This was written for the Plotto contest week 2 at TinHouse.com. It takes place in a setting for a planned-but-not-yet-written book.
Kshtet surveyed the interior of the hut yet again. After the massacre, the village had been burned down, but many of the huts had survived, some standing alone, some in clumps of several or dozens, by the miracle of Gods…
No, by the miracle of One-God. Despite years of devotion to the words of One-Prophet, old linguistic habits died hard.
And despite years of that burning, heart-felt emotion… Emissary had called this feeling ‘Faith’, but Kshtet knew a better name: ‘Love’. The heart was not the only place where Kshtet had felt this feeling. Love for One-God, for sure. Love for One-Prophet, for sure. But, really, Love for Emissary.
The hut was quite well provisioned. All the food that spoil had spoiled, but there was plenty that do not and so had not. All the necessary tools of cooking, hunting, and cultivating were still there, too primitive for Forces to pillage. Even present were some weapons, primitive and rudimentary, but still capable of killing. Kshtet felt the weight of the peasant-claw in both hands. Just the right weight and just the right length. Sharpened with care.
The battle hadn’t been lost because the peasant-claws had not been sharpened with care. Neither had Believers of One-God been not faithful enough. Even if Kshtet’s faith, personally, might have been misplaced, Forces were not nearly as devoted… and were even more misplaced in their faith, of course. The battle had been lost, instead, because there were to be many more battles, and in the struggle was Faith, and Salvation.
Kshtet felt that heart-felt longing again. The only worthwhile Salvation would entail a reunion with Emissary, in life or in death. And reunion was one promise that Emissary had made. Kshtet just had to wait, and Emissary would arrive.
After rummaging around the other huts, and confirming that there were no other occupants in the village, Kshtet returned with some prize finds. Four unripe melons, and another one that was just about perfectly ripe. Dried meats. Lard-cheese. Fresh pelent leaves still growing in the ground. Some spices, including sep, putii, and knn, the spices of Three Gods, which the devotees of One-God used mixed together, for the three gods were all One-God.
Kshtet set the table for two, and prepared a Petap meal, the way that Parent had taught Kshtet over many years. Another act of defiance, since today was not Petap, and Forces forbade Petap meals on any other day. With the spices defiantly mixed together.
Perhaps Emissary would find this hut, by some miracle, or drawn by the scent of the spices, the scent that said ‘home for the holidays’ to all weary travelers. And there would be a feast. And reunion.