~Chapter 22: My Sincerest Prayer for You~

The physical part of the process wasn’t too bad, but we were in the middle of August; I wasn’t fond of the heat. We had to run a mile-long obstacle course deep in a forest to the west of Stockholm. Climbing up walls, jumping over and under and over logs, a nearly-bottomless pit of leaves and twigs, getting across a deep ditch using planks of wood that are supposed to teeter and shake you off into a pile of pointy twigs, swing on a fraying rope from the top of a fifty-foot pole to the ground below without anything to cushion the landing except dead leaves, rocks, and twigs--that was supposed to be easy.

I had nearly died a few crossing a thin log over a deep ravine. Maggots and termites infested the log, making it no sturdier than a leaf in the breeze. According to Dan, leeches inhabited the ravine. I probably lost a lot of water weight from this, too. This obstacle course used to belong to the State Army, but they received a new one and gave this one to the DSI. I was surprised anyone survived that deathtrap, and I came in fourth out of sixteen. I collapsed onto the couch. My legs throbbed so painfully that I wanted to cry. This whole process was less fun and more a pain in the ass.

As I took up space on Rose’s couch, I dreamt about my mother. My earliest memory of her was from when I was six or seven. She had asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and I had asked for a slime gun. Mother had just laughed and asked what it was for. When I had replied to use on Kristin, Mother had said, “But slime is very hard to clean up, Michael. Please, ask Santa for something else.” I was a little mad that I wasn’t getting my slime gun. I remembered being so mad about it that I woke myself up.

Rose came from her room and sat on my legs. “Congratulations, Michael!”

Stupefied, I asked, “On what?”

She slapped my knees. “Making it this far. What’s with the attitude?”

As I gradually returned to reality, I said, “None of this feels real.”

“Well, you’re still getting used to everything. Things are being thrown at you real fast lately.”

I rolled onto my side and tried to ignore her presence.

Maybe she was right. First, it was all the god magic crap. Then it was the fiasco with Joey. Next, James made a deal to get me home if I worked for him and all this testing. Not to mention Fritjof, a headache all its own. The busy schedule kept me distracted from truly seeing the reality of this world and all of its workings. I said I did and acted like I did, but maybe that was because too many things happened to me at once and I was forced to.

“Someone’s thinking.” Rose got up, ruffled up my hair, and went into her room.

To top it off, my curiosity was acting up. Some part of me wanted to ask her about her husband. But the sensible, more sensitive part of me told the curiosity not to. I wasn’t interested in the shallow, superficial things about her life, but there was so much about Rose that I wanted to know about.

She came back out in a new outfit. Rose twirled around in her new blue dress that revealed a little too much chest and put a black jacket on. It didn’t look like she was wearing a bra. Incidentally, I didn’t want to get up now. Sitting in this air conditioned room made me sweat, and moving around in this air conditioned room would make me sweat even more than just sitting.

Rose grabbed my hand, the back brushing against the smooth silk of her dress. “I’m taking you somewhere nice.” She almost pulled my arms off and made me stand up. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“Wait! How come you can get dressed up but I can’t?”

“Because I’m supposed to look better.”

That outrageous logic of hers didn’t cease to amuse.

I locked the door behind us and followed her. Maybe it was an illusion, but she seemed faster in high heels. A few men passing didn’t even bother to hide their stares at her chest and her ass. Rose twisted her hair into a bun as we waited for the light to change. We crossed the street, walked a few blocks, and headed into a fancy restaurant with classical music playing. There was a white curtain separating the waiting area from the eating area.

The waiter at the little podium gave us menus and directed us to a free table in the corner near a window. So many people, mostly men, stared at Rose. Any sane man would have. A vase of wildflowers sat in the center with a pitcher of ice water. A large crystal chandelier lit up the whole room and painted rainbow specks on the crème-colored walls. The waiter took our orders and scurried off to another table. Rose fiddled with the flower petals, commenting on how she was prettier than them. Her egotism knew no limitations, but I had to silently agree.

“Well, we’ve been living together for a while now. Tell me about your mother.”

“Just a simple stay-at-home mom.” I poured myself a glass of water. “She was the best in the world. She majored in psychology, finishing first in her class, but never went anywhere with it in terms of a professional career. Mother was very hard not to love and always smiled so lovingly. She was always kind and probably would have helped a serial killer escape if he asked her nicely enough. But I hated that kindness and how she never thought of leaving my father. That always annoyed me. She was the center of our world--mine, Kristin’s, and Martin’s. I mean, she deserved so much better. And yet she still loved him very much.” I noticed Rose’s eyes narrowed nostalgically. “Oh, sorry. I said a bit too much, huh?”

“That’s okay. It must have been nice to have a mother like that.” Rose chuckled. “Anyway, I have a friend of mine you should meet. She’s been my best friend since college, and she works for the Forensics and Computer Science Division. Wendy Newburgh is good at what she does. Plus, I think you’ll like her.”

Just as there were topics I wanted to avoid, I was sure she had just as many. I decided to go along with her abrupt change of topic since that seemed best for my mental health. “What makes you say that?”

“She helped you with your fake life in this world. I’m sure she wouldn’t hesitate to help you again if I ask her nicely.”

We stayed away from my family, and she willingly allowed the conversation to become all about her and the child abductor she was tracking. Then she went on about her friend and made this Wendy Newburgh sound like someone I had to meet. We finished our dinner, which was delicious, and I paid for the entire meal against her objections before leaving. I didn’t bother to question her when we were blocks away from home and heading in the opposite direction; I already accepted Rose’s tendency to make arbitrary decisions, but I was baffled that she led me to Sanctuary.

I scratched the back of my head, then went inside with Rose. It was futile to resist. This was certainly a new experience for me, seeing as how I hadn’t been to a church of any kind since I was ten. I suddenly felt uncomfortable as we entered and walked up to the little platform. Rose knelt in front of the candles. To the side of the candles was a larger candle burning brightly. She picked up a tiny match, put the tip to the flame, and lit a smaller candle on the cast-iron rack. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together, and remained silent for a few minutes. Clueless, I remained standing and silent.

From what I gathered from the library books, the weekends--Saturdays and Sundays--were the only two days that these Sanctuaries held a ceremony and always at six in the evening; the Sanctuary was opened to all any other time on any other day of the week, but the weekends had to be attended come hell or high water. The ceremonies on the weekends was like a Christian mass where they would listen to a minister read long passages from the texts and pray, but it was different. Replace “God” or “Jesus” or “the Holy Trinity” with “Ansgar” or one of the other gods, change the stories around to Kolmastoista-approved myths, and that was a typical sermon. But there was more to it than that.

Everyone who believed in this system came here on the weekends at the established time to pray for the safety of the world. They prayed the gods would keep Fritjof and other evils away. In return, these people had to keep believing in the gods and keep praying for that protection. Belief gave strength to the gods, and belief only strengthened the gods through prayers. Ergo, the more belief in these gods gave them more power to protect the world from evil. Ergo, more prayers were a sign of good. The general population and all of Kolmastoista followers believed this, though it was apparent that Sanctuary attendance was on the decline since the end of some war.

I observed our surroundings once more. This place had such a serene atmosphere that made me less conscious of the pious atmosphere. The off-white walls, the colorful windows, and the soft lights created this calm. A podium draped in a scarlet velvet cloth stood on a tiny stage-like area. Behind the podium was a stone statue of Ansgar that fell a few inches short of the ceiling. There was a metal rack of candles set in front of the Ansgar statue at his feet. I must have looked really confused or misplaced because a minister dressed completely in a strange black robe walked over to me and asked if I needed help.

When the minister left, Rose opened her eyes and said, “Give it a try.”

I scratched the back of my head. “I’m not particularly religious.”

“That’s no excuse. Just give it a try. Wouldn’t you like to tell your mother you’re still thinking about her?”

One thing wasn’t a new concept, and that was praying for the dead. According to the texts of Kolmastoista, the souls of the dead sought refuge in the many “halls” that divided the Realm of Gods; when someone died, they would go to one of the gods for the sole purpose of using said soul to prevent the end of the world called “Ragnarok.” Any prayers would follow those souls and reach them, accomplishing three things. First, since in the form of a prayer, it would strengthen the gods. Second, that soul could relax. Third, the person sending the prayer could relax if and only if he believe it would.

I said, “I’m not comfortable with the whole concept of this.”

“I’m sure your mother would do the same if you were dead.”

She was good at arguing, so I wondered how she failed to keep me away from working for James. I got on my knees, lit a candle, put my hands together, and prayed.

What was I supposed to pray to them? This was obviously important to Rose, so I figured I should comply for her sake. But still, I was too pitiful of a person to think of something nice to pray to them.

I took the a lot of time to thank my mother for everything and to pray for her happiness in the afterlife or wherever she was. I thanked her for all the wonderful times and for my little sister. Then I thanked Kristin for everything and wished for her happiness as well. I told them both how much I missed them and how much I thought of them everyday.

How pathetic. That was the best I could do for the two people who loved me the most. And I was talking to a candle, and this was called praying. What was this supposed to accomplish? I had stopped believing in God and any concepts of religion when my mother died. Unlike Kristin or Mother, believing in those concepts didn’t make me feel any better. That belief wrenched at my heart. But Kristin felt God would make Mother happy in Heaven, and thus her belief satisfied her. So now that I was stuck in a world where I knew for sure gods existed, I felt like a hypocritical infidel about to be squished by a god.

When we left, Rose elbowed me in the arm. “Don’t you feel better?”

I shrugged, still thinking about my feeble prayer. “Not really. I’m still impartial to praying. You really suck at converting people.”

She placed her hands on her hips and glared at me rather indignantly. “I just prayed for you to find a way home. If you ever do, you have to promise me that you’ll tell me I was right. You’ll tell me that praying isn’t useless.”

I suppressed a laugh. “I’m not denying the lack of gods in this world. I’d just rather put my faith in acts of men rather than acts of gods. Gods exist; therefore, gods exist.”

“But faith in anything shouldn’t be that simple. It should be there because you earnestly believe it’s there for you, because it makes you happy and content.”

But acts of men sounded fantastic, if not better. I didn’t want to invest too much in waiting on gods to do something for me, but there was no other choice. Besides, I could get used to the idea of knowing that gods existed--except Fritjof, a bastard I could do without. And in some corner of my mind, I hoped my prayer transcended worlds and reached my mother and sister. I even hoped they were happy wherever they were. It had been so long since my last prayer, but prayers weren’t as bad as I remembered them.

My sincerest prayers were on their way to my mother and sister, all thanks to Rose.