Camp NaNo: The Church and Its Orbs - Prologue
I'm rewriting my Gemma story, which is tentatively titled The Church and Its Orbs. This is the prologue.
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“Gemma, don’t you do anything to ruin Ruby’s big day,” my mom says, her green eyes flashing as she turns towards me in the car.
“I won’t,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “It’s not like I’ll be able to ruin Ruby’s perfect purity.”
“I want you to be happy for your sister,” my dad says. He keeps his eyes on the road, as he’s the one driving us to Ruby’s Soul Orb Ceremony.
It’s not fair, though. I follow Church rules as well as my older sister does, yet I’m the one who’s constantly told I’ll end up a no soul. I have as much soul as my sister has, if not more. After all, I don’t go around accusing my siblings of being bastards because of their red hair. Alright, I have punched Ruby more than once, but it was because she provoked me. The gods have to understand that, right? Even if “violence doesn’t belong in a woman’s soul.”
Ruby smiles at me, her glossy brown hair in curls perched above her head in two bunches. Funny that she would curl her hair for her big day when she’s constantly mocking my naturally curly hair. I’ve kept mine down for this occasion, though I did pin it back with a couple barrettes.
“Dear sister, listen to our father and try to be happy for me, even if you’re likely to end up a no soul when it’s your turn to receive your Soul Orb,” Ruby says.
I feel myself tremble. How dare she -- I’m no more likely to end up a no soul than anybody else in our righteous family. We’ve all been red orbs, for generations now.
When we get out, I take a look at Ruby’s gown. It’s a voluminous thing in the color of her namesake, and I can’t help thinking she looks like a perfect Church girl. I only hope I look as good in two years when it’s my sixteenth birthday and my turn to claim my orb.
Looking up at the church, I can almost feel the gods watching us. I straighten my back as I contemplate the small stained glass windows. One of them even depicts the very ceremony Ruby is about to undergo -- it’s a picture of a young man, orb in hand as a priest in a white robe watches. The crystal orb glows purple -- the highest color orb anybody can receive. Purple orbs, called such after the color of their Soul Orbs, are the most blessed of people -- designated as favorites of the gods. They are the ones with the strongest souls.
There are three ways the orb ceremony can go -- you can get a purple orb, a red orb, or, worst of all, an orb that doesn’t glow at all. That’s what happens to the no souls -- their orbs don’t glow, remaining as black as their hearts. They haven’t got any soul, so they have no ability to make their orb glow and thus receive no powers from the gods. After all, power comes from the soul.
My stomach seizes up at the possibility Ruby might turn out to be a no soul. While I think she would deserve to be disgraced, it would look bad for the family to have a corrupt member, and it would throw my soul into question.
Looking at Ruby’s face, I see no nervousness there. She’s even smiling, her dark brown eyes, so much like our father’s, actually sparkling. I guess she’s not worried about the state of her soul, not that Ruby’s the type to ever worry about such things. My sister is dead convinced of her own superiority.
Wouldn’t it be something if I got a purple orb and hers was a mere red? That would show her.
Fancy windows aside, the church a plain enough white building, with a slim steeple. The sign in gold curlicue above the thick wooden doors reads Madigan Church. It might be simple, but I really do feel as if the gods are watching us. I look to the sky, as if I could see them in the clouds. Silently, I chide myself for that silliness -- I’m no longer a child, believing the gods literally reside in the sky.
A secretary sitting behind an old-fashioned wooden desk in the entrance hall greets us, smiling. “Oh, you must be the Landares,” she says. Her eyes fall on Ruby. “And you must be the lovely Ruby.”
My sister actually curtseys to the woman. She says, “I am Ruby.” For some reason, I want to throttle her. I think it might be the toxic amounts of smugness wafting off my sister.
“You’ll be in Room Twelve, just down the hallway.” The secretary points in the direction we’re supposed to go. My parents say nothing -- I think they’re nervous, with the way their muscles tense up. It’s plain enough for me to see it. Both of them manage terse nods, and we head off.
When we arrive at Room Twelve, I can’t being a bit disappointed with the small small space they’ve designated for us. Only the children of purple orb parents get to have their ceremonies in fancy rooms, I suppose. There are a couple rows of plastic chairs, and the walls have been decorated with strands of purple ribbon for the occasion. At the very end of the room is a table -- a purple cushion lies upon it and atop the cushion is a clear crystal orb about eight inches in diameter.
A white-robed priest waits for us, his purple sash indicating he has the authority to conduct this ceremony.
He gestures at all of us. “Welcome. Please have a seat so we may begin. Everyone except Ms. Ruby Landare, of course,” he says.
My sister practically runs to face the priest at the table. Her back is to us now. I take my seat, thinking all the while that this is awfully bare bones for a ceremony. My stomach twists when I realize how blasphemous I’m being, criticizing the Soul Orb Ceremony. I’ve heard it’s even simpler for the children of no souls -- they don’t even get ribbons for their ceremonies, and their families aren’t allowed to join them. The idea is to “keep the room pure when testing the very essence of a human being,” but why are the children of purple orbs allowed to have their ceremonies in big, fancy rooms, then? What am I doing, thinking all this during my sister’s big moment?
“Are you ready, Ms. Landare?” the priest asks, his voice and face deadly serious.
“I am,” Ruby says. I can hear the smile in her voice, even if I’m at the back of her and can only see the smallest part of the side of her face.
The priest isn’t one I recognize. I wonder now what happened to the old priest who would probably have done the ceremony, Father Dennis. This new priest picks up the orb. He intones in a deep, affected voie, “May this orb glow with the strength of your soul.”
He hands her the orb.
“And may the gods judge me fairly,” Ruby answers, her voice clear and proud. What does she have to be proud of, yet?
Now, we wait for the orb to glow. The air tightens and crackles -- anybody with working nerve endings would feel the tension. It’s as if all the gods are watching us. I can almost taste their judgement.
Time stretches until I think Ruby’s orb won’t glow. Is my sister truly a no soul?
Finally, the orb does glow, lighting the room brilliantly and bathing it in color.
Purple.
Ruby’s orb is purple.
next chapter
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“Gemma, don’t you do anything to ruin Ruby’s big day,” my mom says, her green eyes flashing as she turns towards me in the car.
“I won’t,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “It’s not like I’ll be able to ruin Ruby’s perfect purity.”
“I want you to be happy for your sister,” my dad says. He keeps his eyes on the road, as he’s the one driving us to Ruby’s Soul Orb Ceremony.
It’s not fair, though. I follow Church rules as well as my older sister does, yet I’m the one who’s constantly told I’ll end up a no soul. I have as much soul as my sister has, if not more. After all, I don’t go around accusing my siblings of being bastards because of their red hair. Alright, I have punched Ruby more than once, but it was because she provoked me. The gods have to understand that, right? Even if “violence doesn’t belong in a woman’s soul.”
Ruby smiles at me, her glossy brown hair in curls perched above her head in two bunches. Funny that she would curl her hair for her big day when she’s constantly mocking my naturally curly hair. I’ve kept mine down for this occasion, though I did pin it back with a couple barrettes.
“Dear sister, listen to our father and try to be happy for me, even if you’re likely to end up a no soul when it’s your turn to receive your Soul Orb,” Ruby says.
I feel myself tremble. How dare she -- I’m no more likely to end up a no soul than anybody else in our righteous family. We’ve all been red orbs, for generations now.
When we get out, I take a look at Ruby’s gown. It’s a voluminous thing in the color of her namesake, and I can’t help thinking she looks like a perfect Church girl. I only hope I look as good in two years when it’s my sixteenth birthday and my turn to claim my orb.
Looking up at the church, I can almost feel the gods watching us. I straighten my back as I contemplate the small stained glass windows. One of them even depicts the very ceremony Ruby is about to undergo -- it’s a picture of a young man, orb in hand as a priest in a white robe watches. The crystal orb glows purple -- the highest color orb anybody can receive. Purple orbs, called such after the color of their Soul Orbs, are the most blessed of people -- designated as favorites of the gods. They are the ones with the strongest souls.
There are three ways the orb ceremony can go -- you can get a purple orb, a red orb, or, worst of all, an orb that doesn’t glow at all. That’s what happens to the no souls -- their orbs don’t glow, remaining as black as their hearts. They haven’t got any soul, so they have no ability to make their orb glow and thus receive no powers from the gods. After all, power comes from the soul.
My stomach seizes up at the possibility Ruby might turn out to be a no soul. While I think she would deserve to be disgraced, it would look bad for the family to have a corrupt member, and it would throw my soul into question.
Looking at Ruby’s face, I see no nervousness there. She’s even smiling, her dark brown eyes, so much like our father’s, actually sparkling. I guess she’s not worried about the state of her soul, not that Ruby’s the type to ever worry about such things. My sister is dead convinced of her own superiority.
Wouldn’t it be something if I got a purple orb and hers was a mere red? That would show her.
Fancy windows aside, the church a plain enough white building, with a slim steeple. The sign in gold curlicue above the thick wooden doors reads Madigan Church. It might be simple, but I really do feel as if the gods are watching us. I look to the sky, as if I could see them in the clouds. Silently, I chide myself for that silliness -- I’m no longer a child, believing the gods literally reside in the sky.
A secretary sitting behind an old-fashioned wooden desk in the entrance hall greets us, smiling. “Oh, you must be the Landares,” she says. Her eyes fall on Ruby. “And you must be the lovely Ruby.”
My sister actually curtseys to the woman. She says, “I am Ruby.” For some reason, I want to throttle her. I think it might be the toxic amounts of smugness wafting off my sister.
“You’ll be in Room Twelve, just down the hallway.” The secretary points in the direction we’re supposed to go. My parents say nothing -- I think they’re nervous, with the way their muscles tense up. It’s plain enough for me to see it. Both of them manage terse nods, and we head off.
When we arrive at Room Twelve, I can’t being a bit disappointed with the small small space they’ve designated for us. Only the children of purple orb parents get to have their ceremonies in fancy rooms, I suppose. There are a couple rows of plastic chairs, and the walls have been decorated with strands of purple ribbon for the occasion. At the very end of the room is a table -- a purple cushion lies upon it and atop the cushion is a clear crystal orb about eight inches in diameter.
A white-robed priest waits for us, his purple sash indicating he has the authority to conduct this ceremony.
He gestures at all of us. “Welcome. Please have a seat so we may begin. Everyone except Ms. Ruby Landare, of course,” he says.
My sister practically runs to face the priest at the table. Her back is to us now. I take my seat, thinking all the while that this is awfully bare bones for a ceremony. My stomach twists when I realize how blasphemous I’m being, criticizing the Soul Orb Ceremony. I’ve heard it’s even simpler for the children of no souls -- they don’t even get ribbons for their ceremonies, and their families aren’t allowed to join them. The idea is to “keep the room pure when testing the very essence of a human being,” but why are the children of purple orbs allowed to have their ceremonies in big, fancy rooms, then? What am I doing, thinking all this during my sister’s big moment?
“Are you ready, Ms. Landare?” the priest asks, his voice and face deadly serious.
“I am,” Ruby says. I can hear the smile in her voice, even if I’m at the back of her and can only see the smallest part of the side of her face.
The priest isn’t one I recognize. I wonder now what happened to the old priest who would probably have done the ceremony, Father Dennis. This new priest picks up the orb. He intones in a deep, affected voie, “May this orb glow with the strength of your soul.”
He hands her the orb.
“And may the gods judge me fairly,” Ruby answers, her voice clear and proud. What does she have to be proud of, yet?
Now, we wait for the orb to glow. The air tightens and crackles -- anybody with working nerve endings would feel the tension. It’s as if all the gods are watching us. I can almost taste their judgement.
Time stretches until I think Ruby’s orb won’t glow. Is my sister truly a no soul?
Finally, the orb does glow, lighting the room brilliantly and bathing it in color.
Purple.
Ruby’s orb is purple.
next chapter