momebie | Dorothy wake up it's time for war.

Original Fiction.
~1,500 words.
Because the one from last week got fairly good reviews and people asked for more. It just gets weirder the further I go, kids. I hope it's still interesting to you.

The next time Mattie saw the halo she was sitting in the back pew of the Diviner's House watching the Choral Cantata of Hours. The Cantata of Hours was based loosely on the one original Diviner, who had found his way across the ridges of a great canyon in total darkness without falling over the edge. It was said that he had been blessed by the land itself with the ability to feel out the core of the earth. They said that he vibrated, the closer he got to it. Mattie didn't know how she felt about the mythology, but she was certain that she had felt a vibrating like that at times in her life before.

As she opened her eyes after the Diviner's Benediction, she saw a low, wavering glow out the corner of her vision. Mattie turned her head. It was the woman.

Mattie couldn't think of the woman as anything but her. She was the woman she'd seen the other day, but at the same time, she was also the girl Mattie had been so smitten with those fifteen years ago. Mattie couldn't reconcile these two people in her mind. Instead of trying, she turned back to the choir and closed her eyes again, nodding her head slowly in time.

* * *

The Old Man was sitting outside of the Diviner's House and Mattie hung back, not sure if she should risk entering. She had been told not to talk to strangers, a term which she always understood to mean 'people who are different from you' rather than simply people that she didn't know. Then again, she had also been told that if she didn't go and properly tithe the part of her allowance she'd conveniently left out of the offering the day before, she wouldn't be allowed to participate in after school play. She felt that, at the tender age of eight, she finally understood what her father meant about life being a series of hard choices.

Mattie reached into her pocket and pulled the coins into her fingers, closing them tightly around the hard, sharp discs. She took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and marched forward toward the double doors of the Diviner's House. She peeked to the side as she scrambled up the steps and saw the Old Man watching her with a small smile on his face. He didn't speak to her. She tugged on the heavy wooden door, and once she'd slipped into the safe darkness inside she leaned back against it to shut it, letting out a long sigh.

She wasn't used to seeing the inside of the Great Room with no one else in it. The long rows of pews seemed to go on forever, and the cool shadows that fell from them looked like they were shifting in the afternoon light. She imagined them restless, like her cat first thing in the morning. Mattie pressed herself flat against the door. Maybe she could just leave the money there on the floor beside the last pew. It would find its way to the collection plate if it was really meant to.

Suddenly, the door was no longer behind her, and she was falling backwards into the sunlight. A thin, wiry arm caught her before she hit the ground and pushed her up, steadying her on her feet. “Careful darlin', you don't want to scrape your knee and ruin those pretty little tights.”

Mattie blinked several times, letting her eyes readjust to the light. The Old Man was standing behind her. She immediately pulled away from him.

He chuckled. “Have I really gotten so tragic looking, in my old age?”

“I'm not supposed to talk to you,” Mattie said.

“I'm sure you're not supposed to talk to a great deal of people.”

“Only the strange ones.”

At this he laughed. It was a low sound that rattled up through his stomach and rib cage and got half caught in his throat. “Aye, I am that.”

Mattie turned around and looked up at him. His hair was mussed and his clothing was rumpled, but his bright eyes shone in the orange-gold light from the sun. He didn't seem too dangerous. “Will you come in with me?”

“Do you have a task you need performed, my lady?” He ducked down a bit and swept his arm low in a mock bow.

“I need to put this money into the collection plate, but it's dark-”

“And you're afraid the monsters will get you,” he said, nodding sagely.

“Yes.”

“Well then,” the Old Man held out his hand. She saw that there were two black lines drawn about his wrist. The loops of the two edges met on the top and the lines crossed along the bottom. They were the same markings the original Diviner had found on himself when he'd survived his trial. The man was old, but he was way too young to have been the first Diviner. He noticed that she was staring at his wrist and shook his hand slightly. “Come on, your parents will surely want you back by supper time.”

She nodded and put her hand into his. His skin was dry and warm against hers, and as he led her into the Great Room and down the row of pews she felt strong, like he was lending her his strength. When they reached the plate he held back and looked away, because it was impolite to see what a person was leaving for the Diviners. Not wanting to let go, she tugged forward as far as she could, leaning away as he held her up. The coins made a racket as they hit the bare bottom of the brass plate.

“Who's there?”

Mattie tensed up. The Head Diviner stood at the front of the room. She had heard no pat of footfall or creak of door hinge, so she could only assume that he had materialized there. There was a moment of silence while the Head Diviner looked at the Old Man and the Old Man looked back. All of the light had left his eyes and his fingers were holding onto hers so tightly that she was worried they would melt into him.

“You have no place in this house,” the Head Diviner said.

“Who are you to tell me where I cannot be?”

“The head of this House of Divinity, in case you hadn't received the news.” His smile stretched across his face and the shadows in his hollow cheeks grew deeper. “Leave the girl and get out.”

The Old Man let go of her hand and she turned around to run after him. He knelt down and placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length. “I'll be right outside,” he said. Then he stood and plodded heavily down the long aisle between the pews, molting grace as he went.

“As for you,” the Head Diviner said, his voice now very close. She refused to turn around and look at him. “You will learn to heed the words of your elders. You will learn not to place your trust in Blasphemers and Knaves.” He gripped her upper arm hard in his bony fingers and dragged her towards the rear door to the Great Room.

The Old Man closed the front doors behind him, leaving her once again in the dark.

* * *

Mattie was having a smoke on the steps of the Diviner's House. It was disgraceful that at twenty-three she was still savoring small rebellions. That's what her mother said, at least, always leaving the middle syllable to hang for a moment before finishing the word. Disgraceful. It made Mattie think extra hard about the absence of grace and how it hung about her life.

“Can I have a light?”

When she looked up Mattie saw the halo, resting lightly over the woman's sharp face. She must have stared for a few moments, because the woman reached down and plucked the lighter from her fingers.

“I'm sorry,” the woman said. The words punched through the little opening her cigarette had forced between her upper and bottom teeth. “I don't usually talk to strangers. You just looked like you were thinking. Your face was so full of wonder that I had to ask if I could share in it.” She took a couple puffs of the cigarette and held out her hand, palm up, lighter resting in the center. “I'm Or,” she said.

Mattie took the lighter back and tucked it into her inner jacket pocket. “Mattie,” she said, exhaling a stream of dense white smoke.

“You seem lonely, and strange,” Or said.

“Aye, that I am,” Mattie said, and gave her a small smile.

Fin.
. . .

Audience participation time! Because my reader and I were having a discussion about this, I'm now really curious, so if you would please indulge me:

[Poll #1714234]

This strange little continuation of last week's bit of fiction was written for Topic 16: Open Topic at