It was a fairly typical Firstday afternoon in the villiage. The market area was full of mymar, farmers selling their crops, traveling peddlers and local merchants selling their wares, and the people buying from them. Often, the latter were one of the former two as merchants had to eat and farmers needed things they couldn't make themselves.
Among them was a certain young adult mymar.
"Um, I don't wish to sound like I'm asking you to leave, but could you please make up your mind?"
"Oh, excuse me."
Dylan was at a peddler's wagon, now set up into a stall displaying its wares. The traveller, whom had green eyes and his black hair was starting to gray at the sideburns, was offering a number of items, from pots and pans to finer ladies' dresses. But what got Dylyn's attention were the books. The peddler had a number of them, and Dylan had been going through the batch, skimming the pages just inches from his face as he didn't have his glasses with him, until he was interrupted.
"I'm sorry," the small-time merchant continued, "but this is not a library," his tone then brightened, "perhaps you would be interested in this one," he handed Dylan another book, " 'The Tales of the S'Addin Knights' ?"
The title got Dylan's attention, "I think I've heard of that one. How much is it?"
The peddler named a price. Dylan gave him several copper coins and was given the book.
"There you go," the merchant told him, then turned to a group of mymar walking nearby, "Books for sale, the latest in the printing presses in Mixinar ... women's dresses in fine silk, just the thing for your special lady for a festival ... "
Dylan reguarded the traveling merchant for a moment. Grylos had often grumbled about those "greedy moneygrubbers," often inserting other colorful words in the description. He wasn't the only farmer to do so, money going into their hands every week. Yet, these people didn't dress any better than the townsfolk here, at least those whose work didn't get them dirty.
He didn't dwell on the peddler long, as the talk of dresses made him think of Ayrini. It had been a few weeks since the afternoon they both began reading by the lakeshore, her shore as he kept thinking of it. They had read a little each afternoon, every day except for Firstdays.
*****
"I thought we might read something new," he told Ayrini the following afternoon as he showed her the book.
Ayrini's transparent image looked at the book, then at him, almost with a giggle, "Knights? What made you think I'd be interested in a bunch of men fighting?"
Dylan smirked, "Don't worry. Some of the characters are women, and it involves a lot more than fights."
"You read part of it already?"
"Not much. My Father read it ages ago and told me about it. I can't say you'll like all of it, but there are parts I'm sure you will."
The two sat down.
"It takes place about a thousand years ago back on Terryl, durring aftermath of the Myrshan Empire's falling apart into various kingdoms."
"I liked the old stories like that," Ayrini smiled, "At least those that didn't involve fighting on every single page, but my Father never did get me any of those. He thought stories that old, even those presented as true, were little but imaginary myths."
"How did you get any to read?"
"Grandfather gave them to me." She smiled, "He always thought imaginary or not, those stories were a part of what they were and should be remembered." She glanced up at the clouds, "He and Father saw things differently about a few things, including stories. Father, he wanted me to read mostly newer ones, those done by writers here on Absolin. He felt since Terryl wasn't a part of our lives, why remind ourselves of it?"
"And your Grandfather?"
"Grandfather, unlike Father, knew some of the Founders when they were still alive. He told me although they had spent a small part of their lives on Terryl, they never stopped talking about it." She paused, "They never had any regrets about coming, but they still had a fondness for the old world, despite the warlords. Even though they never doubted Mixin's vision that the warlords would be defeated, they still wondered what was going on back there."
"Terryl may be out of our reach, but it's still a part of who we are. Grandfather felt we should never forget that."
Dylan looked at Ayrini, "Your Grandfather sounds like a wise man. I wish I could have met him." He thought a little about his own family. His mother's parents sometimes dropped by, but his father's didn't. Nor did he talk about them much. Dylan had sometimes wondered, but never really asked.
"So do I," Ayrini smiled, "I think that you both would get, along." She seemed lost in thought for a few moments, then her smile faded, and her expression looked worrisome.
Dylan looked at Ayrini, concerned, "What's wrong?"
"It ... it is nothing."
Dylan wouldn't let the matter drop, "What is it?"
"I ... had been about to say you'd see him someday, but ... that's what I used to think, about myself."
"I'm sure you'll soon be with him, maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after."
"Maybe never." Her expression was fearful, "What if, I did something, the Powers found appalling."
"Ayrini, that's not true!" Dylan could hardly believe he was hearing this.
"What if it is? What if I forgot whatever it was, and they banned me from Paradise, from ever seeing my family and friends again?" A tear began streaking down her cheek.
"Ayrini!" Dylan tried to grab her hand, forgetting his friend's physical nature was that of an image. That got the attention of both of them off the matter for a moment as they looked at his hand within the image of hers. Then Dylan looked at Ayrini in the face, "Ayrini, I've known you for weeks. There is no way you could have done anything so bad."
Ayrini looked at Dylan, then back toward the ground, "I ... I don't know."
They sat there, not sure what to do or say.
*****
It was almost a week later on Firstday, that Grylos let Dylan off on his own for the rest of an afternoon and as soon as he could the youth headed for the village temple.
In all of Absolin, there was only one temple that rivaled the major ones on Terryl in size and elegance, the Grand Temple in Mixinar. Even in the older and larger towns, temples tended to be much simpler and smaller. Decorations tended to be limited to a few paintings or sculptures that artists made as contributions.
The village temple here didn't look much different from the other buildings. Only the star symbol on the door served as a distinguishing feature. There were a few long, thin, vertical windows along the walls to let light in. Dylan went up to the door and opened it. Inside, most of the place was one single room, with the altar at one end - the star symbol on a cloth covered eight-sided desk-sized base. Near the door was a pile of mats for people to sit on during services. At the other end was the door to the priest's record keeping room. No one was in view.
Dylan went up to the door to the smaller room and knocked, "Priest Gibbal, are you there?"
The silence that followed told the younger mymar he wasn't. He then opened the door.
The office itself was illuminated by two of the long, thin, windows on the outside walls. Along the walls were a number of bookshelves. Some shelves were empty, some had stacks of papers, others were lined with books of various sizes. One end of the room had a desk. Currently, there were only a few papers, a pen and inkwell, an oil lamp (unlit) and a single book on top, though the stacks of paper on some of the nearer shelved suggested where Priest Gibbal kept his more recent paperwork.
The total number of books here would take up only one set of the bookshelves. Still, to Dylan it was an impressive amount, much more than what was offered for sale at market. There was a wide variety of them too. Some of course were religious texts, both the Chronicles and theological studies, but there were also Terrylian classics, history books, science books, and a few Absolini fictions. It was the religious texts that Dylan felt he needed to research. He took one he felt would reveal something and began going through it.
Dylan had heard although almost everyone on the eastern two-thirds of Terryl's continent of Wistra practiced Unisa, not everyone did so the same way. South of the region of Aglir, most believed the Creator was the only supernatural being that mattered, aside from the Evil One. North of Aglir, the people still believed strongly in the actions of spirits and demons. Aglir had some of both sets of believers, sometimes in the same province or town. But there had been few heated arguments about which belief was right, let alone fighting. Instead, neighbors respected each other's right to believe what they wanted, and rulers usually cared only that laws were obeyed, public order kept, and taxes paid, usually.
Here on Absolin, Unisa was more like in southern Aglir. Individual spirits and demons were seldom mentioned in sermons, except once in a while as nameless servants of the Creator or Evil One. But the Chronicles themselves still had stories about them, and they were still mentioned in occasional fiction.
But the question of life after death? Dylan and most everyone else he knew believed upon death one went to an afterlife, either Heaven of Hell. He had heard Gibbal comment most people went to Heaven, as most being farmers they worked for the benefit of everyone by producing with their sweat and toil the food the people needed. As for Grylos, when Dylan once brought the subject up, the elder mymar simply responded by snapping at him to shut up. That was the end of the discussion.
This belief, of course, didn't stop Dylan and others from enjoying a good ghost story. Even though they didn't really believe in ghosts, they could still put aside their doubts for a tale. But Ayrini had gotten him to think about the issue. What had stopped her from "moving on?" More importantly, what could be done about it?
He was still reading when the door opened, "Who's there? ... Dylan?"
The younger mymar looked up from his book, "Priest Gibbal?"
The priest looked at Dylan, "What are you doing here?"
"Um," the youth's expression turned sheepish, "I came here earlier to ask if I could do a little research, but you weren't here."
"Well, I'm here now." Gibbal stepped up and glanced down at the book as well, though he seemed to be thinking about something else. Finally he asked, "What did you want to know?"
"I," Dylan wasn't sure how to phrase his words. Would it be a good idea to say he'd seen a ghost? Probably not. But what could he say? Then a thought came to him, "I was curious. I recently read, a ghost story, and I was wondering ... "
Gibbal smirked, "And you wanted to know what these books and texts had to say about them?"
Dylan felt a sense of relief, "Yes. Priest Gibbal, if you don't want me here, I'll go ahead and leave."
"No, you don't have to." Gibbal walked up all the way over, "I've known you to be an avid reader, but I don't recall an interest in Unisa text." He paused, "Don't tell me you're thinking of becoming a priest?"
"No. Um, I mean ... " Dylan was surprised, then worried he gave his rejection a little to quickly. Although an avid reader, he didn't quite see himself as a priest.
Gibbal chuckled a little, "Oh well. So, what exactly did you want to know?"
"Well, what would make a person become a ghost instead of going on to the afterlife?"
Gibbal thought for a moment, "There are a few examples given in the Chronicles. Sorcery could supposedly make a spirit from the dead appear, but only briefly. A spirit trapped in the land of the living ... one story late in the Chronicles tells of a wicked man who blackmailed the Guardian of the Netherworld into never taking his soul, only to have no place to go when he died. There are more stories than I can count of the spirits of a murder victim not resting until their killers were brought to justice, but none are given in the Chronicles."
"You're saying they either make a deal with a demon or were murdered?"
Gibbal thought some more, "I regret to say of the other stories, memory fails me on specifics. But there is a mention of unfinished business ... or some separation with the ways of the Creator."
"Anything else?"
"For anything further," Gibbal glanced down at the book Dylan had been reading, "the answer lies in these scripts, not with me."
Dylan looked at the book he had been reading, then back at Gibbal, "Is it okay if I read some more until it's time to get back to Uncle Grylos?"
Gibbal thought for a moment, then smiled, "Go out and enjoy yourself for the next few hours. I'll lend that book to you afterwards."
"Huh?" Dylan looked at the priest in surprise, "Are you sure about that? These books must be really valuable?"
"Dylan, I know you, and I know you wouldn't be careless with them. Just return it when you're finished. I'll let you borrow one at a time until your research is done."
"Priest Gibbal, I ... " Dylan's expression turned sheepish again, "I don't know what to say, except thank you."
"You don't have to say any more, Dylan."
As the younger mymar left, the priest wondered for a moment why Dylan was so interested in ghosts, but shrugged it off thinking that the research would do the young fellow good.
*****
The following afternoon, Dylan and Ayrini were sitting under a tree, looking over a book. As always when reading, he had his eyeglasses.
"Priest Gibbal must really like you," Ayrini told him, "He wouldn't let just anyone borrow his books."
"I do talk to him more than most," Dylan commented, "mostly about goings-on and sometimes about stories, but I didn't think he considered me one of his better friends."
"Maybe he does." Ayrini paused for a moment, "You do seem smarter than most of the other boys I knew." She gave her familiar slight smile.
Dylan looked at her, not sure what to say at first, "Um, thank you." he tried to come up with another answer, "I haven't known many other girls, but you do act more inteligent than they, not to mention a lot nicer."
He hoped the smile he returned didn't have a trace of the worry whether or not this was the right answer.
Ayrini, however, showed no sign of taking it the wrong way, and beamed.
A little more confident that he was on the right track, Dylan turned back to the book, "I never thought of myself as smarter. Maybe a little more bookish as they didn't seem to have the same interest I did in stories. Perhaps I am. Hopefully it'll help with this."
Ayrini leaned forward, looking at the book, "You think the answer for me is in there?"
"If not, I'll keep looking."
Ayrini turned to her friend, "Dylan, you don't have to do this."
"Oh yes I do. Ayrini, I want you to be able to move on, to see your family again, not be alone."
Ayrini smiled at him, "You've already been helping me, not be alone."
Dylan felt a slight warmth on his hand. When he looked down, he noticed the translucent image of Ayrini's hand over it. Her own hand had no weight, but rather than passing through when they first touched, it simply rested there as if solid as his own.
"Um ... " Dylan was afraid to draw his hand back out of fear of spooking her. His reaction was a slight blush, showing under the fur of his cheeks and ears.
Ayrini saw this and giggled, "Dylan, you're bashful!"
Dylan managed a smile, "I guess I am."
*****
Days passed and Dylan read the passages in Gibbal's book when he could, preferably out of his uncle's sight. Over the next several weeks, life went on. The daily toil in the fields, time with Ayrini when on break and alone, and the trips to the village at Firstday.
Then came a break in the routine, the Summer Festival. There was music playing by anyone with an instrument, often with more enthusiasm with talent. There were a number of contests, such as the stone-throwing, a desert-baking, which was a good excuse to cook and eat, and others.
For Dylan, it was a chance to have some extra fun, more than just the usual weekly break in routine. Grylos was only interested in the liquor that was brought in for the occasion.
At one point in the festivities, Dylan was sitting on a log with a piece of fried meat, seasoned with herbs. This was Xangrus meat, a type of onilot that was uncommon and cost quite a bit more than the more common variety, when it was available at all, but the meat oh-so-tasty, especially when cooked just right and seasoned with just the right combination of herbs.
The festival was truly a welcome break from the drudgery of work in the field, which was becoming more uncomfortable with the summer temperatures.
His mouth already watering from the aroma of the food, he took a bite out of the meat, and let it soak in. Truly blissful. Why Grylos didn't seem to care for the meat, or other foods cooked just for the occasion, was beyond him. He savored the next few bites the same way.
He then noticed a couple not far away, in a semi-secluded spot at the corner of two buildings. Snuggling and hugging, it seemed they were oblivious to who else might be around.
The meat then didn't seem so tasty.
He was reminded that he was alone, and without his friend.
Dylan thought of Ayrini, and what fun they both could have had here, given different circumstances. He had asked her if she wanted to go, but she did not want to be "so close" to the people she once knew "and yet so far." She'd be unable to say anything to them at all.
Dylan was still thinking about his friend when a voice interrupted him, "And how are you?"
Dylan turned, and saw an older friend, "Priest Gibbal, I didn't see you walking up." He managed to keep from stumbling as he stood up.
It was Gibbal, but this time he wasn't wearing his priest's robes. This day, he was wearing clothes of the same fashion as the other men in the village.
The older mymar smirked a little, "The festival does have a way of distracting people," his smile then faded, "but you don't seem so cheerful. What's wrong?"
Dylan shrugged, "Oh, nothing."
"You mean you think it means nothing to me." He glanced at the couple then spoke in a quieter tone, "I don't suppose those two other there have something to do with it?"
Dylan sighed and looked away.
"I'm sorry if your chances of finding someone are poor, but even if they were better, it's still no guarantee. I myself came from a town with more young women than young men." He paused, "It wasn't because of hopes of becoming an Archpriest that I remained single."
Dylan gave no response.
"What can one say? People do not always get what they deserve, nor does the Creator answer all prayers. One of the prophets went lame late in life, he prayed to walk again, and yet he never did.
"There's no sense in fussing over things out of reach, and there are plenty of other comforts around, such as the festival today." He paused, "I heard there's going to be some chincaberry pies up for eating in about ten minutes."
Dylan finally turned, "You're not making that up?"
Gibbal smiled, "No. Finish that meat, and I'll head there with you." Dylan took another bite out of the meat. As he was swallowing it, the priest then remembered another matter, "So how goes your research?"
Dylan swallowed the rest of the food in his mouth, "It's been interesting. I've found a number of stories," though nothing that would settle matters for Aynrini.
"I've been rereading a Chronicles text I haven't looked at in a while. There were a few stories concerning the demon known as the 'Soulstealer.' "
"The Soulstealer?" Dylan repressed a shiver.
"Yes, I think he may have been in a few ghost stories you read."
"How could I ever forget? One writer gave such a graphic description of it devouring a soul and the first moments of it's eternity - what seemed like forever in it's stomach acid, getting a few moments of relief when vomited up, only to be caught and eaten once again and the whole thing started over again, over and over forever. I couldn't sleep at night for over a week."
"Old stories that prophets have long explained what would happen to wicked."
"And in a few old stories, the unlucky. I remember reading in the original versions of these stories, it wasn't just bad people who fell victim to these horrors, but whoever they came across who happened to be alone and away from others."
"Old stories written long before Unisa ways. You know only the Creator determines the ultimate fate of a soul."
"Yes." Dylan didn't feel reassured. He thought of Ayrini and wondered why the Creator would want her in her position.
Gibbal sensed the youth's unease, but could of course not know the reason why, "I didn't mean to bother you with ghost stories on this happy day." He tried to give a reassuring smile, "Finish your meal, and we'll both cheer ourselves up with some pie."
Dylan ate the rest of the Xangrus meat, then got up. Both mymar began walking off ...
"GIBBAL!"
Both Dylan and Priest Gibbal stopped, the younger knowing instantly who it was. Gibbal had to turn and see, "Your Uncle? What does he want with me?"
"Nothing good." Dylan thought out loud.
Grylos stormed over, "Gibbal! I've wasted half the festival looking for some drink, and nobody's got anything stronger than ale! Finally someone told me the brewers in the bigger towns aren't making it anymore because of the Grand Priest. What the Dark is going on?!"
Priest Gibbal answered, "The new Grand Priest of Mixinar has been more outspoken than his predecessor about what he sees as the ills of society. Among his proclamations was one against strong alcoholic beverages."
"WHAT?!! Are you saying that fat @#$$ shut down the brewers?"
Gibbal managed to keep from retorting to the insult directed at his superior, "No. His proclamation exempted beers, ales, and mild wines as fresh water is not always available, as well as medicinal drinks. The brewers are still operating, but due to public pressure they have been switching production."
Grylos scowled, "Damn you priests! Just because there's no knights or nobility around, you think you can pull everyone around just like that!"
"Grylos, personally I have some reservations about it. And may I remind you it is the Councils that pass the laws, not us. Legally, our votes are no more or less important than anyone else's."
Grylos seemed only to get even angrier, and he grabbed the priest by the collar, "Damn you $^$$%!! Damn you all! You think you can just take away the one thing I like to do! THE ONE THING I LIKE TO DO!! I - "
Grylos' words suddenly stopped, and he stood as he was with his mouth agape for a moment. Then his hands went to his head, as if struck, and he fell to the ground, holding his head, "Ahhhhhhh!"
Dylan rushed over, "Uncle Grylos?"
"My head." Grylos muttered, "It hurts! IT HURTS!!"
Gibbal rushed over to some bystanders, "Quick! Someone get the herbalist!"
*****
Two days later, the wagon pulled by the chapalo Char and Chi returned to the farm, Dylan at the reins. Grylos was not with him.
At the barn, he tied Char and Chi to a post near a well-worn trough. He then went to the barn and climbed into the loft to get a sack of feed for them. The sound of the barn door slamming as he came back down caught the attention of the onilot in the fields. They began walking to the barn, knowing he'd soon provide them with food.
The mymar saw them, and made a mental note to take care of them after Char and Chi.
"Dylan?"
The youth's tail briefly stiffened in surprise, but when he turned he saw a familiar image, "Ayrini? I didn't expect to see you so quickly." He placed the sack down.
The girl looked confused, "You're been gone for two days. What happened?"
Dylan's expression turned sober, "Uncle Grylos ... he had a stroke."
Ayrini looked shocked, "Is, he ..."
Dylan shook his head, "No, he's still alive, but he'll be spending a few days with Cero the village herbalist." He paused, "He's not a true physician, but is the one with the most medical knowledge around here."
"But what herbs can do anything for a stroke?"
"None, once it's already happened. He's simply the one who knows the most how to deal with them."
"Dylan, I'm sorry." She went over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder.
The young farmer sighed, "He can be a pain in the tail, but he's still my Uncle. I've been spending most of the time close to him. I came back here to check up on things," he looked at the girl, "and of course you."
They stood there for a moment, looking at one another, then "Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a."
"Oops. Looks like some of the checking up starts now." He turned to the stalls, which had their doors to the outside open and were now filling with onilot, "I'll get to you in a bit!" Turning back, "Excuse me, time to feed these rascals." He then began carrying the sack out of the barn.
Several bales in the stalls later, the last of the onilot stuck their snouts into the greenwheat hay as Dylan dropped it to them. Char and Chi had long been munching on feed in their trough. The mymar allowed himself a sigh of relief, then looked over the onilot once again. No animals appeared lame, and a couple with calf were doing okay.
"So what happens now with your Uncle?"
Dylan looked back to Ayrini, "I don't know. Strokes are unpredictable. He may not recover. He may recover completely. Or he may recover, but be lame."
"Lame? You'll be doing all the work here by yourself."
Dylan sighed, "I don't know. I don't think things are going to be the same again."
*****
Dylan didn't stay much longer, feeling he had to get back to the village and Grylos. He made the journey back, heading to the herbalists' home where his uncle was in a guest room. The herbalist sometimes had a patient stay at for a night or so. Dylan spent most of the time in the room, either standing or sitting in a chair by the bed Grylos lay in. Although it was a straw mattress, the bed had more comfortable blankets than theirs back on the farm. The herbalist had placed a cane by it, figuring if Grylos woke up he might want it.
Hour after hour, the wait continued. Just standing there, or sitting there. Eventually, the younger mymar would fall asleep as well.
In one dream, he was back at the Summer Festival. But this time Ayrini was with him, alive and as happy as he had ever seen her, giggling and laughing. They enjoyed all kinds of things at the festival, the food, the music, the games, they were having a great time.
Eventually, Ayrini took interest in a flower garden out of the way from the view of the others thanks to it being behind a house and some wooden fencing. She went in with Dylan following, and she sniffed the blossoms, and twirled a vine of flowers around her.
They both sat down next to each other, looking at one another. Dylan found himself leaning forward, and then so was Ayrini, her eyelids closing and her lips parting slightly, glistening in the sunlight ...
"DYLAN YOU LAZY SON OF A - !! "
The young mymar felt a sharp blow to his head, then found himself hitting the ground. The next thing he knew, he found himself on the floor of a room other than the farmhouse. It took a moment for him to recall where he was, then saw his uncle sitting up in bed, his legs over the side, a cane in his right hand, and his face with an expression of anger.
"Uncle Grylos!" Dylan exclaimed, "You woke up!"
"No thanks to you!" he shook the cane at him, "What am I doing here instead of on the farm?"
"You've been asleep for the past three days. After you blacked out, we moved you here."
"Three days?" Grylos looked at him with a perplexed expression for a moment, then the angry look returned and he struck him with the cane again, "WHY AREN'T YOU LOOKING AFTER THE FARM?! "
"OW!" Dylan raised his hand to cover the bruise and moved back, "What was that for?"
"I swear Dylan, your lazy tail is going to starve after I'm gone!" Grylos, only the right side of his face showing his rage, tried to get up to hit the youth again, but he stumbled on his left leg as it wouldn't support his weight and he fell, crying out, "Ahhh!"
"Uncle?" Dylan began to get up.
"Now look what you've done!"
It was at this point the herbalist entered the room, "Ah, Grylos, I see you're awake."
"Of course I'm awake!" the older mymar yelled, "Who else is going to make sure that lazy no-good whelp nephew of mine is going to get any work done? NOW GET ME BACK HOME! "
"I'm afraid it's not that simple," the herbalist tried to tell him, "You have suffered a stroke, and it's going to take a little time just to see how much damage was do-"
Grylos cut him off, "I TOLD YOU, GET ME OUT OF HERE!! "
*****
"(Grumble) Finally! We could have been here yesterday if you had listened to me."
"But Uncle Grylos, the herbalist - "
Grylos lashed out and the came came down on Dylan''s head, stopping with a vicious crack, "THE HERBALIST NOTHING!! THERE WAS NO REASON IN DARK TO STAY!! "
"Ow!" Dylan, his eye already swollen a bit from a bruise, raised his hand a second too late. It was a painful end to an unpleasant trip. At the herbalist's urging, Dylan had left Grylos with him for a day so he could look him over, much to the stricken mymar's protests. After some examination, the herbalist told Dylan the result of the stroke was partial paralysis of the left side. He wanted Grylos to stay for a few more days, but after one, he finally relented to the older mymar's constant complaining. The older mymar's left arm was in a sling, and the left side of his face was begining to slack a little due to the lack of movement.
"Stop at the house first," Grylos told Dylan. The younger mymar did, and helped his uncle down.
"I'll go put the wagon and Char and Chi up."
"There you go again with your stupid little useless things!" Grylos gave him an icy glare, "Animals are not deserving of names but are to be referred as what they are and no more!"
Dylan sighed.
"Don't you give me that!" Grylos shook the cane at him, and Dylan couldn't help but take a step backward, wondering if he'd get hit again, but this time he wasn't, "You'll do what I tell you, not a word."
"Yes, Uncle." Dylan withheld further comments as he got back into the cart, and drove it off while Grylos hobbled into the farmhouse, grumbling.
Relieved to be away from his uncle, at least for the moment, Dylan drove the cart to the barn. Once there, he unhitched the chapalo from it.
"Okay Char, Chi, trip's over, in you go." He led them to the fenced area, opened the gate, led them in, then closed the gate.
"Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a."
Dylan looked to the onilot herd headed to the barn, then sighed, "It never ends."
.....
It wasn't long though before the onilot were all happily munching on the hay and Dylan exited the barn. He wondered what to do next.
Ayrini was still out of sight, and he didn't want to be around Grylos. Work in the fields, even in summer, suddenly didn't seem so bad as long as he was by himself. Or maybe he could get away with going to the lakeshore. There was no sign that Grylos had left the farmhouse, so maybe he had taken a nap.
It was then he noticed smoke coming from the farmhouse's chimney, "Huh?" It's not time for a meal. He sniffed the air, And what kind of wood is that? He began walking over.
Opening the doors, Dylan called out, "Uncle Grylos, what are you cook-" he then cut his sentence short upon seeing the fireplace.
Grylos was not in view. As for the fire, instead of a kettle or a frying plate, the fireplace was filled with a pile of burning books - his books!
"NO!! " Dylan rushed forward, but even before he got to the fire, he realized it was already too late. Every single page had been burned beyond recovery. Almost nothing was intact aside from a few blackened book covers.
On his knees, he picked one up, "Priest Gibbal's book ... Oh no ... " his eyes caught a glisten of light next to the fire, and looking at it found his eyeglasses. Picking them up, his fears were confirmed - the lenses were completely shattered, " ... no ..."
"The perfect place for that rubbish," came a voice from behind.
Dylan turned, and there was Grylos, matches still tucked into his sling.
A swirl of emotions went through the younger mymar's mind as he starred at his uncle in disbelief, "Uncle Grylos, but, why?! "
"Why? Because they're a waste of time! Every moment spent on them is a moment that could be spent working. It's about time you realized that!"
"Waste of time, ..." Dylan's expression and voice began to show a hint of his anger, "I've always done what you asked me! And what the Dark are we going to work on in the dead of winter once the animals are taken care of?"
"Then you can repair old clothes, make candles, or anything else productive instead of wasting your time!" Grylos fumed, "You don't need any more of that chapalo droppings getting beneath your ears!"
"Chapalo droppings?! Do you know how long I saved to buy those?! And this - " Dylan held up the burnt cover from the religious book, "Do you realize what you've done?!"
"Burned just another piece of trash." Grylos expression didn't change.
"Trash? Trash?! " Dylan shook the cover at Grylos, "You call the Chronicles trash?! By Creator, you're an old man. You of all people should know that tomorrow you could be - "
"That's enough!" Grylos cut him off, his eyes narrowing as he raised the cane.
"By Dark, don't you get it Uncle? This isn't just any book. We're talking about damnation here! I - "
Maybe it was his emotional state, but Dylan failed to notice the cane until it began swinging his way. He was only just beginning to raise his arm when it struck. This time, he was knocked backward onto the floor.
"Don't you ever, EVER, bring that up again!" Grylos yelled, "That's a load of droppings, and you know it! There IS no Creator! It's all a load of junk so those phonies can control us!"
"It's about time you stopped deluding yourself, whelp. There is no reason to be reading any fairy tales or junk about places you'll never go, or people you'll never meet. And you can forget that priest garbage. When you finally die, that's it! Nothing! Zero!"
"And unless you stay off your lazy tail, you're going to end up there mighty fast. I've been patient before, but from now on things are going to be different. From now on, no more of that junk. From dawn to dusk, you'll spend every moment you can doing something productive."
"Now, go out to the barn and get the plow. We have some work that needs done." Grylos turned around and began hobbling to the door.
Dylan finally sat up. With what his uncle had just done and spoken, a great anger began to boil within him, more than he had ever known. His teeth clenched and his fists shook with rage. He found his hand reaching for the fireplace's metal poker.
He got up, thinking one good blow would be enough to end the source of all his pain. He would never even see it coming. He began to step forward. No one would ever know.
Actually, someone would know - Ayrini.
How could he possibly explain such an act to her?
In an instant, the rage left him. My Creator, what am I thinking?
His hand lowered, his fingers loosened, and the poker fell to the ground.
Grylos had not so much as stopped or looked around. Getting to the doorway, he called out, "Dylan!"
"Coming Uncle." Resigned, the young mymar stepped forward to what he knew would be only the beginning of a hard season.