Ashes of the Sun Page 2

Our routines were rigid. But the times allowed for talking together were sacred. Laughter was hallowed. True joy was a gift none of us took for granted. Mostly because we experienced so little of it. We spent most of our time fearing the inevitable.

  I wanted to be with Anne and Mom. I wanted to laugh too. But I knew that this was more important.

  It felt life changing.

  “I think about being here. Being a disciple for The Gathering,” I told him. This should be self-explanatory.

  I hadn’t been given a choice to come. But now I chose to stay.

  I was fifteen. In the full throes of teenage-hood. Ready to be an adult, yet with a childlike devotion to those around me. In my mind, my heart, my soul, I belonged here. With my family. With my faith.

  With Pastor Carter.

  Pastor smiled. His smiles were strange things. They didn’t seem to be born from happiness. They were mired in grief. In hope. In everything he took on for the rest of us. His smiles made me sad for him.

  “Tell me about The Awakening, Sara,” he prompted softly. He stood at the wall of windows, his back to the sun. It’s dusky glow like a halo around him. I had to look away. It burned my eyes.

  “The Awakening?” I swallowed. My tongue felt thick. Too big for my mouth.

  Pastor Carter nodded.

  The Awakening.

  My head buzzed.

  My heart thudded.

  The Awakening.

  I wasn’t scared. I was… exhilarated.

  “We are all waiting for our Awakening. We pray to be taken so that we can start again. In a new world. In a new life. Away from the pain of the outside. Away from the destruction of a greedy earth and a life of darkness.”

  My words took on the impassioned breathlessness of the eager. Of the fervent.

  Pastor Carter crossed the room to where I stood. He took my hands. Smooth palms. Cold skin. I relaxed. Like a prayer, he soothed me.

  “What if I told you The Awakening is soon?” he murmured. I wasn’t sure I had actually heard him.

  I straightened my shoulders. “I say I hope I’m ready,” I said steadily. My eyes felt hot. The tears threatened.

  Pastor rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. “I’ve watched you since you were a girl, Sara. You’re different than the others. Different than your mother. Better.”

  I felt immeasurable pride.

  Better than my mother.

  I loved her, but Pastor had to know how much those words would mean to me. He wasn’t blind to the strange competitiveness between us. One that came from her insecurities, not mine.

  “Tell me about the Awakening,” he said again.

  I frowned. I didn’t understand. What did he want me to say?

  I knew I had to please him. I wanted to. I had spent years existing in the bubble he had created.

  “We are all waiting for our Awak—”

  “No,” Pastor Carter interrupted. His voice sharp. That one word slicing me open.

  I sucked in a breath. The pain of not doing what he wanted acute.

  “Tell me about your Awakening,” he corrected. Then smiled again. So painful.

  “My Awakening…” I said slowly, drifting off.

  Smile.

  “It’s time to prepare, Sara. Your soul has to be ready.”

  I felt a mixture of so many things. But I recognized very real fear as the most prominent.

  Pastor Carter must have seen it on my face because he took me in his arms. He held me close. The way a father would. Almost.

  He led me to the small door at the far end of the room.

  “Show me what God has made,” he whispered. A strangled command I was meant to obey. “I am God’s servant. I am his messenger. His will is mine. Mine is his. Trust in me, for what we do is holy.”

  My cheeks were wet with tears.

  “You will lead the way for all of us, Sara.” He spoke it as a promise as he closed the door behind me. Enveloping me in a new kind of darkness.

  I would lead the way.

  The end was the beginning…

  “I’m not sure,” I told her truthfully. I squeezed her hand. “But all our paths are just as important.”

  Anne nodded. Her smile was less bright though. I put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I think Evelyn made those oat cookies you like so much.” I was trying to distract her. I didn’t want her to feel bad.

  The truth was Anne’s fate was very different than mine.

  Pastor Carter had said so.

  “Will Anne be Awakened too?” I had asked that first time. The most important time.

  Pastor Carter’s smile was gentle. The kind of smile you give when you let someone down.

  “I know you love Anne. We all do. She’s a wonderful child of God. But her path is different. She’s not you, Sara,” he had said.

  “But she’s special too—” I had started to say but Pastor Carter held up his hand, silencing me instantly.

  “You’re special, Sara. Very special. Especially to God. And especially to me.” He had hugged me again and it felt good and warm and right.

  I never mentioned Anne’s path again.

  I focused on me. And preparing my soul.

  Because Pastor Carter told me that’s what I was meant to do. And I knew that God spoke with Pastor’s tongue. We all believed this.

  “It’s my turn to clean up after our meal.” Anne made a face. “Why do I always get the jobs no one wants?” She laughed but it sounded false. “I’m starting to feel like I have no real purpose here. Except as garbage lady.” She laughed again and it was jarring to hear.

  I took her hand, lacing our fingers together in the normal way for us. “Of course you have a purpose here, Anne. Don’t be silly. You help me with Bible study, don’t forget.”

  “Minnie and Bobbie straighten the hymnals. Stafford is responsible for cleansing the Sun Sanctuary. And Caitlyn walks with Pastor and writes down his words for our holy book—”

  “And Tate cleans the shower room. And Sharon washes the floors. We all have duties that require more or less of us,” I reminded her.

  Anne smiled again. It was her default reaction to stress and worry. To happiness and joy too. She used her smiles as a wall to keep doubt and pain away. I was pretty sure it didn’t work. I was privy to the secrets of my best friend’s heart and I worried that her unhappiness was too much sometimes. For her and for me.

  I couldn’t dwell on negativity. None of us should. Pastor Carter said it was a symptom of a diseased world. And at this point in our journey, we should be better at dispelling it.

  Anne was slower than most in walking the path.

  I shook her arm. Slightly. A note of warning. “Accept what you are given. Blessed is the day God has made.”

  Anne’s shoulders slumped a little, yet I couldn’t feel bad for lecturing her. It was what she needed to hear.

  “I shouldn’t complain. I am blessed with this life.” I could still hear the lie and I knew she didn’t entirely believe what she said. That concerned me more than anything.

  “I’ll help you clean up after the meal,” I said, hoping that would be enough to turn the dark thoughts away. I wasn’t entirely sure if it worked.

  “Sure, that would be great. It’s been a long time since we swept a floor together. Especially now that you have so many meetings with Pastor.”

  I hugged her. In so many ways I was closer to her than anyone. Anne was the family my mom wasn’t.

  I loved my mother but she wasn’t mine to claim. She hadn’t been since I was eight years old.

  She belonged to The Gathering. Her position as highest ranking elder meant most of her time was spent in prayer and solitude. And when she wasn’t in the Sun Sanctuary, she was by Pastor Carter’s side. His right hand. Teaching and sharing the word of God as received by Pastor.

  She was still a woman of ebbs and flows. Her love could be given so easily. It could be taken away without hesitation.

  The disciples accepted her “fits” as something beyond m
ental illness. That was too narrow a definition for what my mother experienced. Pastor recognized her for what she was. A truth-sayer. A prophet. A purveyor of the holy.

  Because of that, Pastor Carter elevated her status within the Gathering of the Sun soon after our arrival. He claimed that her scattered mental state was a result of her brain trying to process messages from God. Her body couldn’t contain such divinity. He said history was littered with stories of people dismissed as crazy when they were really filled with a mystical truth.

  What had been diagnosed as depression and paranoia was in actuality something greater. Something amazing.

  Pastor Carter embraced those things the rest of the world misunderstood. The people they turned their back on. The shunned people. The marginalized. That’s why we loved him. That’s why we knew he would lead us to better things.

  No one could dissuade us from that one absolute fact.

  “What’s going on?” Anne asked, stopping before we entered the dining hall—a long, narrow building made of clap board and off cuts of wood.

  There was a commotion by the Sun Sanctuary. I saw two men surrounded by a group of disciples. I could hear distressed murmurs.

  “Let’s go find out.” I pulled on Anne’s hand and we hurried over.

  “What happened?” I asked the closest person, Bobbie Mann, a disciple only a year older than me. He stood nearby watching the scene with a blank expression. He wasn’t a man prone to emotive responses, yet the firmness around his mouth alarmed me.

  “They went to town to get some supplies Pastor needed,” he answered, his voice low.

  I looked at the two men—Adam Brewer and Tyler Rhea—and noted that both appeared to be hobbling. Adam had a busted nose that bled sluggishly. Tyler was cradling his left arm to his chest.

  They had gone into Whistle Valley, the small town at the base of the mountain. I didn’t need any more explanation than that.

  It wasn’t the first time a disciple had gone into town only to return battered and bruised.

  The people of that tiny, tiny town hated our family. They tried on numerous occasions to evict us from the land. Public officials had shown up at the gate, demanding to be let inside. There had been reports of child abuse. Of ritualist murder. Of every terrible, depraved thing you could imagine.

  Pastor Carter always handled it.

  We stayed away from Whistle Valley as much as possible. People only went when absolutely necessary. Venturing into the outside world wasn’t something any of us relished doing.

  Seeing Adam and Tyler only reinforced every single horrible thing I had ever been taught about the people out there.

  My mother rushed over. Her long hair knotted and tangled down her back. Her leggings, torn at the knee and her thin, cotton dress dirty. She clearly hadn’t bathed in several days. Nor changed clothes. She was in the midst of a prayer journey. Sometimes they lasted days. Sometimes weeks.

  Everyone parted the way for her, allowing her access to the injured men. She put her hands on their foreheads and closed her eyes, her lips moving silently.

  All noise ceased.

  We held our collective breaths and waited. We needed direction. We needed to be told what we must do.

  We would not make the decision ourselves.

  Mom began to hum. It was a pleasing sound. Melodic and high pitched. As if tuning into a frequency only she could hear.

  I recognized the wild look in her eyes. Her mind was most likely brimming with some new message. New words to share with our family.

  I watched the woman who had given birth to me with a mixture of awe and fear. My early childhood—in the days before The Gathering—was peppered with memories of her like this. It had scared me then.

  I hadn’t understood why she was the way she was. I had curled into a tiny ball and waited for the madness to pass. I had wanted to make myself as small and insignificant as possible to wait out the storm.

  I had since learned the reasons for things.

  “We must pray,” she howled, falling to her knees. I immediately bowed my head, sinking slowly to the ground. Following the orders as they were given.

  “Pray for the souls of those who wish us harm,” Mom wailed, her hands raised upwards towards the sky. Towards the sun.

  “Pray for the healing of Adam and Tyler. Let the sun bathe them in warmth and light. God’s ultimate gift to us.”

  We all lifted our arms in supplication.

  And still we were silent. Letting Mother speak for us. To pray for us.

  There was the sound of footsteps on gravel. I didn’t open my eyes. I could sense him.

  “My children. Blessed is the day God has made,” Pastor Carter murmured. I felt his hand on my head. His fingers stroking my hair before he moved on.

  My stomach clenched and then retracted. I felt mildly nauseous.

  “Try to forgive those that hurt us. Pray for our own immortal souls. Look to The Awakening. The sun guides our way. Adam and Tyler remind us not to waste time on those already lost. You can’t change their hearts. They will know only pain and suffering at the end,” Pastor Carter preached, his voice like a hundred bells in my ear.

  My muscles were taut. My head began to pound. Remembering what lay at the bottom of the mountain filled me with an anxiety that consumed me.

  But I was safe.

  Here.

  The Gathering of the Sun protected me.

  “Blessed is the sun. Blessed is our path. Blessed is our family.”

  We repeated Pastor’s words in unison. As we had been taught to.

  Over and over again.

  The act of repetition calmed me.

  I felt Pastor’s hand on my head again. His palm warm. “Blessed is our path.”

  I bowed my head further. My chin touching my chest. My hair falling on either side of my face.

  “Blessed are the chosen,” I whispered.

  And I felt the prayer.

  There was no room for any doubt in my heart.

  “What do you think happened to Adam and Tyler?” Stafford asked, his hands wrist deep in the dirt.

  Caitlyn passed him a handful of seeds and he dropped them into the hole before covering it up and patting it smooth again.

  We kneeled in a line. All of us. The small group of teenagers that lived at The Retreat. There weren’t many. Our family comprised mostly of adults. Children were few. The youngest being Rosie Fisk, who was six.

  The path wasn’t always a journey for younger souls.

  Minnie Gardner, Stafford Morgan, Caitlyn Rogers, Bobbie Mann, Anne, and I were spending our afternoon in the large communal gardens. Planting seeds. Tending to the crops we used for food. We lived off the land. We grew what we ate. It was God’s way of providing for his flock. And in turn, we cultivated what he so lovingly bestowed.

  I enjoyed farming. I loved the feel of the dirt underneath my fingernails and the smell of the wet earth. It was a place of solace for me. I had a true gift for growing things. It was my duty to share it with my family.

  Sometimes—only sometimes—I wished I didn’t have to share. That I could plant a flower and watch it bloom, just for me. For no one else. But nothing was mine alone. It belonged to everyone. When anyone looked at me, they saw total and complete devotion to my task. They’d never know how I resented it.

  Only a little.

  “We’re not supposed to ask,” Caitlyn chastised, giving the required answer before I could. She looked at me as if for confirmation she had done the right thing in admonishing him. Caitlyn was a year younger than Anne and me. At seventeen she had the body of a thirteen-year-old. She was what most would label as a late bloomer. She had long hair, like the rest of us, a deep shade of red that was easily her best feature. She was also clingy and wanting validation in all things. She was a nice enough girl, though perhaps a bit annoying at times. Like the younger sibling you could never shake loose. I was patient with her, as I was meant to be. Stafford and Minnie not so much.

  I gave her a small nod and C
aitlyn returned to the tomato plant she was pruning.

  “Caitlyn’s right. We’re not to speak of it. Only pray for forgiveness for those who hurt them.” I watered the fledgling pea shoots and got to my feet. My back ached from bending over for so long.

  “It’s messed up though. Adam’s arm is broken. And Tyler’s eye is swollen shut. You should see him. Why do those people hate us so much?” Minnie spoke up. She and Stafford were one and the same. A little bit of trouble. A little bit of a handful. They weren’t exactly model disciples. They gossiped and had more than their fair share of sinful thoughts and behaviors. They had also spent more than their fair share of time at The Refuge. And it was only the fear of returning there that kept their sinful natures in check. Kept their comments confined to our small group.

  Though I felt like a disapproving mother having to keep them in line all the time.

  Minnie was beautiful by anyone’s standards. With long blonde hair and dazzling hazel eyes, she was the sort of girl that in any other situation, would intimidate me. She was pretty and knew she was pretty. But here she couldn’t use her looks to their best advantage and I had no doubt that for someone like Minnie Gardner, that was difficult. It was obvious she held onto her vanity more than the others, though she hid it. She snuck lemons from the kitchen to lighten her hair and I caught her crushing berries to redden her lips.

  And Stafford noticed. He wasn’t good-looking, but Minnie clearly enjoyed his attention.

  “They may hate, but we have to love twice as much,” I said primly, wiping my hands on my patchwork pants. They were becoming thread bare. A hole had started on my knee, I would have to sew on a new patch otherwise I’d be down a pair of trousers. We had few possessions at The Retreat. What clothes we did have had to be cared for and would need to last us for many seasons. I wasn’t very good with a needle and thread. Making clothing from scratch took a long time and I would rather expend my energy in prayer or in the garden. Yet sometimes I wished for a decent pair of jeans. Something frivolous.

  Then I’d chide myself. Desiring nice dresses and trendy shoes was a waste of emotion that I wouldn’t succumb to.

  “Always the right answer,” Minnie muttered. She jabbed her fingers into the dirt, digging deep.