Women on Trial

  The next day, after several failed attempts at mounting it sent them tumbling into the scorching-hot sands, they shouted in victory. They took off at an astonishing speed, the bird's feet kicking up a massive wave of sand behind them. Reaching a cluster of houses as the st sun set, they tied the bird up and entered an inn for a sip of tea.

  "So, what's up with this God of Letters?" asked the boy from Earth.

  Rosso shushed him, his eyes darting around the room.

  "Be careful what you say, my friend. You’re lucky they don’t speak our nguage. People get imprisoned and killed for little nowadays. My father was burned at the stake for teaching science, let alone for doing anything but revering the One Above. Most of the pages that fall from the sky are gibberish, but that doesn't stop the Desert Fathers from picking what suits them, for their own agenda. The people are poor and have many fears, their lives are hard, so they don't have time to think for themselves. Education is nonexistent for most. The stories reassure them, so they follow along. The priests do most of the thinking for them, and they like to keep it that way. I’ve seen the book club do all sorts of evil things in the name of the Author in the Sky. Intolerance, mutition, cruelty. Wars and destruction. Suffering. Death. The priests say that it’s all the will of the One Above, part of some grand pn, but I’m pretty sure they’re just a bunch of liars, misleading the vulnerable.”

  "They follow the fantasies of man, instead of respecting and revering that which is truly sacred,” Roa said, as he was lost in thought.

  “There is nothing sacred in this world. All religion is bad,” Rosso said, shaking his head.

  “No, there is something sacred.”

  “Yeah, and what’s that?”

  “The one thing that gave birth to Humanity and sustains it. The one thing we can’t live without, the one that feeds us, clothes us, gives us the materials to build, the knowledge to heal, and everything else that we need to do all the things we do, including coming up with our inventions—and our fantasies.”

  “What?” Rosso asked, impatiently.

  “Nature.”

  "What are you always saying to yourself? You do this every morning," Rosso stared with an eyebrow raised, and a skeptical look in his eyes.

  The young man from Earth gave him a warm smile, as he murmured something again and again.

  "I am giving thanks.”

  His friend scoffed.

  "The followers of the cult also do that. What god do you thank?"

  He shook his head, continuing to smile at him.

  "I’ve read of many cultures and religions, but the ancient myths never convinced me; too outdated for me, written by men from another time, for people from another time, long gone by now. I learn directly from the greatest teacher, instead.”

  “Who’s your teacher? Someone from your world?”

  “No, it’s not a person. I learn from life itself.”

  “So, you spend your mornings thanking—life?” Rosso looked at him with a confused gnce.

  “Exactly. I just thank life—Existence—the Universe, reality, whatever you want to call it. It helps me remember what I do have, instead of focusing on what I don't."

  The heretic shook his head, as they lifted the st of the supplies onto the bird, ready to leave the vilge.

  “Gratitude is key to happiness," said Roa, climbing onto the animal.

  Upon stopping at a lush oasis for water, the travelers heard women screaming from inside the pristine garden that behind the stone walls. The pce was beautiful and was filled with tall trees that priests were picking cherries from with meticulous precision. The screams grew louder, and the travelers rushed inside to investigate. Inside a tall, stone building that smelled of incense, they saw three young women sitting on their knees, as old men in bck robes and funny hats screamed at them.

  “Those are the Desert Fathers I told you about,” whispered Rosso leaning over, as the boy recognized the clothes of the chanting man from the st caravan.

  One of the clerics spped one of the young women in the face, the sound echoing in the hall. A mob of people stood by, jeering and pointing their fingers. The women kept their heads down, trying to shield their faces from the strikes.

  "What is going on?" asked Roa, his eyebrows furrowing and a concerned look on his face.

  Rosso knew the nguages of the desert and began transting, occasionally pausing, as he thought of the right words.

  "They are saying that these women are being brought to trial, as they were captured as sves in the holy war against people who believed in—idols—different gods from the One Above. They refused to marry the men of this vilge, and because they did not submit quietly, as women should—they were raped. Because they did not submit, now they will be—burned, at the stake."

  The Sunflower looked at him, his eyebrows raised as high as they could. He paused for a good ten seconds, as his eyes blinked over and over.

  "You're joking with me, right?" he said, dead serious.

  His companion, however, closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, shook his head and continued.

  "They say that—as the Perfect Holy Word of the One Above states, men must rule over women, and that they are our property, especially when taken as sves, as the Author in the Sky commands. They say that—we are allowed to murder and kidnap to obtain wives, and because the life of a woman is worth less than a man's, these women shall be put to death by the sacred fires—"

  The boy from Earth had heard enough. Rosso couldn't finish the transtion when Roa walked up through the angry mob. He stood in front of the Desert Father, defiant, his chest heaving. The man’s frail, bony fingers were wrapped around one of the girls' wrists, hoisting her arm upward as she winced in pain. The holy man interrupted his speech as soon as he noticed the boy standing in front of him, his cold, beady eyes narrowing. His gaze was like a predator’s sizing up its prey, scrutinizing every inch of the boy’s body and face. The room went quiet for a second, then everyone gasped.

  The Sunflower punched the man.

  He struck him with such raw force that the blow rivaled the one he had unleashed upon the dragon. The wall crumbled from the impact, burying the cleric in a pile of rubble, as the sunlight shone in.

  "Holy shit," said his red-caped friend, his eyes and mouth widening in shock.

  The Sunflower's breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, his clenched fist trembling, as if it were trying to hold back a tsunami of fury. Golden tattoos covered his arms once again, their glow intensifying. He lifted his left fist up, casting a gnce down at the word ‘TRUTH’ embzoned in bold letters across his bicep. He then raised his other fist, the word ‘JUSTICE’ reflecting in his fiery eyes.