A Different World: Part 1 - The Siege of Penthorpe Keep - 9. Chapter 9: The Prophet

Everyone inside the church froze, eyes agleam with anticipation. Even the children had gone quiet. It was almost unnatural, this silence. Dionysia’s heart fought to burst its way out of her chest. Here it was, the moment when she would finally get to see the Prophet in the flesh. And why not? It was the least God could do for them after all the pain and heartache her father and she had gone through.

The knight was staring at something no one else could see. His face betrayed emotion. Then a boy, not much older than Dionysia herself, walked to the front of the stage. He was dressed in white robes and satin slippers. His hair was dark brown and long, nearly touching his fingers. His features were graceful, almost androgynous: narrow nose, high cheekbones, soft mouth. His slippered feet made no sound as he approached the wooden pulpit. A few heads turned to the person sitting next to them to whisper excitedly but mostly everyone was still shocked into awe.

What Dionysia felt was scorn. Surely this...this boy could not be the Prophet, the leader God had sent to lead the human race to the alliance with the fae. He’s young, so young, she thought. Then she remembered the tale of David and Goliath, a tale Phil had told to Dionysia and her sisters quite often. “If you ever doubt God’s power, always remember the tale of David and Goliath,” he would say, most of the times as he was tucking them all into bed, his face swathed in candlelight. “He started out as just a shepard. Man always judges by the outward looks, but God looks at the heart. It was Daniel, through the will of God, who defeated the giant. All because God saw something within Daniel we might overlook.”

Dionysia’s cheeks flushed with guilt. She pushed her doubtful thoughts away and concentrated on what was happening before her.

The knight knelt down on his knees. His severe face was fixed with a naked look of exaltation. Dionysia would have found his expression rather comical if not for the severity of the moment. The Prophet smiled, stooped down, and kissed the man gently on his forehead. His movements were graceful, almost angelic. Then the boy turned and faced the crowd. The pulpit itself was tall, coming up to his chest, making him appear small, insignificant.

“Welcome,” he said. His voice reverberated off the walls of the church. There was a steadiness, a confidence that belied his age. Before her very eyes, the Prophet seemed to grow. He was no longer human but something truly divine. “May God’s light shine upon you all.”

“And on you,” hundreds of voices chanted back in unison.

His gaze swept the faces before him, from the front to the back. When his eyes touched upon hers, Dionysia felt her heart flutter. There his eyes seemed to linger - if this was an illusion of her mind, Dionysia didn’t know. His lips spread into a smile. There was something passing between them, a sort of communication Dionysia was aware of but could not understand. This she knew she was not imagining. The moment passed within seconds but for her the time seemed to stretch on. It was a moment she didn’t think she’d ever forget.

The Prophet turned his attention back to the rest of the congregation. “Many of you have traveled from great distances to be here, through the cold with nothing but the clothes on your back. I’m sure you’ve lost loved ones along the way. Don’t think God does not notice your pain or appreciate you preservation, for He sees all. Also remember it is because of Him you are here, for we are all a part of His plan. There is no greater honor. Alas, we tend to forget these things in the moment. We become angry, resentful. I imagine there are some of you who feel this way now, who doubt our Lord...who doubt me. So, I want to take this opportunity to lower our heads in prayer, to remember. Will you all follow me in the Lord’s prayer?”

Dionysia closed her eyes and lowered her head. Her ears strained with longing to hear the Prophet's beautiful voice. When he spoke again his voice seemed to vibrate with power. God’s power. The power only grew as everyone church joined along, hundreds of voices combining into one: “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name, thy kingdom come,

thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.”

She looked up, feeling a warmth, a sense of comfort she hadn’t felt in some time. It was a welcomed feeling.

“We are in the midst of dark times,” the Prophet said to the congregation. “Our enemies wait for us at every turn like wolves at the door. The Black Death spreads with every exhale of the lungs, taking our loved ones away from us without warning. The fae fight amongst themselves and we are caught in the middle. It seems the world is coming to an end, that there is no hope. This is not true. God has a plan in work. Yaldon, the fae king has called for an alliance with the human race, a chance to face these dark times together. For whatever reason God has anointed me to lead those who will follow to King Yaldon’s castle in Blanchet.”

For a moment the church was filled with whispers of excitement. Dionysia glanced at her father. Blanchet? Who would be mad enough to make such a journey?

Dionysia was not the only one to think so.

“Are you mad?” a man shouted, his voice ringing throughout the church.

The church quieted once more. Heads turned in shock to see which fool had spoken such blasphemy. He stood at the front of the crowd, a ruddy faced man with curly hair and a long beard. His face was sickly pale, his eyes aglimmer with challenge. He was looking the Prophet directly in the eye. There was a huge hump in his back, leaving him stumped over. He was thin, horribly thin. Dionysia could only watch with bated breath, wondering what God’s punishment would be for him expressing such doubt. Without thinking she grabbed her father’s hand and squeezed. To her relief, he squeezed back as if to confirm he was here. For this she was ever grateful.

The Prophet’s bodyguard stepped forward, handle on the handle of his sword. Dionysia could easily imagine him unsheathing his sword and cutting the foolish man in half. “Stand down!” the knight roared.

To his credit, the man stood his ground. He said nothing. He only seemed to have eyes for the Prophet.

What happened next might have been a miracle in of itself. The knight unsheathed his sword and rushed towards the man. Dionysia thought she would surely see blood today. It would splatter all over the altar, desecrating this beautiful church, this holy house of God. Then the Prophet was at the knight’s side, hand on his shoulder. Dionysia had been so focused on the knight and the helpless man standing before him she hadn’t seen the Prophet move. Still, surely he couldn’t move so quickly, she thought. Not without the help of a divine power.

She couldn’t hear what the Prophet was saying, but he must have spoken on the man’s behalf because the knight stepped back and sheathed his sword as he gave the man a withering look.

The Prophet smiled at the man and took his shoulder gently. “Do not blame this man for expressing his doubt,” he said to the congregation. “I’m sure he’s not the only one. It’s perfectly natural to doubt. Without doubt there would not be fate. Faith has always been blind.” To the man he said, “What is your name, good sir?”

“E-Ermanno,” the man said in a shaky voice.

“Ermanno,” the Prophet repeated. “Do not fear me Ermanno, and furthermore do not fear God for he is kind and merciful. Just like every man, woman, and child in this church he has brought you here for a reason otherwise you would not be here to stand before me.”

Whatever spirit had caused Ermanno to challenge the Prophet was gone. Now he seemed as enraptured by the Prophet as the rest of the church.

The Prophet moved his hand from the Ermanno’s shoulder to the hump on his back. “This disfigurement, you’ve had it since the day you were born, yes?”

Ermanno nodded with a sniffle.

“I imagine it has caused you great pain, both physical and mental. Even now, just by touching you, I can sense the pain. Many people have been unkind to you. You’ve been beaten and scolded because of your disfigurement for something you were born with. What if I said God knows of your pain? What if I said He loves you more than you could imagine? What if I said He can heal your pain if He so wishes?”

Ermanno’s shoulders shook as he burst into tears.

“Do not cry,” the Prophet set gently, almost tenderly. “Today is not a day for crying. Today is a day for rejoicing for you are about to be anointed in the name of God.”

He led the sobbing man to the basin in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes and dipped his head in prayer. “Lord God, our heavenly Father, we thank you for your great goodness in calling us to know you and to put our trust in you. Increase this knowledge and strengthen our faith. Give your Holy Spirit to this person, that he may be born again and made an heir of everlasting salvation; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.” He dabbed his first two fingers into the holy water and gently made a cross shape on Ermanno’s forehead.

Ermanno fell to his knees and clasped his hands before his face. Tears were flooding down his cheeks now. His face was flushed bright red with emotion. He raised his clasped hands to the heavens, muttering wildly in Italian. Never before, not even in the church back home, had Dionysia seen someone fall into such a state. Seeing it fascinated and frightened her in equal measures.

The Prophet grasped the sobbing man’s hands and helped him to his feet; it touched Dionysia to see the Prophet, too, had tears rolling down his cheeks.

There were gasps from all over the church.

“His hump is gone!” a woman cried. “Look!” she pointed

Ermanno was running his hands over his back, feeling for the hump - but it wasn’t there. It was gone as if it had never been there at all.

A woman fell to her knees, raising her squealing baby into the air. “Bless him! Bless him, please, you must bless him!”

Excitement rolled through the crowd. They clamored to get the Prophet's attention but did not dare rush forward after seeing how willing the knight had been to kill Ermanno.

The Prophet held his hands up and the crowd calmed at once. “Do not worry my good people,” he said. “Miracles are abound. God will not abandon you.”

Row by row, the Prophet summoned people to the front of the church (the knight always stood close by, ready to intervene if need be). Men, women, and children were baptized under prayer. Some simply thanked the Prophet and walked away, bright grins on their face. Others fell to their knees sobbing as Ermanno had done. As the minutes turned into an hour and then two Dionysia only became more immersed in what was happening before her. Each miracle performed eased her doubt. All the misfortune that had happened before this moment ceased to exist for the time being.

When the Prophet beckoned for her to come up to be anointed she could not move. Her father had to help her get to her feet and push her gently forward to get her going. All at once she was standing in front of the whole congregation. His face was like a beacon in the shadows, the skin giving off a phosphorescence that was almost painful to behold.

“Tell me your name, girl,” he said.

“Dionysia,” she said.

He smiled. “What a beautiful name.Tell me Dionysia, do you wish to be anointed in the name of God and his son Jesus Christ?”

“I do.”

He took her hands in his. The moment his skin made contact with hers, a buzzing sensation almost like electricity traveled through her body. It started at the tips of her fingers and ended at the edges of her toes. This is what it feels like to be touched by God, she thought. Her eyes were closed. The only thing she was aware of was his beautiful voice reciting the prayer of baptism. And she was floating, floating, floating. She could no longer feel the floor beneath her feet, the ache in he legs, or the hunger in her belly.

“Give your Holy Spirit to this person, that she may be born again and made an heir of everlasting salvation...”

Somewhere above her there was a light, and stars, thousands of stars...

“...through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.”

Another voice spoke. It said:

“You have been anointed...”

By the time they returned to their room Dionysia was too exhausted to feel hungry. She was asleep as soon as she closed her eyes. When she woke up sometime the next morning, Phillip was in high spirits.

“I got us a hot breakfast,” he said happily, thrusting a steaming plate of eggs and sausage links into her hand.

“Father, you shouldn't have. We can't afford this kind of food. You shouldn't have.“He waved a hand at her. “God will provide a way. He always does. Besides it occurred to me I haven't been taking good care of the only daughter I have left. “

Tears burned her eyes. “You've only done the best you can.”

His face softened. “You are sweet to say so, my child, but that is not the only mistake I've made. I did not comfort you on the Elan Vital when they threw that poor boy overboard. Even worse I did nothing to stop it. Since we left home I've only thought of myself and my grief. I never considered how you might be feeling. I realized this when the Prophet touched my forehead.“ Phillip's eyes became distant, dreamy. “I've never felt anything so beautiful in my life… except when I got to hold you and your sisters after your mother gave birth to you of course. “

Dionysia thought of her own transcending experience. “Nor have I.”

She thought of the floating sensation she'd felt, the heavenly light above her head, the voice that had spoken. She had no doubt it was the voice of God. One day she would tell her father about it but it would not be today or tomorrow. She wanted to cherish it alone for a little while.

“I love you, Father,” she said.

For a moment he only looked touched. Then he smiled and said, “I love you too, Dionysia. “

At midday there was a knock at the door. Phillip looked up from the scroll of parchment he'd been writing on and frowned. “I wonder who that could be. Cleaning lady, perhaps? Get it for me, won't you, darling?”

“Sure, Father.” Dionysia climbed out of bed. She'd spent the last few hours letting her body recuperate. Tomorrow she planned to see if the innkeeper might let her work to help pay for the room. She smoothed her dress out by running a hand over the front before opening the door.

The smile died quickly on her lips. Standing almost a full head taller than her was the knight the Santa Barbara dei Librai. And standing next to him, not much taller than Dionysia herself but looking just as beautiful as the day before was the Prophet.