followed his parents out the door. They would walk to church, just as they did every week, since Da would never agree to drive the quadrider on the Sabbath. That would require psi. Good thing it wasn’t far.
Fat rain pelted Taemon as soon as he stepped off the porch. The box was heavy, and he felt clumsy with it.
“Don’t drop it,” Da said.
“I won’t.” Taemon tried to find a better position for the box.
Mam fumbled with an umbrella, an absurd mushroom-shaped thing with a handle. No one used umbrellas anymore. She attempted to cover Taemon and the offering box while she and Da got half-soaked in the rain.
Taemon noticed the strange looks from people passing by in their quadriders. They made an odd sight, the three of them lurching and stumbling down the sidewalk, awkwardly trying to stay together under an umbrella that couldn’t possibly cover them all.
At church, the sanctuary was buzzing with talk. Taemon couldn’t hear the words, but he was certain it was about the True Son.
Taemon was the only one who walked up and carried the box to the front of the sanctuary and placed the offerings on the table one by one. Everyone else used psi. He looked at the other offerings on the table. Gold and silver items were popular — cups, platters, jewelry, garden decorations. Glassware, beautifully crafted. Expensive spices. Quite a bit of clothing this Sabbath, in bright colors, elaborately fashioned and embroidered. There was a telescope that looked interesting. The vegetables and grain from Taemon’s family were among the few edible items. He returned to his seat.
Da was frowning, and Taemon knew why. Seemed like every Sabbath the offerings included less food and more trinkets. The offerings were supposed to help the poor people and also support the priests. Of course the priests were the ones who decided who got what, and Taemon was pretty sure that silver tray with the gold filigree edge wasn’t going to end up on a poor family’s table. Most of the finery went to the priests while the poor people got poorer. It didn’t sit well with Da.
Sure enough, Taemon heard Da whisper, “Poor people need tomatoes more than they need earrings.”
Mam glared at him.
When the singing began, Taemon felt himself relax. Hearing Da’s deep, rich voice soothed his thoughts.
The hymn ended, and the priest walked in. Only it wasn’t the priest who normally officiated at Taemon’s church. It was the high priest himself, Elder Naseph, who walked to the pulpit in all his finery and his jinglery. Taemon wondered if he used psi to make them jangle more noisily. Following the high priest were the innocents, the powerless people who lived in the temple and served the priests. Taemon had always ignored them before, but lately he’d been studying them when he could. Was there any way to tell they were powerless? Did it show in their faces? In their bearing? It was hard to say. The innocents kept their heads bowed and their eyes downcast.
Elder Naseph reached the pulpit, and the innocents took their places behind him. The huge book of scripture resting on the pulpit opened itself.
Da opened his book also. Da didn’t use psi, this being the Sabbath and all, so he held the book with his hands and turned the pages with his fingers. The pages rustled noisily. Done with psi, it would have been silent. People glared at him, including Mam, but Da acted like he didn’t notice.
A silent exchange took place between Elder Naseph and Da. The high priest’s intimidating glower seemed to have no effect on Da. He returned the glower with a steady, serene look, as if he’d done nothing wrong. Which he’d hadn’t. Not really.
Elder Naseph broke the staring duel when he looked down to read from the scriptures. “‘The Son who is True shall bear the people into the next Sacred Cycle. A cycle of knowledge. A cycle of new power. A cycle of leadership over many nations.’”
What was that? Taemon had just read that passage a few days ago,
Fat rain pelted Taemon as soon as he stepped off the porch. The box was heavy, and he felt clumsy with it.
“Don’t drop it,” Da said.
“I won’t.” Taemon tried to find a better position for the box.
Mam fumbled with an umbrella, an absurd mushroom-shaped thing with a handle. No one used umbrellas anymore. She attempted to cover Taemon and the offering box while she and Da got half-soaked in the rain.
Taemon noticed the strange looks from people passing by in their quadriders. They made an odd sight, the three of them lurching and stumbling down the sidewalk, awkwardly trying to stay together under an umbrella that couldn’t possibly cover them all.
At church, the sanctuary was buzzing with talk. Taemon couldn’t hear the words, but he was certain it was about the True Son.
Taemon was the only one who walked up and carried the box to the front of the sanctuary and placed the offerings on the table one by one. Everyone else used psi. He looked at the other offerings on the table. Gold and silver items were popular — cups, platters, jewelry, garden decorations. Glassware, beautifully crafted. Expensive spices. Quite a bit of clothing this Sabbath, in bright colors, elaborately fashioned and embroidered. There was a telescope that looked interesting. The vegetables and grain from Taemon’s family were among the few edible items. He returned to his seat.
Da was frowning, and Taemon knew why. Seemed like every Sabbath the offerings included less food and more trinkets. The offerings were supposed to help the poor people and also support the priests. Of course the priests were the ones who decided who got what, and Taemon was pretty sure that silver tray with the gold filigree edge wasn’t going to end up on a poor family’s table. Most of the finery went to the priests while the poor people got poorer. It didn’t sit well with Da.
Sure enough, Taemon heard Da whisper, “Poor people need tomatoes more than they need earrings.”
Mam glared at him.
When the singing began, Taemon felt himself relax. Hearing Da’s deep, rich voice soothed his thoughts.
The hymn ended, and the priest walked in. Only it wasn’t the priest who normally officiated at Taemon’s church. It was the high priest himself, Elder Naseph, who walked to the pulpit in all his finery and his jinglery. Taemon wondered if he used psi to make them jangle more noisily. Following the high priest were the innocents, the powerless people who lived in the temple and served the priests. Taemon had always ignored them before, but lately he’d been studying them when he could. Was there any way to tell they were powerless? Did it show in their faces? In their bearing? It was hard to say. The innocents kept their heads bowed and their eyes downcast.
Elder Naseph reached the pulpit, and the innocents took their places behind him. The huge book of scripture resting on the pulpit opened itself.
Da opened his book also. Da didn’t use psi, this being the Sabbath and all, so he held the book with his hands and turned the pages with his fingers. The pages rustled noisily. Done with psi, it would have been silent. People glared at him, including Mam, but Da acted like he didn’t notice.
A silent exchange took place between Elder Naseph and Da. The high priest’s intimidating glower seemed to have no effect on Da. He returned the glower with a steady, serene look, as if he’d done nothing wrong. Which he’d hadn’t. Not really.
Elder Naseph broke the staring duel when he looked down to read from the scriptures. “‘The Son who is True shall bear the people into the next Sacred Cycle. A cycle of knowledge. A cycle of new power. A cycle of leadership over many nations.’”
What was that? Taemon had just read that passage a few days ago,
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