The Forsaken (The Chosen Series Book 2), Patricia Bell [e textbook reader .txt] 📗

partake in a lie." Naaman stood his ground. Daniel had never seen anyone stand up so boldly to his father. "And although I agreed to wed her, I would have never consummated such a marriage."

"You dare speak to me in such a way? Shall you be the first grown man in five generations of Chosen to be fleshed-out? Is one girl worth losing your family over?" He sat back into his chair. "Elder Aaron would be happy for the addition to his own family."

Naaman's shoulders slumped. He had given in. "No, High Prophet. That is not my wish."

“Then Naaman!” The High Prophet slapped his hand loudly on the desk. “Find them!”

“Yes, High Prophet. I shall find them.” As the man bowed before the High Prophet, Daniel could feel the fear and tension that radiated from him. He was right to be fearful. The High Prophet would not hesitate to throw Naaman or anyone else out of the community. Even his own family members were not safe from his wrath.

“Now!” his father shouted, and Daniel jumped about as high as Naaman did.

Naaman’s body shook as he turned and rushed to the door. Daniel backed away quickly and ran around the corner to hide. It would not do for the man to see him.

As he passed by, Daniel thought about the incident that happened only half a year before. Another man was brought in to see his father. No, he was more like a boy. Jacob was his name. Daniel had snuck in that day as well and watched as his father spoke to him. Daniel hadn’t understood most of the conversation, but the look in the boy’s eyes when he passed by had haunted Daniel. Had he been the same boy they were discussing? Was Jacob dead? Surely there was more than one Jacob in a community of over a thousand. Still, he could not shake the look he’d seen in the boy’s eyes. The same look of terror that every person had when standing before the High Prophet. Daniel rushed down the hall back to his bedroom.

“Come, son. It is time for our noon meal,” Daniel’s mother, Eve, said from behind, startling him.

“Yes, Mother.” He followed, relieved she hadn’t witnessed him spying on his father again. She’d already reprimanded him several times for the act, but Daniel knew she would not tell his father.

“Josephine has fixed your favorite. Grilled cheese and homemade chicken noodle soup.”

After what he’d just witnessed, Daniel wasn’t hungry, but he smiled anyway and followed his mother to the dining room.

As they sat down at the grand table, Daniel stared at the chandelier above them in deep thought. Dare he ask his mother about the conversation he’d overheard? It hadn’t really been a conversation, but more like a reprimand. But that was how it always went with his father.

As Josephine brought in the noon meal, she bowed to him and his mother. He hated that she was so formal around his parents. He’d known her from birth, and many times she had been like a mother to him, making his favorite meals, telling him stories of her own life and her three children in the outside world, baking sweet desserts. But around the adults, she was different. Stiff. Almost fearful.

“Thank you, Josephine. You may be excused,” his mother said.

The woman bowed and left the room.

“Mother,” Daniel posed as he picked up his spoon. “Remember those kids who ran away. You know, the ones who died in the accident.”

She picked up her own spoon and stirred her soup as steam rolled out. “I have no idea who you could be speaking about,” she said, refusing to look at him. Instead, she steadily stirred her soup.

“You know, Mother. The ones who stole the vehicle and broke through the front gate. Whatever happened to them?” He wasn’t going to let her off easy. She knew exactly who he was talking about.

“Oh, those ones?” Still, she did not raise her head. “The High Prophet proclaimed them dead, remember?”

High Prophet was always what she called him. They did not have pet names like the mothers and fathers on the television shows he watched. He’d never really found it strange before now. It was just how they were. But that day, something about the distant term bothered him.

He evaluated her words carefully. The High Prophet had proclaimed them dead. What exactly did that mean? The mere fact that his mother refused to look at him when she spoke of it, made him wonder what she was hiding. She’d never been able to easily hide her emotions.

“Why was there no ceremony?” He casually took a sip of his soup as if it was an everyday conversation. “There is always a ceremony to honor the dead.”

Daniel had been to each ceremony, honoring the dead, for as long as he could remember. To say it was the joy of his life would be wrong, but it was the only time he was allowed out of his confines. Even then, he was shrouded in veils so no one would see him. He was to remain a mystery until his unveiling in two years. He had no idea why. It was just how things were done. How they had always been done. The one time he’d question it, his father had reprimanded him, saying he was the first to ever question the traditions of the High Prophet in centuries. Properly scolded, Daniel never asked again.

“Eat your soup, Daniel.” She glanced up at him, and her eyes revealed a sadness he’d seen many times before. “Before it gets cold.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The conversation was over. She would speak of it no more. Daniel could have pressed the issue, but it would do no good. His mother would not speak of anything that would look bad on his father. Daniel finished his noon meal in silence.

Just after lunch, Daniel went to the small schoolroom where he would continue his study in Prophets of the Old Testament. His instructor would be there shortly