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by Patricia Reding

  “It was not. You dropped it on purpose.”

  “You are wrong, I am sure. But, no matter. There is more where that came from. There is a table awaiting you, filled with roasted venison and fowl, steamy potatoes, butter slathered roots, an assortment of succulent fruits and . . . more.” He got to his feet. “I will take you there. But first, let me show you, give you a taste of what could be yours.” With that, he swept his arm out in an arc.

  A grand table materialized. On it sat food in abundance. The smell of roasted meats and vegetables, of sweets, fruits, and wine, filled the air.

  The twins gasped, collectively.

  Reigna stepped toward the table. As she did, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it and all its delights, vanished.

  Struggling back to her feet, Eden swallowed hard. “Forget it,” she finally said. “Ehyeh will provide a way.”

  Malefique cringed at the sound of the Good One’s name, then smirked. “Are you so sure? Because . . . I am not. But I can provide for you. You need not even help. I can do it quite on my own. All you have to do is . . . follow me.”

  “Ehyeh will not abandon us.”

  The man laughed, the sound, eerie. “Ehyeh has abandoned you, child.”

  “Go away!”

  “Eden, maybe we should listen after all,” Reigna interrupted.

  Her sister glared at her before turning her attention back to their visitor. “I said, ‘go away!’” she repeated between gritted teeth.

  Reigna clutched her twin’s arm. “You’re not the only one who’s hungry, you know. I say we should listen to him.”

  “She is right,” Malefique said. “Why should you decide for the both of you?”

  “Reigna—” her sister cautioned.

  Reigna released her twin’s arm with a huff. She looked at Malefique. “Where is this place? Where is the food?”

  “Near. You may have all you desire and . . . it is warm.”

  “Show me.”

  “No, Reigna, look at me!”

  Reigna’s eyes remained fixed on the man.

  “I said, ‘look at me!’” Eden repeated.

  Slowly, Reigna turned her sister’s way. Her eyes narrowed. She shook her head, as though confused.

  “Don’t you remember this man? Remember? Something is not right with him,” her twin whispered. “You can’t go with him. That is not the path you’re to follow. You’d be lost.”

  Reigna closed her eyes. Long seconds later, she looked back up. “Of course I wouldn’t go with him. We stay together.”

  “That’s right. We stay together. We’ll figure this out.”

  “But maybe, after all, it would be good to . . . you know . . . get something to eat first.”

  “Look at me, Reigna.”

  She did.

  “Something is not right with this . . . Malefique. I don’t trust him and I know that you don’t either. I want you to tell him to go away. Don’t look at him—just tell him to go away.”

  Nodding, Reigna closed her eyes. “Go away,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “What did you say?” he asked, expectation in his voice.

  “She told you to go away!” Eden cried.

  “No, that’s not what I heard. I’m sure she said she would ‘go my way.’”

  “Tell him, Reigna. Tell him.”

  “I said, ‘go away!’” Reigna repeated, staring all the while at her twin.

  “That’s right. Good girl.”

  The two turned toward Malefique, but—

  He was gone.

  Suddenly overcome with weakness, Reigna dropped into her sister’s arms and cried. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I’m just . . . so hungry. Oh, what are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to rest tonight and find food tomorrow.

  “All right, then.” Reigna sat, gulping back her tears. “You rest. I’ll keep watch.”

  The wind, not having fully subsided, rustled through Reigna’s hair as she leaned forward to soak in more heat. Most of their woodpile was gone now. She estimated that enough remained to keep the fire burning until morning, but as to what came after that, she could only wonder.

  She shivered as the cold found its way through a portion of the blanket draped over her shoulders. It worried its way down her back. Smiling wanly at the sight of Eden sleeping more peacefully than she had in days, Reigna pulled her covering up over the crown of her head. Then she wrapped her arms more tightly around herself.

  “So now what?” she wondered aloud, frustrated. “So, now what?” she repeated, looking skyward. “Ehyeh, what would you have of me? If this . . . adventure . . . was for me to determine who I am and what I am to be, then why do the answers seem as far away today as they were the day we left the compound?” She choked back a sob. “Did I understand you so wrongly? Was this not your intention—that we should venture out on our own? Is this all my fault?” Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to give in to them.

  Once again, she tightened her blanket over her shoulders. Snow that had gathered upon it, fluffed up into the air. She focused on the individual snowflakes that almost instantly replaced those she’d brushed away. Her eyes narrowed.

  It is marvelous, is it not, how different each of them is from each of the others?

  Yes. She recalled Mara’s belief that every flake was different. The Oathtaker had examined them through a looking glass that one of her trainers had made that had allowed him to magnify and to view things.

  Is that true?

  Reigna further fine-tuned her view. Each flake did indeed appear unique.

  Is it true that they are all different?

  I don’t know.

  Does it matter?

  Quickly finding herself wholly engaged in the internal conversation with herself, she shrugged. Maybe it matters in a way that I can’t fathom.

  Are the flakes alike in any way?

  Well . . . each has six sides. Hmmm. Six sides. Reigna contemplated that fact. Yes, like the first six principles: Life. Unity. Service. Foundations. Nature. Humankind.

  But what of the Seventh?

  The seventh is Wisdom.

  Define.

  Wisdom is the knowledge of Ehyeh.

  Elaborate.

  It is the understanding of Him and of how His principles relate to the circumstances of life.

  Toward what goal?

  Guidance.

  Guidance? Or control?

  Her thoughts were in a jumble. Certainly one could control others and force them to abide by Ehyeh’s principles. Or could they? People naturally acted against those principles at times. Sometimes the only way to get someone to follow through with something was to force him to do so. So maybe . . . But no, that would be wrong—

  Why?

  It would be wrong because it would take freedom from people.

  So?

  So, freedom is life. The freedom to choose is essential. That is the true meaning of life. To live life fully, justly, and well, is an ideal. But to force another to live by my principles, by Ehyeh’s principles—really, by any principles—would be to deprive him of his own freedom.

  So anything goes?

  Oh no! But above all, it’s important to gird the chief principle—that of life and freedom.

  So, if the actions of another challenge life? Challenge freedom? Then?

  Then, they’re to be . . . She pondered. Oh, I see. That’s where justice comes in.

  How?

  Justice determines rights and assigns rewards and punishments. For those who choose to, and for those who refuse to, honor Ehyeh’s principles, there are commensurate rewards and punishments. But getting one to follow along must be done by guidance—not force. That’s why, no matter what the likenesses or differences between the first six principles might be, the seventh one is unique.

  Really?

  Yes.

  But am I not a seventh?

  Yes, I am a Seventh. Re
igna continued her internal debate.

  All right. So, what does that make me?

  It makes me different.

  In what way?

  I don’t know.

  What motivates me?

  She collected her thoughts. Justice. Justice motivates me.

  Interesting. How would I accomplish this . . . justice?

  I would support, above all, life and freedom.

  And when they are at odds?

  How could that be? She almost laughed at the idea.

  Someone is starving. Another man has the means to provide food. He refuses to do so. Do you force him?

  Suddenly, her thoughts seemed to come from a source outside of herself. Though initially the idea startled her, she nevertheless, considered the scenario presented.

  Well?

  I cannot force him.

  Why?

  Because what he has is a representation of him—of his very life force—of his time and his labor. He has but these two things to give during his days. How he expends them, and what he trades them for, are his alone to determine.

  So, you would not take from him to provide to another?

  I would not. I could not.

  But why? You said life and liberty are the most important things. Are they really the same? And if not, is not life the greater?

  Reigna contemplated. They are the same, she finally affirmed.

  But, suppose the rich man’s goods came not from his own labor, but from that of another. Suppose he inherited his wealth.

  She considered this twist of the facts. The result is the same, she finally determined.

  How could that be? You said a man had only his time and labor to give. Yet the goods the rich man now possesses, represent neither. Indeed, they represent the time and labor of another.

  The young woman considered the fact scenario. They represent the time and labor of another who gave them to the man in question. If the donor was not free to give his resources freely and unfettered, if he couldn’t know that they’d go to the one he chose, then he’d have had no reason to have acted as he did. Instead, he might have chosen not to create the wealth at all, or to have frittered it away recklessly.

  You would not force him to give it?

  No.

  What of the starving man? How would you help him?

  I could try to influence the wealthy man or someone else who had the capacity to help. I could try to do so on my own. Or, if the starving man is starving by his own actions, I could help him temporarily while encouraging him to change his own behavior for the future. But to use my power to force another to do my will would be wrong.

  It is not your will, it is Ehyeh’s will that the man not starve.

  And it is Ehyeh’s will that a man’s freedom not be taken from him. To force one to do for another, would be to make one a slave to the other. To take from one man would be to make him lesser than the man to whom I then gave the proceeds.

  You said you would not use your power to force another. What is your power?

  I don’t understand.

  What is your strength? What are you—at your very core?

  She fidgeted.

  What moves you? What makes your heart beat faster? What, when you consider it, do you know you are called to be? To do?

  She stretched her shoulders back. She glanced her sister’s way. She stifled a smile as she considered how she knew what Eden was at her core. But what of me? What am I? Hmmmm . . . What does Eden say that I am? She tapped her finger to her lips, and then, slowly, she smiled. Yes, that’s it, she thought. I am a warrior.

  A warrior?

  Yes.

  A warrior for what?

  For . . . the Good One. A warrior for . . . life . . . for freedom.

  And as a warrior, you would not take from one to give to another?

  I would not. I could not. Every person has the right to do as he wills with what is his own.

  At the cost of a life?

  Sometimes doing a good thing is not the same as doing the right thing. If I force one to do what he would not, that might seem a good thing for the moment, but I would have taken freedom from him. That would not be the right thing. If I may take from one for one reason, I may take from another for another reason. If the result is a life lost, it is due to the hardened heart of the man who could have avoided that result. Ehyeh will deal with that. But here, in this life, the use of force should be an uncommon occurrence. When force is used, it is critical that it is used for the right result—a righteous result—not just for a desired one, however good it may seem.

  So, it is acceptable that a life is expended when, to extend that life, you would be required to take from another?

  It seems so.

  Would it ever be acceptable to take a life outright?

  She glanced up, meditating on the question. Yes, she mused.

  And, when would that be?

  When someone challenges my life or freedom, or that of another.

  Any other?

  I believe so.

  And if they challenge the life of one who refuses to give to another?

  I would have to side with the one exercising his freedom not to give.

  So, if someone challenges the life of another in a way that cannot be stopped but by death, then it would be acceptable to take his life.

  Not only acceptable. It may be necessary.

  A long moment of silence passed.

  But what if that person finds his reason, his belief, as compelling as you find you own?

  She started. I don’t understand.

  You do. If someone believes something wholeheartedly, and he believes that it is necessary to take the life of another to see his cause furthered, is he not simply exercising his freedom?

  No, she thought. Freedom may not be used to take from another. One cannot decide the way another will go. That would be robbing someone of his freedom to choose for himself. That is the greatest truth. As a seventh-born child, the wisdom I am to exercise must support that truth above all. I must be willing to fight for it.

  Have you something against . . . peace?

  Against it? Why no! I just know that sometimes it takes a warrior to ensure peace. When someone attacks, I’ve two choices: lie down submissively and accept what is to come, or . . . go for my adversary’s jugular. I would choose the fight.

  Eden fidgeted in her sleep. Slowly, she came up on one elbow. Wrapping her blanket more tightly around her shoulders, she looked out. “Reigna?”

  Lost in her thoughts, she jumped at the sound of her name. “You startled me!”

  “I’ll watch now.” Eden got up, then sat near her twin. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, I guess.”

  “Will we be all right, do you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Eden touched her sister’s cheek. “I don’t blame you, you know.”

  “I feel so responsible.” Reigna hung her head. “What a mess we’re in.”

  “You’re not to blame. I came along willingly. I agreed we should venture out on our own. Now, you get some sleep. You’ll feel better—and you’ll need your strength come morning.”

  “Sleep well.” Eden uttered a silent prayer for her sister. She knew they’d have to get something to eat soon or they’d perish. For days now, they’d survived only on melted snow. They’d been without food for—how long? For about the same length of time we miraculously survived in Kiln before Mara arrived with water.

  She gazed back at the fire. Burning low now, she grabbed some wood and then fed the coals. Sparks flew into the air.

  “Gracious Ehyeh, Creator of Life, now what?” she whispered aloud. As though having expected an audible answer, she looked upward. “Well? Now what?” she repeated, louder this time. She shook her head. Now what? Now we set out for food and water.

  Is that all?

  She jumped, the thought coming as though from another source. For the moment, that’s all that matters. But I wonder, is there s
omething more going on here? Our goal, when we set out, was to determine who we are, and what we’re called to do. “So, who am I?” she asked aloud. “They tell me that I’m a seventh, but . . . not.”

  What does that mean?

  It means that I’m called to some particular purpose.

  Is not everyone?

  Yes, I suppose.

  What then, is your particular purpose?

  I’m not sure. I’m not even sure how to approach the question.

  Perhaps you start at the beginning.

  Eden smirked. “The beginning” was the place Mara always said they should start whenever a problem presented itself. But, she wondered, what is the beginning?

  Well, what do you know?

  I know that I am a seventh.

  Do you now? You were thinking just a moment ago, that your being a seventh is ‘what they tell me.’

  The question surprised her. She wondered . . . did she doubt she was a seventh?

  Who told you that you are a seventh?

  Everyone.

  Everyone?

  Everyone who’s known me from the beginning. Mara, Dixon . . .

  And they would not lie?

  About a thing like that? No.

  So, then the one thing you know for sure, is that you are a seventh.

  She nodded. Yes. Though it is equally true that I am not.

  No?

  I was born of my mother’s seventh pregnancy, but my identical twin was the one who was her seventh-born child, not me.

  Consider the claim that you are a seventh. What is the principle of the seventh?

  Completion and order. Life in balance.

  And how is that principle fulfilled?

  Through wisdom.

  And what is wisdom?

  Eden thought for a moment. Then she remembered Mara’s lessons on the subject. Wisdom is the knowledge of Ehyeh.

  What does that mean?

  Frustrated, she shook her head over the odd conversation that engaged her thoughts. She added more wood to the fire, then watched the flames slowly crawl over its edges. From blue at the base to orange above, they danced in the stillness. She sat up with a start, as she realized something had changed. The winds and the snow had stopped. The air was clear for the first time in days. The firelight caused snowflakes in the near distance to flicker and shine.