Prophet (Books of the Infinite Book #1)

by R. J. Larson

Their guests, Siphra’s long-lost priests, had certainly caused a stir with their appearance. Gifts streamed from nearby villages. Kien welcomed their generosity. Hospitable as Akabe and his men were, their meals had left much to be desired before the priests’ arrival.

  As Kien and Akabe lowered the barrel of flour near the cooking fire, the ailing high priest, Johanan, sat up on his bed of furs. His color was better today, Kien noticed. A great improvement since his subordinate priests had carried him into Akabe’s encampment. The old man looked like a wax figure that first day. Indeed, his followers had given him up for dead.

  Johanan beamed at Kien and Akabe. “Amazing how the Infinite provides for us! Had I known we’d be met with such generosity, we would have left our hiding place long ago.”

  “It was not safe,” Akabe protested. “Have you forgotten how the kingdom was searched? How anyone suspected of loyalty to the Infinite was tormented or killed?”

  Kien suspected Akabe had suffered torment, but the young man rarely voiced personal details. The high priest shrugged. “Surely our sufferings are finished.”

  Akabe laughed and teased, “Your sufferings continue, I fear. Not one of my men can bake.”

  “Ah, but mine can,” Johanan said, to Kien’s relief. “Who do you suppose baked bread in the Infinite’s temple? When the temple existed . . .”

  They fell silent, no doubt remembering a glorious place, long gone. Akabe sighed. “The Infinite’s temple will be rebuilt. Someday.”

  For the remainder of the afternoon, the camp was devoted to talk of the Infinite’s temple, and baking bread. Soft, puffy rounds of flat bread, so similar to Ela’s style of baking that Kien paused to stare at it during their evening meal. Where was she? “Please, keep her safe,” he muttered. If he could be sure Ela was safe, nothing else mattered.

  “Did you say something?” Beka asked, seated between him and Jon, with Tzana nestled in her lap.

  “I was thinking of Ela.”

  “Oh.” Beka’s face expressed silent sympathy.

  “She’ll come back soon.” Tzana sounded more hopeful than certain. Kien saw the little girl blink, as if trying to combat tears.

  He was setting aside his bread to console her when the watchman cried from a treetop, “More visitors—a herd!”

  Visitors, the man had warned. Not enemies. Even so, Kien grabbed his sword and joined Akabe. Standing orders were for all armed men to station themselves along the approach to the encampment and give warning to the others if the visitors were deemed unfriendly.

  Unbidden, Scythe trotted up to Kien and nudged him, while crunching down the remains of a shrub. Kien patted the destroyer’s shining neck. “You took long enough to respond, you glutton. Let’s go have a look at our visitors.”

  The destroyer sniffed, twitched, then charged down the slope. Without Kien.

  Ela dismounted the petulant donkey, kindly loaned by her feisty elderly protector—the unsung leader of the valley uprising, Tamri Het.

  From her family’s crowded, cushioned cart in the procession behind her, Tamri called out, “Is my beast misbehaving again, Ela-girl?”

  “Not too much,” Ela called back. “I simply need to stretch. We’re almost there.”

  Tamri cackled and threatened genially, “Don’t you dare have adventures until I’m there, little prophet.”

  “I won’t. But hurry along!” Ela hoped her adventures were finished for a while. After this comparatively mild one, of course. She climbed the hill, using the branch for support. Her wounded foot was only a bit tender—a mercy.

  Trees shaded portions of the path here. Familiar trees. Ela smiled. A deep-throated rumbling whinny echoed to her from the distance—the most welcomed sound she’d heard in weeks. “Pet!”

  The destroyer bolted out from the trees at the crest of the hill, impressive, and so perfectly glossy black that Ela almost sighed in admiration. Pet hesitated, then charged for her. Ela gasped. “Slow down!”

  Pet stopped just short of knocking her over, but gave her such a bump with his nose that she stumbled backward. Ela caught her balance and laughed, then hugged the monster’s neck. “You dear rascal! Oh, I didn’t dare pray you’d be here.” And if Pet was here . . .

  Ela stepped back and looked up the path. A black-cloaked figure marched out of the trees. “Kien.”

  Why did she want to cry? Even from that distance she saw his grin. He dashed down the path to greet her and gave the destroyer an ineffective shove in passing. “Scoundrel! Couldn’t even wait for me, could you? Out of my way!”

  Pet grunted and stepped aside. But he flicked his tail, whisking Kien’s hair. Ela laughed at them both. Kien slapped the destroyer, then grabbed Ela’s hand and kissed it warmly, gazing at her so fervently that her knees wobbled and her thoughts fell to pieces. Truly, she’d been more confident facing monsters and assassins. Before she could compose herself, Kien pressed his advantage, pulling her close and kissing her cheek. “You’re safe! We were just talking about you. Though you probably know that.”

  If he’d intended to fluster her, he was succeeding. Ela had to speak slowly. “So . . . you’ve forgiven me . . . a little?”

  “Completely. When I thought you were dead—” He hesitated, clearly so overcome that he was fighting to speak. “Nothing else mattered. I needed to know you were safe.”

  Ela blinked away tears, then gently stepped out of his embrace—though she didn’t want to. But he wouldn’t relinquish her hand. She worked up a smile. “Thank you. However one day I won’t be safe. And you cannot protect me. Nor can Pet.”

  “Scythe.”

  “Fine. Scythe. Just promise me that when I’m gone you’ll go on with your life.”

  “I promise you nothing, except that I still love you.”

  “Kien, you cannot continue to—”

  “Yes I can.” He smiled, but his gray eyes were serious. “I can and will pursue you for the rest of our lives. And if you argue, I’ll be pleased to debate you. I’ll win. You know I will.”

  “You hope you will!”

  “I sense false bravado.”

  She tipped the branch at him, half threatening. “You’re calling me false?”

  “Not you. Only the bravado.” He looked over her head at the cumbersome procession winding its way up the hill. “What’s this? Who are all these people?”

  “A Siphran welcoming committee. You must be serious now and stop flirting with me.”

  “Who is flirting? I’m quite serious. I intend to marry you.”

  “You’re hopeless!”

  “I’d say quite the opposite.”

  “May I change the subject?”

  “Of course. As long as the new subject concerns us.”

  “It does. We have business to attend to, Ambassador.” She tugged her hand from Kien’s and led the way to the encampment. Akabe met them and started to speak, but Ela warned him to silence with the upraised branch. “When everyone has gathered, I’ll speak to you.”

  “What are you doing?” Softly, Kien chided, “Ela, why did you silence Akabe? He’s—”

  Ela murmured, “He will soon understand. This is not an ordinary visit.” And she must behave with prophet-like dignity.

  “Ela!” Tzana scampered toward her, a grin crinkling her little face—breaking Ela’s composure.

  “Oh!” She knelt, caught her baby sister, and hugged her, kissing her wispy curls. And crying. Not proper prophet behavior. Or was it? She didn’t care.

  Still holding Tzana, Ela stood. Beka waited nearby. With a sweeping glance and a lifted eyebrow that perfectly mimicked Kien, Beka said, “Look at all those wrinkles and spots on your clothes.” She sighed, as if disheartened. “At least you started out well dressed. Never mind; I’ll dust you off and spruce you up when we return home.”

  Had Beka already decided that the Tracelands was Ela’s home? Kien! Beka was in league with Kien.

  As they hugged, Beka whispered, “I’m so glad you’re safe! Who cares about anything else? How is your wound
?”

  “Healing. Thank you.” She waited until Tamri Het and all the Siphran prophets and officials from Munra were gathered and respectfully silent. With a kiss and a pat, Ela set down Tzana. Then she beckoned the high priest. He hobbled toward her as swiftly as his arthritic limbs allowed. Raising her voice so everyone could hear, Ela said, “You are the chief witness.”

  She rested the branch in the crook of her arm, unlaced the sacred vial from her belt, opened its case, then broke the golden seal.

  Akabe retreated a step as she approached. She couldn’t blame him—the branch glowed in her hand, probably making Akabe fear she’d transform him somehow. And she would. On tiptoe, she poured the delicate stream of golden oil over his head. “Akabe Garric, this is what the Infinite says . . . ‘I anoint you king over Siphra.’ ” She stepped back. “Call to your Creator in every matter, King Akabe. He will advise you.”

  Siphra’s new king looked confounded. But the high priest shuffled toward him, dignified, a hand upraised. “May the Infinite bless you and grant you wisdom as you obey His will.”

  The prophets and Munra’s officials gathered around Akabe, clamoring. He must go with them at once to take control of the capital and the palace. He must hunt down Segere and Raenna’s cohorts and their false prophets, and bind them over to face their victims’ relatives. He must . . .

  Akabe’s followers and Tamri Het hurried to concoct the largest feast they could muster. But Kien faced Ela, much too serious. “You knew this would happen the night you were stolen from East Guard.”

  “Somewhat.” Ela bent to pick up Tzana, who was tugging her mantle. “I didn’t expect to survive. And I didn’t know the Infinite would anoint Akabe until a few days ago. The situation in Munra was . . . difficult.” For Tzana’s sake, she changed the subject, teasing Kien. “I hope you made good use of your time while visiting the king, Ambassador.”

  “I would have made better use of this opportunity if I’d known it was an opportunity!”

  “You’re not going to sulk, are you?”

  “No. I’m not.” His expression lightened. She could almost see mischief taking form in his thoughts. “I’ve found a way to drive Scythe half insane. Where is he? Tzana, pretend to quarrel with me.”

  “His name is Pet!” Tzana argued, so emphatic that Ela knew she meant it.

  Kien frowned. “No, he’s Scythe!”

  On the other side of the clearing, the huge destroyer stopped eating and began to pace. Ela was certain she saw him sweating.

  A light breeze from the ocean ruffled Kien’s hair as he rode Scythe up Temple Hill to Ela’s residence—the stone chamber carved within the cliff near the temple’s ruins. He urged the destroyer through the sunny clearing and grinned.

  Ela was sitting on a fallen stone behind a makeshift table near the orchard. Preparing ink and a scroll. And watching Tzana, who was playing nearby with a giggling, squealing group of little girls visiting from East Guard and Siphra. Including Tamri Het’s great-granddaughter.

  Tamri was “vacationing” with Ela. Still. But Kien couldn’t begrudge the spry octogenarian Ela’s company. They suited each other well. And Tamri’s no-nonsense presence staved off any gossip that might brew if Ela and Tzana were living alone. She also chased off other would-be suitors—a practice Kien happily encouraged.

  Ela glanced up and smiled. Kien couldn’t mistake her expression. She was delighted to see him. Prophet or not, she did love him, he was sure of it. All the more reason to continue his pursuit.

  Kien dismounted and turned Scythe loose to prune the shrubs. “Good morning, Prophet! No squabbling scholars today?”

  “Not yet. Are you off on a mission, Ambassador?”

  “Not yet.” He sat on a broken pillar. “I’m leaving with General Rol next week.” Offering a mock half bow, he said, “Kien Lantec—judge-advocate in training.”

  “You’ll be superb,” she murmured. “But that’s merely my opinion.”

  “Which is why I’ve come to visit. I want your opinion.”

  “About . . . ?”

  Kien blurted out the question he’d feared to ask. “Should we Tracelanders be concerned about your presence? Are you planning to overthrow our government as you did in Istgard and Siphra?”

  She laughed and set her still-unused reed pen in its stand. “No. Even prophets need a place to rest. For now, my place is here. To rest and teach and write. Meanwhile, if you stubborn Tracelanders listen to the Infinite—and I’m praying with all my might you do—He will be satisfied. Look.”

  Ela lifted an ivory tablet and pointed to the engraving on its base. Lan Tek. “The Lantec name in its old form. Your rebel heritage was based on more than squabbles over land rights and political differences. Love of the Infinite separated your ancestors from Istgard’s gods.”

  Kien studied the tablet, bemused. He couldn’t deny the engraving’s age. Or her assumption. Well, well. Here was a lesson old Master Cam Wroth had never offered in his classes. Kien inspected the aged tablet until Ela asked, “What are you sending to Istgard for the wedding?”

  “Wedding?”

  “Tsir Aun and Tek Lara’s wedding. They’ve sent word that they’ll marry next month. I have little to offer but my prayers for blessings.”

  “I’m sure they consider your prayers for them to be a great honor.” Kien envied the couple. Soon, he hoped to send Tsir Aun similar news of his own wedding to Ela.

  Did Ela know how appealing she looked, sitting in the sunshine, with ink on her fingers and her hair frazzled? Probably not—which was one of her many charms. Kien leaned toward her, deliberately lowered his voice, and began to cajole softly. “Promise you’ll write to me while I’m gone. Send me your favorite verses from the Books of the Infinite—I need to learn them, you know. . . .”

  It was true. He did want to study these sacred writings his ancestors had cherished. They were part of his heritage. And the Infinite and Ela composed his future.

  Anyway, how could she refuse a departing soldier’s earnest request? “Promise?”

  Ela watched Kien ride away on Scythe. She must not mope and be miserable in their absence. Really, she shouldn’t have promised to write him. She would long for his messages. Crave them. It was dangerous . . . foolish! Yet she’d been unable to refuse Kien.

  Frustratingly irresistible man!

  “Infinite? Why didn’t You warn me?”

  Silence answered. Ela felt the Infinite’s presence as He waited and watched.

  And loved. Always.

  At peace with her Creator, she lifted her pen, tapped it in the ink jar, and began to write on her weighted parchment.

  These are the records of Ela, prophet of Parne.

  In the last year of the reign of King Tek An of Istgard, the Infinite sent His prophet of Parne a vision. . . .

  Acknowledgments

  My dear Lord and Savior, thank you for your endless lovingkindness. I’m still amazed and blessed that you sent Ela to pester me until I listened! Applause and lunch out to Donita K. Paul, my dear friend and fellow fantasy fiction fanatic extraordinaire, who read the first few chapters as I wrote them and cheered me onward. Donita, you are a gem, thank you!

  To my brilliant fightmaster-brother, Joe Barnett, for cheerfully providing emergency fencing and sword info and reviewing certain nightmare-inducing scenes. Red Robin!!!

  Honors and a group hug to the Hobbit Hole critique groups: Donita K. Paul, Evangeline Denmark, Beth DeVore, Jim Hart, Beth K. Vogt, and Mary Agius. When are we meeting again?

  To the Lost Genre Guild, thank you for the fun and debates, particularly Caprice Hokestadt, Pete you-know-who-you-are, Frank Creed, Forrest Schultz, Alice Roelke, Fred Warren, Noah Arsenault, and Johne Cooke, who offered suggestions and riotous puns.

  Special thanks to Katharin Fiscaletti for her artistic imagination—I look forward to future works, Kat! Also thanks to Lisa Buffaloe, Anita Mellot, Ann-Louise Gremminger, Becky Cardwell, Steve Visel, Rene McLean, Robert Mullin, Linda and Bob Mullin, Jeri Fonty
n, Beka Thelen, and Anna Thelen for the fun and cheers. A wave to Scott Rogers and the Falcon 1644 team—thanks for putting up with me. Special hugs to Debbie and Star, Kristen, and Kaitlyn Coutee, who loved Pet and offered horse sense.

  Last, but not least, endless gratitude to the team at Community Bible Studies. Your lessons and devotion to sharing the Lord’s written Word have been—and continue to be—inspiring!

  Discussion Questions

  What is Ela’s first action when she realizes she is truly hearing the voice of her Creator, the Infinite? Do you think Ela’s response to the Infinite’s command is characteristic of a true prophet? Why or why not?

  What do you believe is Ela’s most critical personal challenge as she takes on her role as the Infinite’s prophet? What would trouble you the most if you were chosen to be a prophet?

  Ela’s fragile little sister, Tzana, accompanies Ela with the Infinite’s express permission. How does the Infinite ultimately reach others through Tzana’s obedience and her frailty?

  In the borderlands, the Infinite leaves Ela completely alone, shattering her physically and spiritually. What long-term effect does this temporary loss of His presence have on Ela? How might Ela’s enemies benefit from her devastating experience?

  What is your first impression of Kien Lantec? What aspects of his character emerge as he faces extreme, often dangerous circumstances? Do you think your Creator inspires similar characteristics in you during times of testing? What traits do you want others to see in you as you confront challenges?

  Ela often questions her worth as a prophet. Why does she see herself as a failure? Does the Infinite agree with her? Can you think of any Old Testament prophets or leaders who believed they were failures?

  As their relationship progresses, Ela and Kien each struggle with their physical and emotional responses toward the other. What evidence, if any, did you find of genuine love in their relationship, as opposed to basic physical attraction? Do you believe that Ela is justified in believing she must confront her life as a prophet alone?