A Place To Bloom

Called

Father in Heaven, I have sinned. Sorry... hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done...

"You Caleb?"

A man stood in the chapel doorway, his worn face framed by long, graying hair tied behind his back. He wore polished armor and a red sash with gold lettering fastened at one shoulder by a gold Falcon clasp. From his belt hung a sword with a diamond-tree stone in a brass pommel, and he held out a small, folded brown paper.

For thine is the honor the glory amen. "I am he."

"You're called to arms. Take your sword, your bow, and make for Carthia at once."

I took the paper and opened it. Above the words pronouncing my fate was the gold Falcon seal from the Count of Osenia. "I have neither sword nor bow, and where is Carthia?"

"I'm the messenger," he groaned. His boots clomped over the wood floor on his way out.

A mass of kinky bronze hair popped out from the last doorway, and Sarina turned to face me. "What was that about?"

I read the paper a second time.

A third time.

This can't be real.

She snatched the summons and looked it over. "NO!"

I shrugged. "Well, I suppose I'd rather not..."

"No! No! No!"

"Sarina?" the old friar's voice creaked from behind us, "what is the matter, darling?"

She froze. Her black eyes fixed on some point not in this world.

I immediately took hold of her arms before she could fall, and the paper slipped from my hand. She wasn't frothing at the mouth and screaming this time; I could call her back.

"Let me." Father Yewan ushered me to the side and pulled her to face him. "Sarina?"

She gazed through him as though he weren't there.

He leaned his face close to hers. "Sarina?"

Her eyes shifted, and she scowled at Father. "No! He can't go!"

He reached for her arms again, but she tore free. "No!"

She stormed out of the church.

"What's this?" The old man saw the paper on the floor and stooped down to pick it up, only to stop midway and reach out for the wall to hold himself steady. I picked it up and handed it to him. He held it far from his face and squinted, then looked me up and down with a nod. He scrunched his chin, and his eyes started to water. Finally he took a deep breath and crafted a smile across his lips. "I knew this day would come."

"You did?"

He raised a finger. "I have something for you."

"What about Sarina?"

"You will see her again shortly. She needs time to hear it in her mind until she gets used to it—you will see her soon. First, I have something for you. Come."

He led me down the narrow, freshly plastered hall at a slow pace, past a scribbled drawing down by our knees.

"Tonight," he explained, "we shall have a proper farewell for you in the great hall. My eyes don't work as they once did—are they sending you to Kulun?"

"No," I shook my head. "Some place called Carthia."

The old man furrowed his brow. We walked past a group of painted handprints of all colors on the wall, each no bigger than my palm and no higher than my hip. I looked at the paper again to be sure I'd read it correctly. Father shook his head. "I can't say I've heard of it. Let us see what we can find."