Caria wasn’t sure how everything was going to end. She had done as Papa asked. Everything that could be sacrificed was burned. Everything too sacred to destroy had been hidden in various places throughout the farm: under floorboards, in hay bales, behind false backs of the cupboards, even buried in earth beneath sycamore trees. If the Maker was good, at least some things would survive a raid.
The thought sent shivers down her spine. If the Guard found any of what she hid, her neck would be dangling from a rope beside Papa and their only hope in passing on the Glicken Clan traditions would lie in the memory of her six year old brother.
Poor Ian… He was too young for this. He should be playing Soldiers and Dragons, trampling through the fields, slashing a wooden stick in front of him to slay the monsters. She was the Keeper. A tradition passed from mother to daughter for centuries, she knew the stories and truths of her Clan. It was her duty to teach the next generation — if there was a next generation to be taught.
Hearing the approaching gallop of horses, she rose from her reflections, and braced her hands around the back of the kitchen chair. This was it. Either the Maker would be good and the Guard would find nothing, or she would be brought before the Elders with charges of breaking the Edict of Allegiance.
“I will not be acquiescent,” she softly recited, willing the words to give her strength. “I will not forget. I will not comply. By the Maker, I embrace all open hearts with open arms, but I will not deny my own truths. Harmony is life, suppression is discord. I will not be suppressed.”
Her eyes fluttered shut as she willed her energy towards the violet horizon of the setting suns. The harsh knock on the door snapped her violently back into the present. “May the Maker see fit for me to see another dawn.”
Source: Diverse | The Daily Post