Chapter 2: 2: Death Of A Dream

Aliscia grasped Vir’s shoulders and stared at him with her hazel eyes. “Even if you are prana scorned, what of it? I don’t have any affinities myself and I manage just fine, don’t I? Vir, there are many paths through life, even for those who aren’t good at magic,” she said with the warm smile of a mother.

“Well sure, but magic makes things easier.” Magic gets you respect. “Don’t you wish you had an affinity, Aliscia aunty?”

“Wishes do not make dreams come true. But you know what does? Hard work,” she said, handing him his broom. “Chin up, Vir. And be sure to see Maiya later. She has a surprise planned for you,” Aliscia said with a wink.

A surprise? Vir thought. He was already growing excited thinking about Maiya’s gift, despite himself.

Vir resolved to overcome this setback. He had no idea how, but he would. He just somehow knew.

“And for the millionth time, I’m not your aunt!” Aliscia huffed as she stood up to leave.

“Yes, aunty,” said Vir with a sly smile.

The Magic Clock on the wall pinged again. Only forty-five more minutes until congregation. He was late, and he had a lot of work to do.

First came the lighting. He picked up his lantern and went around lighting the candles placed all around the temple, the ancient wooden floorboards creaking underfoot.

Magic Lamps were safer, of course, but Apramor always said that there was a quality to real fire that magic could never replace. Vir liked the thought, even if he knew the priest was just being considerate.

Ping! The Magic Clock showed only a half out left.

Vir finished lighting the incense sticks in front of the tarnished altars of the gods, filling the temple with the soothing smell of sandalwood. He put fresh flower garlands on the icons of the gods, then swept the floor clean with practiced efficiency. Ten minutes.

Last came the faded cushions, which he placed all around the room on the floor. The temple was devoid of any chairs, but Vir found these lounging cushions more comfortable, anyway. He finished the task with five minutes to spare.

Apramor appeared from his private room just as Vir was finishing up with the cushions and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I heard…”

Vir had finally distracted himself from the results of his magic test, but now his mood came crashing down once again.

“I shall offer you no words of comfort, for I know they will not help you,” the priest said. “Instead, I hope you listen carefully to today’s sermon. It may very well contain the answer to your plight.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. I doubt it.

The priest took a moment to gaze at his handiwork.

“Fine job, as always, Vir. Thank you for your help.”

“Of course, sir. It’s my pleasure.”

“Tis your pleasure, is it? I see that my daughter’s been rubbing off on you,” Apramor chuckled. “Now, settle in. I think you will enjoy this,” he said. Vir was sure he saw a glint in the priest’s eyes.

Villagers had already filtered in, and the silent temple filled with hushed chatter. Some greeted Apramor. Others took their seats and prayed. All looked away the moment they saw Vir, which reminded him to flip up the hood on his cloak.

“Apramor, why do you continue to employ that Ashborn child?” a villager said.

Mr. Akros. Always nosy. Always angry. This wasn’t the first time the irate villager had voiced his concerns, and Vir was sure it wouldn’t be the last time either.

“It’s… it’s unholy!” Akros whispered. “My son is far more suitable. I can have him start on the morrow. Just say the word, Apramor. Please!”

Vir ignored the man and climbed up a wooden post near the back, using footholds he’d made years ago. This was his spot, where the musky scent of incense wafted up to, satisfying his nose. A bird’s nest, of sorts.

From here, he saw the copper idols of the gods. He saw Apramor’s lectern, and moreover, he was above the crowd. From up here, no eyes judged him. For these precious few moments, he felt ordinary. He felt like he belonged.

“And would your boy show up as regularly as the sun’s cycles?” Apramor said with priestly patience. “Would he arrive an hour before dawn to help me day after day, week after week? Hmm?”

Akros scratched his neck and looked off into the distance, breaking eye contact with the priest. “W-Well, he’s just a boy, after all. He may miss a day or two, but I assure you he’s as devout as anyone in Brij! Certainly more than the Ashborn. That boy’s not even a believer!”

“You will never find religion in a perfectly clean soul, Akros. You would know that, wouldn’t you…”

Silence.

“Please take your seat,” Apramor continued, “And know that I do not seek devotion in my assistants. I require only dedication. Vir has not missed a single day in all the years he’s served me. He is irreplaceable, and that is my final say on this matter.”

Vir’s chest filled with warm pride at Apramor’s words. He only wished he could’ve preserved Akros’ expression at that moment. It gave him great joy to see the mean man knocked down a peg. That it happened in public only made it taste even sweeter.

Apramor turned his back to the fuming man and strode up the wooden dais where his lectern was located, in front of the idols of the gods. The hushed murmurs quietened, leaving the ancient temple in silence for a good half minute. Then he spoke.

“Today, I narrate the tale of Janak the Wise. Though he may not be as renowned as the likes of Adinat or Haymi, I find his story nonetheless profound.”

Vir wasn’t expecting this. He’d long ago memorized Apramor’s adventures of the gods that took them to wonderful places Vir could scarcely even imagine. He often put himself in their shoes, pretending it was him going on those adventures.

But he could never truly relate. Every god of legend was celebrated and loved by all. Even the antagonists. Vir was anything but.

Though he hadn’t yet heard Janak’s story. Would this tale be any different from all the others? Vir leaned forward on the edge of the rafter he perched upon, hoping to absorb every word.

“The legends often portray Janak as a wise philosopher king, and this is true. Having ascended past worldly desires, he thought only of his adopted daughter, Siya. But few know the trials and tribulations he faced in his early years, before he became a god. When he was called Janak the Desperate.”

Hushed whispers broke out through the temple. “Janak the Desperate!? I’ve never heard of this! Wasn’t he always a god?”

“Janak began as a mortal man. A king of men, but a mortal nonetheless,” Apramor’s voice filled every cobwebbed nook of the holy place. “Even as a ruler, Lord Janak sought to understand the workings of our world. His ideas promised to transform society, but his people deemed his efforts frivolous and wasteful. ‘Why question Adinat’s gifts?’ they said. ‘Why not be content with what we have?’”

The priest commanded every gaze within the temple at that moment.

“At his wit’s end, Janak grew desperate. Though his people never accepted his social reformations, he persisted. It was a path foreign to his people. His ideas went against their beliefs. But he knew that to be content was to stagnate. And Janak wanted only to progress. Through time and toil, his unrelenting effort swayed their opinions.”

Apramor’s voice grew louder and more vigorous as he spoke.

“Time and time again, Lord Janak proved his worth to all! His ideas blossomed through the land and ushered a golden age upon humanity. And for his efforts, Adinat himself awarded Janak the honor of godhood!”

He paused to look up at Vir, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, nodded ever so slightly at him.

“This is the true story of Janak. The story of one who knew failure. Who endured to find his own path through the darkness. Who, in the end, shone light upon his people and was loved by all…”

Vir understood. Sure, Janak may have been born with a silver spoon, but he threw everything away to pursue his own path. Vir wondered how Janak had mustered the courage to take his first step.

You are reading story Ashborn Primordial (A Progression Fantasy) at novel35.com

When the priest spoke again, his voice thundered through the temple.

“The gods have chosen our destiny, but the responsibility is ours to pursue it through its many twists and turns. We will stumble. We will fall. There will be those who mock us when we inevitably fail.”

Apramor locked eyes with Vir again. The intensity of the priest’s expression sent shivers down the young man’s back.

“But know this! There is no effort without failure. Know that it is not the critic who counts!

Only those who try and fail, again and again…

Who pick themselves back up after they fall…

Who persist, despite their flaws and many shortcomings…

It is they who shall remain when all others abandon the path! It is they who attain the towering heights unimaginable by the common man!

So that their place shall never be among those cold and timid souls, who know neither victory, nor defeat.”

The temple had gone so silent that Vir wondered whether the audience had asphyxiated. Because Vir almost had. Apramor’s every word felt like it carried the overwhelming weight of centuries of experience. It resonated with his very soul.

Prana scorned? So what? He’d find a way around it. Ashborn? Good. He’d use that to his advantage, too. He would persist. He would endure. And in enduring, he would grow strong.

Apramor let out a deep breath, as if clearing the heavy air that weighed down the halls of the temple.

“In closing, let us give praise to the gods who bless us so. To Adinat, for creating this world we enjoy. And of course, to Yuma, for giving her lifeblood to our precious forest.”

“Might‘s well pray to Badrak too!” Someone quipped, breaking the tension and prompting a round of chuckles from the villagers.

“Truth. Wouldn’t mind a bit o’ luck with all this talk of Kin’jals and war and whatnot.”

“Here he’ere!”

After a last prayer to the gods, Apramor dismissed the congregation, and the villagers filtered out one by one. Vir waited until most of them had left, then sneaked down and began putting away the cushions. Apramor watched on in silence until Vir finished.

“Did you find today’s congregation useful, Vir?” the priest asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“I know why you chose today to tell Janak’s story,” Vir said. “I dunno how you knew, but I needed this.Thank you. ”

“I am relieved,” Apramor replied, his deep-set eyes twinkling. “Celebrate this day, Vir. You only come of age once, after all.”

“Maybe. Father doesn’t really like making a scene, though.”

Apramor’s gentle expression melted into a frown. “Hold your head high, Vir. Ignore the others. Your eyes and your complexion do not make you any less than the rest of us. Like Janak, you merely have your own path to follow. You need only to find it!”

“Thank you, sir,” Vir replied, but he knew that being accepted by the village would take a monumental feat. It wouldn’t happen soon, that was for sure. Not unless something cataclysmic happened first.

The priest rummaged through his robe. “That reminds me, I almost forgot to—”

“Moooooorning.” The priest was interrupted by a girl with flowing red hair who’d tottered into the temple. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and precariously balanced a small brown box in the other.

“You look like you just got out of bed, Maiya!” Vir laughed.

“S’cuz I did,” she replied with a yawn. “Here. For you.” Maiya thrust the box toward Vir.

He reached out and grabbed the package before it could fall. “What’s this?” He asked, hefting the weighty item.

“Your birthday cake! Was up all night baking it for you,” she said with another enormous yawn.

“What! You baked me a cake!?” he said with a cracked voice. “I mean, I couldn’t have—I… Maiya, I’ve never even had a cake for my birthday. This is… uh, I—”

The girl cut off his words with a hug, leaving Vir awkwardly balancing the cake while she embraced him.

“Happy Birthday, Vir. I know it isn’t much, but feel better?”

“How did you… Is it that obvious?” He’d never understood how his best friend could read him so well.

Maiya didn’t respond. She just hugged him tighter.

Maiya… “Thank you so much,” he managed. Something cold and wet rolled down his cheek. He hid his face, embarrassed.

“Why don’t you two run along and enjoy that cake? I’ll wrap up here,” Apramor said. “Oh, and as I was saying before my daughter so rudely interrupted, here you are, Vir. This week’s payment.”

Vir took the bag of Imperium coppers from Apramor. Heavy, he thought. “This is too much, sir.”

“My birthday gift to you. You’re officially an adult now, Vir. You have earned this.”

Maiya grabbed Vir’s hand, all traces of her sleepiness gone. “Let’s go, Vir! You’re helping your old man in the woods today, aren’t you? I’ll tag along! And I wanna know how the cake is. No lying and saying it’s good when it’s not, you hear?”

Vir nodded, smiling. “Of course, Maiya,” he lied. He’d never say it was bad, even if it was.

No matter how much the others disliked him, he could always rely on Maiya and her family to welcome him. And Rudvik. That was enough.

Maiya rushed out of the temple, dragging Vir behind her as he gingerly balanced the cake box.

“And they’re off,” Aliscia said, having emerged from the back room.

“You shouldn’t encourage him, Lisci,” said Apramor.

His wife tilted her head. “Meaning?”

“That boy will never know magic,” the priest said. “I only pray the day comes when he realizes he doesn’t need it.”

Aliscia shook her head. “What he needs now is hope, Apra. If you squash his dreams, I fear you will rob him of something precious. Something irreplaceable.”

Apramor gazed at Vir’s back, his lips taut. “I’m afraid I’ve seen dreams die far too many times to place my faith in hope.”