Chapter Thirteen

In the small hospital ward, Katalene laid in her bed and felt the soft covers draped over her. It’d been well-over a week since she’d slept in anything resembling an actual bed. The room had wooden flooring, which was considered as uncommon in most standards of Wilson. Most buildings had dirt floors, where the ground was often moistened with water to cool things down. However, for more official areas such as their hospital or the area where they stored and rationed off all the food, they sprung for more sophisticated housing options.

In bunks afar from her, she saw Meghan in the bed all the way to the back, and she saw several elderly men and women in beds closest to the door. She arose to a seated position and felt up at her forehead. The doctor, a woman Katalene had known all her life named Eskah, who was, at least in her fifties, and was probably about one of the nicest people that Katalene had ever met, was surprised at the sight of Katalene. Thankfully, Doctor Eskah was nice enough not to ask her too much information, knowing this wasn’t the moment for conversation. Still, when Eskah unwrapped the scarfs from around Katalene’s forehead, she couldn’t contain her shock.

“Holy shit!” were the exact words that escaped Eskah’s mouth.

Katalene smiled weakly, about as strongly as one could smile in-regards to the top of their head being partially scalped.

Eskah tended to the wounds the best she could, pampering her with ointments and disinfectants, covering the wound with bandages, which was likely more sanitary than using a scarf Katalene had found from off a dead body. She also gave Katalene medicines to help with the pain it might have been causing her. Katalene took them gladly, though, in honesty, she had grown used to the wound’s ache by now.

Katalene stood, bandaged up, with her fullest intents on leaving as soon as she could. No part of her wanted to participate in the conversation that would surely ensue should her family members catch wind of her return. The only reason she was here was to allow Meghan the care she needed as quick as possible. Now that she had it, Katalene had no reason to stay in Wilson any longer.

“I’m heading back toward the Deserts, Sol. Be ready,” Katalene instructed, climbing up from her bed to a standing position.

She looked up at Sol, or, more accurately, the imaginary friend she projected as him when he wasn’t around. “How is Meghan doing?” He asked.

“It’s difficult to say, she’s in a hospital bed though, and whatever care she’ll needs, she’ll get. We’ve done everything that we can do, now it’s in fate’s hand.”

Katalene walked forward towards the exit. She still hadn’t fully processed the fact she was back at Wilson and was alarmed by how foreign the whole area seemed to her. It felt strangely second-hand. She opened the door leading to the outside and tugged it open, it didn’t take much force. And, about as she did, she saw Father Ark and Mother Jane staring back at her.

Katalene stared back at them, no jolt or flinch, no real reaction. She had half a mind to shut the door and try for the nearest window to make her leave, but things never seemed to go the way she wanted.

“Hello,” Katalene said, “Scratch that, Sol. It will be a while.”

Mother Jane smiled fully at her, wrapping her arms around Katalene in a brace, which Kat uncomfortably reciprocated.

“We were so worried about you! What happened to your head!?” Mother Jane cried out.

“Cried out,” not being a hyperbolic interpretation of what she had done, Katalene could see the tears running down her face.

Father Ark stared at Katalene with a look of silent enthusiasm, for lack of a better description. His face offered a forced smile that illustrated he was trying to show the happiness he had to see her again. Father had really killed off his facial expressions since she was a kid, reducing himself to only two or three different looks that didn’t look painful or excruciating to commit to.

“I ran into some bad people,” Katalene said, and it was an honest statement, though, calling the members of The Hallow “bad” was something of an undersell.

“Where’s Rooven?” Mother Jane asked, peeking out over Katalene’s shoulder as if she expected him to be in the hospital with her.

Katalene’s face soured at that thought. This was the main reason she hadn’t wanted to come back to Wilson. To have to relive her brother’s demise for a second time. Father Ark seemed to pick up on the change in her facial expression because his look softened.

“Let’s discuss all of this over dinner,” Father Ark said, leading the way from the hospital back to their Wilson abode.

2

The table was plainly set. After all, Mother Jane and Father Ark hadn’t expected that their youngest would be returning to them. Had they been, Katalene had no doubts that Mother Jane would have preferred something special for the occasion, even if it was to Father Ark’s displeasure. If Katalene had come back with Rooven, and if Katalene hadn’t been badly hurt, then, Father Ark would have had a less somber tone about him. He would’ve demanded explanations and would’ve raised his voice. Even still, Mother Jane would have prepared something to commemorate their return.

The table had a large bowl at the center of it filled with steamed potatoes, cheese and milk was clearly visible. For the sides, there were peas and buttered bread, all of it looked finely prepared, with more than enough to go around.

Katalene preferred such a meal over what could have been. If, for only a second, things felt a bit familiar and mundane. Part of her missed ordinary after what she’d since experienced. A lot of her missed it, in-fact. But, the feeling wouldn’t last.

“Let’s talk about where you went,” Father Ark asked, it was the first words he’d spoken since they had seated themselves at the table.

Since then, Mother Jane had offered pleasantries, asking how Katalene wanted her food prepared, offering a wet-rag to her ribs from the way Katalene walked with a limp. Katalene declined.

“Katalene,” Father Ark said, drawing Katalene’s attention at last.

Katalene, who hadn’t been thinking about what he said, stared back.

“Where have you been?” He repeated, a stern look on his face that showed his celebrations were over for her return and that he wanted answers.

“I’ve been,” Katalene bit the bottom of her lip and looked around the table, “Can I have more bread and butter, please?” Katalene asked, gesturing to Mother Jane.

“Of course!” Mother Jane said, obliging in her request.

Katalene took in a breath and let it out, the stare from Father Ark didn’t relent. “Rooven and I went to the Whispey Deserts with Uncle Morgis’ treasure map.”

“And, where is Rooven?” Father Ark asked, an assertive tone to his voice which showed that he was focusing his anger in small bursts instead of exploding at her in a rage.

Mother Jane looked at her as well, also eager in whatever answer she may have had.

Katalene returned their stares, and simply said: “Rooven is dead.” Her voice was about as somber as she could bring herself to muster, but it might have still come off as cold.

Mother Jane’s curious look dissipated fast, and in its place, came just about the most heartbreaking of changes Katalene had ever witness another person display. That is, if Katalene’s heart was still in any position to be broken. Tears ran fast down Jane’s face and she buried herself in Ark’s shoulder while she sobbed. Ark looked visibly upset, but he held his composure a lot better. Katalene assumed he likely expected it about the time he saw Rooven wasn’t in the hospital with her.

He kept his look pointed at her, “What happened, Katalene? What bad people did you meet?”

“A group called The Hallow, they stole humans and used them for,” Katalene stopped, trying to find the words to keep from forcing Mother Jane to cry anymore, “For dreadful things. They’re the ones that cut me, their leader, he took a knife and he cut me with it.”

Father Ark’s expression turned the very second The Hallow’s name fell from Katalene’s tongue. He tried to disguise it fast, but Katalene caught it.

“You know about The Hallow? That it exists?” Katalene asked, this time, it was her being the assertive one. “You knew about the group of rapists and murderers that carve into people like cattle? And, you just let them continue to exist!?” Katalene felt the strongest emotion she’d felt in a while. She felt anger again.

Never mind the fact Father Ark just found out he lost his son, Ark knew about The Hallow, and that was something she couldn’t bring herself to repress.

“Katalene, The Hallows’ enormous and dangerous,” Father Ark pleaded, as if Katalene and her severed flesh wasn’t already aware of that. “It isn’t as though we can go there with torches and pitchforks, we take our precautions and if they come into our village, they pay the price for it. You shouldn’t have been there in the Whispey Desert,” Father Ark continues, tears started running down his cheeks that he wasn’t able to fight back. “Honestly, how could you have been so …,” Father Ark stopped, thinking better of it.

“Why not just put them up on the scarecrow with everyone else that you’ve killed? At least they actually deserve it!” Katalene said, springing up to her feet.

There was the distinct sound of the glass dishes being shook from the act. Mother Jane whimpered harder, whereas Father Ark fought to keep himself from losing his temper.

“My son is dead.” Father Ark commented dryly. “There are some things I do that you may not understand, but always understand that they are in your best interest and in this village’s best interest. But that isn’t our main concern. Our main concern is not petty squabbles and unfounded disagreements.”

Katalene eased herself, looking down at her feet. She thought about how much she’d have liked to have avoided this conversation altogether.

Every thought of Rooven, even the smallest memory, dug into her like a knife. It was a survival tactic to simply ignore it, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so.

“Did he,” Father Ark began, “Did Rooven suffer?”

Katalene glanced up and looked Father Ark into the eyes. Her anger lessened when she could see the amount of sadness her father carried on his face.

She thought about the moment Rooven had died. The look of complete agony on his face as the arrow’s poison began spreading through his blood, and how he very much suffered.

“He died in his sleep,” Katalene answered. “They gave him a medicine that was completely painless. He didn’t suffer, just drifted away.”

“How did you make it out alive?” Father Ark asked, shaking his head as if he was in almost disbelief of the fact.

“Rooven fought off one of The Hallow members, helped me escape from them, and I fled.” Katalene said.

And, like that, Rooven would be revered as a hero.

Katalene would have preferred it no other way than that. Rooven was a hero, because he saved Katalene from herself, she couldn’t have raided that tomb by herself. She owed him her life for that.

Father Ark nodded. It wasn’t a “That’s my boy” nod, or anything like that, but Katalene liked to think it instilled a bit of pride in him. The narrative of Rooven saving Katalene was a good one and would likely be more believable than the one Meghan would surely provide. The one that involved Katalene and a dragon. Katalene assumed they’d chalk such proclamations up to hallucinations brought on by Meghan’s intense fever.

3

Katalene dragged her feet through the dirt pathways spread through Wilson. If she had her way, she’d have already left with Sol to who knows where. The dirt felt strange between her toes, like sand, but not quite. It was as if a residual remnant of the Whispey Desert carried itself with her that she couldn’t get out of her head.

The village people were quiet and courteous to her as she walked. The harvest was finished with only a few loose ends to tend to. The crops all being chopped down, it was time for any of Wilson’s cats to earn their keep, what, with how many mice were now fleeing into neighboring houses. It wasn’t uncommon to walk by a smug looking femile with a tail dangling out its mouth like a spaghetti noodle.

Everyone knew about Rooven’s death, and, to their credit, every one of them was too respectful to prod her any further than that, no matter how curious they were.

Small children ran around, themselves innocent from the heart-ache. Katalene watched a small brunette girl chasing after another small girl, a sister, perhaps? The brunette couldn’t have been more than seven years of age and had the sweetest, little holler, saying she was “coming to get” the other girl. When the brunette ran in-front of Katalene and made eye-contact, Katalene forced a smile, the brunette stared in awe of her.

“Emily!” A rugged voice called out, a voice that Katalene didn’t immediately recognize, but as she turned and looked over behind a wooden fence, she saw Old Man Frank staring back at her, holding a pitchfork in hand and a toothpick in his mouth.

Katalene made eye-contact with Frank, whose demeanor was nondescript and plain, an individual who was always difficult to get a read on. It was a curious thought that weighed on her mind about whether Frank was ever happy or anything other than tarnished by his own curmudgeon ways. Frank beckoned for Emily to return his way, for which, Emily obliged. Frank was the kind-of man that Katalene couldn’t imagine many children weren’t afraid of. As Emily and the rest of the children stepped away from Katalene, however, Frank made a gesture that Kat was able to read. Old Man Frank tilted the straw hat on his head toward her and provided a grimaced look that showed his respect and condolences.

Katalene carried her feet through Wilson, part of her really wanted to keep on walking until meeting the Whispey Deserts again, the part of her that didn’t really know how to be part of this world again. But the small shards left of her conscience couldn’t bring herself to do that. At least, not yet. The simple reality is she stilled had commitments to make with Mother Jane and Father Ark, to see them through this tragic time as much as she could. And, after seeing Jane’s sobbing expression, she couldn’t very well leave them yet, even if having to relive Rooven’s demise pained her greatly.

Wilson, on-average, was known for very hot weather, especially, in-comparison to a cooler area such as Jerleak. However, to the desert sun, Katalene felt comfortable for a change. If only her mind could have taken a page out of her body’s book and healed. The orchestra of madness didn’t pound its drums and lulled battle cries in Katalene’s mind, but, then again, they never did. Katalene didn’t feel angry or sad, not usually, at least. Usually, she felt repressed, as if every emotion she once could fathom was too deeply buried below the surface to engage again. It was simply her instilled principles of right and wrong that kept the wheels in her head active.

Before her, she stopped in her tracks as she made eye-contact with Uncle Morgis. Morgis smiled grimly at her, his face was sunken and could almost bury itself in his unkempt facial hair. The oldest of the two, Morgis would never claim to be the best of brothers to Ark. The less stubborn, calmer of the two, Morgis accepted that, even if Ark wouldn’t admit he had been far from the best of brothers to him in turn. Even still, that didn’t change the fact that they were family and that family was important. Their beliefs about life should amount to might have contrasted, but they loved one another.

Uncle Morgis broke bread with all of them at their abode many times. Morgis had attended birthdays and had seen both Katalene and Rooven grow up through the years. Morgis’ approach to life had always been what Katalene could best describe as being that of a free spirit. After all, when he visited, he told grand tales Ark either debunked or pretended not to have heard. The infectious sense of purpose and enthusiasm her uncle had always stood out to Katalene.

It was a different man staring back at her this day, however.

“Hello, Katalene,” Uncle Morgis said weakly, then, after a particularly extended amount of nothingness on the other end, added: “How are you holding up?”

Katalene stared blankly at him, her head even tilted a small inch or two at the very sight of him.

Uncle Morgis nodded. “You and your brother were as close as I had ever seen two other people before. I was even envious that I never had that with Ark, that friendship,” Morgis said.

“If he’d been a little smarter like Ark, he’d have seen me for what I was, the same way Ark sees you.” Katalene said, there wasn’t much thought about what she said, it escaped her lips before she truly comprehended it herself.

Uncle Morgis smile weakened but didn’t completely fade. “You and Rooven wanted something other than simply what this small-time village has to offer, can’t be faulted for that. Don’t blame yourself for what happened to your brother, it won’t bring him back. You couldn’t have known what lied inside those Whispey Deserts.”

“You’re right, I had no way of knowing what the Whispey Deserts were like.” Katalene concurred, feeling a heat in her chest she didn’t know what to think of. “I couldn’t have known because my guide was a frigid, egotistical old-man that never said anything other than bullshit. You told us about arrows and how harmless they were, but they weren’t, not when they’re smothered in poison, they’re not. You told us about invisible fucking pyramids, but you couldn’t spill a word about a fort of rapists and murderers! If I had known what hid inside those damn sands, I’d have never put my brother in harm’s way. I don’t blame myself for what happened to him!” Katalene felt the roar to her words, the anger within her inflection, but did nothing to calm herself.

She saw the little girl, Emily, looking back at her, before being led away by Old Man Frank. Uncle Morgis’ face never drooped down, he kept contact with Katalene while she yelled.

“You’re right,” Uncle Morgis concurred coldly. “I knew you both swiped my map and I said nothing to anyone about it. I was proud, stupid even, that both of you wanted to be adventurers. A whole village of people that look down their noses at me, it’s only the children that ever thought I was worth a damn. But, you and Rooven, I should have told your father where you both were headed. He could’ve,” All at once, Morgis’ stern stare finally broke and tears began to form, adding a glisten to his eyes.

It took him a moment to compose himself. Katalene did nothing to comfort or reassure him. She just simply stood and watched as he cried, feeling nothing gained from it, watching in silence at the act.

“If you need somebody to blame for all of this, let it be me. Don’t let it be yourself. Never yourself,” Uncle Morgis said. “I’m a crook and I’m a fool, a no-good liar that is to blame for your brother’s death. I’m sorry, Katalene.”

4

Funerals were very formal and official gatherings in Wilson. Everyone attended. Children attended, the elderly, everybody. It was how tradition had it. Perhaps it was Wilson’s small population that allowed such luxuries, but it made it feel like there was a real unity to the village.

Katalene held her head low beside Father Ark and Mother Jane. They wore the finest clothes they had in their possessions. For Father Ark, that was an old black suit that was kept solely for the occasion, and, for Mother Jane, that was a simple blue dress with little intricacies about it. Mother Jane didn’t care much about coming off as extravagant, that wasn’t what this day was about. Katalene, herself, wore nothing more than a clean shirt and pants, it wasn’t as though she had anything else to her name. Wilson was ugly and bleak; her wardrobe only reflected that fact.

Father Ark asked her once about the gauntlet she wore on her wrist. Katalene told him that it stayed on her always and Ark was too depleted to debate matters.

The day was about celebrating the life of Rooven, the Son of Ark and the Son of Jane, about celebrating what he meant to everyone around him.

Old Man Frank attended the occasion with a scrunched-up expression, his old hat removed and his head bowed in respects. Uncle Morgis stayed in the back of the garden, away from the rest of the family, which was custom. It was likely that Father Ark wasn’t very happy with his brother either.

The day was about celebrating Father Ark’s son, a man that fought for his daughter’s safety until the bitter end. The son of Mother Jane, a man that treated villagers kindly and with respect. The brother of Katalene, who he had been inseparable from since the very beginning of their lives. Rooven was a selfless, kind-hearted man taken from the world too soon.

That was the narrative, his legacy. In the back of her mind, Katalene thought how much she’d have liked it to have been her rather than him. Because she wasn’t a selfless, kind-hearted person.

She stole Uncle Morgis’ map and manipulated Rooven into entering the Whispey Deserts with her. She wanted adventure and escape from a desolate village that wasn’t good enough.

Katalene shook her head in silent disbelief of herself.

They stood in the gardens, behind the two large silos, a giant square of space with nothing except flowers and weeds. The Wilson’s taken lived here in spirit. Wilson didn’t believe in cemeteries in the formal sense. They didn’t believe in large headstones with the person’s name on them. Things such as that were considered vandalism to God’s land.

Father Ark said Jerleak had mile-long stretches of land for corpses, and, for what? They were in Heaven, their bodies left behind as their souls ascended to be with God and all his splendour. Desecrating his land with graven images and likenesses only stood to waste his land, and, in the end, it only kept the townspeople from moving on from what had left them. That was the Wilson way.

It was beautiful, and it gave back, letting their bodies provide fertilizer for the flowers. Rooven had no body to surrender to the gardens because of Katalene.

She kept her head tilted as Priest Malcolm stood before them all. Malcolm was an older gentleman. That might have been an understatement, Priest Malcolm was the oldest person that Katalene had ever seen before. The man was in his nineties, at least, and was a very polite, soft-spoken man. Every week’s finale, Katalene and the family would travel out to Priest Malcolm’s church to show their worship. The Priest also made visits about every village in Tuncid for such occasions. Father Ark had always hammered in the idea he was a person to be treated with respect.

“Tragedy has befallen Wilson and all of Tuncid by the loss of Rooven, Son of Ark.” Priest Malcolm began.

The garden was completely silent, but, even still, it was difficult to hear his soft-spoken words from where Katalene stood. And, Katalene was close.

“The boy was young and full of life and,” gesturing to Katalene, Ark, and Jane, he continued, “By the testimonies that can be given by the loved ones he leaves behind, it’s assured he was a kind soul.”

Priest Malcolm eyes looked in Katalene’s direction, as if anticipating she would attest to that sentiment in some visibly apparent way. Instead, Katalene said nothing and stared blankly back at him. Her mind wasn’t on her brother’s death. Either because she had said everything she needed to say about him in the Tombs or because she wasn’t willing to think about it any longer.

Malcolm looked rugged and haggard. He looked sad and depressed. It was as if he no longer lived for any sort of enjoyment or pleasure, but because a sense of moral obligation. The man existed because he felt it was required of him. The idea of that was admirable in a certain light. After all, Katalene certainly empathized, though on a completely different subject. She recalled, for a short time, that she only lived after Rooven’s death to kill off The Hallow. She most certainly would have died in the Whispey Deserts, without them and, of course, without Sol’s companionship in her endeavour to bring their end. It wasn’t for God, but, rather, belief that such a group shouldn’t be allowed to harm humanity if it can be stopped, that’s the moral obligation she felt. Now, she existed without that obligation, and she felt worse for it.

“Tragedy befell them, but they can be assured that no tragedy befell Rooven. No person is ever taken from this world a second too early or too late, a person is simply taken. They’re taken when they’re taken, and this end should be embraced as his beginning to eternal life. I know that this doesn’t offer great solace, but in the grand scheme, you’ll find the time without him was only a blink. Consider this not as a goodbye but consider it as young Rooven excusing himself from Life’s table, going up to dine with God.”

It was a curious thought, at least to Katalene, that if Priest Malcom was the oldest man in all the villages, that meant everyone in his life at birth was now dead. If he became a Priest early in life, he likely attended or even hosted most of the ceremonies.

Katalene wondered what he thought of death, it being such a part of his whole life, an even more integral part than what it was for everyone else. She wondered about his faith. Was it challenged even once in his life? Did he ever struggle or question it? Or, was his will simply that strong? Was his faith that incredible?

Would Father Ark have succumbed under the harsh conditions? Would Mother Jane have? Would any of the most devout have had their faith in God deprived by such heart-ache? Even, just one of them? What was God’s expectation of us? If someone lived a coddled life, but maintained complete dedication to his grace, would God welcome him to paradise? Even if that person’s faith wouldn’t have been sustainable under such conditions? Did God value their worth more than those that tested and failed? If so, could ignorance be the surest way to Heaven?

Or, did God measure in some way? How did God measure? Was it only by faith? Was it by motive or consequence? What was intended or what happened? By moral character or abidance to his command? Wilson believed one thing, Jerleak had a book that suggested its own beliefs. Which was right? Did God care if an act was meant to appease him? Everyone thought they were right, but absolutely no one had one up on the other. Even The Hallow, who raped and murdered, thought they did it in God’s name. If he was forgiving of one accidental misplacement of faith, would he not have to be forgiving of them as well? Did God care if his ways were unbeknownst to the person, regardless of if their burning loyalty to him never extinguished? If so, could ignorance have been the surest way to Hell?

“I understand that Father Ark, Mother Jane, and Sister Katalene have all prepared stories and thoughts they’d like to share with all of you at this time.” Priest Malcolm ushered them to the front of the garden, Father Ark was the first to walk fourth, Mother Jane’s sobbing had become more aggravated and it wasn’t as though she was any condition to share as tradition dictated.

Father Ark walked fourth and shook hands with Priest Malcolm, who shook with one hand and held his palm over Ark’s hand with the other, an act of assurance meant to comfort. Katalene heard Ark mouth “Thank you” to the Priest as he turned himself and beheld all the villagers in the garden.

“Rooven was about as strong a man as a father could ask for. Above all else, besides his devotion to God, Rooven understood the importance of family and the townspeople. No matter what Katalene asked him, Rooven never thought twice about it.” Father Ark stopped for a moment, as if just now realizing the fatal flaw in Rooven’s logic. He eased up and continued to speak, “I remember once when Rooven was sick. This was when Rooven was about fourteen years of age, the boy was very sick. Mother Jane absolutely insisted that he didn’t help with the fields that day, even for a second.”

“However, like his old man, my son was stubborn,” Father Ark said, forcing a hearty chuckle that the rest of the villagers politely mimicked. “I remember he was bedridden for almost the whole day, but, then, in the real, real early morning the next day, I found Rooven tending to the crop, when I asked him about it, he said he wasn’t going to wait out another day even if it killed him. Rooven was a very strong person and I will miss my son every day from now on.”

Katalene remembered the day that Father Ark spoke about. Rooven had a burning fever and couldn’t hold down his meals without vomiting them out. Father Ark was telling the truth about Mother Jane, who was nurturing and did anything she could to keep Rooven from going out and making himself susceptible to further sickness. However, Ark excluded his own approach. Ark went ballistic at the thought of Rooven not helping because of an illness, saying that such behavior was a sign of weakness, it was one of the rare instances where Jane actually stood up against Ark and persuaded him. Mother Jane always battled hard when it came to the children’s behalf, at least about important things.

That day, Father Ark became so upset that he flipped over a desk, breaking one of its legs clean off and scattering a big mess of parchment paper around the room. Katalene could still hear the angry grunting noise he made as he did it. After, Rooven was so shaken up about the whole thing that he would’ve done anything to keep the peace, he feared Father Ark and only on Katalene’s insistence would he disobey him. This is why Rooven went out to the fields early in the morning, to keep Father from having any angrier fits.

Katalene remembered that day well, even remembering the warm chicken noodle soup Mother Jane made for the whole family, though, mostly for Rooven’s benefit.

Something that always struck her as odd was that, out of emotional distress, Father Ark did nothing but inconvenience himself. Nobody else cared about that desk, after all, that was his desk. His act was to his own detriment. The desk had pages upon pages of written religious words, Ark spent his fair share of leisure time thumbing through them.

Mother said he had originally wanted to be a Priest in the same respects as Priest Malcolm, but when she was of child out of wedlock, Father Ark realized he wasn’t worthy of the prestigious title sought from priesthood. Mother Jane let that fact slip out either by mistake or because she couldn’t bring herself to lie to either of them but made them promise not to bring it up to any of the townspeople. Mother Jane said the child died in the womb, which Katalene and Rooven both shared doubts about. If a child died before birth, the sin of premarital intercourse was repented upon by Wilson law by a loophole. They always just assumed it was a half-truth, that Jane really did become pregnant and that they married hastily to keep said fact a secret before Rooven was born.

Father Ark flipped over the desk because he was emotionally upset. Emotional turmoil clouted the mind and it made him self-sabotage himself in-response to it. It didn’t make any sense at the time, but Katalene had since learned that humans were flawed by nature. They got in their own way, too busy thinking with their hearts to think with their minds. If individuals were all made in God’s image, could he empathize with them for that fact? Did he understand Father Ark was upset, or did all he see was a man throwing about biblical writings in an act of defiance? Priest Malcolm said that everyone could be forgiven if they asked for it, did Father Ark apologize for his act?

As Father Ark left the front of the garden, Priest Malcolm his hand on Katalene’s shoulder. She looked over to her Mother, who was too busy sobbing to tell any stories she might have prepared. Katalene nodded at Malcolm, then, walked to the front of the garden, staring out at all the people of Wilson who had gathered.

This included the children, even that girl Emily who she had only a short while prior.

“I watched my brother leave this world,” Katalene said, staring, not at the rest of Wilson, but, at the sky, “I watched him take his final breath before death.” If it was Heaven she stared at, like she dearly hoped, she knew that was the only chance Rooven had at being able to hear her. Heaven deserved Rooven, not the other way around. Katalene looked over to Priest Malcolm for a short second, “I killed my brother.”

The reaction was complete and total silence and, at first, Katalene didn’t want to elaborate on what she’d said. Amidst the bewildered looks from the villagers, she wondered whether she deserved the chance to explain herself and what she meant by that. After everything that had happened in the Whispey Deserts and everything she had had to do, the result of not saying anything else would’ve been a more poetic fate than anything else she could think of. The idea of having herself restrained with ropes, staring around at hooded men in blue masks while they hoisted her up on the scarecrow’s stand and set her ablaze seemed right to her. But, she had more she wanted to say than that.

“I was ashamed of Wilson and everything about it. I kept thinking about how nobody ever left. I thought about how my Grandfather had spent his whole life in Wilson, venturing out only on the occasions when it suited the benefit of the village. Nobody ever leaves Wilson, but I didn’t want to die in this village, not if I could prevent it.” Katalene felt something drivel down her cheek and was surprised when she realized it was her own tears.

She hadn’t cried once since after Rooven first died. She had seen stacks of corpses and victims of gruelling hardships, and she had felt nothing regarding them. She realized what she’d seen had been bad, but nothing that bothered her on an emotional level.

“I looked around at all of you and thought to myself, if all of you were going to die in Wilson, in what is, what’s really the life of a raindrop, then, I wanted to be in Jerleak when it happens. I wanted to experience what this life has to offer.” Katalene stopped for a moment, then, spoke again, “But Rooven was different. Rooven didn’t care about things like that. He was proud of what the people of Wilson had made for themselves. It was my journey to the Whispey Deserts that got him killed. He’d be alive if it wasn’t for my influence on him. Nobody else is to blame for his death.” She looked over to her sobbing Uncle Morgis and tried her best to let a sincere smile escape from her, though, she just didn’t have the ability to muster such a feat.

“It’s like a game of chess, the game of life and our relationship with God. If there’s a God, I choose to believe he isn’t hateful, isn’t spiteful. There’s something close to love in his heart, something more distant than love.”

She thought about Rooven’s death, and how, if he hadn’t have died and left her exploring the vacant deserts by herself, her situation would have been different. They might have still crawled into the coffin and found the gauntlet. They might have still taken companionship with The Dragon Creature, but she wouldn’t have met The Hallow. More importantly, she wouldn’t have massacred everyone in The Sanctuary. Even if she didn’t come back with Rooven, she did come back with Meghan, and did prevent countless deaths by stopping them. Was it a decision done for the greater good? Was the reckoning she brought with God in mind answering his call to end something that needed to end?

“In the Whispey Deserts, I did a lot of things, not all of them because I had to, some of them because I was angry, but the only thing I’m sorry for is killing my brother.”

Perhaps the saddest confession, she kept for herself. If she could take away everything that had happened in the Whispey Deserts, if she could have Rooven alive and stayed in Wilson for all her life, would she have?

5

“No,” Katalene said beneath her breath, feeling the tears down her cheeks, the very same ones that hadn’t stopped once since she first opened the floodgates again.

The stars in the sky were plentiful and might have been beautiful to somebody else. Father Ark had told a story when she was a child about how the stars came out at night because they were the angels checking down on their loved ones. Why they didn’t do that when their loved ones were awake, Katalene didn’t ask, but it was a lovely sentiment. She wondered if Rooven was looking down at her now, but, at the same time, she hoped he wasn’t.

Strangely put, this was the best she felt since Rooven had died, being able to grieve made her feel alive again. Wilson wasn’t her home any more, however. And, perhaps, it never was.

It wasn’t as much of a plan as it was a series of goals she had set for herself, but Wilson was not where she would be spending the rest of her life.

Rooven had died by her persuasions, that was the only sin she felt she had to repent for, and, before a priest, she had confessed. Suffering a broken heart the rest of her life over it wouldn’t bring him back, the only option was to move on and try to live with it. That was something she didn’t believe was possible in Wilson.

“Sol,” Katalene said as she felt the grassy grounds of the village of Wilson leave her behind and the sands of the Whispey Desert replace it.

A final glance at the village of Wilson, if she should have a choice, this would be the last time she ever stepped foot in the village. This would be the last time she saw Father Ark or Mother Jane, the last time she ever walked beside the small creeks where her and Rooven once played. At first sight, it was a difficult task to say goodbye, at a second-glance, it was the easiest decision she had ever made.

“I’ll be there shortly,” Sol remarked.