The Restorer

by Sharon Hinck

  We turned from you,

  Yet You abide.

  Cover us

  To blot out our wrong;

  Only in Your mercy

  Can we be strong.

  The chorale was a haunting and plaintive plea, and the songkeepers repeated it several times. Then, as they reached the last line again, a low crescendo rumbled in from a group of drums that had the deep resonance of timpani.

  The last word, strong, seemed to make the floor beneath us vibrate, and the musicians began a driving martial hymn, joined by the voices of the whole assembly. The sudden roar of thousands singing at full volume shook the walls.

  Awesome in majesty, perfect in power,

  One to deliver us, He is our tower.

  Enemies circle us, darkness descending;

  He is the Morning Light, love without ending.

  Even over the crowd, Mark’s familiar baritone rumbled beside me, and I looked back up into the huge tower’s space, my eyes blurring with tears.

  Lord of the Verses that teach us Your way,

  Guardian of seasons and Chief of each day,

  Looking with mercy on each need we bring,

  You give us strength through the Songs as we sing.

  But You didn’t! My heart cried out to God in silence as the voices continued to thunder around me. You didn’t give me strength. I was already sad and empty, confused by my life. And then You brought me here. I was so afraid and alone. I thought You would make me strong and give me a purpose. I was willing to serve You if You wanted to use me here. You did use me . . . a little bit. But now . . . What did I do wrong? Why did You abandon me?

  The hymn ended and one of the songkeepers began to recite a long section of the Verses. From time to time he would say, “The Verses of Life,” and the crowd would respond, “One without end.” Mark joined in each time, following the liturgical pattern easily.

  I tried to absorb the words and find comfort in them, but they felt alien and obscure.

  When another piece of music began, the mood shifted throughout the tower. The sense of reverence and majesty was still evident on all the faces around me, but there was a growing warmth and tenderness as well. Some people raised a hand, as if gently touching the invisible presence of the One hovering above. Others sank to their knees. Arms encircled loved ones, bodies swayed with blissful, uplifted faces.

  The weight of the presence over and around us pressed me to my knees, and I buried my face in my hands, tears splashing between my fingers onto the floor.

  Mark’s hand rested gently on my shoulder, though in my mind, it wasn’t his hand, but Another’s.

  I thought You wanted me to restore people. I wept, unable to speak, hardly able to breathe with the breaking of my heart. Now I’m more weak than I’ve ever been. I’m hollow. There’s nothing left that I can do for You. There’s nothing left in me but doubt and pain. How will I ever trust You again?

  Soft as the sound of the wooden flute that came from the circle of musicians, a word sang into my heart.

  Surrender.

  I stiffened. I thought of Hazor’s demands and Cameron’s plots. Is that what I am to You, Lord? An enemy to conquer?

  Surrender. The word whispered through my being again. Images flooded my mind: floating on the surface of a lake in the warmth of an August afternoon, letting the water carry me; flying down a snow-covered hill on a toboggan, giving up control and squealing with joy; a gold band slipping onto my finger, along with the golden weight of a lifetime covenant; life-shattering awe as my body surrendered to straining muscles and pushed a new baby into the world.

  Surrender, breathed a still voice that could have roared and made the tower around me crumble. Not a demand, but a precious offer: Stop trying to glue together all the broken pieces. Stop trying to understand all the reasons. Stop pushing Me away when I want to bring you healing. Surrender.

  My shoulders shook with sobs as I felt that voice inside me. “Yes,” I whispered. And the hunger and fullness, yearning and completeness, brokenness and wholeness all blended and poured through me. Somewhere around me thousands of others worshiped. But I was absolutely alone in the presence of the One. And He loved me. There wasn’t a single thing I could do to make myself useful to Him. But He didn’t want my usefulness. He just wanted to love me.

  I don’t know how many more songs were sung at the gathering. After what could have been hours or minutes, Mark knelt beside me and rested his face against my hair. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  I nodded, not able to speak, but reached out and squeezed his hand.

  He helped me to my feet, and I realized that people were slowly dispersing. The songkeepers’ dais had lowered back to the floor of the tower, but the musicians continued to play a gentle hymn. Throughout the huge tower floor, there were quiet groups of people. Some chatted with friends, reluctant to leave. Others still knelt in prayer, oblivious to those around them.

  I looked up at Mark. His face reflected the same kind of tenderness, compassion, and yearning that I had felt pouring through me as I knelt on the floor. I gave him a watery smile and threw my arms around him, nestling my face against his chest and getting his tunic damp with tears. He held me with a fierceness that conveyed both relief and desperation.

  I savored the feeling of being where I belonged, and we both sighed at the same moment.

  As I relaxed against him, inspiration hit me with a jolt. “Mark!” I threw my head back to look at him, the top of my head barely missing his jaw.

  “Hm?” He looked content and not at all ready to be jarred onto my next train of thought.

  “We need to find Linette. She was up there with the songkeepers. She could help us tomorrow.” I squirmed out of arms that were reluctant to let go of me and headed toward the center of the tower. I had to detour around a few clusters of people, but the space was clearing out. It was easy to spot Linette as we reached the musician’s area.

  The young songkeeper was engaged in an intense conversation with another woman. She leaned forward, giving comfort and encouragement in her quiet voice.

  I waited until the woman left before I stepped forward. “Linette?”

  She turned, and her face lit up when she recognized my features under the hood. “Susan!” We hugged, and I introduced her to Mark. She studied him, puzzled. “You were a Rendor Council apprentice a few years ago, weren’t you? I met you once before my commissioning here in Lyric. I heard you were sent to the lost clans. It must have been rough. You look so much older.” Then she put a hand over her mouth, embarrassed by her lack of tact, and started apologizing.

  Mark laughed. “I am older. I’ve lived about twenty-two years on Susan’s world.” He turned to me, eager to try explaining the time distortion again. “Linette met me when we were both about eighteen. Now she’s twenty and I’m forty.”

  I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t need the headache. “Linette,” I cut in, “has there been any word about Dylan yet?”

  Her shoulders drooped as she shook her head. “Tristan will find him.” The confidence in her voice sounded forced.

  “I’m sure he will.” I gave her another hug. “You keep working on that song you’re writing for Dylan. Are you finished here? Can you come with us to talk? We could use your help.”

  “They don’t need me until the afternoon gathering. I’m happy to help.”

  We went back to Mark’s rooms, waiting to talk until we were behind closed doors. He sighed with relief as he saw the table that still held the fabric-covered tower of Records. “I asked Jorgen to keep my presence here a secret. Very few people know we’re using these rooms, but it still worries me to leave these unprotected,” he whispered to me.

  We pulled up chairs around the table, and I told Linette our suspicion that the Rhusicans were controlling some of the Council. She and I had talked about how their poison worked several
times after I killed the Rhusican outside of Wade’s home. The mental threads seemed to seep into any inner doubt or weakness and take root. Then they grew and twined around all other thoughts, choking them. We were both uncomfortable with this topic. If the evil were just something imposed in the mind, it would be easier to confront. But the darkness it stirred couldn’t fully be blamed on an outside force. The poison expanded on an evil that was already present, which neither of us liked to admit.

  Mark grew impatient with our hypothesizing and told Linette about our plan to visit the chief councilmember of each clan before the special session. Mark also told her about Cameron’s efforts to steal and corrupt the Records. He wanted to return each clan’s Records to their chief councilmember, but only after we were sure the delegates weren’t being influenced by Rhusican poison.

  “Markkel, you need to return the Records to the songkeepers,” Linette said, an edge to her soft voice. “Almost all the eldest songkeepers are in Lyric today. Send word to them. Or I can tell them.”

  “But how do we know we can trust them?” he asked.

  Linette jerked as if she’d been slapped. “Well, they’ll do a better job of protecting the Records than any councilmember will.”

  “But the Council controls the guardians,” Mark said. “They can keep the Records secure.”

  Linette leaned forward. “It was the Council Guard that stole them in the first place.”

  Mark shook his head. “They weren’t sent by the Council. Those were Cameron’s own men.” Mark’s and Linette’s voices were growing louder.

  “Time out,” I interrupted. “Before we do anything else, I need Linette’s help with something.”

  She stopped glaring at Mark long enough to turn to me. Mark opened his mouth to continue their argument.

  I held up my hand. “Hold on. Linette, you and I have both helped people who have been under the influence of poison, and we’ve both been trapped by it ourselves. Do you think you can recognize when someone has been affected by it?”

  She tilted her head and thought for a moment. “Well, I didn’t notice it in you when we started to Braide Wood. But I wasn’t looking for signs of it, either. I think there might be a way to test, though.” Her words came more quickly as she developed her ideas. “Key parts of the Verses summarize truth. I would guess that if someone is poisoned with lies, speaking the Verses would either make them uncomfortable and bring it to the surface, or help lead them to freedom from the poison. Eldest Songkeeper Lukyan sang through all the key Verses with me after you killed the Rhusican, to be sure no poison hid in me.”

  I had been thinking along the same lines. “It’s not like the right words are a magic formula, but Verses and Songs of truth stirred something in me when you sang, and they helped pull me back. And I saw the same thing happen with Kendra. Let’s give it a try.”

  Linette fingered the end of her long braid. “You want to go get someone you think has been poisoned?”

  “No, I want us to test someone here.” I looked at Mark. I’d trusted him for twenty years, only to discover deep secrets that shook the foundation of my love for him. I wasn’t about to move forward until I’d done all I could to ensure that there were no hidden motives or Rhusican suggestions steering him.

  His mouth opened and then closed again, hurt feelings narrowing his eyes. He stood up, chair scraping along the floor.

  It looked as if my distrust might propel him out the door.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “You don’t know what it’s like . . . what the Rhusicans can do. At least I hope you don’t. What if one of them spoke with you, and you don’t remember it? I have to know whom I can trust. I want to trust you.” Maybe that statement would take some of the sting out of my suggestion.

  “Fine.” He sat back down, jaw set. He turned his back to me and nodded toward Linette. “Go ahead.”

  Linette shook off her own irritation with Mark and reached out her hands to him. Mark frowned at her, but grudgingly placed his hands in hers. She focused deeply into his eyes, and he looked down, uncomfortable.

  “Markkel,” she said in her breathy soprano, “it’s all right.” She waited for him to meet her eyes and then began.

  “Awesome in majesty,” she quoted and paused.

  “Is the One eternal,” Mark answered without hesitation.

  “Perfect in His might and power,” Linette said.

  “The only truth and only source,” he recited back.

  “He made all that is and loves all He made.”

  “His works are beyond our understanding.”

  They continued speaking the Verses back and forth, and I watched, fascinated as the anger seeped out of Mark’s muscles. His spine softened, and he settled more deeply into his chair. I’d always known that words have power, but in this world, that power seemed much more immediate and tangible.

  “In every time of great need, a Restorer is sent.”

  I started as I recognized the words Linette was speaking.

  “To fight for the people and help the guardians,” Mark responded in a voice hoarse and strained.

  “The Restorer is empowered with gifts to defeat our enemies.” Linette’s eyes were compassionate.

  I wondered again what troubled Mark so much about the Restorers.

  Linette appeared to know. She nodded to him, responding to something they both seemed to understand.

  “And turn the people’s hearts back to the Verses,” he said, a muscle along his jaw twitching.

  Linette paused for a moment, studying Mark’s eyes. She glanced over at me and then looked back at Mark.

  I saw the pain on his face, but didn’t understand it. “Linette, what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, straightened her back, and moved on to the next Verse. “We wait in the darkness for the One who brings light.”

  “The Deliverer will come, and with His coming, all darkness will be defeated.” They continued through their creed.

  I sat back, feeling excluded. Linette had begun teaching me some of the Verses, and most of these words were familiar to me now. But I didn’t share the intense devotion I saw in Mark and Linette. This was like air to breathe for them.

  When Linette finished, she let go of Mark’s hands. His eyes glistened, and he swiped at them with a few fingers, turning away.

  Impatient for answers and worried about Mark, I grabbed Linette’s arm. “Well?”

  She smiled but spoke to Mark instead of me. “There’s no foreign poison in you. But you need to talk to Susan. You won’t have peace until you do.” She turned to me with soft eyes. “I’ll meet you here tomorrow, and we’ll visit the councilmembers together. Right now, you need to talk to your husband.” She gave another sympathetic look at Mark and slipped from the room.

  She hadn’t said anything more about the stack of Records on the table. Mark must have won her trust in a powerful way if she was willing to leave with them still in his care.

  “Mark?” He rubbed the back of his neck but didn’t speak. “Please, Mark. No more surprises. What do you need to tell me?”

  He looked past me toward the door, misery apparent on every line of his strong features. “It’s about why I left this world. And why I don’t want you to be a Restorer.”

  Chapter

  23

  I tasted blood and realized I was biting my lip. “Okay. Tell me.” I braced myself. How many more secrets did I still have to face? I was getting weary of this.

  Mark traced a pattern in the wood grain of the table. Then he toyed with the edge of the fabric over the Records. He seemed to draw strength from it and began to talk, though he still avoided my eyes. “You’ve heard about the last Restorer.”

  I nodded.

  He didn’t notice. “Mikkel was a great warrior, and when the People were about to be destroyed by Kahlarea, Mikkel raised up an army and guarde
d Cauldron Pass.

  I knew this history lesson already and wanted to hurry him along, but I let him find his own pace.

  “He did exactly what he was supposed to do.” Pain and a hint of anger spiced Mark’s voice. “But he died.”

  “He gave his life for his people,” I said. “Maybe that was his purpose.”

  Mark stopped playing with the piece of fabric, and his eyes burned into mine. “Mikkel was my father. I was only five when he was killed. Everyone in Rendor—everyone from all the clans—celebrated the great hero of our people. But I lost my father.”

  Shock ran through me, followed by deep compassion. “Oh, Mark.” I pulled my chair closer to his and put my arm around him, resting my head against his. “I’m so sorry.”

  He exhaled heavily. “Our clan cared for us. They looked out for my mother and me. Then, when I was about twelve, a songkeeper in Rendor told the clan leaders that he had had a vision. He said Mikkel’s son would provide a greater Restoration than his father. It was bad enough feeling that my father could never be my own . . . that he belonged to history. But now everyone expected me to add my story to his in the Verses.”

  “Wait.” I hated to interrupt him, but I was confused. “I thought the Records aren’t supposed to change. How could his story be added to the Verses?”

  Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “The Verses are living. The oral history is added to by each generation. Those chronicles are sacred too, but they aren’t finished yet. The Records are the first Verses. Those that the One gave in a particularly direct way. Kind of like . . .” he struggled for a comparison, “like the Ten Commandments—written by the finger of God.”

  I nodded. “Or in this case, spoken. So your father’s story and this prophecy about you became the next chapter of the Verses?”

  His eyes clouded. “Everyone looked at me differently. I was Mikkel’s only son. They expected something that I didn’t know how to give.”

  I’d been bewildered when confronted with the gifts of a Restorer. The thought of a young boy facing that pressure broke my heart. “Did you have any of the signs?”