What Can't Be Hidden

by Brandon Andress

Kala delighted in sharing his love of the outdoors with his son, and the island was his regular escape for what it offered. While solitude was a lost commodity on the mainland, it was in precious abundance on the island. Despite having the entire landmass to themselves, the father and son had found their perfect spot where they set up camp each year. It was on the west side of the island closest to the mainland. The area was wide open, flat, and perfectly accommodating. A fresh- water spring hugged a beautifully forested area, creating a creek that flowed into the woods. It was ideal for hiking and exploring.

  As the boats landed on the shore, the boy lifted his head and looked up to his father. Without words, Tyran appeared to be communicating that he was not ready to share their island with others. Kala could see it in his eyes. Down deep, his father was not prepared to share it either. While their situation necessitated this move to the island, he also knew they would be sacrificing something special between them.

  The island was where he first taught Tyran how to build a fire with a flint and know the difference between edible and inedible berries. It was in those woods where the two ran animal trails and first discovered the towering megalith jutting out of the mossy ground where they would sit for hours talking and eating their lunch together. It was where the father and son discovered the largest and broadest tree they had ever seen, with branches extending like a canopy over an intricately exposed root system on the ground. The two would lie under it among the roots. With Tyran’s head nestled between his father’s arm and chest, the two would gaze up into the dense network of branches and watch the small animals scurry aimlessly through the maze. The island was indeed their place.

  Kala’s strong-arm reached into the boat, welcoming his son and then his wife and young daughter to their new permanent home. Surrounding them was the busyness and chaos of boats crashing into the shore and people pouring out en masse, many of whom they did not know. Men yelled and directed other vessels approaching. Women carried their children and supplies from the boats toward the open area next to the woods and immediately began filling their freshwater containers. Children ran around screaming at each other as if discovering another dimension of freedom they had never known. Amidst the madness, Tyran stayed close to his dad.

  “How are you doing?” Kala asked as he placed his hand behind Tyran’s head.

  Tyran’s pause told him everything he needed to know.

  “How about you and I walk down to our rock and have a snack together?” Kala asked.

  Tyran looked up at his father with a smile. It was a small consolation for their new normal, for the mass intrusion of “their place.” But at the moment, he would do anything to escape the people. He would do anything to hike alone with his dad down to their rock. There would be plenty of daylight remaining to build a temporary shelter when they returned from their excursion.

  As the family dropped off their supplies in the area where they would eventually set up camp, Tyran and Kala eagerly made their way toward the wood’s edge. That was when they heard a cry that sounded like a woman in distress. Velos was screaming at someone. But it was not immediately apparent who she was yelling at or what the situation was. Kala instructed his son to stay put as he ran frantically toward his wife. Approaching the area, he saw a man grabbing Velos’ arm and pulling her close as she tried unsuccessfully to tear away. When the man saw Kala running toward them, he abruptly let go of her arm and backed away with both hands in the air.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Easy there, friend!” the man called out.

  Rather than promptly tackling him, Kala stopped abruptly in front of the aggressor to see what the problem was.

  “Explain yourself,” Kala demanded.

  “Is this your old lady?” the man asked. “Oh, well, I beg your pardon, mister. I was just tellin’ your lady friend here that if she were by herself, ol’ Fovos would be happy to show her a good time tonight.”

  Kala took a step forward and got right in the man’s face.

  “She has a husband,” Kala said. “From this point forward, if you come within fifty feet of her, you’ll wish you had never landed on this island. Understand?”

  “Well, yes, sir. We don’t need to start off like this, do we?” the mustached man asked, putting his hand out in apology, his smile extending from ear to ear.

  Kala turned his back on the man and began walking toward where Tyran had been standing. But he was no longer there. Kala’s walk became a full-on manic sprint toward the woods as he nervously began shouting his son’s name. He could not find Tyran anywhere. He ran into the woods alongside the stream and continued to cry out. While Kala thought it would be highly unusual for someone to have abducted Tyran, he could not be entirely sure of anything at the moment. As he approached a fork in the stream, he continued to shout out Tyran’s name until he heard a response back. With a sigh of relief, he knew Tyran was okay and was already at their rock.

  Kala walked down the embankment and saw Tyran standing in front of the megalith next to another man. Unsure of what to do or what to say because he did not recognize the gentleman, Kala stopped and stared at him. The man looked up slowly with a smile on his face and walked toward him.

  “This blessed child is your son. Is that correct, Kala?” the man asked. “I have heard so much about you from my sister before arriving on the island. Let me formally introduce myself. My name is Prodido, and I am humbled to meet you and be of service in any way possible.”

  The council room was as constricted as it ever had been for Ochi. Despite no one having placed the noose over his head at the gallows earlier, he felt an increasing tightness around his neck. The thoughts of their first arrival on the island replayed in his mind as he sat back down at the table with Father Prodido and Tyran.

  Ochi remained in somber silence without caring to look at either one of the men. Instead, he stared at the single, old painting on the wall of a man in a wooden fishing boat sitting beside a young child, each with their hands gripping the row, preparing to go to sea. On the child’s face was a solemn but nervous expression, while the man gazed at the child with a loving reassurance.

  For minutes, Ochi stared at the portrait, looking back and forth at the faces of the young child and older man. It evoked both sadness and longing within him. He remembered the emotions of first being on the boat and the hope he had for a new life with his family on the island. However, those sentiments had long past, as he considered the decline of Patrida and evaluated his current situation.

  Still staring at the painting, Ochi turned his attention from their faces to the hazy horizon where other sailboats disappeared in the distance. He closed his eyes and imagined following those boats and sailing away from his problems in hopes of discovering peace elsewhere. But as he opened his eyes and looked back one last time at the child and the older man, he saw their sail already lowered in their boat. They would not be following the other boats out to sea.

  Ochi knew Patrida had become something he could have never envisioned when he took his first step out of the boat onto the beach. He often wondered if making different decisions would have changed anything. What if he had trusted his gut instinct from the beginning and insisted on sending Fovos back to the mainland after their first encounter? What if he had not created so much distance between himself and Tyran over the years? What if their relationship had remained as close as when Tyran was a young boy? Would their relationship be different today if the inconsequential affairs of Patrida had not preoccupied him for years? Would Father Prodido have had such a profound influence on Tyran had Ochi been closer to him as he grew older? He could not help but think about how he had contributed to these problems.

  Recognizing Ochi was not in any condition to discuss the issue of the executions, the religious leader stood up quietly and left with Tyran following behind him. However, Ochi continued to sit alone at the table in deep regret, not taking his eyes off the picture. Minute after minute, he continued to stare at the child and the older man. Again, he looked at the child�
�s face and then back at the older man’s face and then back again. He wondered what the point of the painting was and what the painter was trying to convey.

  Ochi knew the child and older man were not going anywhere, so he wondered what exactly he was missing. He looked at the older man intently one last time and stared at the expression on his face. At that moment, Ochi realized the painting was not about the horizon or sailing off into the distance to find something else. It was about what was in the boat.

  For Ochi, it was about the man in the painting. He saw something in him he desired for himself. He did not see a man constantly looking to the horizon hoping to discover peace somewhere else, but a man experiencing it as he sat in the boat with the young child. Ochi desired to find that kind of peace. But at the same time, he understood the near impossibility of finding it in Patrida.

  From around the corner of the hallway, Thura knew her father must still be in the council room because she had not seen him leave with the other two men. Not only was she curious as to how the meeting went with Fovos and what they had discussed, she desperately needed to give her father the shirt she had been carrying around since he was apprehended. At this point, giving him the shirt had way more to do with Thura selling her story than her father having a fresh shirt, so she made her way down the dimly lit hallway toward the council room door and opened it.

  Ochi walked out of the room and faced his daughter. She could tell that something was on his mind. But she could also tell from his demeanor and red eyes that it was not a good idea to ask him about the meeting. She put her arm out and offered him the shirt. Ochi’s eyes glistened as he took it and hugged his daughter. He then turned and defeatedly walked down the stairway and out the door toward the Monon.

  There were so many unanswered questions and so much lingering intrigue that Thura could not help but follow her father. But as soon as she got to the base of the stairs and exited the doorway leading to the Monon, she saw her father enter Tyran’s house. Thura, as casually as possible, walked across the street, attempting to avoid any suspicion she could potentially attract. Convinced no one was watching her, she slipped between Tyran’s house and the house next door.

  Since the houses were so close to one another, likely less than a few feet, Thura was virtually imperceptible unless someone was intentionally trying to see her. The young woman edged up close to one of the side windows but was too terrified to look inside. She was fearful Tyran or her father would see her. Instead, Thura tried to listen, although most of the conversation was muted and indiscernible.

  As Thura was about to give up, she heard her father begin to cry. While his eyes had been red earlier when he exited the council room, she had never seen nor heard her father cry before. Whatever was going on, she knew something was not right, and it left her aching for him.

  Thura knew she had to peer around the edge of the window and see him, even if it was the only bit of solidarity she could offer. Desperately desiring to know what was going on inside, she took a deep breath and cautiously turned her head toward the room in which they were still talking. Her brother was standing with his back to her, but she could see her father’s face. His eyes were closed as he embraced Tyran. When the two separated, Thura looked into his tired, red eyes and read the words that came off his lips.

  “This madness has got to stop,” Ochi said, “and an execution is the only solution.”

  Although her father was still talking, Thura turned away from the window and could no longer see his face. She did not want to see her father’s face. The sound coming from the window were the deadened tones of a man who represented everything wrong with Patrida. Whatever glimpses of humanity Thura believed she saw in her father over the years, or even as recently as the hug outside the council room, it was eclipsed by a darkness that continued to suffocate the entire community. Thura knew without question her father was at the center of Patrida’s problem.

  Shuffling between the houses, Thura exited the backside without being noticed. She sprinted down the side street as fast as she could toward Odigo and Sophia’s cell at the other end of the Monon. The young woman hastily flew past the edge dwellers, and other people pushed to the margins of Patrida. Thura began crying as she ran. Her heart ached so badly for her family and everyone who lived in her town, but she did not know what to do to help them. All she wanted to do was leave everything behind. With every stride, she believed she was running into a different future, a future far away from Patrida. Tears ran down her cheeks as the wind blew them off of her face.

  As Thura turned down the alleyway and sprinted toward their cell, she stopped short of the entrance because the jail door had been propped slightly open. Hesitant to look through the crack of the door to see who was on the other side, Thura inched forward and spotted a guard who had finished cleaning the cell. At once, the guard turned, but Thura promptly stepped out of sight. Immediately from behind, several people began to shuffle down a short, adjacent alleyway. Thura believed she had no choice but to run toward the Monon and hopefully avoid being caught for loitering near the cell.

  But as the young woman began to sprint toward the thoroughfare, she suddenly stopped. Thura had always run away in the past. But this time she would not let fear dictate what she did. Turning around, she defiantly faced the guard leading Odigo and Sophia out of the alley- way and back to their cell. The guard, surprised by the young woman’s assertive stance, held Odigo and Sophia back so he could ascertain precisely what the girl was doing. Thura put her hand in her pocket, clutched her father’s jail key, and walked directly at them.

  The guard’s shouting grew louder with Thura’s each step, but her eyes were locked on Odigo and Sophia. They could tell by her determined gaze that something had changed. They watched as Thura marched and rebelliously brushed past the guard on his left, bumping him and almost knocking him back. As they turned and followed the young woman, she began to run. Sophia glanced at Odigo, who nodded back with a smile.

  CHAPTER 8

  The repetitive clanking of chains swaying to and fro accompanied the wafts of frankincense and myrrh permeating the Monon. With each step down the center of the thoroughfare, the swinging gold censer signaled the beginning of a purification ritual, which the religious leader performed before every execution. Looking straight forward, Father Prodido walked in full regalia with patience, placing each foot methodically in front of the other.

  The religious leader’s slow and deliberate march toward the gallows could have been easily mistaken for somber holiness rooted in a desire to cleanse Patrida and wash her in righteousness. But this dark performance art was nothing less than a power play by the religious leader. Despite the ultimatum Fovos gave Ochi earlier in the council room, Father Prodido did not believe Patrida’s leader had the fortitude to take a hard stand before the entire town and execute the prisoners. From the religious leader’s perspective, beginning the purification ritual was the perfect move to force Ochi’s hand and expose him for what he had become.

  Facing Father Prodido, as he gradually made his way westward, were six perfectly formed lines of guards awaiting him. Each guard was cloaked in a black robe, as dark as a moonless night, with hoods draped over their heads so their faces were hidden. In their right hands they held Patridian flags, which were planted firmly in the ground. The scene playing out in front of the gallows could not have been any more exciting or ghoulish, depending on one’s perspective. But from the vantage point of those who began lining the Monon, it was undoubtedly the former.

  As the religious leader stopped in front of the guards, the gold censer ceased its swinging.

  Father Prodido shouted aloud, “Sacrarium Convenae!” “Sacrarium Convenae!” the guards shouted back louder and in unison.

  Resolutely turning, Father Prodido faced eastward toward Sanctuary, his head raised slightly higher in pomp. He began marching with the guards following perfectly behind him. The religious leader had devised the subversive plan earlier, while Ochi remained in the counci
l room following their meeting with Fovos and then while the leader was at Tyran’s house. During that time, both Father Prodido and Fovos feverishly moved every piece into place. One mobilized guards in town who were not currently in the field. The other spread the word for everyone else to meet along the Monon. Interestingly, not a single guard nor citizen knew Father Prodido and Fovos had orchestrated the plan without Ochi’s knowledge or consent. They all believed Ochi had been the one who initiated the purification ceremony and execution.

  As the somber and growing movement continued down the cobblestone road, Ochi ran from the side of his house in a semi-controlled rage. Internally he could have torn Father Prodido to shreds for pulling such a stunt without consulting him first. But externally, he remained calm so as not to stir the passions of the people once again. He was walking a delicate line and needed to play it the right way.

  As Ochi walked up next to Father Prodido at the head of the parade, the crowd began to cheer wildly for him, but only because they believed an execution was imminent. For the moment, Ochi was their hero. Father Prodido’s powerplay to force Ochi’s hand was a brilliant masterstroke and even more diabolical in its execution. It would either lead to the hanging of Patrida’s enemies or expose their leader as a sympathizer to the enemy.

  Sanctuary appeared more peaceful and picturesque than ever. The rows of stone slab seating artfully contrasted the palette of natural greens. Abundant waters swelled from the earth beneath the triumphant arcs and filled the sacrarium. Sunlight danced on the flow and revealed a spectrum of luminous colors throughout the water like the turning of a prism.

  Like specters moving into an unsuspecting home, the darkly cloaked guards floated along the edges and down the center aisle ahead of Patrida’s leaders and townspeople. Each guard successively stopped in their assigned position and planted their flags into the ground, signaling the area was ready to be occupied. As Ochi and Father Prodido took their first steps, Tyran rushed forward and joined them from the side. Instead of standing next to his father while walking down the aisle, he stood on the opposite side of the religious leader, taking Father Prodido’s right side while his father took the left.