The Visiting Leader
“So, how much of the land around her do you know about?”
“I should hope that I am familiar with it all. I have spent many hours and days traversing the surrounding plains and wilderness.”
Sonata looked around from beneath the trees, trying to find some particular part of the landscape to question her on.
“What about that bunch of trees?” she asked, pointing.
Sunset took her eyes away from the horizon, where purples and oranges of the sparse clouds fought for supremacy amongst the sun’s descending red glow. She gave the trees in question a cursory glance.
“I have been there,” Sunset said simply.
“And?”
“And what?”
“What’s there?”
Sunset raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me what kind of trees they are?”
Sonata shook her head. “I was just wondering if you had any, like, adventures there, or something.”
Sunset took a moment to consider this. “Not under those trees, no,” she said. “If you’re asking for something strange or interesting that I’ve experienced, then might I direct your attention to that hill there.”
Sonata peered out across the watering hole, towards a small, somewhat grassy hillock far in the distance. The only reason Sonata was able to make it out was because of the shadow it cast in the late-day sun, along the otherwise flat-ish ground around it, and the two white-wood trees either side of it like sentinels.
“Neat. A hill,” Sonata said, trying to sound interested. She looked discreetly around at the several utterly similar looking bumps in the plains all around. “Did something weird happen there?”
“I suppose so,” Sunset said, taking a sip of water. “I believe that the mound is over a natural water deposit, since the grass there almost never goes dry, and those two trees do well every year.”
Sonata’s spirits sank a little. “Natural water deposit, huh?” she said, forcing a smile. “That is useful to know, I guess.”
“You should learn patience,” Sunset chided, giving Sonata a poke on the nose. “I haven’t told you all, yet.”
Smiling a bit more naturally, Sonata turned to give Sunset a slightly mocking look of complete and avid attention. “I’m all ears,” she said sweetly.
Looking out towards the hill again, Sunset said, very seriously. “I do not know for sure, but I believe that hill to be a burial mound.”
Sonata’s contrived look of interest solidified into a genuine look of shock and wonder.
“Why do you think that?” she asked, looking out at the hill too.
“A person visiting there told me so,”
Sonata’s eyes widened, honestly dumbstruck by this unexpected piece of information.
“What? Is there a village nearby or something?” she asked, glancing quickly around as though she might suddenly notice smoke, hear distant voices, or some other sign of nearby civilisation.
“No,” Sunset assured her. “The nearest village of any sort is several days travel from here. This person made a journey here to visit the hill.”
“Why?” Sonata asked, now entirely engrossed in the prospect of a story. “Did he tell you?”
“He did,” Sunset said. “The hill is sacred to his people. Long ago, the ancestors of his tribe fought a great battle with evil spirits here. Eventually they prevailed, and cast the spirits down into the earth, where their evil turned the land barren and hard. The victory came at another cost, however, as their Leader also perished in the fighting. It is their people’s belief that the hill is the burial mound for their fallen Leader.”
“Is it true?” Sonata asked in a hushed voice.
“Is what true?”
“The story. About spirits and things making the land here a desert.”
Sunset pulled a face. “I doubt it. But who knows? Perhaps it is true.”
“So why do they visit?” Sonata asked. “If they don’t live here.”
“The tribe moved far away when they discovered that the land had been stricken. But the land around the burial mound remained fertile. It is the belief of their people that eventually, the Leader’s goodness will outshine the spirit’s evil, and the land will be good and fertile again. Then, they shall return. The members of their tribe who venture out here are the heirs apparent to the tribal leadership, who claim to trace their line back to him. They make the pilgrimage here to pay their respects to the first of them, and to ask his patronage upon their people. Whilst here, they perform a ritual to offer the strength of the tribe in the leader’s spiritual war on the evil spirits to help cleanse the land of evil.”
Sonata looked around dubiously. “Not to be blasphemous,” she said seriously. “But I don’t think it’s working.”
“No,” Sunset agreed. “According to the traveller, the dead Leader always denies the help offered, wishing them instead to go on living instead of fighting along with him. It is their hope that, one day, the Leader will accept their help, and thus finally drive the evil from the land, and they will be able to return.”
“Did he accept their help last time?”
“The traveller did not think so,” Sunset said. “But they return every few years apparently to ask again, so hope springs eternal.”
There was a silence for some moments, and then Sonata asked another question.
“So is it just the two trees that are there?”
“No,” Sunset admitted. “Although, they are the most sacred objects there. They apparently contain the strength of the original Leader’s virtue and stamina, and eating the fruit that grows there is supposed to bestow these gifts upon the new leader.”
“What kind of fruit are they?” Sonata asked. “Have you tried any?”
“Absolutely not,” Sunset said gravely. “That would be disrespectful. Other than the trees, there is an altar, and a carved stone idol gilded with ivory and silver.”
“Like your idols?”
“A little,” Sunset agreed. “Only bigger. And a great deal shinier.”
“It sounds valuable,” Sonata said, looking out towards the hill. “Aren’t they afraid someone will steal it?”
“It’s no use to anyone out here,” Sunset shrugged. “What would you or I do with it?”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Sonata said, still concerned. “I just hope that my people never find it. So, could we go and see it?”
“Perhaps one day,” Sunset said, leaning back with a sigh. “I would like to see it again.”
“I love seeing other people’s rituals and things. I wish I could have seen the new leader person,” Sonata said wistfully.
“A trait I am happy to say we have in common,” Sunset said before turning grave again. “If we go, you must promise me not to touch anything. I do not want the travellers to think me untrustworthy when they were kind enough to explain their ways to me.”
“I promise.” Sonata looked out towards the hill. “Is the altar there anything like yours?”
“In terms of function, it is much the same I should imagine,” Sunset said, inclining her head a little. “In scale it is larger, and more ornate. It is made to honour someone precious who has fallen in noble deed.”
“And yours isn’t for that,” Sonata surmised.
“My altar is meant to humble me before the gods,” Sunset said solemnly. “Its simplicity isn’t a description of them, but a symbol of the materials a lowly creature such as I have to work with. To create a seat for the idols more lustrous or decorative could be seen as a challenge, or a means to self aggrandise. It might even be viewed as an attempt to show the gods that I place myself on their level. One thing that gods, kings, and all people of high importance have in common is their dislike for being placed on an equal footing with anyone else.”
This last point had actually been something of a joke, but Sonata seemed to take it a different way.
“I know you don’t actually use your altar to ask the gods stuff, but in your religion, do you pray to the gods to show them you’re lesser than them?” she asked, frowning.
“I suppose in a way that’s what humility is,” Sunset said. “It’s usually the best way to gain the favour of a higher power. But there are other reasons to do so. A large part of the ritual that the travellers to the hill perform is prostrating themselves to their Leader, to show that they are humble enough to lead their people selflessly.”
Sunset looked at Sonata for a while, watching her apparently ponder this over. Then, something in how she’d said her last question made her wonder something.
“You disagree?” she asked. “Tell me your thoughts.”
Sonata frowned. “It’s not that I disagree. They’re your ways. My village viewed our gods differently than how yours did, I think.”
“Oh?” Sunset prompted.
“Our gods live in the lake and the mountains, guarded by terrible monsters. They don’t ask for worship in the same way others do. All they demand is fear.”
“Fear?” Sunset asked, uncertain what she meant.
“They want us to be afraid of them,” Sonata explained. “The elders tell us that it is by fear that we are made to live righteously. Without the gods to cow us into submission, we would be selfish and violent. So they demand we fear them, and cause terrible things to happen when we do anything without being properly afraid of what the gods might do to us whilst we do it.”
Sunset was frankly stunned by this description. She didn’t want to dishonour Sonata’s culture, and so she refrained from giving her thoughts. But she rather thought that’s what Sonata wanted her to do, and so compromised by seeking clarification.
“Did they forbid anything?” she asked. “Many tribes that I have visited have codes or laws they claim were set down by the gods.”
“There are only two rules,” Sonata said. “The first is to worship no other gods, for they cannot preserve us. We are of the lake and mountain, and bound to our gods by fate.”
For whatever reason, Sonata raised her hand up to her neck, as though feeling for something familiarly, although nothing was there but her slender blue throat. Sunset followed the gesture, but could make no sense of it, and Sonata didn’t seem to even notice she had done anything odd.
“The second rule is to always remember them, where ever we go. For if we forget them, they shall find us and bring us back.”
“Are you afraid that they will?” Sunset asked.
Sonata smiled as though she found the question itself amusing. “I suppose that would be the point, wouldn’t it?” she said, giving Sunset a wicked smile. “In case you’re wondering, that’s not why I’m here. Living with you.”
“No,” Sunset said. “You were escaping from something far more substantial than monsters and gods.”
Sonata looked at her sideways for a moment.
“I kind of like the idea of the Leader guy,” she said after a while.
Sunset raised her eyebrows. “Why is that?”
“It’s just kind of noble, isn’t it?” Sonata said. “Still fighting the evil spirits even when he’s dead, just so his people can live in peace and stuff.”
“And stuff,” Sunset repeated, smiling. “I admit that I find the story compelling as well. I hope that the Leader never asks for their help.”
It was Sonata’s turn to look surprised. “Why? Don’t you want the land to be good and stuff again?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen whether he accepts their help or not,” Sunset said, staring out across the field. “I think the true point of the story is to remind his people that the past is dead and gone, and there’s nothing to be done about things that have already transpired. They must get on with their lives.”
Sonata scratched her head. “Then, what’s the point of them coming back to ask all the time? If he wants them to forget about the past?”
Sunset gave her a mysterious smile. “You’re a smart person. Why do you think they do it?”
Sonata thought, and hard. After a few moments pondering, she thought she had an answer.
“So that they remember,” she said.
Sunset shrugged. “It’s important to remember your past. However painful it might be, however much it hurts you, its lessons are too valuable to let go of.”
Sunset held Sonata’s gaze, which was a curious mixture of hesitancy and concern.
“You weren’t just thinking out loud, were you?” she asked.
“No,” Sunset replied, smiling slightly. “Just because I don’t like discussing my past doesn’t mean I don’t acknowledge it.”
Sonata maintained her concerned side glance for a while longer, and then said “Do you think the travellers think they’re acknowledging their past too?”
“What do you mean?” Sunset asked, puzzled.
“They remember their past, and they come here to face it again. But only their leaders do. The rest of the tribe remains behind, and takes the word of the leader about what happened, and what the first Leader’s answer about wanting help is.” She looked away. “I just think they might be lying to themselves in a way, you know?”
Sunset sat for a long while, unsure what to say to this.
“For such a capricious person,” she said eventually, “your insights can be disturbingly astute.”