Excerpt

Chapter One

I know God is real. That's not my issue. I don't think God is made up or anything, I just don't know that God is quite the way Father Jani says God is.

Father Jani's been going on for almost an hour now about The Punishment, the reason why bots are bots and we're not. It's the usual story of course, with Father Jani's usual side notes. I've heard it a hundred times, a thousand times. A hundred thousand, probably. At least, it feels like it. Three times a week for seventeen years now. Always the same. Father Jani makes God sound terrible. I like the side of God that gives all of us who are Favored good things, more than the part of God that punishes the bots, but whatever.

"God's word was clear," Father Jani says, his voice rising in a tempest of religious… something. Not glee, exactly. Father Jani is far too terrible to be gleeful. It's almost like he enjoys how much rage he holds. "God's Word was plain for any to understand, as it is yet today. All who could read could know it easily. But rather than understand it, rather than obey it, many people followed false teachers."

I start another doodle on the blank space in the bulletin—a roller coaster—as I often do during Father Jani's sermons. I use the back cover of my Tome to hide my inattention from Jhon's watchful, stern eyes. He's in his wheelchair at the end of our pew, with my mom, Priya, and obnoxious little sister, Siara, between us, but still. My dad has the sharpest eyes of anyone I know.

"To the south, the Fifty Factions all turned to false teachers, those who used God's name to justify their selfishness, their greed, their slothfulness. And God smote their land and made it the desert wastes and shallow seas it is today. And we were not untouched by their downfall. Our eastern lands were ruined and laid desolate as well. For many in Kanda had fallen prey to false teachings too, rejecting God completely."

I add a vertical loop to the coaster I'm drawing. I know this story well enough to preach it myself, and I only half-listen.

"Now, it is a worse offence to pretend to follow God, to have God's name in your mouth while acting apart from God, than it is to bear no false pretenses of piety. Second Jakson 4:78 reminds us of this, saying 'for the ignorant and lost may be taught, found and brought into God's Favor, but those who claim God yet have hearts of stone will meet a bitter end.' So it was then as it is now. We were not wiped out completely here in Kanda, like our southern neighbors. Here in the west, Kanda remains, though we are forever divided by our former follies. Too few were the faithful of Kanda, and too many were the Godless. Because so many of us had rejected God completely, many among us became poor, became sick. Chad, in his blog post about his church plant in Ottawa, speaks of this. He says in Ottawa chapter seven, starting at verse one 'they are strong in faith and prosperous in God's providence. They are a beacon of light to those in squalor around them. While most in this dying city scrape a living from cracked pavement and sewage-filled canals, they alone stand wealthy and healthy, a clear sign of God's Favor. Yet few enough turn from their ways to follow God's.' You see, people are stubborn. People are willful. They do not easily turn to God's abundance, even when faced with… poverty."

I shudder along with the whole congregation at the ugly word. The only interesting part of Father Jani's sermons is when he swears. It's still not that interesting, though. It's a bit of a fun surprise when it happens, but it doesn't change the substance of what he's saying.

"Many were the wolves in our flock, those who rejected God's providence, God's prosperity, God's health, God's wealth, God's will. So it was that God cut off those who followed false teachers from those who loved God's Truth. Those who would not follow God's path, God's easy road of light burdens and holy rest, were condemned to toil in futility. So they do today, all the while grumbling against God while rejecting God's ways and failing to claim God's Favor for themselves. Turn to Witticisms Forty-Four, verse Twelve."

I look up to fire a scowl at Father Jani in his golden cassock, standing behind the lectern at the front of the sanctuary. This is the eleventh different passage Father Jani takes us to this morning. I hate sermons like his, always skipping around from one verse to the next to prove whatever point. I much prefer the longer stories. I like following one story all the way through and seeing what it means in the flow of things. I like stories from the First and Second Testaments too, but Father Jani mostly just preaches from the Third. But I fumble idly in my copy of The Tome so it looks like I'm finding the passage and reading along, same as everyone else. Really, I'm just debating if I should put a zero-G stall or a zero-G roll next in the rollercoaster I'm drawing.

Father Jani clears his throat before reading from his ridiculously oversized, gilded copy of The Sacred Tome. "Witticisms Forty-Four, verse Twelve tells us that 'the way of God is smoother than honey, but the path of selfishness is paved in broken glass.' Turn to First Jakson, Chapter Three. First Jakson Three Sixteen."

I know this one. Everyone knows this one.

"Let's all say it together, shall we?" Father Jani looks reluctantly elated that everyone hates him for making us all recite the verse together. At least, I imagine everyone hates it as much as I do. I know the verse; I don't need to say it with everyone until it tastes like vomit in my mouth.

"For the wages of sin are destitution, illness, and labor. But the gifts of God's Favor are wealth, health, and rest." The only thing I like about reciting verses in unison is the funny little hissing noise that happens with every "s" sound when a couple thousand people speak as one. It's not a sound I can ever hear with just one speaker, and I always wonder what the minimum number of people is to get that effect.

I finish my coaster drawing as Father Jani wraps up in another ten minutes or so, bringing his sermon to a full two hours of boredom. I think I'd probably love God more if it weren't for church.

It takes a while to file out of church, as always. Jhon and Priya make us sit near the front so we can be seen. It's especially important to be seen at the beginning of the service, when we give our tithe of credits in exchange for the bot ration stamps we use to hire our bots. The problem with sitting up front is we have to wait in a terribly long line to scan our IDs to log our attendance, since the card readers are at the back of the giant, white-and-yellow auditorium. It's annoying that Jhon and Priya make us sit in the third row, but they're my parents so there's not much I can do about it. After maybe seven minutes of slowly shuffling forward, I hold my ID against the receiver and it beeps, the little light on the reader pad flashing green.

In the fellowship hall, a wide, airy space with a glass ceiling, Priya and Jhon find friends to talk to, per the usual, but Kimble isn't here. She's my best friend. Really, she's my only actual friend. And because she isn't here today, I just get a disappointingly stale cookie and scroll absentmindedly on my phone in a corner.

I feel someone approach me and I look up. It's Father Jani, a painfully pious expression on his pale face.

"Good morning, Kallam," he says.

"Good morning. Thank you for the sermon; it was good," I lie.

Father Jani nods politely. The gesture wrinkles his many chins. "I understand you've gotten good grades in Religion this schoolyear. In fact, Father Hana tells me you got a perfect score on your final exam!"

"Yeah, I was a bit surprised by that." Another lie. It had been an easy test.

"Father Hana is a thorough teacher," Father Jani says. "She'd have made an excellent priest, were she not a woman. But as Chad wrote in his blog about the congregation in Winnipeg, 'women aren't allowed to preach in this church.' It's a shame, really, yet such is the will of God. But teaching children is a holy calling, too." Father Jani sounds piously patronizing, as if his voice is patting Father Hana on the head.

I nod, unable to verbally agree with him. I've never liked that women aren't allowed to preach. Father Hana taught us this school year that just because Chad wrote that a church a thousand years ago didn't allow it doesn't necessarily mean we should take that as an instruction for today, and I have to say I kinda agree with her. Not that I'd tell anyone publicly, of course. But still, if you're male or the 'right kind' of intersex you can preach, but not if you're a woman? It just feels so petty.

"So, have you chosen your Vocational Classes yet? Only a couple months until the deadline, as I understand it."

I stare at Father Jani, his earnest face catching me off-guard. "I… I plan to focus on physics and engineering for my Vocationals," I say. "I'm hoping to design coasters. I already do, for fun." I realize it sounds kinda stupid as I say it, but it can't be helped.

"Indeed. And that may well be wondrous as a calling. God wills us to be happy, after all. And as the Book of Witticisms says, in chapter 8, verse 2, 'blessed are those who engineer happiness.'"

I nod again, unsure what to say.

"Do us all a favor though and consider joining The Holy Fatherhood this summer," Father Jani says. "Anyone who can ace a final exam from Father Hana would do well as a Father, of any order. Judge or Reformer or Iniquity Inspector, sure, but I will say that we always need more Preachers."

I want to say something snarky, maybe to ask him why he didn't mention "Teacher" as an option for me, or mention how Kimble got a perfect score on her final too but I doubt she'll be asked to consider The Holy Fatherhood at all. But instead I just say "I'll do that. I'll think on it."

"Please do, and pray on it too, of course. And before you enroll in your Vocational Classes! You'll do well at whatever you set yourself to, Kallam, I've no doubt of that. You're bright, and could doubtless excel in many areas, I think. But we could really use people like you in The Holy Fatherhood, especially in Preaching. I could even put in a good word for you, when the time comes for the hiring process. Think on it and prayerfully consider it, then. And have a blessed summer, Kallam. Be Favored."

"Thanks," I say, a little bewildered by the entire exchange. "Be Favored," I add from habit.

I feel trapped inside so I head out to the parking lot. It's summer and it's hot. The hottest on record, again. It always is. I find a patch of shade beside the church building and listen to the gentle flapping of the giant flag on its pole high above me, stirring in a light breeze that does not reach me down here. There's scarcely enough wind even atop the fifty-meter flagpole rising from the fifty-meter steeple of our church to lift the Flag of Kanda sufficiently to show its unbalanced scale of God's Favor and Judgement. It's that kind of hot and still day. It's the kind of day I could easily hate.

But it's summer. School is out, and I'm determined to enjoy these last couple months of freedom before Vocationals start. Of course, scrolling on my phone by myself isn't exactly how I want to spend my summer, but there's nothing else to do right now as I wait for the rest of my family.

"Hi Kallam," a familiar voice says on my left. I look up from my phone. It's Father Hana, my Religion teacher. "It's a hot one," she says, looking around as if she can see the heat. Which, actually, we both can. It rises in waves from the pavement of the parking lot, making the mountains to the north shimmer and dance. "What did Father Jani have to say? I noticed he cornered you in the fellowship hall."

"Oh," I shrug, trying to seem casual for some reason. "He was just saying to have a good summer."

"And?" Father Hana raises an expectant eyebrow. She's wearing short sleeves today, so I can clearly see the tattoo all the Father Teachers have on their right forearms: Proverbs 22:6, "Train up a child in the way they should go." The white ink stands out starkly against her deep black skin.

I sigh. "He heard I got a hundred on my Religion final and thinks I should become a Father. He was especially encouraging about becoming a Preacher, actually."

Father Hana pulls back the corners of her mouth and her neck tightens, a flinch of horror I almost miss. "I see. What did you tell him?"

"I said I'd think about it over the summer. But I don't know how much I will, honestly."

She bites her lip in thought. "Well, it can't hurt to make sure you've really thought everything through. Two years of Vocational Classes that set your career options is certainly a commitment; best to make certain you're sure of your path, before you start. But not everyone who knows a lot about religion is called to be a Father."

I nod my agreement.

"You're a bright student," Father Hana says. "You know your religion better than a lot of Fathers."

My surprise must show on my face, because Father Hana laughs at me. "Don't look so shocked." She lowers her voice and moves closer to me. "The Iniquity Inspectors only know the law well enough to enforce what they deem important, same with the Judges, and most of those who preach know just enough to take from The Tome what they want to say, or at least, what the Most High Father wants them to say. I didn't teach you to be a parrot though, Kallam. I taught you to think! At least, I hope I did."

I wipe sweat from my brow as I consider that. Father Hana is sweating too. I can see it running the thick layer of makeup she always has caked on. She must feel me notice it, because she dabs at her forehead with a handkerchief, and mutters something under her breath when it comes away with a smear of dark concealer.

"I gotta get going," she says, glaring at the napkin like it's personally offended her. "You think about what I said, though. I taught you too much for you to be a Father, at least, too much to be a Preacher." She turns to leave, and in a less-conspiratorial tone says, "Have a good summer!"

"You too," I say, unsure what else to add. Father Hana seemed a little out-of-sorts today. And borderline heretical, though that isn't exactly odd for her. Before I can give it much thought, my family appears.

"Ahoy there," Jhon calls, wheeling his chair over to me. Priya and Siara keep heading out to our parked car. "I saw Father Jani corner you earlier." It's pretty much the same thing Father Hana said to me, and it makes me laugh.

Jhon sets the brake on his wheelchair, and I know what that means. I shift my weight to get more comfortable. Comfortable as I can be in my suit and tie on a hot day, that is. "So, what did he want?"

"Oh, to make sure I've considered becoming a Father, before I enroll in Vocationals."

"I take it Father Jani doesn't know you're still drawing while he's preaching."

Jhon doesn't say it as a question, so I don't answer.

"It was fine when you were five, Kallam. You're seventeen now, though. I can't help but think if you paid attention more, you'd get more out of his sermons. You do so well in school. Religion is your best subject. I'd think you'd be interested in Father Jani's sermons."

I want to say that I know everything Father Jani is going to say before he says it, but I consider how that would sound coming from a seventeen-year-old, and think better of it. "I guess his sermons just aren't my style," I say, realizing it sounds stupid and shallow. "Like, I mean I just prefer the way Father Hana teaches to the way Father Jani preaches."

Jhon nods. "Father Hana is a good teacher, though she's pretty loose with her scriptures. More entertaining, I'll give you that. But not as grounded on God's word. There's a reason God doesn't allow women to preach. It's important to heed what God says, whether or not it sounds flashy or fun or feels right." Jhon releases the brake on his wheelchair and leads the way to the car. That's the end of it, I know. Jhon will pretend like the conversation never happened, but expect me to remember it.

The more I think about it, the more I realize I'm right though. I know why I do well in Religion class but hate church. Father Hana tells stories. Father Hana makes learning about God and God's Word interesting, and she knows things about The Tome that Father Jani doesn't, or at least never preaches on. This year, Father Hana made me write a paper on how Chad didn't know his blog posts about the churches he planted in Toronto and Kalgary and other ancient cities were going to become books in the Tome. I like those kinds of lessons. They seem more real than anything I've ever heard from Father Jani. But my dad is probably right. Father Jani is knowledgeable. He's got the entire Third Testament memorized, after all. He just makes it so thoroughly boring.

I climb into the back seat next to Siara and buckle in. She's distracted, watching something on her phone, and I pull up some hockey highlights on mine, watching it halfheartedly. The season's been over for a few weeks now, so there's nothing fresh. Just clips of greatest goals or biggest hits from the past year. Jhon pulls out his tablet and starts grumbling about inflation rates while Priya scrolls on her phone with pursed lips. It's a look that means one of her friends renovated part of their house and she doesn't like it, or maybe she likes it too much, and now we have to redo our house again to keep up. She works for an interior design firm, so we have to change up the layout of the interior walls or at least repaint them every season to keep up with the latest trends. This summer is pastels, especially yellow and this nasty pale green that looks like watered-down mint mouthwash. I hate pastels. I don't know what my mom thinks of them, honestly. I just know she has to keep up, for her job.