And the Winners are...

I was so excited by the submission I received, and now I'm pleased to be able to announce the winners! But first, I hope you all know how much I enjoyed reading every submission! It was so hard to choose the winners, and I hope that all of you who entered will continue writing! I look forward to doing competitions like this again in the future!

Picture by Jason Leung

Now, the moment you've all been waiting for! Our runners up are for the Short Story Competition are:

El Nixon and Ali Toman! Thank you so much for your submission! You both did wonderful jobs, and I hope you will continue writing!

In second place, we have... Emma Chasteen for her story, Elohim, the King who Loves, which will appear on the blog next Saturday!

And in first place for The Keepers of Light and Legend's very first Short Story Competition, we have...

Grace Jumper! Her story, Sacred Wine, is a marvelous tale about how even the least of us can be used by God. She does an amazing job doing a lot of worldbuilding in a very short amount of time and reminds us that surrendering to God's plan is what's most important! Now, allow me to introduce her to you:

Hi! I'm Grace Jumper, a homeschooled high school senior who's been writing pretty much all her life. Along with crafting fantastical worlds and lively characters to inhabit them, I love to read (particularly fantasy and sci-fi), draw, sew, and pretty much do anything where I can be happy alone with myself, my music, and my thoughts. 

Now, please enjoy Grace Jumper's short story, Sacred Wine;

Picture by Tom Parkes

Everyone in Sannovem knows the selection of the Ecclesiastics is rigged. Why leave the selection of a ruler to chance? Or, even more concerning, to God? He's the Unknowable, after all. Do it yourself. Elect the most suitable, the wealthiest, the most perfect specimen to rule. God might choose the wrong person. Better to leave it up to human design than oh-so-uncertain divinity.

When Ecclesiastic Ermani Hurn, the ruler of the Tavio region, died, the whole region turned black. Black flags replaced the gray and gold ones that usually hung from every window, and everyone wore mourning clothes. Nine days after his death the funeral was held in Hallow Taverio, the sacred place and center of the region's government. But while everyone in the orphanage was busy scrubbing themselves clean, I was in the barn, kneeling on the floor of a stall. My face was dirty with dried dirt, straw, and tears. Nonna, our old workhorse, lay barely breathing in the straw. I'd spent all night with her. The boys had insisted on putting her out of her misery, but given that I was the one who took care of all the sick, old animals, they listened to me when I begged them to leave her alone. I adored Nonna. She'd been a friend to me when I'd been forced to care for the animals nobody loved in the cold of winter or the dead of night. I couldn't bear to let them kill her.

"Anya!" I heard someone call. I wiped my face. Sister Giulmore pulled open the barn door. I blinked in the sudden light. "For God's sake, girl, get out of there! The rites for Ecclesiastic Hurn are taking place in less than an hour!" She grabbed my arm, grimacing at the creamy patches marring my dark skin. "Mind that you wear your black kirtle."

"Yes, ma'am." I bobbed a curtsey before rushing into the orphanage.

"How's Nonna?" one of the boys called after me. I set my jaw.

"She's going to live," I called back, if I have anything to do with it.

In my room, I changed into my shift and corset, and then my long black kirtle. I knew this day would be hellish. It was the dead heat of summer, and all of my going-out garments had long sleeves to hide the 'devil's patchwork' on my skin. The black color of the kirtle would only increase the effects of the heat. Luckily, the funerary rites wouldn't take a long time. Hurn had already been cremated, so there would just be a reading from the Holy Canon and a hymn sung. Then would be the selection of the new Ecclesiastic of Tavio, but that wouldn't take long. The rites as laid down in the Holy Canon detailed that a reliquary bath would be prepared by sprinkling the cremated Ecclesiastic's ashes into a bowl of water. The bowl was then supposed to be circulated through the entire region so that everyone could have a chance to dip their hand in the reliquary bath. Everyone's hands would emerge clean except for one; the person that God had divined as the next Ecclesiastic would pull their hand out dripping with sacred wine.

Anyways, that's what the Canon said. It never happened that way. It was too inconvenient. The clerics always rigged it so that the person they'd selected as the new Ecclesiastic would be the first person to dip their hand into the reliquary bath. It was so much more pragmatic and it meant everyone could go back to work that much sooner.

I was grateful for the efficiency with which the rites would take place as I stood, sweating copiously, in the streets outside of the Hallow. It seemed like all of Tavio had shown up for the funeral, and the Hallow was overflowing. Those who weren't rich enough had to stand outside. Around me, the other orphans were yawning and shuffling until one of the nuns gave them a sharp look.

"Curse those 'men of God,'" someone near me muttered. "Shame for them to scheme the way they do."

I perked up. I'd heard murmurs of those who dissented against the Church of Sannovem before, but I'd never thought I'd hear someone speak about it at such an important event. Before I could hear more, though, a murmur rippled through the crowd. Someone had passed the message that the Ecclesiastic selection was about to take place. 

Everyone knew who it would be, too. Veresa Kells was the protegeé of Tavio. At nineteen—my age—she was already the youngest philosopher the continent had known. She'd published a well-received collection of essays and had been offered numerous prestigious teaching and clerical positions. She was beautiful, too, with gold-spun hair and blue eyes. The touch of God was upon her, everyone said. She was as fair and brilliant as the bright blue skies of his domain.

I could see the doors of the Hallow, but not inside. Glancing back at where the nuns were distracted with a crying boy, I began to elbow my way through the crowd. Some people had the same idea, but I was spindly and managed to dodge through spaces where others couldn't. It wasn't too long before I was only a few steps away from the Hallow door. I craned my head, for once grateful for my ungainly height as I peered over the crowd.

Veresa Kells was beautiful. She wore a gorgeous, full dress made of shining blue material. The amount of fabric in her skirt alone could've made a set of clothes each for at least two of the smaller children in the orphanage. I felt a stab of…what, jealousy? Hatred? She had enough money to feed every child in the orphanage forever, not to mention to get a doctor for Nonna. I could never achieve that. I was forever barred from what she enjoyed simply because I had patches on my skin. I was angry to see the rich and privileged weaving their grand schemes and controlling everything to be the way they wanted. I hated that they had made me hate God, because if the perfect people hated me, how could God not?

Kells approached the cleric holding the reliquary bath. Of course, the golden basin really held wine and not water. Kells had been chosen as the next Ecclesiastic. Not by God, but by man.

She held her hand over the bowl. Her lips were curved with a tiny smile. She dipped her hand into the bath, swirled it around, removed it. Her hand was dripping with water.

Water. Not holy wine.

The crowd began to murmur. I rubbed my eyes. Had I seen that right? But Kells' reaction confirmed it. Her smile was gone. The clerics around her, too, looked confused and scared. They examined the dish, then began to whisper. Kells plunged her hand in again and again, splashing water everywhere. Again and again her hand came out clean.

The crowd around me was growing vocal. "Pass the bowl!" someone called. "Pass it through!" The crowd quickly took up the chant. "Pass it through! Pass it through!"The head cleric grabbed Kells's arm and started to pull her away, but the crowd burst. Several people shoved past me, bursting into the church. One of them grabbed the ceremonial basin, yanking it out of the priest's hand. Wine splashed onto the ground.

The basin was filled with wine.

Now everyone was shouting mutinously. One of the dissidents punched the head cleric in the face. He collapsed, and Kells screamed. People began to surge into the Hallow, barring Kells or the clerics from getting near the reliquary bath. The violent dissident shoved his hand into the basin and stared in wonder as it emerged completely clean. He began to pass it around, and everyone began to try.

"In the name of the Unknowable," I murmured. My head was swimming, my heart racing. Something supernatural was happening here, and I was witnessing it. Something like this could change all of Sannovem.

Once everyone in the church had tried their luck, the man who'd punched the cleric took the basin and began to walk through the crowd, offering it to everyone. People were laughing with disbelief or weeping in astonishment as they dipped their hands into wine and they came out coated in water.

"Anya!" I jumped. Sister Giulmore must've muscled her way through the crowd to find me. "It's time to go."

"Hey, miss!" Someone shouted. I turned to see the man holding the basin, offering it to me good-naturedly. "Try!"

I looked pleadingly at Sister Giulmore, who'd grabbed my hand. She sighed. "Fine." 

I dipped my free hand into the basin and turned to go. This was something that I'd have to tell Nonna about.

"Hey!" the man shouted. "Look!"

Sister Giulmore and I turned to look at the hand that I'd just pulled from the basin. I cried out an oath, nearly falling to my knees. My hand was stained and dripping with wine.

"In the name of God!" Sister Giulmore cried out. "Anya!"

The man dropped the basin with a clatter and grabbed my hand, yanking me through the crowd. I shrieked, reaching for Sister Giulmore, but he was strong. He dragged me up the steps of the church and held up my hand. The maroon wine shone in the sunlight, and the crowd instantly hushed.

"People of Tavio!" the man shouted. "I give you your new Ecclesiastic!"

The crowd went wild. I couldn't tell if they were angry or happy. The man grabbed me and crushed me in a hug. I felt tears running down my face. This couldn't be. How could it?

"No!" someone else yelled. The man let go of me and turned. The cleric who'd been laid out on the floor had struggled to his feet, nursing his broken nose, and pointed to my hand. "She is imperfect! She wears the devil's patchwork!"

I looked at my hand and nearly retched in horror. I had completely forgotten the white splotches on my skin that were now horribly visible. 

The man let go of my hand and looked at it. His face was blank. He pulled a knife from his pocket. "No!" I screamed, drawing back, but he grabbed my arm. He used the point of his knife to tear a hole in the shoulder seam of my dress, then ripped off my sleeve. My splotchy skin defect was now visible for all of Tavio to see."She cannot be an Ecclesiastic!" the cleric shouted. "She hasn't even been consecrated!"

Sister Giulmore was rushing up the steps, calling my name, probably pleading my case. The man with the knife was talking to me and the cleric was yelling, but I couldn't hear a thing. It was as if it all stopped. All I could think about was Nonna, wishing I could be lying in the straw and brushing my fingers through her mane. 

I looked up at the sky, the blue sky that the Unknowable God loved. "This cannot be real," I murmured. "I'm only an orphan. I'm not even consecrated. I'm nothing."

Nobody said anything. Well, I'm sure the people around me were talking, but I couldn't hear. No voice came out of the blue bearing divine decree. No heavenly creature descended carrying a burning sword to champion my cause. Nothing unusual happened, and yet I suddenly felt the peace, finality, and the sense of heartbreak I always did when I lay with one of the animals taking its last breath.

Without exactly knowing what I was doing or why, I climbed onto the marble balustrade of the cathedral. "Listen!" I shouted, holding up my bared arm. Holy wine ran down it like blood. My stomach was churning as I spoke. "The cleric is right. I am not consecrated. All my life I have lived with the devil's patchwork, and I have been ostracized for it! I have lived all my life in an orphanage and been relegated to treating sick animals in a barn. I know many of you have been treated the same way by the Church!" I saw nods, so I charged on. "You saw the basin filled with wine! You saw the hands come out clean! And you see now the hand stained!"

"Come down from there, devil!" the cleric hissed, grabbing at me. I kicked at his hand, moving a few steps back. Sister Giulmore also grabbed my skirt, but I yanked it out of her grip.

"Listen to me!" I shouted fervently, bile rising in my throat. I began reciting lines from the Holy Canon in my mind to calm myself. "Listen! The clerics have lied to you under God's blue sky! They have played human games to cheat him again and again! But clearly, he has had enough!"

The crowd was roaring. I swallowed. "Anya!" Sister Giulmore yelled. Her face was red with anger. "Come down at once!"

I looked up at the sky, at the sun. A symbol of courage and of the light that our Father gives us to live by. As Sister Giulmore grabbed at my skirt again, I dodged away and jumped off the balustrade, running down the stairs and towards the crowd. "Listen!" I shouted again. "I come to you, calling on every name of God. May the God of a Thousand Names strike and even kill me if I speak falsely!"

For a moment I was terrified the sky would open and I would be smote where I stood, but I was not. I dropped onto my knees, overcome with what was happening. I was only one small, unimportant girl. There was no way God chose me to rule Tavio. "God!" I whispered brokenly. "God of a Thousand Names, guide me!" 

My hand lifted towards the heaven of its own accord. Or rather to the accord of God, the Unknowable. Speak, Anya. You know. 

"I am Anya. I am unconsecrated. I am an orphan with no family, no name, and no esteem. And yet…" I swallowed, choked up. "And yet our God had chosen me." I rose and turned to face the clerics, who were varying shades of unappealing purply-red. "And if God has chosen me," I said deliberately, "who am I to refuse? I am your next Ecclesiastic, in the name of God!"

And as everyone erupted again, I looked at my imperfect skin, and then at the sky. I thought of Nonna, lying on the floor of her stall. I recalled bringing her food, water, or a blanket. "Guide me," I whispered to God. "Guide me, and use me to heal."

Once again, thank you to all who participated, and congratulations to Grace and Emma! Make sure to tune in next week for Emma Chasteen's short story! Until next time, Ad Lucem.

-L.E. Levens