There Comes A Prophet by David Litwack Page A

but they turned me down. I don't know what will happen next."
    Orah sat on the cot with the tray between them and weighed her response. Her gaze wandered to the cell door, to the food and finally back to him. She drew in a breath and let it out slowly, then reached across and brushed his cheek with her fingertips.
    "I should be angry with you. You should never have risked yourself for me like some fool hero." Then her features eased into a smile. "But thank you."
    He looked at her and grimaced. "Believe me, Orah. I'm no hero."
    He was ashamed to continue. As always, she read his thoughts and knew there was more. But whether out of pity or hunger, she refrained from pressing for now. Instead, she grabbed the loaf and broke it in half.
    "We should eat. We don't know when we'll get another chance."
    He took the bread from her, thankful for the food but more grateful for the reprieve. They ate in silence, showing little appetite but managing to clear the tray.
    Once finished, he still couldn't tell her about the offer. But with no idea how soon the deacons would return, she couldn't wait any longer.
    "What aren't you telling me? If they turned you down, why was I released?"
    Before he could answer, the familiar grating came from across the room.
    Orah startled. "What was that?"
    "Nothing. A new friend, the prisoner in the next room. He's been there so long he misses companionship."
    But then, another, more ominous sound came from the walkway outside. The deacons returning.
    "Quickly, Nathaniel, before they come. What is it?"
    He dreaded the moment but had to tell. The words seemed dragged from his lips. The choice-her teaching or his commitment to the Temple. Her eyes went wide and, for one of the rare times since he'd known her, she was at a loss for words.
    He tried to settle her down. "I made my offer and they've made theirs. I have two days to decide. They agreed to suspend your teaching in the meantime and let us share meals. I thought seeing you would be better, but now my misery's complete. I'm no hero, but I won't let you go to the same fate that befell Thomas and my father and your father. I couldn't live with that."
    She stood, rising to her toes so she appeared taller than she was. Her voice became a hiss.
    "You will not do this, Nathaniel. I forbid it. I'm not frail. I'll survive the teaching better than any of them, you'll see." Her face reddened to match her hair and she was breathing hard. "As far as living with it, if you make this choice and become one of them, you won't live with it long, because I'll kill you. The Temple and their darkness be damned."
    He pressed two fingers to her lips, but he'd never been able to calm her when her blood was up. She twisted away and kept on.
    "The darkness. A tale they made up to control us. Why don't they leave us alone?"
    "Hush, Orah. Think of where you are. Don't make things worse for both of us."
    The sound of metal on metal quieted them, the bolt sliding open. Two deacons entered and motioned Orah to come with them. As she crossed the threshold, she glared back at him.
    "Think hard, Nathaniel. I hope you come to your senses by our next meal."
    Then she was led off, a deacon at each arm. The sound of the door slamming was followed by the most deafening silence Nathaniel had ever heard.
    ***
    The silence didn't last long. The old prisoner gave him enough time to collapse on the cot.
    "A strong woman, yes?"
    Nathaniel kept still, staring at nothing. But this time, companionship was preferable to quiet.
    "Yes. A strong woman."
    "The teaching won't destroy that one. No, no."
    Nathaniel turned and spoke to the hole, his voice rising. "I will not have it. Do you hear me? I will not."
    He could picture the old man chewing over his words before saying them aloud.
    "But to become a vicar? You know what they are."
    "Right now I don't know anything. And neither do you."
    "You'd be surprised."
    "How could you know? You've been locked in that cell for twenty years."
    "What better way to