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We clearly had different ideas on what leading meant. Either that or he was in denial of what he was to them all. Even as we sat there, quite a few of his ‘not-followers’ had begun to take their place alongside the wagon in preparation to walk beside it. Nearly all of them were looking up at Ryndle with a love and adoration that should be reserved for the Goddess.
Well, nearly all.
Ziah wasn’t looking at Ryndle. He was looking at me. After the other night I would have expected disappointment, or a hard look of anger, but he fixed me with the same awe and young-boy worship that he had the night before. I gripped the reins harder and turned away, focusing on the horses if only to avoid the way the kid was staring.
“You’ve driven a wagon before, I assume?”
“I’ve ridden a horse,” I answered as though it was the same thing. He laughed in response, the sound loud and boisterous. A few of his devoted followers on the ground laughed alongside as though they had heard, judging by the look on their faces, however, they were clearly afraid of being left behind on some unheard joke.
I had heard that Lightens were crazy, but this level of devotion was bordering on something dangerous. Ryndle, however, didn’t even seem to notice.
“Lucky for you, this pair are tame, you tell them when to go and when to stop and they’ll do the rest.” He gestured forward, giving me my cue to get us moving. Great.
I curled my lip at him in disgust, but he sat there smiling, the muscles in his arms twitching again and sending his tattoos glistening in the golden light of dawn that was now bathing everything.
“Go on.”
Thankfully I had driven in enough pack wagons when traveling from Qit to Qit that I knew the basics of this. Riding in was not the same as riding, but it would have to do.
“Hiya!” I called snapping the reins once. Sure enough, the pair jerked and trotted forward, the old, heavy wagon creaking and moaning as if in protest from being roused from an enjoyable sleep.
Everyone moved as the horses did, conversations popping up as some of the children continued to dance and play alongside the slow moving wagons. One by one the ‘Hya’s of the camp echoed behind us until the long yellow caravan that the Lightens were known for began to move. Each wagon was painted a different shade of yellow, each one with that crest of wings and branches emblazoned on their sides. If that wasn’t enough to alert anyone of their arrival the song that picked up somewhere near the end of the long line of wagons would. The tune was as happy as the rest of them.
“So, if you don’t lead them all, what do you do?” I asked after a minute, if only to drown out the words of ‘The Goddess’s Womb’ that was now being sung on repeat.
“As I said, I spread the knowledge I have and make sure to keep everyone safe. They need that from time to time.”
“How often do you all get attacked?” I asked, thinking of what Lyani had told me about Ziah, which sent a clench through my stomach that I didn’t appreciate. I didn’t like the Lightens as much as the rest of Okivo, but seeing all these children and hearing Ziah’s story…
No one should be attacking them.
“Too often. We have to vary where we travel from. Many villages don’t like us to make an appearance. They seem to think that we are different than we truly are.” His voice was clipped by the end, the tone harsh even if he looked calm from where he leaned against the wagon, eyes closed to the first beams of sun that were blazing through the trees.
“Well, aren't ya?” I narrowed my eyes, but he didn’t open his eyes, just exhaled.
“You are of the same mind I see. But no, I would not say that we are different at all. We all worship the same Goddess, don’t we?” He paused, leaning forward to look at me. Even that small motion sent the wagon swaying and shifting, the old wood creaking as though it would fall apart below us.
He was waiting for a response. I stared straight ahead.
“Everyone in Okivo has a book to commune with the Goddess in their home,” he continued when I didn’t answer. “Most of us will make a pilgrimage to the Temple of the Sister at least once in our lives. The Children of the Light have chosen to devote our lives to that. We have chosen to practice the old teachings that have been forgotten in the book. I don’t see how that makes us wrong, or different.”
“It makes you crazed,” I mumbled, thinking of how they had all put their hands in the air and swayed and not sure how else to put it. Thankfully, Ryndle just laughed.
“Does it? You grew up on a Qit, yes? You lived there?” He leaned in at his question and I stiffened. I had no idea how he knew that, but seeing as he found me near a pier, I guess it made sense. I nodded. “Those on the Qit make fishing their lives, they rise and fall by the tides. They think, breathe, eat fish. We are the same, but with the Goddess.”
It made sense, and I hated that it did. They were odd, I had seen that, But I had been to Turin enough to know that many said the same things about those who lived and worked on the Qits. I had heard the whispers about the dangerous Wave Walkers that bed your daughters and steal your coin.
I stiffened, trying to keep my focus on the horses and their slow, steady gait.
“I don’t see the harm in devoting your life to something, although others do. Others choose to see us as dangerous and tell stories to paint as us such. Clearly, you’ve heard a few of them. I’m sure that you have expected Lyani to snuggle into your bed at some point and convince you to breed her.”
I choked in response, it wasn’t worth saying more than that. He knew he was right.
“People do not like what is different from them. Often, what they deem different is only slightly more inferior than what they do. In some ways, people look at us and assume that we are trying to boast in how we worship, that we are trying to portray their efforts in the religion that we all were raised in as less than. That is not it at all, I do not care how you worship, or even if you do. What I care about is if you are happy, if you are healthy. If you have found a place in your life that brings you joy. That is all the Goddess wants too, it says so in the book.”
“What book?” The question burst out before I could stop it.
“The Book of the Goddess.” He laughed, clearly thinking I was playing. The sound stopped quickly. “Surely you had a copy of the book in your home growing up?” He leaned forward, grabbing one of the tall strands of grass that were brushing up against the wagon as we moved around a divot in the road.
