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Elior
“And the Lord spoke, saying: Out of shadow I will bring forth a Light.
He shall be flesh of man, but Spirit of Heaven.
He shall not speak as the many speak, but his silence shall strike the earth.
Through his wounds, the faithful shall be made whole.
And through his suffering, the Kingdom shall dawn.”
Father’s voice filled the chapel like a river, washing over the rows of bowed heads with certainty and strength. The air was thick with candle smoke and breath; forty souls knelt in white, their faces tipped toward the floorboards. I sat where I always did, on the platform behind him, in the place they called the Seat of Light. It was nearing the end of our Sunday evening worship, which marked the beginning of a new week.
The words Father preached were older than I was. I’d heardthem every week of my life, yet each time I listened to them, they sounded newly born, as if Heaven itself were speaking through Father’s mouth—and I suppose it was.
The congregation trembled with each pause, eager for Father’s blessed knowledge. I could feel their awe rising like heat, curling against my skin.
Father turned, eyes bright as firelight. “The prophecy was fulfilled in this place,” he said. “The Light was born among us. Flesh of man, Spirit of Heaven.”
He gestured to me. Every head lifted. I felt the weight of forty gazes press against me—loving, fearful, desperate. I folded my hands and lowered my eyes. It was not my place to meet their stares. The Vessel must not invite pride.
“The Light endures,” Father said.
“The Light endures,” they answered.
Their voices rolled together into a single sound, like wind through stone corridors. I tried to let it pass through me, although this part always made my skin prickle. I suppressed my shiver, as I needed to remain as still as possible until the service had concluded.
Father’s sermon went on, speaking of obedience and cleansing and the coming dawn. I listened carefully, though my thoughts began to wander as they always did. Father said it was proof of the shadows trying to snuff out the Light, and that I must never succumb to wayward daydreams.
I caught myself and quickly prayed for forgiveness under my breath.
When the chanting ended, the members of our congregation pressed forward one by one to kneel before me, whispering prayers I could barely hear. I offered them the same small, practiced smile—the one Father said would remind them of the grace my presence gifted them. My cheeks ached from holding it.
A woman near the end of the line began to cry, making my heart wrench. I wanted to lift her face, to tell her she needn’t be afraid, but the Vessel does not speak to followers, especially not during service.
I wished I could’ve at least offered her a hug or pressed her hands into mine to comfort her, but that was not what the Heavenly Father wanted for me, and I would not disobey Him.
So I stayed still, smiling gently at the last few members who knelt before me, until Father’s hand brushed my shoulder, a light pressure that drew me out of the trance I sometimes slipped into.
The chapel emptied slowly, one of our older members—Kenneth, who the Light had so enraptured that he’d renounced his sons and daughters, even leaving behind a few grandchildren, for the opportunity to live amongst us—being the last to amble slowly out of the building, heading towards the men’s dormitory.
Father watched as the older man left before turning to me. “You did well,” he said, the words heavy with approval. “They saw the Light in you today.”
I bowed my head, biting the inside of my cheek to contain my smile at Father’s praise. “Thank you, Father.”
His smile was distant but satisfied. “You will be ready at dawn for confession. I will have Dahlia prepare your breakfast after. We just got a shipment of fresh strawberries in. If you’d like, I can tell her to bring you a bowl. I know how much you like them.” Father was so thoughtful—I loved him so, so much.
Father extended his hand, taking mine to help me down from the Seat. As my feet touched the ground, I couldn’t help smacking my lips at the thought of biting into a juicy strawberry—it wasn’t often that the Covenant received shipments, especially those from out-of-state. We had a garden at the center of the compound, managed year-round by a few of the wives andsome of the younger children, but they had to focus on what grew best in our soil and climate, which, very sadly, was not strawberries.
We never went hungry, as God never failed to provide us with enough food. We enjoyed many plentiful harvests, which left us enough to sell to folks outside of the community for a small profit.
It was just that eating corn for almost every meal—God forgive me—was sometimes not the most enjoyable experience. There were only so many corn-centered dishes.
Father’s fingers tightened briefly around mine before he released me. “Go and rest, Elior. Tomorrow will be long, and the faithful will need your strength.”
“Yes, Father.”
