"Wow." I try to close my mouth after the words exit but I fail. I lift my hand to the wound on my chest.
"You're only allowed one gasp," Sal whispers. "Now you have to act like you’ve been here before. You’re my friend, so how you respond to him reflects on me."
I nod my head.
Sal directs me to stand on a mark, an arrangement of green emeralds tiled on the floor to resemble a shooting star. He descends the six carpeted steps. Sal kneels down just before the point where the two streams converge in a large pool of blue water. He cups his hands and drinks from the brook. He gestures for me to do the same.
The water cools my hands as my fingers plunge into the flow. My palms barely appear submerged due to the remarkable clarity of the water. It’s as if I submerged my hands in liquefied air, so pure and clean.
I lift my hands up to my mouth.
I detect both honey and citrus, but there is another ingredient that I can't place. Whatever it is, the water tastes more pleasurable than anything I have ever enjoyed. I finish the drink and attempt to scoop up more. Sal glares at me. I should stop drinking and move on with the ritual but I don’t want to. The stream is simply too wonderful.
I try to cup the second handful, but this time, no matter what I do, the water will not rise in my hands. Instead, I can only bring a dry hand to my tongue.
"He only permits one taste," Sal says. "Otherwise, we would never be content with anything else."
I rise to my feet. We approach the throne, but another Angel stands in front of the large stage. His arms in chains, two angels in gold robes with red trim—the garb of Ceremonials— cling to his shoulders.
Sal turns to me and presses a finger to his mouth.
I nod and watch the scene play out before me.
“I may be a Rogue,” the angel whimpers. “But I can still be faithful. Please have mercy.”
“You have killed. You have harmed the innocent. The mark of blood stains your soul.”
The Prince stands tall before his ornate throne, the bright blue cushions contrasting against the shining gold frame. He strokes his regal beard as he takes a step forward. His blue cape kicked behind him, he descends down the steps and stops just before reaching the same level as his captive. Then, he tosses his dark hair to the side as if dismissing the angel from his presence.
The Ceremonials tug at the chains and drag the captive, but the prisoner pulls back and shouts toward the platform.
“But what of redemption and second chances?”
“There are no second chances for those you killed.”
“Your days of power are numbered. My kind will see to it that you fall.”
“Take this Rogue to the dungeons.”
Two more Ceremonials help drag the outcast from the room. The Prince doesn’t even flinch. Instead he turns to me and Sal.
“I am glad to see you were able to make it in one piece, Michael.”
I smile and try to find the best response, but my mind goes blank. The Prince of this world has just spoken my name. After a few awkward moments, I open my mouth and utter the best sentence I can string together.
“I am glad as well.”
The Prince laughs while Sal looks embarrassed.
“Don’t be so nervous,” the Prince says. “I know that you have been through a great deal.”
“The Rogue who confronted Michael,” Sal says. “He had a weapon.”
The Prince sits back down on his throne, though he never lifts his gaze from me. His jaw appears sharp and his lips narrow. I look down to avoid meeting his glance only to see his bare feet lifted up under him like a carefree soul. The image is completely dissonant with his all imposing stature.
“Yes, they are learning to use advanced weaponry,” the Prince says. “The Rogue that I just condemned admitted as much as well.”
“So what do we do?” Sal asks.
The Prince smiles and looks to me, “What do you think I should do?”
Did the Prince just ask me what he should do? My mind races for the words, but each time I open my mouth, it feels like I can’t force enough oxygen into my lungs to eke out a word.
After what feels like minutes, I manage a response. “Well, perhaps the best strategy is to defeat the Rogues before they do any more harm to our world.”
“Very good. And how should I do that?”
“Use your strength and power?”
The Prince laughs. “I am a musician. Try again.”
“Well, perhaps you should form an army?”
“Sounds wise to me,” the Prince says. “Because that was my plan all along.”
I let out a sigh. That felt like a test. It appears I passed.
"The Rogue,” I say. “He spoke of a coming war.”
“A war?” The Prince leans forward in his chair.
“Yes. The Rogues will take up arms against you and the Origin.”
“Against me and the Origin.” The Prince shakes his head. "Did this Rogue give you his name?"
"No.”
"Typical."
"But he had an x-shaped scar that crisscrossed his mouth."
The Prince’s mouth lifts upward on one side as he looks down at the floor. He appears to be remembering something. “I know this Rogue. His name is Cephus; I gave him that scar for his rebellion long ago. He is dangerous. I am surprised you lived."
“I am too my Lord. But if I may be so bold, does this mean you, a musician, do know how to fight?”
“You question me more than you should.” Thankfully, he laughs. “Knowing how to fight does not in itself make you a warrior, but yes, I know a few tricks.”
“Cephus is a burner," Sal says.
“A what?” I ask.
“Burners are a class of angel with flame giftings.”
“Flame giftings?”
The Prince nods. “Just like Healers have healing lights, there are angels with other giftings. They take many forms and for some it manifests naturally. Others must train to tap their giftings. But at their core they are simple, they are ignited by passion.”
“Why have I never seen these giftings before?”
The Prince frowns. “Because they haven’t been needed until now.”
“Burners,” Sal says. “We believe they make the fiercest warrior angels. You just faced one of the deadliest Rogues and lived to tell about it.”
“So that’s why he appeared to be covered with fire.”
“So you saw it?” Sal laughs. “Good thing you didn’t touch him or you would have been burned to a crisp.”
“But I did touch him,” I say timidly. “And I wasn’t burned.”
The Prince looks at me, and raises an eyebrow. “Salidryl, why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I didn’t know,” Sal says.
“Then it’s clear,” the Prince says. “Michael, I want you to join my new army. Maybe, if you show enough promise, you will even help lead it.”
This catches me off guard.
Sal looks over at me, pleading that I respond.
"Prince you will always have my loyalty, but I am not a fighter. This Rogue nearly killed me and,” I pause. "I was terrified."
The Prince stands and walks down the steps until he is beside me. He is only a little taller than I am. He places his hand on my shoulder. "Don’t you realize that I already know this about you?”
“But my Prince,” I say. “I enjoy my work as a Designer. I find joy in it.”
The Prince stays silent.
“Aren’t we created to increase life? To minister to it? Warfare takes life away. It destroys life.”
“Sometimes, the only way to preserve one life is to take another.”
“Respectfully,” I say. “I don’t want to fight.”
“You were created to fight,” the Prince says.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Well, let’s start with your name.”
I stare blankly.
“The name Michael means ‘one who is the closest to the Origin.�
� Don’t you see? You were set apart by the Origin on your first day. You were chosen, and I want to make sure that purpose is embraced. Will you fight for me?"
I stay silent.
The Prince shakes his head.
I look down at the ground.
"I won't force you," the Prince says.
His voice deepens as he speaks, and I want nothing more than to agree, but I don't know what to say. I say the only words that come to mind. "The Acceptance is tomorrow."
The Prince sits back down and leans forward. His eyes narrow as he looks at me. I feel him peering into my soul.
"Indeed," the Prince says, "I will allow you to return to your designs."
I nod.
"But you will pay for your decision not to fight," the Prince says. "I cannot reward cowardice, nor shall I allow disobedience to go unpunished.”
Sal steps forward, “My Prince, please let me attest to Michael’s loyalty to your throne.”
“Don’t worry,” the Prince says. “He committed no crime worthy of the dungeons. I see his purity of heart, and that is why I shape this penalty as I do.”
A chill flows though me, and small bumps rise from the skin on my arms. I have never been reprimanded and I don’t like it.
“I find you unclean,” the Prince says. “You will perform a ceremonial bathing, and then be kept separate from the clans for a sunrise to a sunset. After the passing of the light, you will be restored.”
I step back. “But tomorrow is the Acceptance.”
“The ceremony must be made up of the unsoiled, the faithful. The clans will gather as they always have, but you will not attend the Acceptance."
"But my Prince," I say.
"You shall not protest," the Prince says. "Your punishment could have been much more severe. Now leave me with Salidryl, for we have important business to discuss.”
I turn to walk out of the Temple, my eyes catch Sal’s. He shakes his head and turns from me.
I have disappointed the One True Prince.
Chapter Four
THE NIGHT OF PARALLELS
STANDING ON MY TERRACE, the sky above paints a shifting and changing masterpiece before me. Purple beams of light flash amidst the background of green and red. The nightly patterns zip about the vapor. The colors flow, touching, and overlapping each other.
The Aurora Stream is a nightly occurrence, though it grows fainter as the days pass. The Scribes say it is a result of the settling magnetic fields of the young planet, and that up at the poles the colors remain just as bright and vivid as they did on Earth’s first day. Perhaps after the Acceptance, I should take Terra up north to admire the wonders. She always was partial to beautiful settings.
However, in the midst of all this amazement, I can’t help but let my mind ask the hard questions. The Origin showed His perfection when He sculpted this world. Every seedling, each foundation, everything had a purpose. He thought through every contingency.
So how was it that he came up so short when he designed me?
I dare not look downward at the Temple grounds. I can’t bear the sight of the Courtyard, where my entire clan will gather without me for the Acceptance. Instead, I will spend my time cleansing the filth from my unclean heart.
A hand grips my shoulder. I turn. Terra sits beside me. I hadn’t even noticed her.
“You need to take that animal back to the Oasis. This isn’t its home. It needs to be in the wild.”
“I know.” I continue to stare up toward the sky, my mind racing.
"Where are you?” she asks.
"I’m in a world that’s so different from the one I once knew."
“The very purpose of life is progress.” She leans in close and rests her chin on my shoulder. I feel the heat from her body. “There’s so much beauty in change if you open up to it."
“I preferred things the way they were,” I say. “I feel like it’s not enough to be me any more. I have to become someone that I am not.”
“I love who you are. You’re innocent, compassionate, and kind hearted, but don’t fight your destiny.”
My breed lifts his head off the ground and stretches to his feet.
“The Prince wants an army to fight them.”
“I don’t know how he’s going to make an army. I mean, who’d he get to fight? Surely he can’t craft an army out of Healers or Scribes?”
“Or Designers.”
“No.” She pulls away from me, biting her lower lip. “We don’t separate.”
“I turned him down. I said no to the Prince." I drop my head into my hands. The weight of my words falls heavy in the stillness.
She doesn’t respond.
I break the silence. “An angel who defies the Prince--how can I live with myself?”
“Perhaps you just needed time,” she says. “It was a lot to ask.”
“I don’t understand these Rogues,” I say. “There are infinite planets. Why do they wage war for this one? They must accept their place.”
“Accepting that you have a place means that you have to respect the one who put you there.”
“Yes, but when I looked into the Rogue’s eyes, I saw more than arrogance. He was filled with something so vile. I honestly thought I could die out there because of how he felt about me.”
My breed lays his head on my legs.
She nods. “You were in bad shape. Healing balm can cure, but some wounds are just too deep for repair.”
“I just wish I had the strength to say ‘yes’ to the Prince. I know his request is right, and I should accept, but I remember what it was like to feel that pain. It was excruciating. I am a coward.”
“Would you still be afraid if I joined the army with you?” she says.
“You’re a Healer, you don’t know a thing about warfare.”
She laughs. “And you’re a Designer, but at least this way we’ll be together. We can support each other. It won’t be so bad if we’re together.”
Her words bring warmth to my chest. But am I really this weak that I need her help?
"Thank you," I say. "Would you really do that for me?”
“I’ll do it for us,” she says. “We need to protect this world. After the Acceptance, we’ll tell the Prince together.”
She nuzzles up closer. “We’re two parts of one whole. Two from one.”
“We are, and this is one part who is sorry for the way he treated you today.”
“Don’t think any more about it.” She grips my arm so tightly it hurts. "Look!"
I peer up toward the sky again. Amidst the ballet of colors, a dark shadow creeps across the face of the moon.
"A lunar eclipse," she says.
My jaw drops as I stand to get a better view. My eyes pull in and out of focus as I inspect the phenomenon. “The Scribes, they didn’t expect this.”
"See this is what you always overlook. With all our knowledge, with all we think we know, the Origin still has His mysteries."
I envy her steadfast focus on the Origin. I wish I didn't get so caught up in all that goes on around me.
"I’m forbidden to attend the Acceptance," I say. “For the first time, I won’t acknowledge the Origin alongside you.”
“What?” Her eyes dart toward mine. “I have never heard of such a thing.”
“A punishment for my choice.”
She pauses.
“Well what we do now, admiring His craftsmanship, probably honors the Origin more than any ceremony.”
I smile but I still have a sinking feeling in my stomach. "This world is changing and I just don't know that I can keep up with it."
"Then stop trying," she says. "Let’s view this eclipse as a sign that the Origin has good things in store for you. Your star will chart its own course.”
Chapter Five
THE ACCEPTANCE
HAVE AN OMINOUS FEELING about today but I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s just because of the pain I feel that radiates from the wound in my chest as it flares up again.
I remove m
y shirt and grab a pitcher of water from the closet. I pour the water onto the wound.
“Aggghhh.” The water burns as it runs down the outline of the scar. She was right; I did re-aggravate the wound.
I sit for a moment in the silence trying to regain my breath. I finished the cleansing ritual earlier this morning, which brought me some peace, but now that I am still, I’m left to my condemning thoughts.
“I will be your warrior,” I say. “I don’t know anything about battles or weaponry. I don’t know how to fight, but I will serve my Prince until my dying day.”
I catch myself talking out loud in the empty room. I wish I were able to redo my encounter with the Prince. I have been replaying the conversation over and over since I left the Temple. Why couldn’t I just agree to his request? He is gracious and wise; he must have seen something in me that I didn’t.
No, I was arrogant and I chose my own will over his wisdom. I acted exactly as the Rogues do. I followed my own urges, but thankfully Terra and I will make things right after the Acceptance.
A small wooden box sitting on the table catches my eye. A reed is tied around it. I lean forward in my chair and bring the case close. Examining it, I find a tag.
The note reads “Dear Love.”
I recognize the script because she never lifts her pen from the parchment. “When I return, we will worship together.”
I finger the box, feeling the texture. The words, “Two from one” are encrypted along the top half of the lid. A silver latch rests at the center of an ornate design engraved in the brown finish. Images of various flowers decorate each of the four corners. Raised on either side of the latch are two angels, clearly resembling the two of us. Finally, she coated it with a lacquer, often used to protect wood from fire, that brings out the color in the wood.
The art isn’t flawless. In fact, the depiction of my face looks rather distorted. But it brings a smile. It is not the work of a Carver. It’s the labor of my parallel.
My curiosity piques as I touch the reed that is affixed to the top of the hinge. For a brief moment, I forget my encounter with the Prince. I focus completely on the contents.
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