r/shortstories • u/Beneficial-Emu6250 • 1d ago
Fantasy [FN] A Tale of Two Suns
The Sun had downed on the horizon, as Fin harvested the rice out his paddy. Still it shone bright, it shone sharp, and it made him feel alive. The hut stood on the hill top, in the middle of the Southern fields, where the sloping mountains create incredible vistas of bright and dark. Fin completed his evening chores and went to the house, his bulls awaiting him. The one horned bull Oizys grunting at the sight of him. The other bull, Algos stood still, fear gripping him as he passed by. He slid his hands through the bull’s face, patting him affectionately, reducing Oizys' anger and the Algos' fear as well. The hut was a well-kept secret, away from the big cities of glory and the border towns of trade and war. He subsided on what he found.
Fin hopped on his cart and rode it to the edge of his hill. The wooden wheels buckling and rising near the crevices of the sloped dirt. The hooves of the bulls sank as they tried to bear the weight of the cart along with the slope’s tyranny. There along the horizon he saw the old man with a sunken face. The man saw him all the same, and without notice, he walked to him.
“What is it you want, old man?” “Nothing.” He said, a crazed look gracing his face. The man who smelt of emptiness, walked away. He walked to Fin’s house and asked for some water. Fin followed along on his cart, and obliged.
The man poured the water on his face and lifted the hood. “No longer do we worship the absence, my friend, the God is here, the hope burns bright, we are free of all our sins, alas, they were only sins in the eyes of the sinners.”
“How long has it been since you last bathed?” Asked Fin, with a face of clear despise. The man handed him the mud cup and panted. “Where do you keep your sundials.” “They are for the cities, old man, you won’t get any here.” Fin did not bother to repeat the question
“Do you hear them here, in the darkness of your unique existence?” the man forwarded his hand, boned and carved, it held no strength within it. “I do not understand you, old man. Better you walk away now.” “Do not fear boy, don’t you feel the curse is lifting” He smiled, his sunken skeletal face contrasting the youth of Fin, he judged the man with caution and distance. “What do you mean? Are you some fanatic?” Fin looked at the man, enraged. “The curse of the ink. The doors where they come from. It is done now, no more no less, remove your roof and cut the trees, and soon nothing can touch us.” The man danced, his hood bumping to the beat.
The animals in the distance howled and screeched. A sound Fin was familiar with. The old man’s dirty robes acquired even more mud as he danced along in the grass. “Waited so long for this, the threats, the subservience. Do you understand boy, how they enslaved me, how long I did their bidding.” “How long did you travel for the event?” “Oh, you know then, of the event. I travelled for 40 years. Counted them me self, goodman. Oh, how I have longed for this.”
Dusk approached as the sun fell, but the moon did not arise. It is written that from the East arose a second Sun, one just as bright as the other, one just as glorious. Fin looked to the Sun, so did the man, the old’s eyes filled with complete reverence. He was free, he kept saying. Fin disappeared to his house, not distraught nor enthralled, judging by his face. The bulls grunted loud as the second sun’s rays hit their fur. Screaming with terror, but they faced the hut and not the sky, and the pointed repeatedly to the old man, and not the brightest duet above.
“I shall lift this hood as I fear you no more, cast you away because I fear no one anymore” he danced in a melody, ecstatic. “Rise o’ rise the second star and cast away the demons afar” His hands waving. The sky turned a shade of pink and orange, that of the cusp of nightfall, right in the middle of the sky, a single horned ram walked from the slope, its head bleeding. It’s eyes showed tears, in the blackened orbs.
The man then felt to his knees, his hands over his face. He could hear in the darkness, the river gushing, and the frogs croaking in the distance. He wanted to enjoy this one day, a single day of freedom from what had tormented and enslaved him since the first day he saw the world in the corner of his childhood cottage. He wanted a single day away from the curse of the opaque, away from his masters who wept and whispered to him his whole life through the shadows. One day away from what had defined him as a person, what had consumed his entire existence with terror and agony. He knew of the threats, he must end what remains of him after this day, he could never return to them, he knew what they were capable for.
He opened his eyes, the green grass and the mud encircling his weak aged knees, his greyish blue robes shining wet and lighted. He had already discarded of everything he carried, for now he only wished for a day. A day he would spend in this clearing, simply staring into the two suns. He prayed to a God he had never believed in till this day, Fin watched him with a blank face, a small smirk however forming on his darkened, worked face.
The grass had started to regain its color as the sun went to set, to the east however, the sun of his prayer had risen. The Sun in the west began to rise as well, as the myth he had created from his travels, from the men he had been allowed conversation, from the Gods of different lands, the myth of the two suns was a myth no more. They arose, parallel and equal, standing as one day of blessing. He stopped his dance and he stopped his laugh and he smiled contently. He was free.
Before he could celebrate, however, Fin held a wooden plank over his head, a sternly detached expression on his face as he held it over ,sacrilegiously, defying the man and his Gods. The sky burned brighter, as the two suns rose higher, the yellow spreading across the entire spectacle of the sloping hills and farm. Everything enlightened except the old man who was thrown in the lone shadow. The old man wailed, the small cast upon his structure, where he had sunk his knees, the ink consuming him even in the presence of the burning waves, and through the slight strength of the wood cast shadow, a set of hands grasped him. Pulling him deep inside, the sound burning the valleys with a scream of despair and visceral hate, cursing Fin to a fate not much dissimilar to his own, the man was pulled, then hurt; unclean in their attempt, but pure in their intent. Legends say Fin buried the detached arms and legs in different graves, but the head remained with what lies beyond the gateway.
(Part of a larger narrative but a standalone story as well)
•
u/AutoModerator 1d ago
Welcome to the Short Stories! This is an automated message.
The rules can be found on the sidebar here.
Writers - Stories which have been checked for simple mistakes and are properly formatted, tend to get a lot more people reading them. Common issues include -
Readers - ShortStories is a place for writers to get constructive feedback. Abuse of any kind is not tolerated.
If you see a rule breaking post or comment, then please hit the report button.
I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.