by
Marc H. Wyman & Chris Bogues
Caltraya
sat on an outcropping over a field and threw a pebble down. It fell on a a
patch of blue grass. Often had she wondered why some of the grass here was
blue when it was green almost everywhere else. (Except for that purplish
grass growing a mile off, near the burrows of the manlings. But that grass
grew to her shoulders, so it wasn’t really grass, was it?) Had the gods
disagreed on what the proper color was?
“No,”
she frowned and dropped the pebbles she held in her other hand. Slowly she
got to her feet, brushed her dark red dress down. “I never thought of it
that way,” she said to herself as she wandered down from the outcropping
to the village green.
Before,
she had thought that the gods must have had a special reason for the blue
grass, one that a mere villager like her could never understand. It had
seemed so right, like everything else about her existence. The gods had
made her, they had made the village and all her friends there. The same
was true of the manlings, of the creatures in the air and on the greens
– like the deer that cautiously grazed several hundred feet away from
her. Something as perfect as all of this, how could there have been
disagreement?
Yet
Caltraya had learned something new three days ago. She had seen how gods
were admonished by another. The good lady Alyssa had been forced to bow
before Decirius. Against her will she had been forced to leave the village
and return to her abode.
The
memory hurt her, as if the world had come apart in that moment. In a way,
it had. But Caltraya wasn’t sure what that way was, and how her life had
changed.
The
village wasn’t as perfect as it had been before. Several houses had been
destroyed by the goddess Koultirsp. The people living there had been
burned to death. The day after they had come back home, from the place
where their death had put them, and they had thought that their houses
would have been restored, the same way it had happened every time before.
Only
that the houses were still ruins. Voldert had asked Caltraya if he could
stay at her home until the gods rebuilt his. She had agreed, cautiously
so. It was strange sharing one’s house with somebody else. Voldert was a
nice fellow, and she liked being near him. Yet to have him sleep under the
same roof? Eat every meal with him?
To
be honest, that was the reason why she had come to the village green. Her
house felt so small with Voldert present. Out here, the world still looked
as she knew it. That was reassuring, even though she felt very different.
Why
had none of the gods repaired the damages? Why had none of them spoken to
them through the blue flame in the plaza? The villagers had convened there
for worship as they had always done. (Caltraya hadn’t mentioned the
events of that night, so they had no cause for worry. None except for the
still smouldering houses.) Most of the time, a god would answer. Sometimes
one from the abode of Decirius, sometimes one from another abode. They all
deserved equal worship, all five of the abodes that she knew.
Voldert
said that there were more abodes than that. He’d spoken often with
Lonapal, the bright God of the Games. When she’d first heard about this,
she had wondered why those other abodes never spoke to the villagers.
Didn’t they like their creatures?
“What
has become of me?” Caltraya shook her head sadly, then sank to her knees
and looked up to the perfectly blue sky. “I am questioning the gods!
Please, oh great creators, strike me down now for I am failing my faith in
you! Please!”
The
words echoed emptily into the air. The deer looked up in sudden fright,
then rushed off to the forest. There was no answer. Caltraya was alone.
Alone.
Tears
started forming in her eyes. How could she be alone? The gods were always
by her side, weren’t they? The villagers were not supposed to ever be
alone!
“Please,”
she whispered. “Show yourself.”
Nothing
happened. Not even a wind that would start bending the grass, twirl up her
hair. No sign from the gods.
Caltraya
huddled down, pressed her arms against her legs and prayed with all her
devotion to Alyssa that she would show herself. She had been so nice to
her, she had called her Callie. Yes, she wanted to speak to Alyssa.
The good lady would explain to her what had happened, and she would put
things to right.
“Except
that she can’t.”
Caltraya
bit on her lip. Why had she spoken those words? How dared she doubt the
omnipotence of the gods? Perhaps that night had only been a test of her
faith! And she was failing.
That
had to be the truth. The gods were testing the villagers. Yes, that was
the only explanation.
Then
why didn’t she believe in that? Was her faith weakened that much?
She
couldn’t return to the village like this. The others were still waiting
for the gods to come back. They still went to their hours of worship,
praying as if nothing had happened. There was no reason why they
shouldn’t. If this was a test of faith, then they were doing exactly
what the gods wanted.
But
she no longer had that faith. It could be that she had been chosen for a
special test.
She
had to learn more. Had the gods shown themselves to the other beings in
this world? What about the manlings? Caltraya had been to their burrows
only once, a long time ago. The curious little beings had been likable
enough, but her place was in the village.
Voldert
would not understand her doubts. Maybe the manlings wouldn’t ask why she
had left her home.
“I
shouldn’t doubt you,” she spoke to the sky, hoping in vain for an
answer.
Finally
she shook her head, wiped the tears from her eyes and set out in the
direction of the manling burrows.
She
didn’t know what else to do.
She
was alone.
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