“Look, Sally -” Django said. He was carrying her, one arm under her legs and the other being used to point, “A carriage. We’re going to ride that to the city!”

  “Yay!” Sally threw her arms up in the air, whooping with joy, “Carriage!”

  “And your uncle, too.” Her dad corrected.

  “And my uncle.” His daughter obliged.

  —

  “Django!” Allifer, who was a hulking beast of a man, no lighter a shade than Django, but lacking horns and even the base of the wings that demons who’d otherwise had the appendages removed still maintained, “Is this the Sally I’ve heard so much about?”

  Before anyone could respond, Allifer took his niece and hugged her tight enough to wind the young girl. Being of a muscular, and yet at the same time fat, build, the blonde practically sunk into his chest.

  “I am Sally.” Sally said, now that she could breathe, “You are Uncle Alfie?”

  “I guess I am Uncle Alfie.” He laughed heartily, “How’d you end up taking care of her, Django?”

  “It was part of the agreement to immigrate.” He explained, “I’m shocked you weren’t made to take any children in.”

  “Well it’s not too far off -” His brother said, “I’m a language teacher. But enough about me -” He turned his attention back to his niece, “What about you, little Sally?”

  Not understanding that her uncle was referring to her personality, and most likely being unable to create a profile of herself regardless, she began listing various of her favorite things, chiefly among them being dolls, perfumes, games, and chicken.

  “Is that so?” Allifer asked once she had finished her non-exhaustive but still lengthy list, “You know - I heard you’re quite smart.”

  “Yes, I am!” Sally practically vibrated in joy, and bounced on her feet now that she was standing on the ground, “My papa says I’m the smartest child ever!”

  “I’m not sure I said quite that,” Django laughed, “But yes - she’s very smart for her age. She’s had some… difficulty connecting with kids her age, and I thought you might be able to help her. You’re the smartest man I know.”

  “Oh you flatter me, brother.” Allifer blushed and chuckled, “I just write a lot of poetry.”

  “Well apparently you were smart enough to circumvent the normal immigration requirements!” His brother clapped him on the shoulder, “Anyway, really, we just came to spend some time with you. I’m sure you must know of fun to be had in the city?”

  “Of course!” Allifer shouted, which drew some attention, “But first - I’m sure you must be hungry from your travels. Let’s eat!”

  —

  Sally was currently engaged with a rather large bowl of bouillabaisse, quite enjoying the different flavors on display, “Uncle Alfie, why don’t you have horns like papa?”

  “Ehh…” Allifer paused and became acutely aware of the awkwardness of the situation, “Django, perhaps you could explain?”

  “We’re not related by blood, Sally.” Django explained in terms as best he could, “I lost my parents at a young age, and then we -” He gestured between the two men, “Grew up in the same orphanage, but he’s a few years older. Once he could take care of himself, he took me in, too. He wasn’t old enough to be my papa, so he became my brother instead.”

  “Oh, like me!” Sally said excitedly, “Uncle Alfie - did you know that I’m not related to papa?”

  “I had an idea.” Her uncle said, wanting to change the topic, “How do you like the food, Sally?”

  “It’s delicious!” She exclaimed, “I’ve never had anything from the ocean before.”

  “Django!” Allifer chided, “Not feeding your girl any seafood? Tut tut, brother.”

  “I don’t know how it is here, in the city,” His brother offered, “But out in the country, seafood is rather expensive.”

  “Yes, well, it’s not great here, either -” The much larger man sighed, “I mean, I suppose it’s probably better than out in the sticks, but Bohemians aren’t exactly loved here.”

  “What’s a Bohemian?” Sally asked.

  “It’s our people. We’re travellers, and the word for ‘traveller’ in our language sounds like ‘Bohemia’.” Django explained, “We come from a place very, very far from here.”

  “Is that where the map in your necklace goes?” She questioned.

  “Shhh, ma princesse,” Django quieted her, “Don’t be too loud. But yes.”

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  “You still wear that old thing? Allifer asked, “I never bothered to keep mine. Always thought the old man was full of -” He paused for a second, under Django’s glare, “Garbage.” He slapped his knees to stand up, “Anyway, seeing as we are all finished with our meals, I’ll go pay and then we can do something more fun, eh?”

  —

  “Yes!” Allifer hollered, standing up in the crowd that mostly sat, pumping his fist in the air vigorously, before he sighed and sat down, dejected, “No!”

  They were currently engaged in watching a fencing match. The two competitors were evenly matched, for the most part - both around five and a half feet tall, with comparable wingspans and gaits. This was one such league wherein the competitors chosen had no gifts suitable for the activity, in the interest of the spectators.

  Both of them were at two points each, and stood at double the length of their arms and swords combined, about fifteen or so paces from meeting in the middle. The one clad in red took a few, measuring steps forward, while the blue one lagged at their end, taking a defensive stance.

  “What’s happening?” Sally asked, in her little voice, to her father.

  “I’m not quite sure, myself.” Django looked in awe, waiting with bated breath to see what would happen.

  The blue fencer, meanwhile, kept creeping closer. One, two, then three steps… and they lunged. They immediately unleashed a flurry of thrusts and pokes at their opponent, designed to open up the red fencer’s defense. After a few parries and clashes, it seemed their plan would be successful, but just as their victory seemed assured - the red fencer ducked down, and used the momentum to lunge forward and strike the blue fencer in the doublet.

  “Three points!” The referee ran over and stopped the match, raising the winner’s hand, “Andre-Pierre wins!”

  “Oh!” Allifer slapped his forehead, leaning back and groaning in despair, “Damn.”

  “What, did you bet on the other one?” Django asked, slapping his brother on the shoulder.

  “Yes.” His brother grumbled, “Ah, whatever. Did you enjoy the show?”

  “It was exciting.” Sally observed, rather eloquently, “Uncle, can I do that?”

  “Well, you’d have to ask your dad,” Allifer avoided any responsibility, “But I might be able to find a sword for you.”

  “Papa?” Django was going to shoot the idea down immediately (in no one’s right mind should someone like Sally have a sword), but his daughter grabbed at his sleeve and looked up at him with her large, pleading eyes, “Please, papa?”

  “Alright,” he leaned down and lightly poked her nose with his finger, “If it makes you happy.”

  “Sword! Sword! Sword!” Sally cheered, happy as a clam while skipping along and hollering.

  —

  “And what’s this one?” Sally jumped, although her speed was of no help here, to reach the branches above her head.

  “Sally, stop that.” Allifer grabbed her by the shoulders and grounded the little bird, “That’s a sycamore. They’re holy trees.”

  “They’re holy?” Django asked, “I never heard that growing up.”

  “No, they’re holy here.” His brother argued, “You need a license to cut them down, plant them, really to do just about anything.”

  “Why are they holy?” The little girl asked.

  “Supposedly, the wood they used to bury Paace was from a sycamore.”

  “Paace?” Both the girl and her dad asked at once.

  “Wow, Django.” Allifer whistled with some combination of awe and shock, “They didn’t ask about your religion? Paace is a sort of messiah, a real holy man. None of your neighbors have mentioned Paace, or Paacism?”

  “I think Joseph took us to church once, didn’t he?” He looked to Sally for confirmation, but she simply shrugged, no more certain than he.

  “Well, there’s a service starting in about,” Allifer checked his watch, “Twenty minutes. How about we go after we finish walking the jardin? You haven’t seen the water lilies yet.”

  “Oh wow, look at them!” Sally said after a few more minutes of walking, “Can I jump on them?”

  “No, I don’t think so, dear.” Django said. Too bad for him, he wasn’t holding her hand, and she immediately ran to act on her urges, leaping from the walkway onto the lily pad. Miraculously, or perhaps because the lily pads were simply that hearty, she didn’t sink at all. In fact, the lily was remarkably buoyant, not sinking as much as an inch from her weight.

  “Look, papa!” She giggled and ran around and played on the green platform, “I can stand on it!”

  “Sally!” Django was about to roll up the bottoms of his pant legs to go after her, before he felt a hand drop on his shoulder.

  “It’s fine, brother, look -” Allifer pointed at the other lilies, with other children, and even the odd adult, being walked and played on, “Kids do this all the time. Give her a few minutes.”

  —

  “Ladies, gentlemen, friends, family -” The priest said. He was a pale man, with short blond hair who stood behind his oaken pulpit. While priests, particularly those in Union-affiliated countries, were no stranger to decadence and opulence, this priest was dressed more modestly, in a simple white and red alb, with the three arrows, radially aligned and pointing outward, upon his right breast. “Thank you for joining me today.”

  An important detail to note is that Cartesia is an “orthodox” Paacist country, meaning they follow what claims to be the oldest, and therefore truest, branch of the religion. As such, they naturally followed the older style of sermon. Each passage read from The True, Unabridged Words of Paace was followed by a lighting of ceremonial incense, something each of the listeners was expected to observe in relative silence and solemnity. Those in the frontmost pews were even able to smell the holy scents.

  Afterwards came the time for songs, all in a strange language none in the congregation could speak, yet all could roughly listen to, long enough to vaguely follow along with the tune. This, too, was followed by incense, but this time the vapors were more grey, as opposed to the black mist of the first go, and those in the front would recount its more fruity aroma.

  Sally, however, was not making note of its olfactory pleasure or color, and instead focused her mental faculties on the drollness of it all. The time stretched until it felt immeasurably slow, each second felt like it was spanning the course of an hour, or perhaps even more, by her more aggressive estimates. Still, soon enough it came to its final movement.

  “And now, folks, please, as you exit through the apse, please inhale in remembrance of those we lost.” The priest finished the ceremony.

  Initially confused, now that the church-goes were funneling out, Sally was at least relieved to stretch her legs and stand up. Then, she asked her uncle, “What does he mean?”

  “The incense he’s burning now,” Allifer pointed to the pure white vapor rising off the censer, “It’s been mixed with the hair of the recently deceased. It’s thought that by inhaling the vapors, you retain a piece of them through the rest of your life.”

  “Creepy.” Django said.

  “Creepy.” Sally agreed.

  “Well, what will you do?” Allifer asked with a shrug, “But please - for your own sake, brother,” He leaned in and spoke in a serious, grave tone, one that did not fit his usually jovial countenance, “Be careful about who you say that around. You don’t want to be seen as the only Bohemian in your town that doesn’t believe in Paace.”

  “Right,” Django stumbled over his words due to the rather intense smell of the incense, “Well, thank you, I’ll keep that in mind. And, while we’re at it, I think Sally and I need to be heading out, if we want to get home in time for supper.”

  “Oh, Papa!” His daughter pleaded, pulling at his sleeve, “Do we have to? Why can’t we stay in the city tonight?”

  “I have the room for it.” His brother said.

  “I’m sorry, but I have important business in the morning.” Django apologized, “Sally, we can come back another day.”

  “But, papa -”

  “Sally, please,” Allifer lightly chided his adorable niece, “You should listen to Django.”

  “Ok…” She grumbled, but nonetheless climbed onto her dad’s shoulder when he offered to carry her, “Bye, Uncle Alfie!”

  “Goodbye, brother.” Allifer said.

  “Goodbye, Alfie.” Django winked, clicking his teeth, “I’ll mail you when before we come over.”