“Looks like the war has begun.” The Rogue rips out the knife.
My muscles fail me. My face hits the ground.
Chapter Two
THE HEALER’S LIGHT
I GRIT MY TEETH and glare down at the brightly colored slop in which I sit. This healing balm presents a series of contradictions. Not only does it feel more like a pain inducer than a healer, but the oil’s consistency is less like oil and more like sand.
Cold and wet, similar to common Earth mud if it were infused with all the colors of light, the healing properties are miraculous. Mined from beneath the Temple and formed by thousands of years of pressure, it is said contain the water of the Shallows from the Prince’s chambers. But the restoration comes with a price. The grains themselves are far larger than regular sand, and they are sharper too. They act like shards of jagged glass which press against the skin and infuse the water into the body.
“You’re awake,” she says.
I turn to see Terra walking my direction. A golden hairpin pulls back her blonde hair, which rests above her shoulders. Her skin radiates with the light typical of her caste, the Healers. The free-flowing gown covers her modestly, but the Healer’s luminescence still radiates through the violet threads.
“Don’t look so disappointed,” I say.
“Can you blame me? Invalids are easier to deal with when they’re asleep.”
“Invalids?”
Two dimples show on her warm, tawny cheeks. She leans in to kiss me on the forehead. Her hair feathers my skin as she pulls away.
“Well there’s plenty of room in this bowl of agony for the both of us.”
She ignores my jest.
She is my Parallel. Created the exact moment I was, we received our names from the Origin at the same time, and He bound our souls together. Our connection is like that of my hand to my arm. Two independent actors who work as one whole. She is part of me and I am part of her.
“Now brace yourself,” she says. “You know what’s coming.”
Heavens no, not again.
Terra places her hand on my chest. Her green eyes turn yellow. It feels as though a thousand ridged rocks are sliding along the underside of my skin. My arms convulse and my teeth clatter. The blood boils in my veins.
She lifts her hand.
The pain stops.
“That should do it,” she says. “The tissues are healing, but you have to rest or you will aggravate the wound again."
I try to catch my breath as I watch her work. Her skilled hands remove the oil from my exposed body. I begin to relax for the first time since the incident.
“So’s this a new hobby you wanna tell me about?” she asks. “Out pickin’ fights in the middle of the woods?”
For a moment, I remember it all. The metal presses up against my skin. The sharp point, stinging as it splits the tissue and buries itself in my tendons. I feel the lack of control and the uncertainty. And worst of all, I see them, those burning red eyes incased in a scarred face. Thankfully, the moment is brief.
“He was a Rogue,” I say, gathering myself. “He was crazed and wanted my breed.”
“Why would anyone want that animal?”
She places a bottle under my nose; the taupe tinted container contrasts with her light skin. I whiff an odor similar to a combination of apples and olives. Pleasant at first, but it overpowers me, too much of a good thing.
I turn away toward her desk which is scattered with various Healer tools. A translucent vial filled with a purple liquid leans against a few square white cloths. Several silver knives rest point-down in a ceramic bowl.
A handsaw stands out among the mess, and I shudder to wonder what uses she has made of it.
“Turn back around,” she says. “One more sniff.”
I cringe. “Are those wood shavings on your desk?”
“Yes, why?”
“I was about to ask you the same question. Since when were you a Carver?”
“An angel’s gotta have her secrets.” She bows and extends her wings in a curtsy. “And I would think after all this time you wouldn’t be surprised to see me once again push aside that whole ‘stay within your class’ mantra. The Origin didn’t say it, so I don’t see why we keep repeating it.”
“I don’t know. I just like the natural order of things. Everything is predictable.”
“I should have predicted you’d stall finishing off your incense. Now take one more whiff.”
I comply and inhale more of the pungent medicine.
“Add this to my list of accomplishments,” she says. “I have now mended a battle wound.”
“I’m a special case,” I say. “Admit it. This has to be more interesting than the boring, self-inflicted, bone breaks you’re used to.”
“Stop your boasting. You realize that Salidryl had to carry you, right?”
Don’t remind me.
Sal will never let this one go. I can already hear his loud, marching footsteps in my head, trotting to rub the ordeal in my face.
“I just want to know how he knew to look for me,” I say. “I mean, it just doesn't make sense. What would a Temple runner be doing out in the middle of the Oasis?”
“You should ask him yourself,” a voice answers.
Apparently, the steps weren’t just in my head.
Sal stands in the doorway. His small frame, shorter even than Terra’s, is dwarfed by his self-confidence. His clean-shaven skin showcases a constant, beaming white smile, and prominent cheekbones. His immaculately groomed brown hair always seems to fall neatly behind his ears.
“You look good,” he says.
“If by good, you mean spilling vital organs into a vat of painful balm, then yeah I’m good.”
I stand and extend my bloody hand. He looks down at it for a moment and then gives me a pat on the back instead.
I cringe.
“Easy," Terra says. “He’s still healing.”
“I’m okay,” I say, although the scars along my naked body reveal I’m not. Terra hands me a robe.
Another friendly face runs into the room. He is pretty badly scarred, but his tongue pants excitedly as he jumps up on my knees.
“Oh not in here, really?” Terra says.
“I owe you everything,” I say to Sal, as I pet the eager creature.
“Not everything,” Sal says. “This little warrior kept you alive until I got there.”
“You warded off a Rogue!” I say. “How is that even possible?”
My breed falls back on his hind legs as if proud of his achievement.
“Sit back down, Michael,” Terra says. “You need to heal first.”
I pretend not to hear her. “How’d you find me? How did you manage to carry us both back? How did you do everything?”
“Okay that’s a lot of questions,” Sal says. “Pick one or we’ll be here all day.”
“Okay fine. How’d did you find me?”
“I was carrying a message from the Temple to the Farrow Lands and I heard him roaring.”
I stoop down and brush my cheek against my breed. “You are loyal aren’t you?”
Sal sits back in the plush wingchair. “Never thought I’d see the day when ‘Mr. Friend of the Forrest’ encountered a rogue.”
“I never thought I’d see my own blood,” I say. “It really is red by the way. Anyway, did you bring the blade back to show the Prince?”
“I was a little busy trying to save your sliced up body from that psycho Rogue.”
“I didn’t do anything to him,” I say. “But he was just so mad with rage. Surely there must be some underlying reason for their anger?”
“Something has to be done,” Terra says. “Rumors say that the Rogues grow bolder in the South as well. They burned a whole village of Harvesters.”
"The Prince agrees," Sal says. “And he is pondering a response to your attack as we speak.”
"To my attack? He knows about me?”
Sal nods.
I don't know whether to feel proud
that the Prince has heard my story or ashamed that I failed to defend myself. Surely he wouldn’t expect much more from a mere Designer.
“The Rogue ranted about picking sides,” I say. “That there was a war coming.”
“We live in a time of firsts,” Terra says.
Sal nods. "These are details you will need to tell the Prince yourself."
"You think the Prince would entertain me?" I say
"Why do you think I’m here?" Sal says. “The Prince sent me to request your presence."
I stand up eagerly.
"No way," Terra says. “You are way too weak to be back in service.”
"It will be fine," I say.
"You'll aggravate the wound."
Sal presses, "The Prince has many questions."
"Questions that can wait until tomorrow," she says.
I grab my sandals off the counter, and Terra stands to her feet.
“Yeah, so this is my cue to step outside.” Sal smirks. “No lovers’ quarrels for me."
I feel jealous of Sal. He stirs the pot and then gets to leave while I’m stuck here trying to quell the storm of a frustrated parallel.
"You're being selfish," she says.
“I didn’t try to get attacked,” I say.
She huffs and collapses into the chair.
"Terra, I understand how you feel, but this is the Prince we are talking about. The Morning Star actually invited me to come before him. When has that ever happened? It may never happen again. I can't pass this up."
"He may be the Prince, but I’m your parallel," she says. "Listen to me."
I walk toward the door. "I'm not making the light-bearer wait."
Her wings flutter erratically and she stomps her foot onto the marble floor.
"Don’t brush me aside," she says. "I just endured the pain of thinking I might lose you, and still I managed to mend you back together. You owe it to me to be careful."
"You’re being unreasonable," I say. "The Origin wouldn’t let me die. And now you want to prevent me from answering the invitation of the only created being in all of the universe we have been commanded to obey. The perfect reflection of the Origin’s light."
"Stop reading off all his superlatives, I know who he is," she says. "But you need to remember who I am: a Healer. Your body needs time to mend."
I pet my breed one last time. The pain in my chest intensifies but I dare not tell her that.
"I work so hard to keep the heart beating of someone who completely disregards my own," she says.
The door closes behind me.
"So that went well," Sal says as we begin to walk out toward the terrace.
“Yeah, thanks for starting that by the way."
Sal's steps pick up the pace as he trots into a run. He jumps off the terrace and his wings beat the air. I stand and watch, wondering how my body will react to flight so soon after the stabbing.
I hurry my steps and leap off the platform. To my relief, my wings flutter in the air. I feel no extra pain. The wind is actually quite soothing.
I fly erratically, but I can't blame this on my wound. I have always had a difficult time flying straight. My wings are much larger than others of my race. It makes for awkward travel. I flap my wings and push too much air downward. The force lifts me higher into the sky. To compensate, I then allow myself to fall. To others, I probably look as though I am jumping up and down in the sky.
"You truly are a beauty of nature," Sal says.
"Give me a break, I was stabbed," I say.
We make an abrupt turn in front of the tower. We are now flying over the center of the Courtyard where tomorrow we will observe the Acceptance. The hustle and bustle below catches my attention. Carvers erect a platform by the lone standing cathedra. Ceremonials scurry about, wheeling large vats of incense and emptying them into even larger vases. I can smell the aroma from up here. It fills me with a sense of hope and excitement. Few moments are as memorable as an Acceptance.
I realize that Sal, a much more efficient flier, is nowhere to be seen just as I pass into a thick, smoky cloud. I feel disoriented.
I lift higher up into the air, out of reach from this minor hindrance and look down. It doesn’t take long to realize the source of the plume. I must be just above the Forges.
If I am above the Forges, then the Temple must not be far.
Bright purple daisies catch my eye. Planted in two perfect half circles, broken in the middle to allow a long, stone walkway to cross through them, they mark the entrance to the Temple.
I descend slowly so as not to land too abruptly on the rocks. My feet pat the ground, and Sal smirks as he stands beside the massive stone doors.
"Took you long enough," he says.
"I'm not made for flying; you know that."
“I can tell from your panting.”
I stop my heavy breathing. We don’t actually need to breathe oxygen, as our source of life is not tied to air of this planet. We breathe for enjoyment and sometimes simply as another way to vent fatigue or an emotion.
"So, you ready?"
"I've never been in the Temple before."
"Doesn't matter how many times I go in," Sal says. "I still feel that sense of awe you are feeling now. He's just raw power. I mean you can tell that at the Acceptance, but there is something about this place. He feels so much more overwhelming inside."
I nod.
"You are about to stand before the shining light himself. The Prince will ask you questions. Don't embarrass me."
I laugh, knowing he means it to be a joke. But I do have second thoughts. I am about to stand before the one who walks across the fiery coals of the Origin’s throne room.
Chapter Three
THE PRINCE
THE PORTLY CCEREMONIAL rubs his palms together as he leans forward upon the ornate, golden desk. His eyes examine me in silence and he clears his throat making a strange combination of high and low pitched sounds, as if he is choking on a small chirping animal.
“You know the rules. He must have an invitation.”
“He’s with me,” Sal says.
“We all get it,” the Ceremonial says. “You’re the Prince’s prime minister, runner for the Prince, blah blah blah. You can remind me all day what you are, but that does not make you a walking invitation.”
Sal balls his hand into a fist. He exhales and points me toward the outer chambers.
I smirk, understanding that I must wait.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Raphael.” Sal glares at the doorman as he enters the inner chambers.
I stand alone, trying to take in all of the sights and sounds.
I gaze down upon the burning coals upon which I stand. My skin perspires but does not burn. A gentle wind blows from the throne room and caresses the embers. They flicker, bright burning flames to dull glowing crimson bulbs.
The sky blue ceiling above my head rises so high, it’s as if there is no roof at all. Large purple tapestries adorn the empty spaces along the white walls. Candelabras spread about every few paces and assist the fiery coals with lighting the great hall.
The large wooden doors creep open. The radiance from the throne room fills the chamber. Its warmth envelopes me.
A winged figure exits. The doors shut behind him.
I grow both excited and nervous. I am about to stand before the Prince. My fingers fidget as if bolts of electricity shoot through my veins.
But it is not Sal who walks toward me.
I don’t recognize the frosted hair that contrasts with his tanned skin. His steps resemble that of a proud march. His blue robes cut off just above the knees. He appears to be of the Messenger caste.
"You’re bleeding,” the stranger says to me.
I look down at my clothes. The brown stain proves him right. My wound has reopened. I feel self-conscious and try to cover it with my crossed arms.
“Why do you shake like that?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smiles.
I roll my eyes. "I feel a little out of place in the Temple."
"Good," he says. "There are those who all too quickly feel comfortable. It makes them weak."
“I’m glad you approve, though I don’t know who you are.”
The angel with the frosted hair smiles, but he doesn’t offer his name. Instead he takes a step forward.
Now that he stands close, I notice how deeply unnerving his eyes are. Leering, he looks me up and down as if sizing me up. He is a little shorter than I am and his wings appear stubby. Surprising for a messenger, I wonder if he is able to lift himself off the ground.
“I suspect we will get to know each other quite well,” he says. “Look at the size of you. You must tower over your peers. A soldier indeed.”
I feel uneasy. “I’m a Designer.”
“And what is so important that a lowly Designer would address the Prince?"
"I have a story to tell," I say. “A tale of the Rogues.”
“Rogues? I see. I suspect the Prince’s days could come to a short end.”
“They pose no threat,” I say. “The Prince will know what to do.”
“You are naïve like your brothers.”
His words sound familiar.
“He is perfect,” I say. “Nothing can endanger the Prince’s eternal kingdom.”
“Free will can endanger any kingdom. Where there are choices, there are often mistakes and sometimes even lies.”
The door opens again. This time Sal steps out and gestures me forward with his hand.
This is it. My skin tingles on my arms and my chest seems to completely empty of breath.
"Let's go," Sal says. "And don't look so nervous."
I turn to say goodbye to the frosted haired stranger, only to discover he has already left.
Sal leads me into the inner chambers.
A bubbling sound echoes through the hall; the source is two, thin, flowing streams bordering the outsides of the marble walkway. The water rushes over glittering green and red gemstones. These are the Shallows.
A golden chandelier shimmers at the center of the room. Candles with long wicks burn above the five broad arms of the fixture. The candlelight dances in the rubies and topaz dangling beneath the arms of the fixture casting red and blue colors onto the tile floors.
Eternity Page 2
