A loud shuffle in the stairway caused Thura to quickly open her eyes in a panic and hastily grab the platter of food. She should have already been out of the council room long ago instead of watching the madness along the Monon. But as she placed her hand on the door to open it into the main council room, two men entered and sat at the long, dark hardwood table. Thura’s heart began to race. The young woman leaned against the door and heard Father Prodido’s voice.
Father Prodido was the key religious leader of Patrida and the sole visionary behind the town’s construction. While he was not the prominent leader, the tall, gaunt, intimidating man was the council’s central guiding figure with his strict, nearly unrealistic idealism. The religious leader believed a community’s righteousness was predicated by following clear rules of morality. In that way, each citizen would experience freedom and avoid God’s judgment.
Each servant of Patrida, which was every non-married girl from thirteen to twenty-three years of age, was regularly instructed to stay clear of Father Prodido and not be caught in the same room with him under any circumstance. No one knew the reason for this strict provision, but some speculated that he wanted to avoid the appearance of impropriety. Others were convinced he must have been hurt by someone close to him long ago, like his mother or a lost love.
Either way, Thura understood the consequences of disobeying this particular demand. Father Prodido caught the last young woman who served with Thura loitering in the council room several times when he arrived for a council meeting. At first, he reprimanded her publicly at Sanctuary for insubordination. The second time, he had her whipped at the gallows. The third and final time, he had her hung as the entire town watched, including the children.
Thura could have attempted to humbly and apologetically walk through the council room and pray Father Prodido would disregard her first indiscretion. But the truth was that she did not want to leave the room. While fear was a factor keeping her behind the slightly cracked door, Thura’s curiosity of the prisoner produced an even stronger feeling within her.
Thura knew there was a chance the prisoner could very well pose a threat to Patrida. But there was also an equal chance he represented something else entirely for her. Freedom. Having only known the heavy-handed rule of Patrida her entire life, the thought of running away, even though Thura did not know what that meant, produced an indescribable feeling within her. All she knew was that she longed for something else, for something more, and it was worth the risk of leaning forward and opening the door a little more.
CHAPTER 2
The flickering flame of the oil lamp, centered on the council room table, projected Father Prodido and Tyran’s shadowy silhouettes upon the unadorned, chestnut brown, wood plank walls. The otherwise austere room held a single, old painting with a frame the same color as the walls. The painting depicted a man and child sitting in a rowboat on a shoreline with other boats leaving far on the horizon. This singular decoration had been hung by Patrida’s leader to the mild protests of both men already sitting at one end of the rectangular table.
When Ochi entered the council room, both men immediately stopped talking and stood out of respect. As the founding leader of Patrida positioned himself at the head of the table, he leaned forward with both hefty forearms on the table and ordered the men to take their seats.
“Tell me what I need to know,” Ochi said, folding his rough, calloused hands while studying Father Prodido and Tyran with his tired, brown eyes.
Neither man immediately responded. Tyran shuffled uneasily in his seat and glanced at Father Prodido. The religious leader did not make eye contact with either man for his preoccupation with a dusting of dirt on the left sleeve of his pure, white vestment.
At last, noticing the silence and his protégé’s fidgeting across the table, Father Prodido turned his head slowly toward Ochi and responded.
“Ah yes, your Excellency,” he began. “I am afraid we know about as much as you do. We watched the parade from my house as Pali and Machi entered town with the foreigner.”
“Well, whoever this foreigner is,” Tyran interjected with a nervous laugh, “he got a real Patridian welcome.”
Unamused with his son’s poor attempt at humor at such a grave and uncertain moment, Ochi stared blankly at him before turning back toward the sober-minded religious leader.
“We’ll get a full report from Pali when he arrives momentarily,” said Ochi. “But in the meantime, what’s the current sentiment among the people, Father?”
“Well, your Excellency, it depends on how you look at it,” the religious leader said. “There is no question the people are afraid. Even now, we hear their fearful chants outside. But with knowing so little about the prisoner or the potential threat he brings, it is safe to say there is an air of uncertainty that borders on bedlam. However, I would be remiss not to mention that I have not seen this kind of enthusiasm and zeal among the people since, dare I say it, the Great Liberation.”
Ochi adjusted his chair but was careful to keep eye contact with Father Prodido and not appear bothered by his comment.
“As you know best, your Excellency, a common enemy certainly has a way of bringing together strange bedfellows,” Father Prodido continued. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend if you will. At least for now, it appears many of our internal conflicts may have subsided. Our various factions may have ceased being at each other’s throats. Of course, this is likely temporary while their sights are set on this shared threat.”
Father Prodido straightened the gold medallion hanging over his religious vestment’s lower chest, which he never failed to wear for the status and position it conveyed to the people. The religious leader then looked across the table at Tyran as if permitting him to finish his thought.
“Uh yes,” Tyran stumbled, “this is a real opportunity for us to show our strength and bring the people together against a common enemy. Whether there is a real threat beyond the tree line or not doesn’t matter. The people will rally around the flag if they believe someone is threatening their freedom.”
Father Prodido nodded in agreement and attempted a half-smile at his protégé’s comments.
“But honestly,” Tyran continued, “if we don’t control this narrative quickly, or if we give the appearance of being indecisive, this whole thing will come back to bite us.”
Ochi leaned back in his chair, crossed his muscular, olive arms, and stared at the men in a long silence, contemplating the merits of their strategy. As Patrida’s singular leader since arriving on the island in his mid-thirties, Ochi’s no-nonsense, binary approach in dealing with people had traditionally served him well. He had always been stern in his decision-making, never leaving any room for guessing where he stood on any issue. While he was certainly not a visionary, Ochi was precise and meticulous, knowing how to implement Father Prodido’s vision for Patrida. It was for these reasons Ochi always had the respect and obedience of those around him.
But while his heavy-handed, black and white way of governing had earned him the town’s favor in the past, he could sense their support for him was slowly eroding. This shift often kept him up at night, as he could not quite put his finger on what was changing in his relationship with the people. Ochi was not sure whether their opinion of him was changing, or his view of them was changing. But as he sat around the table and considered what to do with the prisoner, Ochi knew he needed to do something to instill confidence in his leadership to mitigate a complete disaster.
Two firm knocks at the door interrupted the extended silence of the room. Greatly anticipating information about the prisoner, the table of leaders stood for Pali. Machi remained in the corridor to ensure the chaos of the Monon did not make its way up the stairwell and into the council room. Closing the door and placing his bloodied staff against the wall, the calm and collected head guard stood at the opposite end of the table and detailed their pursuit and capture of Patrida’s prisoner.
Thura leaned even closer to the solid wooden door, which w
as still slightly opened, to hear every detail of Pali’s account. She pressed her face gently against a rugged seam between two of the door’s planks, taking slow and deliberate breaths so as not to be heard. Misjudging exactly how close she was to the door, Thura’s face slightly bumped it forward, producing an inevitable creaking sound that magnified and echoed in her tiny room. The young woman froze in terror, as all talking immediately ceased in the council room.
Did they hear me? Thura wondered. Do they know someone is listening behind this open door? Do they know it is me? Thura waited without breathing. Can they hear my heart beating out of my chest?
The sound of a heavy, wooden chair scooting away from the table sent panic throughout Thura’s body. Slow and deliberate footsteps moved across the room toward the door, convincing Thura someone had discovered her. The young woman backed away hastily so as not to appear as if she had been intentionally listening. But in her uncalculated urgency, Thura’s left elbow hit a single metal chalice of red wine with a force that caused it to crash into the others in an unfortunate succession.
Believing she could still somehow catch all three and avoid complete disaster before they crashed to the floor, Thura lunged forward with both hands outstretched. Appearing as a court jester comically juggling the chalices, the young woman watched in slow motion as each hit the stone floor with a bombastic crash. Helplessly dripping, her white apron soaked with red wine, Thura turned to face Father Prodido, who stood hauntingly over her at the entrance.
“It appears you have blood on your hands, young lady,” the religious leader said in a low baritone.
Thura put her head down and pushed past the religious leader. The young woman darted through the silent council room, naively hoping her lack of eye contact meant no one was looking at her. However, had she looked up, Thura would have seen a subtle, hairline smile appear on her father’s face. But with her eyes transfixed on each sandaled foot passing beneath her, Thura marched forward nervously. The young woman opened the heavy, wooden door and left it wide open behind her, rushing out into the dimly lit hallway past Machi. As Thura ran down the corridor, she prayed no one would come after her.
With each stride alternating between profound fear and unrestrained excitement, Thura turned toward her room and stopped, breathlessly listening for a single footstep, which never came. Confident the council’s more immediate concerns were of greater import than the offense of her loitering and eavesdropping, the young woman leaned against the cool, stone wall outside her bedroom door and closed her eyes.
The soft, hazy light of the sunset shone through the open windows lining the opposite wall. Its warmth enveloped Thura. She meditated on the pink of her eyelids, attempting to let go of the fear accompanying her. Thura replayed the moment she pushed Father Prodido and ran down the corridor, imagining what it would be like to escape the imprisoning confines of Patrida. But before her thoughts could entertain the possibilities of what that meant, a shuffling around the corner immediately sent fear back by her side.
At once, one of Thura’s fellow bondservants charged up the stairway from the madness of the Monon and began shouting out to Machi, who immediately interrupted the council meeting.
“The people have lined the alleyway in front of the jail,” Machi shouted. “It’s too much for the guards to handle on their own. The people are overtaking them and trying to get to the prisoner.”
Frustrated by the growing chaos and his town’s impatience, in addition to the continued interruptions in the council room, Ochi stood up and slammed his chair against the table. Despite the noise along the Monon, the council room grew uncomfortably silent as Ochi began to shout.
“Pali, you can stop talking! We’ve got it! We have an enemy combatant on the island,” Ochi barked. “I want you and Machi to go down there and get the situation under control. If you have to use force, then use it! Tell people to go home. We’ll make a formal statement about the prisoner at Sanctuary later tonight.”
As the brothers rushed from the room, Father Prodido attempted to dampen the hysteria that had flooded the council room. The religious leader stood up from the table next to Ochi and paced back and forth.
“Your Excellency, excuse me for being so bold,” he began. “I know you are frustrated at the moment, but let me offer some additional perspective on our unique situation.”
Ochi glared impatiently at the religious leader.
“I do believe this prisoner is a gift from God,” Father Prodido said.
Patrida’s leader placed his calloused hands on the back of his chair. With his eyebrows furrowed, he stared even more intensely at the religious leader awaiting his punchline.
“Patrida is not healthy,” Father Prodido continued. “Each of us knows this to be true. The people are divided on almost every issue. They argue about which man will marry the next eligible servant, which foods we will grow for the next season and the decisions we make from this very council room.”
While speaking, the religious leader stood in front of the single painting on the wall and stared at it. The tilt of his head indicated he must not have been satisfied it was completely level. Placing his thumbs on each side, he adjusted it to his exacting standards.
“Even earlier today,” Father Prodido continued, still evaluating the painting, “a group was in the street arguing to the figurative death about the fitness of your leadership.”
Ochi glared at the religious leader from behind, but Father Prodido could not see his face and continued without a pause.
“Our town has become an addict of complaint, feeding upon and deriving its energy from constant outrage. If we were to punish every offender daily, we would cease to have a community within weeks, maybe days.”
“You’re testing my patience. Tell me how any of this is a gift from God,” Ochi demanded impatiently.
“Yes, yes, of course, your Excellency,” said Father Prodido, turning from the painting to face the leader. “As Tyran alluded to earlier, this is an opportunity for us. Depending on how we handle the outsider, we may begin to heal the many ailments and disorders plaguing us. Our prisoner may very well be the sacrificial lamb, if you will, we need at this moment to heal our deep divisions and make Patrida great again. That is how he is a gift.”
Ochi sat back at the table and rubbed the day-old, graying stubble on his chin. He knew precisely where Father Prodido was going with this argument. The gallows had always been an effective means of keeping order and preserving Patrida’s culture in the past. But this situation was different. They had never had to make a decision about an outsider, someone not like them. This unique scenario had the potential to be even more powerful.
Getting information from the enemy and then executing him could eliminate the growing fear gripping Patrida. Even more, the situation was a unique gift in that it would give Patrida a common purpose to unite behind, reminding them who they are as a people. But Ochi also secretly knew there was an opportunity to strengthen their confidence in his leadership. Father Prodido’s plan appeared to be a win-win scenario for everyone involved.
Patrida’s leader again sat silently contemplating Father Prodido and Tyran’s words but also thinking about how hungry he was. The religious leader sat back down at the table and looked at Tyran with wide eyes, indicating he wanted him to finish laying out the argument. Ochi, meanwhile, left the table to retrieve the tray of bread and cheeses Thura had prepared earlier.
“We’ll execute him,” Tyran said, his eyes following his father across the room. “End of the story. Done deal. We’ll get the information we need from him first and then execute him. The people will love us. We haven’t had an execution in a while. It’ll be like feeding a bunch of ravenous wolves.”
Ochi sat back down at the table without grabbing any food. Instead, he closed his eyes, partially from an oncoming headache and partially from listening to his son’s blathering. Tyran’s words sounded like the incoherent parroting of Father Prodido, and it nauseated him. Seeing the leader’s grow
ing impatience, Father Prodido put his elbows on the table, linked his fingers prayerfully, and leaned in toward Ochi to close the deal.
“Of course, this plan is contingent upon how we sell it to the people. If we spin this the right way, it could truly be a catalyst toward revisiting greatness. Do you remember that morning nearly twenty years ago? The dreams. The aspirations. A holy and righteous community of God where people could experience peace and freedom,” the religious leader said in hopes of appealing to a part of Ochi he sensed had been waning.
Pushing away the uneaten tray of food, Patrida’s leader stood up decisively from his chair and moved toward the door. Father Prodido and Tyran looked at each other quizzically but then stood and followed behind.
“We’ll address the entire town at Sanctuary tonight,” Ochi said. “We’ll announce our goal of getting information from the prisoner and then execute him within the next few days. That will satisfy them for now and put us in everyone’s good graces.”
“Ah yes. Brilliant decision as always, your Excellency,” Father Prodido said. “The Lord has certainly provided for us on this day, and you are his hands.”
Ochi left the room and headed down the dimly lit corridor toward his quarters to prepare for the public address. Father Prodido gently closed the door with only he and Tyran remaining.
“You performed exceedingly well in explaining exactly what’s at stake for Patrida and why we need to be decisive,” Father Prodido said, turning to his young protégé and motioning for him to sit back down at the table. “You remind me so much of your father when we first established Patrida. He was bold and strong and resolute. He was respected then. I see those same qualities in you, Tyran.”
“Thank you, Father,” Tyran said, tearing off a piece of bread. “You’ve helped me find my voice. You know I’ve always had ideas running through my head about what I believe and how we should do things. But I never had any real direction from my father. He was always too busy with other people and their problems. You’ve given me the direction he failed to give me. While I haven’t always been able to speak with confidence, your guidance and trust have helped me. I am getting better at speaking what is on my mind and taking a stand for what I believe in. And hopefully, it will show in how I rule one day.”
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