A Place To Bloom

Called

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

"You Caleb?"

I turned to look. Standing in the doorway to the altar was a man with a worn face and long, graying hair. He wore polished armor, and over one shoulder was a red sash bearing the gold lettering of the Count, held by a gold clasp in the shape of Falcon with His wings swept in a dive. At his belt he had a sword with a diamond-tree stone in a weighted brass bulb at the end of the hilt. He held out a small, folded piece of paper in one hand.

For thine is the kingdom, the honor, and the glory. Amen. I stood. "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. "I have neither sword nor bow, and where is Carthia?"

The man took a deep breath and groaned. "I'm the messenger."

His heavy boots clomped over the wood floor of the church on his way out. As he passed, Sarina's face peeked out from the last doorway. Her simple brown robe bounced spritely as she darted out and flitted over to me. "What was that about?"

I studied the paper in my hand, still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, unsure if any of it was even real. "I've been conscripted."

"No!" Her black eyes locked onto mine. "You can't!"

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

"You can't!" she cried. "No!"

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

She froze. She held perfectly still and gazed through me as though seeing something on the other side.

Father Yewan shuffled close to her as fast as his years would allow and held her steady.

I found no words.

The old man saw the paper in my hand and took it. He held it far from his face and squinted, then turned to look me up and down. He nodded. Then he scrunched his chin, and his eyes started to tremble. Finally he took a deep breath and crafted a smile around his lips. "I knew this day would come."

"You did?"

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

He turned to Sarina, who still hadn't moved. "Sarina?"

She didn't respond. He leaned his face close to hers and called her back once more, "Sarina?"

Her eyes were the first to return. She scowled at Father, "NO! HE CAN'T GO!"

He took hold of her arms, but she shook him away. "NO!" She stormed off.

I called after her, "Sarina!"

But when I stepped to go after her, Father held me back. I looked back at him, and he took my hand. "She needs time with this. First, I have something for you."

"But..."

"You will see her again shortly. She needs to hear it in her mind until she gets used to it—you will see her soon. 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's see what we can find."