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Lucius' Past Life
Basics:
Race - Human
Ethnicity - Irish
Age - 18
Gender - Male
Time Period - mid 1800's
Location - Ireland, in a relatively large town with a moderate farming population. Most of the people in this town flock to the town center for shopping, where farmers sell their goods.
Occupation - Farmer, fortune-teller on the side.
Family - Lives alone with his mother, working the farm and helping at the market.
It was a pleasant summer day in the green lands of Ireland. It was not too long ago, but before the automobiles started to pollute the air. In Ireland, there were many farmers who took their goods to the local market to sell. The rich suburban folk came to the market to buy the fresh produce, and thus the money was circulated and everyone had some to spend to feed and clothe their families. This was not so for one young family.
Wallace was a strong man of thirty-five with a wonderful wife and bright-eyed son. He worked hard on his farm, and did most of the manual labor. His son was frail, but he was never ashamed of him. His wife, Daria, cooked and cleaned the house, and his son took care of the animals. All was well for the small family for years and years, until one terrible harvest season.
Wallace had worked hard for so many years, and it was now starting to catch up with him. His back ached more and more, and he found that he grew more and more tired earlier in the day. His son, now a prime eighteen years, insisted that he would do the work in his father-s stead. His father reluctantly agreed, and was quickly bedridden.
The harvest could not be completed with just two people. There were simply too many crops to pick and too few hands to help. Wallace wished with all his heart that he could draw up the strength to help then, but could not. Daria and her son managed to harvest as much of the crop as they could and went to the market to sell it. They made much less money than expected, but it was better than nothing. When the returned home from the three days at the market, Wallace has grown worse.
He wasn't able to walk anymore.
Wallace remembered his bright days as a youth when he first married his wife and started his farm. He could work for three days straight without sleeping, but now... He missed those days so dearly. It seemed that nothing his family did could cheer him up. Finally, after two months of helplessness, Wallace died.
It was much too difficult for the family of two to continue harvesting and getting income from that point on. It was simply too much work for the mother and son. Daria tried to care for all the animals and her son tried to till and work the land, but it was no use. They tried, too, to hire help, but everyone in town was so busy with their own lives that they could not spare any help. The duo was left on their own.
Two months later, they came back to the harvest market in town, carrying as much as they could on their carts and backs. It was a merger harvest, considering that they kept only was what needed to feed them and were to sell the rest. But since they were only two, they could not harvest all the crops before they rotted. It was simply too much.
The wagon rolled on the cobblestone to their stall, where mother and son set out their crops and waited for the sun to reach higher in the sky, and for the suburban folk to flood in. It was midday when the first trickles of consumers came in. Daria took to running the stall while her son set up his plan to make more money.
Fortune telling.
He had inherited a small, old tarot deck from his late aunt Lenore. He was given them as a child, just after Lenore passed on. He fiddled with them, trying to play the childish card games he knew, but his mother insisted that he wait to use them until he was older. Now that he was a young adult, he realized the significance of the symbols and letters, and deduced that they were for fortune telling. He decided that this was how he was to make a little extra money to buy his mother a dress.
His table was small, and he sat on a wooden stool, shuffling. He did not have any sort of sign, but people did notice him shuffling the cards nonetheless. One old couple stood at his table, inquiring. He told them that he would read the cards and tell them their destiny for a small amount of gold. The couple was rich, and decided to oblige him.
The wife asked if she were to live past her sixtieth year.
He shuffled the deck and laid out three cards, reading their meaning and conveying the pattern to the old wife. The cards told her that she was to live a long and fruitful life, surrounded by happiness and those she loved. The husband regarded this fortune as preposterous and led her away, but the woman winked at him and smiled.
Several other people lined up to have their destinies read, and Daria's son was happy to indulge them. One after another, he read fortunes. Some were good, and some were bad, but all of the patrons of his tiny table walked away amazed. He read the cards with fervor and accuracy. The market square was buzzing with tales of his readings before the market closed that day. Daria had managed to sell most of her crops, and her son had bagged a handsome sum for his services. They both went home very happy.
On every market day after that, he was happily busy reading fortunes. Word of him had spread throughout the town, and some people even traveled from other towns to see him read for them. The people asked about weather, crops, potential mates and business ventures. Daria was very proud of her son, and was astonished at his growing fame.
Soon, though, the prominent priest in town had caught word of a witch using black magic to corrupt his innocent flock. He sent out word immediately that he was to go to the marketplace and see this witch, and put a stop to his heathen ways.
The priest was a shrewd, bald and ugly man. He had been attending to the town's religious needs for more than three decades, and was well revered for this service. The people parted like oil on water as he approached the small wooden table. Daria and rushed to her son's side when she caught sight of the priest. Her son sat still, shuffling his cards.
The priest angrily threw down a few gold coins.
"Tell me my fortune..." He breathed through his clenched teeth.
The son was happy to oblige him, and laid out seven cards this time. He stood up and watched them. The Devil. It had appeared for the first time in all his readings. He laid a finger on each one, explaining each meaning to the priest. The priest's face grew red as he watched the people's eyes become wide.
"You've done something horrible," announced the son, "Something that you, as a priest, should be ashamed of. The Lovers and The Devil. You..."
Daria's heart grew cold. Something terrible was about to transpire.
"You've slept with one of your flock, priest." Her son said finally.
Everyone that had gathered around them gasped and stepped back. Children cried and women fainted. This was blasphemy!
"LIES!" cried the priest. "All lies from a heathen!" He pointed to the men he had brought along. Defenders of the church. "Seize the witch! Seize the heathen!" Daria screamed as they grabbed her frail son and carried him away. He did not seem alarmed, though. The crowd surged to follow them to the side of the brick church.
The priest stood atop one of the unused building stones. "Chain him to the House of God!" he instructed his men. The took his tiny wrists, neck and ankles and wrapped them in rusty chains. Soon, Daria's son hung loosely on the side of the church, the sun's harsh rays beating down on his small form. The firm believers of the priest were outraged that someone within their midst was a heathen, and listened with acute ears to their leader.
"Now, there is but one way to cleanse our town, to rid ourselves of the pollutant!" He threw his fists into the air, the black sleeves of his cloak fanning out like a great bat's wings. "Stone him! STONE HIM! Take up every last bit of rock and show him the holy pain which is God's wrath!"
Daria's cries were drowned out by the screeches of the maddened crowd. Soon, rocks, twigs and wood were thrown at her son. Blood began to seep from his body as the hail of anger rained down upon him. There was nothing he could do.
This onslaught continued in waves for seven days. Daria was not allowed to see her son, and she knew that he was not getting any food. Night fell on the seventh day, and Daria had sneaked past the guards to see her dying son. She cradled his head in her arms. His body was weak, bloody, defeated. He smiled at her through bloodied eyes, and whispered to her softly.
"Mother, I love you...there's a box...beneath my bed. I have a surprise...for...you..."
Daria's shrill cry echoed through the unforgiving darkness as her son took his last breath.
A lone owl's cry haunted the night. A bright light shone in the forest as Daria slept beside her dead son. No one saw it but the owl. It floated gracefully to perch on the building stone where the priest gave his ghastly orders to his dogs. It turned its head sagely to the form of the dead boy and hooted.
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