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Genesis II: 26-29 The Prophetic Holy Manual.

Exactly a week before her nineteenth birthday and the departure for Earth with her twin brother Etienne, the girl Yve was visited by a Cleric in the traditional brown garb of the Prophetic Church.

It was a warm afternoon in late May, and the Dacourt’s family estate on Muscat, bore all the signs of disarray and frenzy that traditionally marked the beginning of the grape picking season: the usual tranquility of the rambling villa replaced by a melee of hired workers, rusty old ground vehicles, machinery and equipment.

The man was silently admitted through the tradesman’s entrance and hastily escorted up to the educational wing, where Yve was quietly studying.

Standing outside the door to the classroom, he observed her through the mottled window as she concentrated on the illuminated plasma screen in front of her, seemingly oblivious of the scrutiny she was under.

"Is it merely the glow from her tablet or is her skin lighter than is normal?" he demanded in a clipped, rasping baritone, turned to the shorter figure beside him.

The shorter figure swallowed before answering. "The father is unsure as to why, but yes, her skin pigment is several shades paler than the standard Assimilate." A slight twang in his vowel pronunciation marked him as a native of Muscat.

"Interesting," the Cleric mused, rubbing his chin absently. "And does she know of my arrival?"

"Her father has informed them both, yes, though they didn’t know the exact time," responded the escort.

The visitor continued to stare at Yve. "I wish to talk to her. Alone."

In the reflection of her desktop viewer screen, Yve had quickly identified the stranger as a Cleric of the Inner Sanctum: the telltale cut of his silvered hair and brown habit announcing him so. Her father, of course, had told her that such a one was to arrive today, but watching him through the pixilated reflection as she did now, Yve felt a need for these visual confirmations.

Why is he here? Her father had been entirely circumspect when she had asked him.

She noticed a sudden discomfort take Father Paedro then, but couldn’t make out what had been said to cause it. This behaviour immediately struck her as out of character.

"The father might not like that," came the tentative answer beyond the door, "He is….careful…with them, this one especially."

"Now now, Paedro, my will is the Oris’ will. Would you deny him this simple request?"

Father Paedro stood frozen for a moment, caught. A play of conflicting emotions passed across his face….and then resignation could be seen to settle in. He opened the door reluctantly, eyes to the floor, and let the Cleric in.

As the door swung inwards, disturbing the calm of the classroom, Yve reacted with a surprise that was only half put on.

So he’s coming in, is he?

She had rarely encountered Clerics before, but this one looked much as the rest she’d seen: male, greying, heavy browed, ageless. She stood up and smiled innocently as he came to a stop in front of her wooden desk.

"Good afternoon Holy One" she said in the proper fashion she had been taught by her mother. She took the proffered hand and kissed it.

"Jehallah’s blessings be upon you child," responded the Cleric, holding her gaze for a long moment, studying her face. Yve met the gaze and studied him back.

His face, she noted immediately, didn’t carry the expression the Clerics usually wore in church paintings or on the propaganda posters that littered the towns and roadside billboards of her home planet, Muscat. He lacked the openness, the caring smile and the sympathetic eyes that the faces in those images always brandished. His pale blue eyes were more like those of a machine she thought, cold and calculating. She noticed the lack of creases around his mouth, the usual markers of someone prone to smiling or at least occasional mirth.

This one does not laugh, she realized, and with that realization, Yve felt an extraneous chill run down from her head, through her neck and into her shoulders. A nervousness established itself in her stomach.

He indicated she should sit again, a tight movement of his head.

"You enjoy your studies child?" he asked, turning slowly away and studying the helix designs chalked onto the blackboard at the front of the classroom. "Ah, the Muscatan Onyx, I believe." he said, gesturing at the DNA diagram of a local breed of wild deer, and returning his stare to her expectantly.

"Yes, Holy One" she responded flatly as she sat back down again. Her legs felt weak.

She looked toward the door. It was shut again. It bothered her that she could not recall when that had happened. Was Father Paedro outside or perhaps behind her? She didn’t dare to look around for fear of revealing her unfounded anxiety. Unconsciously, she began to bite her bottom lip. The Cleric’s eyes caught the agitated movement. He frowned.

"Something troubles you child?" he asked, his eyes narrowing accusingly.

Yve’s mind raced.

She knew it was true but could not imagine why. Outwardly, she forced calm on herself and smiled back.

"No, Holy One."

Where has Paedro gone!?

"I am merely anxious due to my imminent departure for Earth," she lied, "and all the fuss over the annual grape harvest makes it harder for me to study." She turned her gaze to the blackboard, desperate to escape the icy stare. "The Onyx is my favourite deer. Jean often uses it for my studies……he knows how beautiful I find the beast you see."

"And who is Jean?" he asked, keeping the accusatory stare trained down on her. Yve felt her smile begin to slip.

"My father’s assistant…..and my tutor, Holy One."

"Of your gene studies?"

"Yes," she said, then: "How did you know what subject I -"

"I see," he said, cutting her off. "Quite."

His eyes were boring into her. Just as she thought she could hold the smile no longer, the Cleric whirled around, a nimble movement that didn’t suit him, and moved to one of the windows looking out over the courtyard.

Yve’s body and mind breathed a sigh of relief.

This Cleric was the strangest creature she’d ever come across, and, she felt from somewhere deep and unexplained within her, the most dangerous. She had studied predatorial wildlife from all the seven planets-proper of the Epoch, as well as many other lethal species from the myriad of comets and moons that littered the space in between. But this man of God, this human, staring out of the window at the activities of the courtyard below, her instincts shouted against better reasoning, was more deadly by far.

"I find Muscatan wine too acidic." he commented absently as his eyes followed a ground truck making its way under the gated archway and out into the laden vines that surrounded Villa Dacourt like a besieging army at this time of year. "It rather spoils the palate I find. Tell me, is it true you induce the growth of grapes here my dear? I have read reports on the methodology, but only scanty ones and poorly written."

He turned away from the vista, examined her once more. She swallowed in a dry mouth. Began:

"Muscat, has a near perfect vertical axis of spin, Holy One. Seasons here are therefore barely discernable. The climate is summer all year for those who inhabit between forty degrees north and south of the equator, but this is not entirely conducive to off-world seasonal growth plants such as vines."

She paused in her explanation and under the guise of taking a sip of water from the glass on her desk, scanned the room for Paedro. He was nowhere to be seen. She returned the glass slowly to the desk, continued:

"We therefore simulate seasonal variations by covering the vines for several months of the year, whilst colder air is injected underneath. This system is used across the two Mediterranean belts of the planet. Growth inducement is then staggered by region to allow a constant supply of new wines onto the market all the year round………the Muscatan Wine Cooperative finds cyclical-harvesting like this to…….to be the most profitable." She trailed off weakly under the pressure of his glare. Finishing her explanation, she dropped her eyes to the now dead viewer screen in front of her.

Silence.

Yve could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

"How very interesting," the Cleric said eventually. "I really must read more around the subject. On Ramil, where I come from, the cooler temperatures of course, allow for no sort of wine production whatsoever. I’m always fascinated to learn more about it."

Ramil, that fits – cold planet, cold man, she thought.

At that moment the door to the classroom flew open.

Yve’s head shot up at the movement.

"Mother!" she half shouted, relief poorly concealed in her voice. Her mother crossed quickly to her side and put a protective arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Yve looked up at her, was startled to see perspiration glinting on her forehead, evidence that she had been running. A lock of dark hair hung loose across her temple.

"Ah, the lady of the house no doubt?" inquired the Cleric almost genially. If he noticed the small signs of exertion on her mother’s face, he chose to ignore them.

"Harriet Dacourt, Holy One" she responded in her soft contralto voice, dipping her head slightly with the introduction. Yve could see her struggling to bring her breathing under control.

"I had hoped to greet you personally at the gate Holy One, and show you to the guest room I had prepared for you myself."

There was a slight quaver in her voice. Yve became aware of the fierce grip on her shoulder.

She’s frightened, she realized, and with that: Mother’s never frightened.

"Ah yes, I see. But I decided I would come and see your daughter instead Madame Dacourt. It is after all her, and the twin brother of course, whom I am here to see."

Yve felt her mother’s grip tighten as he turned to look out the window once more.

"Your very knowledgeable daughter was just telling me about your local viticulture techniques - quite fascinating. Such a shame I won’t have time to view them more closely."

"I feel sure our estate manager, Claude Cheavlier, could take you on a brief tour, Holy One." she ventured back, "He is the mastermind behind our whole operation. Monsieur Dacourt and I have so little to do with it really."

"No, no Madame Dacourt, you misheard me: I have no time" he replied. "There are far more pressing matters to attend to."

His eyes flicked to Yve, away again.

"Your will, Holy One" responded Harriet with flat formality.

Damn the Church and damn this monster! she swore to herself. They will not have my children.

"Now Madame, if you would be so kind, please escort me to my quarters. I wish to rest for a while. Two weeks in a cramped shuttle, even one of the more luxurious ones, leaves one feeling rather weary."

"Of course, Holy One. If you’ll follow me, your room is located on the far side of the villa. It overlooks the main vine fields. I hope it will suit." She squeezed her daughter’s shoulder and moved to the door.

"No doubt it will." he replied, and without another look at Yve, moved passed Harriet into the corridor. Harriet turned to her daughter.

"Anna will bring you supper in your rooms tonight Yve. At eight you must come to the main hall, Anna will show you what to wear." She made to leave, paused, and turned back. "Yve tonight is very important. I want you to be alert. Promise me that, my sunrise?"

"Yes mother, of course" Yve replied, confused.

Her mother smiled at her without explanation before finally turning to leave, but there was no support in it for Yve to take.

Very scared, she thought again, as the door to the classroom closed.

Three crisp knocks sounded on the door to Yve’s bedroom. She looked up from the book she had been reading on her bed, smiled to herself; Anna always knocked that way.

Once when she was much younger, she had caught Yve and her brother Etienne with a small carafe of the particularly strong estate Barolo. As they had sat watching the wine being bottled, a mischievous estate worker had slipped it to them with a wink and a finger against his lips. They had sneaked back to Etienne’s room and drunk half the pitcher between them before eventually being discovered by Anna. Their father had disciplined them severely. Anna, feeling somewhat responsible for their punishment had offered a three knock warning ever since.

"Its fine Anna, come in!" she called.

The door opened, and Anna’s silver grey hair and wrinkled olive brown face appeared. She scanned the room, and satisfied that Yve appeared innocent, bustled in carrying a small tray.

"I have your dinner here young lady. Put the book down and sit at the desk if you will, please."

Yve jumped up from her sheets and made her way to the small writing table she kept in the corner of her room below the window.

"What are you reading there?" asked Anna as she placed a steaming bowl of rabbit stew in front her.

"It’s a book about the Church. Mother said I should be alert tonight. I thought it might help." She sipped a spoonful of the stew. It was delicious - Anna was an excellent cook. "I’m assuming it is the Cleric I’m to meet tonight?" she asked, not really needing confirmation.

Anna frowned and picked up the book.

"The Missionaries of the Church." she read off the spine. "Can’t say as I’ve heard of that one before. And what have you learnt about the ‘Missionaries of the Church?’"

Yve thought for a while, her eyes tracing the patterns on a leaf of the rubber plant she kept beside her bed. "In there," she said, pointing at the book in Anna’s hands, "they’re described the same as in all the others I’ve read; kind, caring, wise - ‘The Fingers of Jehallah’ or something similar." She turned on her stool to look at Anna straight on. "But that man this afternoon in my classroom, he didn’t seem like that at all. He seemed more….more…." she struggled for the right word.

"Insidious?" said Anna.

Yve nodded slowly. Yes, that was the word: insidious.

"I saw things in his eyes that weren’t at all what I would have expected, Anna. He didn’t look at me like the Imam at our church in New Venice looks at me. Why is he here?"

Anna sat down on the bed across from her, staring out of the window into the middle distance, sighed. When she looked back at Yve, there was a simmering anger burning in her eyes.

"He’s here to test your brother and yourself," she said quietly.

Yve frowned.

"Test…….for what?" The chill she’d felt before in the classroom returned. She hugged herself, despite the evening warmth.

Anna sighed again.

"You know, Yve, of the Conscription Consecrate?"

Yve nodded. Anna’s nervous too. She said:

"Father Paedro once told me he found Jehallah through it."

"Yes, he did. Many did, or so the Church would have us believe." The sceptical tones in her voice were there for Yve to hear. "The Church, through the legislation that binds the Conscription Consecrate, has the power to take any person it chooses into the service of Jehallah. Refusal was once punishable by death, though I doubt the government would allow that sort of thing today."

Yve gasped. She’d heard stories, faint rumours as a child, but had never known the full extent to which this obscure law reached.

"They want to take Etienne and myself?"

She felt outraged. Jehallah was the one combined God, the creator and master, but the idea of being forced against her will into the service of the Church appalled her.

"I won’t do it! Nor will Etienne." she declared stubbornly. She found herself tense, her breathing heavy.

"Yve…" and again, "Yve!" as she refused to meet Anna’s eyes. "This law is antiquated, and in this day and age its use is all but obsolete. Why this Cleric is truly here I cannot begin to imagine. Your father and mother themselves only learnt of his arrival in New Venice by chance earlier this morning, else I’m sure they would have talked to your brother and you at length on the matter. I can assure you, your father is furious at the very idea," she added as an after thought; Jakob had raged all morning.

"How does he test us?" asked Yve, fear rising in her stomach.

"I don’t know, and that’s the truth my love. Now listen to me," she said leaning forward, "your father is the official Epoch Geneticist and that title carries weight and power child. Do not over worry yourself: your father will not let you two down any other path than the one he chooses for you himself, or else I don’t know him at all."

With that she rose slowly from the bed, wincing as she straightened her legs. "Would that I was your age again," she said with a warm smile, trying to alleviate the tension.

Yve didn’t see it. She was staring blankly at the mosaic floor in front of her, confused and angry.

"Anna?"

"Yes dear," replied Anna as she entered the small closet where Yve’s clothes were kept.

"Jelhallah is God, and God is all the goodness in the world."

"Jelhallah is that and much, much more my dear," came the muffled reply.

"So why would the Church create a law like that?"

The sounds of Anna rummaging in the closet continued for a moment longer, and then she re-appeared carrying Yve’s formal blue corset and dress skirt. She laid them out neatly on the bed, turned to face her again.

"Jehallah is Jehallah, Yve, pure as pure," she said as she put hand to forehead and then up to the sky in the traditional sign of the spirit’s passage to Jehallah. "The Church however, now that’s a different matter. The Church is not run by Jehallah, it’s run by men in the name of Jehallah." She spoke quietly and swiftly as if afraid her words might be overheard. "Not since Adam has there been a man of total pure heart."

Yve had heard her father say something of that sort before. She nodded to herself, looked up.

"Which shoes shall I wear?"

"Oh," said Anna, caught off guard by her sudden shift in direction, "the cream ones I think. The ones your mother bought for you on the Sinsis."

Halfway to the door, Anna turned back to Yve.

"You are as strong and as intelligent a girl as I’ve come across in my long years, Yve. Be both tonight for your auntie Annie eh?"

With that she bustled out the door again, much the same way as she had bustled in, but Yve caught a glimpse of Anna once more making the Sign of the Passage, just before closing the door behind her.

So much is revealed in the shutting of doors, she thought, as she turned to finish her supper.

An hour later, she stood collecting her thoughts, staring up at the ancient, carved wooden doors to the villa’s main hall.

The atrium was peaceful, the dusk twilight kept at bay by only a pair of small candles, flickering in the chandelier above her head. Gone were the day’s raucous noises, and Yve could hear the soft fall of the fountain in the courtyard outside. From beyond the doors in front of her came the muffled sound of conversation.

Her palms felt damp. She had taken a stimutab before leaving her room, something her mother usually objected to. Tonight however, Yve felt that it would help keep her more alert for whatever was in store for her and her brother. Etienne she knew would have done the same: her and her brother shared the affinity of thought that twins so often did. He too would be feeling the drug at work, feeling the extra awareness of the now it demanded.

She wiped her hands on the sides of her satin skirt, took one last deep breath and opened one half of the double door into the hall.

She paused momentarily as her eyes adjusted to the brighter lights of the room. The large fire at the opposite end had been lit, she saw, and more than the usual amount of candles burned in the recesses carved at regular intervals into the stone walls: her father preferring the use of what he referred to as ‘natural light’.

To her surprise, three heads turned toward her. Her father and mother stood side by side next to the fire, and over in one corner she saw her brother Etienne sat on a small couch. The Cleric was nowhere to be seen. Relief engulfed her, destroying the calmness she had forced upon herself outside. She rushed forward down the room and embraced her father fiercely.

"Father! I thought we were to meet him alone. I wanted to come and see you all afternoon, but Jean said you were too busy and that I was to stay in my chambers." She felt tears begin to well in her eyes as she stared up at her father. "Please don’t let him take us!" she pleaded, gripping the back of his robe.

Gently but firmly, he pried her hands from around his waist, took them in his own. Yve, seeing the pain in his eyes at her distress, suddenly felt ashamed of herself, pulled her hands back and wiped her eyes angrily.

"I’m sorry Yve, really I am." His rich, deep voice was familiar and soothing. "As I’ve explained to your brother already, I was with Raif and Claude all afternoon. It was of the up most importance that we found out everything we could about this Cleric and the ridiculous test we hear he wants to put you both through." Bitterness, barely held in check was revealed momentarily beneath his words, but his eyes looked at Yve kindly. "As it stands, we believe we have good legal cause to challenge any decision he may make to take you away."

Yve nodded her head, relieved.

"Have no fear my daughter, your father will not let that man take you away from him under the guise of Godliness." He smiled reassuringly at her.

She felt a stirring at her side, turned.

"Father will not let us down."

"Etienne" she said and kissed her brother’s cheek warmly. She pulled away and stared at her brother hard. She could see the drug-induced awareness in his eyes, tried to read his mood as she so often could. A moment passed between them and then Etienne smiled - a rare gesture. With it, Yve felt her anxieties ease a little further, smiled back.

Off to one side, Harriet stood and watched her son and daughter. As so often happened, she was struck by the extreme similarities and stark differences between them. They both shared the high forehead and cheekbones of the Dacourts, as well as the soft lips and slightly pointed nose of her father’s family, the Bimanzis. Both possessed pairs of her own vivid blue eyes, but whereas Yve’s were framed by a face prone to smiling and long golden hair, an extreme rarity in this day, Etienne’s were capped by more Assimilated-norm black curls and a deep, often somber brow.

"My sunrise and sunset." she whispered, and on impulse, moved forward and stroked both their cheeks.

Yve smiled back at her, turned to her father.

"Did you discover what he wants of us?"

His head shook in response.

"Raif was able to shed a meager light on the subject, nothing more. It would appear, from the few reports on the Conscription Consecrate that actually find their way out of the Basilica, that those chosen for service are highly skilled in something the Church regards as valuable to its own ends." He smiled wryly. "What that means for the both of you, we cannot tell."

Hyper-alert, Yve saw the confusion immediately.

Why is he here then? she asked herself. Her father’s coolness toward the Church was renowned and the Basilica would know even a Cleric, without the legal clout of the Conscription Consecrate, would find it near impossible to get an audience of the sort this one had obtained. It spoke of desperate measures. A faint suspicion formed in her mind, but she dismissed immediately.

"Father Paedro," she said then. "He brought him to me in the first place, surely he knows something more?"

"No, not Paedro," responded her father, "he’s but a simple rustic priest. He but chanced to meet the Cleric as he arrived this afternoon, nothing more, I’m sure. To him the Basilica and its policies are a distant world away. He was simply trapped into following the orders of a far superior clergyman. He has helped shed valuable light on this matter throughout today."

"It speaks of larger purposes." Etienne said beside her. "The Oris’ hand will be in this somewhere; only he has authority to order such a personal visit as this. Something here has piqued his interest…..something…….." He began to mutter faintly to himself, working through possibilities in the way his own tutor Raif had taught him. Yve watched in fascination as his face twisted in concentration. Beside him, she noticed her father shift uncomfortably. Suddenly Etienne fixed her with his steely blue eyes.

"It could only be you they’re interested in sister."

Yve stood stunned for a moment. "Why? How…would you know that?" she stammered.

"I am destined for a career in the Corps and my military and strategic skills are useless to them. Yours…" he shrugged "…...possibly are not. Politically you could prove useful if you do follow in Father’s footsteps. I however, will not be so blessed. I’m sorry Yve, but it makes sense."

"He’s right Yve," said her mother, taking a step toward her "It may help for you to know that."

Yve looked to her father, saw him nod his head distractedly. As she turned back to Etienne he immediately looked away. The fleeting glimpse of his eyes stilled her.

Was that resentment?

At that moment, one of the halls side doors opened and Anna appeared framed against the dim room beyond. She took in the room at a glance, looked at their father.

"He’s coming down from his room now Jakob. Shall I let him in when he arrives?"

Jakob Dacourt nodded once, looked at his children.

"Yes Anna, we’ll be ready."

"Very good."

She disappeared momentarily, came back in again carrying a tray with several bottles of wine and five elegant glasses. She set them down on a small wooden side table near the fire and with one last look at the twins, left the hall again.

In the expectant silence that followed Anna’s departure, Yve watched her father. His green eyes were trained on the main doors where the Cleric would enter. His jaw was set in a tight clench under his dark beard, the muscles beneath the cheeks twitching. He only did that when he was truly worried. Her brother’s fever over a year ago had been the last time she’d seen him so anxious. She looked to her mother, found her staring at Etienne as his eyes bored holes into the slate floor, a look of deep concern on her face.

Had she seen it too……resentment?

The whole scene seemed unreal to her. She felt like laughing almost.

Abruptly, the main door to the hall through which Yve had entered opened. It creaked slightly as it swung inward to admit the silvering haired Cleric. He paced into the room as Anna closed the door behind him, made his way up the hall’s carpeted centre. Yve watched his approach with a growing sense of nervousness. .

"Monsieur, Madame." he said, nodding his head in businesslike greeting as he crossed the last few metres to stand before them.

"Good evening Holy One." responded Jakob, tailoring his voice to the minimum amount of respect needed to fall just short of causing actual affront.

The Cleric raised a solitary eyebrow in response.

"May I commend you on the excellence of your children Monsieur Dacourt, so like to you when you were their age I hear. But will they follow in your footsteps I ask myself?"

Beside her, Yve felt her father’s body stiffen.

"I understand you have a passing interest in our local wines Holy One," he said crisply. He moved to the side table, picked up a bottle of wine. "I thought you might appreciate sampling some of last seasons produce, one of the best vintages we’ve had in recent years."

"Delighted." replied the Cleric. He moved over to Jakob, picked up a glass. "Ramil crystal," he commented, holding the glass up to the light, "the best."

"The best indeed," agreed Jakob, as he poured the Cleric a glass of deep, ruby coloured wine, "if not a little brittle."

The Cleric stopped, his hand mid-way to his mouth, raised an eyebrow once again.

"Quite." he said, saluting Jakob with his glass. Yve could almost believe him amused. She watched as he took a small sip, washed the wine round his mouth, saw the rise of his throat as he swallowed.

Like a vulture, she thought.

"Indeed an excellent wine Monsieur, but I fear, a little too potent for me." He placed the glass carefully back down on the table, barely touched. "Now to the business at hand!" he declared. He wiped the corners of his mouth delicately with the end of two fingers and turned deliberately on Yve.

She felt her shoulders tense, the skin on her back crawl as he slowly approached to within touching distance of her and stopped, head slightly cocked to one side. He stared at her with the same calculating air of their earlier interview. She felt the seconds drag by, chose a spot on the bridge of his nose to focus on, waited…….

A glint appeared in his eyes, his head straightened.

Resolution? No. Satisfaction? She couldn’t tell.

Without warning, the Cleric whirled around on Etienne, face leering. "Boy, you may leave; you are of no interest to me." He waved a veined hand at Etienne dismissively, turned slowly back on Yve, face a grotesque mask of relish. "Your sister however, now there’s a different matter: much more intelligent, far more useful." He snapped his head round again at Etienne who stood fixed to the spot, hidden emotions boiling away beneath his dark features. "Are you still here boy? I said leave! You’re of no use to anyone!" he snarled contemptuously.

Yve’s heart went out to her brother, who remained frozen to the spot, his initial shock turning to confusion and hurt. The twisted irony of it all appalled her, as the vicious insults from a man neither of them wanted to impress took its deep toll upon her brother.

Beside her, Harriet wanted to run to her son, to hug him as if he were a child again, knew that if she took but one step toward him in pity, it would only serve to shame him more. Instead she had to watch silently as he battled with his pride, eyes glazed. To her relief she saw resolve of sorts eventually settle into his face. He took a long breath and tilted his head upward in a show of dignity.

"Goodnight mother, father, sister," he said, nodding to each in turn with painful formality. He visibly forced his blue eyes to the Cleric, "Holy One." It was barley audible. With that he turned and strode from the hall, the door closing a little too loudly behind him.

Silence filled the hall in his absence.

"There now," the Cleric said, as if nothing untoward had happened.

Jakob moved from the table where he had observed the whole interchange, placed himself in front of the Cleric. His right hand clenched and unclenched rhythmically.

"Were you any other man than a Cleric of the Inner Sanctum, I would throw you from my house, be you nine or ninety-nine years of age. That was my son. What crimes has he committed to be treated thus?" The quiet vehemence of his words left Yve shocked. This was her father as she’d never seen before.

"None….as yet," replied the Cleric, seemingly unconcerned. He took a deep inhalation through his nose, stifled a yawn. "I find myself still somewhat tired from the journey. I believe I shall retire. I leave you with my sincere gratitude for the wine Monsieur Dacourt." He turned to Harriet, but as he nodded his respects, his pale eyes lingered on Yve, the same unreadable glint there as before. Then without further explanation, he turned and began to make his way back toward the main door, leaving the three of them in a stunned silence.

Harriet was first to find her voice.

"But the test, the Conscription Consecrate! What of that?!" she called after him, any formality forgotten in her desperation to understand the evening’s events.

The Cleric stopped, half turned back to them.

"Test? I know of no test." He shrugged innocently. "The Conscription Consecrate, that uncivilized old ritual? The Church hasn’t practiced that for years." A corner of his mouth rose in what might have been a smile "No, no, I simply wished to but come and meet your fine young children, and to bestow upon them the Oris’ personal blessing – a privilege he so rarely gives." He twisted a little further to look at Jakob. "He will be so pleased to find, as I have, that they remain on the path to Jehallah’s grace." He nodded his head once more. "Goodnight again. God’s blessings be upon you." With that he continued his steady walk toward the door, leaving the stunned Dacourts staring after him in mute silence.

His back safely turned, the Cleric indulged himself in a larger smile. His master, he knew, would be very pleased with the news he bore.

She’s the one my Oris……she’s the one we’ve been searching for.

John Fosse home Synopsis Epoch Chapter I