BRANCH
Photo by author
Fire engulfing the horizon behind the young woman with her hair toppled on her head, she marched away. Her sooty face grimaced as her footsteps fell on the cracked ground. She wore torn clothes, and like her face, smeared with black. She pulled up the strap of her quiver.
This woman fought through the desert in dry flat places. She sensed her feet were grabbed by the sand. In reality, her feet moved swiftly. The air crackled with dryness. When she shot her arrow, the static sparked a fire in the dry grass spreading to the wooden structures. She watched as the children ran to their parents. She freed them. Their matted hair patted by the mothers and fathers. She turned away, not being noticed that she was the one who fought for them. No acknowledgment, she said to herself was needed.
A big boom as the fire ran into the hidden gas wells. The families far down the other road by then. She tucked her head, but the smile crawled onto her face, as she realized she had arrived at the right time. The little ones escaped, returned to their families. The fire roared so close to her, but she eclipsed it.
The quest had been years. Barren land, rough roads and rocks, boulders blocking her journey. With no change of clothes over the years, they were ragged and smudged by this last fire. Hair singed as she walked from the fire.
She strode toward the Temple, now. The quest over. She made it and she rescued those children. They were the last of the many she released from the grips of evil. Her heart warmed as she thought of them with their parents. They had been trapped by an evil headmistress, but now that wicked woman collapsed with the old drafty school in the fire.
At the Temple, the guards stopped her. “You must go in immediately. The Lord wants to see you.”
“I hoped I could clean up first,” she pleaded.
The elderly prophet came to the gate. “My dear, there is no time. You are a soldier and this is expected. You are expected.” He held out his hand. Her arm brushed against the scratchy white beard. She nodded, pushed a strand of hair back and smudged her face some more. The guards, stoic, stared ahead, yet ever so slightly, they watched her regal walk beside the prophet.
The unusual couple entered the royal room. Blinded by light, they only saw the foot of the throne. “Enter,” a voice boomed, yet it was gentle, too.
The girl slowed her pace more to match the prophet’s gait. They stood three feet from the throne and bowed. Out of some shadows, slithered a half man, half snake, forcing himself to stand tall on his tail. The girl noted the strain in his muscles.
The words, rapid fire, spilled from his mouth. “Look at her, black soot all over her face and arms. Look at those torn clothes. And her shoes with those gaping holes. She’s not worthy of this room.”
“Enough, Accuser. Enough. We rebuke you,” the voice from the throne thundered.
The girl bowed her head; tears streaked through the black smoke residue on her face. She felt a hand under her chin lift her head. It was the angel of the Lord comforting her, “Beloved Daughter. You have fought iniquity and won. Do not listen to the Accuser. His days are limited in part because of your fight. Victory will be complete when the Ancient of Days finishes his work, but for now, the Accuser is banished.”
The prophet watched the snake man lower himself and slither away. He knew the Accuser had no power here. “My Lord, may she be cleaned up, now?”
“My daughter, yes. Clean robes await you.”
“May she also have turban to cover the singed hair?” the prophet interjected.
“Yes, that can be arranged.”
The voice from the throne boomed, “From now on, My Beloved Daughter, you shall be known as BRANCH. You are the brand plucked from the fire used to defeat evil. Our hands were on you in every fight you encountered.”
A flash of light more brilliant than anything any of the humans had seen moved through the throne room. The girl, BRANCH, opened her eyes to see her wearing new garments, a shimmering dress of many colors into one white and felt on her head a tiara. As she took it all in, she noticed her feet covered in slippers of the same brightness. And she felt cleaner than she ever hand in her life.
“You may join us in the banquet room for the meal of your lifetime,” the angel welcomed.
The prophet offered his arm, and she gladly joined him on the entrance to the dinner in her honor. The curtain opened and a band played a triumphant medley. The aroma of the dinner wafted from the kitchen and her tongue without warning licked her lips. The prophet chuckled slightly under his beard. “It is momentous, is it not? There is nothing second rate, here.”
“After all these years of the fight, I cannot believe this.”
The angel taught, “Do not dwell on the past. This is the moment for you.”
“Saving the children was enough. Seeing the parents reunited with the hostage children was enough. Meeting you and the Lord was enough. The new clothes with the tiara and feeling fresh and new is enough. But this? All the other was enough. I am grateful.”
“BRANCH, you are faithful in the fight and humble in your abilities. You acknowledge your strength came from God. Yes, you have the attitude of gratitude. The air of thanksgiving never left you even in the last fight that almost took your life, you soldiered on. You never gave up. You are worthy of the new name bestowed upon you,” the Voice vibrated the room.
The three bowed. She did not feel superior to any in the room. She was only an obedient servant. “But My Beloved Daughter, you are so much more, and you are loved,” The Voice echoed in her head and to her heart. She believed more than ever.
