FALSE GODS

19 The First Born

The Agrippa family had no wealth or belongings of any significant value. Perhaps a few bronze coins were lying around in the house somewhere. The furniture was minimal and decades old. Their land, if one ventured to call it that, was oddly placed in the marshes. It was unfit for farming, and weeds had made it their dominion. The only possession of worth was their home, a small wooden log cottage on the outskirts of Fugi. If they were to walk five miles to the south, the walls of the Ascendancy would come into view, towering above the tallest trees.

Ruben and Lysa Agrippa had never left their land after getting married. The nearest neighbors were a mile away and preferred not to pay visits. They were afraid of getting their carts and horses swallowed by the mud.

The couple had two offspring—Elias, a sprightly sixteen-year-old boy, and Rhode, a bashful nineteen-year-old girl.

Their homestead had a makeshift vegetable garden built on clay and sand hauled from the nearest town. Some rhubarb, carrot, and garden pea plants thrived. Ruben went into the forest every day to collect firewood. Occasionally, Elias headed out with his father to hunt game. The meat was readily available, with plenty of geese and pheasants in the forest. An occasional rabbit or hare was a treat. Therefore, the Agrippa family was unlikely ever to starve. Father and son went to town once in a while to sell the winged game for grain, medicine, and some liquor for Ruben’s evenings.

Rhode did the cooking, sewing, and washing, among other chores. The mother, Lysa, had developed gout in her feet and knees a few years back, and then it had gotten worse. She could not stand or walk around by herself and always needed someone attending to her. The poor woman lay in bed or sat on a chair all day. Rhode had taken charge of all the household work since her mother became infirm. But Lysa’s chief concern was to marry her daughter off soon, as the latter had come of age two years back.

Rhode had raven black hair so long that it fell to her knees when not tied up in a bun. She was skinny and had sharp features that certain men might find attractive. Her large, pitch-black eyes were far apart under a broad forehead. Always dressed in second-hand clothes of her mother, she did not have the semblance of a bride to be. Several families had come seeking matrimony over the past year but most found her too severe and silent for their liking.

Rhode rarely spoke when spoken to, and her face was half-covered with hair at all times. An onlooker might mistake her for a grieving widow.

However, there was one odd prospect who continued courting her for several months now. A twenty-year-old named Jirel, son of a wealthy farmer from the town. The young man came down to the Agrippa cottage every week, bearing gifts for Rhode.

“Hurry, Rho. Jirel is waiting for you outside.” Lysa needled her daughter. It was a Saturday morning, and like clockwork, the farmer’s son had arrived outside their house. This time, he brought a basket of plums as an offering. His gifts had felt like allowances.

“But first, I have to prepare medicine for you, mother,” Jirel brooded, mashing a few roots Elias had bought from town last evening.

“Here, hand it to me,” Lysa said. “I can do it myself. Get yourself ready, dear.”

Rhode yielded the mortar and pestle to her mother and looked for a proper dress to replace her moth-eaten work clothes.

“Wear the white embroidered one,” her mother suggested.

The girl had not much choice in the matter, since the white frock that belonged to Lysa’s youth was the only clothing that did not make her look like a tramp.

Rhode placed a slop-pail beside the bed, a water jar, and some bread within reach. Both Ruben and Elias were out hunting for the day, and hence Lysa would be alone.

“I will be back as soon as I can,” the dutiful daughter affirmed.

“Don’t worry, my dear, I will be fine by myself. Give your man the attention he seeks. He loves you, you know,” she advised Rhode before the latter left.

Jirel was a tall, broad-shouldered man with light brown hair. His figure was on the heavier side, and he was pretty talkative. But those features were quite typical of the townsfolk, who did not have to work very hard for a living, Ruben had explained to her once.

“Ave, Rhode,” her suitor said nervously, handing her a wreath made from ivy flowers.

“Ave Jirel,” she greeted back, clueless of what to do with the wreath.

“Here,” he said, placing it on her head. “It suits you.”

Jirel tried to smile but could not form one. She liked Dahlias better.

“Ah, yes, I have a surprise for you,” the young man quipped. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Rhode did not express any objections. She was meant to spend time with her prospect, and a walk was undoubtedly better than an awkward sitting down with him. Jirel was not the brightest of men, and his sense of humor did not amuse her.

There was a path that woodcutters and foragers took into the forest. It made its way through poplars, cypresses, and oaks. The track was stony and uncomfortable. Rhode picked up a handful of cypress cones and aimed them at tree trunks as they walked.

“How is Lysa doing? Is she better?” Jirel posed.

Rhode nodded her head.

“What about Elias? Would he like to come work for my father in town?”

Rhode shrugged.

Jirel was acquainted with the girl’s demeanor.

“Well, about that surprise. I found something last time I was here to hunt.”

He took her hand and pulled her off the road into the forest.

“Come with me.”

Rhode felt a little violated by the spontaneous touch but decided to go along with him. Her parents won’t be pleased if she upset her future husband.

The forest was resonant with the chirping of birds and the buzzing of insects. A brooklet could be heard flowing not very far away. Squirrels and chipmunks skittered in the foliage above, appraising the guests.

After a few minutes of trudging, they emerged on another path. It was in sharp contrast to the rest of the forest. A thin trail ran due north. The ground was carpeted with velvety green grass, and bougainvillea sprouted on both sides. The shrubs had flowered profusely, making the path look like a pink boulevard. Butterflies of varied colors flitted from one side to another.

For the first time, Rhode raised her face and put her hair aside to see the world better. She found a swallow nest with hatchlings on their way. Jirel dodged a hummingbird flying across the bushes.

Perhaps she could marry Jirel and be happy, the girl thought. Lysa maintained that a woman had to find her place in life by a husband. Alone, she was of no worth.

They walked on for some distance. Rhode skipped ahead and danced on the grass.

Halting near a blueberry shrub, they picked a few berries.

“This is beautiful,” she said, holding Jirel’s hands. “You have my gratitude for bringing me to this wonderful place.”

“No, YOU are beautiful, my love,” Jirel whispered.

And he stepped closer and kissed her.

Rhode kissed him back. It was her first, and she realized it was not as bad as she had been made to believe. Jirel did not have foul breath like Elias teased, had warned her.

Her prospect pulled her closer and took an arm around her, groping her behind.

Rhode pulled away from him. “Not yet.”

“Just this one time,” Jirel insisted, holding on to her.

“No!”

He would not let go of her wrist. Instead, he tugged her towards him again and tried to get a hand under her tunic.

“Let me go!”

Rhode snatched away and slapped him across the face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, realizing she had gone too far.

Jirel was furious.

“You will die alone, you marsh tramp!” He fired at her before rushing off, abandoning her in the middle of the forest.

Rhode started sobbing. Her parents would be heartbroken. She had disappointed them yet again.

It took her some time to gather herself and find the path home.

Clouds had gathered on the horizon. The girl walked back alone, haunted by her thoughts. The forest sounds were not pleasant to her anymore.

When she returned to the cottage, Ruben and Elias were back already. They were outside. Even Lysa had been rolled out in her wooden wheelchair. Something was wrong.

“What happened?” Rhode asked Elias.

“I don’t know. Ask father,”

Ruben was a barrel-chested man in his late forties. He was squatting on the ground, observing the house.

“Father, is something wrong?”

“Come here, dear. Look.”

Rhode hunched beside him and tried to see what he was pointing at.

It was the foundation log of the house. It was half-buried in the soil.

The girl ran to the porch and took a measure of the outside wall. The cottage. It had sunk into the ground by a foot.