Saturnalia (SAMPLE)

chapter three: where hope may flourish

The first sign of better times begins so, with someone more fortunate, even if they wear no shoes upon their feet, and bow to hardly the same gods.

Overwhelmed with work, Iyan was unable to warm his heart for very long over the peculiar writing of the stranger, and could only find himself a break in the maddening flow when his uncle appeared almost halfway through the day. At once pushing out into the back of the post office, pleading a break for food, Iyan took his papery gift and sat himself in the shade of a nearby tree, creeping as it was against the walls of the office.

Kairie Felling greeted him over his trembling heart. He traced the letters she had written out and wondered where in the world Catrodea was, that it should have produced such a curiously enchanting creature as her. In the wake of his aunt's sudden death, her particular feminine softness was exactly what he felt he needed, a softness at once contrasted with the yelling of his uncle. Flinching in spite of himself, Iyan lowered the paper and sighed, a breath far too heavy for the day filling and escaping from him. Would there be no escape from the endless energy of these people? His town was a curiously wild one, a symptom of their religion, and Iyan had never felt so annoyed with it. He loved his gods of sun and glory, of solemn respect and honor, but the very people who prostrated themselves in all of their ecstasy before such divinity often gave Iyan severe lapses in tranquil thought.

Perhaps this was why he could not move away from the image of this Kairie. None of the fanatic insanity of the Returnist life touched her. He wondered again what she was doing in such a land as this. How had the borders opened unto her alien personality?

His querying was answered that evening, when upon exiting the post office with his uncle, none but Kairie stood there at the front steps.

"Hello, again," she smiled, her red hair loose over her shoulders. She wore no shoes or footwear, which drew the irritated eye of Uncle Hans, who disliked what was not like everything else in his life. Iyan did not mind.

"Miss Felling," he replied, using her name to indicate that he had read her small note. "What brings you back? We are but closing."

"I had hoped so." She smiled and adjusted her arms over the bag she had clung to her chest. It was draped over one shoulder, bared by the fashion of her shirt, and Iyan's attention was arrested by the smoky brown colour of her skin for a moment. There was nobody at all in Tottenham Cross who possessed a skin tone as hers, nobody even in the country, as far as Iyan knew. The sun only really shone in the South, but that was where the Luttons lay, and Iyan knew his family line was capable of only turning red under the bright gaze of the sky. He smiled at her once he had maintained some self control, and turned to explain himself to his uncle.

"I'll be home soon," he promised, already stepping away.

"Soon isn't a quick enough time, boy; we have much to prepare! Frivolity can wait." Uncle Hans scowled, his balding hair lifting somewhat in the breeze. The warmth of the evening air was apparently not enough to mellow his heart.

"Of course, sir." Iyan hid his clenched fist at his side and bowed his head. "The ma'am had a question, and I swore to answer it when we were not so overwhelmed behind the cou - "

"I care not! Be home for dinner," interrupted his uncle, who had begun to step off for their cabin, no interest for the white lie, or the insensitive romances of his nephew.

Staring after him for a very long minute, Iyan quelled his distaste for the situation only when he had gratified a vengeful scene in the security of his thoughts.

"You have to give him some liberties with mood, no?" Kairie had walked up to Iyan's side and peered up with an interested look as he glowered after the receding frame of his uncle.