continue to employ that Ashborn child?” a villager said.

Mr. Akros.  Always nosy. Always angry. This wasn’t the first time the irate villager  had voiced his concerns, and Vir was sure it wouldn’t be the last time  either.

“It’s… it’s unholy!” Akros whispered. “My son is far more suitable. I can have him start on the morrow. Just say the word, Apramor. Please!”

Vir ignored  the man and climbed up a wooden post near the back, using footholds he’d  made years ago. This was his spot, where the musky scent of incense  wafted up to, satisfying his nose. A bird’s nest, of sorts.

From here, he  saw the copper idols of the gods. He saw Apramor’s lectern, and  moreover, he was above the crowd. From up here, no eyes judged him. For  these precious few moments, he felt ordinary. He felt like he belonged.

“And would  your boy show up as regularly as the sun’s cycles?” Apramor said with  priestly patience. “Would he arrive an hour before dawn to help me day  after day, week after week? Hmm?”

Akros scratched his neck and looked off into the distance, breaking eye contact with the priest. “W-Well, he’s just a boy, after all. He may miss a day or two, but I assure you  he’s as devout as anyone in Brij! Certainly more than the Ashborn. That  boy’s not even a believer!”

“You will never find religion in a perfectly clean soul, Akros. You would know that, wouldn’t you…”

Silence. Vir  thought he saw a trace of guilt flash across the man's face, but he knew  better. Akros would never feel bad about demeaning him. Right?

“Please take  your seat,” Apramor continued, “And know that I do not seek devotion in  my assistants. I require only dedication. Vir has not missed a single  day in all the years he’s served me. He is one of us, and he is irreplaceable. That is my final say on this matter.”

Vir’s chest  filled with warm pride at Apramor’s words. He only wished he could’ve  preserved Akros’ expression at that moment. It gave him great joy to see  the mean man knocked down a peg. That it happened in public only made  it taste even sweeter.

“One of us...” Akros murmured to himself, though Vir knew not why.

Apramor turned  his back to the man and strode up the wooden dais where his lectern was  located, in front of the idols of the gods. The hushed murmurs  quietened, leaving the ancient temple in silence for a good half minute.  Then he spoke.

“Today, I  narrate the tale of Janak the Wise. Though he may not be as renowned as  the likes of Adinat or Haymi, I find his story nonetheless profound.”

Vir wasn’t  expecting this. He’d long ago memorized Apramor’s adventures of the gods  that took them to wonderful places Vir could scarcely even imagine. He  often put himself in their shoes, pretending it was him going on those adventures.

But he could  never truly relate. Every god of legend was celebrated and loved by all.  Even the antagonists. Vir was anything but.

Though he  hadn’t yet heard Janak’s story. Would this tale be any different from  all the others? Vir leaned forward on the edge of the rafter he perched  upon, hoping to absorb every word.

“The legends  often portray Janak as a wise philosopher king, and this is true. Having  ascended past worldly desires, he thought only of his adopted daughter,  Siya. But few know the trials and tribulations he faced in his early  years, before he became a god. When he was called Janak the Desperate.”

Hushed whispers broke out through the temple. “Janak the Desperate!? I’ve never heard of this! Wasn’t he always a god?”

“Janak began  as a mortal man. A king of men, but a mortal nonetheless,” Apramor’s  voice filled every cobwebbed nook of the holy place. “Even as a ruler,  Lord Janak sought to understand the workings of our world. His ideas  promised to transform society, but his people deemed his efforts  frivolous and wasteful. ‘Why question Adinat’s gifts?’ they said. ‘Why not be content with what we have?’”

The priest commanded every gaze within the temple at that moment.

“At his wit’s  end, Janak grew desperate. Though his people never accepted his social  reformations, he persisted. It was a path foreign to his people. His  ideas went against their beliefs. But he knew that to be content was to  stagnate. And Janak wanted only to progress. Through time and toil, his  unrelenting effort swayed their opinions.”

Apramor’s voice grew louder and more vigorous as he spoke.

“Time and time  again, Lord Janak proved his worth to all! His ideas blossomed through  the land and ushered a golden age upon humanity. And for his efforts,  Adinat himself awarded Janak the honor of godhood!”

He paused to look up at Vir, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, nodded ever so slightly at him.

“This is the  true story of Janak. The story of one who knew failure. Who endured to  find his own path through the darkness. Who, in the end, shone light  upon his people and was loved by all…”

Vir understood. Sure, Janak may have been born with a silver spoon, but he threw  everything away to pursue his own path. Vir wondered how Janak had  mustered the courage to take his first step.

When the priest spoke again, his voice thundered through the temple.

“The gods have  chosen our destiny, but the responsibility is ours to pursue it through  its many twists and turns. We will stumble. We will fall. There will be  those who mock us when we inevitably fail.”

Apramor locked eyes with Vir again. The intensity of the priest’s expression sent shivers down the young man’s back.

“But know this! There is no effort without failure. Know that it is not the critic who counts!

Only those who try and fail, again and again…

Who pick themselves back up after they fall…

Who persist, despite their flaws and many shortcomings…

It is they who  shall remain when all others abandon the path! It is they who attain  the towering heights unimaginable by the common man!

So that their place shall never be among those cold and timid souls, who know neither victory, nor defeat.”

The temple had  gone so silent that Vir wondered whether the audience had asphyxiated.  Because Vir almost had. Apramor’s every word felt like it carried the  overwhelming weight of centuries of experience. It resonated with his  very soul.

Prana scorned? So what? He’d find a way around it. Ashborn? Good. He’d use that to his advantage, too. He would persist. He would endure. And in enduring, he would grow strong.

Apramor let out a deep breath, as if clearing the heavy air that weighed down the halls of the temple.

“In closing,  let us give praise to the gods who bless us so. To Adinat, for creating  this world we enjoy. And of course, to Yuma, for giving her lifeblood to  our precious forest.”

“Might‘s well pray to Badrak too!” Someone quipped, breaking the tension and prompting a round of chuckles from the villagers.

“Truth. Wouldn’t mind a bit o’ luck with all this talk of Kin’jals and war and whatnot.”

“Here he’ere!”

After a last  prayer to the gods, Apramor dismissed the congregation, and the  villagers filtered out one by one. Vir waited until most of them had  left, then sneaked down and began putting away the cushions. Apramor  watched on in silence until Vir finished.

“Did you find today’s congregation useful, Vir?” the priest asked with a knowing look.

“I know why you chose today to tell Janak’s story,” Vir said. “I dunno how you knew, but I needed this.Thank you.”

“I am relieved,” Apramor replied, his deep-set eyes twinkling. “Celebrate this day, Vir. You only come of age once, after all.”

“Maybe. Father doesn’t really like making a scene, though.”

Apramor’s  gentle expression melted into a frown. “Hold your head high, Vir. Ignore  the others. Your eyes and your complexion do not make you any less than  the rest of us. Like Janak, you merely have your own path to follow.  You need only to find it!”

“Thank you,  sir,” Vir replied, but he knew that being accepted by the village would  take a monumental feat. It wouldn’t happen soon, that was for sure. Not  unless something cataclysmic happened first.

The priest rummaged through his robe. “That reminds me, I almost forgot to—”

“Moooooorning.”  The priest was interrupted by a girl with flowing red hair who’d  tottered into the temple. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and  precariously balanced a small brown box in the other.

“You look like you just got out of bed, Maiya!” Vir laughed.

“S’cuz I did,” she replied with a yawn. “Here. For you.” Maiya thrust the box toward Vir.

He reached out and grabbed the package before it could fall. “What’s this?” He asked, hefting the weighty item.

“Your birthday cake! Was up all night baking it for you,” she said with another enormous yawn.

“What! You baked me a cake!?” he said with a cracked voice. “I mean, I couldn’t have—I… Maiya, I’ve never even had a cake for my birthday. With the famine going on, this is—”

The girl cut off his words with a hug, leaving Vir awkwardly balancing the cake while she embraced him.

“Happy Birthday, Vir. I know it isn’t much, but feel better?”

“How did you… Is it that obvious?” He’d never understood how his best friend could read him so well.

Maiya didn’t respond. She just hugged him tighter.

Maiya… “Thank you so much,” he managed. Something cold and wet rolled down his cheek. He hid his face, embarrassed.

With the  famine, food costs had gone through the roof. Not even Apramor had this  kind of coin to spare. It truly was an extravagant gift.

“Why don’t you  two run along and enjoy that cake? I’ll wrap up here,” Apramor said.  “Oh, and as I was saying before my daughter so rudely interrupted, here  you are, Vir. This week’s payment.”

Vir took the bag of Imperium coppers from Apramor. Heavy, he thought. “This is too much, sir.”

“My birthday gift to you. You’re officially an adult now, Vir. You have earned this.”

Maiya grabbed  Vir’s hand, all traces of her sleepiness gone. “Let’s go, Vir! You’re  helping your old man in the woods today, aren’t you? I’ll tag along! And  I wanna know how the cake is. No lying and saying it’s good when it’s  not, you hear?”

Vir nodded, smiling. “Of course, Maiya,” he lied. He’d never say it was bad, even if it was.

No matter how  much the others disliked him, he could always rely on Maiya and her  family to welcome him. And Rudvik. That was enough.

Maiya rushed out of the temple, dragging Vir behind her as he gingerly balanced the cake box.

“And they’re off,” Aliscia said, having emerged from the back room.

“You shouldn’t encourage him, Lisci,” said Apramor.

His wife tilted her head. “Meaning?”

“That boy will never know magic,” the priest said. “I only pray the day comes when he realizes he doesn’t need it.”

Aliscia shook  her head. “What he needs now is hope, Apra. If you squash his dreams, I  fear you will rob him of something precious. Something irreplaceable.”

Apramor gazed at Vir’s back, his lips taut. “I’m afraid I’ve seen dreams die far too many times to place my faith in hope.”