The truth was that, while Thura had been visiting the old woman for nearly a decade, Sophia remained a mystery. As a young girl, she would frequently ask her family about the old woman and why she was in prison. But her questions were always met with the same curt response, “There are some things of which we do not speak, and Sophia is one of those things.” Consequently, Thura grew up understanding that any discussion about Sophia was off-limits. However, everyone generally understood that Sophia had challenged the community’s structure and order, which necessitated her imprisonment.
Throughout Thura’s adolescence, the Patridian’s did not view Sophia as a person but more of a depersonalized threat. And they needed to keep her contained and neutralized. But that was how Patrida always dealt with people who challenged the system. If the council could convince people to no longer view another person as a human being but as the embodiment of evil, it was always easier to discredit, discard, or kill them. Even more, as Father Prodido preached that they were the sole bearers of goodness and truth, the town presumed it was their responsibility to eradicate that which they deemed evil. To the Patridians, Sophia was not a human being. She was evil. She was a threatening set of disruptive ideals deserving to be locked away and forgotten.
“Before you were born, I was a part of the group that challenged Patrida,” Sophia began. “We believed that for all our good intentions in coming to the island and rebirthing a community of life and virtue, we had very quickly lost our heart as a people. Everything we had envisioned for this community began to be distorted.”
“I do not remember any of this,” Thura said.
“You would not remember it, Thura,” said Sophia. “You were too young. But at that time, Father Prodido was incredibly influential with your father. He believed the most effective way to create a virtuous and holy community was through a religious leadership establishing standards of morality. To your father, who was not quite the visionary, that appeared to be the most efficient way to order and structure the community.”
Thura vaguely remembered parts of the story she had picked up over the years from other servants. But, Sophia told her version from a much more honest perspective than anything Thura had ever heard.
“So what did your group do, Sophia?” Thura asked.
“We believed the proverbial pendulum had gone too far in the other direction. One’s virtue and morality could never come from the kind of heavy-handed legislation or governance that Patrida enforced. People have to pursue it for themselves. You cannot force virtue or morality on them. But the unfortunate trajectory of Patrida and where it would all end was apparent. So we began to speak up and challenge the leadership. However, it was not long before the system turned on us, before the leadership turned on us, and drove us out of Patrida by force.”
At this point, Thura believed she knew where the story was going, but she was not entirely sure she wanted to know every detail. However, with so much hidden from her over the years, Thura wanted to finally understand the truth.
“Tell me exactly what happened, Sophia,” Thura said. “I may not be ready to hear it, but I desperately need to know what happened. I can’t live with blinders over my eyes any longer.”
“The guards, headed by Pali and Machi, began to pursue us and then began to slaughter us. Your father was among them,” Sophia said.
Thura already knew the part her father played in the onslaught, but it was still painful for her to hear.
“At one point,” Sophia continued, “your father called off the guards and continued tracking us by himself. We could have continued running from him, but we stopped and faced him unarmed. All we wanted was peace. Neither his threats of violence nor the fear he tried to induce intimidated us. But he knew we would not fight back. Without hesitation, your father ran up to our leader, Numa, and stabbed him in his chest, directly into his heart. I stood there in shock and horror as he fell to his knees. Like the gentle soul he was, he looked up at your father in forgiveness and whispered his last words before falling over.”
Tears began to stream down Sophia’s chiseled cheeks as Odigo wrapped his slender but muscular arms around her in solace. Thura had never seen this side of Sophia before. But now, on the other side of the prison door, was an opening into her tender heart where she invited Thura to understand the deep love she had for her friends and the heartbreak she carried for Patrida. Thura reached in through the window and cradled the old woman’s face, wiping her tears with her thumb.
“Numa was not just our leader,” Sophia whispered. “He was my husband. For as long as I can remember, we were always together. From the time we were children until the day we married, we were always by each other’s side. I never thought our time in Patrida would end in such calamity and sadness. I remember falling to the ground and holding him while he died, his blood all over my hands and arms. I kept repeating to him that I would never leave his side. But he was already gone. Your father callously grabbed me by the hair and dragged me away from him. That is when he hit me, and everything went black.”
Thura began to cry. She stared deeply into Sophia’s dark, pained eyes.
“That’s all I remember of that night,” Sophia said. “A night of confusion and madness. I was devastated and heartbroken. I had become the sole prisoner of Patrida, a Patrida I no longer recognized or identified with. I believed that they had killed every one of my dear friends and that no one had escaped alive. But then, Odigo came walking down the road today as a prisoner. And I knew, I just knew, some of them must have survived all those years ago. And guess what? They did. Some of them did survive. That is the secret your father has been carrying with him, and there is not a single person in Patrida who knows that he did not kill everyone that day.”
Thura wiped away tears from her own face this time. She wondered how she would act normally around her father the following day. But even more, she wondered how she would get Sophia and Odigo out of Patrida before their execution. With the townspeople moving about the Monon throughout the day, any real chance of pulling off an escape would be nothing short of a miracle. But Thura had an idea and a slim chance of making it happen. The young woman was determined to get out of Patrida and discover this new community on the other side of the island.
CHAPTER 5
Anticipation accompanied the new day in Patrida. The sunrise seemed to summon more people to the Monon than a typical morning. Even sleepy-eyed children with bedhead ambled outside to eat their modest breakfasts in front of their houses. From behind Sanctuary, a single guard exited the woods and made his way toward Father Prodido’s house, located across the street from Patrida’s leader. Pali and Machi loitered outside the front door on the plain, white- painted porch and greeted him as he entered.
Father Prodido and Tyran stood from the small, square table where the pair had finished an early morning huddle with Ochi only a few minutes before. Their impromptu council meeting had been to discuss their detailed plans for the prisoner. But after only a few exchanges into their brief conversation, Ochi abruptly left the house.
“Father Prodido. Tyran,” said the guard.
“Yes, fine sir,” said Father Prodido. “An update, please.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard. “As instructed, we set up a perimeter and kept watch overnight. There is currently no enemy activity to report.”
“Very well then,” said Father Prodido. “You are dismissed.”
The guard turned toward the door to leave.
“But before you go,” Father Prodido called out, “can I trust you will summon Fovos for me? Bring him here and then return to your outpost in the woods.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard.
As the door closed behind him, Father Prodido and Tyran sat back down at the table, one across from the other. With a look of indifference evident on the religious leader’s face, he straightened his vestment and cleared his throat before making eye contact with Tyran, who appeared quite relieved from the guard’s report. But before Father Prodi
do could offer his first word to the young man, Tyran reached for a piece of nearly burnt toast and began to talk exuberantly.
“That’s fantastic news, Father!” Tyran exclaimed. “I was anxious last night, not knowing what might be coming our way. No one has ever threatened us from the outside.”
The religious leader patiently watched Tyran eat his darkened toast and saw an opportunity.
“You would be wise to remain anxious, Tyran,” the religious leader replied dryly and at least an octave lower than his normal speaking voice. “The threat did not come last night. But make no mistake, it is imminent. We must be prepared for any eventuality.”
The seriousness of Father Prodido’s demeanor was apparent. While the religious leader had been unusually forward and assertive with Tyran, especially over the last few months without any real explanation, his presence across the table conveyed something deeper and more complex. To Tyran, the brief and highly unusual meeting with his father, a few minutes prior, seemed to have unlocked a part of Father Prodido he had never witnessed before.
“What do you mean, Father?” Tyran asked, bothered by the religious leader’s tone and demeanor. “How do you know for sure that a threat is imminent? Are there more people like this prisoner on the way?”
“I do not want to be dramatic or cause any problems,” Father Prodido said with the same seriousness as his previous comment. “But your father is not who you think he is, Tyran.”
“I don’t understand. What does that mean?” Tyran asked. “And what does any of this have to do with a potential attack from outsiders?”
“Your father came to me almost a year ago in confidence and told me there were many things he wanted to confess,” Father Prodido began. “I believed it to be highly unusual because your father had always been a private man. And this was the first time he had ever approached me in this way since establishing Patrida.”
Tyran agreed with the religious leader on this particular point. His father had always been a private man and very reserved. Unless he needed to speak, he listened. He observed. He took things in and would ruminate on them. But he typically never spoke unless the situation necessitated it. That was one of the reasons why so many people in Patrida loved him. He always seemed to be considering everything around him but was reluctant to say much. He let his actions speak for him.
Under normal circumstances, Tyran could not understand his father opening up like that for anyone. Unless there was something notable weighing on him for quite some time, it would be highly unusual and out of character for his father to approach Father Prodido to confess anything at all.
“He asked if we could meet privately one night, as there was something he had been holding deep within him since the Great Liberation,” Father Prodido said. “He confided in me that he had personally pursued and single-handedly cut down many in the rebel faction group.”
Tyran placed the half-eaten toast back on his plate and pushed it to the center of the table. The intense look on his face indicated he was slowly putting the pieces together.
“But my father didn’t kill every infidel, did he?” Tyran asked.
“Your pursuit of truth has rewarded you, young Tyran,” Father
Prodido said with the morning light barely visible through the drawn curtains. “You are correct. Your father did not pursue them as they fled. And now these blasphemers and traitors live on this island cultivating their ungodly beliefs, no doubt looking for every opportunity to bring their heresy back to Patrida.”
Tyran’s eyes moved from Father Prodido to the table, where he began to pick at a stubborn hangnail on his left hand. The young leader did not have anything further to say in response to what he had heard. He clearly understood the implications for Patrida, for the leadership council, and for his father.
As Father Prodido adjusted in his seat and cleared his throat to continue, Tyran could already anticipate what the religious leader was about to say. The two spent so much time with each other over the last year their thoughts had grown increasingly similar. As Tyran thought about the timing of his father’s confession, he understood why Father Prodido had been so insistent upon their mentoring relationship. Still staring down at his hands, Tyran doggedly removed the hangnail from his index finger but did not appear to feel the pain or notice the blood as he wiped it on his shirt and looked back to Father Prodido.
“Your father, our leader, who has always been hailed and lifted up by our community for his great conviction and valor, has deceived his people, Tyran,” Father Prodido said. “I deeply apologize for burdening you with such heavy information. He has been concealing a lie and, as a result, has put the fine people of Patrida at increased risk for the last two decades, while a rogue community has continued to grow larger, stronger, and more dangerous.”
Father Prodido knew the threat from the inhabitants was actually very low, likely nonexistent. But this kind of peaceful narrative did not play well for the type of future he envisioned for a strong and insulated Patrida. The religious leader needed a threat and an enemy. So with selective truths, Father Prodido continued his story to manipulate Tyran toward that end.
“We intentionally inhabited this island to escape the madness of the mainland,” Father Prodido continued. “Yet, because of your father’s laxity, he created the exact thing we once fled, a corrupt people with no regard for what is right or wrong and with no idea what is in their best interest.”
Tyran sat silently with his head down, as he knew the religious leader had more to say.
“How now shall we live and contend with these savages and their radical ideas on our island?” Father Prodido asked rhetorically. “How shall we deal with these parasites who are hungry to consume our every resource? How shall we defend against vermin seeking to infiltrate our community and our way of life? How shall our peace and freedom be preserved against those who desire to upend it, Tyran? What if they bring their strange religious ideas back to Patrida? What happens when our children begin to hear their heresies? What does that do to the faith? What does it do to our pursuit of righteousness and holiness? What happens when they begin disrupting our very way of life? Do you not think this prisoner was sent here with ill-intentions?”
Tyran wiped the remaining blood from his finger on the lower part of his shirt and then asked Father Prodido the most obvious question.
“With all due respect, Father,” Tyran began. “You know I agree with everything you’ve said. But why has it taken you so long to tell me this? Why did it take an outsider watching us from the woods for you to say something to me about my father’s confession and this other community? You know, this is something you could’ve told me a long time before today.”
Sensing a subtle resistance from his protégé, an annoyed Father Prodido quickly countered.
“Those are not the correct questions, Tyran,” Father Prodido said. “The only question here is, ‘Why has your father had such a reluctance in dealing with these people?’ That is the real question. You know my affection toward your father, and you know I would stand by him through any fire, but he has changed in some way. He is not the same man. Not the same determined leader. Not the same fierce warrior. Not the same god-fearing man who first planted the Patridian flag in this sacred soil. You witnessed it yourself last night when he spoke at Sanctuary. And then this morning when he came into this very room and told us what he wanted to do with the prisoner.”
Staring at the blackened toast, Tyran nodded.
The sound of footsteps on the front porch and an accompanying knock at the door caused the two leaders to stand abruptly. Fovos entered the room and bowed before Father Prodido.
“You sent for me, Father?”
Ochi sat at a nearly empty breakfast table with Velos facing him on the opposite side. Thura walked into the quiet room and noticed something was not right. Her father instantly picked up his cup of water and drank what was left in it, as Velos stared blankly at him. It was apparent to Thura that her mother was about to say
something to her father before she walked in on them. The reprimanding look on her face conveyed that her thoughts had been interrupted. But despite the tension and the lingering silence, Thura nervously walked to the table and asked her father if she could fill up his cup with more water.
Ochi nodded without saying a word and smiled.
Breaking her icy stare at Ochi, Velos directed her attention toward her daughter, who was now standing to her father’s right holding the pitcher of water.
“Why were you so late getting in last night?” asked Velos.
Thura had started pouring the water but stopped, only filling the cup halfway. The young woman caught a glimpse of her mother’s stern face and froze. Velos had a natural beauty that did not necessarily match her personality or temperament. While her physical allure could easily draw the attention of both men and women in Patrida, her personality was blunt and dour. Thura experienced both as she wondered if the conversation she interrupted had been about her. The young woman’s mind began to race.
What does she know? Thura wondered. Does she already know the answer to that question? What does my father know? Could it have been my mom or dad standing on the other side of the storage door last night? Could it have been Tyran? Did he tell them?
The sudden barrage of thoughts and questions left Thura momentarily paralyzed and stumbling for an answer. But before any words could materialize, Velos turned to her husband and asked him the same question.
Without hesitation, the leader responded.
“I stayed up late talking to Father Prodido at his house,” Ochi said.
Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Velos turned back to her daughter, waiting expectantly for an answer. Thura was still unsure who knew what and was even more uncertain with what to say.
Was my dad really with Father Prodido last night? She wondered. Was my mom really at home during that time? Did either of them know I had been visiting with the prisoners?
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