“So be it. I’ve got nothing to prove to you,” he said.
And he jumped.
Chapter 34
As he plummeted downward, he could see the raging river below, frothy white. For a fleeting moment, he thought of the hands that were supposed to catch him. Then with a bone-wracking jolt, he plunged into the churning water. He tumbled in the maelstrom, powerless against the force of the current. He didn’t try to get to shore. He rode the torrent, gasping for air, fighting to keep his head above water as the river carried him toward town. He had to get to the Temple before Morgan. He had to talk to Aldwyn.
He let the water take him. He became one with the flow, giving himself up to the power of the river. Then hands were groping for him and he was hauled to shore. He lay on the bank, heaving with exhaustion. When finally he caught his breath, he looked up to see a man he recognized, but could not recall his name. His four sons stood behind him.
The man gasped. “You are Kiran,” he said and dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “We have awaited your return, Blessed One.”
Kiran managed to sit up.
The four sons followed their father to their knees. “Bless you,” the man spoke with head bowed. “When the rains came, we knew the Great Father had not forsaken us. Bless you. Bless you! You have saved the village.”
“No, no,” Kiran shook his head.
“And now, at the harvest moon, you have returned.” He nudged one of his sons. “Norbert, run ahead to the village and tell the Elders the Seventh has come.” The boy stared at Kiran, mouth agape. “Do it now,” the man ordered. The boy jumped to his feet and took off running.
No, this is all a mistake, Kiran wanted to say, but something stopped him. The boys were staring at him with bright young eyes. He shook his head. He had to get to Aldwyn; he’d know what to do. Kiran tried to stand, but pain shot up his leg.
“Give him a hand,” the farmer told his sons. Two of them lifted Kiran to his feet.
“I must get to the Temple.”
The third son nodded and ran to the barn. He returned with a hay cart. “We’ll take you.”
Kiran thanked him and sat down on the back of the cart. His feet dragged on the ground as it bumped along the road to town. Tall grasses swayed in the breeze, sparkling with dew. Birds swooped in the air, bees buzzed on the wind. The valley looked reborn, fresh and alive, as if there had never been a drought at all. Nothing was as he remembered; yet it was exactly the same.
On the far hillside, sheep grazed, as lazily as any other day. Among them was a shepherd girl. Kiran took the tiny doll from his pocket, wrung the water from it, and ran his fingers along the face. What am I going to do? he thought. What could he say, how could he possibly explain? Artus was right; they’d never believe him. It would only cause him grief and worse, banishment. Maybe that was what he deserved all along. Maybe it was right that he should be punished, to atone for it all.
He squeezed the doll in his hands and fought back tears. I should have stayed with you. He had the impulse to jump off the cart and sprint into the woods, to find a way back to her. But running wasn’t the answer.
From his pack he took the container of salt, dumped its contents on the ground, then tucked the doll safely inside. His destiny was here. He owed it to Roh. He owed it to himself. No matter what, he had to tell the truth. But how?
The cart turned a corner and the valley spread before him. The Temple dominated the landscape, the tiny village lost in its shadow. How different from the city, he thought, with its diversity of buildings and people.
On the road ahead, a crowd of villagers was approaching, shouting with glee. “Praise the Father! He’s come!”
Kiran rose from the cart and limped forward to greet them, trying to figure out what to do, what to say. Followers knelt at his feet and wept with joy. Wide-eyed children gathered round, reaching out to touch him. “Kiran! Kiran!” they chanted. Then more voices joined in, surrounding him with praise. People came out of their doors to see, chanting his name. Before long, there were so many people, he couldn’t get through. He glanced back toward the Sanctuary on the Mount, then toward the village.
“I must get to the Temple,” he said.
Before he realized what was happening, he was swept up in their arms and raised to their shoulders. “Praise Kiran, the Chosen One!” they shouted as they carried him along. The crowd swelled and he felt like he was back on the sea, riding the crest of a wave. Amid the sound of his own name, he was carried right to the front steps of the Temple. The door swung open and three Elders stumbled toward him with expressions of disbelief. “It’s true,” Elder Beryl stammered and dropped to his knees.
Elder Cenewyg grasped at the Pyletar at his neck. “The Seventh Elder,” he whispered. His mouth went slack. Elder Markin’s eyes grew wide and he turned and disappeared through the doorway.
“Praise the Father! The One has returned! Praise the Father! The One has returned!” the people cheered. Kiran pushed through the mob, trying to escape the chanting.
Someone grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around, and whispered in his ear, “If you are wise, you’ll mind your tongue. Choose your words carefully.” Kiran drew back to look into the clear, cogent eye of Old Horan. Kiran nodded and as he started to turn away, he caught sight of Morgan coming down the road, staring right at him.
The bells rang out above—ding-dong-ong-ong-ong, ding-dong-ong-ong. Morgan glanced up at the bell tower, then back to Kiran, his eyes lit with a burning hatred.
Kiran spun around. To Elder Beryl he said, “Aldwyn, where’s Aldwyn?”
Elder Beryl’s face fell. “I’m afraid—”
“Where is he?”
“He’s in the garden.”
Kiran ran through the Temple chamber and out the back door. He found Aldwyn slumped on a bench. “Aldwyn!” he cried as he ran toward him. Aldwyn barely raised his head. “What’s happened? Are you all right?” Aldwyn made no response. The left side of his face was slack. His left eye drooped and drool seeped from his lip. Kiran’s knees went weak and he slumped onto the bench beside him.
Then he saw her. Kalindria was coming down the path, a cup in her hand. Kiran drew in a breath. He looked to Aldwyn, then to Kalindria, then back to Aldwyn again.
She stopped a few paces away, her mouth dropped open, and the cup slipped from her fingers. “Kiran,” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.
He rose to face her. “I knew it was you.”
She nodded, tears in her eyes. “How? How did you know?”
“My heart told me.” He took her in his arms and held her tight.
The back door of the Temple swung open and the chanting spilled into the garden. She pulled away and brushed a curl from his eyes. “They are calling for you?”
He nodded. “How did you get back here?”
“A friend came for me. We’ve been back a few days. But that is a story for another day. Is Bria with you?”
His stomach clenched. “No,” he shook his head. “I…she…I have a lot to tell you as well.” He turned back to Aldwyn. “What’s happened to him?”
“I don’t know. It was before I returned. One morning, when he did not arrive at the Temple, someone was sent to his home. He was found like this.”
Kiran knelt on the ground in front of Aldwyn. “Does he know what’s happening? Does he know it’s me?” He fought back tears.
“I’m not sure. I think so.”
“Aldwyn, it’s me. It’s Kiran.” Aldwyn jerked back as though trying to wake from a bad dream and Kiran thought he saw a hint of awareness in his ancient eyes.
Ding-dong-ong-ong-ong. Ding-dong-ong-ong, the bells rang, then echoed across the valley, bidding all come. The chanting of the villagers grew louder. “Praise the Father! The One has returned!”
Kiran took hold of Aldwyn’s hand and searched his eyes. He seemed to be laughing and crying at the same time. “Aldwyn, I need you. I don’t know what to do.” He leaned closer. “I don’t know how to tell you this. Aldwyn, it
’s not as you thought. I got there. I made it to the edge of the world. There is no—”
Aldwyn squeezed his hand, a flash of warning in his eyes.
Startled, Kiran turned around and saw Elder Beryl coming down the garden path. He was beckoning Kiran with a wave.
Kiran turned back to Aldwyn and whispered, “I need your help.”
“All is ready. Your followers await,” said Elder Beryl, lowering his eyes as he approached.
Kiran glanced at Aldwyn, then back to Elder Beryl. “All is ready for what?”
“For the ceremony, of course.”
Kiran looked to Kalindria. She had no response.
Elder Beryl took Aldwyn by the arm and helped him to his feet. “Let’s hurry now,” he said.
Kiran took hold of Aldwyn’s other arm and together they walked him to the Temple. Kiran struggled to gather his thoughts, grasping for what to do. When they stepped through the door, the chanting grew louder, “Praise the Father! The One has returned!” Kiran’s knees started to shake. He glanced around, looking for an escape.
He shuffled Aldwyn into the scroll room and sat him on a stool. “I’d like a moment with Aldwyn,” he said to Elder Beryl. “Alone.”
The Elder hesitated. “But your congregation awaits.”
“I understand,” Kiran said as he closed the door.
He paced across the tiny room and back, wringing his hands, then stopped and faced Aldwyn. “What am I going to do?”
Aldwyn made no response.
Kiran dragged a stool to the wall, jumped up on top of it, and gazed through the crack. The Temple was filled with villagers chanting his name. He ran his hands through his hair, grabbed a handful, and tugged in frustration. He jumped down from the stool. “All right. I can figure this out.” His gaze fell on the tiny pile of scrolls. “There has to be something here,” he said and reached for one.
A hoarse grating noise came from deep in Aldwyn’s throat. It sounded like someone calling from the hollow depths of an old well, dry from drought.
“What? What is it? Tell me,” Kiran begged.
With an excruciatingly slow effort, Aldwyn raised his right hand and motioned in the air.
“What is it?” Kiran sat on the stool next to him. “What are you trying to tell me?” He searched Aldwyn’s eyes. “Please, I need your help. Don’t you see? It’s all been a mistake. There is no Seventh Elder. There is no Voice of the Father. I was still seeking. I thought I was on the other side of the world. Then I ended up in the Sanctuary. How do I tell them? How can I tell them the truth? I’ll be banished like Javin. I’ll be shunned. Aldwyn, Elder Morgan threatened me!”
Aldwyn’s eyes flared and he trembled.
Kiran took hold of his arm, afraid the old man would fall from the stool.
Aldwyn brought his right hand, shaking as he lifted it, to rest on Kiran’s heart.
“My heart? Listen to my heart? I’m trying Aldwyn. But, I can’t go out there and face them. What will I say? Listen to that.” He gestured toward the door. The chanting was growing louder. “They think I’ve succeeded!”
Aldwyn’s eyes flickered. His hand dropped to the table and he dragged his finger across the surface.
“What? Are you writing? Are you trying to write something?” Kiran took the candle from the wall and brought it to the table. In the dust, was the letter V.
“V? V -what?”
Aldwyn moved his hand in a circular motion, forming an O.
“V -O… The Voice?”
Aldwyn slumped, the hint of a smile in the curve of his lip.
“But I told you.” Kiran clenched his teeth in frustration. “Aldwyn, there is no Voice.”
Aldwyn lifted his hand once more to Kiran’s chest and tapped, determination in his eyes.
“But you don’t understand.” Kiran shook his head. It was no use. Aldwyn was a mere shadow of his former self.
Kiran was on his own.
There was a knock at the door.
Kiran opened the door to Elder Beryl standing before him dressed in his finest robe. “The time has come,” he whispered. He gestured to two young men behind him who entered the room and helped Aldwyn to his feet.
Kiran took a deep breath, nodded, and followed him to the Temple chamber.
The chanting reverberated through the Temple. “Praise the Father! The One has returned!”
The Elders were lined up, waiting in the wing. Elder Morgan had donned the special robes and stood with his arms crossed, the skin on his red face pulled so taut it looked as though it were about to burst.
Elder Beryl nudged Kiran from behind.
“I don’t see Elder Wregan. We can’t start without him,” he whispered, trying to stall.
“Elder Wregan was killed two days ago.”
“Killed?”
“Javinians must have gotten to him.” His hand went to his neck. “His throat was slit.”
“His throat slit? Is that common with the Javinians?”
He shrugged. “Who else would want him dead?”
Kiran’s mouth fell open. A friend came for me, she had said.
“Don’t you worry about that now. Your followers await,” the Elder urged, gesturing for Kiran to move forward.
Elder Cenewyg took Kiran’s pack from his back and set it down in the corner. Elder Markin placed a white tunic over Kiran’s head and pulled it down to fit. Then Elder Beryl took him by the arm and led him to the edge of the platform to face the congregation.
At once, the room fell silent and all eyes were on him. His heart beat heavy in his chest. His throat went dry. A lone voice rang out, “Praise Kiran!” The sound of his own name reverberated through his body like a haunting echo. I’m not worthy! he wanted to shout back.
Elder Cenewyg appeared before him, holding a vest made of the highest quality sheepskin, fashioned together with twisted linen. The Elder fastened it to Kiran, tightening it around his chest until he could barely breathe. Next, he placed the Pyletar pendant around his neck. Kiran stared at it, feeling nothing. So many times when he was a child, he had imagined standing here, accepting the vestments. He was to be ecstatic, filled with joy. Instead, his knees wouldn’t stop shaking.
Elder Beryl approached, the robe in his arms. It was made of pure white wool, hemmed at the collar and the edge of the hood with a floral motif embroidered with purple and scarlet yarn. He and Elder Markin lifted the cloak and placed it on Kiran’s shoulders. It felt heavy on his shoulders. The scent of wool filled his nostrils and he shuddered; he couldn’t breath.
The congregation watched, waiting. He wiped the sweat from his brow and an icy chill came over him. Aldwyn had been trying to tell him something. Something… That something haunted him, the answer just beyond his grasp, as elusive as a firefly on a warm autumn night.
He knelt at the altar and stared into the candle’s flame, hoping for inspiration as the smoke carried his whispered pleas skyward. High above, at the cusp of darkness, a spider crawled along the rafter. Kiran watched, his mind numb with anguish, as it inched downward on a silken strand, glistening in the candlelight. Did she ever question the Truth? he wondered.
Truth, he thought now. The word itself had lost all meaning.
Kiran swallowed hard. The villagers waited, as though collectively holding their breath. He stared out into the sea of faces, saw their eyes lit with reverent bliss, and he knew, sure as he breathed, that in those eyes was the answer. In every set of eyes he had encountered—the Lendhi, the Kotari, the Widhu, even in the monkey-men next to the waterfall—he had seen the same hope, the same faith. He had seen it in Kail’s eyes when she refused to leave the Guardian; he had seen it in Roh’s eyes when he had told Kiran to go on, to persevere. He knew it was a part of them like the sun was integral to the day.
All he’d ever wanted was to belong, to be accepted. He breathed in deeply, trying to slow his racing heart. What was he going to say? What would he tell them?
Artus was right.They’ll never believe ME.
A
wisp of wind crept across the altar. The candle’s flame wavered a moment. Then it sparked back to life in a burst of light and Kiran knew what he must do. Somehow, deep in the recesses of his mind, he had always known. As if someone else had made the decision long ago, as if it wasn’t his own. As if it were already destined.
Kiran closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and made one last glance skyward. In the shadows above, the spider carried on, weaving her own destiny.
He rose to his feet, went to his rucksack, and pulled out the box that held the codex. Morgan’s eyes narrowed. Kiran turned back toward the congregation, set the box on the altar, and removed the book.
The Temple pulsed with hushed anticipation. He lifted his eyes. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple.
He held the book out before him and read aloud.
And the people heard the Voice of the Father.
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The Dark Rift
Book Two of The Fallen Shadow Trilogy
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Author’s Note
Every extraordinary geographic and environmental phenomenon described in this book actually occurs on Earth. Argillite sediment, when freed by heavy rains, can turn river water blood red. In the Amazon jungle, howler monkeys incite terror with howls that can be heard for miles.
The whitewater rafting came from my own experience, but a friend was in the Grand Canyon during the rare occurrence of a thunderstorm and the ensuing flood. His video and testimony inspired my description.
The descriptions of the various cultures Kiran encountered are compilations of behaviors and beliefs from different real world cultures, modern and historical. The Toran village was inspired by the story of the Greenland Norse as presented by Jared Diamond in his book, Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed. At an isolated trading post, the people failed to adapt to the habitat, were in constant conflict with the natives, held on to their cultural traditions regardless of their practicality, and held a taboo of eating from the sea. The fictional Toran village is also an example of how some historical societies collapsed due to poor farming practices, which caused erosion and localized drought.
The Path to the Sun (The Fallen Shadows Trilogy) Page 37