Page 28 of Song of the Dawn
I joined her, working quickly. It was hard work but rewarding, since I knew I was contributing to the garden. Butterflies hovered around us, and the humming of bees pollinating the flowering vegetables was comforting. Occasionally a breeze blew, lifting the sweat from my neck.
“What’s on your mind?” Giselle asked gently. “You’re a bit more skittish than normal and constantly looking over your shoulder. Has anyone harmed you?”
Was it that obvious? “No,” I blurted out. “Nothing like that. I saw someone walking through the orchard in the middle of the night. There are so many guests it’s hard to keep track of them all, and someone I don’t know could have curious habits.” I tried to shrug it off, for that was the story I was sticking to. I wasn’t like Endia; I wasn’t seeing things that should not be. “When I was in the dress shop, I saw statues, and Namen told me they all have stories, the gods of the seasons. Is that another legend?”
Giselle sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of dirt behind. “Yes, it is an old tale. The gods come at the turn of the seasons to play music that inspires nature to change. When the world was young, the gods did so freely, coming to this land to play the music that would sway nature. With each seasonal change came blessings and miracles. But little by little, the people stopped believing in the gods, claiming the seasons changed naturally. With the work of their own hands and the inventions they created, they no longer needed blessings or miracles from the gods. As you can imagine, this angered the gods, and so they stopped coming and demanded worshippers and rituals and sacrifices to encourage them to return. Lagoda became divided between those who wanted to honor the gods and the old ways, and those who wanted to ignore them and focus on the new ways of invention. Those who believed conducted rituals, including blood sacrifices, ceremonies, and all kinds of foul things. According to the tales, it was a bad time. Feuds and battles broke out, creating bloodshed and murder. After a while, it all ended, and no one heard the song of the gods again. Every now and then, someone claims to, but it’s something to keep to themselves. In fact, I’m surprised Namen had her statues on display. Usually one wants to keep them hidden for fear of incurring the wrath of others. I suppose it’s all old legend now though. I’m not sure anyone believes anymore.”
I knelt in the dirt, still as I listened to her story. Song of the gods. I recalled the violin I’d heard, far off, beautiful, played with a skill I did not have. If I could play like that, I’d never lack again. “What do you believe?”
“Mila, because I like you, I will be frank with you. Regardless of what people want to believe, the gods haven’t forsaken us. That’s the thing about faith. People claim it is subjective, but is it? Truth is truth, no matter how much people attempt to bend it to align with their selfish desires. Gods aren’t petty like humans, nor are they bound by the logical impediments of this world. It is easy to be jealous of one with immortality and vice versa. Perhaps they are sick of dealing with small-mindedness and stupidity. Yet I can’t explain it, but at the turn of each season, I sense an old, otherworldly presence. Perhaps it’s because of where we are located and how the veil between the world of the gods and our world is thin up here, but I can’t shake the feeling they are watching over us and those who believe will still receive blessings.”
I let her words sink in, realizing I’d never considered faith in gods, the unseen beyond us, the makers of this world and all life. As I weighed Giselle’s words, things Ezra had said floated back to me. He, too, had mentioned a spiritual connection and how it was an unavoidable part of life. Did he believe in the gods too? Did I even want to address this topic with him?
Ever since my time with him in the gardens, my feelings about him were conflicted. I knew what it was though: fear of getting to know him and finding out whether he was as good as he appeared or a disappointment. Wasn’t it normal for relationships to have imperfections? Quiet arguments, miscommunications, and moments when the other person did not feel seen or heard. All those things could be overlooked in the big picture of a long-term relationship that, in general, made one happy, or at least as happy as they were allowed to be. Did I want to find out if that could be possible with Ezra?
“I’ve never heard stories about the gods,” I told Giselle. “But I think I understand your faith in them. You spend so much time in nature, and out here it’s much easier to believe. It’s harder in the city, where there’s the rush and constant noise of city life. It’s hard to be quiet and think for oneself among the barrage of information and the instruction of teachers and professors who are wiser than others.”
Giselle snorted. “People always have excuses for why they will or will not believe in something. That’s just the thing though. They don’t care about truth; they only care about feeling good about themselves.”
“How does one distinguish truth from what makes one feel good?”
“Now, that’s the right question to ask. It’s conviction. You’ll feel it in your soul that it is the truth and not something you’re regurgitating because a teacher or family member or even a comrade like myself told you. You’ll discover it for yourself, and your finding of the truth will be so strong and pure that you’ll know.”
Knowing. Was it that simple though? Giving a shaky laugh, I tried to lighten the conversation. “I don’t know what to think. Are you trying to convince me the gods are real and I should search for them myself?”
Giselle patted the last potato into place and stood, surveying our work. Her face was earnest when she spoke. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything, Mila. You have enough smarts to figure out things. I’m simply answering your questions and giving you more to consider as you make sense of what you learn here. When I was young, I went to school, and there were many teachers, but my favorites were the ones who encouraged me to ask questions about the world and not to sit back and simply take their word for it. It changed my perspective, and I’m only doing the same for you.”
“I appreciate that. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
Giselle nudged me with her elbow. “You’re quite agreeable, you know that? You don’t have to be. You can speak your mind and I won’t judge you for it. The point of these conversations is to ask, to discuss openly. We’ll still be friends even if we disagree.”
Mila
Giselle’s words stayed with me a long time, and I pondered them, turning over impossibilities in my mind. Were the old gods real, and did I hear them? If so, what about the darkness I saw?
I heard the violinist more often. Sometimes at midnight, other times at dawn, but I dared not peek out the window, too frightened of what I might or might not see. I wanted to blame it on the air in the mountains; it was thinner, lighter, and made my mind more fanciful. Perhaps it also affected my vision, making me see things that were not there. I asked Rachelle if she ever heard a violin playing, but she shook her head. That vacant look returned.
I’d heard tales of people going mad. It started with seeing things that weren’t real, and they were convinced it was. The insane lived in a remote asylum near Solynn, where no one would bother them and the doctors worked to find a cure, or at least keep them from self-harm while they lived out the rest of their days. I promised myself I wouldn’t end up like them, and the resolve built and grew. Instead of cowering in my bed, I needed to find the source of the music and have my questions answered once and for all. But how could I walk about at night if there were shadows creeping through the inn like monsters?
After a considerable time spent thinking, I decided I needed a knife. If I had a weapon, I’d feel safe, and if anything tried to harm me, I’d cut it first. However, wandering about outside during the middle of the night was too risky. It was dark, and it would be easy to lose my way or fall in the unfamiliar landscape. I’d only seek the violinist if I heard the music during dawn. As I was satisfied with my plan, a bolt of anticipation went through me. Soon I’d find the truth, whether it was a prankster or an old god. I laughed at myself. Perhaps I was going mad. Who had the audacity to believe they could sneak up on a god?
One morning, after the breakfast rush died down, I stood at the bar, thinking over how to steal a knife. Moses and Marley were always in the kitchen, and they were organized. They’d notice the moment a knife went missing, and I wasn’t sure where any others might be hiding. A shadow darkened the doorway, and a moment later Ezra slid inside, calm and well dressed, his eyes soft with sleepiness. My heart warmed, and all my plans fled. I could simply ask instead of snooping around.
Smiling, he came to stand in front of me, and I realized I was the only one at the bar. Ginger had stepped into the kitchen to have a word with Moses, and Rachelle was collecting the last trays from upstairs.
“Mila, just the person I hoped to see,” Ezra greeted me, leaning his elbows on the counter.
It had been a while since I’d seen him, what with the harvest of oranges, and afterward I’d assumed he was busy. I’d missed his presence more than I wanted to. I didn’t mean to say the words out loud, but they slipped off my tongue like water off a cliff. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
His eyes clouded. “I know, work, but I haven’t forgotten. Anything.” Standing straight, his gaze shifted around the bar. “Where is Rachelle? I want both of you to come to the barn with me, immediately.”
I frowned. We never went to the barn. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He winked. “I just need some help.”
Rachelle appeared a moment later, trays in hand. Arching an eyebrow, she breezed through to the kitchen and reappeared with a cinnamon bun. “What?” she asked, staring from Ezra to me.
Ezra gestured to the door. “Will you accompany me to the barn?”
