The Book of Secret Obsessions

He hated it, but he couldn't turn away. The Book of Secrets occupied his every waking moment for the next three days. Unimpeded by village requests during the first day, he was able to read the true history of the village, through a shaman's eyes. He learned that there was a whole system of hero-making, and that part -- that was the hardest part to swallow.

His entire sense of self had been built on his one heroic act as a fourteen year old boy. He was not just Mira's husband, he was her protector. He had rescued her from a dragon.

There was one part of the Book of Secrets that Stan had not yet dared to read. It was the true accounting of heroism in Dyssa. In there, he would find out the truth about each of the men and their forefathers in the village. How much of their heroic act was a set up, and how much was natural?

This truth would fundamentally change how he would see himself, his neighbors, and even his father. He had discovered early on that his great, great, great grandfather had penned this copy, and his father had only made small updates to the text -- and likely added to the true accounting of heroism log.

But the rest of it was telling. It read like a special-effects manual. How to mix herbs to create fire or simulate death. The sickening part was that no one else seemed to be in on it. It would be one thing if a girl consented to being kidnapped or "put in a trance" so that a boy could be a man. But littered throughout the manual were indications that secrecy meant secrecy for all. Even those whose lives would be at risk by participating in this sometimes-deadly ritual.

Reading through the instructions, Stan could not help but wonder how many children had perished at the hands of the ritual. It weighed heavy on him, like a wet blanket, and seemed to even suck any grief he felt at his father's passing right out of him. How could he love someone who had potentially done these things to his own people?

He thought back to whispered names in town. Anno. Peony. Suri. Kestrel. All four had died in mysterious circumstances when he was younger. All four had been between the ages of ten and sixteen.

His stomach fell further as more names rose to the surface. Andica. Togo. To'nee. Ber'truu. These young people had died in the last ten years. Were they also victims of this cruel charade?

Or maybe this was all just for those desperate sort of children, the ones who wouldn't be able to make it without a little bit of help. Maybe the kidnapping and herbs and showmanship were rarely used, and that's why they were so extensively detailed in the book. So that the shaman king wouldn't mess it up when it came time to help the children find their way to heroism.

"Jikal is here to see you." Mira's sweet voice interrupted his thought process, and Stan looked up to see her smile gently at him. The pages had been swirling in his eyes. He shut the book hastily.

"Yes, of course. Send him in, sweetheart."

"I am sorry for the loss of your father." Jikal spoke quietly from the ragged, stiff armchair in which he sat. "It must be hard for you to be so young yourself yet wear the mantle of responsibility."

"Thank you for your kind words, Jikal." Stan's acknowledgment was rote at this point. Every conversation over the last few days had started similarly. "What do you need?"

"I.." He paused. "As you know, Kutak is fifteen summers old now and has not yet found his calling to become a man. I am beginning to worry that he might never transition into manhood. I am getting old now, and need to be able to rely on a man to help me with more than just the heavy lifting. I need to start training him in the business itself, but I cannot while he is still a child."

"I see." Stan said, stalling for time. He desperately wished that he knew how his father had handled these sorts of situations. What was expected of him here? "How can I assist you? I am a little bit like Kutak here, in that although I am a man, my father did not … endow … me with all of his working ways. You know yourself that I often did only minor things and didn't speak much to fellow villagers as his understudy."

Jikal frowned and Stan blushed. "It's not that I'm incapable." He quickly covered for himself. "I'm just asking -- is there something that my father did for you, say, with your older son, who now works with the blacksmith, that you would want me to do for you? Or do you just need advice?"

Jikal nodded thoughtfully. "My oldest did not have this problem, but I know that Ned came to your father just last year after his son, Yurk, had not yet become a man. Your father prayed for him, and soon after, the opportunity presented itself. Yurk was able to recover sheep that had gone lost one evening, and gained his manhood that way."

Stan remembered the incident. This one, Yurk, had most certainly been helped by his father. That young man couldn't find his way out of the village if there was a fire.

"But…" Jikal interrupted Stan's thoughts. "My son will not be a sheep rescuer." He spat the words out with a touch of disdain in his voice. "It would not be proper for my son, a future tailor, to be rescuing some miscreant sheep."

"Ah, yes." Stan said uncertainly. Was he being … ordered … to set up an act of heroism for Kutak?

"He should be able to rescue a young lady." Jikal mused, "Or maybe a child. You know, when the opportunity presents itself." He had definitely emphasized the last two words.

"I see." Stan said amiably. "I will pray to our ancestors that Kutak moves forward soon on his quest to manhood." The words were awkward and unrehearsed, but he had a feeling that it was the best thing to say in this moment. Jikal looked uncertainly at him.

"So you will…?" He trailed off.

"I will pray." Stan said, more firmly this time. "Now, I must return to my studies. Mira will see you out, Jikal. Thank you again for your kind words about my father. He rests peacefully knowing that good men like you support his family."

Jikal nodded and was ushered out by Mira, who had been quietly poking around in the library behind them for something. It was somewhat unusual for a woman to be present in the shaman-king's hut, but Stan had no apprentice, and needed someone to help. They had not yet managed to have children of their own, so Mira took over the duties with pride.

Mira reentered the study moments later. She took a seat in the chair that Jikal had occupied. "What was that all about?" She asked.

Stan sighed, unsure of how much to tell her. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think Jikal wants me to help him with his son, Kutak."

"Yes, I got that." Mira said. "I heard everything. I just don't know how you…" she gestured at Stan, waving her hands all around, "Are supposed to convince his son that it's time to be a hero."

"I…" Stan felt uneasy, but decided to risk it. "I don't think I'm supposed to tell you this." He admitted. She leaned closer. "I think my father, and his father, and on and on… were occasionally charged with… guiding… boys to become heroes."

"Oh." Mira said, leaning back. "Well that's not exactly secret. Yurk definitely didn't rescue those sheep by himself last year."

"No…" Stan corrected her. "I think it's bigger than that."

"Like… what?"

"I think my father helped most of the boys become men." He threw his hands up in the air. "I'm not… there's a list. I haven't looked yet. I can't bear the implications."

"What implications?" Mira clearly wasn't seeing the full picture yet.

"If my father," Stan began, "helped every boy become a hero, then that means that every accidental death of a woman, child, or teenager here in Dyssa," he took a breath and listed those he had thought of earlier, "Anno. Peony. Suri. Kestrel. Andica. Togo. To'nee. Ber'truu. Even your friend from childhood, Liani -- their blood may be on my father's hands. Or my grandfather's hands. All the way up for four or five generations."

Mira grew silent. After a moment of contemplation, her brow furrowed. "No." She said firmly. "That can't be right. There's no way that your father is -- was -- a secret killer. Why would that make sense?"

"Every boy becomes a hero." Stan said. "I became a hero."

"But you…" Mira looked up at him, searching.

"I. Rescued you. From a dragon." He confirmed. She seemed to relax, but he continued. "A dragon, that by all rights and purposes, is larger than this shaman's hut and our home combined." She watched him closely. "A dragon that we never actually saw." He took a breath, "And somehow kidnapped you from the river, carried you up the mountain, and hogtied you in a cave. With rope that looks just like the rope that Frank makes."

"Okay, but everyone knows…"

"What, that dragons live in caves on mountains? Yes. That dragons don't eat for three days? Yes. But why?" Everything seemed to be clicking for Stan in this moment, and he knew that his name was not on the "true hero" list. There was no way. "Does everyone know this because everyone has seen it? Or does everyone know this because it's a convenient lie for the shaman's son?"

Stan had raised his voice slightly to overrule her. Her objections, for better or worse, were quelled. They passed a long moment in silence.

"So does that mean…" Mira trailed off, but continued before Stan could fill in for her. "Does that mean that your father stalked us to the river, waited until I was asleep, kidnapped me, hauled me to that mountain, and just… left me there, hoping that you would have the courage to go up there -- alone -- before the village did -- to rescue me?"

"It does seem that way, yes." Stan said. He blushed, even though he was not to blame. After all, even if it had been staged, it was still a genuine rescue in his mind.

"Left me to get sick, get hypothermia, get eaten by wild dingos…" She looked angry.

"Yes. I mean, that's my guess. It might've been real. Here…" He felt around on the couch he was resting on until he found the Book of Secrets. "The list is at the end here. We'll just take a look."

"No, wait a second." Mira was getting louder. "What about the noises and lights we saw in the cave? Your father was at the bottom. How could he -- are there other men in on this?"

"No, no.." Stan thumped the book in his hands. "This is a how to guide for magic. There are detailed instructions on how to create random fire flashes, growling noises, everything you could ever think of."

"And I'm assuming there's also a guide in how to make people forget, or fall into a deep sleep or…"

"Yes. All of that." Stan said. "It's all in this book. This book that only the shaman possesses."

"Are dragons even real? Did you…" Her eyes bulged a little, "Did you invent a dragon for your father's death?" She narrowed her eyes. "I swear to the ancestors, if you came in here all dirt and sadness talking about a dragon and --"

"No, Mira." He said hastily. "I didn't invent a dragon. There was an actual dragon standing over his body. And when I got close, she or he flew off, leaving a half charred mess for me to clean up. The dragon was definitely real."

"But our dragon wasn't?" She asked and he shrugged. "I don't know. Let's look."

He opened the book to the very back, finding the blank pages where he was supposed to add more names. He started looking backwards from the most recent boy to find his own name. Three pages in, he found It.

"No." He said. "Our dragon was fake. My father kidnapped you by the river, tied you up, and staked you out in a cave on the mountain for me to find." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't --"

"I did not." He agreed. "But I …rescued…" he made air quotes, "you, and by that, and in all of this time. I have been complicit. And for that, I am sorry. To you and every other person in this village."

"What are we going to do?" Mira asked. "We can't just keep…"

"I," he emphasized the word, "am going to do nothing right now. I'm going to spend some time thinking about how to handle this whole Jikal situation. And then I," he emphasized the word again, "will figure out what to do. You will do nothing, and keep this secret to yourself. Because we don't want to start a revolt."

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