The Path to the Sun

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Kiran caught up to Jandon. “I think Deke knows more than he is letting on.”

“Of course he does. He always does.”

“I mean about the bells. The conclave. Why take me up there to jump today? Why would he care whether I made it at all?”

“Who knows? It’s Deke. Why question?”

Kiran nodded, but he kept turning it over in his mind. Something wasn’t right.

The path meandered along the forest’s edge past tiny thatched-roof homes tucked into the hillside, their gardens laid out wherever flat land could be found for tilling. Kiran and Jandon came upon an abandoned farm, now fallow, the soil turned to dust. “I know this family,” said Kiran. “They led a good, honest life, dedicated to the Way. I don’t understand. Why is this happening to good people?”

“I know the family that took them in. They share the chores and ration the food. Now there’s a mark on their door because they didn’t make tithes.”

“Well, how could they? With two families to feed?”

Jandon had no answer.

They came around a bend to a full view of the valley below, the bay, and the sea beyond, clear to the edge of the world. The forest from here to the village had been cleared over the years, felled to build houses and fuel the winter fires, the land left for pasture. In Kiran’s childhood, it had been a lush, green meadow, fed by the rise and fall of nutrient-rich spring rains. But now, what remained was a barren plain, the surface a pattern of ridges in the dried earth like wrinkles on the face of an old man. The river had long since diminished to a muddy creek, winding through the lowland.

The Temple rose up from the landscape with its high-reaching stone walls and steep roof. Surrounded by the Temple Gardens, it was an oasis of green amid a world of brown.

Ding-dong-ong-ong, the bells rang out, echoing across the valley.

“Look at them all,” Jandon said. Throngs of people were arriving from every direction—farmers and their wives with dirty-faced children in tow, craftsmen wearing their leather work smocks, shepherds called from the hills, dirt on their bare feet—all traveling with a singular purpose, all summoned by the bells.

Kiran wondered how close he would be able to get. During the weekly worship, he would sit outside the south window where he could sometimes hear the blessings. Today it would be too crowded.

As they neared the Temple, Jandon turned toward the village well. Kiran glanced down the path. Bria’s green eyes met his and his breath caught in his throat. He quickly turned away.

“Aren’t you thirsty?” Jandon asked. He glanced toward the well. “C’mon. She won’t bite.” Kiran inhaled a long, calming breath, then followed, his eyes on Jandon’s boots. When he looked up again, Bria was standing right next to him.

“Hi, Kiran.”

“Oh, h-hi,” he stuttered and dropped his eyes to his hands. Her arm brushed his as she moved to let others pass. She was so close he was sure she could hear his heart pounding. Many mornings he had wandered the hills, hopeful to catch a glimpse of her as she tended her flock, but he never had the nerve to say hello. Now, she was inches away, smiling at him, her cheeks rosy from the heat, her deep green eyes alive and sparkling.

… like The Stone, he thought.

“Hi Bria,” Jandon said, his gaze direct, unflinching.

“Oh, hi Jandon.” She looked back to Kiran. “You boys are dripping sweat. What have you been up to?”

“Nothing,” Jandon said too quickly, wiping his forehead. “Just obeying the summons.” He flashed a smile. “How did you get down here from the mountain meadow looking so fresh and beautiful?”