However, if they actually perceived me as a demon, I likely wouldn't have had this much time to prepare. And what was that about some ‘harvest shindig’?

“Well now, where were ya?!” His booming voice shattered my thoughts, pulling me back to the immediate challenge at hand.

Oh. He probably came looking for me some time ago and discovered the empty house. As far as I knew, I wasn't under any form of house arrest. If I could come up with a convincing excuse, I might be in the clear.

“I was using the bathroom,” I stated, attempting to sound innocent and nonchalant. See? Easy.

“Yer potty is right over yonder, though,” he said, pointing towards a corner of the room.

You sure like to nitpick… 

It was a feeble excuse, and I had merely hoped that my cute little child's eyes would tug at his heartstrings. Taking a deep breath, I readied part two of my excuse. I'm a cunning individual; there's no way I'd engage in this mind chess match without a contingency plan.

“Dat's 'cause me wanted to use big-kid potty,” It was the age-old tactic of baby talk! “Me not wittle baby!”

Ack! I can feel it, my dignity's last breath! I wasn't even sure if that was how a normal six-year-old talked. Just how long does it take to learn how to talk?

“Is that a fact? Well, you didn't strike me as the type… Guess kids sprout up fast…”

“…” Well, it looked like I had escaped—

“Hold yer horses, that ain't the ticket. Follow me, let's move on.”

For five seconds.

“What do you mean ‘let's move on’?! Move to where?”

“Mmm,” he mused after hearing me talk. Oh no! My act slipped.

“Oh, umm. I—Ahem” I cleared my throat, attempting to regain composure. “Me mean. What you mean? Where we going?”

“Hear me out already, won't ya? The harvest shindig!”

“But… Why?”

I mean, Dara was banished from the village. In his six years he had heard neither hide nor hair about any ‘harvest shindig’. So I knew for a fact that he never participated in one. So the sudden emergence of the event was at least suspicious. Just what was this out of nowhere?

“Why in the world 'why'?”

“Huh… Wasn't I banished from the village? What if people get my sickness?”

“Even you're gettin' on with this hogwash? Anyhow, don't matter none today. Spirits don't allow folks gettin' sick on the Dożynki.” That word looked like an important piece of exposition.

“I-is that so?”

I knew that that notion was pure nonsense. Sickness could strike at any time, and festivals, with their larger gatherings, were actually the perfect breeding ground for viruses. However, the people in this village seemed to have a very selective understanding of transmissive diseases.

“Sure as shootin', it is.”

“So… How come I've never gone to one before?”

“What are ya jabberin' 'bout? Ya just hit six this year, course ya wouldn't have went to one, no two ways 'bout it.”

“Oh, right! Silly me! Ohohoho,” I chuckled nervously.

 

Before we left the house, Uncle tossed me a chubby wooden stick just like the one he was carrying, it was thick enough to serve as firewood. The scene presented was like a weird painting: an old man and a child, both armed with branches of substantial size, strolling together through the inky darkness.

Needless to say, I found my thoughts entirely blank. The purpose of these sticks was completely lost on me, and the absence of other villagers in our surroundings hindered my ability to make informed guesses.

“So… Why?”

“Hmm?”

I attempted to question the situation, but my ability to articulate words left some to be desired.

“Why are we carrying these sticks?”

“Oh… That's just to figure out if someone's fixin' to know the Land Without Evil.”

“…”

Eh?! What is up with this ominous-sounding phrase?! And was that Land Without Evil thing? Is that what they call heaven here?

“And what happens in that land?”

“What in the world do ya mean?”

Would it be considered weird to ask what happens in heaven? I couldn't tell.

“Umm… Plants sprout up on their own, wheat turns into flour in the blink of the eye, and game shows up ready for the takin'. Folks don't age, don't meet their end, and there ain't no suffering.”

“I see.”

Humans really are predictable… People here were also desperate for meaning in their existence, going as far as creating their own narrative about an eternal paradise in the clouds. A place where everything's perfect, and you get to bask in eternal bliss. How convenient.

All just because facing the idea that life is filled with uncertainty, suffering, and disappointment is just too unbearable for some. It was a beautiful lie, really, a way to numb the pain of reality. 

This kind of belief is like putting a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. Sure, it might make you feel better for a moment, but it doesn't change the fact that you're bleeding out.

People need to wake up and smell the bitter coffee of reality. Instead of investing their hopes in some celestial retirement plan, they should focus on fixing the broken systems and finding meaning while alive.

However, as someone living in what could be called a retirement, I wasn't one to say that… Except that my retirement was anything but eternal bliss. So he'd have to forgive me for not buying into the whole heaven fantasy. I'd rather face the ugly truth than live in a dream world where everything magically falls into place. To me, life's a struggle, and no amount of wishful thinking will change that. But I digress.

Since it was night, the village was deserted. It wasn't the same emptiness as the day before though; none of the houses emitted any light, despite we having left much earlier. The entire village was shrouded in an eerie silence. The moon and stars watched over us as we wandered in the direction that I could only presume led to the field.

“Huff huff” As we traversed the dirt path to the north of the village, my legs skipped in an almost frantic manner as I gave my all to keep pace with Uncle, who walked without a care in the world. “Huff huff”

Houses stood silent, all of them devoid of life. Our walk led us to the northern outskirts, where we could see the field bathed in moonlight. This was my first time seeing it up close.

Thirteen stones, each bearing peculiar runes, formed a perfect circle around the field. These stones, each having at least half my size—50 cm or so—held some kind of weird rune inscribed on them.

As we approached, the collective attention of the villagers, who were all crowded together as if watching some kind of presentation happening in the middle of the field, turned towards us. Their gaze pierced through me, nearly causing my poor introverted soul to leap from my skin.

“Should I really be here?” My voice came out way quieter than I intended, stopping me from being heard.

Some unspoken command made the crowd part in the middle, creating a passage that Uncle followed as if it was the most natural thing in the world, since he was my only lifeline, I followed close behind, clutching the branch in my hands as if my life depended on it.

Most of the field had been harvested, meaning that a mosaic of crushed wheat stems formed the ground in which we were walking. The villagers opened a path for us as if we were Moses in the Red Sea or something.

Agricultural villages were never known for their dense population, and while there weren't a whole lot of them, the sight of a procession of people huddled together, all eyes on me, made my heart pound as loud as a drum.

As we reached the end of the crowd, and the people in front of us dispersed, I could see the rest of the field clearly. The crowd wasn't circling the middle; they were positioned on the side as if arranged to view a stage.

A towering pyre stood at the forefront, awaiting our offering. Uncle cast his stick into the pile of wood, prompting me to follow suit and do the same with my own trembling hand.

That way I understood, the church wasn't something to be concerned about here—they were pagans. 

Unless I should be concerned about them doing a holy war against the ‘demon worshipers’.