by R. J. Larson
“He will,” Ela promised. “Protect you, I mean.”
“I should hope so!” The matron checked her brown topknot, then glared at Ela. “I’m ready, and I must say, Ela Roeh, I pray you’re not wasting my time with all these commotions!”
“You can decide that for yourself.” She led Prill into the temple’s bustling main courtyard.
When they’d crossed halfway, the Infinite said, Wait here.
Ela stopped. Why? What’s wrong?
The priests have elected your successor.
My what?! Infinite? Is this where I die? I thought it was supposed to be—
Did I say, “This is where you will die”?
No, but—
Listen. Watch. He poured thoughts and images through her mind, making her clutch the branch in an attempt to remain upright amid the mental torrent’s force.
The vision eased swiftly. And certainly not as she wanted. No, no, no. Infinite, please!
Sick with horror, Ela opened her eyes and looked around. Would-be worshipers stood at cautious distances, whispering to each other and staring at her. Many scowling. Why were they so hateful? Didn’t the rebels know how much she longed for each of them to live? How much she wanted to avoid what was about to happen? Despair tightened her throat. But let her Creator’s will be done.
The temple’s huge gilded bronze doors opened, guided by two rows of white-robed priests, who greeted worshipers. The priests noticed her and swiftly conferred among themselves. One rushed inside the temple, then reemerged with Zade Chacen, who behaved for all of Parne as if he were still the chief priest. A tall, elegant man walked behind Zade. Both men wore opulent gold-embroidered robes, and Zade’s follower wielded an intricate silvered staff.
At an exaggerated gesture of courtesy from Zade, the elegant man descended the steps, smiling at Ela. She watched, nauseated, as he said, “I am Mikial Tavek, Parne’s chosen prophet.”
“Are you?” Ela called out. “If so, tell us about the vision the Infinite shared with you!”
Tavek lifted his chin, offended, his stiffly combed and waxed beard moving oddly with the motion. But his voice rang out, persuasive and authoritative as Ela imagined a prophet’s voice should sound. “Listen to me, everyone! The Infinite promises you His protection! His love! His continued favor!” He deigned to glance at Ela. “Do not listen to those who try to frighten you with false warnings of death and Parne’s destruction. They seek power through fear!”
Power through fear? Ela argued, “If only you knew how little I care for power! My concern is for you, and Parne. Mikial Tavek, if you value your life, please proclaim the Infinite’s will, not your own. Don’t rebel! You’re a genuine prophet only if your predictions come true!”
“Indeed they shall,” he said in an authoritative tone. “For I speak the Infinite’s truth!”
“Tavek,” Ela pleaded, desperation welling, “don’t soothe listeners with lies and lead them into soul-ruining rebellion. Honor your Creator, or you’ll die!”
He shot her a smirk, as if to say, Poor deluded creature. “I honor Him with every word.”
Liar! He honored only himself. No deceivers needed to add to Tavek’s personal love of evil. The branch gleamed now, sending out spirals of light that made the elegant Tavek squint. To counter the false prophet’s prediction, Ela called out, “Parnians, listen to me! In five days Belaal’s army will arrive in Parne! Within two months, the Infinite will bring down this temple and our city! To survive, you must surrender to the armies sent by your Creator! On the last day of besiegement, you must peacefully abandon Parne!”
“How dare you!” Tavek yelled, waving his ornately carved staff—his elaborate gilded mockery of the branch.
“Tavek, don’t!”
“We are Parnians!” the false prophet proclaimed. “Beloved to the Infinite. He will protect us against our enemies! Yet you proclaim these insufferable disasters! Ela Roeh, how dare you!”
No! Couldn’t she close her eyes and shut herself away from what was about to happen? Tears burning, Ela pronounced the Infinite’s will. “Tavek, because you’ve lied and rebelled against your Creator, and because you tempt others to their destruction, He will remove His presence from you! Now!”
The branch flared, sun-brilliant, casting the temple’s occupants into fiery silhouettes, making Ela gasp at its white-hot glow.
18
Ela burst into tears as Tavek’s magnificent voice became a piercing shriek. A whirlwind swept above him, then vanished. Screaming, the false prophet staggered in the temple’s public courtyard, his body becoming a grayed corpse before it crumbled on the white paving stones. Even his gold ornaments turned to dust, falling into tiny shimmering heaps where he’d stood.
As for his soul . . . “Oh no!” Ela remembered the agony of separation from her Creator. The endless fire. The overwhelming need for an absolute death to blot her soul from its searing existence. Her own torment had lasted a few useless breaths. But Tavek’s agony was eternal.
Ela leaned on her vinewood staff and sobbed, stooped with the Infinite’s grief.
Someone was clutching her, trembling. Matron Prill squeaked, “Ela! What have you done?”
Straightening, Ela cried, “Matron, why wouldn’t he listen!” As if Prill had the answers. But the woman’s terror brought Ela back from memories of eternal torment into this instant again. This existence. With worshipers screaming, retching, and fainting in the temple’s open square. Priests dropping to their knees, stunned. And Chacen, backing away into the temple once more, though his face looked frozen in gaping wide-eyed shock.
Go home.
Home? Ela sniffled, then froze. Oh, Father and Mother were going to hear about this! She needed to tell them first. Ela snatched at one of Prill’s cold hands. “Can you walk? We must go home. Come on, don’t be afraid. I’m not the one who turned that false prophet to dust!”
“No?”
“Would you wish that on anyone, Prill? Tavek’s Creator doesn’t, but Tavek would have destroyed others’ souls!”
“I’m going to be sick.”
“Hurry and heave, then,” Ela pleaded. “We must go. The Infinite commands it!”
Instead of doubling over, the matron straightened. Pale. Wobbly. And indignant. “Really! Turning ignorant men into screaming piles of dust was not part of our bargain.”
Ela almost nudged Prill along with the branch like a sheepherder. The onlookers were stirring. Once they’d recovered, surely someone would mention the idea of stoning a certain dust-inducing prophet. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I could have done about the situation. I tried to warn Tavek. You’re free to un-chaperone me. Until then—home!”
“How, for the life of me, am I going to explain this to your parents?”
Let Matron Prill tell Mother and Father. Good idea.
Crowds lined the sunlit streets, cheering and celebrating as Kien took his final walk through Adar-iyr, led by Teos and a glittering, armor-clad honor guard. Kien bit down a grin. No doubt Adar-iyr was glad to be rid of him. Yet the city’s air of celebration was real, reflecting the Infinite’s own joy. From all that Kien had seen and heard, the island-kingdom’s citizens were celebrating freedom from years of terror induced by the violence and spiritual weakness of its own citizens.
“Infinite? Help Adar-iyr to remember its joy on this day and to remain resolute when faced with future temptations!” Praying, Kien followed Teos, turning down a magnificent white stone wharf that had obviously been swept and scrubbed clean.
A delegation waited for Kien beside the crimson-sailed ship hired to take him to Munra. Ordinary citizens and merchants, clad in summer-bright clothes, beamed at him, bowing as he approached. A small boy, prompted by one of the merchants, stepped forward. His eyes shining, the boy bowed to Kien. “Sir, thank you! I always feared for my life when I entered the city, but no more.” A dimpled smile lit his tanned young face. “The day I saw you spit from that sea beast’s mouth . . . Aw! It was amazing!”
&n
bsp; Kien laughed, even as he felt a shaming blush. Oh, perfect. This was the boy who’d witnessed one of his most mortifying circumstances. “You’re Old Hal’s grandson?”
The little boy returned Kien’s grin. “Yes, sir! And I told everyone what I saw—even the king! I had to let them know you weren’t just some crazy man yelling in the streets.”
Well, that explained a lot. Kien knelt, humbled that this vulnerable child had braved Adar-iyr’s streets despite his terrors to warn others of the truth. “That took a soldier’s courage, sir. A prophet’s courage. Thank you—and I pray the Infinite blesses you!”
Old Hal crept forward now—nearly unrecognizable in fresh robes, with his silver hair trimmed and clean. Solemn as any dignitary, he nodded to Kien. “Pray for us, sir, as we pray for you, knowin’ the Infinite’s set you on another course. Long as mortals are breathin’, there’s never sure peace beneath these skies.”
Teos stepped near and coughed. “Sir, the captain asks you aboard so as to not miss the tide.”
Kien gave the boy a hearty hug of thanks, then stood and thumped Hal’s shoulder, surprised by his own inability to speak. And his brief reluctance to board the waiting vessel.
Soon the ship retreated from the shoreline. Kien watched as sparkling blue-green waves broke against the ship’s sides, foaming, then angling away with the current as the square-rigged ship lifted and fell in the waters. Ela would enjoy being in a ship on the ocean. However, the ocean’s luster had vanished for him.
He now watched for sea beasts. His new lifelong fear.
To survive this voyage, he must banish all thoughts of monsters. Contemplate his work in Siphra, for Ela.
Ela . . . He ached to see her face. To tease her and laugh with her. Ela wouldn’t have failed in ToronSea. But if she had, Kien suspected she would have had a better attitude about Adar-iyr. Yet despite Kien’s own failings, the Infinite had forgiven the citizens of Adar-iyr. Cleared their grubby wax tablets—it seemed—of their moral and spiritual crimes. So, considering all the murders, violence, and immoralities of Adar-iyr, how was justice served?
Do you have the answer?
Kien’s scalp tingled. How uncomfortable, realizing one’s Creator could hear every thought. Bracing himself, he said, “You know my initial answer, sight unseen, would have been to destroy the entire city. Yet, I know Your answer is far superior to mine. Might You . . .” he felt uneasy asking, “ . . . explain a bit of Your reasoning?”
You judged their outward forms. I judge hearts.
True.
I see what Adar-iyr’s children will become. My desire is to save them for My own sake. After an eloquent silence, the Infinite added, In this same way, I judged you.
Sobering thought. Well, the sentence for his failure in ToronSea had certainly been life-changing. “Thank You. I didn’t deserve Your mercy.”
Yet mercy had been granted. To him, and to Adar-iyr . . .
“Sir?” The captain approached respectfully. Thus far, the entire crew had been appallingly obsequious, despite Kien’s attempts to put them at ease. Now the captain extended a brass-bound sealed wooden box. “The king’s clerk asked me to give you this once we were beyond the harbor. He said the king wishes to assure himself of his own peace.”
Kien grasped the heavy box and eyed the seal. The captain offered him a knife.
“Thank you.” He pried off the seal and lifted the box’s gilded latch. A leather bag rested within, accompanied by a weighty gold pin embossed with what must be the king’s personal insignia—a crown resting on the ocean’s waves.
Despite the captain’s obvious curiosity, Kien shut the box. He didn’t have to open the bag to know it contained coins. Whether it was Adar-iyr’s gold ninus, the Tracelands’ silver drams and bits, or Siphra’s gilded silver noble, Kien didn’t care. Accepting and keeping money for warning Adar-iyr seemed dishonest somehow. Although he could now purchase courier birds and some parchment and ink to inform his parents and General Rol that he was alive and in Siphra.
And he could afford to eat during his last two weeks of military leave.
Fine. He would seek a worthy cause to donate the remainder to.
No . . . he had to pay the stables in ToronSea for boarding Father’s puny horse. And the inn might charge him a watch-fee when he retrieved his gear. Which brought up the thought of renting a room somewhere in Munra.
“Infinite, thank You for making King Ninus a practical man.”
Likewise, focusing on practicalities, Kien decided the first thing he must do in Munra was to send King Akabe a request to discuss Parne.
For Ela.
Akabe of Siphra looked more civilized and much younger than Kien remembered. Hair trimmed, beard gone . . .
His gold-edged robes and mantle lifting with the swiftness of his walk, Akabe strode into the ornate room as if he were still uncrowned. Not as Siphra’s Infinite-chosen king, anointed by Ela. Merely a wild hunter-rebel chasing prey through Siphra’s Snake Mountains.
In his usual genial, lilting accents, Akabe said, “Ambassador! Or is it ‘Commander’?” He laughed at Kien and gripped his hand in greeting. “What are you now? And why do you wear one of King Ninus’s highest courtier’s badges?”
Kien grinned and removed the gold pin. “Forgive me, Majesty. I decided your clerks and attendants would take me more seriously if I wore the gold.”
“Is the badge yours?” Akabe asked, not a trace of suspicion weighing the question.
“Indeed it’s mine, sir. I’ve just arrived from Adar-iyr.”
Akabe made a face and sat in a chair. He motioned Kien to a nearby bench. “I’ve heard that Adar-iyr is a cesspit. Why would you go there?”
“To help clean things up a bit.”
Akabe chuckled. “I do not see you emptying cesspits, Tracelander. No doubt your work in Adar-iyr was more than that. You will tell me everything, Ambassador. I demand it.”
“Forgive me, O King, but I’m no longer an ambassador. I’m training to be a military judge-advocate for General Rol of the Tracelands, specializing in treaties.” Before sitting, Kien slipped the gold pin into his coin pouch and eased his sword out of the way.
Akabe leaned forward, elbows on knees, his light brown eyes suddenly intense. “Is that your military sword?”
“It is.”
“Azurnite?”
Was it acceptable to share knowledge of the military’s Azurnite swords? Unsure, Kien smiled. And said nothing.
Akabe bounded from his chair. “May I see it?”
“Respectfully, sir, I must refuse until I’ve received clarification.”
Growling, Siphra’s king dropped into his chair once more. But a prankster’s smile played over his face. “I’ll see it before you leave Munra, Tracelander. You know I will. Now—” he shifted, relaxing—“tell me, how is the instigator of our revolution? My people speak of her often—your sister’s friend, Ela of Parne.”
Sister’s friend. The description made Ela sound so remote. As if Kien had nothing to do with her. Yet it would be presumptuous of him to say that Ela was anything more than Beka’s friend, or his own.
“You hesitate.” Akabe leaned forward again. “Why? Is she dead?”
“No, but she is in danger. Which is why I wanted to talk with you.”
All ease faded from Akabe’s expression, replaced by a cool-eyed hunter’s stare. “Talk then. I promise I am listening.”
In rapid, sparse sentences, Kien described Ela’s vision, her journey to Parne, and Belaal’s impending attack incited by Parne’s gold, gems, and its destructive ores, which could strengthen Belaal’s military beyond imagining. “Have you heard anything of the ores she described, sir?”
Still serious, Akabe said, “I have heard rumors of Parne’s ores, just as I have heard rumors of the Tracelands’ Azurnite swords. Until my people obtain proof, how can we take action? Parne is no ally to Siphra; therefore, my people will not be interested in sending our army into Parne’s territories. We’d be considered a host
ile force.” Scowling slightly, Akabe added, “Parne has nothing to recommend itself but its isolation, its temple, its wealth, and its prophet. Therefore, you must help me obtain proof that Parne possesses such dangerous ores, and that Belaal is determined to control them. Then I can persuade my council to fund this campaign. Meanwhile, I’ll alert my commanders.”
Kien groaned inwardly. As if he had solid proof of Belaal’s treachery to present to Siphra! What Akabe required would take days. Perhaps weeks! He must send another message to General Rol and to Father, asking for information and indulgence for Akabe’s Azurnite obsession. But these delays could cost him the chance to reach Ela before the siege. Kien’s stomach clenched at the thought. He could only trust the Infinite’s timing.
Infinite, protect Ela, please. Help me to reach her and save her from Parne!
While Dan and Kalme retired to their secluded room, Ela snuggled Jess in her lap and tucked Tzana’s blankets closer as the little girl rested in her puffy sleeping pallet. Though she was exhausted, Tzana didn’t seem quite ready to shut her eyes. She tweaked Ela’s dark, heavy braid and wound its end-curls around her small, gnarled fingers. “Jess and I want to hear a story,” she pleaded. “Tell us one!”
Ela smoothed her baby brother’s black curls as he gazed up at her. Adorable, plump . . . and obviously unaware that he wanted to hear anything. “Which story? You decide.”
Tzana worked her thin eyebrows together in a wrinkly, pondering frown. Then her forehead smoothed and she lapsed into a blissful half-dreaming reverie. “Remember the tree, Ela? Before we went to visit Syb and Warden Ter?”
The tree. Syb. Warden Ter. Ela smiled, remembering the difficult journey to Istgard. And their imprisonment, with Warden Ter and Matron Syb guarding them. But before their imprisonment, the Infinite had blessed them with a haven in the desert. A stream. And the branch, transformed into a colossal tree with shimmering leaves and jewel-like fruits too beautiful to belong to their ordinary world. Ela brushed a knuckle against Tzana’s soft cheek. “Do you miss the tree?”