An excerpt from the Chosen Ones: Unraveling the Omen - Chapter One

Chloe Hewitt

     The towering ceiling of the cathedral echoed with the sound of dozens of people pushing off of benches and shuffling their feet as they rocked back and forth to coax their limbs into waking. A few sniffs and a couple light coughs bounced against the crystalline and pale white stone walls and circled back to those who had made the noises. A giant time-glass filled with dark sand stood in an archway high above the chancel. The small, black flecks that trickled down into the lower of the glass bellies indicated that the sermon had taken nearly three eye passings. It was near the judging eye now, almost midmorning.
     Targa licked his lips as he bowed his head, clasped his hands together, and pressed the knuckle of his left thumb against his forehead. He felt anxious to leave the cathedral. He had never been good at sitting still through sermons, acting the same as when he had been a small boy. His brother had called it a “serious case of restlessness.” Targa didn’t like to think he was restless. He didn’t like wandering from place to place. He enjoyed his solitude in the temple, and the time he spent reading the ancient scrolls and his study texts or shadowing his brother. He just … didn’t enjoy listening to the head priest repeat the same words over and over again every Ake.
     He enjoyed some of the sermons from the other priests. But the ones on the first moonrises of each garner were always the same word for word as they had been before. It got … boring to listen to the sermon repeated over and over again.
     Targa closed his eyes as he said the prayer in his heart and not aloud.
     “Oh, Great One, hear our plea,” a chorus of voices throughout the cathedral murmured. “We beg of You to give us unfaltering sight, to gift our ears with perception, and to guide the path which our feet take. I beg of You, protect me from the wiles of the tempted and corrupted ones. Bless us, Oh, Great One, and give heed to our humble request. We thank You for Your devotion, Your love, and Your blessings. Peace upon peace on our households, our lands, and our realm, forever and ever more. Amen.”
     Targa lowered his hands and lifted his head. He looked around as priests, clerics, and other members of the fellowship began to drift away from their benches and either flock together to discuss news from the past garner or swiftly exit the cathedral after a few polite nods to the head priest. 
Targa felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned his head to his right and furrowed his eyebrows.
     His brother stood there, silent but with a wide grin on his face. His golden bronze skin was a touch lighter than Targa’s, and his dark chocolate hair, braided and plaited into narrow strips that fell from his head like a woven waterfall, was pulled back with a single leather band. His pale blue shirt was nearly hidden underneath his dark turquoise tunic. His trousers, puffed out at the legs and tapering at his ankles, had sash wrapped around the waist. His light gray eyes danced with the cheer that Zarta wore on his heart like adornments.
     “I’ll be heading to the southern court now, if you want to join me,” Zarta said. “Akata invited me to watch a sparring match between several of the fresh custodian recruits to-moonrise. I’m not sure about you, but it’s always funny to watch the new ones try and figure out how to handle their weapons. It’s like they’re newborn calves trying to take their first steps.”
Zarta laughed at the image, and the corners of Targa’s mouth twitched into a small smile. Though, Targa felt his insides churn. He didn’t hate watching these sparring matches and lessons taught to the custodians with his brother, but they made him feel uneasy. Old whispers from four harvests ago pressed against the back of his mind, but Targa refused to let them surface. He always felt unwell and depressed when he did.
     `All right. I’ll go with you,` Targa signed.
     The corners of Zarta’s eyes crinkled a little as his smile dimmed just a fraction. “Are you sure? I know it’s … not the type of thing you like doing in your spare time. You prefer your tomes and scrolls, but watching two men wrestle around and smack each other with wooden sticks shaped like swords? Ehh, it’s not – Ah, you know I just asked just to let you know where I’m going, right? I wasn’t – Erm. It’s all right if you want to come, I’m sorry. I won’t try and make you not come.”
     `I understood what you were trying to say. It’s all right. Thank you for looking out for me, but I’ll be fine. I can bring one of my scrolls to read. We have to go by our rooms first.`
     Zarta scratched the back of his head. His other hand rested on the bluish-green sash tied around his waist, and he shuffled the toe of his sandal against the stone floor. “Ah, well, … I promised Akata I would head to the court as soon as the sermon ended. I don’t want to keep him waiting. You know how impatient Akata can be.”
     Targa grimaced and nodded. He remembered once when Akata had been held back from attending his studies for a couple eye passings because his sisters kept delaying him. The fit he’d thrown upon entering the courtyard would have made fires afraid. Targa shook his head and sighed. Sometimes he wondered why his brother even hung around the temple guard apprentice.
     Targa tapped his right foot against the floor as he thought about going to the rooms by himself and grabbing a scroll. He didn’t like being by himself, even in halls that he had grown up all his eighteen harvests walking around. But he didn’t want to make Zarta or Akata feel bad by making them wait.
     With a sigh, Targa waved his hands around. `I can go myself. I’ll be at the southern court in a few winkings.`
     Zarta patted Targa on the shoulder. “All right! I’ll see you soon!”
     Targa pursued his lips into a thin line as Zarta turned on his heel and took off down the hall toward the cathedral doors. The edges of his tunic flapped behind him, and his braids bounced around like loose strings. Targa pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids and exhaled a deep breath. It would be fine. It was just a quick walk to his room and then to the court. Nothing would happen. Everything would be fine. The temple was well-protected.
     It had been well-protected four harvests ago.
     And nothing had happened since.
     But something happened then.
     Targa tucked hands into the sleeves of his tunic and quickly strode toward the massive wooden doors that connected the cathedral to the rest of the expansive temple. He nodded to a few of the people he passed by and smiled at others. He enjoyed knowing and recognizing the faces around him. As a cleric apprentice, it was his duty to learn how to get along with others and put their hearts at ease during times of tribulation, such as drought or upheaval caused by raiders from the Grahan Dale. Strange how he could quench someone else’s discomforts so easily and not be able to extinguish his own.