by R. J. Larson
Did you find evidence throughout the story that the Infinite protected Ela? Did He reward her? If so, then how? Has your Creator protected you and/or rewarded you?
What parallels did you find between Ela and familiar Old Testament prophets? What differences?
Do you believe the “other-world” setting of this story helped your understanding of Old Testament prophets? Why or why not?
About the Author
R. J. Larson is the author of numerous devotionals featured in publications such as Women’s Devotional Bible and Seasons of a Woman’s Heart. She lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado, with her husband and their two sons. Prophet marks her debut in the fantasy genre.
Kien Lantec lifted his chin, pressed his fingers against his wet skin, then swept the razor up his throat—just as the Infinite’s voice resonated within his thoughts.
You will go to ToronSea.
“Ow!” Jolted by the voice, Kien gasped, dropped the razor, and leaped backward as the blade clattered on the tiled floor, threatening his bare toes. Hearing from one’s Creator evidently involved undreamed-of risks. Kien exhaled and thumped a sweating fist against his heart. Steady.
ToronSea? Why? He’d just returned home on military leave. His first leave! And ToronSea was at the edge of nowhere, governed by a pack of thick-skulled antisocials who were supposed to be civilized Tracelanders. Controlling himself, Kien smudged some powdered balm against the bloodied nick beneath his jaw. “Go to ToronSea?”
You will warn My faithful in ToronSea of My displeasure because they are beguiled by worshipers of Atea. Tell the one who speaks for them that he must be faithful to Me and seek My will. You must also speak to certain deceived ones who love Atea. Tell them only that I see their failings and seek their hearts. The wise will hear Me.
Worshipers of Atea. Weren’t they given over to disturbing quirks like divination through watching the death throes of victims in ritual strangulations? Kien hoped the often-repeated stories were unfounded. He didn’t relish being the target of a divination ritual. “But, Infinite, I’m not a prophet. I’m a—”
Are you My servant?
Defeated before he’d begun. “Yes. I am Your servant.” Kien meant every word of his pledge, but he didn’t have to feel comfortable about it, did he? He moistened his lips. “Am I no longer training to be a military judge?”
Waiting silence answered. Kien exhaled, retrieved his razor, and tried to ask an answerable question. “Should I depart today?”
Yes.
“Will I survive?”
More Omnipotent silence. Survival, evidently, shouldn’t be his first consideration. “Fine. I’ll finish shaving, then organize a few details and gather my gear. Will one knapsack suffice?”
He paused. Nothing. It seemed he must answer most of his own questions. And he had plenty to ask. For example, why wasn’t the Infinite sending His true prophet, Ela of Parne, to confront ToronSea? Though sending Ela into any situation where her life might be endangered was completely unacceptable to Kien. For Ela’s sake, Kien would go to ToronSea himself.
Ela . . . Kien grinned into his polished metal mirror and finished shaving. He now had an ideal excuse to visit the most captivating person now living in East Guard. No doubt Ela would—
“Kien?” His mother’s voice echoed up the stairwell steps to his tower room. “Keee-en!”
He hurriedly wiped his face and smoothed his tunic before crossing the room and opening the door. Ara Lantec marched up the last few spiraling stone steps and stopped on the landing. Her cool gray eyes narrowed. She folded her elegant arms and glared, her usually serene face a study of restrained maternal fury. “Your destroyer is eating my garden! My whole garden! Unless you can control that monster, your father will have him shot by archers, then butchered and stewed!”
Kien saw six months of military wages vanish, consumed by a gargantuan warhorse’s gluttony. “Sorry. I’ll pay for the damages.”
Ara seethed. “Paying for my garden won’t help me this evening. My reception is ruined!”
He wasn’t about to offer advice for saving his mother’s reception—a gathering of the Tracelands’ most elite women: wives of members of the Grand Assembly. And their daughters, whom Kien devoutly hoped to escape. No doubt his parents would be planning his wedding the instant he smiled at one of those spoiled girls. Kien kissed his mother’s perfectly arranged dark hair, hoping to soothe her. She scowled.
Barefoot, he started down the stairs. “Don’t worry. You’ll be rid of me, and the destroyer, by midday. I’m leaving on an assignment.”
“What? You’ve just returned after six months of duty.”
“It’s an emergency.” And that emergency looked positively inviting compared to his mother’s wrath—not to mention her reception. Several steps down, he hesitated and looked up. “Anyway, I thought you wanted me gone.”
“No, I simply want you to kill that destroyer!”
“Oh, sure.” Kien hoped she hadn’t caught his sarcasm. Chaining the beast, not killing it, would have to suffice. Kien rushed down the spiraling stone steps and charged through the stairwell’s open doorway, into the adjoining hall. “Scythe!”
He found the black monster-horse in Mother’s formal garden, dwarfing a crimson stand of miniature spice trees, crunching down leaf after expensive leaf. The massive creature turned his rump toward Kien and flicked his long black tail.
Kien growled. “I know you heard me. Don’t you dare turn away!”
Scythe swung his big head around, irritable, still chewing. Kien glared and grabbed his halter. “Not another bite! Your morning meal is finished. Move. Now. Obey.”
At least destroyers heeded Obey—though the command never improved their attitudes. The oversized brute grumbled as Kien led him toward the stable. To gain his cooperation, Kien said, “Let me make myself presentable, then we’ll visit Ela.”
Scythe’s big ears perked. “Ela,” Kien repeated, knowing she was this beast’s greatest weakness. Kien’s as well. “I’m sure she has six months’ worth of shrubs for you to devour.”
He continued to talk of Ela as he reluctantly chained Scythe to an iron ring embedded in stone within the stable yard. “Wait. I’ll return.” He’d won this round. With the destroyer at least.
His mother and the Infinite were different matters entirely.
ToronSea’s Ateans and their lethal divination rituals demanded his presence.
Kien hoped he would survive.
Seated on a woven mat near the ancient stone ruins of the Infinite’s temple, Ela Roeh shifted in place and studied her scholars.
Five young ladies sat before her, decorously clad in pastel tunics and soft mantles. Wielding reed pens over their wax writing tablets, they bowed their fashionable, curl-crowned heads in the early autumn sunlight and wrote the morning’s lesson.
It was troublesome to realize her students were all near her own age. In spirit, Ela felt older than eighteen. But surely not older than her dear eightyish chaperone. Ela slid a glance toward Tamri Het, a Siphran who’d followed Ela to the Tracelands seven months past. Seated nearby, Tamri looked utterly harmless. Who would ever believe this great-grandmother was a mob-inciting revolutionary? Particularly now, as she hummed like a girl, her veils fluttering in the light breeze . . .
Hmm. Perhaps in spirit she was older than Tamri. Not that it mattered.
Old-spirited or not, all prophets of Parne died young. The Infinite had confirmed it. Ela chewed her lower lip. Surely her death would serve the Infinite’s purpose. But when?
Tzana, Ela’s fragile little sister, crept onto the mat, her small, prematurely aged face wrinkled with both concern and with her incurable condition. “You look sad,” Tzana whispered.
Bending, Ela returned the whisper. “I’m not.”
However, she was restless. Ela tucked back one of Tzana’s sparse curls and willed herself to relax. Tzana huddled beneath Ela’s arm and shivered until Ela snuggled her close. The little girl disliked the cooler autumn
air. Ela couldn’t blame her. Tzana was accustomed to Parne’s warmer climate, which was more soothing to her arthritis than these damp ocean-borne breezes. Tonight, Ela decided, she must prepare more ointment to ease Tzana’s aching joints.
Another whisper lifted—this time from among her students.
“Finished!” Beka Thel, Kien’s sister, set down her pen and tablet with a delicate click. Beka was as clever as her brother. And equally charming. Warm brown eyes sparkling, Beka threw Ela a mischievous smile so like Kien’s that Ela sighed. Kien . . .
She returned Beka’s smile. But as they waited for the other four girls to finish their work, Ela scolded herself inwardly. She mustn’t think of Kien. Why torment herself? Yet she thought of him constantly. Not proper musings for a prophet. It was more fitting to consider the Infinite.
Ela closed her eyes and offered silent worship to her Creator until agitation permeated her thoughts. A dark, unsteadying fear. Why?
Infinite?
Silence. Yet she perceived His Spirit hovering near. Determined, Ela closed her eyes, focused on her prayer and on the Infinite. He might not answer whenever it pleased her, but He did answer. She simply needed to persist, then accept His decisions.
Infinite, what is Your will?
Before Ela could gasp, a vision enveloped her like a cloak and sucked her spirit into a whirlwind, transporting her to Parne. Home. But not to her family. Ela trembled as she recognized her surroundings. She was standing atop the guard’s stone lookout shelter on Parne’s soaring wall walk. Too high! Dizzied, she fixed her thoughts on breathing and enduring the vision’s torment. Infinite!
Child of dust, the Infinite murmured, what do you see?
Scared to look down, Ela fixed her gaze on the western horizon. On a terrifyingly huge mirage-like image, spreading from north to south. Barely able to squeak out the words, Ela whispered, “I see a giant cauldron in the sky . . . pouring boiling liquid toward Parne.”
Home. About to be destroyed.
As Ela tried to gather her wits, her Creator said, My people have forsaken Me! They burn incense to other gods, and they worship idols made by their own hands.
“No . . .”
Disaster is about to overtake Parne, and all who live there.
“No!” All who live there? Father. Mother. And her baby brother. Where was Tzana? Ela’s arms and legs felt weighted now, as if turned to stone. Impossible to reach Tzana . . . though she heard her sister calling her from a distance.
Nightmarish images came to life behind her eyelids and within her thoughts. The vision expanded with such force, with such an inundation of faces, whisperings, and terrors, that Ela screamed. Falling from the lookout—
Darkness, thicker than she’d ever known, drew her soul beneath the ground, entombing her alive. As she clawed at dank walls within her vision and inhaled the stomach-churning stench of death, the Infinite said, Prepare yourself.
The vision’s agony closed in tight, crushing her. Desperate to save her family, and Parne, Ela fought for consciousness and failed.