by R. J. Larson
The Infinite’s voice whispered, Will you accept?
Accept?
The prophet’s branch.
The Infinite was asking her . . .
Will you be My prophet?
Trembling, Ela quoted the ancient saying, unable to stop herself. “ ‘A silver-haired prophet has failed.’ Is it true?”
Yes.
“If I accept will I die silver-haired?”
No.
Ela swallowed. Her hair would remain black. She would die young.
Will you accept?
2
Ela knelt and stared at the gleaming vinewood branch in Tzana’s tiny gnarled hands, knowing she could refuse it. With her entire being, she felt . . . knew . . . the Infinite offered her a genuine choice. His patience settled her, even as she hesitated.
Tzana too waited patiently, holding Ela’s death sentence. Still smiling.
“Tzana, what have you done?” Even as she spoke, Ela regretted the words. This was not Tzana’s doing at all. The Infinite knew, of course, that fear for Tzana’s safety was the only lure powerful enough to bring Ela to this place. To this decision.
Tzana’s smile faded and her dark eyes glistened, brimming with unshed tears. “I thought this would make you happy,” she pleaded. “It’s a gift from the Infinite.”
A gift. Was it? Ela hunched over and hid her face in her ash-smeared hands, resisting the impulse to bang her forehead on the aged stone floor. And yet . . . and yet . . . if she refused, would she ever hear His voice again?
“Infinite?” Ela sent up the plea and listened hard. Craving an answer.
Silence.
This was so unfair! Would He expect her to live the remainder of her life, enduring such unbearable silence? Already, her soul thirsted for His voice. “Infinite,” Ela babbled into her cupped hands, “here I am—and I don’t know why! Who has ever heard of a girl becoming a prophet? I’m clumsy and insignificant. No one will listen to me. And I dropped like a stone when You shared a vision with me. I’m not going to be of any use to You at all!”
You will. If you accept.
She drank in the words and sat up, thinking hard. She had two choices. Live to be old, silver-haired, and full of dry regrets, or accept this “gift” with all its uncertainties. Listening to the Infinite.
Tzana shifted slightly, clutching the prophet’s branch a bit closer to her frail body. Ela pondered. Would this decision fall to someone else if she refused? And what would happen to those widows and orphans who suffered in the vision? Slaves, the Infinite had said.
Could she help them?
How could she not?
Despite her apprehension, Ela held out her hands, smiling at her little sister. “Thank you. I’m sorry I scolded you.”
“I know.” Tzana rested the branch on Ela’s palms.
The branch was so light. And surprisingly warm. “Thank You, Infinite. I accept.” But she was quivering inside. She leaned against Tzana and hugged her gently. “Help me up.”
Beaming, Tzana tugged Ela’s arm upward. Ela stood and paused to study the gap in the vinewood on the prophet’s sarcophagus. Had Eshtmoh carried a forerunner of this same branch? What had he suffered during his time as a prophet? Were the stories about him exaggerations? And how old was he when he died?
No. She must not consider his death. Or her own. The fear would be too much. Breathe. Be calm. Steadier, she asked aloud, “Infinite? What now?”
Go outside. They are waiting for you.
They. Her neighbors, who couldn’t be happy. Ela and Tzana had just violated one of Parne’s most sacred sites. To Ela’s knowledge, no one had ever broken into a tomb house before. What was the sentence for such a crime? A beating? Prison? A forced jump from the rooftops? Well, best to face everyone and endure the consequences with dignity. Chin up, shoulders back, Ela motioned Tzana toward the doorway. Dust motes and ashes mingled in the entry’s slanting light, oddly peaceful.
Unlike the neighbors.
Even as Tzana stepped over the threshold into the ash-filtered sunlight beyond, Ela heard Matron Prill’s scolding. “Look what you’ve done! How do you plan to repair that door? And the seals? Ela, you’ll have to speak to the priests about those!”
“Take us to the priests,” Ela commanded the outraged matron. “Immediately, please.”
Standing before the priests’ council in their high stone chamber, with Tzana at her side, Ela told everything. Somewhere between her explanation of the Infinite sharing His overwhelming vision on Parne’s wall walk and Ela’s questioning Him about silver-haired prophets and dying young, the mood in the stone chamber darkened. All the idle whispers and chuckling among the priests hushed. Zade Chacen, Parne’s imposing gold-and-blue-clad chief priest, backed away from Ela. Tiny edging steps, as if he feared she might notice.
Or as if he simply feared.
One of the chief priest’s assistants spoke coldly. “How do we know you are truly the next prophet? Parne has not seen a prophet for seventy years. Furthermore, none of the prophets were girls!”
Ela almost argued that she was nearly eighteen, and—female or not—she hadn’t chosen this role. Before she could speak, her scalp tingled. The branch warmed against her palm, its sheen intensifying almost unbearably, brilliant as lightning within her fingers.
Shielding his eyes with both hands, the doubter retreated. His long hair stood on end, and he gasped. “Forgive me! O Infinite, forgive me!” He dropped to his knees, cowering, as if he feared a blow from his Creator.
Ela forced herself to look away from the terrified man, toward the other priests in the stone chamber. “You—all of you—know this is truly the prophet’s branch. I was asked to accept it, but I will gladly give this branch to one of you. Gladly. If you have been invited by the Infinite to accept it, please step forward.”
No one moved and the chamber remained silent. Until the chief priest cleared his throat. “We will repair the doorway,” he soothed, as the other priests nodded, their multiple gazes fixed on the branch glowing in her hands. “You must not worry. We understand the Infinite’s own Spirit led you into this situation. When will you leave Parne?”
Leaving her birthplace hadn’t occurred to Ela. But even as the chief priest was forming his question, she realized the answer. “I leave at dawn.”
The branch glistened, and its sheen softened, becoming metallic. Mesmerized, Ela paused, studying it and listening to Him. It was her turn to clear her throat. Her first duty as a prophet was beyond uncomfortable. Trying not to squirm, she looked the chief priest in his eyes. “Zade Chacen, your Creator sees your heart. He knows what you cannot admit to yourself. You have become faithless and cold, never studying His words, never seeking His will. Never sharing His visions.”
The chief priest’s face slackened. “I . . . how . . . ?” He composed himself and stared over her head as if she didn’t exist.
Miserable, Ela continued, “Your sons refuse to even acknowledge the Infinite, yet you favor them over Him. Therefore, you are removed from your place of power. As a sign to you, your sons will die on the same day, during a terrible calamity. Your descendants will never be priests again—though they will beg for the lowest priestly office, asking for nothing but bread to eat.”
Most of the white-robed lesser priests were retreating now, avoiding Ela’s gaze. She lifted the branch. “Wait.” Everyone froze. “Where is Ishvah Nesac?”
One of the youngest priests—until now an onlooker from a shadowed corner—came forward. Reed-thin and slightly awkward, he knelt before Ela and shut his eyes, clearly expecting to be cursed. She’d never seen Ishvah Nesac before. She’d never heard the Nesac name. Yet now, through the Infinite’s will, she recognized this young man. “Ishvah Nesac, you have been found faithful. Serve your Creator, seeking His words, His will, and His visions. He will honor you as His chief priest.”
Clearly overcome, the new chief priest collapsed, whispering prayers into his hands.
Zade Chacen threw his priestly gol
d in a clattering heap at Ela’s feet and fled the council chamber. Two handsomely clothed young men followed him, glaring silent threats at Ela as they passed. Chacen’s sons, Ela knew. They looked so much like him.
Tzana hopped backward as if alarmed. Ela caught her tiny sister by one hand and steadied her. Nearby, Ela’s erstwhile doubter stirred, tentatively, as if he still feared the Infinite’s displeasure. Ela prayed for the man. How could she be angry with him if she had so many doubts herself? The branch cooled in Ela’s grasp—ordinary vinewood now. “Come,” she murmured to Tzana. “We’re finished here. Let’s go home.”
Would this be the last time she saw her home?
Hand in hand, Ela and Tzana left the chamber. The ashfall had finally stopped. The air was clear, and Ela could almost pretend nothing had happened today. Except that Matron Prill was waiting in the courtyard below, watching Father, who was being jostled by Zade Chacen’s irate sons.
“Leave him alone!” Ela released Tzana and stormed down the broad ash-dusted steps, so indignant that the two young men could have been giants and it wouldn’t have mattered. “You’ve caused trouble enough for yourselves—why are you inviting more? You should be praying to the Infinite for mercy! Humble yourselves and He might forgive you even now—after all you’ve done!”
The two young men retreated, sullen, but visibly intimidated. Ela stared after them until they climbed a set of steps up to a terrace path and finally descended through a sheltered roof door.
“Ela, what’s happened to you?” Dan Roeh put out one wide hand, then lowered it as if he’d wanted to shake Ela, but resisted. “First you have a fit up on the wall, then you break into Eshtmoh’s tomb, and now you’re screaming at Chief Priest Chacen’s sons. I don’t want them as enemies. When we return home, I expect an explanation.” He bent and picked up Tzana, who had crept down the stairs, her movements slowed as if the effort pained her.
Matron Prill approached now, her expression pinched and disapproving as she eyed Ela. “I saw Chief Priest Chacen leave. You’ve been released?”
“Yes. The council agreed we’ve done nothing wrong.”
“That is what’s wrong with the priests’ council,” the matron huffed. “Those greedy men have forgotten how to punish anyone. Chacen’s sons accept bribes instead!” She stomped away. Ela let her depart. Time was too precious to argue with self-certain neighbors.
Now, how could she tell her parents she was a prophet? She hardly believed it herself.
Father listened in silence, but Mother began to sob and rock back and forth on her floor cushion. “This is my fault!” Kalme cried. Her sobs lifted to a full-throated wail, and she clutched her head, tearing at her smoothly coiled brown hair until it slid down past her shoulders. “He’s taking you because I was afraid!”
Kalme tried to pull the branch from Ela’s hands, but her fingers passed through the vinewood as if through air. “No! Ela, this is my fault! Mine! You should have refused!”
“Mother, this had nothing to do with you. It was my decision.”
“I was your a-age,” Kalme sobbed. “Before I m-married your father, the Infinite spoke to me in a vision. I longed to become His prophet, but I was afraid!”
Ela stared at her mother, speechless. Was this true?
Yes.
Infinite! Ela’s heart bounded at His voice. He would know how to comfort Kalme. He . . .
Comfort her with the truth. Tell her.
“Mother.” The woven floor mats crackled beneath Ela’s feet as she crossed the room. She sat beside Kalme and placed the branch on the mat before them. Cautious, she hugged her mother. “You mustn’t cry. Shh . . .” When her mother finally hushed, Ela said, “Your Creator has remembered you, and you must not blame yourself for my situation, because He doesn’t blame you for refusing to become a prophet.”
“But He’s taken you,” Kalme wept. “It’s my fault!”
“He hasn’t ‘taken’ me. I accepted His offer,” Ela pointed out. “Equally important, if you had accepted the branch, I would never have existed. And I promise you, Mother, I’m glad I exist.”
“Even now?” Kalme’s slender body stiffened, and she looked Ela in the eyes. “Tell me you’re not afraid.”
“I am afraid. More than that, I feel unworthy and foolish and too young . . .” Ela cut her list short. She was filling herself with new doubts just by naming the ones she’d already acknowledged. Better to change the subject. “Mother, listen. I’m about to tell you something that you must tell everyone tomorrow after I leave.”
“A prophecy,” Kalme sniffed.
“Yes, Mother. Now, don’t say anything foolish, or the Infinite will scold you and I’m the one who’ll have to deliver your disciplining.”
Kalme sobered and wiped her tears. “Tell me.”
Joy mingling with her forlorn wish to meet this prophecy’s fulfillment, Ela said, “You’re three days pregnant. With a son. His name is Jess.”
Seated opposite them, Dan Roeh gasped. He released Tzana, his pet, and she immediately tottered across the mat to Ela. Dan sucked in a thin breath and rasped, “A son?”
“Jess,” Ela repeated, smiling, though the knowledge was bittersweet. “He will delight you both.”
By now, Tzana was patting Ela’s arm for attention. “I’m going with you.”
“No you’re not!” Ela shook her head, horrified by the thought of putting her little sister in any sort of danger—leading her into a world of fire.
Yes, the Infinite corrected Ela. She is.
Beside them, Kalme cried, “No, I want you here—my girls!” She sobbed again but at last she mopped her face. “There’s no help for it, is there? I’m going to lose you.” Kalme gave Ela a mournful look, then frowned. “How did you manage to smear yourself so badly with ashes? Let’s wash those off.”
Ela stopped her. “No. I was anointed with ashes from a dying city. What could be more appropriate?”
“Oh, my poor girl!” Kalme moved to embrace her daughter but was interrupted by furtive taps on the doorpost.
Dan Roeh straightened, though he looked dazed. “Come in.”
Two men entered, both shuffling uncomfortably. Ela had to look twice to recognize them—they seemed so misplaced among the Roeh family. Amar and his father. When recognition took hold, she immediately understood what Amar was trying to work up the courage to say. How could he marry a girl who was supposedly Parne’s next prophet? For him, it would be worse than having no wife at all because she could never belong to him. Her life and her heart were no longer her own. Ela’s throat tightened as she fought unshed tears. Truly, his decision was for the best.
“Amar,” she said, “you and your family are quite admirable. But I must leave Parne tomorrow, so I cannot agree to marry you. Ever.”
Amar didn’t even have the grace to hide his relief.
Yesterday, Ela knew, she would have thrown something at him.
Casting a wary glance around at the borderlands’ desolate rock formations and life-stripped soil, Ela knelt in a smooth patch of dirt and allowed Tzana to slide off her back. “Don’t wander away,” Ela reminded her.
“I won’t,” Tzana promised. “I just want to find a comfortable place.”
“Watch for bugs!” And poisonous lindorm serpents. And stinging plants. And hideous scalns . . . Ela had to stop thinking of the dangers in this wilderness. She’d frightened herself. Seeking composure, she wiped the sweat from her face and drank some water from Father’s newest waterskin. He’d insisted she take it. Ela had seen tears in his eyes.
It was an awful, awful thing, seeing Father almost cry, particularly during his farewell with Tzana. He always fretted over Tzana. But they’d been brave at their parting. Even Mother. Would they meet again? Ela frowned, wishing the Infinite would answer that question.
Meanwhile, she and Tzana were here, in this barren waste of rubble, sand, and jagged stone spires and canyons that separated the city-state of Parne from its warring neighbors. Neighbors who were proba
bly much worse than the bugs, the poisonous lindorms, stinging plants, and hideous scalns. Ela tensed, listening for her sister. Not a sound. “Tzana? Tzana!”
“Oh, just wait!” her sister’s small voice piped from beyond a huge boulder.
She will be protected here, while you are being trained as My prophet, the Infinite assured Ela.
“How long will I be a prophet?” Ela begged, hoping for a hint of her life expectancy.
Instead of an answer, she received a command. Place the branch exactly where you are now standing. Tzana will guard it until your return.
What? Leave her vulnerable young sister in the wilderness with no supplies? “Infinite—”
I told you she will be protected here. Do you think I can forget My promise?
“Just leave her here?”
Yes. Step out of your sandals, and take the waterskin with you.
“Leave Tzana here without water!”
Yes.
“Why are you yelling?” Tzana demanded, tripping her way around the boulder.
“I’m not. I mean, I won’t yell again.” She begged silent forgiveness from her Creator, then knelt to kiss Tzana’s soft, vaguely wrinkled cheek. “Stay here and guard the branch, please.”
“Why?” Tzana knelt on the dry sand, her face creased in charming confusion as she watched Ela untie her sandals.
“Because the Infinite asks you to. He promises you’ll be safe.”
“All right.” Tzana lifted a sparse eyebrow. “What about you?”
“I’ll be safe too.” She hoped. She spiked the branch into the ground, stepped out of her sandals, kissed Tzana once more, and then walked away. In tears.
How much longer? She’d been hiking for half the day through too-warm sand, surrounded by these barren rock formations. Her feet were screaming. Well, if they could scream, they would, Ela was sure.
She was also hungry. Tepid water from a skin was not filling. Worse than the hunger, Ela was worried about Tzana, who’d never been alone for so long in her life. Despite the Infinite’s promise that Tzana would be protected, Ela’s thoughts continually circled back to her little sister. Was she so mistrustful of her Creator? If so, then why had she agreed to become a prophet?