The Forsaken (The Chosen Series Book 2)

until he stood in front of the High Prophet. It was closer than he’d ever been to the man.
“Malachi, is it?” he asked.
“Yes, High Prophet.” Malachi nodded and glanced around the room. The items that stood out to him were startling. Not because he didn’t know what they were, but because he did. A flat-screen television was mounted onto the wall, a telephone on the desk, and a portable refrigerator next to it. He’d learned much in the last year of going to the market. The outside world was full of those things. But here, in the home of the man who allowed his community no such amenities, the objects seemed out of place. Wrong.
“Would you like some water?” The High Prophet bent over and pulled open the refrigerator. Without waiting for an answer, the man grabbed a bottle and handed it to Malachi.
Malachi took the bottle and nodded his thanks. He wished to ask the man why he had all these things. Why his house was powered with electricity, and he had all the amenities that were sinful to the rest of them. But he didn’t have to because as if reading his thoughts, the High Prophet answered his unspoken questions.
“I have these things because God has granted them to me. I have reached a higher level, and this is my reward.”
Malachi nodded though he refused to believe it.
“I guess you are wondering why I called you here,” the man said. “Take a seat. Let us talk.”
Malachi took the seat across from the man and opened his bottle of water.
“First, if you will allow me, I would like to give you a bit of biblical history.” The man leaned forward.
Malachi nodded.
“In the bible times, when a man is married to a woman, and that man dies, the woman is to be married to the man’s brother. If the woman had yet to bear children for him, the brother was required to sow his seed in her and their firstborn would be dedicated to the brother who had passed away to carry on the name. Even in our community, if a man dies leaving the women without, another man, a brother if at all possible, is assigned to take care of the man’s family. It does not happen often, but it is essential in order to care for those left behind. It is only right, is it not?”
“Yes, High Prophet. It does seem reasonable.” Malachi was uncertain where the man was going with this line of talk. Still, he nodded.
“So, you see, we have quite a dilemma here,” he said as if his words made any sense at all.
Malachi stared at the man and waited for him to continue.
“Well now, as you are aware, Abigail was promised to Jacob. They were to be married only hours after his death. In God’s eyes, they are already married.”
“What . . .  why?” Malachi’s head swam. “I do not understand your words, High Prophet.”
“God has spoken. You shall marry Abigail.”
Malachi’s mouth flew open. “Abigail? But High Prophet, she is only thirteen.”
“Are you questioning God, Malachi?” The man leaned forward and placed his elbows on his desk.
Was this a trick question? Of course, he was questioning God. He was questioning anyone who would have him married to a girl who was barely above the age of a youngling. And if that was God, then so be it. But he couldn’t say that. Not to the High Prophet. Not to anyone.
Malachi drew in a slow, steady breath to suppress the urge to reach across the desk and snatch the man right out of his chair. Fists clenched, he waited for it to pass.
“I am regretful that it must be this way, Malachi, but Abigail will make you a good wife. She is young and submissive. You will be happy with her. And if things go well, I am sure God shall grant you a second one soon after.”
“When are we to marry?” Malachi asked through gritted teeth.
“At the Winter Ritual.”
That was only a couple of weeks away. After his brother’s betrayal to the community, Malachi had been the one punished when Jacob had been rewarded with a wife early, putting Malachi’s betrothal on hold. Now they presumed to make amends by marrying him to Jacob’s betrothed?
Do not do me any favors.
The High Prophet pressed a button on the box before him and spoke into it. “Send Aaron in.”
Within minutes Malachi followed the elder robotically out of the fancy house and back into the truck that would take him back to his own, less pleasurable, home.

Chapter 11 ― Abigail
“Father, no. Please!” Abigail begged.
The mere thought of marrying Malachi made her knees buckle. She’d been afraid of Malachi all her life. His tendency to be quick to anger was well known among the younglings. He’d bullied Jacob many times as well as others who opposed him. What would he do to his wife? Besides, Malachi was five years her senior. She was too young to be married.
“There is nothing I can do, Abigail. God has spoken.”
“God?” Heat forced its way up her face. “God would have me marry a man five years older than me? I am only thirteen. What do I know of men?”
“Abigail, my hands are tied. There is nothing I can do.”
“Why am I being punished? What did I do? Is this because they think I burned down that barn?” Abigail pointed out the door.
“This has nothing to do with that, but it is still under investigation, and if they find something that will tie you to the fire, you shall be sure to have more punishment than marrying a man five years your senior.”
“May I be excused?” she asked, anger rising to the surface.
“You may.” Her father nodded. “For your sake, you better hope they do not find evidence that you have—”
“Thank you, Father.” Abigail turned away and left to help prepare the younglings for bed.
How could they make her marry Malachi? It had been a joke among the girls her