by R. J. Larson
“Some of it,” Dan admitted. “In secret. But it was hard work, with little reward. And if the authorities had caught him, he would have suffered heavy fines for illegal digging. Which is why he gave it up in favor of repairing Parne’s walls. His old friend continued to dig down here until he was too crippled to proceed. It’s amazing they were never caught.”
As they walked on, Deuel asked, “Were they looking for gems?”
“Yes. But as I’ve said, they earned almost nothing.”
Bitterness lacing his words, Chief Priest Nesac said, “They had no chance of earning anything. The priests control the most profitable mines. Greed and self-indulgence have been their downfall.”
“You’ve escaped them,” Nesac’s wife soothed.
“I pray so.”
Prill asked, “Where will we find water down here?”
Deuel gave a mirthless chuckle. “We might have to dig for it.”
Equally unamused, Dan said, “I haven’t explored much beyond the entrance. If we can’t find an underground stream, we’ll be forced to return to the city each night and go to the wells.”
A worrisome option. The few productive wells were guarded and dwindling rapidly. Ela bit her lip. They needed to find an underground stream. Infinite?
She moved on in the darkness. Kalme called, “Ela, slow down. We’re depending on you for most of our light.”
“Sorry.” Ela glanced back over her shoulder and promptly fell, sliding down an incline. A chorus of yells lifted in the cave above. Sprawled faceup in the dirt, Ela caught her breath and the still-glowing branch. Nothing hurt except her dignity, her elbows, and her rump. To reassure the others, she called out, “I’m safe.” Maybe.
She tried to see beyond the branch into the darkness. And failed, of course. Except . . . chilling liquid seeped into her short boots. “I’ve found water!”
Hunger gnawed into Ela’s sleep. She tried to ignore it, taking refuge in her dreams. Really, three days of strict rationing should have accustomed her to a growling stomach. And it would be unprophet-like to grumble. Hadn’t she fasted in the desert for longer than three days? Scolding herself, she reached for the branch. Gone.
Jolted wide awake, she sat up. Not only was the branch missing, but something in the cavern had changed. A shift in light and air. Shadows, large shadows, spread throughout the subterranean landscape. And large shadows meant a large light. Behind her. Had they been discovered? Infinite!
Turn and see.
Wary, she looked over her shoulder. A tree. The tree. Broad, spiraling vinewood trunk. Shimmering fruits, glorious flowers, and leaves all jewel-like in the darkness. Just as she remembered. Ela stared, dazzled and distressed. If only Tzana could be here.
Tzana.
Pain sliced through the numbness that had sheltered Ela since Tzana’s death. Tears burned and glistened, blurring in the vinewood tree’s glow. And sobs shattered her breath. Lowering her face into the dirt, Ela worshiped her Creator and cried.
Someone knelt beside Ela and held her. Mother.
Kalme cried with her. But she kissed Ela and snuggled her as if she were a child again. Ela hugged Mother tight. At long last, she sniffled and straightened. Tears, hers and Mother’s, dripped off her face.
“Better?” Kalme sounded congested from crying.
No. “A little.” She would miss Tzana for the rest of her short mortal life. Sucking in a shaky breath, Ela wiped at the tears. Father and the others were staring at her. Even Jess was watching. Though he did turn within Father’s arms to gaze at the tree.
Ela tugged off her short boots and reached for her baby brother. “May I?”
Dan handed over Jess, then stood. Clearly astounded by the tree, Father said, “Tell us about this . . . miracle.”
“I will. But, first, everyone, remove your boots and sandals.”
As he wrenched off his boots, Chief Priest Nesac recited, “‘From dirt we were created, to dirt we will return. Bless the Infinite!’”
While she waited, Ela kissed Jess and comforted herself by smoothing his curls. When everyone stood near, barefoot, she said, “The tree is the branch, transformed by the Infinite’s mercy. He has chosen this way to provide for us.” Fresh tears threatened as she said, “Tzana loved this tree!”
Reverent, Ela carried Jess over to the sacred ground. Grass sprang soft, cool, and rich green beneath her bare feet. And so sweetly scented that she felt fed just inhaling its fragrance. After unwrapping Jess from his swaddling clothes, she leaned against the tree’s broad spiraling trunk, lifted her brother’s tiny hand, and rested it on the gleaming vinewood. The baby gripped an iridescent twist of bark and stared, frowning, as if trying to decipher the purity of its inward light.
She wished he were old enough to remember this instant. To remember Tzana. And her.
Followed by Sara Nesac, Prill neared, her slim face scared, yet elated. “Are we permitted to touch the tree?”
“Yes. And we can eat the fruit.”
Deuel halted at the verdant edge of the subterranean oasis and shook his head. “I don’t deserve to approach it!”
Nesac pulled at the merchant’s sleeve. “It’s not a matter of you deserving the Infinite’s gift. What matters is His perfect love in offering it to you. Will you abandon your pride and self-absorbed ways and accept His gift? Or will you shun it and Him?”
Deuel covered his face with his hands and sat down on the cavern’s barren rocks, clearly overwhelmed. Casting a longing glance at the tree, Nesac sat with him, ready to counsel this new and profoundly distressed follower of the Infinite.
Dan and Kalme approached the tree cautiously. For a long time, they simply stood beneath the branches, admiring it. At last, Dan asked, “Tzana saw this tree?”
“Yes. While I was in the desert, after I first became a prophet, she obeyed the Infinite and guarded the branch in my absence. In return, He protected her, sheltering her and feeding her by changing the branch to a tree. While she was here, where you now stand, she was free of her illness. She was beautiful. . . .” Remembering her little sister’s joy, her vivid lovely face, Ela’s throat tightened.
Kalme rested her face against the tree, tears sliding down her cheeks. Dan said, “I wonder why the Infinite allowed her to accompany you on such a dangerous journey.”
Why, indeed? Ela sent her thoughts upward. Infinite? Why did you allow Tzana to face such dangers with me?
Because she loves you. And because she fulfilled her work for My glory.
Warring for composure, Ela repeated the Infinite’s answer to her father.
Dan sat in the lush grass and tender flowers and covered his face with his big, work-toughened hands. “It’s more than I’d ever hoped for her.” His shoulders shook with sobs.
In Akabe’s tower-top arena, Lorteus, the royal fightmaster, glowered at Kien, then spoke, his voice as harsh as metal raking over stone. “On your journey to Parne, your role as the king’s friend—his near equal—has great importance. At all times, you must be ready to defend his life as well as your own.”
And Ela’s, Kien added silently, determined to best this arrogant brute of a fightmaster. For Ela’s sake, he must be battle ready. Whatever it took. Even enduring Lorteus.
Strutting about, chin lifted and big nostrils flaring, Lorteus said, “Danger surrounds every king and those nearest him. My task is to ensure you both survive any sort of attack.” With a disdainful frown, he added, “The problem now is that you Tracelanders can be duped by your own reflections! You’re too confident in your Azurnite! But pretty blades will not defend a dismal swordsman.” Smug, he lifted two wooden longswords—wasters—from a nearby stand and slapped one at Kien. “Believe me, Tracelander, I can bring you down despite your weapon!”
Kien eyed the hair curling from the man’s ear canals. And his distorted, oft-broken nose and battle-ravaged skin. Understandable that Lorteus needed some reason to boast.
The man shifted his weapon into a plowman’s waist-level stance. “Strike whe
n ready.”
Kien lunged, cutting his waster toward Lorteus with all his might.
The fightmaster received the strike flat on the lower portion of his blade and deflected Kien’s weapon, hammering it upward with his sword’s crossguard. Just before he sliced down to Kien’s shoulder. “You’ve lost your arm,” he taunted Kien. “Yet, even now, mortally wounded, you can kill!”
The words became a cadence, drilled into Kien’s thoughts with each defeat.
Even now. Mortally wounded. You can kill!
Sweat stinging his skin and eyes, Kien fought. For Ela. At last, he forced the fightmaster to a pause, their swords crossed at throat level.
Lorteus snarled, “Your grip is weak, girl.”
Silence, Kien warned himself. Feeble taunts don’t merit response. He glared into the fightmaster’s beast-grim eyes. When the man shoved him, Kien locked his foot behind Lorteus’s and threw him to the pavings amid the clatter of wooden blades. Instantly, as Kien aimed for the kill, Lorteus swung out a leg and toppled Kien. His blade touched Kien’s throat within a blink.
Amazing. Must be the man’s ear hair. Kien affected a threatening glare. “Again.”
Lorteus growled and stood. “Why? You won’t learn. I’d be wasting my time just teaching a Tracelander to spit properly.”
“Are you saying I ought to spit like you—with every word I speak?”
Kien rolled aside to avoid Lorteus’ retaliatory strike, then leaped to his feet.
Before Kien raised his own waster, Lorteus pressed the tip of his weapon against Kien’s heart. “Tracelander, I don’t care if you are king, ambassador, or envoy. I will make every step of your journey to Parne a living torment! Beginning at dawn, you will eat what I feed you, drink what I give you, and sleep when I allow you ten breaths to do so!” His eyes fixed on Kien, seeming wholly malignant. “You will learn. Otherwise, when Belaal kills you in battle, you will be grateful!”
This animal would control his meals? Kien regretted mentioning the spit.
Amid the evening meal, shared with her family and friends in the cavern, images called to Ela. Faces, some familiar, some new, sought her in the city above. And words, Sacred Words, beckoned her from their neglected shelter in a now-dead house. Ela hastily set down her food as emotions slid into her thoughts. Spinning . . .
Trying to contain the vision’s momentum, she rocked forward on her knees and gripped her head. Amid the escalating tempest of words, fear, and pleading faces, Ela felt Kalme’s arms encircle her. Mother’s embrace stilled her. A sanctuary.
Released from the vision, Ela straightened and pulled in a breath. Infinite . . . truly?
Yes.
Seated beside Ela, Prill asked, “What are you seeing?”
“The Infinite’s faithful ones.”
Nesac approached, his thin face furrowed in concern. Dan crouched beside Ela. “Tell us.”
Ela motioned toward Nesac. “He must return to the temple for the Books of the Infinite—they cannot be taken as spoils of war by any king. And I’m sent to find others for the Infinite.”
“Others?” Kalme’s lovely eyebrows lifted. “Who?”
“The faithful ones who must join us to survive.”
Dan grunted. “It seems the Infinite will feed them.” He looked up at the tree. After a reluctant pause, he said, “You’ll need to take the branch.”
“The branch stays here. I’ve faced danger without it before, Father. Don’t worry. The Infinite is my Protector.” Though she would be seen as vulnerable when she entered Parne without her insignia. The branch was the symbol of Parne’s prophet and her Creator’s care. Ela’s enemies, His enemies, would believe they could more easily capture her. And soon a particular enemy would succeed, Ela knew. Where, when, she couldn’t tell. But this cavern obviously wasn’t the place of darkness she’d experienced in her vision. There was no fear in this underground sanctuary. No pain. No stench of death. Unlike the place she’d envisioned.
Ela rested a hand on Prill’s arm. “I’m sorry, but you must accompany me, with Nesac.”
The matron blanched.
25
Stars flecked the purpled predawn sky above Parne. Beautiful and peaceful. A serene contrast to the city below. Ela, followed by Prill and Ishvah Nesac, hurried over the rooftop paths, praying and listening to varied cries of distress and broken weeping from the homes beneath their feet.
Had most of Parne consumed its supplies?
Behind Ela, Prill breathed, “I feel guilty, being well fed.”
“All were warned,” Ela reminded her. “This disaster could have been avoided.”
Nesac drew nearer, obviously sickened, and worried. “The temple’s doors are sure to be locked! How can I get inside?”
Ela almost smiled. “Whose house are we discussing? You’ll find He’s opened the door for you.”
The chief priest grinned in the first light. “Of course!” But just as quickly, a frown returned, casting shadows across his lean features while he turned, evidently distracted by a piercing wail from the city below.
Prill tucked her hand into the crook of Ela’s arm. “What will we be doing while he’s in the temple?”
“Causing commotion.” Which would be fun if matters weren’t so deathly serious. She longed for Kien to walk this path with her. Here. Now. Thoughts of Kien weakened Ela, slowing her pace. He’d accompanied Ela on some of her first forays as a prophet. It only seemed right that he should be here. Surely he was on his way to Parne. She’d see him before her entombment, wouldn’t she? Was it right for a prophet to long for another mortal so much? She prayed . . . not only to see Kien one last time, but to protect the Infinite’s faithful remnant in Parne. As well as her parents. Prill. And Deuel and the Nesacs.
Ishvah Nesac’s voice murmured again, “I know this is all His will, but I wish the siege long gone. With all of us looking back upon this from a distance in time.”
“Because you fear what you don’t know,” Ela said. His fears touched her prayers. Infinite, how could this young chief priest be reassured?
A sensation poured over her, and a rush of light built around them all like a clear golden wall. Ela looked over her shoulder and trembled. Three silent warriors were walking with them, calm, watchful. And so filled with the Infinite’s radiance and power that she almost wept with gratitude. Thank You!
Prill grasped Ela’s arm, staring at her oddly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Ela gathered her senses. She’d stopped walking. And her friends were watching her as if she’d lost her mind. All right. Aloud, she prayed, “Infinite, who is like You? Please, allow Nesac and Prill to see the watch-care You’ve set over them.”
Beside her, the matron gasped and flung her arms around Ela. Nesac missed a step and fell against a wall, clearly too shocked to make a sound. No doubt they saw the Infinite’s warriors.
One of the Infinite’s servants slid a powerful glowing hand through the air, as if closing a curtain around himself and his two comrades. Shielding mortals from their fear-inducing presence.
Prill squeaked into Ela’s ear, “Are they still there? Were they sent by the Infinite?”
“Yes, yes. And we must hurry. Nesac, when you’ve retrieved the Sacred Words, return to the hidden courtyard. We’ll meet you there. Nesac?”
Mute, the chief priest nodded. He shoved himself away from the wall and then ran ahead as if being chased to Parne’s temple.
Ela shook the matron. “The others are approaching the temple to pray.”
Like Nesac, Prill nodded. Unlike Nesac, she managed to speak. “If-if they are here, why would you need the branch for protection?”
Infinite? Ela resumed walking, tugging Prill alongside her as she listened to His answer. When they reached a high and level rooftop path, which seemed only an arm’s length from the fading stars, Ela said, “The branch is more than mere protection. It serves the Infinite, and is a symbol of His pledge to us.” She shook her head. How could she express what she didn’t
understand? “One day the Infinite will send a truly righteous priest to rule us and to intercede for our mortal wrongdoings. Everyone who accepts Him will be spiritually cleansed.”
Nudging the matron along the steps toward the temple, Ela added, “Our Creator will walk among us, and we won’t need to be shielded from His holy presence.”
Prill shook her head. “I thought I would die at the sight of those . . . those guards! It would kill me to see the Infinite Himself.”
“All you need to do, Prill, is accept Him, and obey Him as your Sovereign.” She quickened their pace, reaching the temple’s gate just as the first true rays of dawnlight pierced the horizon.
Her heart aching, Ela watched a straggling flock of Parnians and several priests approach the temple. All these faithful ones looked so broken, despairing beneath their separate burdens of hunger and fear. An icy hand clutched Ela’s wrist. Prill.
Her expression squeamish, the matron pleaded, “Promise me there’ll be no screaming heaps of ashes today.”
“No screaming heaps of ashes today,” Ela agreed beneath her breath.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“You’re going on a little errand, but don’t worry. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“You’d best be right. But what about you?”
As Ela tried to collect words to describe what was about to happen, Prill said, “Ela Roeh, if you die and I’m forced to tell your parents, I . . . I’m sure I’ll never forgive you!”
“Yes, you will. And you might even miss me.” She pried her chaperone’s cold fingers from her wrist. “Now. I was serious about the errand. These people are about to speak to me. You’re going to lead them to the hidden courtyard and wait quietly. Nesac will arrive soon after. Then I’ll follow.” In one piece, she hoped.
The first of Parne’s faithful reached the gate. An older man and his wife. He recognized Ela and gasped aloud. “Prophet! We’d heard you were dead!”
Hmm. She could imagine who’d spread that little rumor. The others, perhaps eighty Parnian men, women, and children, gathered around her, eyes huge, as if seeing an apparition.
