Elske was eleven when he decided that religion was not for him. His family was devout, of course, everyone was, worshiping a host of different gods, all of which were fundamentally flawed, in Elske’s developing, eleven year old mind. He was precocious, for his age. Everyone said so, in that sort of patronizing yet pampering voice, as if by recognizing it they were somehow superior. He hated it. But what he especially hated was that despite saying he was a gifted child, no one cared to listen to him. What good was being brilliant if no one cared about the objectively smart things you had to say? He couldn’t understand the minds of adults.
‘Noctua, ha,’ Elske sneered, sitting with his little brother, the only one who took him seriously. Oore was six, and Elske knew he shouldn’t be proselytizing so much to someone who was so impressionable, but he couldn’t quite stop himself. All the older kids wouldn’t spend time with him, and he had so little in common with anyone his own age. That and he couldn’t help but tell them when they were being stupid. He knew it didn’t make him any friends, but it was so unbearable listening to someone be so incredibly slow. Oore however was happy to listen to anything Elske said, and he had even heard the younger boy defending his opinions to their parents. Badly, of course, but one couldn’t have too high expectations of a six year old.
‘How anyone could worship a being that likes violating your mind is so inconceivable.’ He had just learned that word, and was intent on using it as much as possible. His parents, though slightly bewildered by their son’s intellect, still tried their best, and their purchase of advanced level texts for him to study was appreciated. Oore nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide but serious, ‘inconceivable,’ he repeated, his missing teeth lisping over the word. Elske smiled, ruffling his brother’s messy hair. He would happily admit that Oore was the more charming of the two, with his cute lisp and dimples the little boy was practically angelic.
‘Elske! Oore! Dinner!’ their mother Enyes called from inside their small house, summoning them in from the front steps where the boys had been perched, watching the other children play a ball game on the terraces spotting their waterfall city.
It was a city of water and air, the town center and main buildings built on the edge of a waterfall at the top of the falls, with the outcroppings peppering the cliffs down to the pools below carved into cozy little houses and patio combinations where residents resided, connected by living tree root bridges. Other residents busy with their lives soared above on brightly colored kite-like structures, trailing fabric streaming behind like the long tail feathers of the native parrots, the devices cleverly built to take the best advantage of the billows of wind and spray put off by the falls, allowing them to glide gracefully through the air both up and down the falls. Flying fish flitted down through the surging water, springing up out the depths with glittering scales and frilled fins, while wild jewel-bright birds flew overhead among the smattering of thick weighty trees that managed to grow despite the intensity of the waters, monkeys roaming among their branches causing mischief. A veritable garden of eden for those that lived in the remote city, bounded by roiling waters and isolated from other civilizations downstream for many days.
‘Grace first!’ Enyes said as the boys sat at the dinner table, gently smacking Elske’s hand from reaching for a small round piece of flatbread with her wooden spoon. Elske rolled his eyes and begrudgingly lowered his hand. His most recent act of resistance was to sit quietly but not close his eyes or fold his hands during grace, an act his parents politely feigned ignorance towards. There was no arguing with Elske, his mothers had given up somewhere around five years old, when he had put a stop to wearing his wolf onesie for pajamas and insisted on something a little more dignified. Elske imagined it was hard to have a child grow up so quickly, especially their first one, but he needed to smother all child-like habits in order to be taken seriously faster. As soon as he was older than everything would be different, he assured himself. Some day they wouldn’t find his opinions cute.
They finished thanking the lesser god of feasts, a great whale-god called Yba, and continued on with their meal. Elske wasn’t even sure that Yba was a real god, it hadn’t been sighted in centuries, but his parents were dutiful in thanking each and every god, it wouldn’t do to accidentally slight one and bring down a host of wrath on their heads, they said, whenever Elske complained. ‘Hubris, son, hubris,’ his mother Uso chided gently, halting any negative words about gods before they could fully pass out his mouth. His mothers wouldn’t even listen. He seethed silently, chewing his bread aggressively. ‘Close your mouth please, Elske,’ Enyes said primly, a small teasing smile on her lips as she scooped their portions into whorled wooden bowls, carved from driftwood that floated from upstream.
