Phoenix Without Ashes by Harlan Ellison, Edward Bryant Read Free Book Online Page A

silently.
    “It has been ordained,” continued Jubal, “that thee shall cease thy stay here in the hills and shall appear once more before the Council. The noon service has commenced. Elder Micah awaits thee at the Place of Worship.”
    “Why am I summoned?” said Devon.
    “That is a matter for Elder Micah to explain. It is merely thy duty to obey the summons.” With some irritation, Jubal felt the rub of new blisters on the leather-shod undersides of his feet. He added, “Were it my sole decision, I would allow thee to range these hills until recantation brought thee low.”
    “I would like that,” Devon said.
    “You might starve thyself, boy.”
    Devon shook his head. “I have trapped rabbits.”
    Jubal looked around the hilltop as though searching for remnants.
    “Beyond the next hill,” said Devon. “Almost to the sky. I built a fire.”
    Jubal looked disappointed. “This was to be a time of cleansing tribulation. It is instructive to suffer and endure, boy.”
    “I did, Elder.”
    “It was to be a time for meditation and reflection.”
    “That also, I did, Elder.”
    “And a time for repentance.”
    Devon turned away from the old man and faced the valley. “Yes, Elder.”
    “Recalcitrant whelp,” Jubal said under his breath. He started back down the path. “Come, Elder Micah waits prayers for us.” He heard no following footsteps. Jubal turned and saw Devon still at the tree, still facing the valley with that irritating, faraway glaze upon his eyes. “Devon!”
    Devon’s reverie broke. “Yes, Elder?”
    A peremptory command: “Come!”
    The young man followed the old down toward Cypress Corners.
     
    There were times when Granny Esther wished for less than wholly pious reasons that Young Garth were her son. Now, as she watched him labor over the garden shears on the anvil, was one of those times. There was much to appreciate about the young smith. It wasn’t just the unruly thatch of curly black hair, nor the candid dark eyes, she thought, though those were indeed attractive.
    Neither was it solely the fine musculature sweat-gleaming in the heat of the forge. (Garth had often volunteered to help her toil in her vegetable garden—a kindness the aging woman acknowledged with plates of Garth’s favorite carrot cake.) No, Garth possessed a combination of intangible qualities she could codify only as some essence of son-ness: honesty, strength, a seemingly inflexible sense of duty. Not, she reflected with some sadness, like her own son; or, the Creator forefend, like his son, Young Esau.
    “They’re done, Granny Esther.” Garth examined the rivet critically, clacked the blades together several times, and then handed the shears to the woman.
    “Such a fine job. I thank thee, boy.” She placed the shears in her reticule. “Will you accompany me now to the noon service? Elder Micah would have all in the congregation attend this day.”
    “I suppose I must.” Garth spoke without enthusiasm. “You sound reluctant,” said the old woman. “Is it because of Rachel?”
    “And Devon too,” said Garth. “He must obey the Elder’s summons and stand before the Council’s judgment today.”
    “I’m sure they will be lenient. The Creator’s mercy is infinite.”
    Garth splashed water on himself from a bucket, then toweled his arms dry. “They will not permit Rachel and Devon to marry.”
    “Of course not. The Creator has decreed otherwise.” Garth slapped his arm viciously with the towel. “The Creator has decreed that Rachel and I wed. It is not her wish.”
    “Is it yours?” said Granny Esther gently.
    He looked anguished. “No.”
    “The Creator’s ways aren’t always apparent.”
    “I feel pain for both Rachel and Devon. They are my friends.”
    She laid a comforting hand on his thick wrist. “Trust in the wisdom of the Council.” She gave him a look he found enigmatic. “Do whatever you must do to act justly.”
    They departed for the Place of Worship.
     

SIX
     
    Midday