The Forsaken (The Chosen Series Book 2)

by Patricia Bell

  “You look tired. I bet you can’t wait to deliver.”

  Rachel nodded.

  “Well,” the woman leaned forward in her chair. “I appreciate you talking to me about Jacob and the baby, but I am hoping this time we can talk more about something a little different.”

  Rachel hadn’t spoken much about Jacob. Only that he was gone and she was left to give birth to his child without him. “Okay?”

  “I understand your anxiety has little to do with the loss of the baby’s father and more to do with the community in which you were raised. Would that be a fair assessment?”

  The last thing Rachel wanted to speak about was her community. The English did not understand their ways, and Rachel had come to realize that people often belittled what they did not understand. Before she could answer, the doctor spoke again.

  “I’ve done a bit of research on The Chosen, and I want you to know, as a Christian, I won’t talk bad about them or belittle their beliefs. Your beliefs. But I do want to talk about them so we can get through the memories that are most likely triggering your nightmares.”

  Rachel blinked, and a tear fell down her cheek. Her biggest worry was that this woman would look down on her for being ignorant. Uneducated. Would bash her people for their ways and treat her as though she was a victim.

  “Tell me about that day. What exactly happened to make them kick you out onto the street?”

  “I was late. My cycle had not come for three months.” Rachel hated talking about such things, but it was the only way she could explain it. “I requested Jacob to meet me in my barn that night. My sister, Abigail, she overheard the conversation and thought she was protecting me. She told my father. It is not the way of The Chosen to have relations outside of marriage. I had sinned against my community and my God.”

  “I see.” She nodded her understanding. “It is a commendable ordinance and Biblical, I might add. Are you upset with your sister for telling your father?”

  “I am not upset with Abigail. She only sped up the process. Sooner or later, my father, along with the rest of the community, would have found out. There was no changing that.”

  “And that’s when your father made you leave?”

  “My father did not make me leave. The High Prophet did.”

  “Hm.” The woman scribbled some notes on her notepad. “The High Prophet. I read a bit about him in my research, but there’s really not a whole lot of information available.”

  “We are a private people.” There she went speaking as if she were still chosen. “We – The Chosen do not live in the world.”

  “Second Corinthians, right?”

  Rachel nodded. She knew the verse by heart. Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness. “Six fourteen,” she quoted. And The Chosen, they were light. The English were darkness, evil, sinful, unrighteousness. At least that is what she had been told all her life. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  “That’s admirable, Rachel. There is nothing wrong with separating yourself from the ways of the world. I am inclined to agree with the simplicity of your people. Life is a lot less complicated when the rest of the world is not around to crowd it up.”

  “Agreed.” Maybe the woman wasn’t as bad as she had initially thought.

  Abigail explained many of the rituals and traditions of The Chosen and the woman listened with great interest. She did not cast down their ways or give her opinion on any matter.

  “So, Rachel, do you believe the High Prophet was justified in sending you away?”

  Rachel nodded.

  She wanted to tell the woman about her terrifying dreams of her baby clawing its way out of her stomach. Of his red eyes, long horns, and spiked tail. A demon, just as Elder Aaron had described. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready. “I have committed a grave sin against God and my people. They did what they must, in that situation. I deserve whatever punishment I have received. I only wish my child did not have to suffer for my insurrection.”

  Dr. Paine glanced at the digital clock that sat on her desk. “I think that is enough for today.” She placed a hand to her chin. “I’d like to give you some homework if you don’t mind.”

  Rachel nodded, surprised that the woman did not go into further detail.

  "I want you to look up several verses in the Bible. She flipped her notepad over and ripped out a piece of paper. She scratched out a couple of lines and slipped the page across the table. “Now, I know you are still learning how to read, so feel free to get some help with it. But I think these will be beneficial, and I will let you draw your own conclusions from them, and we can talk more about them on your next visit.”

  “Thank you.” Rachel took the page, folded it up, and placed it in her pocket. She was eager to get home and see exactly what these verses said.

  As she left the office, she had to admit, she felt a little bit better after talking to the woman. Maybe there was something to this counseling thing.

  Chapter 10 ― Malachi

  Malachi followed Elder Aaron into the big house on the hill. The one that no one but his younger brother Jacob and the elders themselves had ever seen. He swallowed the lump in his throat as his tough demeanor faltered.

  Jacob is dead.

  But why was he being brought to the home of the High Prophet? He’d had nothing to do with that. In fact, he’d tried to warn his brother of the trouble he was making for himself. Concern over the conversation he and Elder Aaron had had only days before entered his mind. He had been disrespectful to the man, but that most certainly did not require a visit to the home of the High Prophet. Elder Aaron had not even consulted Malachi’s father on the matter.

  He followed the elder down the long hallway. The strange lighting that illuminated the hall intimidated him. They were not candles, and yet they were not lanterns. They were like glowing balls of flames encased in globes.

  He’d witnessed those same kinds of globes that lit the restaurant they sometimes visited when running late from the market. He’d seen them in other places as well. The street lamps in the city, the traffic lights that hung high above the streets, the flashing lights of oncoming traffic, their own vehicles. It had overwhelmed him the first time he’d gone to PSP, but Elder Joseph had explained it to him.

  Electricity.

  It was not only deemed an unnecessary commodity by the community, but it was worldly and forbidden. And here he was walking the halls with the very evil the elders spoke of, lining the halls of the home of the High Prophet. Something about that did not sit well with him. Was the High Prophet not held to the same standards as the community? Did not the same rules apply to him as did everyone else?

  “Wait in here,” Elder Aaron said as they stopped at the entrance to a small room.

  Malachi stepped inside. The room itself was not much bigger than the discipline shed behind his home but was wider than it was long. One solitary chair sat against the wall at the back of the room. Malachi took a seat and stared at the images that lined the wall across from him. He’d seen them before. They were the photographs of the High Prophets, past, present, and future. The same ones that lined the center where they all met for sacrament services and community meetings meant to remind them of the superiority of the High Prophet.

  The new High Prophet was too puffed up. At least that’s what he’d overheard his father say. The man had taken his position for granted and he’d not ruled with the same compassion as the previous leaders. Malachi had nothing to compare him to. He’d known nothing else.

  His eyes moved to the man in the next picture over. The previous prophet. The man had kinder eyes and a smile that said he might care about his people. Malachi even heard it told that the previous ruler had intermingled with the congregation.

  No one ever saw the current prophet unless they were in trouble. Just the mention of his presence, instilled fear into the hearts of the people.

  “He is rea
dy for you.” Elder Aaron popped his head back into the door. “Come with me.”

  Malachi stood and followed the man out of the room and down the hall. When they reached the end, Elder Aaron opened a door and nodded for Malachi to enter the room. He walked inside, and the door closed behind him, leaving him alone with the High Prophet.

  “Come in,” a voice spoke from the back of the room.

  Malachi squinted until the man came into focus. His eyesight had been poor for a long time. At times he had awful headaches from squinting to see things more clearly. His father told him it was because of the sin in his heart that he was not able to see well. God had punished him for his anger. Malachi shrugged off the thought.

  “Come closer,” the voice said. “I will not harm you.”

  Malachi took a deep breath and stepped forward until he stood in front of the High Prophet. It was closer than he’d ever been to the man.

  “Malachi, is it?” he asked.

  “Yes, High Prophet.” Malachi nodded and glanced around the room. The items that stood out to him were startling. Not because he didn’t know what they were, but because he did. A flat-screen television was mounted onto the wall, a telephone on the desk, and a portable refrigerator next to it. He’d learned much in the last year of going to the market. The outside world was full of those things. But here, in the home of the man who allowed his community no such amenities, the objects seemed out of place. Wrong.

  “Would you like some water?” The High Prophet bent over and pulled open the refrigerator. Without waiting for an answer, the man grabbed a bottle and handed it to Malachi.

  Malachi took the bottle and nodded his thanks. He wished to ask the man why he had all these things. Why his house was powered with electricity, and he had all the amenities that were sinful to the rest of them. But he didn’t have to because as if reading his thoughts, the High Prophet answered his unspoken questions.

  “I have these things because God has granted them to me. I have reached a higher level, and this is my reward.”

  Malachi nodded though he refused to believe it.

  “I guess you are wondering why I called you here,” the man said. “Take a seat. Let us talk.”

  Malachi took the seat across from the man and opened his bottle of water.

  “First, if you will allow me, I would like to give you a bit of biblical history.” The man leaned forward.

  Malachi nodded.

  “In the bible times, when a man is married to a woman, and that man dies, the woman is to be married to the man’s brother. If the woman had yet to bear children for him, the brother was required to sow his seed in her and their firstborn would be dedicated to the brother who had passed away to carry on the name. Even in our community, if a man dies leaving the women without, another man, a brother if at all possible, is assigned to take care of the man’s family. It does not happen often, but it is essential in order to care for those left behind. It is only right, is it not?”

  “Yes, High Prophet. It does seem reasonable.” Malachi was uncertain where the man was going with this line of talk. Still, he nodded.

  “So, you see, we have quite a dilemma here,” he said as if his words made any sense at all.

  Malachi stared at the man and waited for him to continue.

  “Well now, as you are aware, Abigail was promised to Jacob. They were to be married only hours after his death. In God’s eyes, they are already married.”

  “What . . . why?” Malachi’s head swam. “I do not understand your words, High Prophet.”

  “God has spoken. You shall marry Abigail.”

  Malachi’s mouth flew open. “Abigail? But High Prophet, she is only thirteen.”

  “Are you questioning God, Malachi?” The man leaned forward and placed his elbows on his desk.

  Was this a trick question? Of course, he was questioning God. He was questioning anyone who would have him married to a girl who was barely above the age of a youngling. And if that was God, then so be it. But he couldn’t say that. Not to the High Prophet. Not to anyone.

  Malachi drew in a slow, steady breath to suppress the urge to reach across the desk and snatch the man right out of his chair. Fists clenched, he waited for it to pass.

  “I am regretful that it must be this way, Malachi, but Abigail will make you a good wife. She is young and submissive. You will be happy with her. And if things go well, I am sure God shall grant you a second one soon after.”

  “When are we to marry?” Malachi asked through gritted teeth.

  “At the Winter Ritual.”

  That was only a couple of weeks away. After his brother’s betrayal to the community, Malachi had been the one punished when Jacob had been rewarded with a wife early, putting Malachi’s betrothal on hold. Now they presumed to make amends by marrying him to Jacob’s betrothed?

  Do not do me any favors.

  The High Prophet pressed a button on the box before him and spoke into it. “Send Aaron in.”

  Within minutes Malachi followed the elder robotically out of the fancy house and back into the truck that would take him back to his own, less pleasurable, home.

  Chapter 11 ― Abigail

  “Father, no. Please!” Abigail begged.

  The mere thought of marrying Malachi made her knees buckle. She’d been afraid of Malachi all her life. His tendency to be quick to anger was well known among the younglings. He’d bullied Jacob many times as well as others who opposed him. What would he do to his wife? Besides, Malachi was five years her senior. She was too young to be married.

  “There is nothing I can do, Abigail. God has spoken.”

  “God?” Heat forced its way up her face. “God would have me marry a man five years older than me? I am only thirteen. What do I know of men?”

  “Abigail, my hands are tied. There is nothing I can do.”

  “Why am I being punished? What did I do? Is this because they think I burned down that barn?” Abigail pointed out the door.

  “This has nothing to do with that, but it is still under investigation, and if they find something that will tie you to the fire, you shall be sure to have more punishment than marrying a man five years your senior.”

  “May I be excused?” she asked, anger rising to the surface.

  “You may.” Her father nodded. “For your sake, you better hope they do not find evidence that you have—”

  “Thank you, Father.” Abigail turned away and left to help prepare the younglings for bed.

  How could they make her marry Malachi? It had been a joke among the girls her age that whoever married the brutal man would be sorry. He had a temper like no other, and all the girls feared him. Now she would be the one to marry him.

  Why did Jacob have to die?

  She’d marry Jacob any day over his brother. And now she would be forced into marriage at thirteen. Nothing like it had ever happened among The Chosen. Never had a girl married so young.

  Elder Aaron was right. Things had begun to change since that English girl had come and stirred up evil. As she helped her younger siblings dress in their nightclothes, she tried not to think about it. Only the more she tried not to, the more she did.

  “ABIGAIL,” A DEEP VOICE called as she walked home from the work building the next day.

  She turned to look but saw no one. She wasn’t in the mood for idle conversation, so she picked up her pace.

  “Abigail,” the voice rang out again.

  Recognizing the voice, Abigail turned hesitantly to see Malachi standing straight and stern next to a Palo Verde tree.

  She had no choice but to go back to where he stood, watching her. They were officially betrothed, and she could be in serious trouble if she did not comply. They had never spoken in private before. In truth, he intimidated her, and she avoided him at all costs. But now, she had no choice.

  Her knees wobbled, and she slowed as she drew closer. She stopped several feet away from him. His lips were pulled thin and tight, arms across his chest, and his forearms flex
ed showing the veins in his bulging muscles. Abigail shuddered at the sight of him. How could she marry a man such as him?

  “You heard?” he asked.

  “I did.”

  “I am sorry, Abigail.” His hands fell to his sides, and a look of sadness entered his eyes. “I do not know why they are making us do this. You are too young and I—”

  “God is punishing me.”

  “No, I do not . . . why would you say that?”

  His face contorted so strangely that Abigail almost laughed. For a split second, she’d forgotten he was a monster. He stared at her, eyebrows lifted, and she covered her mouth to stifle a nervous giggle.

  “Abigail? Are you well?”

  “I am.” Not knowing what had come over her, she tried to be serious. “I am under a lot of stress right now. I mean, I am about to be married to a—”

  “A monster,” he finished for her.

  Abigail’s eyes widened.

  “You think I do not know what people call me?” His face hardened. “You think I do not hear?”

  “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  “It is well. I am used to it. But I am not a monster. And I will not marry you.”

  He’d said the same thing as Jacob had said. For a moment, the statement bothered her. She didn’t want to marry him either, but still, it offended her that both Malachi and Jacob had refused to marry her. “What is wrong with me?”

  He raised an eyebrow again. “You want to marry me?” he asked.

  “Well, no. Of course not. I am too young . . . how will you get out of it? Jacob tried, and now he is dead.”

  “I do not know, but I shall find a way out of it.” He looked past her and a frown formed on his face. “I must go.”

  She crooked her head to see Elder Aaron walking in her direction. She turned to leave, and the elder called out to her. “Abigail!”

  It was too late. She turned back to him.