There was a knife on the table.

I was no stranger to them; even kids used them for chores or for cutting bamboo. But those were utilitarian; this knife was clearly ornamental, with a glossy, sharp blade and gold handle embellished with gemstones. The kind of thing used for ceremonies. The priest was sitting across from me at the table in the center of the church. He just sat there for a while, looking at the knife then me and back again. Sweat beaded on my forehead and my stomach went cold.

The interior of the church was beautiful, with high ceilings and stained glass. It was built with bricks of sun-dried clay just like everything else. Still, something elevated it above the rest of the buildings in the village. It had a certain airy beauty to it. The pointed ceiling guided the eyes up to the sky as if it really were a gateway to the heavens.

“Put your hands on the table,” the priest said. He was sitting across from me, the table and the knife between us. He had pale skin and gaunt features, deep-set eyes framed by hollow cheeks. He seemed relatively young despite his ghoulish looks. When he spoke the air rang with authority. It wasn’t his tone of voice, exactly, or the volume. It was as if he knew his will would be followed as soon as the words left his mouth.

The table was a ratty old wooden thing. It wobbled slightly and was scratched all over. The legs were caked with dirt and the top had a thin layer of red dust. The ornamental knife was juxtaposed on this, beautiful but cold.

I couldn’t move. “Put your hands on the table,” he said again, revealing a yellow-toothed smile. “Don’t be scared.”

I did as I was told. I wondered about Marco. What made him run? And will it happen to me?

The priest spoke. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to perform a test. You may not tell anybody about what the test is. If you tell anyone, I will know. The God above will know. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“I said, do you understand?” The priest said louder. He leaned over oppressively and I could see his bloodshot eye whites.

Cold washed over me. I wish Ma were here. “Yes,” I said quietly.

“Good. You may not leave during the test. You may not even move during the test. Do you understand?” He spoke slowly and carefully, as if I were stupid and not just young.

“Yes.”

“Do you see this knife?” He held it up and it caught a glint of light.

“Yes.” I was shaking.

“This knife is very special. It has been enchanted by a sorcerer in Izqera. Do you know what that means?” He asked.

I shook my head.

“Desert dwellers,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It means that this is not a regular knife. This knife is now doing the will of the God above. All acts done by this knife are acts done by the God above. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I didn’t understand, then, the full implications of what I was hearing. That would come later.

“Good,” the priest said, shifting in his seat. “Because this is a special knife, it will not cut you. It will not cut me, either. Look.” He brought the blade of the knife to his palm and pressed it hard. The blade looked sharp but his skin was unbroken. Then he pulled it away quickly and thrust it into his leg. The knife, despite looking so wickedly sharp, bounced off as if it were made of rubber. “See?” the priest said. “There is no need to be afraid, child.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“How do I pass the test?” I said quietly. “If the knife isn’t going to cut me, what is the test?”

The priest scoffed. “You needn’t worry about that,” he said. “Desert critters like you never get chosen. I shouldn’t even speak the divine will of the God above to your profane mind. Just keep your hands on the table.” He smiled a wicked smile.

My face went hot. “Don’t call me a desert critter!”

The priest threw his head back in a crude laugh and black ringlets spilled out of the sides of his hood. He tilted his head. “Desert critter is angry?”

I looked down and tried to stop the hot tears from welling in my eyes.

“It’s such a waste of time coming out to these little desert towns. You’re so ignorant you don’t even know what you’re being tested for! I shouldn’t even be here. It’s what I get for standing up to the Father, I guess.” He spoke as if I weren’t there. Then he fixed his eyes on me. “You will never be chosen. You will never be anything. You will live in this blight of a desert, marry some other desert rat, hunt and farm this wasteland.” He put a cruel smile on his face.

My breath grew ragged but I said nothing.

He pounded the table with his fist. “Enough time has been wasted!” he said roughly. “I will begin the test now. Be blessed by the God above.”

My hands were still flat on the table. The priest held the knife in his right hand and raised it high. He lined it up with my fingertips. I felt like I was going to vomit. He lifted the knife, then lowered it again, never touching my skin. He closed his eyes as he did this.

Then he lifted the knife high. He brought the blade down in a cruel arc. I could hear it whistle through the air. A sharp pain exploded in my right index finger. Blood poured out.

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That knife reminds me of something that happened a good while after. This was in that same liminal time as the incident at the swimming hole. It was after that incident, shortly before we discovered Elba was like us. I remember Marco and I were out in the sticks, which was what we called a copse of bamboo a few miles from the village by the river. Here, the ground was softer and the surroundings more lush, though only slightly. The bamboo was the most green thing there, aside from some scrubby bushes and a few plants. The insidious dust didn’t completely abate either.

We mostly subsisted on tough little tubers growing in the riverbank. They were pale green shoots. We would pull them out of the ground with pinched fingers and chew them raw. They were watery and slightly sweet.

Marco and I were sleeping there most nights in a little bamboo shelter. We had built it by cutting the bamboo with my knife and lashing them together with plant stems. The shelter was made of a few lashed-together sheets tilted against each other. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked well enough. It still felt like an adventure then, even after feeling the sting of our isolation from Azel. We pretended the shelter was just like the ones we built for fun, before. I mostly just ignored Ma’s abandonment of me, pretending that I was the one being independent instead. I hadn’t talked to her since the day of revelation.

We only had one knife between the two of us. It was mine from before. I remember Marco complaining about it a lot. He was always making excuses for why he should have the knife. He said he needed it to hunt when he was really just running around and playing. Neither of us could hunt very well, especially not with a little utility knife. When we would mend the leaky shelter together he wanted to be the one cutting while I had to tie knots.

One of those hazy days we were swimming in the river when I saw something shiny. “Hey Marco!” I shouted.

“Yeah?” He looked over at me.

“Look what I found,” I said, “Now you can finally stop stealing mine.”

“No way!” He said with a grin. “Finally.”

I could see part of the blade. It was very shiny. I pulled it out of the water and cleaned off the mud on the hilt. As soon as I saw what was underneath I dropped it like a hot iron.

“Hey! Be careful with my new knife!” said Marco. He walked over and started scanning the shifting water. His eyes locked on the knife and he picked it up. Upon seeing the hilt he dropped it. “I…”

“You can have it, if you want. It’s definitely not the same one,” I said, “The gems on that one were red, I think. These are blue.” The knife floated back down into the river-muck. The gems shined cruelly.

“No…I know it’s not the same. But… Do you really want to remember?”