With a harsh breath, he dropped his sickle and ripped his shirt from its resting place around his neck. The fabric was sopping wet, but he mopped his forehead with it anyway, then flung it over his shoulder.
Swish, swish.
Sugarcane stalks plopped to his feet with each swipe, tumbling one after the next like dead bodies. It wasn’t nearly as grotesque as that, but he had to entertain himself somehow. Cane harvesting was such tedious work. Such mindless work.
Necessary. It was necessary work.
A heap of cane rested in front of him, piled like a pyramid. He tried to see shapes in his labor—to focus on the rich color of each stalk, to see the nicks from his sickle as a signature, to turn his efforts into art—and then he resigned himself to the banal reality of what he was doing.
Swish, swish.
A man scuttled from the distant sugar mill, heading his way. Was it the end of the day already? The ferocious sun was setting, bleeding between the clouds and turning the sky from blue to pink, yet somehow it was still as sweltering as ever. How was that even possible? Or fair?
The man waved; yes, work was over, and both relief and dread stirred within him. He could get in some more work if he had to. And he did have to.
Dropping his sickle, he yanked at the sheath lying by his feet, hoisting all however-many sugarcane stalks onto his back. He recalled the first time he had done this—how the weight had felt immeasurable, how he had thought his back would break from the pressure—but now he was stronger, or perhaps the cane was simply lighter.
The man reached his side, chewing on a blade of grass and eyeing the stretch of harvested land. “That’s the last of it for today. You’ve done good work, Tobias. You always do good work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The man pulled a small purse from his pocket. Coin. Thank God.
He cocked his head at the cane in Tobias’s arms. “Trade?”
The man tossed the purse to Tobias, who in turn hurled the roll of cane at his employer. The man caught the stack and teetered backward, nearly stumbling over.
“Apologies…”
“God, this is heavy.” The man positioned the roll onto his back, hunching so far forward that his chest was almost parallel to the ground. “You make it look easy. I swear, you’ve turned into an ox while my back was turned.”
Tobias dumped the coin into his hand, counting it. “Sir, this is too much—”
“It’s a holiday.”
Tobias stared at the man, then down at the coin. His gut told him to deny the handout, to insist it wasn’t necessary, but he couldn’t.
“Thank you.” He faltered. “I can put in more hours if you’d like, sir.”
“You say that every day.” The man repositioned the cane over his shoulder and patted Tobias’s back. “Go home. Be with your family.”
Nodding, Tobias slid the coin into the purse and pocketed it. Just as he began to make his way from the field, the man stopped him.
“Tobias.” He smiled. “Blessed Day.”
Tobias forced a smile in return. “Blessed Day. To you and yours.”
He continued his trek across the field and down the hillside. The coin jingled in his pocket—like it was mocking him, so smug in its dominance—and he tried to remember its purpose, to think of why he labored each day, though the thought offered little comfort.
The town materialized at the foot of the hill. The roads were packed with bustling bodies dressed in their finest attire, and Tobias pulled his shirt from around his neck, sliding it over his head. Soon he reached the masses, and color and cheer surrounded him. Ribbons in purple, pink, and gold adorned shopfronts, spiraled from rooftops, and wrapped around columns. White linen stars decorated trees, carts, and doorways, dangling from strings in intricate clusters. Then there were the lilies, hanging from awnings and spilling from windows, and their perfume scent overpowered him until he could feel it in the hot, dry air.
The town was only this beautiful, this alive, one day of the year, and today was that day. Today, people feasted. They celebrated. They were kind, happy, and generous, because today was a holiday that eclipsed all others.
Today marked the birth of The Savior.
The history of The Savior went back hundreds of years, but every living, breathing citizen could recite it in detail. In centuries past, the realm of Thessen was in a state of turmoil; it was racked with plague, crippled by greed, and immersed in war with neighboring powers, making death and destruction the miserable norm. As people perished, so did the land, so wrought with disease that harvests refused to grow, leaving nothing but desert sand for miles. Those who didn’t die from sickness starved, and those who didn’t starve were killed for their sustenance, creating an endless cycle with only one foreseeable outcome.
Eradication.
And then She was born: a baby Girl with ivory skin and violet eyes. They said Her birth was special, that all who saw Her knew She would end the darkness. They knew She was the light, because light radiated through Her, setting Her skin aglow the moment it caught the sun. Some said Her appearance was stunning, that a glimpse would leave people dazed and faint. Others claimed Her eyes carried a wisdom, a knowing of Her power before She was old enough to know anything at all.
With this Girl’s birth came a purge. The lands were restored, turning green where they once had been brown, and the sky brightened to a blue that hadn’t been seen in years. Diseases went extinct, and the sick were cured, their bodies purified in a matter of weeks. Skeptics became believers, believers became worshipers, and soon all were convinced of the Girl’s celestial power—that She was their Savior.
As the realm was cleansed, The Savior grew in prominence. The people decided She needed authority, and so She was crowned the Ruler of Thessen, making Her will law. Wars ended, evil went punished, and peace resided after years of chaos. In the shortest amount of time, the realm had surpassed its original greatness, and it was all at the hands of a little Girl.
Today was not that Girl’s birthday; today was the current Savior’s birthday, as there had been many Saviors since then. The first Savior eventually birthed another Girl of Her likeness with striking eyes and glowing skin. She too had a Daughter, who had a Daughter, who had another Daughter as well. Seamlessly, The Savior title passed through each generation, and while it’s said no two Saviors had the same shade of eyes, they all possessed the same luminescent skin and celestial power. More importantly, with each Savior, the land was fruitful, peace was upheld, and the realm remained prosperous.
Yes, today was truly a wondrous holiday—a day for joy, for food, for rest.
But not for Tobias. He still worked. He always worked.
“Blessed Day, to you and yours.” The phrase repeated around him, and he hurried his pace, put off by the greeting. He headed down an alleyway, maneuvering between stacks of woven baskets, trying to avoid the smiling faces of those fortunate enough to be celebrating. Darting across the stone road, he ducked into another alley, this one empty aside from a donkey and a muttering drunk. Two asses. Soon the dirt path to his village was in sight, but just as he escaped the alley, he stopped.