The Decameron 2.0

Day 6.6 Trickery - THE GOD OF LIGHT KatrinHollister

"Strange indeed," the speaker says as Set finishes his tale. "But it is acceptable."

Set nods his head, pleased and honored but keeping his expression stern. The low firelight gleams upon his shining collar.

There is general assent for this one. A low rumble of conversation passes as the leader takes this book up and consults a large tome as if to determine who to call upon next.

"Are any stories ever rejected?" you whisper, softer this time than before.

"They can be. But they're very careful about what they select." I peer down, wondering which of the tricksters will tell the next tale.

"Come forward now –" the leader starts.

But Kuma Lisa is already there, small and thin. We never even saw her move. Her long black gown beneath her robe sweeps about as she takes the final step up to the podium. Her face is hidden, but her amber eyes glow beneath the hood, bright and cunning. Her white-tipped tail flicks to the side. She wears black gloves that hide her paws, but, though she is a fox, she has a posture better than most humans. "I have been watching this human for quite some time, waiting for the proper time to snatch a tale from her. This discovery is due, in no small part to Kumcho Vulcho who was uncharacteristically helpful. I think he liked this story well enough himself, but I brought it here for our collection."

"And what mortal created this tale that you both liked so well?" the leaders asks with grave intonation.

"Kat or Katrin Hollister. Lovely tale weaver that one," Kuma Lisa says. She tosses out an emerald book. As it turns end over in, the green light shoots out. It settles in the air and begins to rotate slowly. A perfumed scent, rich in part and yet almost diseased in the other, releases and spreads throughout the room. "You cannot help but like it too."

The God of Light -- @katrinhollister

I have been watching him, seen his suffering since the funeral. I glance at the necklace in the folds of my robes. What a delicate creation, for the daughter now forever lost to him. I can help. Yes, indeed, I can.

"Come closer, my dear child. It's all right to cry. Our God of Light will heal your wounds. I can see the sorrow in your eyes."

His wretched face, his forlorn expression. If only he knows how many have walked his path. Yes, he needs me. He reeks of desperation and guilt, and has no way to protect himself.

"Our God will protect you. Tell me about your perils."

How contemptible. He reminds me of the old pastor; he, too, thought he knew what God wanted and he could lead us to him. He was a fool, not the chosen one, unlike I. Look at where that got him? Deserted by his own people.

"Oh, I see. Your poor daughter. Only five years old, you say. What of her mother? Also dead? Ah, I see. Scarlet fever and consumption. Two maladies all too common in this sinning human world, brought on by those who should have praised the Lord but neglected him."

He nods, silent. What a poor, ignorant soul. If only he knew all these could have been prevented. I can rescue him; the God of Light can cleanse him, and this village will regret their ridicule.

"My child, we all have to pay for their consequences. The people of this world act on their own selfish whims. They brought the darkness upon themselves. If only you had sought his help before it all happened. Did you pray daily? No, I didn't think you did. The Lord can tell. Did you condemn the sins and punish the heretics? This is why your wife and child had to suffer. You recall your accident at work that cost Joseph his arm? How about two years ago when famine claimed our land and the Joneses starved? Our village may consist of only two thousand people, but I know. You could have done something, had you been a true follower. You were not."