The Gift: A novel

Disclaimers!

2004-11-29T19:29:00.000-08:00

Yes, I realize that this is a pretty bad novel. But it's at least a novel that's out of my head and onto paper, which means that it has a chance of being a decent novel. Maybe.
Secondly, I fully intend to post translations of all my obscure quotes from other languages. Just don't expect it this week.

And finally, PLEASE POST YOUR COMMENTS! Really! I will take them into consideration!

Chapter 33: Agnosco veteris vestiga flammae

2004-11-29T19:28:00.000-08:00

Stooping to drink from the second stream, the men felt the water flowing through them, enlivening their muscles and stirring their senses. As they straightened up again, Dranger noticed something odd. Slightly upstream, there was a single set of footprints, leading up to the water’s edge, then away, back toward the clearing. He tapped Cobb’s arm and pointed to the marks.
They left the stream, and walked back into the clearing. They saw the chariot gleaming in the sun, and approached it. Before, they had seen only the lady inside the charior, but now they came closer, and looked inside the chariot itself. It had a high front section, which got lower as it swooped to the rear, until it met the flat floor of the chariot at the back.
Looking inside, they gasped slightly, having unexpectedly found their anonymous guide.
On the floor of the chariot sat a man, hair as white as snow, and with skin as brown and rough as the bark on the trees. His body was thin and muscled, but wiry; not an ounce of fat was to be found there.
But the thing that they found to be most odd was his face. His eyes were open wide, staring up into the sky above the chariot. He smiled broadly, almost ferociously, and appeared to have died suddenly.
"He can’t be more than two days dead," whispered Dranger. "There’s no decay, no sign of animals having been around."
Cobb was kneeling by the chariot, leaning in to exmaine the face. Twisting himself around, he tried to look upward from the dead man’s point of view, but was blinded by the light of the noonday sun.
"I wonder what it was he saw, when he was dying?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She stepped into the chariot, and stood in the front of it. He could not tell whether she blended into the statue, or enlivened it, but somehow the two were now one.
He gazed at her, unable to see anything else. "So long..." he whispered. "I’ve waited so long to see you..."
She smiled and shook her head, her loose veil fluttering in the breeze. "Too long. You lost your sight and became blind. I am here now to show you what you really seek, beccause you have forgotten what it looks like. You have forgotten and so have thought that I was what you wanted."
Bending down, she placed her hand on his face. Her touch was as gentle as he remembered, but stronger than he had thought possible.
Irresistably, she turned his head so that he was no longer facing her, but stared directly into the sun.
"Don’t forget," she whispered, "to see!"
His eyes were filled with light, and his heart felt like it had wings, soaring above the ocean as he looked without blinking into the heart of the sun.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 32: In Te Domine, Speravi: Asperges Me

2004-11-29T19:27:00.000-08:00

They stood on the mountain top, wind whispering through the trees, staring at the figure before them. She towered above them, not frighteningly, but with a sense of power and authority. Though they had seen the scroll in her right hand, her left hand had been hidden from them, due to the angle at which they approached the statue. Now, standing before her, they saw that her left hand pointed subtly to their right, towards the spring from which the two rivers flowed.
They moved toward the fountainhead, neither speaking, and neither daring to question the experience for fear that it would fade like a dream, or turn into insanity.
A short distance upstream, they came to a tree. It was perfectly pruned and symmetrical, its beauty unequalled by any tree they had yet seen. It was covered in blossoms, flowers as bright as violets and deeper of hue than roses. They smelled so sweet and rich that two men were moved almost to tears by the very scent. It reminded Cobb of his first true love, and the scent of her hair as they kissed. To Dranger it was vaguely reminiscent of his mother’s perfume, hanging about her in scented clouds as she put him to bed as a very young child.
The blossoms dropped slowly from the tree, carpeting the ground with a rich tapestry. On the tree was tied a scroll of smooth bark. Carefully, Cobb untied the scroll and stepped back, untying it. He unrolled it, and read silently, holding it so that Dranger could see the text as well.
"Deus venerunt gentes, but now is meant
Not a usurpation or raiding,
But a grace that is heaven-sent,
The grace that was your aiding.
So give thanks for the love that lead,
And leads you, never fading,
And showed you the path to tread."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She lead him gently, to where a barren tree stood by the side of the river and bade him sit. "You are wondering how this can be, when I am dead, ‘passed beyond the veil,’ and you are not?"
He nodded silently, unable to take his newly strengthened eyes off her face. She began to speak, talking of the mystery of the communion of the saints, but he hardly heard. Her words seemed to be casting a spell over him, and his eyes, though still firmly fixed on her face, began to grow heavy.
She smiled, and beckoned him to his feet. "The time for talking is done," she said. "It is time for your final work, and then you will see; see clearly, and see as you have never seen before!" As she lead him away from the tree, he did not notice that it was no longer barren, but blossoming profusely. She took his hand and lead him to where the second stream flowed from the fountainhead, and cupped some of the water in her hands. He moved to do the same, but she stopped him, and brought her cupped hands to his lips. He drank the water, and felt his lethargy melt away. Laughing, he straightened up, feeling younger than he had in many decades.
"Come," she laughed. "I have one last place to go before I show you what you have longed to see." She lead him away from the fountain, back downstream to where her image stood in the chariot.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 31: Lethe

2004-11-29T19:25:00.000-08:00

The two men stood by the riverside, unsure of whether they were meant to cross it, or whether they should stay on their own side. Finally, Dranger set his pack down by the bank of the river, and carefully began walking across on the flat broad stones that lay at intervals in the stream. As he set foot on the opposite side of the river, he knelt and cupped his hands. Dipping them into the stream, he drank the fresh water and poured handfuls of it over his head. Gasping for breath, he shook his head to clear the water from his eyes, and looked at Cobb, who still hesitated on the other side of the river. "Aren’t you coming across?"
He shuffled his feet uneasily. "I’m not sure I should. I mean, I can see fine from over here, and I’m not sure I’m supposed to cross the river."
"It’s not going to drown you. Besides, the water tastes great, really refreshing. C’mon across."
Cobb hesitated a moment more, then slipped the pack from his shoulders, and stripped off his rather dirty undershirt. Carefully, he moved across the water and crouched down at the far side. He splashed water onto his sun-browned face, shivering as the water ran in rivulets down his bare skin. As soon as the cool water touched his skin, he forgot the exhaustion of the climb and the dirt and grime of the journey. He felt the sun shining warm upon his face, and smelled the sweet smells of the island’s fruit-laden trees.
They turned to face the figure of the woman in the chariot, and cautiously approached.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"It can’t be...I’m awake, still alive...You’re dead."
She nodded. "Yes. But I told you that I would come to you when you could no longer see your way. And you cannot see, which you already know; but you are finally ready to see." She extended a hand, falling to one knee beside the stream. "You must wash first, though." Smiling, she laughed again, stopping his heart for a moment, "You can’t see yourself, but I can. Trust me."
He stepped into the stream, sinking in the mud until the water flowed over his knees. She held up her hand for him to stop, and she scooped up water and poured it over his head. He submitted to her ministrations, and began scrubbing away the grime that had built up. He never thought water could feel so good.
Finally, his skin shone clean, like newly polished bronze, and he arose from the stream on the lady’s side of the river. He turned and knelt in the soft grass at the side of the water and took a deep draught of the crystal clear water.
At that moment he forgot the past decades spent on the island. He forgot the pain and loneliness, the frustrations, and the sheer blind grief. He looked up and saw her, shining like the sun, and her light no longer dazzled his eyes.
Seeing his astonishment, she laughed, smiling at him. With a swift motion, she drew back her veil, and he saw her full face.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 30: Benedictus qui venis

2004-11-29T19:23:00.000-08:00

In the center of the chariot, standing tall in the light of the rising sun, stood the figure of a woman. Her sculpted robes flowed around her form, as green as emerald and smooth as milk flowing from a jar.
Her head was crowned with a wreath of golden leaves; they caught the light of the sun and tossed it back in dazzling rays.
But neither man could look long on her garments once he had looked the figure in the face. The artist had labored long, it seemed, to create the color and tone of living flesh. Only her eyes could be seen, however, for she wore a veil of flowing white, which obscured the lower half of her face. Her smile, though, could be seen in her eyes, and they both felt touched to the very marrow. Tears poured down each man’s face, though neither one noticed it.
With one hand, she extended a open scroll. Upon it were written these words:
"Look on me well, for I am she
Who guided thy quest here to the peak;
Who am but a symbol, an allegory,
Of that true thing which every man must seek.
And here I stand, a symbol still,
A human woman, frail and weak;
So look beyond me, to that higher still."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His tears flowed freely as he affixed the crown of gold. She stood before him, a sculpted form, reminding him of the living lady which she represented, but recalling her more by the absence of life than by the presence of form. He had carefully set the statue in the chariot he had made, and written her speech upon the open scroll. He knew that he could do no more, and any attempt to make her more than she was would destroy the image.
But he felt the emptiness within him, and felt hollow inside. She still had not come, and he still could not see.
He did not know how much longer he had to live, but knew it could not be long. His bones creaked, and his joints stiffened; even breathing had begun to be tiring.
He walked to the stream, and looked out to the horizon. He could see the sand spread on the beach, shining in the sunlight, and beyond it the dazzling blue-green ocean, topped with white foam. His heart stirred within him, and he walked along the stream until he came to the edge of the crater. He stood, feeling the wind on his body, smelling the sweet and familiar smells of the island. The sand looked to him like the gold background of an illuminated manuscript, while the sea looked like an inset of lapis lazuli. The mass of green below him, the roof of the forest, reflected the light like the facets of an emerald. The rising sun was like an eye of fire, seeing and revealing all it saw; he could feel its fire touch him, and he felt his heart stir in response.
He heard a soft laugh behind him; a laugh that was as free as a bird’s song, as rich as notes from a French horn, and as light as the air. Hardly daring to turn, for fear that it would be another phantom of his imagination, he turned around slowly. She stood there in the sunlight on the far side of the stream, shining as brightly as the tropical sun itself. His heart seemed to stop, and he could do nothing but stare, eyes dazzled by the light. She was dressed in a dazzling white dress, and her lower face was concealed behind a veil; he knew she smiled, for her eyes were visible, and the joy in them nearly blinded him.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 29: Beati quorum tecta sunt peccata

2004-11-29T19:19:00.000-08:00

One half of the clearing was carpeted in white flowers, reflecting the brilliance of the morning sun; the other half was covered in flowers as blood red as any rose, though neither man was familiar with the exact species of flower. The clearing itself was surrounded by figures of fantastic shape and form, of many brilliant colors.
A handful of trees, standing in pairs, had been joined together at the top to form leafy arches at the edge of the clearing. In each arch stood a tall golden pole, topped with a golden torch. From each torch sprang carved flames, coated with sap and dye, flaming red and orange in the morning light.
On every side stood the trunks of trees, but trees that now had human shapes. Though the human form was recognizable in the form of the tree, they stood rooted firmly in the earth, vines and flowers sprouting in natural crowns from their brows. No paint was visible on them, but the faces were polished and shining in the diffuse light.
A monolith stood at the far end of the clearing, and they could clearly see two sides of it, though the third and fourth were hidden from their view for the time being. On one side was incised the head of an ox, surrounded by six stylized wings, and eye motifs in every inch of free space. On the other side, an eagle, also surrounded by wings and eyes. In the center of the clearing stood a sled, created of green wood that had been tied and propped to achieve the desired shape. Harnessed to the sled was a creature with the body of a lion, carved into an old tree stump; sprouting from its back were two leafy branches that had been allowed to remain on the tree. Its leafy wings swept back, swaying slightly in the breeze.
Three young saplings stood by the right wheel of the chariot, their supple forms dyed in brilliant colors and braided together inseperably. One tree trunk was a vibrant red, another green, and the third one was almost pure white, though exposure to the elements had dimmed its brilliance slightly. By the left wheel stood four other trees, the outer three braided around the inner one, and all dyed a deep and royal purple.
At the rear of the chariot stood the figure of a man, holding a scroll in each extended hand, and standing between the red and white flowers. One scroll, the one that hung over the white flowers, was inscribed with the number "39;" on the other, hanging above the sea of red, the number "27."
But though surrounded by strange and enigmatic figures, neither man could take his eyes off the figure in the center of the chariot.
~~~~~~~~~~~
He lay in the midst of the flowers, exhausted. He had felt his time growing short these past few seasons, and so was exerting himself to finish his work. It required every waking moment of every day, but after his year of rest, he had been ready to give everything he had, every ounce of energy. The clearing and the forms it contained had taken three years to construct, but he had finally completed it.
He ate more often now, needing the extra energy to complete the task he had chosen. But it seemed to be going well, and he was content.
He moved his head slightly, turning to stare at the empty chariot. This, he knew, would require the last drop of strength; not strength of body, but strength of heart and mind. He did not know if he could do her justice, nor if he could bear to see a thing that was her and yet not her, staring sightlessly at him every day, but he knew that he could do nothing else. He had to find his way, had to see what he sought, and he could not do it without her.
He rolled onto his stomach, leveraging himself onto his knees. He remained there a long moment, head hung low, almost brushing the grass, then looked up into the rising sun. "Sing, Muse, of the man of many twists and turns..." He exhaled deeply, murmuring, "the man of sorrows." He stood, slowly, and moved to the center of the clearing, determined to finish the task he had begun so long ago.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 28: Delectasti

2004-11-29T19:18:00.000-08:00

They entered what they knew to be the final circle of the mountain. The pass lead upward, opening onto the small circular plateau that was the top of the mountain. Its volcanic origins were still in evidence; the top was not entirely flat, but rather a large flat space inside a shallow crater. The floor of the crater was covered in soft thick grass like a carpet, and trees grew so thickly that they hid the other side of the crater from view. Flowers were scattered around the forest floor, and hanging vines were strung between the trees.
A stream flowed through the grass, burbling and trickling to the rim, where it poured itself down the mountainside in a cascade. On the other side, standing on the far bank of the river was a statue of a woman. It was painted in the natural hues and dyes that could be gleaned from the island’s plants; the colors were lifelike enough to allow the statue to be mistaken for a real woman at the first glance. She stood, bending slightly, as if to pluck the flowers at her feet. A large stone marker lay beside her, with letters carved large enough to be read from the far side of the stream. Matilda, read the top of the marker, then: Quia delectasti me, Domine, in factura tua.
Though the stream was shallow, it did not seem appropriate to simply wade through it. A quick glance upstream showed what looked like a crossing place across the glen. Slowly, savoring the sweet, clean smell of the air and the soft carpet of grass underneath their feet, they moved upstream. Pausing, Cobb dropped to one knee in the grass, and slowly removed first his dust-covered boots, then his socks. He laid the boots and socks neatly beside the stream, and continued his journey barefoot. A few moments later, Dranger did the same. They moved upstream, their feet sinking into the grass. As they approached the crossing place, they saw that it was in a small clearing. The sun shone through the space in the trees, the morning light creating a soft glow that hung above the grass. They could see, just past the crossing point, the fountainhead of the stream; it flowed from its headwaters in two directions. Dranger realized that the smaller stream on the far side of the glen must be the one that fell from the height into the lava pit many feet below, and was lost underground. The other, the one they walked beside now, must be the one that they had encountered many times while climbing the mountain.
They moved into the light of the clearing, and paused, taking in the strange sight that awaited them there.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur moved his brush slowly, gently, applying the color in thin coats that would not crack or chip. He had alternated each layer with a layer of sap, which smoothed the paint and made the color translucent so that the woman seemed to glow from within.
He stepped back, examining the interplay of light and color over the surface of the figure. It seemed to be working well, so he set aside his pot of dye, and sat down in the shade of the trees.
He could feel his body stiffening, and flexed his fingers gingerly. Fifty-six, he thought. Fifty-six years of life, a full half of which had been spent living in the open elements, under the blinding eye of the sun, pushing his body as hard as he could. It could not go on much longer, he knew. He had five years, he thought, perhaps as many as ten. But his solitude on the islan d would soon be over, and he would be free from this great and terrible gift.
He stretched out in the grass, trying to keep his muscles flexible, but knowing that it was largely a useless gesture. "Quia delectasti me, Domine," he whispered. "For thou, Lord, hast made me glad through thy works: and I will rejoice in giving praise for the operations of thy hands." He pulled himself into a kneeling position, propping his hands against his knees, hunched over the grass. "My works have been for You, and my hands Your hands, these past years. Grant me the strength to serve as long as may be required." He stood painfully, slowly; stretching his arms to the rising sun, he whispered, barely audible even to himself: "Domine..." He swallowed hard and continued, "Istud quod facio non facio nisi, ut inveniam te. Inveniam te postquam id perfecero."

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 27: Beati mundo corde

2004-11-29T19:17:00.000-08:00

As the sun went down, the path ahead was almost blinding. The light of the sun, at its low angle, would have made sight difficult enough, but at the entrance to the path on the other side of the clearing lay a pass of fire. The path narrowed dangerously in a stone bridge between two large pools of lava. The path was wide enough to allow one person across at a time safely, but not comfortably.
The two men paused a few feet away from the bridge, heat washing over them even at a distance. Neither one spoke, but neither one moved toward the pass either. Finally, Cobb marked the position of the sun, and said what neither one wanted to admit: "The sun’s going to go down here in a few minutes. We can either spend it here in a pit with lava on all sides, or we can cross that bridge, and spend the night on the path with the lava behind us, downhill from us." Dranger nodded, and checked the straps on his pack. "Nothing for it then. Ready?"
At the very edge of the bridge, they halted again, startled at the sheer strength of the heat. They paused, wondering if they actually dared to walk the narrow strip of stone, but then Cobb shouted, pointing up and ahead. "I can see the top of the mountain! We’re almost there!" Forgetting his fear, he stepped onto the bridge and began the dangerous journey across.
His companion’s words had ignited Dranger’s lagging spirits, and he began crossing the bridge as well. The heat was staggering, and his eyes watered. It became impossible to look down; the heat coming up was far too intense. He lifted his eyes up to the darkening sky, and caught sight of the peak that Cobb had spotted. It lay just ahead of them, a broad flat line against the sky. He kept his eyes fixed on the park, the cooler air of the mountain top sweeping down and cooling his face. He could feel his head beginning to swim from the heat, and barely managed to stagger the few feet to the end of the path, and safety. The two men lay, gasping for air, for a few moments, then managed to walk a short distance up the path, to a place where the heat grew less. They saw two trees, one on either side of the pass, with their branches intertwining above the path. They lay down in the soft grass, energy sapped by the extreme heat through which they had just passed. Almost immediately, they fell asleep, stretching themselves out on the ground in the quickly growing darkness.
-------------
Cobb dreamed, though it seemed to him that he lay awake under the night sky. He looked up the path, and saw a young woman coming down the path toward him. She was somewhat plain, but her face was bright and happy, and as she wound down the path toward him, she was picking flowers and braiding them into a garland. She never stopped moving, but walked up and down the path all night, singing and weaving, until all the path and trees were strung with colorful braids of flowers. As morning came, she walked back up the path and disappeared into a garden at the top, swallowed up in the light of the rising sun.
At that moment, he awoke--realizing only then that he had, in fact, been dreaming--to see that the sun had, in fact, risen.
---------
Dranger had dreamed as well, and also saw a young woman coming down the path towards him. She sat by the edge of a deep pool, and stared into its depths, watching the reflection of the stars. She did not move from the edge of the water all night, but watched the movement of the stars across the sky for hours. As dawn approached, she got to her feet and went back up the path, into the light of the rising sun.
He awoke, and saw that the sun had indeed risen, and that Cobb was awake as well. Neither man stopped to eat, but they simply got to their feet and began the walk upwards toward the top of the mountain, now only a few feet away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He wasn’t sure when he had first begun to think of it, but he had finally realized that he needed to take some time off. His school years--though filled with many comings, goings, and doings--had been primarily ones of contemplation. These past years, however, had been full of action; necessary action, often, action that kept him from losing his mind in the long years of solitude. But the time had come for contemplation again.
He had not wanted to simply sit still, thinking, but neither had he wanted any activity that would take up too much of his mind. So he had spent the year tending the grass, pruning the trees, and planting flowers: gardening was often mind-numbingly simple, but also satisfying. It allowed him time to think, and gave him enough of a sense of accomplishment to sleep peacefully at night.
He looked up, realizing with a slight shock that it was nearly nightfall. He patted the transplanted strip of sod more firmly into place, and dribbled a few handfuls of water onto it. He dumped the rest of the contents of the waterpot onto his head and rubbed the dirt from his body. As the moon became clearer in the darkening sky, he laid down to sleep under the shade of the trees whose branches he had twined together.
-------------------
As he slept, he dreamed. In his dream, the moon shone brightly on the path, lighting it almost as thouroughly as if it were day. As he watched, he saw a lady coming down the path toward him. Her hair was as dark and brown as the earth itself, and her skin as white and glowing as the moon. As she came, she gathered flowers, weaving them into wreaths. She approached him slowly, putting a finger to her lips, bidding him to be silent. She sat beside him, and they watched the moon and stars for the rest of the night. Then, as morning approached, she stood, turning to leave.
"Wait!" he called. "I need you to help me see! I can no longer see where I am or where I am to go."
She looked over her shoulder, and smiled. "Wait," she said. "The time is soon, but not yet."
As she walked up the path, the sun rose, and devoured her with its light. He awoke with a start, looking desperately toward the path, but she was gone. The sun was rising, and he rose with it. The day was young, and there was much thinking to be done.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 26:

2004-11-29T19:16:00.000-08:00

Cobb advanced towards the central statue, intent upon proving a suspicion he had. Underneath the statues’ sculpted feet opened a small rift in the grassy earth, and from it came heat and light; another hot spot.
As he approached the statue, it gleamed dully with the red light from the lava and the white light of the sun. Suddenly, all the mist was swept away in a gust of wind, and the sunlight hit the statue full on: Cobb shielded his eyes from the glare. What had appeared through the mist as a dull metal proved to be, in the full light of the sun, pure gold, beaten onto the form of the embracing couple and polished to a high degree.
Cobb thoughtlessly reached out to touch the golden surface, but yelped and pulled his hand back quickly. He looked down, realizing the that heat from the open rift must drift up and heat the statue.
Dranger joined him at the statue, then the two men moved on, walking on the path that ran around the edge of the clearing, The sun was slipping down the sky, sinking towards sunset.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hammer beat down upon the statue heavily, unceasingly, as did the rays of the sun upon the man who weilded the hammer. His hair, which had been a rich brown in his younger days, had turned silver. The sun had bleached it more successfully than it had the brown hair, and what had once been silver was now a pure warm white. His skin was dark and bronzed, standing in contrast to the shock of white hair. His hammer blows fell slowly but surely, and he worked hard. Large hammer for the big broad sections of statue, smaller hammers for the more intricate work, and small wooden dowels for shaping the smallest sections of gold.
He wasn’t sure how long it would take to smooth the gold over the statue. He had melted down the gold and poured it over the statue, then begun using the hammer to smooth out the inevitable eccentricities in the metal coating.
Twenty-five years, he thought. Everyone always asked silly questions like "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" He chuckled a bit, wondering what his classmates would have thought if, when asked that question, he had answered, "Oh, on a desert island with no hope of rescue."
He set down the hammer; he had found that he needed more rest than he used to, but he had become accustomed to it. He knew that he couldn’t live forever, and would, in all likelihood, die before another decade passed. He smiled, wondering if anyone would ever find his body, or if anyone would ever set foot on the island at all. All chances were against it, but chances were against him landing there in the first place, so it was difficult to say for sure.
He picked up the hammer again, and continued beating the gold as the sun slowly sank towards the horizon.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 25: Summae Deus clementiae

2004-11-29T19:15:00.000-08:00

As Cobb and Dranger climbed over the top of the stone step, a wave of heat hit them full in the face. They turned their faces away, shading them with their hands. After becoming slightly accustomed to the heat, they began moving forward again. There ahead was another hot spot on the mountain, though there was very little steam or vapor this time.
All along the mountain wall rang a line of red-hot lava, glowing in the shadows of the mountain pass.
They edged along the far side of the pass for about fifteen minutes, then Cobb pointed ahead. There the path took a turn inward, crossing over the lava, onto another broad plateau. They ran quickly across the natural bridge and onto the safety of the plateau. The lava still burned around the outside of the circular clearing, but there was less danger of falling into it. In the middle of the clearing stood a figure of what at first appeared to be a hulking misshapen figure. However, when a gust of wind blew through thge clearing and cleared away the thin haze that hung in the air, they could see that it was in reality two figures, embracing closely. They seemed to be covered in a shining layer, much like the previous angel, but the shifting mists made it too difficult to examine the figures at a distance.
A second statue met them at the entrance to the arena, holding a small clay pot. As Dranger looked into the container, he saw a gleam that surprised him. "Gold!" He looked in wonder at the figure of the statue, searching for the text that might help explain the presence of the precious metal. On the front of its robe was written a verse, also in gold.
"Symbol and thing intended, both are here;
Gold, the sign of fire, and fire are to be found.
Here is the last purgation, so do not fear,
But be prepared to heal the final wound.
The fire that burns within is fire still,
Whether we are slave to it or unbound.
Learn to love with a whole and healthy will,And lust will forever flee,
And continue to move upward still,
And be forever free."
-------------
"Hey man, what’s eating you?"
Ray shrugged slightly, looking distracted. The other boy followed his gaze, which was firmly fixed a girl sitting among her friends on the other side of the parking lot.
"Aw, dang, don’t tell me. You got the hots for Shawna."
Ray protested loudly, but the other boy stopped him. "Yep, that settles it. You’re a goner, man. You can’t stop looking at her, you haven’t touched your lunch, and you start yelling when I mention her name. Yep, you’re in love."
He waited until she was alone, without her usual protective crowd of friends. "Hey, Shawna."
She turned, slightly surprised. "Oh! Hello, Ray. You headed home?"
He nodded mutely, desperately searching his mind for something to say. Something impressive, something witty, something romantic...
"So, you, uh, you want some gum?" He dug a pack of rather squashed gum out of his pocket and offered her a piece. "Um, no thanks. I’ve got braces."
He spent the next five minutes mentally kicking himself. Gum? What had he been thinking?
He walked her home every day for the next week. On Wednesday, she finally let him carry her backpack, and by Friday they had begun holding hands on the way home. Finally, on the following Tuesday, he had stopped just before they turned the corner to go up to her house. The house on the corner had a row of low trees that faced the sidewalk, and they could not be seen. He bent down quickly and kissed her. She had obviously not been expecting such an action, but didn’t appear to mind either. When she finally pulled back, she smiled shyly, then turned and ran towards her house. As the screen door slammed in the distance, he realized that he was still holding her backpack. He walked nervously up to the house and laid it on the doorstep. Ringing the doorbell, he lit out for his own house, not waiting to see who opened the door.
He slouched against a parked car, smoking a cigarette that somehow remained lit in the slow drizzle that fell. His eyes drifted, always enjoying the "scenery" on this particular corner. One particularly stunning example walked by, short skirt damply clinging to her legs. She made a few movements to pull the hem down, but it continued to ride up, so she left it alone. He whistled loudly, and began to walk beside her. "Hey baby, what’re you doing out on a day like this? You should be inside somewhere warm." He grinned. She threw him a look of disgust, and continued walking.
"Hey, what’s the rush? I could help you get warm, you know. " He kept pace, silently appreciating her fashionable decision to wear a thin, low-cut blouse on such a wet day. She tried to dodge, but couldn’t move fast enough. He blocked her, leaning against the wall with one arm, the other arm around her waist. He leaned in closely to snatch a kiss, but she ducked under his arm and ran down the alleyway, disappearing into the fog and rain. He swore, and looked around, hoping no-one else had seen. Why had he been so stupid? Trying to kiss a girl he didn’t even know out in public? He shook his head slightly to clear it, making a mental note to keep himself more under control next time.
---------------
There she stood, across the park. He had followed her here, in hopes of being allowed simply to watch her. He watched her now, entranced by every move. When she tossed her golden cloud of hair, his heart skipped a beat; when she laughed, a pain shot through him so great that he thought his heart had split in two.
He knew that she thought him too young for her. Sure, there was a five year difference between their ages, but he wasn’t just any sixteen year old nerd. He was as much a man as the men who had chased her, the men who took her out on dates and kissed her when they thought no-one was looking.
Today she was with a dark-haired man. They had been spending a good deal of time together lately, he thought. She must really be fooled by his show of devotion. Disgusted, he started to leave, but turned as a sparkle caught his eye. The dark-haired man knelt in front of the Golden Girl--his Golden Girl!--holding out a small black box. She was crying, crying and smiling, nodding ecstatically before throwing her arms around the dark-haired monkey and kissing him.
Stanley moved away through the shady darkness of the trees, unable to think clearly. All he knew was that he had lost her, lost her without ever having really had her in the first place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had taken some doing, but he had finally figured out a system. He had formed a clay pot with four small handles, and tied a leather strip to each one. He tied the four leather strips onto a large branch, and propped it so that the pot sat in the hot lava. He then tossed in several nuggets of metal, and poured water over the leather strips to keep them from baking. Slowly, the metal melted, and a scum began to build up on the liquid surface. Reaching in carefully with a broad flat piece of wood, he skimmed off the layer of scum, revealing the molten gold below. The process was repeated several times--with short intervals in which he wet the leather strips again--before he was satisfied, then the branch was moved away from the ring of fire. He carefully untied two of the leather strips, and lowered them just enough to let the pot dribble out a thin stream of liquid metal. It fell into a smaller pot, and he let it set there.
He then stopped work for a while, unable to stand so near the firey pit for so long. He retreated across the clearing to the path on the far side from the mountain, and rested there. The air was hardly cold, but it was cool in comparison to the fire. He was grateful for his years in the sun, for it made his skin more tolerant of the fire than it might otherwise have been. But though he could stand the fire, and had learned to use it, he knew he could never be completely immune to it.
He knelt in the shade, sweating, and began to pray. "I am beginning to be an old man, Lord, and will soon lose the capacity of lust in the decay of my body. But I am still young enough to feel its fire, and it burns in me, alongside that which it mimics: love. Burn out of me all that is impure, refine me as I have refined my gold, until I too shine like the sun."

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 24: Beati qui esurient justitiam

2004-11-29T19:13:00.000-08:00

They took time at the foot of the tree to fill their canteens with fresh water, then moved on along the path. However, just as they rounded the corner of the mountain pass, they saw a second tree, also planted in the middle of the path. But this one lacked the natural splendor of the cascade; instead, the tree was surrounded by five figures, all dressed in scanty rags. Each figure was emaciated and bony, and they all reached toward the branches of the tree; some of them almost looked as if they would fall over from reaching too far.
The two living men circled the ring of carved men, looking at their sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. They looked into the branches of the tree, seeing the rich red fruit that also hung from this tree’s branches, but the sight of the emaciated and desperate figures had removed their appetite for it.
After one silent circle, they moved on down the path. Ahead of them, they could see another large stone step. But in front of the step was a sight unlike any they had yet seen. It was another angel, to be sure, but not sculpted, like the other figures had been. It was carved directly from a large tree trunk, and polished to the point where it glowed like fire in the morning sun. He stood, guarding the pass, wings outspread to either side.
Cobb and Dranger hesitated slightly before passing the statue, and at that moment, the sun climbed into the height of the noon hour and hit the statue directly. It appeared to burst into flame, the reds and golds of the wood illuminated more brightly than before, until neither man could look at it. They passed by hurriedly, and hoisted each other over the stone step.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur rubbed the fistful of leaves over the surface of the statue. The process ground down the leave and his own hands faster than it ground down the wood grain, but it gave it a smoothness and a sheen that was otherwise unattainable. He dropped the leaves, since they had begun to crumble, and ran a hand over the statue. The entire surface was smooth to the touch. He reached into a small clay pot at his feet, and drew out a bit of animal fat that he had been saving. He began rubbing it into the wood, the oil seeping in and drawing out the color of the grain. After covering the entire piece with the oil coating, he grabbed another handful of leaves, and continued sanding. This process was repeated for many weeks, until the statue was entirely smooth and glowing with the inset oil.
The morning after the sanding was done, he took a small tube he had carved from wood: the tube had a sharpened point at one end. He went out to a tree that he knew well that often dripped copious quantities of a beautiful amber-colored sap. He picked up a large rock, and proceded to hammer the small tube into the tree trunk, and set up a clay pot underneath it to collect the sap. He took a twig, and went around the tree with another small pot, and began scraping sap off the outside of the tree.
"Sabrina fair," he grunted, reaching up to pull off a large knob of golden sap.
"Listen where thou are sitting,
Under the glassy cool translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair."
He looked up at the tree, and grinned. "Well, I’m not sure about the hair, or the lilies, but you most certainly are ‘amber-dropping.’ So I shall call you Sabrina."
He took the pot of semi-hardened sap, and set it in the middle of the hot coals of his cooking fire. The sap began to soften, then to bubble and melt. He knelt by the stream and wet a bit of soft leather, part of an animal skin, and wrung it out. He used a forked stick to lift the pot from the fire, and poured a bit of the sap over one section of the statue, and replaced it in the fire. He quickly turned back to the statue, and began spreading the sap with the leather. He rubbed it into the wood, smoothing it out carefully. After a few repeats of this process, he stepped back and took a look at the effect.
The statue, from the combination of oil and sap, had begun to glow slightly in the sun. He smiled, knowing that it would take a good deal more work, but it would indeed produce the effect he sought.
He banked the fire, and sat down in the shade.
-----------
"You need to eat, you know."
He shook his head, and pushed his plate away almost untouched. "I can’t; I’ve got to settle this. I can’t sit here, knowing what really happened, and let this happen." He got up, and pushed his chair away from the table.
He walked out of the cafeteria and across the campus. He opened the door of Beardley Hall, the home of the history department. Turning down a hallway, he knocked on a closed door.
"Come in."
He opened the door and looked in. A professor sat behind a scarred old desk, absently typing on a computer. "Yes?"
"I need to talk to you about John Dooley’s paper."
The professor sighed, hit a few last keys, and turned to face him. "I cannot allow my students to cheat on their papers. His was too similar to another student’s paper to be coincidental. The other student is at the top of his class, and has been well respected here for three years."
Arthur leaned forward. "Sir, I have to ask you reconsider. You see, I was with John in the library when he was researching and writing his paper. We often study together, and both had major projects due during that period. So we agreed to meet everyday, hoping that the presence of the other would encourage each of us to work as hard as possible. He did. I saw him writing that entire paper, and I could tell you which books he used the most."
The professor looked at him for a long moment over the top of his glasses. "Do you have any other witnesses, sir?"
He nodded. "Ask the librarians who work the late shift. They had to kick us out several nights that week. Some of them might even remember reshelving the books."
The professor sighed, removing his glasses. "Well....I shall definately look into this. He never told me that he had a witness to his writing; probably too proud, I should imagine." He turned to look Arthur in the eye. "But, if this turns out to be true, he will have a great deal to thank you for. He would have been placed on academic probation, if not asked to leave the school. We don’t look too kindly on plagurizing."
Arthur nodded, and stood to leave. "Thank you for your time sir, and your willingness to listen."
On the way to his next class, he had just enough time to grab a sandwich before class began.
---------
He dampened the leather strip again, and went back to work smoothing hot sap onto the wood statue. Over the next few weeks, he collected sap from the clay pot he had placed under the tree, and continued to smooth it on the form of the angel. It was slow work, but proved to be worthwhile. Over time, the layers of sap built up, forming a transparent red-gold aureole around the figure. When the sun caught it, it looked as though the angel was made of flame.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 23: Labia mea Domine, aperies, et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuum

2004-11-29T19:12:00.000-08:00

The two men began to circle the tree; Dranger removed his hat, and let the droplets of water fall on his face and head. soon, they were laughing and soaking wet, but neither cared. The cool water felt good, and was quite refreshing on such a hot day.
Suddenly, one of them saw a gleam in the tree that did not come just from the dampness. They looked up, squinting into the treetop. There was a small vine which grew at the very top of the tree; growing from it were several bright red fruits with very shiny skins. They shone in the sun like rubies, and one could hardly look at them without having a desire to taste them.
They forgot about the breakfast they had eaten a short time before, and thought of nothing but the fruit. Cobb moved toward the tree, and began to climb. He discovered, however, that the tree trunk was too slippery to allow any climbing. The flow of water over the tree had worn its wood almost completely smooth, and a bit of algae had grown over it, making it slimy and almost frictionless.
Cobb slid down into the puddle below the tree, and looked up at the fruit. "Think we could get it down with a rock?"
Dranger shook his head. "I don’t think so. Itm might bruise it or even splatter it. " But neither man could take his eyes off the fruit for a long time. Finally, Dranger pulled away began to walk down the path again. "Come on, Ray. I don’t think we’re supposed to eat that fruit."
------------
"Come on, man, leave it alone. Those aren’t ours, and we just ate lunch. Besides, since when do you like fruit bad enough to steal it?"
Ray looked over the fence at the pear tree, eyeing the ripe fruit. "Yeah, but I kinda want it anyway." He looked left and right, then hopped up against the fence. He snaked a hand out and grabbed a pear, then landed heavily on the ground. He bit into the pear, grinning, the juice dribbling down his chin. After a few bites, however, he grew tired of the fruit and tossed it down the alley, half-eaten.
-------------
As they moved down the path again, Cobb turned back to look back at the fruit. Dranger stopped, then smiled and clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Cobb looked at him, then grinned and turned back toward the path.
As the sun rose, two figures walked up the trail, small clouds of dust springing up behind them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur tugged the chute into place. It had taken a long time to burn out the insides and hollow the trunks, but he had finally done it. He now wrestled the last of the chutes into place. He eyed the distance, and thought it would work. He lashed the chute into place, and propped it with rocks. He threw all of his weight against it, but it didn’t budge. "Good," he declared.
He looked behind him at the stream, flowing down the mountain a little to his right. All was ready, he thought. A double row of rocks, sealed off with clay, lead to the chutes. A large rock, with a strong branch as a lever underneath it, kept the river in its course. All it would take to change the course of the stream would be to flip the rock onto its side, which would place it broadside to the main stream, and allow the water to flow through the gap it left.
He braced himself against the lever, hoping desperately that the plan would work. It had taken a few weeks to plan, and many months to prepare, but he thought it might finally be ready.
With a heave, he threw his entire weight into the lever. The rock lifted slightly, the lever groaning ominously, then suddenly turned over, perfectly blocking off the main course of the river. Arthur jumped out of the way of the surging water, and watched in delight as it boiled over the edge and into his four chutes, hitting the crown of the tree with perfect accuracy.
He smiled broadly, and went about checking the rock and clay that held the flood in its bounds. It all seemed secure, so he let it be, and climbed slowly down to check on the tree. The four chutes seperated the water enough that it did not hit the tree with any great force, but simply came down mostly as droplets and streams, instead of a solid wall of water.
He looked up at the vine which he had placed in the top of the tree. It seemed to be growing well, and none of the water was hitting it directly, though it got a constant dripping through the leaves above.
Yes, he thought, it will do. He stood under the tree, letting the water wash over him, washing away the sweat and dirt of the morning. He ran his hands through his hair, rinsing out the grime and dirt, then rebraiding the greying strands.
Sighing with contentment, he stepped out from under the sparkling shower, and ran his hands over his arms and legs to remove the excess water. He considered eating breakfast, but decided that he was not, in fact, hungry at the present moment. He had found himself eating less these past few years. Though there was no danger of depleting the food resources of the island, he tried to restrain himself, and had begun a more discplined eating regimen. He had found that he needed far less food than he was actually eating. Though he had not been fat before, he now had no extra weight on his body; all was muscle, skin, and bone.
He stood in the sun, letting it dry him slowly. He was now dark enough that the sun’s rays could no longer harm him in any way, only warm him. He looked up towards the sun, but had to look away. No amount of exposure to the sun would strengthen his eyes enough to look into the sun, but he still tried, every day.
He sat down on the grass to rest, and watched the water fall into the tree.
--------------
The water fell, steaming, from the spout of the teapot into the mug. He stirred the cup absently, allowing the teabag to steep for a few minutes as he spooned sugar in. Besidethe teapot sat a plate of toast, buttered and still warm from the toaster.
He settled back into his chair with his laptop, and began typing. Every few minutes, he would stop to look over a section of text, and one hand would snake out to the plate and snag a piece of toast or a sip of tea. He was always surprised at the sheer amount of hot buttered toast one could get through in a full day of writing.
Late in the day, he heard the expected knock on his door. He set aside the laptop with a sigh of relief, and sprinted to the door.
"Hey! Did you get a lot of writing done?" Rachel walked in as he held the door open for her. She carried a basket covered in a cloth, from which was rising the most delicious smell.
"Yeah, about 7,000 words I think. Fairly productive. Most of it’s drivel, I’m afraid, but that’s par for the course."
Rachel surveyed the kitchen, eyes noting the vast array of crumbs surrounding the toaster and the pile of teabags on the table. "Did you actually eat any meals today? Or did you just survive on toast?"
"Toast. A little bit of tea."
Her eyes drifted towards the pile of teabags on a saucer.
"Ok, a lot of tea, maybe." He grinned. "And I’m guessing from the smell of that basket that you’re here to rememby that situation." She smiled, and pulled back the cover of the basket. There sat a dish with half of a cooked chicken, a small container of honey mustard, and a loaf of bread.
The blanket that they had spread on the floor of the apartment was by now littered with crumbs and dishes. Arthur lay on his back on the blanket, sprawled across the floor of the room. Rachel was sitting on the couch, eyes roving over the screen of the laptop.
Arthur propped himself up on his elbows, watching her. "Any good?"
She nodded, concentrating on the screen. Finally, she closed the computer, and smiled. "Yes. It’s quite good." She got to her feet, and began walking around the small living room, examining the books on the shelves. "Arthur, I’m worried about you. You’re not eating properly. It’s not affecting your work yet, as far as I can tell, but it will." She turned to look at him, brushing a handful of curls back from her face.
He sighed, and rolled onto his stomach, resting his chin on his crossed arms. "I know. I noticed it a day or two ago. I decided to go to the grocery store, as soon as my next paycheck comes in, and I’m going to get a bunch of stuff that is neither tea, nor coffee, nor bread." He smiled. "But thank you for noticing."
She smiled, and returned to her examination of the bookshelf. Arthur got to his feet, and walked over to his stereo in the corner of the room, and punched a few buttons. The soft strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D began to drift through the air, filling the room. He walked up behind Rachel, and whispered softly in her ear.
She turned toward him, her hand slipping into his. Slowly, they began to dance, Arthur surreptitiously kicking the blanket out of the way. As the music ended, Arthur extended his arm, twirling Rachel out to the side. As she moved away from him, he saw the dim light of his single lamp shining on her face. No candle ever shone more beautifully.
---------
He looked back at the tree, shining with its new cloak of water. As the sun rose higher, a glowing band of colors pierced the air above the tree, a rainbow arcing across the newly formed waterfall, and in the rainbow shone the reflected light of the sun.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 22

2004-11-29T19:10:00.000-08:00

The path narrowed briefly into a small pass, obstructed at the far end by a large stone block. It was covered in images, and writing that neither man could read. The images portrayed a man, kneeling, and holding up his arms in the universal gesture of surrender. A golden ray lit upon his head, illuminating him. Above his arms and surrounding him were other images: gold, food, women, jewels, and numerous other things.
"Look," Dranger murmured. "I think he’s supposed to be giving all this stuff up. See? It’s floating away from him." Cobb nodded, eyes roaming ovver the stone.
Cobb extended his hands as a stirrup to Dranger, who vaulted himself onto the top of the stone. He leaned down and extended a hand to Cobb, and pulled him up beside him.
They stood and turned to continue along the path, but stopped upon seeing the expected statue. It towered over them, a good eight feet tall. It was, as was to be expected, an angel, but its wings were different. A rough net of branches formed the structure of the wings, but the structure could hardly be seen. Tied to the wings were all sorts of beautiful things: feathers from the tropical birds, shells of color and shape that they had never seen before, wood polished to such a sheen that it glowed, and little nuggets of raw metal that shone in the sun.
The angel held a scroll, slightly unrolled so as to be readable:
"Take gladly, friend, and be glad,
For this is a gift to you,
Take one thing that you wish you had,
And leave in its place something new."
They looked at each other, then approached the angel. Cobb fingered a bright bit of metal for a few moments, then suddenly decided on a shell that turned any light it caught into a hundred different irridescent tints. He pulled out his pocketknife, and carefully cut it free from the cord that bound it to the angel’s wing. Dranger circled the angel for a long time before pulling down a piece of wood. It was twisted and curled in an intriguing shape, and had been polished till it glowed. Its color came out in the polishing, a deep rich red, with gold in the grain.
They rooted through their packs and pockets, trying to find something worth leaveing on the angel’s wings. Cobb found a coin from some country whose name he could not pronounce. He puzzled over how to attach it to the tree, then found a scrap of cloth. He put the coin in the cloth and tied the ends together, then tied it onto the nearest branch. Dranger found a small carved figurine that he had bought in some market a while back, and tied it onto the tree.
They stood for a moment, watching their gifts sway slightly in the breeze. Then they turned and continued walking up the trail.
As the morning wore on, they became aware of the sound of a stream again. "Must be that first one we found, further down on the mountain. I think the other one goes underground after it hits the hot spot," Dranger explained.
They scrambled over some loose boulders that had fallen across the path, and saw a strange sight. The stream, which apparently had originally flowed down the side of the mountain, had been diverted. It flowed down to a rock ledge, and then hit a wooden chute that stuck out over the path. In the center of the path stood a tall tree, and the stream hit its leafy head, sparkling on every branch, and leaping from every leaf. The water trickled down the trunk, polishing it smooth, and gathered around the roots, before continuing its journey down the mountain.
The men looked up at the tree, which towered above them, and enjoyed the spray of the falling water.
It reminded Cobb of rainy days, when he was a child. No-one had cared much whether or not he was inside, so he ran around in the rain like a madman, splashing in puddles until he was muddy up to the waist.
-------
The boy crouched beside the gutter, carefully eyeing the busy stream. The rain had mostly stopped, but a gentle sprinkle still fell, and the gutter would be full for quite a while. He surveyed his pile of sticks and grass, and selected a few promising twigs. He held them in place in the gutter while he piled up stones to hold the dam in place. When the twigs were precariously propped against the rocks, he began scooping mud out of the gutter and piling it against the twigs. The water began backing up, since it could no longer rush between the twigs, and he soon had a rather deep pool in front of his makeshift dam. The water began going around the dam, so he extended the dam out and to the fore, enclosing the little pool. He turned around, and happily grabbed his vessel: a bit of soft bark with a single leaf for a sail, stuck to it with mud. He set it carefully in the pool, watching it swirl with the eddies of the little pond.
-------
He smiled, and stooped down, picking up a small bit of bark that lay on the pathway. He set it in the pool at the foot of the tree, and watched it circumvent the trunk, then begin the mad plunge down the mountain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He tied the shells onto the angel’s wings, smiling. It had only taken a week or two to build the angel itself, but he had spent several months collecting odds and ends to tie onto the branches. He had found lovely bits of wood, and hung them in leafy trees, letting the motion of wind and leaf do the work of polishing. He had splashed through the waves searching for shells, and had broken off colorful pieces of coral.
He looked at the angel’s wings, all the bright colors and rich textures forming a pattern of unique loveliness.
He laid down under the patchy shade of the angel’s wings, and pondered his life these past twenty years. At first, he had thought of the island as an opportunity, a completely unique job. Then it had been a curse, cutting him off from all other society. And now, he asked himself, what was it now? A gift, he thought, it was a gift. He fell asleep in the warm morning air, listening to the soft tinkling of shell and wood overhead.
----------
"What are you making?" His shadow fell across her work and she looked up. "Oh, it’s you!" She held up what appeared to be a tangle of think black thread and wire, with bits of shell and bamboo dangling from it. She laughed at his expression, and explained. "It’s a windchime. Well, it’s going to be, anyway. I think." Her skirt was filled with bits of shell and wood, and a pair of scissors was balanced on her knee.
She plucked up a shell with a delicate gesture, and threaded it on a bit of the string. Eyes unblinking, she carefully tied the thread onto a ring of wire, and secured it with a skillful twist. Her face relaxed, and she smiled. "There. There’s another one in the right spot." She carefully scooped up her shells and scissors, and set them aside, then stood up to greet him.
They spent a happy day in the park, he writing on his laptop computer until the battery ran out, and she working on her windchime. He scribbled notes ffor his story in a spiral notebook, waiting for her to finish her work. She tied the last knot, and held the chime aloft for inspection. The soft fall wind caught it, and blew the bits of shell against the bamboo tubes. The chime made a hollow wooden sound, one that was low and soft, and infinitely pleasing to the ears.
He nodded, smiling approval. She took the chime and tied the main string to a tree branch that overhung the sidewalk. "Can I borrow some paper and a pen?" He handed them over.
The two lovers walked away hand in hand. Behind them the chime sounded gently, a note fluttering on one of the bamboo tubes invited any passerby to take the chime; a gift from a stranger, it said.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 21: Beati qui sitiunt justitiam

2004-11-29T19:09:00.000-08:00

As they walked up the path, they came upon a broad spot in the path. It was deeply covered with think grass, and the morning sun shone upon it brightly. As they advanced, they saw a figure at the far end of it. It was not like the other statues, which had been standing. This figure, instead, was kneeling, curled in an almost fetal position.
Approaching it, they noticed that this figure did not wear the sculpted robes that the other figures had worn, either, but was completely naked. The face seemed to be in an ecstasy, but whether one of joy or suffering, they could not tell.
On the ground just in front of the statue was an engraved plate:
"Behold the one who gave all he could,
Francis, in Assisi lived and died,
A generous servant of the Good,
Serving Him who was crucified,
He became poor with the poor,
And gave all he had to them; he tried
To rid himself of all worldly hoard,
To rid himself of pride and desire,
And so he died as one poor-born,
Though there were few higher."
They examined the molded face of the figure. He was young, and somewhat handsome, but his features were twisted into an expression not often seen on a human face. It was as if he were suffering the greatest pain imaginable, and as if he were happy about it. The expressions of joy and pain were equally mixed. His eyes were tight with pain, but they looked up towards the East, to the rising sun. His mouth had many lines at the corners, lines of pain, but he wore a brilliant smile.
Neither one of them could bear to look long at the statue, and they quickly moved on.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur moved his hands over the sculpted figure, gently shaping the muscles, and smoothing the figure. He was still tired; twenty years on an island will do that to you, and he was nearing fifty. But he was no longer too tired to work; working, in fact, energized him once again.
He still did not know why he had ended up here, doing what he did. He didn’t, in fact, claim to know why anything that had happened had happened. But he was now content to let things happen, and to work with what he had.
He hummed as he worked, and laughed when he realized what he was humming. Drawing a deep breath, he began to sing in a loud voice that startled a nearby bird.
"Que sera sera,
Whatever will be, will be,
The future’s not ours to see,
Que sera sera!"
He sang this for some time until he finally grew weary of the repetition. He paused, stepping back from his statue to judge the effect. He nodded judiciously, and began cleaning his hands. The figure would soon dry in the warm morning sun, and then he could proceed to bake it. But that could wait for awhile.
He walked down to the stream to wash; he always loved seeing the clay wash away, leaving small clouds in the water. His skin was now very dark indeed; these past few years had been spent working in areas with very little shade, and he had been in full sunlight for many hours each day. His hair had gone from its original dark brown to a light brown with red and gold strands in it, though much of it was no longer either gold or brown, but silver. He had tied it back into a thick braid to keep it out of the sticky clay.
He walked back into the sunlight, shading his eyes against the light and looking to the mountain’s peak. Soon. He would be there soon. He had not climbed the mountain since that first night on the island. He still wasn’t sure how, or even if, he had climbed the mountain that night. He had woken so dazed from the wreck that he had not known quite what he was doing.
He longed to be on the top of the mountain again; he could still remember the sight of all the island spread out below him, and the shining sea running from horizon toi horizon, all blue, and green, and white, and golden with the rays of the rising sun. He could still hear the songs of the birds, the first time he had heard them rise for the day, and remembered his first sight of the flock of birds circling the island before soaring out to sea.
He took one last look at the peak of the mountain, and sighed. Then, smiling, he walked away, hunting for food for the day.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 20: Adhaesit pavimento anima mea

2004-11-29T19:08:00.001-08:00

As the sun mounted in the sky, Dranger and Cobb packed up their camp and began to move forward once again. They had taken no time the night before to examine the path ahead of them, but did so now. They had spent the night in a broad flat clearing, overgrown with grass. On the far side of the clearing lay the trail. As they entered it, however, they stopped short. There, in the middle of the path, stood the statue of a wolf. The hair on its back was raised, and its lips were lifted in a snarl. But around the snout of the beast was bound a tightly fitting muzzle, made of some strong rope.
They walked up to the statue, and examined it. It stood on a rock in the middle of the path; the front side of the rock was carved with a verse:
"Beware the ancient wolf; the beast
Who consumes but never can be filled;
For he who envies loves least,
And all his affection is killed."
They studied the map at the base of the statue, and moved upward on the trail. As they walked, each kept an eye out for the next stop along the way, but was inwardly distracted by memory of his dream.
As they walked, they came upon two statues, standing opposite each other on either side of the path. On one side was the now-familiar robed Lady, smiling down upon them. On the other side was a man clothed in the robes of a bishop, and holding a sack of coins. At his feet lay a small sled, lashed together out of branches and twigs. He wore a bishop’s mitre, but it oddly had a wreath of what appeared to be holly around it. Suddenly Cobb laughed. "It’s Santa Claus!" He pointed at the sled, and up at the wreath of holly. "See? Saint Nick!" Dranger, somewhat startled, gave a quick laugh, and agreed.
They moved to examine the other statue, but were forced to stop. The ground began shaking beneath their feet, and they threw themselves down on the warm ground. The entire mountain shook for a few moments, and all the birds on the island cried out in a loud voice, taking to the air. The quaking stopped, and all was still.
"I didn’t know this area was prone to earthquakes, did you?" Cobb gasped. Dranger shook his head. "There’s always a chance in volcanic areas, but this was supposed to be a pretty quiet spot. Guess we just happened to come at the wrong time. "
They picked themselves up and dusted off their clothes, which by now were quite grubby.
They continued up the path somewhat warily, always keeping one hand within grabbing reach of the rough mountain wall, but no more quakes impeded their journey. As they continued up the mountain side, each man fell into deep thought.
"Hey Stan."
"Yeh?""What is it that makes you want to keep doing this? What is it that you want?"
Dranger was silent for a long time, contemplating his answer. "I don’t know. I want to know what sort of man would spend his time doing this to an island. I want to know how he did it all." He paused, fiercely debating with himself over whether or not he should reveal his deeper desires, and finally decided to take the plunge. "And I want to know what he knew. I mean, what would I do if trapped on this island for any length of time, and didn’t know if I’d be rescued? I’d either go completely off the deep end, or make a raft and take my chances at sea. " He pushed a tree branch out of the way, and watched it snap back into place with a leafy rustle. "But this guy didn’t. He wanted to leave a record, and a beautiful, difficult record at that. Why? How did he know that it would draw people in, have such an effect on them?" He drew a deep breath, and exhaled. "Yeah, that’s what I want. What about you? What do you want out of this?"
Cobb grinned lopsidedly. "The meaning of life, what else?" He laughed, but added, "And I’m only half joking about that. I wonder if this old guy didn’t maybe know something I don’t about living, and I sure as hell want to know whatever he knew."
Dranger nodded, and tugged his hat brim down to better shade his eyes. Cobb fell silent, wondering to himself why he claimed to want what he did. After all, only two days previously he would have said that all he wanted from this island was a large profitable mineral deposit to reward, thereby earning a rather substantial bonus in his paycheck. But he knew know that even if he found a pit of solid gold, he could never report it to the corporation. They would come in with bulldozers and mining equipment, and destroy the place, raping the island to get what they wanted, and leaving it in rubble. But now, after only two days on the island, all he wanted to do was see what awaited them at the peak of the mountain. Only once before in his life could he remember wanting something so desperately.
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"Yeah, it was a graduation present. They traded in my first car, and got me this one, brand new."
Cobb was sure that his face must be the color of a lime, sure that his envy of the truck was written on his face for all to see. Then he realized, with a sick feeling in his stomach, that that was exactly what Griegson wanted him to feel.
"So, what kind of gas mileage does it get?" he asked casually, determined not to give the other boy the pleasure of watching him drool over the candy-apple red truck.
"Oh, not great, but not terrible. About 30 miles to the gallon, I think."
Cobb had an insane urge to "accidentally" scrape his own battered set of keys down the side of the car, but decided against it, knowing that Griegson would have no qualms about "accidentally" running him down in an already-scratched truck.
He drove home morosely that day, sullen and distracted. He had never done anything to the truck, but it taunted him for months; a thing that he could never attain, but could not forget either.
-----
He shook himself alert again, and looked toward the top of the mountain, which was hidden by a line of trees. He sighed, and shifted his pack higher on his back, taking more determined steps. This was one goal he fully intended to achieve.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur stood in the light of the rising sun, tears running down his cheeks. "Why can’t I see you?" he shouted to the sun, but received no answer. The birds flew around his head, but he took no notice of them, having long grown used to their morning song.
He wiped his tears away slowly, and turned to the day’s work with a heavy heart. He had no desire to continue his work; all he wanted was her. She had been gone so long...He gathered clay for his statues mechanically, bringing up great armfuls from the stream, by means of his wooden sledge. As he sculpted the face of the Lady who would guard the right side of the path, tears began seeping from his eyes again, and he blinked them away quickly.
His stomach felt heavy and sick, and he had no desire to eat, and had had no appetite for days, All he wanted was her, but she was not to be had, not by him, not by anyone. He looked up at the smooth clay face of the Lady he had been sculpting, and slowly sank to his knees.
"Mother Mary," he whispered without feeling, "Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death." He fixed his eyes on the clay face above him, but saw only the face of a love, long lost.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"No, Arthur, I am not perfect, and you really must stop thinking so." She sat beside him under a tree in the warm summer sun. He opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him. "No. I know what you’re going to say, and what you say will be true, but you don’t believe it." She moved away from him and got to her feet, pacing barefoot in the long grass.
"A few years ago, I was a very different person. I had never had a boyfriend, and no-one had ever shown any real interest in me. I was desperate that someone should do so. I had my heart set on one man, and one only. I just knew that he was the one for me." She smiled sadly at him. "I’m afraid I threw myself at him. Rather painfully and obviously, in fact. It was only later I found out that he was in love with my best friend. They eventually got married. But I would not forgive them for loving each other. My desire for Michael ate away at me from inside; I couldn’t eat, sleep, or do school properly. I couldn’t look either of them in the face anymore." She drew a ragged breath, her eyes lowered and sad. "I know it sounds like such a small thing, but I would wager that you have never experienced it. It is not a pleasant experience to hate one’s friend, and hate yourself for hating her. I wanted Michael’s love, or love of some sort, so badly that I killed and choked off the love of two good friends." She sat down beside him again. "I had to give it all up. It was the only way I would ever learn to have friends again. I gave up all claim that I thought I had on human love." She laughed slightly, face upturned now to catch the light of the sun. "I did go to another wedding the year after that; I was able to dance at another friend’s wedding, and it was glorious. There was no envy there, and so love had plenty of room. "
She took Arthur’s hand and looked at him earnestly. "Now you know that I am not so close to perfect as you had thought. I find it difficult to love without envying anyone else who has a claim on the love." She smiled again, and plucked a flower from the grass. Leaning close, she whispered in his ear, "But I’m learning." She stuck the flower in his hair, laughing.
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He remembered the sound of her laugh, but it only intensified the ache he felt within. He had never wanted her so badly as he did now, when she was completely out of his reach. He tried to think about what she had told him about coveting the love that did not belong to her alone, but it still lead to thoughts of her.
He stopped work, leaving the figure in the sun to dry, and buried his head in his hands.
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He felt her hand, small and cold, touch his gently, and pulled his hands away from his face. He was oddly ashamed to let her see his tears, though he knew that she would not mind them.
"I don’t want you to go," he whispered. She lay against the aseptic sheets quietly, her dark hair spread out like a cloud. She nodded slightly, and wrapped her fingers around his. She was not quite strong enough to close them completely, so he wrapped his other hand around hers, closing her fingers over his.
"Arthur..." He looked at her, eyes bright with tears and grief. "Arthur, I’m not going to tell you not to mourn for me. You will, and should, grieve. You’re a sensitive person, and not grieving would hurt you worse than anything else that might happen as a consequence of this. And I’m not going to tell you to get married to someone else and live happily ever after, because I don’t think that you will get married. But I will tell you this." She squeezed his hand, and looked intently into his eyes. "Do not follow after me. I am not what you are really seeking, nor should I be. Search for what you know to be true, and when you have come to the end of your search and can not find what you have sought, I will be waiting for you, and will show you what you are looking for." She smiled, and laughed quietly. Her laugh was still light and rich, but no longer held the strength that he had first heard in it. "You never were any good at seeing, you know."
He laughed for a split second, though it sounded more like a hiccup through his tears. "Don’t leave me, Rachel. All I want is you."
She closed her eyes. "Ah, now, see, that is a mistake." She beckoned him closer; he leaned over her to catch her whisper. "You are Arthur. Go find your Grail. I am not it. " His tears fell on her face, but she had no strength to wipe them away. She opened her eyes weakly. "Are there any nurses in here?" He shook his head. "They told me I could have the last---" He swallowed hard. "A few minutes alone with you."
She smiled, the old mischievous glint sparkling out of her eyes for a moment. "Good. Arthur, please pick me up and take me to the window."
"But you’re--"
"Please."
He slipped his arms underneath her, and lifted her gently. When he got to the window, under her orders, he let her feet down until she stood in front of the window, supported by his arms. The morning light fell on her face, and it shone like never before. Her skin, always so pale, had now become almost transparent; the whiteness of her brow reflected the golden light, and the tiny blue veins of her face looked like veins of sapphire running through a bedrock of alabaster. Her eyes shone as brightly as the sun, and she gasped as she saw the sun rise. He glanced at her, and saw that her eyes were fixed, not on the light, but on the disc of the sun itself, and she did not blink.
"Gloria..in excelsis..Deo" she gasped, and he felt the last bit of weight leave her body. Her eyes, though no longer bright, were still fixed on the rising sun. He cradled her to his chest, and let the tears come. The nurses would be here soon; now was the time for mourning.
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He got to his feet and walked out into the morning sun. Turning to the east, he fixed his eyes as best he could on the disc of the sun, which seemed to fill the sky.
"I cannot see," he whispered again. "Please...some hint, some sign...just one...I cannot live with this desire unfulfilled any longer."
He fell to his knees in the grass, eyes buried in his hands. Spots of molten color boiled behind his eyelids, the penalty for any mortal who stares into the sun. He blinked, blinded by sunspots and tears, and looked up again. He caught sight of the clay figure he had begun to sculpt. For a moment, he saw her face on the figure, and heard her laugh on the wind, stronger than it had ever been. He saw the gold that the sun cast over the ground, and saw the way it turned his own body into a thing of gold and jewels.
Weeping freely, but no longer despairingly, he lifted up his hands to the sun. "In excelsis!" he shouted, glorying in the rough scrape of his voice.
The sun rose on a man who had finally lost everything, and so no longer held onto anything as his own.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

19: Siren

2004-11-29T19:08:00.000-08:00

As the moon sunk in the sky, the two men slept, each lost in dreams.
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In his dream, Cobb found himself wandering through a forest, where the sun shone golden and dim through the leaves. As he wandered, he heard a sweet song drifting through the trees. He found himself moving toward the sound, and soon came within sight of the songstress. She sat under a tree, half hidden in its shade. As he came nearer, her song became more piercing, and he reached out to her. She extended a hand to him, and enclosed his fingers within her own. He was captivated by the song, and did not notice her fingers growing and sprouting tendrils, which slowly wound around his arms. As she sang, she grew, body twisting and sprouting branches. Her skin grew rough and grey, and as she became more and more treelike, she drew him further and further into her embrace. A few more moments, and he would be completely lost within the barky trunk of the tree.
But then, in a sunny corner of the clearing, a small daisy sprouted, and quickly grew into the form of a young girl. The girl looked at Cobb, and cried out. He awoke from his trance and began to struggle with the tree, wrenching his arms free from the enclosing branches. The young girl began to sing, a song that was as joyful and glorious as the other’s was haunting and mournful. The two songs strained at each other until Cobb felt as though he would break, torn between the two. Then, as if an electric shock had passed through him, he awoke, and looked around desperately.
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Dranger dreamed as well. He found himself standing by the ocean, waves crashing around him. He heard a song, as hollow and resonant as a note blown from a conch shell. He looked around, seeing no-one, then felt a touch at his feet. He looked down, and saw a beautiful maiden in the water. She was golden-haired and young, and her song flowed into his ears like water into a vase. He knelt down, bracing his hands against the shore, listening to her song. She reached out of the water to touch his hand, and he thrilled to her touch. She drew his hand slowly into the water, submerging it to the wrist, and then to the elbow.
Suddenly, a ray of light from the cloudy sky struck a rock far out in the ocean, and up from it sprang a woman, dark-haired and brown-eyed. She looked on Dranger with pity, and began to sing, a melody as strong as rock, and as golden and warm as the other’s was cool and hollow.
Dranger suddenly shook himself, and tried to pull back from the mermaid’s grasp, but her grip was as strong as steel. Her eyes grew cold and fishy, and her soft body began to sprout knife-edged scales. She grinned, and Dranger shuddered in horror to see a row of long needle-like teeth. The woman on the rock sang more strongly, her voice echoing over the waves, drowning out the crash of the breakers.
The two songs collided, drawing the water up into a great wave in the middle of the sea. Suddenly, the wave began to move; it crashed into Dranger with the force of a freight train. He awoke suddenly and completely gasping for breath, beside him, Cobb did the same.
The sun rose in blinding brightness in the east, and the songs of the birds reached a crescendo.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur tossed and turned upon the grass. The night was warm, and he needed no covering, but his sleep was uneasy nonetheless.
He dreamed, wandering far and wide over the ocean, the stars overhead. He wandered directionless, lost for what seemed like ages. Suddenly, when he was passing over a dark forested island, he heard a song, piercing, matching the dull ache in his heart. He sank, lowering gently into the forest. There in front of him he saw a beautiful woman, golden haired and singing softly. As he watched, she slowly rose to her feet, and began to dance. Her hands waved as her words intertwined, enchanting him completely. He moved towards her slowly, and her hands reached out to clasp his. She danced around him, winding her hands over and across him. Just before she completed her circle, he heard another song interrupting hers, and started. He began to run toward the voice, hearing only for a moment the golden-haired siren’s shriek of rage; he only knew that he must follow the song. He knew that voice, and ran toward it. It lead him into the darkest part of the wood, and he tripped and stumbled across hidden vines. He could see the glowing eyes of animals hidden deep in the trees, and once heard the hiss of a snake, but ran on by, heedless of them, knowing only that he must find that voice. As the forest grew darker, the song grew louder, until he needed no other guide than the sound. And then, when he reached a point of complete and utter darkness, he stopped. "I cannot see!" he cried.
A golden laugh sounded, and a warm light began to grow around him. "I know. And here I am." Just as the light grew bright enough, he caught a single glimpse of the singer’s eyes. They shone with a light greater than the sun, but he only saw them for that one instant; with a start, he awoke, and saw the golden light all around him. He leaped to his feet, looking around wildly, but saw only the sun, rising in all its glory. He saw the golden light that it spread on the grass around him, and the way it turned the green leaves into gold. He was a man in the midst of great riches; he broke down and wept.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 18: Acedia

2004-11-29T19:07:00.000-08:00

The two men slept on through the night, unaware of the moon’s slow progress towards the height of its arc, or the stars’ measured and hasteless dance across the horizon. Suddenly, they were awakened by a loud rushing sound, accompanied by a completely unfamiliar sound. They were suddenly surrounded by a crowd of bats, winging their way out of a hidden cave into the night. Their piercing shrieks echoed through the darkness as they chased and snapped at insects.
The flurry of their leathery wings was oddly stirring, and both men were soon completely awake, and felt ready for action. However, they knew that if they continued their journey now, they would be tired again as soon as the sun rose, so they did not move from their beds, but stared up at the bats and stars instead.
The bats soon moved off in their evening hunt, but Cobb and Dranger remained awake.
"Hey."
Dranger grunted. "Yeah?"
"You think it’s true what they say? You know, to follow your heart and all that crap?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, they always say that you should follow your heart, and anything that you do for love is ok, right? So, is it true?"
Dranger looked at him warily. "And why do you choose this moment to ask?"
Cobb shrugged. "I dunno. But, I mean..." He propped himself up on his elbow. "I don’t know about you, but I’ve been remembering a lot of things lately. Not good things, mostly. But I always did what I felt I had to do, and did a lot of things for love...Well, I thought it was love, anyway. But...well, some of them were good things, and some of them weren’t. So, should I follow my heart or not?"
Dranger studied him carefully in the moonlight. He’d never seen the younger man this open, this vulnerable. He was old enough to be his father, albeit a young father. He sighed, and decided to play the man and give him a few lessons about life and love.
"First of all, love makes you do dumb things. You ever see a bird trying to impress a lady bird during spring? They act like complete idiots: it’s a wonder they don’t all get eaten during springtime." He paused, searching for words. "But, if they didn’t act crazy, they’d never get lucky, and then there would be no new birds in the spring." He stopped, realizing that he’d somehow gotten a bit off course. "In all honesty, I have done many stupid things for love. Always too careful, I guess. So I’m not sure I can give you a good answer. But it looks like sometimes you have to do stupid things for love, and other stupid things you shouldn’t do. Make any sense?"
"Not much, but I think I know what you mean.""Ok then. Go to sleep."
Dranger rolled over, and took his own advice. Cobb stayed awake, watching the stars for a long time, but slowly his eyes closed, and he too, was asleep.
~~~~~~~~~
Arthur lay in the long grass looking up at the stars. He was tired, very tired, in both body and soul. He was no longer young by anyone’s standards: he had been twenty-eight when he first landed on the island, and that had been eighteen years ago. His hair had begun to turn gray long ago, though it was less noticeable in his sun-bleached hair than it would have been before. His body had grown lean and muscular, both from the restricted diet of the island, and his incessant work. He had managed to keep his hair reasonably trimmed, using chips of flint as knives to cut it, but his beard and mustache were still rather impressive. He had seen himself, once, in a still pool of water, and had hardly recognized himself. He was no longer the young, handsome graduate student that he had been. But then, he was not the pompous, hot-tempered young man he had been either. He looked up at the stars, having grown intimately familiar with their movements over the past decade. If he looked just right, he could make out the Southern Cross, rising above the trees.
He sighed, and got to his feet, unable to sleep. He paced the small clearing restlessly, looking back on his life.
"Can I really say that it has been well spent?" he wondered. "I did nothing but school for so long, then landed here, where my work can profit no-one..." He paused, disheartened. "Why do I work, then? Or why not try to build something, and escape? I am free to do whatever I want here: there is no society to harm, nor any other person to endanger." He slammed his fist into his open palm and shook his head. "So why? Why do I keep working? Why do I keep building, when there is no likelihood that anyone will see?" He sighed, his mind drifting, and coming to the only answer that he could ever find.
"As fire mounts, urged upward by the pure
Impulsion of its form, which must aspire
Toward its own matter, where twill best endure,
So the enamored soul falls to desire--
A motion spiritual--nor rest can find,
Till its loved object it enjoy entire."
He groaned, a sound of pure weariness and brokeness, and sank to his knees. "Domine," he whispered into the grass, "istud quod facio non facio nisi, ut inveniam te." He looked up at the stars, wheeling across the sky. "Inveniam te postquam id perfecero." He curled up again, face down in the grass. "Rachel...Help me. I cannot see what I have worked so hard to find."
He fell asleep, still stretched out on the grass, the dew mixing with his tears.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 17: Beati Pacifici

2004-11-29T19:05:00.000-08:00

They spent a few more hours wandering slowly through the clouds of steam, but finally emerged, dripping and exhausted. They slumped to the ground to rest in what now felt like the cool air. Cobb yanked his handkerchief off his face, gulping huge breaths of air. Dranger untied his handkerchief and used it to wipe the sweat from his face.
The sun was now low in the sky; Dranger marked it to be about 6 pm.
After resting for a moment to catch their breath, they moved forward down the path, looking for a good place to spend the night. They found what they were looking for around the next curve of the trail, as it rejoined the mountain wall. A second wall, complete with a row of statues, stood before them.
"Well," said Dranger, after a moment. "Let’s get over this thing, and camp on the other side. We’ll have a wall to our backs, and it’s as good a stopping place as any. " Cobb assented, and they moved toward the wall.
Five figures filled the niches in this wall, much as they had in the previous monolith. The first figure, on the far left, stood with his hands braced against the sides of his niche. He seemed to be supporting the weight of the niche, and even breaking through it. Fine lines and cracks surrounded the figure, as if he were tearing apart his prison. His eyes had been gouged out, and his hair was long and wild, twisting in heavy ropes across his shoulders.
The second figure was so odd that they spent some time examining it. He appeared to be dressed in heavy furs, with a metal helmet that sported two large horns. "Viking," chuckled Cobb. He had long hair and a thick wild beard. Around his neck was draped a serpent; the snake’s head rested on the figure’s breast, and a thin green line dribbled from the serpent’s fanged mouth to the breast of the man. There, the furs were eaten away, and the poison dripped onto his bare skin, which had been painted red and raw. In one hand, the figure held a sprig of holly; in the other, a miniature boat. The boat had been filled with the bones and skeletons of small animals, and their skulls decorated the hull.
The central figure was large and muscular. He held a helmet under his arm, one that looked as if it could have been dug up from an archeological dig. His left leg was twisted at an awkward angle to show his ankle, which was run through by a single arrow. His hair hung long around his shoulders, and had been painted a bright yellow.
The fourth figure was, like the second, dressed in furs. This figure, however, had almond shaped eyes, and a small mustache. The wall behind him was etched with a rough map, of what appeared to be Asia.
The final figure, however, was instantly recognizable. He was a small man, with short hair and a precisely trimmed mustache. He wore a military uniform with the unmistakable swastika insignia on an armband. Behind him, on the wall of the niche, was engraved a Star of David engulfed in flames.
The men moved to the left side of the wall, trying to identify the figures. Dranger, having had a few years of Sunday School, recognized the first figure as that of Samson. The second figure was a complete mystery, but Cobb wagered a guess that it simply represented the Vikings in general. The central figure was also a mystery, until Dranger remembered something. "I used to read a few myths when I was a kid, always liked the battles and stuff. I think this is Achilles. See the heel? Ever hear of an ‘Achilles’ heel?’ " Cobb nodded. "That’s what this is. He was immune to all weapons except in his heel. So an archer shot him there to kill him." The fourth figure was also a mystery, until Cobb saw a small bit of bark held loosely in the figure’s hand. Cobb pulled it free, gently, and saw a hurried scrawl: "Alright, so you figure out how to portray Atilla the Hun!" The two men laughed for quite awhile over that one, then carefully put the bark back in place. They found no reason to examine the statue of Hitler, knowing exactly who and what he was.
The mountain wall, on their right, was not so steep here as it had been at the other wall, and the men were able to scramble over it to the other side of the wall. There they made camp as the sun went down. They ate some of their beef jerky, along with some fruit from the island trees; they found another stream trickling down the mountain, and filled their canteens. They made sure to drink more water than usual, knowing that they had lost a good bit of water in the sweaty heat of the steam cloud.
They finally laid down to sleep, each man staring up at the stars for a long time before drifting off.
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"Hey, Ray."
"Yeah?"
"Will you thow me again how you can thtand on your head?"
Cobb looked at the little girl standing in front of him. She was eight years younger than he was, only about four years old. "Aw, come on, Sally, you don’t wanna see that old trick again. You’ve seen it a hundred times."
"But I thtill can’t do it mythelf, and I want to thee you do it."
He grinned. "Alright then, here you go." He leaned over, planting his head firmly on the ground. He kicked his feet up into the air, and pulled himself into a perfect headstand. Sally squealed and clapped her hands, jumping up and down. "Go, Ray, go!"
Ray laughed, and kicked his legs crazily. Sally dissolved into giggles, and crouched down to look him in the face. "You look thilly, Ray!"
He grinned and stuck his tongue out at her. She laughed again, and hid her face. Ray kicked his legs a little bit too hard, and lost his balance. With a shout he tumbled down, legs and arms akimbo. He rolled over and looked up, just in time to see Sally throw herself onto his stomach.
"Oof!" he whooshed, as the air was forced out of his lungs. "When did a squirt like you get so heavy, huh?" He lifted her off of him and sat up. "Sisters aren’t supposed to be heavy."
Sally giggled and sat down beside him. "Thank you, big brother!" She picked a dandelion that was growing nearby and handed it to him.
As they were walking back to the house, he stepped on a loose rock and twisted his ankle slightly. Cursing, he kicked the rock away, and hopped around on his good foot. Sally came up beside him, quietly. "Thit down, big brother." He looked at her for a moment, then sat, quietly.
She knelt beside him and rolled up the cuff of his jeans. Bending over, she kissed the ankle and tied a long strand of grass around it for a bandage. "There," she said. "That’th better."
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Cobb rolled over in his sleep, smiling slightly. Nearby, Dranger slept too, also dreaming.
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"Hey, cutie, time to get up!"
The young boy opened one eye sleepily. "It’s too early to get up, mom."
"Nope, just on time I’m afraid. Time for school."
The boy groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. His mother pulled it down again, and began to tickle him. He squirmed, but couldn’t help laughing. Finally, he rolled out of bed and began the onerous process of getting dressed. A few minutes later, after a quick breakfast, he was walking down the street to the bus stop, his mother’s farewell still in his ears and her homemade lunch in a paper bag clenched in his right hand.
Eight hours later, a small morose figure trudged the same route home again. He no longer carried a paper bag, but instead held a wet cloth to his right eye, which was swelling into a beautiful bruise.
His mother met him at the door. "Oh Stan, a fight on your first day?" He nodded, not looking up. He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a rather rumpled note; scowling, he handed it to her. She scanned it quickly, and sighed. "Stanley, what was the fight about?" He shrugged. "They were teasing me, and I wanted to make them stop." She sat down on a kitchen chair and motioned for him to do the same. "I know you know this already, so I’m only going to say this once. You don’t ever start fights. Ever." The corner of her mouth twitched into a slight smile. "But you always finish them." She ruffled his hair, and put her hand on his shoulder. "Promise me it won’t happen again?" He nodded sullenly, and kicked his legs against the legs of the chair. "Hey." He looked up. "Smile a bit, ok? One fight isn’t the end of the world. "
He did smile then, mirroring her infectious smile.
------
Even in sleep, and after she had been dead for nearly forty years, his smile still mimicked hers.
A gibbous moon hung in the sky, casting the whole area into sharp relief. A tall tree stood guard over the two sleeping figures, spreading its branches over them like protective wings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur ran his hands over the completed statue of the Norseman, enjoying the grooved feel of the stylized fur. He stepped back to admire the entire wall. All the figures were complete, and he was pleased with them. Samson had proven the most difficult. He could not figure out how to get the natural cracks into the clay for a long time. Finally, he had decided to build the floor of the niche first, so that it would provide a solid foundation to stand on. When it was finished, he had packed in damp clay to form the walls, and, when it was partially dry, he had stepped into the niche himself, and heaved up on the walls and ceiling with all his might. A system of cracks and fractures had been created, and the walls deformed in very natural ways. When the niche was dry and baked, he had sculpted Samson, in the very same pose he had assumed, and placed him inside the niche. It looked for all the world, he thought, as if the clay structure had created the cracks himself.
He had finished the structure ahead of schedule, and decided to take a month off of creating to practice other things that he had too often let fall into disuse. He turned to the strip of wood that he had left sitting in the shade. It was long and flat, and tapered to a point at one end. The other end was rounded and smooth; he sat down, and began wrapping the rounded end with the pelt of an animal he had killed that morning. The pelt was clean, but not yet quite dry. When it dried and shrank onto the wood, it would be permanently attached. He smiled, and hefted the crude sword. It did not have the best balance that he had ever felt, but neither was it terrible. It would serve, for an aging man fighting only opponents in his imagination.
He stood, blade in hand, facing a small tree that stood nearby. "Sir, defend yourself!" he laughed, waving the sword at the tree. He moved surprisingly quickly, the exertion of working on the island having kept his muscles in excellent shape. His movements were a bit clumsy and unskilled, but he began to remember the proper movements as he practiced.
--------
"Alright class, that’s enough for today!" The fencing teacher removed his face guard, and his students did the same. They laughed amongst themselves as they took off their gear and stowed it away in the proper cabinets.
The professor called all the men together in a circle, and spoke to them. "Now remember, young sirs, you are to be young gentlemen. You have all signed up for this class to learn swordsmanship, under the conditions that you will also learn to be chivalrous and courteous. Knights, stand to attention!" His voice rang out crisp and clear, and each young man straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back. "For what do you fight?"
"For the honor of the realm, and the love of a good woman, sir!"
"Who is your enemy?"
"Those who come against the land or seek to dishonor a lady!"
"Very good, I salute you!" He looked around the circle and laughed. "Alright, alright, you can go now. Enough ceremony for today."
"Man, he’s a real character, isn’t he," laughed Arthur. "I’d heard that he had a few screws loose, but all this stuff about being knights...Seems like he means it!" His friend nodded, grinning. "It’s nice to have a professor mean something for once, isn’t it? I mean, all the others just want to teach you how to doubt and question. I guess that’s got it’s place and all, but it’s nice to hear someone talk about things worth fighting for again." Arthur nodded. "Yeah. Whatever screws he’s got loose, I wouldn’t stop taking his class for anything."
"So, what’ve you got on your schedule today, man?" Arthur shrugged. "I dunno. Going to see Rachel at some point, but I’ve got a lot of work to do first. She’ll have a fit if she thinks I’ve started slacking off for her sake." The other man laughed. "Man, you are so lucky. My girl throws a fit if I’m not slacking off for her sake!" Arthur joined in his laughter, then picked up his book bag and began walking across campus.
He heard jeering behind him, coming from one of the other students in the class. "You’re a wimp, man! Do you just do whatever the harpy tells you to do?" His face reddened, and he turned toward the sound. "Repeat that remark, Mr. Taylor, and you will regret it." The other man stepped toward him, smiling a bit unpleasantly. He spoke in a voice that was overly polite. "Do you do whatever your woman tells you to do, sir?" Arthur straightened his back, and stood as tall as he could. "I attempt to do only what is good, true, and beautiful, sir. Since my lady is all three, I often do what she asks me to do. I see no threat to my manliness in that. But, if she is able unman someone from a distance, so that all he can do is toss out insults to her honor..." He smiled, and shrugged. "I see no threat in that."
The other man’s face flushed, and he stopped smiling. "Ok, you pompous ass, enough. You think you’re a real knight, ready to defend your lady’s honor and all that. Well, so am I! Enough of this sniping back and forth. I challenge you to a duel."
Arthur paused. "What kind of duel?" The other man shrugged slightly. "Just a fencing match. One on one, you versus me. If you want, I’ll even arrange it with Professor Harrington, so that it’s all done with ‘utmost honor and courtesy.’"
Arthur nodded. "Done, then. When should it be?"
"Tomorrow, 6 p.m?"
"Works for me." He bowed slightly. "Tomorrow at 6, then, sir. Prepare to defend your honor." The other man bowed stiffly and walked off to consult the professor, setting up the time and place for the duel.
The next day, a crowd had gathered. Professor Harrington paced in the middle of the circle of people. "Alright gentlemen. The two participants have explained the situation to me, and I have agreed to sponsor this challenge. However," he raised his hand and looked around sternly, "I have told the university that this is an extra credit class session; that means that I am responsible for whatever happens here today. I expect you to fight with honor and chivalry. I must insist, however, that you duel with the face guards on. If the lawyers here ever found me letting you duel without at least that much protection, I would soon be out of a job, and we all know what a tragedy that would be." He smiled quirkily, one corner of his mouth turned up under his dark mustache. "Alright then , gentlemen, do you have your seconds?" Each man nodded, and pointed to a friend. "Alright then, take your positions...And...Begin!"
The young men circled each other warily, foils held at the ready. Each had gone the whole nine yards, rather enjoying the idea of a real duel. Professor Harrington had, in fact, encouraged them to take the duel as seriously as possible. Each man had a simple cloth coat-of-arms pinned on his shirt, and Rachel had given him a silk scarf as a favor; he had tied it around his left arm. She had painted his coat-of-arms, proclaiming him useless at anything involving fabric. Acknowledging the truth of her words, he had left her to her work, and had not seen the design until that morning. It was a scarlet ground, divided into one upper section and two lower sections. Across the top section was a shining sword, labeled as Excalibur. The lower halves sported a unicorn, and on the other side, a winged horse with a golden bridle. Arthur had laughed, acknowledging the appropriateness of the symbols. It was now pinned to the back of his shirt, and shone in the red light of sunset as the fight began.
The red sunlight glinted off the foils like blood as they flashed out to strike. A thrust, a parry, no hit. And again, and again. Finally, Taylor dropped to one knee, striking out quickly, and scored the first hit. Arthur rubbed his leg where the foil had struck, and backed away.
"First hit is mine." Taylor grinned, a bead of sweat running down his neck. "Get ready to lose."
"First and only hit, sir." Arthur spun quickly, increasing his speed. Taylor parried rapidly, but began backing away from the onslaught. Soon, however, he was a bit overzealous in his parry, and Arthur’s foil snuck in under his arm, scoring a sound hit on his stomach. Taylor backed away, still holding the sword at ready.
"Let’s end this," Arthur murmured, and attacked with a new ferocity. He could still hear Taylor calling Rachel "harpy," and "your woman;" the memory of the words spurred him on to fight with greater energy. The next two hits were scored in fairly quick succession, and Professor Harrington came running into the circle to end the match.
"Alright gentlemen, you have bought fought well, and avenged your honor." He smiled. "In fact, that duel was a pleasure to watch; you’ve both improved your swordsmanship dramatically since the beginning of the semester. Now, bow to each other." They did so, both breathing heavily. "Very good. Alright, everyone dismissed!"
"Mr. Taylor!" Arthur called. He turned and faced him, sweat running down his face. "A good fight, Mr. Taylor, thank you." Taylor smiled, and extended a hand. "Definitely. And I apologize for my words. They were uncalled for, and you defended your lady’s honor admirably." He paused, pulling off his gloves. "Perhaps you’d like to join me and Katie for dinner sometime? " Arthur nodded, smiling. "Sounds good. Let me know when and where?" Taylor nodded, and walked across the circle, taking the hand of a pretty blond girl. Arthur put away his gloves and mask, then walked across the circle himself. He could see the last light of the sunset shining in Rachel’s eyes, and didn’t want to miss a moment of it.
------
He finished his mock fight with the tree by relieving it of the weight of a few leaves, then laughed and lowered the sword. With a dramatic flair, he bowed to the tree, and put the sword away for another day. His muscles were tired, but he was content. He had discovered that a good round with the sword helped him exorcise the frustrations of the day.
The moon was rising as he went to sleep, and he slept soundly, without dreams.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 16: Agnus Dei

2004-11-29T19:01:00.000-08:00

It was hot and wet inside the thick cloud. The smoke had turned out to be largely steam, but there was enough ash in it to make it difficult to breathe. They pushed forward, handkerchiefs tied over their noses and mouths, straining to see anything through the haze. Suddenly Dranger held up a hand and took a step back, almost bumping into Cobb.
"What is it?" Cobb’s voice was slightly muffled by the thin cloth.
"Drop-off. Gotta work our way around a different way."
Cobb looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, directly in front of them, the mountain wall which had been their guide suddenly dropped away into a pit. A small stream of water poured down the sheer rock face and plunged into the pit, creating the clouds of steam. Through the blinding steam, they caught glimpses of red, where hot lava seemed to be making an appearance on the surface.
Dranger pointed to his left. "I think we can get across that way." The path wandered away from the side of the mountain and appeared to be a safe way around the pit. They followed it carefully, testing each step to make sure that they didn’t fall into the pit.
Suddenly, a figure loomed up out of the mist in front of them. After they recovered from their original astonishment, they moved closer to it, recognizing another statue. This one, however, departing from the beauty of the former statues, was twisted and grotesque. It held its hands over its eyes and screamed, in what looked like rage. But what made the statue most disturbing was, perhaps, the system of scars and marks that marred the entire surface of the figure, as if its creator had become angry with it and destroyed his own work.
On the neckline of the figure’s robe was inscribed the phrase "Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi, misere nobis; dona nobis pacem."
On the robe itself was scrawled another verse:
"Look here, travelers, at this:
Wrath makes him deaf and blind,
And Hic Jacet Draconis,
As you soon will find."
Cobb ran his hands along the rough cracks in the figure, fingers catching slightly at the rough spots.
-------
He ran his hands over his arms and chest, checking for cuts. There were plenty, but none seemed serious. The bruising was worse, by far. He staggered out to his truck and got in, locking the doors behind him.
"He got what was coming to him," he said, words slightly slurred. "Stupid S.O.B. deserved it. Deserved it!" he shouted at the steering column, which showed no signs of disagreeing with him. Laughing, he started the vehicle.
The evening had started normally enough, with the juke box blaring old country favorites. He had sat down next to a pretty girl and started flirting. Pretty soon, her boyfriend had returned from shooting pool, and took offense at the developing situation. Cobb had tried to get the girl to come home with him, but she had insisted on staying with her boyfriend. Cobb had lost his temper then, and determined to show them both that he was the manlier man, had punched the boyfriend. The fist fight that ensued had been enormously entertaining, he thought, and had enjoyed it immensely. He couldn’t quite remember how the fight had ended, but he was conscious enough to make it to his truck, so he could only assume that he had won.
As he threw the transmission into reverse, the lights of a police car came into view around the corner, followed closely by those of an ambulance. The police car screeched to a halt, blocking his truck, while the ambulance pulled up to the front door of the bar. The police pulled Cobb out of his car, and handcuffed him. As he was being pushed into the police cruiser, he saw out of the corner of his eye a stretcher being carried out of the bar to the ambulance. The face of the man was just visible between the hurried figures of the EMTs, but was completely covered in blood. They loaded him onto the ambulance, and drove away, sirens flashing.
Cobb tried to look at his hands, before remembering that they were cuffed behind him. He flexed them tentatively, and realized that they were badly bruised; a few bones in the fingers might even be broken. He didn’t remember the fight being that serious, just that he had enjoyed it. He sank back into the cushioned seat of the cruiser, still wondering, as the car pulled away.
-------
He flexed his fingers automatically, even now remembering the pain of the broken bones. He wondered suddenly where the other man was, and if he had suffered any permanent damage. He wondered if he had ever married the pretty girl in the bar. He hoped so. It would have been a shame to fight so hard for a girl you didn’t get to keep.
He pulled away from the statue, stepping back to look it in the face again. Its face was twisted and scarred, yet it reminded him more of his own face than that of the man he had attacked. He ran a hand over his own cheek, feeling the small scars that crisscrossed his face, remnants of many fights and "adventures."
"Wonder why I did it," he wondered out loud.
"Did what?"
"Oh...just stuff. Beat a guy up real bad one time, just wondering where he is now, why I thought I had to beat the tar outta him."
"Because you are a warm-blooded animal with too much testosterone for your own damn good. Someone infringed on your territory," he eyed Cobb, then amended it. "Or, as is more likely, you wanted someone else’s property. Natural selection took its course."
Cobb stared at him. "That’s idiotic. If it was all natural, then why’d he bother to get mad when I acted like an animal? I couldn’t help it, right? So, then, what’s the point of anything?"
Dranger shrugged. "Man, you answer that, and you can out all the philosophers out of business for the next hundred years."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The steam rolled around his body in waves of heat, making the clay even more slippery than usual. The mud slipped out of his hands and fell onto the path, and he had to get on his hands and knees to find it. He had knocked a good few lumps of it into the pit below.
"Some paradise," he grunted. "Only if Paradise is a sauna."
The lump of clay slid around in his hands as he pressed it into place on the statue. It slipped briefly, then finally fastened on to the existing clay. He wiped the sweat from his brow, leaving a wide swatch of clay across his face.
He reached down for a new lump of clay. As he raised it to the statue, a bead of sweat ran into his eye and he shook his head to dislodge it. The movement, however, loosened his grip on the clay. The lump slipped out of his hands and landed on the statue.
Arthur growled in frustration. "Naturally! The one time I don’t want a piece to stick, it does!" He dug his fingers into the clay, ripping it off the statue. His fingers left deep gouges on the figure, like claw marks left by an animal attack. This further marring of the figure infuriated him. The wet heat of the steam, combined with the frustration of the slippery clay and the disfigurement of his statue was too much for his temper. He attacked the only target within range: the statue.
His hands dug deep into its torso and face, digging out huge chunks and jamming the clay into new locations. Blindly, he lashed out at the figure, pummeling it with his fists.
Suddenly exhausted, he stopped his attack, and stepped back from the statue. He saw the damage done to it, the disfigurement that it had suffered, and he began to cry. The tears slipped down his face, blending with the clay and sweat that were already present.
-------
The boy crouched down behind the bush, looking out over the park with what he took to be a hunter’s practiced eye. His bait lay before him: a handful of crumbled bread crumbs, dug out of the bottom of the family bread box. His weapon lay beside him: a butterfly net, patched in many places, but still useable.
He waited, knowing that his game would come. And come they did, flocks of them. The pigeons landed near the bread crumbs and began pecking at them. He grabbed the net and began moving it slowly. He raised it, keeping it out of sight behind the bush, and took careful aim. Then, with a shout, he slammed it down in the midst of the pigeons.
Most of the birds had taken to the air upon hearing the shout, but one was left behind, trapped under the net. It flapped and cooed desperately, feathers flying.
Arthur held the handle of the net flat against the ground as he got into position to grab the bird. He slid a hand under the net and clutched the body of the bird. He held it tightly, and got his second hand under the net, trying to hold down the bird’s flapping wings. He pulled it out of the mesh of the net carefully, trying not to catch its head on the netting. The bird, craning its neck frantically, began pecking him on the hand.
"Ow!" he yelled. "Stop it!"
He shook the bird, yelling at it to be still. The bird continued to struggle, but Arthur held tight. Finally, after receiving a particularly nasty peck on the hand, he shook the bird again, angrily, for a long time. When he calmed down enough and stopped shaking the bird, it was limp in his hand. He folded its wings gently back against its body, but it did not move.
Frightened, he set it back down on the ground, but it simply slumped over. It was quite dead. Arthur began to panic: he had never killed anything bigger than a bug before. The bird lay there, neck stretched out pathetically, eyes open and staring. Its wings sprung out from its body at bizarre angles, feathers askew. Death had disfigured it, and Arthur began to cry, desperately, willing the bird to come back to life.
---------
He shuddered again, remembering the bird’s neck, twisted out of kilter and hanging limp. He looked back up at the disfigured statue, and cried again. But soon he got to his feet, wiping the tears away, and began to work again, smoothing out the distorted clay. But he kept the warped shape of the figure, and used it as a pattern for the work. It was a reminder, he told himself, never to let anger take over.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Coming attractions

2004-11-29T08:13:00.000-08:00

Coming to a computer near you....

The rest of the book.

Yes, I hit 50,000 words, ahead of schedule. Yes, the book as a whole is almost done, as a very rough first draft.

I'll post it soon, but probably all as one giant post, so all the new chapters will be on one day's post, rather than each chapter seperately.

Sound good? Looking forward to it?

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 15: Beati misericordes

2004-11-24T10:42:00.000-08:00

The pass narrowed slightly and rock walls rose up on either side of Dranger as he walked. The walls were covered in pictures and writing, daubed on in brightly colored plant dyes and clays.
"Here is a riddle, for those who seek:
"The more there are who say "this is ours,"
The more of it each has.
"How can it be that when many
Divides it all, there is more for each
Than when only a few had any?"
Life sized figures were painted on the walls, and some more than life sized, towering over him. There was a lady, all in blue, entering a temple where a child sat among old men; on the left, a man lying in a pool of blood, with rocks strewn around him, but his eyes fixed on the clouds above him. There a girl, holding a sword, and tied to a stake for burning.
He spent some time scrutinizing each picture, examining the colors and shapes.

But as he came to the end of the passage and rounded the corner of the mountain ledge, he saw a strange sight. There, boiling towards him, was a dense cloud of smoke; silhouetted against this dark background was a human figure, pacing restlessly. The figure turned, illuminated by the sunlight, and grinned sheepishly.
"Glad to see you. Hate to admit it, but I couldn’t really remember what the map said, and with this smoke..." he shrugged. "You know me and directions."
Dranger smirked. "Yeah, I know you and directions." He gauged the sun’s position, and slipped out of his pack. "I think we’d better have a bite to eat, though. I’ve still got some beef jerky here, and my canteen’s about half full. You?"
Cobb shrugged off his pack and opened it. "Um...Two cans of soup...beef jerky...dried apples...water. Yep, got plenty, I think. ‘Specially if we can keep on gathering stuff from the island."
They plucked a few fruits from the surrounding trees and sat down. They ate quietly, and enjoyed the shade. The day had grown quite hot, and the smoke that swirled at the end of the passageway made it even warmer.
"What do you suppose that’s from?" Cobb nodded toward the smoke. Dranger took a sip of water before responding. "Most islands like this are volcanic. I’d wager that’s from a hot spot that comes to the surface."
Cobb nodded mutely, and leaned back against a tree.
In the ensuing silence, Dranger grew uncomfortable. He didn’t know if Cobb was expecting an explanation or an apology, but he didn’t feel like giving either. However, the longer the silence lasted, the more uneasy he grew. Finally, he spoke.
"Listen...I’m sorry about the statue thing. I guess I shouldn’t have smashed it."
"No," said Cobb, "You shouldn’t have smashed it."
"Yeah. I’m sorry about that one. And for trying to make you leave when you didn’t want to go. I reckon we can spend another few days here, before anybody’ll start to worry about us." He turned to the younger man. "I don’t reckon we should list these days on our timecards, though."
Cobb laughed, coughing a bit on the water he’d been trying to swallow. "Yeah, that might not go over too well."
Dranger chuckled. "Well, at least we agree on that."
Cobb dusted off his hands. "Ok, so what do we do now? Do you remember what the map said to do? Or how in the world to get past this smoke? ‘Cause I haven’t got a clue."
The older man continued to lean against a tree, and thought for a moment. "Well, as to how to get past the smoke, have you still got a handkerchief or bandana? Put it over your face, and it’ll help you breathe. We can keep our hands against the mountain wall. That should at least help keep us from getting terribly lost. As for the map..." He thought for a moment, eyes twitching from left to right as if reading a map in the air before him. "The marker shouldn’t be too far into the smoke, hopefully it’ll be fairly obvious." He got to his feet. "You ready to go?" Cobb nodded.
Just then, a fluttering distracted them. A bird burst from the surroundings trees, and soared over the trail. It hovered just above them, plumage draping down almost within reach. It flapped its wings, shifting slightly in midair, looking at them. Then, in another flash of movement, it was gone. But there, floating down through the air, were two gleaming feathers.
The two men plucked the feathers from the air as they fell. They had never seen anything quite like them. They were large and broad, though very delicate. The color was a metallic yellow, with hints of blue and purple when held at different angles to the light.
Cobb took his feather and stuck it in the brim of his hat, smiling at the rather silly figure he knew he made. Dranger carefully wrapped his in a clean shirt and stowed it away in his pack.
The two men moved away and were soon enveloped by the cloud of smoke.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur sweated as the day grew hot. Even in the shade, the day was uncomfortably warm. He was happy though; he’d determined to spend this year mostly painting. He had decided that smoothing down the rock walls of the passage to a sufficient flatness would be work enough for the year, without making a statue as well. After all, he was forty-two, and not entirely young anymore. A year of rest would be nice, after so many years of hard work.
Sitting in the shade provided by the overhanging cliff, he looked across the passage to the opposite wall, musing on what images to paint. He consulted the small designs that he had sketched onto a strip of flat bark. Yes...That would probably work...That bit of rock would have to be chipped off...Those holes on that side filled in a bit...but overall, the mural would work, he thought. He got up and picked up a charred stick out of the coals of his fire. He tapped the end against a rock until the soft ash fell away, then began drawing on the rock wall. The first section would need no real preparation. A bit of smoothing here and there, but he wanted to see how the first drawing would look on the cliff.
Forty-five minutes later, he stepped back from his work, and sat in the shade again, eyes on the figure of the lady. He smiled, happy with the basic drawing. It would look better with paint in it, but the drawing itself, at the moment, was rather nice. He noticed that he had managed to capture at least a little bit of the movement of the Lady’s robes. They seemed to swirl and float through the light breeze that brushed his face.
------
He never got tired of watching her walk toward him, especially on a windy day like today, he thought. Her skirt swirled around her ankles, teased by the wind, and her hair curled around her face. With one hand, she held up the hem of her skirt, keeping it within moderate control, and her other arm, though loaded down with books, was occupied with wiping her hair away from her mouth and eyes. He approached her, and wordlessly took her books. She smiled. "Thanks! The wind is absolutely crazy today!" He nodded, smiling. "Yeah, it’s nuts. You want to go to the coffe shop?" She nodded, reaching into her bag and drawing out a black scarf. "Yes, that sounds great! Just a second though; it looks like I’m going to have to give in to this blasted wind." She wound the scarf around her head, tucking in loose hairs. "I get called a babushka when I do this, but I’m tired of untangling my hair today."
They sat in the coffee shop, in a small back room that happened to be otherwise empty at the moment, which Arthur regarded as a minor miracle. Rachel took a long sip of her coffee, and set the cup down carefully. "We need to talk."
Arthur nodded, having dreaded this conversation ever since he’d found out about the job. He’d been offered a prestigious job at a magazine, but it would require moving a few hours away, too far for weekend visits. He had asked for a few days to think it over.
"So...Should I take the job?"
She sighed and picked up her cup again, cradling it in her hands to warm them. "Well, Arthur, ultimately it has to be your decision. I could tell you what to do, and we both know that you would do it. But if anything went wrong, or things turned out badly, you would soon come to be bitter at me for it."
He nodded, knowing her words to be wise ones.
"But, that being said..." she paused, struggling slightly to maintain her composure. "I think you should take the job. It would be good pay, it would look great on your resume, and it’s a job that you can do with a great deal of pride and honor." She smiled. "You can’t say that about too many jobs straight out of college."
Laughing, Arthur acknowledged that that was indeed the case. "But would you really be ok with me moving that far away? It would mean not getting to see each other for months at a time. We’d probably only find the time at major holidays and such."
She nodded, hesitating slightly. "I won’t lie to you and tell you that it will be alright. Of course it won’t. It will be very difficult. But many women have done this before me. Think of those who waited while their husbands and boyfriends went off to war, or off to sea." She grinned then, eyeing him over her mug. "And I have an advantage over them, because you’re not going somewhere dangerous, so I’m fairly certain you’ll come home again."
He moved to sit beside her, and put his arm around her. "You’re sure?"
"Absolutely. Go, Arthur; work hard, play hard, and when you can, come back to me and bring me home with you."

A week passed before they had time for more than a hurried meal or cup of coffee again. They decided to walk through the park, happily scuffling through the fall leaves. He took her hand and curled his fingers around it, feeling her cold skin grow warmer through the gloves.
"So..." she began. "How long do we have until you leave?"
He sighed, and stopped walking, turning to face her. "I’m not going."
Her face grew pale, throwing her dark eyes into sharp contrast. "Did they take back the offer?"
"No, they didn’t. I’m just not going. I don’t want to go. I want to be with you." He held up a hand to silence her sudden protestations. "Yes, I know it would have looked good on a resume, and would have helped my career. But we all know what happens to pompous asses like me when they leave their true love to go work in the big city." He squeezed her hand. "It doesn’t usually turn out well. I need you, Rachel. I need you badly." Pausing for a moment to kick a pile of leaves into the air, he continued. "I found a job here that will work. It doesn’t pay anywhere near as much, but it’s enough. I’ll be able to pay all my bills, and even save a little bit." He turned toward her. "Are you mad at me for not taking the job?"
She threw herself into his arms and kissed his cheek. "I’m so glad you’re not going...It would have been good for you, and you would have liked it, but..." She paused, sniffling slightly. "Oh no, I’m making a mess!" She laughed, hiccuping a bit. "But I am glad that you’re not leaving me. It would be sad not to see you for so long."
As they walked away through the leaves, Rachel turned to Arthur and said, "Does this mean I have to stop construction on the widow’s walk I was building for my apartment?"
Their laughter echoed through the park, bouncing off the trunks of the trees and ringing through the cold air.
------
He laughed again now, remembering. He was glad that he hadn’t taken the job. He had worked for a few years in a smaller company, editing books and magazine articles. They had been very happy. He sighed, and got up to continue his drawing.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 14: Duo(I'm going to get through this if it kills me!)

2004-11-21T22:05:00.000-08:00

Cobb and Dranger walked out of the cave, blinking in the bright noonday sun. Neither felt much need to speak, but looked at each other in silence. Neither had noticed how torn and muddied their clothes had become. The sudden emergence into the light had, however, brought it to their attention.

"Wait up a bit," said Cobb, and slipped out of his pack. He stripped off the long sleeved shirt her had been wearing--with the sleeves rolled up, of course--and, rolling it up, stowed it away in his pack. "A bit less tasteful, but a hell of a lot more comfortable." He grinned, his no-longer-quite-so-white undershirt standing out against the foliage. He slipped the pack back onto his shoulders, and began walking down the path, singing to himself under his breath. Pausing, he turned back to see Dranger, still standing behind him on the path, looking back into the cave.

"I think we've wasted enough time here, don't you?"

Cobb stared. "I thought you wanted to see what this guy did with the island."

Dranger spat, and looked at Cobb. "Yeah, but this is taking too long. Time we were on our way." He eyed Cobb a bit edgily, and continued. "Besides, I think you're getting a bit too involved here. Sure, this is kinda interesting to look at, but you're taking it all a little too seriously."

"Too seriously? Too seriously?!" Cobb dropped his pack on the path and marched back to Dranger. "Ok, number one, you're the one who wanted to stay here in the first place. Number two..." He paused, somewhat incredulouslym and flung his bare arms out wide. "This place...How are you not affected by this place? I mean, my God, man, this whole place is...is...I don't know! I feel like I'm being scrubbed down. It's like...I remember, when I was a kid, and I had chicken pox real bad. Well, when the worst of it was over, I went back to school. The school nurse had always kinda liked me, always had a joke for me...Anyhow, she saw the scabs that I had, and called me into her office. She gave me this little box of powder and a little rough rock. She told me to take a hot bath, dump the powder in, and scrub myself with the stone. So, I did. Man, those scabs started peeling off, and it hurt like hell. But whenever I put a scabbed part of me into the water, which was all cloudy with the powder, it stopped hurting. When I got out of that bath, I felt better than I think I ever did, before or since." He paused, searching for words.

"Until now. This whole place feels like those scabs peeling off. And I'm damned if I leave now."

Dranger stood, a muscle in his cheek twitching slightly. Here he stood, young idiot, emotional again as usual, no self-control at all. But again, someone else got it all. Cobb had had as many women as he had wanted, a whole string of them. He had never worked, not really, but managed to survive and have money left over to play poker with. Dranger could feel his teeth gritting, jaws grinding against each other.

"You young ass, shut your mouth!"

Cobb stood, frozen, never having seen Dranger this angry. His face was flushed and a vein stood out in his neck.

"Why are you so obsessed with this place? I don't feel anything here! You're making it all up, tricking yourself into feeling things just so you can get a rise out of! Hell, for all I know, you're just sitting there laughing at me!"

Cobb stood, stunned, wondering what on earth he meant. "What do you mean, you don't feel anything? That whole thing with the statues...and the rocks..." he stammered, clarity somewhat lacking.

"Why should a mass of clay and a pile of rocks make me think or feel anything? Why should they make you feel anything?"

"Well...they do, that's all I know. Come on, let's keep going, maybe you'll find something to respond to later."
-
"You bastard, you think I want to feel anything about a heap of rocks?"

Cobb threw a wild punch that missed the older man, but drew him off balance. Dranger lunged at him, and the two men rolled, kicking and punching, down the path. Cobb finally struggled free and wiped blood away from his nose. "Hey man, lighten up, ok? I've never seen you like this." Something caught his eye, and he looked to the side. There, somewhat predictably, was another statue. As he turned toward it, Dranger saw it, and scooped up a large rock. Running ahead of Cobb to the statue, he gripped the rock and smashed it into the clay face in front of him. It cracked with a sound like thick glass breaking. Cobb watched in horror as the face split into fragments and crashed into the grass at the statue's feet. The bare tree trunk underneath, which now showed through where a face should have been, looked like the face of an ancient monster, withered and twisted in its wickedness.
"Why?" He shouted, almost screaming. "If you don't want to see it, don't see it, but why break it?" He knelt, plucking up the fragments of clay and trying desperately to piece them back together. He looked up, and ran a hand over the base of the statue, which held another map inidicating the location of the next marker, and another fragment of verse. But Cobb's eyes were too blurry with tears and frustration to make out the words.
He set down the pieces of the face reverently, arranging them on the grass, and got to his feet. "You can do what you like, just don't break any more of them. I'll leave, so you don't have to go on. Go on back to the boat and wait for me, or do your surveying or whatever it is that you do." He hoisted his pack again and moved away down the trail.

Dranger watched him go, the turned back to the statue. The tree trunk stared back at him, mute and blind, without so much as a face to plead for its continued existence. He clenched the rock more tightly in his fist, and raised it to continue the destruction. But as he did, he saw a small scratch on the wood. Nothing more than would be expected from the rock hitting it, but somehow that little scratch was so pitiful, like a tear on the face of someone who cannot wipe it away. He lowered the rock, and paused. One of th edisplaced eyes stared up at him out of the grass.
---------
"I can't tell you how excited I am about this, Stan." His brother's eyes gleamed as he adjusted his seat belt. "I mean, no-one from our family has ever been able to go to college, much less afford it. But when that scholarship came through, you know..." He trailed off, apparently to overwhelmed to speak. Dranger groaned inwardly and rolled his eyes. Starting the car, he pulled out of the driveway and out onto the street. "I still can't believe this is happening. I know it's just a small state school and all, but still! College!" This sort of babble continued in a more or less steady stream for the next fifteen minutes. Finally, gritting his teeth, Cobb stopped the truck and put it into park. He turned to face his brother. "Look, Johnny, this isn't that big a deal, ok? It's just the little community college in Springston, all of twenty minutes from home, if that. Ok?" He started the truck up again and pulled back onto the highway. "Being smart's not that great, if you can't live with it. Look at PawPaw; he's had no schooling as far as I know, but he's kept that farm running for years, so his brother could go to school. His brother went off to the big city to go to school, some big name place, and never spoke to anyone in the family again. He got his name in the papers for some big scholastic award, and ended up blowing his brains out when someone else got a job he wanted. So, just shut up about college for a little while! Good luck to you, and all that, but it's not the best thing in the world, ok?"
-----
The eye that looked up at him from the grass at the feet of the statue looked something like his brother's eye when he had finished that diatribe. He remembered, couldn't help but remember, the hurt that had showed in his eyes.
Fortunately, John had been a good kid, and understood; he had never been one to hold grudges. He had always come to visit Dranger, and had given up his schooling when the war came. He had been so glad to serve his country, almost as glad as he was to go to college. Dranger dropped his eyes, blinking away unexpected tears, wishing for once that his brother could have finished school.
As the sun began to drop back down through the afternoon sky, a lone figure trudged down a path. Behind him stood a statue with a cracked face, the lines filled in with quickly drying clay.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 13: Invidia

2004-11-17T10:30:00.000-08:00

The path lead upward into the mountain. Up ahead, the two men saw the path narrow into a small pass, with cliff walls that rose high on either side. As they entered the pass, they noticed that up ahead, the pass became a true tunnel, when the cliff walls closed over it. As they entered the passage, the air was bright with the noonday sun. A few feet farther, and the light ws that of sunset. They took a few steps more and found themselves in a dim twilight.
Finally, when the darkness was almost complete, Dranger fell headlong over the marker. It was set into the ground, and in the dim light, was indistinguishable from the surrounding terrain. Dranger rummaged around in his pocket, finally pulling out a small cigarette lighter. He flicked it once or twice before he got a steady flame. He held it over the marker, then shouted in surprise, and started back.
“What is it?”
Dranger took a deep breath. and moved toward the marker again. “Well, first of all, it's not a marker per se, but a statue. Seeing a face that suddenly kinda spooked me. Almost thought it was the nutcase himself, but I think it's just a statue. He flicked the lighter again, and held it over the statue. A shudder ran down Cobb's spine as he saw the face of the figure. It was somewhat androgynous, with no clues as to its gender. Its hands were crossed over its breast in a gesture of supplication. But it was hard to focus on anything else when one saw the eyelids. They were sealed tight, and stitched with a rough thread, apparently while the clay was still wet. Cobb had a hard time tearing his eyes away from the disturbing image, but managed to do so. As he did, he noticed that just below the figure's hands was a flat smooth section of clay, like a shield laid over a dead warrior. He pushed Dranger's hand slowly toward the feet of the statue, until the whole section could be seen. Not surprisingly, the surface was covered with text.
As the dim little light flickered against the walls of the tunnel, Dranger noticed that a pile of small torches lay against the wall of the cave.
Walking over to the torches, he took two and brought them back to Dranger. He lit the torch, and put the lighter back in his pocket. The two men blinked slightly at the sudden light, then turned to read the text on the statue.
“Look not to others, but instead,
Be content with your lot,
And let not envy turn your head,

By wanting what you have not.
Let your eyes be sealed away
When you want what another's got,

And don't let Envy hold you sway.”

Dranger could not help looking again at the eyes of the supine figure. The stiff thread tore and squeezed the clay in disturbing contortions. Yet somehow, he did not feel primarily horror or pity for the person represented. Instead, he kept having the disagreeable sensation that the face on the figure was his own. Since the figure had bland features and no discernible gender, this was a fairly understandable sensation, but he still did not like it. 3614
-----------------
“So then I said to him, 'Hey, lay off! If you can't keep your own woman, why should I make it easier for you?'” Raucous laughter sounded from the bar, and Dranger's fist closed more tightly about his beer. He hated Jackson, hated him with every bone of his body. He had lost more potential girlfriends to that man than to any other single cause he could think of. Even now, a flock of admirers were crowded around him, laughing at his crude jokes, and letting him buy them drinks.
Dranger could never understand how he had gotten as many promotions as he had. Such a boorish jerk shouldn't have been able to impress any employers, but Dranger had to admit that he was good at what he did, damned good. And so he got promoted, though anyone with half a brain could see that he would burn out before the age of forty. He had no staying power.
Another round of laughter erupted from the bar, and Dranger clutched his glass to hard that his knuckles turned white. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a small camera. He was hidden in a small booth a few feet away from the bar, and knew that the camera would not be seen unless he turned on the flash. He quietly snapped a few pictures, then left for the evening. He took the camera to a one-hour developing center, and examined the photos when they were returned. Slightly blurry, but good enough. He stuck the pictures in an envelope, and consulted a telephone directory, then scribbled an address on the envelope.A few weeks later, the word began to spread around the company that Jackson's wife had thrown him out, unable to cope with his philandering anymore. He still came to work, but looked older, angry. He still visited the bar every night, but tended to keep to himself.
--------
He closed his eyes, rubbing them in the darkness. He stomach twisted in upon itself, pulling itself into a knot that weighed on him heavily. How could he have done such a thing? No man has any right to ruin another's life, he thought, particularly when the other man is doing a fine job of ruining his life without any help from anyone. He opened his eyes, and looked again at the eyes of the statue. They were still grotesque, particularly in the flickering light of the torchlit cave, but now they seemed almost a kindness: after all, one who cannot see cannot see the good things another has, and make himself sick over them. The ghastly seam of the eyelids became, instead, the sutures left over from a life-saving operation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur came out of the cave, blinking in the strong sunlight. He made sure to come out every hour or so, just to get a glimpse of sun. Also, his years on the island had deeply tanned his skin, so that he was almost completely resistant to sunburn. If he spent too much time in the darkness, his skin might begin to pale, and he could get burned badly when he next went out.
He had decided to sculpt the statue in the cave itself, and drag it into the sunlight to bake. It might take a little longer to sculpt, but then he would be able to judge how it looked in the dim light with which it would be seen. He had wanted to take a break for awhile; he was not looking forward to the next part of the process.
In his belt was threaded a bit of bone, which he had obtained from one of the birds on the island. He did not often eat meat, but found it necessary to do so once in a while to maintain his health. He had carefully selected a bone that was thin, but strong. He had used a bit of flint to gouge a hole in the end of the bone and shave the other end down to a point. He had his needle, but now he had to find thread.
He walked to a part of the island which he knew contained trees with a singularly fibrous bark. He peeled a long strip of bark, and began picking out strands of fiber. He soon braided these into a thin rope.
He threaded it through the eye of the bone needle as he walked back to the cave. He took a deep breath and plunged back into the darkness. Sitting beside the soft clay figure, he lit a torch and, planting the end of it in a lump of clay beside the statue's head, began to sew, stitching the unseeing eyes closed.
------
Arthur met her at the bus stop, as he always did, to walk her home. She had moved off campus in an attempt to set up her own household. "I am tired," she had explained, "of apologizing for everything I own for being 'college furniture' or 'college silverware' or 'college' anything! I want nice chairs, and a room that I can paint however I want." So she had found a small house across town, that was near to the apartment where Arthur and his roommate lived. It also had easy access to a bus route that ran by the school.
Arthur's brow furrowed in concern as he saw her. She looked a bit flustered, and got off the bus in a bit of a hurry.
"What's wrong?" he asked, as he took her hand. "You look upset."
"No, " she smiled, "just a little bit stressed today." He started to press her for a more complete answer, but stopped as she suddenly broke away, pointing up to a tree. "Look!"
There was a large spider web, every strand gleaming in the light of the setting sun. He smiled as she took his arm, cupping his hand over hers.
He couldn't ignore the fact that she seemed more flustered and upset every night that week. Then on Friday, a strange thing happened.
They were sitting in the lobby of the English building: Rachel was sitting, catlike, on her chair, leaning over the arm towards Arthur, who was explaining his latest story idea to her. A sudden rush of students flooded the lobby, indicating the release of several classes. As th tide ebbed, a small group of younger students, several of whom Arthur knew, passed by. One of the young men looked at Rachel and Arthur, and his face clouded. Speaking somwhat too loudly, he remarked to his companions, "Man, I hate it when cuddling couples infest the lobby." Pausing, he turned to Rachel whose countenance had suddenly grown cold, and said, "You know, he shouldn't control you like that. You don't have to hang on every word he says. " His face had begun to turn red, and his eyes were restless.
Arrthur longed to wipe the confident expression off the young man's face, but knew that he must not. It would only give him more reason for hate and envy. He must see that Rachel had made her own decision.
Rachel, who had straightened up the moment she saw the young man, sat quietly. Arthur had never seen this look on her face before, but got the distinct imnpression that it was not the first time she had used it. Her eyes were steady, and her gaze was clear and bright. Her skin still glowed, but now it was as the cool white light of a star, not the warm light of the sun.
"Sir, you must stop this. This kind of envy will not give you what you want, and is already making you miserable. Let it go, before it destroys you." She paused, and calmly stood. Even under the dim floresant lights, he thought she had the regal solemnity of a queen. The young man stood quietly, eyes downcast. "Look at me for a moment." He raised his eyes hesitantly, already embarassed by his outburst. "I am flattered by your attraction, as any woman would be, and I cannot make you stop feeling these things. But I can, and do, ask you to stop envying Arthur. Stop pestering me on the bus. Go, be happy, and let go of your envy." She sat again, and the young man left hurriedly.
As they heard the door at the end of the hall close, Arthur turned to Rachel. The solemnity had faded, and had been replaced by a relieved look, mixed with a bit of sadness.
"I'm sorry, Arthur, I should have told you. That's why I've been so flustered lately. He rides the same bus that I do, and he's been sitting close to me every day, trying to attract me." She smiled, a little sadly. "Poor boy, he was really smitten. I tried to tell him about us, but he hated the very thought of you. I thought he'd get over it, but when he did that today..." She shook her head. "I knew it wouldn't end unless I really sent him away."
Arthur nodded. "Did I offend you by not speaking up? I know, a gentleman should defend the honor of a lady, but I thought it might make things worse."
She nodded. "He wouldn't even have been able to hear what you were saying." She laughed. "He might even have challenged you to a fight, and that would really have been bad, because you would have creamed him." She took his hand, and they walked out of the lobby into the sunshine.
-------
He put the last stitches in the eyes of the statue, and cut the thread. He took the ropes that were bound to the sledge on which it rested, and began to pull it out into the sunlight to bake.
copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 12 Beati pauperes spiritu

2004-11-17T10:28:00.000-08:00

Cobb's eyes drifted across the figures in front of him. They were as tall as any man, and stood in shallow niches in the wall.
Above his head, across the top of the wall, slithered a serpent, writhing in a lifelike fashion. He saw that it had a star emblazoned on its forehead. To his left, in the first space, stood a proud looking man, who shared the space with a looming tower. The tower stood on a carved bit of earth, which was labeled with the word “Shinar.” On closer inspection, the carved earth was etched with fine cracks, which threatened to divide it. The next space held a young girl, of beautiful face. In one hand she held a spindle and a bundle of thread. In her other hand, she held a large spider, which had spun a web between her fingers. An owl, etched shallowly into the background, appeared to be swooping down to snatch up the spider. The niche in the middle of the wall held the form of a beautiful young man. He held a set of reins in one hand, but the other end of the reins seemed to be in the process of being consumed by flames. In fact, the entire floor of the niche was covered in flame motifs, and directly below the niche, on the wall's surface, was carved a sun symbol, making it appear as if the young man stood on the sun itself. To his right was a niche that held no human figure, but rather the shape of a city wall, with the gate closed and barred. A bit of the horizon could be seen in the far distance behind the wall, and the rough shape of a wooden horse was etched into the clay.
Cobb started a bit as he examined the final image. It was nothing from religion or mythology, but a figure familiar to anyone who knew the first thing about history. It was the figure of a rather short man, wearing a military costume and a ridiculously large hat. Any schoolchild would instantly recognize Napoleon. He beckoned Dranger over to the wall. “Look at this! I haven't got the slightest clue what these other people are, but this guy is Napoleon!” Dranger nodded, surprised and baffled.
“Why Napoleon?”
“Not a clue. But maybe if we can figure out who any of these other figures are, we can find out what it means.”
Together, they moved over to the first image. The sculpted man's face was cruel and haughty. Dranger's eyes strayed to the tower by his side, and nodded slightly. “Ok, this one I think I know. I don't know the guy's name, but this,” he pointed at the tower, “is the Tower of Babel.” He scanned the rest of the wall quickly. “Pride.”
“What?”
“Pride, these are images of people who were too proud. I don't know most of them, but Napoleon and the tower of Babel give it away.”
“Babble?”
“Nothing. Something I heard in Sunday school as a kid.”
They turned their eyes back to the wall, exploring the bits of wall that stood between the niches. The entire thing was patterned with a peacock feather motif. In a few places they found scraps of writing. Beneath the snake was written “Oh, how thou art fallen, O Lucifer!” and underneath the niches was written “Remember O man, dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return.”
they took a few steps back to take in the whole wall. There it stood, massive and immovable, a monument to human pride.
--------
“Hey, man.”
The teenager looked up, and caught the eyes of his friend. He slouched against the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Hey. 'Sup?”
“Nothing, man.” He dug into a shirt pocket, and drew out a cigarette. He offered it to the kid lounging against the wall. Ray Cobb took the small white roll, and lit it. He held it between two fingers, lazily, with a calculated nonchalance. The other teen stood casually, shoulders slumped, eyes shifting to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening around him without appearing to take any interest.
Ray lazily scratched his back against the rough brick wall, and studied the toes of his shoes. The laces hung loose, and the shoes barely stayed on his feet.
Just then, a girl, barely older than sixteen, entered the concrete courtyard and began walking across the basketball court to the buildings on the other side. She looked up, casting her eyes on Cobb. His eyes flickered downward for a moment, then met hers. He looked away quickly, but his companion noted his uneasiness.
“Hey man, you oughta get her to notice you. You're slick,man, you know she wants you.” Cobb smirked slightly, and levered himself away from the wall. “Aw, come on man, I don't like her like that.” “Give it up man, you're gone all nuts over her. You gotta go show her that she can't twist you around her little finger.” Cobb grunted, the jab irritating him. He started walking, planning his path to eventually intersect with hers. As he came closer, she smiled. He smiled in return, but his eyes were dark and stormy.

“Hey, sweetie, you going someplace?” He threw his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. She seemed uncomfortable, but didn't draw away. “Yeah, I was just going to go pick up my test results from the office. They said that they were in today.” He put an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him, and leaned down to kiss her roughly. Time seemed to slow, and his senses seemed to become more acute. He heard his friend laughing in the distance, and the catcalls of the other guys on the courtyard. She pulled away from him, looking frightened. “what's wrong with you, Ray? This isn't like you?” He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her in again, but she twisted away. He reached out for her, then stopped short, a sharp pain spreading across his face. He stared, disbelieving. “You slapped me, you little--!” His hand closed on a handful of her shirt, and he yanked her towards him. His hand behind her neck forced her face to his, and he kissed her again. Then he pushed her away, and she stumbled and fell, scraping her knees on the asphalt.
“Run man, the teachers are coming!” He heard the yell and began to run mechanically, not really seeing where his feet took him. His friend jogged up beside him. “Hey man, that was great, you showed her what a real man is like!” He laughed raucously, and ran off between the buildings. Cobb stopped for a moment to catch his breath, and take in what had happened. He had not intended to be quite so rough, but she had slapped him! He couldn't let it get around that any little girl could slap him and get away with it! He took a deep breath, and straightened up, then turned and walked away.
--------
Cobb shuddered at the sudden memory, and an unexpected grief pierced his heart. He had enjoyed the fear he had seen in her eyes; he had enjoyed the feeling of power. But now he would give anything to live that moment over. He saw her in his memory, standing there with tears in her eyes, hair coming down to cover her face. He bowed his head slightly to hide the tears that suddenly sprang up in his eyes.
---------
“Hey, Stanley!”
The boy did not turn around, neither needing to see who addressed him, nor wondering what it was that he wanted.
“Hey come on, Manly Stanley, I wanna see you fight me.” He still did not turn, but picked up his pace a bit more. “What, are you afraid of me? Surely Manly Stanley's not afraid of poor little me!” The other boy caught up to him and pushed him. He absorbed the punch and did not turn around.
“Oh, did I get your name wrong? You're not Manly, so you can 't be Stanley. How about Stranger Dranger? Naw, that takes too long to say. By the time anybody'd get that whole thing out, you'd already have run away.” The smaller boy lashed with a wild punch that barely clipped the other boy's shoulder.
“Oh, so he does fight sometimes?”
The boy punched Stanley, and knocked him to the ground again. “C'mon, fight me, Manly Stanley!”
The younger boy, pushed to the limit of endurance, got up slowly, eyes blazing. He waited until the bully laughed again, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. In that instant of unwatchfulness, Stanley struck. The punch landed on target, and left the other boy doubled over, gasping for breath. Stanley continued to rain punches and kicks on him, until the other boy began crawling away, sniffling and dripping blood from his nose. He saw that others were beginning to come out of the buildings now, and knew that the bully feared an injury to his pride more than any bodily injury he could inflict. So he hit him again, and heard the other students laugh, some chanting “Fight! Fight!” He kicked the bigger boy one last time, and then moved away into the crowd, calmly wiping his hands on his shirt. He knew with a calm happiness that the name of “Manly Stanley” would no longer be an insult.
---------
Dranger winced slightly at the memory. He had explained to the teachers, when they inevitably questioned him, that the other boy had been bullying him and others unmercifully. He had simply put a stop to the torment. No-one questioned him too much; everyone had known about the bullying, and were simply glad that it was over. He learned, over time, how to cut bullies down to size with sarcastic quips, designed to shame the bully in the eyes of any observers. He had never been bullied again. But neither had he had many friends again. Admirers, yes. But few people cared to come very close.
He bowed his head, staring into the dirt at his feet, wondering for the first time if perhaps there had not been a better way to defend himself.

Turning to the trees, the two men climbed the large tree, stepping easily from branch to branch. It took them a bit longer to cross to the next tree. They discovered that the tree could only safely hold one of them at a time, so Dranger stepped into its branches while Cobb stayed in the first tree with the packs. Dranger clambered through the branches to a spot from which he could drop down on the far side of the wall. He did so, then called for the packs. Cobb tossed them over one at a time, then began the crossing himself, dropping down beside his companion. As he straightened up, he saw another carved figure in front of him. Lifting up his eyes, he saw that it was another angelic figure, This one, though, instead of having a dead tree trunk for a core, had been shaped around a living palm tree. The fronds of the palm formed the wings of the angel, spread across the narrow path. A carved scroll at the base of the figure held another scrap of verse:
“Now, o man, no longer full
Of yourself, but empty and pure,
Your path is an easier toil,
And your victory sure.”
The sun stood high in the sky at the hour of noon. As they passed under the wings of the angel, each man felt the fronds gently brush his forehead, as if in benediction.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arthur stood back and surveyed his work. The first statue stood in its niche, and seemed to be secure. He had spent three months building the wall from stones and clay, and another three dredging up enough clay from the riverbed to coat the wall thick enough so that the niches would not weaken it. He had then picked the logs he would need for the statues, and embedded each in the floor of a niche. From there, he planned to construct each statue normally. The first one, Phaeton, was now finished. It stood in the middle of the wall, secure in its niche.
He began adding the clay to the second statue, which had he decided should be Arachne. He had found a tree which had branches that would serve beautifully as cores for the arms. He had noticed that as the years progressed, he had to spend less time searching for particular trees and stones. In his twelve years on the island, he had spent so much time looking for materials that he now know what many of the trees and stones looked like. He had only to establish the basic shape of tree or stone that he would need, and he would know on exactly which foot of the island contained the perfect item. He knew the island from north to south, east to west, every stream and boulder, and nearly every tree. He had even found ways to construct filters for the river that collected bits of clay that might have floated out to sea normally.
He plastered the clay onto the wooden form for an hour, then decided to let that layer dry and bake before adding another. He checked the sun's progress, and decided that since the first statue had turned out so nicely, he would take the risk of working on all of the other statues at once. He applied a layer of clay to each in turn, then as the sun approached its apex, he went back to the stream to take a drink.
He filled his drinking jug, and walked back to the wall. He was always amazed by the sheer size of it, even though he had watched it grow.
He sat beneath the spreading branches of a large tree that stood just to the left of the wall, stretching out in the shade.
-------
“You realize that everyone thinks that we are completely mad, to spread out a picnic blanket in the snow.” Her voice was full of mock solemnity.
“My dear, if I cared what anyone thought, I would go mad. However, I take no care for public opinion, and therefore, I get to enjoy the rare pleasure of a picnic in the snow with the fairest rose of womanhood.”
Rachel laughed, and began gathering her things.
“I have to go get ready now. I need to warm up and get into my dress.” She smiled, and stood up, brushing off her hands and skirt. He lay there in the snow, enjoying the laziness of the afternoon, unwilling to get up. He smiled up at her, enjoying the play of light across her hair. “Awww....Are you sure? Not even five more minutes?” She laughed, and shook her head. He rolled over and wrapped his arms around her knees until she lost her balance and tumbled onto the blanket beside him, still laughing. He laid his head on her shoulder, and smiled. “Not even two more minutes?” “No, good sir, not even two more minutes with a scoundrel such as yourself!” She leapt to her feet with the grace of a gazelle and ran off across the snow, still laughing. He got to his feet slowly, and brushed himself off. He explored the church grounds for a while, enjoying the cool clean smell of the garden in winter. He settled into a pew a few minutes before the concert began. He adjusted his tie self-consciously, checking the dress of the others in the church, afraid of being overdressed. Just then the ensemble filed in, the crimson gowns of the women glowing in the candlelight, and the men's slicked down hair shining in the dim light. At his first sight of her, he forgot his fashion concerns, and waited in anticipation for the music to begin. As the group sang, he could not take his eyes off her face. It glowed in the candlelight, her joy in the music visible to all in the audience. Arthur listened, captivated, as her sweet alto swept out over the sanctuary, sounding out the harmony with a voice as clear and sweet as a panpipe. He watched, unaware that his face shone with a light equal to that of the one he watched.
After the concert ended, he went to stand with her, mingling with audience members at the small reception. One lady approached them shyly, but gained confidence as Rachel smiled at her.
“My dear, I just wanted to tell you, it was such a joy to watch you sing. Your face shone so brightly, it was almost like seeing the music as well as hearing it. “
Rachel blushed and dropped her eyes, but her smile deepened. “Thank you!” She embraced the woman lightly, her gratitude evident on her face. She smiled, and waved as the woman moved away to mingle elsewhere.
That night, as they walked under the stars, he had taken her hand. They walked in silence for awhile, breathing the cool night air, and exhaling clouds of steam. He put an arm around her gently, and whispered in her ear. “Thank you for the picnic in the snow. We may both be mad, but I would rather have everyone laughing at me and be with you, than to win the approval of the world, and be without you.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and gently kissed his forehead. “I am glad, Arthur. I would never be able to live up to everyone else's expectations. Pride is a hard master, but one that need not be served.” He smiled at her, admiring the light of the stars that were reflected in her eyes.
------
He got up from the shade, and checked the statues. Still too damp to add more layers, he concluded. He looked up at the sun, and gave thanks for a woman who would not be mastered by any expectations, and who had freed him from the tyranny of his own pride. He began smoothing clay on to the wood that would become the face of his Angelis Umilitas, but saw only the face that had glowed in the candlelit concert.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 11 Pater Noster

2004-11-16T10:35:00.000-08:00

As the sun mounted towards noon, the two men began to sweat, and the weight of their packs seemed heavier than usual. After about a half an hour, they came around a slight protrusion of the mountain wall, and saw a stream flowing down the mountain. They slipped out of the packs, and knelt at the water's edge to drink. The water was not exaclty cold, but it was cool and wet, and they found it thouroughly refreshing. As they sat by the water's edge, Dranger looked ahead on the trail, and gestured to Cobb. "Check that out!" A short way ahead, they could see a large wall, too straight-edged to be a natural formation. "Do you think he built that, or just managed to chop it out of the mountain?" asked Cobb. Dragnnger shrugged. "Not a clue."
After taking a last drink of the water, they refilled their canteens and set off again. As they appraoched the wall, they were astounded by the sheer size of it. It stood about eight feet tall, and spread across the length of the entire path. It was no larger than many concrete walls in any modern city, but here on the island, where no-one expected a wall to be, it struck the sight with a forceful weight. They stood in front of it, feeling rather small beside it. Cobb went up to the face of the wall, and began running his fingers over the clay surface, tracing the shapes of the life sized figures that were sculpted into it. He couldn't decide whether it looked more like the side of an old cathedral, or like a wall from ancient Egypt. Dranger, meanwhile, stood back a bit, eyeing the top of the wall, and the surrounding trees. It seemed as though, if they climbed the big tree a few feet back from the wall, and then moved over to the smaller one that grew right up against it, they'd be able to drop down on the other side of the wall. He briefly considered going around to the right, and simply climbing over it on the mountain wall, but the stone was smooth and steep there, and didn't look promising.
He tightened the straps on his pack, and waited for Cobb to get done looking at the figures on the wall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He heaved the stone onto the sledge, and leaned against it, breathing hard. He had had a few second thoughts about this particular undertaking, but had decided to go ahead. He tied the rock down securely, then took the ropes that were tied to the front of the sled, and, throwing them over his shoulders, began to pull. The sled moved excruiciatingly slowly, but steadily. As he pulled it up the mountain trail, sweat ran freely down his forehead, and poured down his back. After a few hours, he stopped. In front of him lay an odd sight; there was a rough low wall, of sorts. Several rows of large boulders lay across the path, cemented in between with river clay, and smaller rocks. He positioned the sledge next to the wall, and began tugging the stone into place, finding a spot for it on the third row of rocks. He settled it into place, then walked a few feet down to the river, and gathered up enough clay to hold it in its place. He then took a drink from the stream and lay down in the shade to rest.

He often wondered, at times like this, why his life had taken this strange twist. Why should he be here? There were, of course, ways to explain it. The ship had sunk, and he had survived and washed up here, and it was all a coincidence. But he could not quite be satisfied with such an answer. He had been searching for a purpose, a reason why he existed, his place in this world. And the answer to that was an island paradise, isolated from the rest of humanity? That seemed both extremely strange, and a little too convenient to him, and so he wondered. Lying in the shade, he whispered, "Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem: sed libera nos a malo. Amen."

The sun rose higher in the sky, warming the air, and shrinking the shadows down to almost nothing.

(word count: 21,279)
copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Superbia

2004-11-15T09:30:00.000-08:00

(AUGH! 3000 words behind, and counting!!!!! Only 15 days left!!! *panics*)

As they passed under the wings of the angel and began to walk forward on the narrow pass, they saw that the small path soon opened onto a small ledge that ran next to the side of the mountain. Squeezing between two large boulders that lay on either side of the passage, they came out onto the ledge, and looked around. The trees were still too tall for them to really see over them, but they knew that after they had gained a few more feet in elevation, they would be able to see the entire island.

They moved forward, with the mountain wall on their right hand side. Just around the first curve, they saw that the avenue was lined with simple statues. They moved closer to the figures to study them.

The first was of a woman. The wood of the rough tree that formed the core of the statue was only visible in the face and hands of the figure, which were polished to a glowing smoothness. The rest was coated in clay, which had been molded into a flowing garment, that both concealed the figure beneath, and gave a hint to its motion. The carved hands were folded upon its breast, and the woman's head was bowed slightly, as if acquiesing to an unseen person. Down the right side of her head covering was written a phrase in Latin, "Ecce ancilla Dei." The English translation ran down the left side, "Behold the Lord's handmaiden."

Cobb, who had never been taken to church as a child, was somewhat unmoved by the statue, though he was impressed by its beauty. Dranger, however, had been taken to Sunday school and Mass as a child, and recognized the Lady the statue portrayed.

-------
"Ok, Stanley, do you want to put Mary up on the flannelgraph?"
The young boy shifted uncomfortably on his hard metal seat, then slipped reluctantly from it and trudged up to the front of the small room to where a smiling lady sat, holding out a small figure cut out of paper and pasted on felt. Taking it from her, he quickly stuck it on the white flannel sheet that hung on a board in front of the class. He hurried back to his seat as a few girls in the front row tried to stifle their giggles.

"Alright class, quiet down. Now, what do you think Mary said when the angel came to her?"

"Hello?"
"Who are you?"
"Why've you got wings?"

The class laughed, and the teacher smiled patiently. "No, when the angel came to her and told her that she was going to have a baby, she said 'Behold the Lord's handmaid.' A handmaid is a sort of servant. She was saying that she would do whatever God told her to do."

All the boys shifted uneasily, knowing that they were supposed to admire someone who did whatever they were told. But what kind of fun was that? The girls all sat primly, trying to show that they were good, like Mary. Stanley crossed his arms, sighed heavily, and slouched down in his chair, eyes on the clock.
------
Meanwhile, Cobb had moved on to the next statue; it showed the form of a young man, arms raised, dancing wildly. Far from the gently flowing garments of the other figure, he was barely clothed, his short tunic clinging closely to his legs. But the look on the sculpted face was one of complete abandonment. He looked almost drunk in his unselfconsciousness, but his face was far too knowing to be that of one drunk.

The sense of motion in the figure was somehow unsettling; one expected it to move, but it did not. However, if you turned away from it, it always seemed to be dancing at the edge of vision. Cobb could not take his eyes off the figure for long. This man, he felt, had no fear of anyone else's opinions, or of what was "proper," only that he felt such joy at something that he simply had to dance. How long had it been since he had been that uninhibited? Hadn't he once been reckless enough to show how he felt? But all that sort of thing passed away with youth, and his youth was gone beyond all recalling. Cobb shook his head in puzzlement: why did this man dance?
------
"So who do you think'll win?" His earnest eyes bored into Cobb's. Cobb looked around the racetrack before answering."Oh, come on Steve, everyone knows you're the best mechanic around. Unless the driver is a total bonehead, Regina will win. Relax."The other man shrugged tensely, cracking his fingers. The race was about to begin. But it was an unusual race; the drivers wore no special colors or insignia. They were not the heroes of this race. Instead, each mechnic wore colors that matched his car on the track. This was in which engineering, not driving skill, would be the edge in winning. Each man--and a few women--had built his car from scratch, finding the best materials he could for the fastest car he could create. Now they all waited at the finish line, revving their engines. The flag went down, and they were off. The race was close, but not so close that Regina's win could be challenged. Steve jumped the short fence cutting the spectators off from the track and ran up beside the car as it slowed to a halt. The driver got out and the two young men embraced violently, pounding each other on the back hard enough to crack one another's ribs. Cobb vaulted the fence and rushed onto the track to meet them. The announcer's voice crackled over the PA system: "The winner is Car 34, built by.....Steve Kurts!" Cobb reached down and grabbed his friend's wrist, and thrust his arm into the air. The crowd erupted in another wave of applause as Steve grinned sheepishly. Gathering the men around him, he helped lift Steve onto their shoulders, and began parading him around the track.

"Well, did you make enough of a fool out of yourself, or do we need to stick around a little longer?" She slouched against the concrete block walls of the stadium bathroom, eyeing him warily. He laughed and moved to put his arm around her waist. Just then, a group of young men walked by, calling out to him: "Hey man, tell Steve congrats for us, yeah?" Cobb gave a loud victory whoop, raising his arms above his head. The girl turned away, covering her face with a perfectly manicured hand.

She grabbed his hand, and began walking briskly towards the parking lot, pulling him after her. He stumbled a bit, trying to regain his footing, then matched her stride. "What was that all about?" he grinned. She set her face forward, and continued walking. He reached out to take her arm, but she pulled it away. "What?" She reached her car and whirled to face him. "'What'? 'What'? You're acting like an idiot, Ray! Get a grip! It's not like your friend was even driving! He just put the damn thing together, ok? Everyone laughs at people who act like you do. So play it cool, ok?" He gave her a bewildered look, and ran his hands through his hair. "Why would I care if they laugh? Dude, Steve built that car, and it's fast. Didn't you see it go? I mean, this is a big deal for him, why wouldn't I be excited?" "I don't care if you're excited. Just don't go all nutso on me, ok? Good grief, anyone would've thought you were thirteen years old!" She fished her keys out of her purse, got into the car and drove away. Cobb stood there in the parking lot, puzzled.
He looked at the statue again, something long buried stirring faintly again. He smirked slightly, thinking of the cliche that one should always "dance like no-one's watching." But wasn't there some truth to that? The point of dancing was to dance, not to be seen. To be excited for a friend was not to be seen playing it cool, but to share in the joy of a job well done, even if done by someone else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gently and lovingly, he smoothed the clay with hands long since gone rough from the daily work of transforming the mountain. He tore another chunk of clay off of the large block that stood on the makeshift sledge. It had taken him a few days to figure out the best way to bring clay to the parts of the mountain that were furthest from the river. Finally, he had decided to cut large blocks of clay from the river bed, and drag them by sledge to the location where they were needed. Molding the lump of clay, he pressed it onto the rounded wood that was the head of his work. Dipping his hands into a bowl of murky water, he began smoothing the clay, inducing it to fold and flow in ways that would mimic the cloth that it represented. He stole another glance at the face of the statue. It seemed to look at him knowingly, and he smiled slightly. He could see her face there, just as he had carved it, but in certain shades of light, he could almost see her face, just for a moment. It didn't happen often, and not for long, but it did happen. Every so often, the light would take on a shade of golder even deeper than usual, at sunset, and the very air would shift, and then he could see her, just for a moment. but she was always gone too soon. But then, she always wanted others to see, not to see her.
------
"Hey, congratulations, man!" The young man's head snapped up, and, seeing the well-wisher, smiled brightly and waved. "Hey, thanks!" "Good stuff, man. You thinking about being a writer?" "Yeah, maybe. Depends on how many people I can get to buy my stuff. Gotta do something to pay the bills while working on my masterpiece of literary acheivement that the critics will love, teachers will assign in lit classes, and no student will ever read." The other man laughed. "Hey, that's pretty good, man. I know how that goes. Well, good writing, and I'll catch you later." As the other moved off, Arthur reached into his bag. He couldn't help looking at it one more time. He pulled out a rather rumpled copy of a magazine. It was already open to the desired page. White Elephant Gift, by...He shivered with delight, once more reading his own name in the byline. And in one of the most widely-read magazines, too. He shifted his gaze to the magazines that lay on the coffee table in the lobby. The school kept a few subscriptions for the use of students in the department, and left them on the coffee table for perusal. He looked around, then walked over to the table, and flipped one of the magazines open to the desired page. He positioned it carefully, as if it had been set down as someone left the room.
"The great artist at work?" asked a gentle voice behind him. He turned, and saw Rachel standing there, smiling. He blushed, suddenly rather embarassed, and backed away from the table. She took his hand, and squeezed it. "Congratulations, Arthur. This is really wonderful." He squeezed her hand back, in silent gratitude. As they walked down the hallway, another student appeared.
"Hey, Arthur, great work! Really liked the ending!" Arthur laughed, running his hands through his hair, making it stand slightly on end. "You think so? I was afraid that no-one would read it."
"Nah, man, this is great. You should write a whole book though."
"I'm thinking about it. But I gotta write little stuff in the meantime, pay bills and all that. But I'm hoping to get a job that'll let me write some in my spare time. Something that'll let me work on my masterpiece of literary acheivement that the critics will love, teachers will assign in lit classes, and no student will ever read." The student guffawed rather loudly, and walked down the hallway, congratulating Arthur again.
As they began walking down the hallway again, he noticed that Rachel was oddly silent, and her face a little less bright than usual. "What's the matter, Rachel? Anything I can help with?" She continued in her silence for a moment, then asked "How many times have you rehearsed that line?" He fell silent, suddenly feeling slightly sulky. "What makes you think I rehearsed it?"
"Arthur."
He sighed. "Yeah, ok. I guess it's obvious. I just really like it when people like my work."
She slipped her arm through his. "I know. You would be a little odd if you didn't." She smiled, which lifted his heart a bit. "I gave a few copies to some of my teachers today. So far, the ones who have read it have all liked it, though one thought he'd read it a little more closely, and give you some critique on it, if you don't mind." She looked up at him. "Do you mind?"
He laughed, and shook his head. "No, not at all. I'd appreciate it, actually. It'll make it better."
She smiled, and pressed her cheek into his shoulder. "I thought so."
------
He fell into silent thought at the memory. He had never had a more ardent admirer, nor a harsher critic. She had driven him to work on his writing, even when he knew he could throw together one that would sell in a matter of minutes. She had read everything thouroughly, accustoming herself to all the characters, and calling his attention to any passage in which they acted out of charcter, even for a moment. One story had sparked off their worst fight.
------
"But can't you see, I can't change that part!"
"Why not? Harrison would never sacrifice his life like this. He simply wouldn't, and you know it."
"Yes, dammit, but if that doesn't happen, the entire plot falls to bits. " He leaned on the back of a chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"Maybe the plot should fall apart. Maybe you should start over."
"Why? It's fine as it is. No-one will notice or care. And the simple fact is, it's good enough to get into the magazines that we're selling it to, so what does it matter?"
"You'll care. You'll be ashamed of this story in two years' time."
He slammed his fist onto the chair, and roared in frustration. "There's no time to change it! And it will get by fine without the change!"
She did not respond, and he looked over at her. She sat on the sofa, legs curled underneath her. Her eyes glistened brightly in the firelight, and he saw her blink back what looked like tears. He sighed, and bowed his head. Without speaking, he turned and grabbed his coat, then walked out into the night.
He had never spent so sleepless a night in his life. At two in the morning, he could take it no longer. He got out of bed, and headed back into his computer room. At five o'clock, he emerged. He put his coat back on, wrapped a scarf about his neck, and set off towards her dormitory. Fortunately, she lived alone in her room; he could wake her at any time of the night without worrying about facing the wrath of an awakened roommate. He picked up the campus phone that hung on the outer wall of the dorm, and dialed her number. She answered almost immediately, and he knew that she had not been sleeping either. She punched the button that unlocked the door; at the sound of the buzzer, he opened it and went upstairs to her room. She opened the door, and beckoned him inside. She was wearing a burgundy robe, and her hair was pulled back into a loose braid. She offered him coffee, and when he refused, sat down on the couch, and looked up at him. Sensing that she was waiting for him to speak, he reached into his coat pocket and drew out a sheaf of papers, and handed them to her without speaking. She looked at the first page, and read the words, "Chapter One. Version Two."
"You were right. Harrison can't do that. I've got to start all over again."
Rachel set the papers down on the couch, and moved to embrace him. "Did you do it for me?" Her voice was somewhat wary, waiting for an answer.
"I did it because Harrison wouldn't act that way, and it's got to be fixed. I did it because it needed it."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. "Good."
He embraced her, and began to cry. "Rachel...I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear...You only told me the truth, and I didn't want to hear. Don't ever let me do that again..."
She held him for a moment, then got up and went over to her bookshelf. She stood on her tiptoes, unaware of how cute Arthur thought it made her look, and brought down a small leather book. She seated herself again on the couch, and opened the book.
"Thomas Brown, poet.
INDWELLING
IF thou couldst empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the Ocean shelf,
And say—' This is not dead,'—
And fill thee with Himself instead.
But thou art all replete with very thou,
And hast such shrewd activity,
That, when He comes, He says :—' This is enow
Unto itself—’Twere better let it be:
It is so small and full, there is no room for Me.' "
She closed the book, and leaned against his shoulder. "Someone gave me that one when I was becoming insufferable. I'd just won a big contest, and then gotten a huge disappointment. I thought that my life was ruined, and pouted for days. Finally, a friend showed me this poem, and made me see myself in it." She sighed,and then gently kissed his cheek. "Don't worry so much. I think the only hurt is to your pride, and that can only be hurt if you think someone is watching you." She laughed quietly then, and he saw the firelight illumine her hair and eyes, turning her white throat to a pillar of fire in the night.
He had seen her once, in the fall before they fell in love, dancing by moonlight. He had taken the back way to his dormitory, stumbling over the junk that always accumulates in the backways of universities. He had suddenly seen a glimmer of white in the pale light of the moon, and gone over to investigate. He'd seen her then, wearing a grey dress that turned to silver in the moonlight. Her arms gleamed white, and she danced so beautifully that his heart was overwhelmed. He briefly considered walking down to dance with her, as often happens in fairy tales. But he knew that she would never dance so beautifully and freely if she thought anyone was watching. So he sat and watched her as long as she danced, the moon providing the delicate spotlight for her performance.
-------
Unconsciously, he had risen to his feet, and begun to dance. His feet landed heavily on the soft grass, but there was no-one to hear. In the morning light, he moved for the sheer joy of moving, and danced with only the sun to see him.

(this marks 20, 521 words.)
copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 9: Te Deum Laudamus

2004-11-12T10:07:00.000-08:00

The day began to grow warm as soon as the sun rose completely above the horizon. It hung there, suspended above the sea, like a lamp that burned away everything that was not strong enough to resist its heat. Cobb wiped away a drop of sweat, and adjusted his pack.
"Not much farther, is it Dranger?"
"Good ways. Probably another thirty minutes or so, depending on whether or not we find it on the first try."
"But I don't think he's hiding any others, I think he was just making a point with that last one."
"So thirty minutes then."

Cobb nodded and trudged onward, freeing his foot from a tangle of vine that lay across the ground. As he walked, he could feel his mind drifting a bit. For some reason, he began to think of a hiking trip he'd taken in high school. The group had been determined to walk to the top of a small mountain in New Mexico. Cobb, as usual, had lagged behind a bit.
-----
"Come on man, keep up!"
Cobb looked up, panting. "No, man, wait up. I can't walk that fast, there's not enough air up here."
"Yeah, well, the rest of us are doing it. And we're almost to the top. See that ledge up there? It's just another quarter mile from there."
"Yeah, well, I think that's a quarter mile more than I can handle, alright?"
The teenager looked back at him with a hint of superiority. "Ok, well, come on to that ledge, and we'll leave you there, and you can catch your breath. We'll stop back by on our way down to find you."
Cobb nodded, and forced his feet to go the last few yards to the top of the cliff. Once there, he saw that it was not a normal cliff, but a very large rock that protruded from the mountain. He sat down in front of a smaller rock, and leaned against it. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. He could feel a sharp pain in his chest. Finally, the pain began to lessen, and he opened his eyes. It was only a few short feet to the dropoff, and he pressed himself a bit more firmly into the rock at his back.
The view was astounding. There were a few peaks a bit lower than his vantage point; they were not big, as mountains go--this was New Mexico after all. But they were covered in trees, and created an unusual vista. As he watched, a large bird soared out from one of the peaks. It glided on the air as if it were completely immune to gravity.
Suddenly, with a wildness that sank straight into his bones, the bird emitted a shrill call. He recognized it then as an eagle. An answering cry came from the peaks, and another eagle took to the air. He watched them, listening to their calls. They did not hunt, nor did they fly away, they simply floated on the air, circling in and out of the peaks for what seemed like hours.
------
"Hey, hold up!"
Startled, Cobb glanced up. They stood at the foot of the mountain, facing a smal narrow pass cut into the stone. Three large steps lead up into the path. Cobb had almost walked right into the first one.
"Were you daydreaming or something?"
Cobb nodded. "Yeah, guess so."

They turned to look at the massive steps in front of them. The stone step was white and gleamed in the morning sun. On one side, they saw another tree figure, this time of an old man. He stood, with one arm gesturing up the stairs, and the other arm extended as if to stop them from advancing. Directly in front of the first step was a small pool, enclosed with flat stones and clay. Its water was so still that they could see their reflections in it. On the first step, the only one that they could see clearly, were engraved the words:

"If you wish no repentance for sin,
Then quickly leave this stair,
And do not seek to enter in.
For the way to God is there,
And halfway is no way.
So kneel here and say a prayer;
Make your confession today,
And journey upward in the light.
So go now, if you will not stay,
Or set your heart to rights."

The two men looked at each other, then back at the text. "We're supposed to confess?"
"Guess so."

They shifted around uncomfortably, avoiding each other's eyes. "Well, who's going to know? We can just climb the stairs anyway," Cobb muttered halfheartedly, not believing it himself. Dranger did not bother to respond. Finally, Cobb dropped to his knees in the grass, unsure of what he was doing. His eyes fell downward to the reflecting pool, and he caught a glimpse of his face. It was worn and dirty, and badly needed a shave. But after noting all this, his eyes drifted to their own reflection, and he paused. He had never looked into his own eyes so long, and had never known all that could be seen in them.
-------
"Come on, man, give me the money. It's not worth this." A man timidly extended his hand, handing over his wallet.
-----
"You stupid idiot!" A hard punch in the face.
-----
"I don't need this." Walking out.
----
The memories flashed faster and faster, and he buried his face in his hands, unaware that Dranger had sunk to his knees beside him.

Dranger was never sure what had caused him to kneel, but he always maintained that he could have done no differently. He looked at the intimidating statue, and its eyes seemed to burn into him. Unable to meet its gaze, he dropped his eyes and caught sight of them in the reflecting pool.

It was a while before either man could raise his eyes again. When they did, neither noticed the tears that streaked the other's face, turning the dust into mud. Without speaking, they advanced towards the first stair. It stood about five feet tall, and was wide enough for both to stand on it at once with no difficulty. Dranger knelt silently and gave Cobb a leg up. As he scrambled onto the step, he turned and extended a hand to the older man, pulling him up onto the surface of the stair. They turned to read the inscription on the next stair. This step had been subjected to fire, apparently, and was a deep black. It was not polished or smoothed down like the first step had been, but was still rough and uneven. A deep crack ran along the length of the stone, and another ran from the front of the step to the back. On the front was etched only four lines of text:

"Mourn ye now, for past things,
And cry your tears for the past,
Now go upward on eagle's wings,
And find your home at last."

Still in silence, they made their way up until they stood on the top of the blackstone, and saw before them a blood red step. At the top of the step, stood the figure of another angel, but what it was for, they could not yet see. This stone held no verse, only a short verse in Latin.

"Optimus est portus poenitenti mutatio consilii. The safest haven for the penitent is altered conduct."

As they stood on the red stone, the statue of the angel towered over them. His hands were extended, and in each was a wooden key. His wings were outspread, creating an arch with his body as a single pillar. The two men passed under his wings, and began to climb the mountain under the rays of the rising sun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He sweated profusely as he carried the heavy jug up to the foot of the mountain. It took a lot of seawater to leave a decent amount of white build-up, and this was a large rock. But it was almost right; this jug should be the last. He set the jug by his feet, and dipped his hand into the cold salt water. He began sprinkling the stone, letting the drops lay where they fell. As the sun dried the stone, only the salt would be left behind: a thin, white coat over the entire stone.

He finshed, and set the jug aside. Kneeling, he examined the pit he had dug the day before. It was shallow, only about two feet deep. He had collected a large pile of smooth river stones, but had not had time to place them the day before. He did so now; he went back to the stream and gather up an armful of clay. He then plastered the inside of the pit with the clay, and began setting the stones into the soft mud. He left as little space as possible between the stones, filling those spaces with smaller stones. He pushed the last stone into the mud, then looked up to gauge the position of the sun. Yes, it would hit the floor of the pit soon, and would bake it for several hours. It should be enough time.

He leaned back against the statue of the old man that he had created some time ago. He found the statue comforting. At any rate, he did now. A few years ago, he would not have dared to create it, let alone lean against it. He laughed, remembering the priest who had scared him so badly.
-------
He squirmed in his chair, hating the thought of postponing this any longer, but not wishing to see the priest either. He was ready to be reconciled to the church, but had no wish to confess his sins to the bishop of the entire diosces either!

Father Simon reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Arthur, I know you're nervous, and I know that you are not happy with me for making you do this. But it is too easy for you to confess to me. And you need to remember something." The priest paused, seemingly pondering his next words. "You need to remember that what you do affects the whole Church. Your errors, minor as they are, did affect us all. And so, I asked you to wait for reconciliation until the bishop came for his visit. He represents more of the church than I do, and so you must confess to him."

Arthur nodded, having heard this before. "I know. And I know I should do this. But I don't have to like it."

Father Simon laughed for a moment. "No-one ever said you should. At least, not at first. But after a while, the process of having a burden removed becomes so much easier than carrying it around."

At that moment, the bishop entered the room. He had the wildest hair Arthur had ever seen, except maybe on a few rock stars. Though he was not a large man, Arthur thought that he had never met anyone so powerful. The bishop's eyes met Arthur's, and he looked into him for a long moment, as if sizing him up. Arthur felt as though the bishop could see everything about him, and that he himself could see everything the bishop saw. It was not always a pleasant sight, and Arthur was tempted to look away. But he stood firm, and held the eye contact. The bishop smiled slightly, and nodded.

"Are you ready?"

Arthur took a deep breath and nodded. Moving across the room, he knelt on the small kneeler, and folded his hands over his chest. He could sense the bishop moving to sit beside him.

"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned."

He paused before the stone steps of the church, then slowly walked up them. He came to the altar rail and knelt. As the choir sang, he saw the priest coming closer, bearing the sacrament.

"Te deum laudamus, Te dominum confitemur"

The priest placed a small wafer in the hand of the person kneeling to his right.

"Te æternum Patrem omnis terra veneratur"

He felt a warm thin wafer pressed into his own palm.

"Tibi omnes angeli, tibi cæli: et universæ Potestates."

"The Bread of Life." He placed the wafer in his mouth and chewed slowly as the priest spoke the words, and made the sign of the cross.

"Tibi Cherubim incessabili voce proclamant: "

"The Blood of Christ, the Cup of Salvation." He placed his lips to the rim of the chalice, and felt the burning as the wine slid down his throat.

"Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus: Sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth."

As he stood, and turned to walk back to his pew in the sanctuary, he was unaware of the tears pouring down his face.

"Pleni sunt cæli et terra majestates gloriæ tuæ. "

She was waiting for him, as he moved into the sunlight. He never could decide which was brighter, her smile or her skin as the sun shone on it. She waited as he walked over to her, then turned to stand face to face with him.

"Are you glad?" she asked simply.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak in an even tone. But the nod was unnecessary; she could tell from his face. The little worry lines were no longer there, and his eyes shone with a light she had not seen in many months. She took his hands in hers, and pulled him over to a large grassy part of the lawn, where the sun shone through plainly. Moving slowly at first, she began to twirl, still holding his hands. He stumbled a bit at first, then began to turn faster and faster. They spun, laughing at the gravitational forces that tried to pull them apart. They spun, laughing at each other, and at themselves. Finally, his hands slipped and he fell, chuckling, into the warm grass. He looked over at her, expecting to see her sprawled in the grass in the same way that he was. But she had not fallen; instead she spun outward, twirling and spinning, the sunlight flashing on her hair.

As she slowly spun to a stop, the wind caught her hair, and blew it out in a curtain behind her. The sun caught it, and for an instant, the dark brown strands glowed like amber, lit from within.

Struck by the beauty of the moment, he whispered. "And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! Her flashing eyes, her floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise."

--------------

He gave a shuddering sigh, remembering the beauty of that moment. He had never been in a more beautiful moment than that one instant when he saw her spinning in the sun. She had seemed a part of the sun, sharing in its brightness and mimicking its celestial dance. Her never saw her from that moment on without seeing the sun in her.

"Thank you, Rachel..." he choked, then forced the words out. "Thank you for showing me."

Chapter 8(since the ****** computer deleted the first try of this one)

2004-11-11T08:10:00.000-08:00

This chapter is late, because I had it written out beautifully, the characters were working well, and then POOF the computer ate it all!! 3 hours work!! Two thousand words!!)

Cobb stared drowsily up at the stars, moving slowly overhead. Unable to sleep, he had first tried to count them, but abandoned that as futile. Instead, he entertained himself by marking their progress across the sky. His eyes were now fixed on the three brightest stars in the sky, just above the trees. They had not been there an hour ago; he had watched them rise above the trees, twinkling brightly. He considered naming them, but couldn't decide on any good names before he drifted off to sleep.
There, in the midst of the moonlit clearing, he began to dream.
He stood in a small pool of warm light, a small circle of light in the midst of darkness. He was alone. Suddenly, a figure appeared. It was a very pretty girl, no older than 11. He smiled, remembering her. His first childhood love. As he watched, she smiled, and stretched out her arms to him. He reached out to touch her childish hands, but as he did so, her smile faded and turned to tears. She opened her mouth in a silent wail, and began to fade away. She did not disappear completely, but hovered in the background, a silent shade. He shuddered, but then saw another girl appear from out of the darkness. She was about sixteen, and still had braces. She smiled shyly, and extended her hands. Again he reached out, and again the figure cried out and faded away. Another figure now, and another, and another. He put his hands over his face, trying to block out the sight of them. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of someone new; he looked up and saw a woman there. She was not familiar to him, though the others had been. She smiled and beckoned him forward. He shook his head, eyes darting to the other figures darting about in the shadows. She laughed, and waved her hands. The figures contorted briefly, and then dissipated into the darkness. She stepped toward him, arms open. He moved to embrace her, feeling her body against his. Suddenly, he screamed. Her face, moving in close to kiss him, had begun to change. It stretched and darkened, beginning to take on hideous shades of green. He tried to pull out of her embrace, but her fingers had turned to claws, and they latched onto his skin and would not release him. Her watched in terror as her legs cleaved together, growing into a thick, writhing tail. She moved a hand closer to his heart. Horrified, he saw her spread her lips in a grin, a ghastly grin that revealed two long white fangs. She moved one hand closer to his heart, claws clicking dangerously. He tried once more to escape, then she plunged her claws into his chest, piercing his heart.

He woke, sweating and clutching his pounding heart. He looked around desperately, straining to see into the darkness of the woods. But the silence of the night and the emptiness of the horizon served to reassure him that the horror had, indeed, been only a dream. Though he still felt wide awake, he lay back down, and tried to calm his nerves. The exhaustion of the day's exertion and the lateness of the night soon lulled him back into an uneasy sleep.

He saw her as soon as he fell asleep, waiting for him. She wore a tight green dress. It shimmered slightly in the light, as if she wore a garment of scales. She moved towards him, smiling enticingly. He turned to flee, but as is so common in dreams, moved too slowly. He heard the angry hiss of a snake, and fell to the ground. A single gasp escaped his lips, a plea. He looked once over his shoulder, and saw only the yellow glowing eyes of the serpent. Suddenly, a flash of silver light blinded him. He looked behind him once again, and saw a pulsing silver light. The light dimmed slightly, and he could see the figures of two men standing between himself and the snake. In their hands, each man held a sword. The snake hissed and struck, but the men dodged and returned the strikes. The serpent twisted, trying to get behind them, to return to its prey, but they were too quick for it. It hissed a final time, and slithered away into the darkness. Sheathing their swords, the men slowly turned to face Cobb. With a sudden certainty, he knew that he did not wish to meet their eyes. As they turned, the silver light increased until it was almost blinding. For a split second, Cobb met their eyes.

He woke as suddenly as if he had heard a shot. Glancing about him, he saw that the night was almost gone, and dawn was approaching in the east.

Dranger lay quietly, his eyelids cracked open only the tiniest bit. He watched the progress of the dawn as it advanced. Slowly the sea turned from black to blue-grey, and the colors of the land began to emerge from the grey drabness of the night. Occasionally, he heard the soft fluttering of a bird's wings, as they awakened and prepared for the coming day. Finally, the tip of the sun peeked out over the horizon and began to rise, turning the sand to a rich yellow, and the sea to a dazzing blue. The birds erupted from the trees, singing loud enough to reach the sun itself. They circled about the clearing, and Dranger noticed for the first time how the light drew in perfect clarity the shape of every hollow of the ground, and rested like a halo on every little mound. The birds flew one last circle of the clearing, then began streaming out toward the sea. He could not see for long, but as they flew out over the waves, it looked to him as though they flew into the sun.

The men ate their breakfast in silence, and quickly packed up their camp. As they renewed their journey, Cobb looked back over his shoulder. He saw the light pick out the topography of the campsite, and suddenly saw a pattern in the earth, similar to the Anasazi drawings. He never would have seen it, unless the sun had hit it just right, but on either side of the marker stone lay the winged figures of two men, each holding a sword.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He gently kneaded the mounds of earth, working by moonlight. He smiled, leaning back on his heels, deciding to incorporate more gardening into his future works. Taking a quick drink from a large clay jar, he sat down on the ground, and examined his work. He wasn't sure why he had decided to work at night, but he was certainly enjoying the moonlight. Once your eyes get accustomed to it, he thought, it's as bright as day. Until he had landed on the island, he had never seen a moon bright enough to cast shadows, but they were by now a familiar sight.
Returning to his work, he walked around the clearing, checking to make sure that the lines would have the effect he wanted. It was hard to tell, since they were still bare earth, but once the grass grew over them again....He nodded. It should work.
He knelt down in the dirt again, and began to dig. After digging a small trench, he filled the bottom of it with small stones, then mounded the dirt back into place and patted it down. He then moved a few feet to the side, and began to work on the next bit of line; digging the dirt, placing the stones, then pushing the earth back into place, kneading it gently...
-------
"Mmmm, that feels good." She smiled, her long blond hair falling across his hand. He smiled and continued rubbing the back of her neck. "Headache getting better?" She nodded, beaming at him. He massaged her neck for a few moments longer, then turned back to reading his book. She sat for a few moments, then asked, "What are you reading?" He turned the front cover of the book so that she could see it. "It's a collection of Grail legends. In this one, Lancelot--"
"Ooh!" she squealed, "Is that guy from Camelot and First Knight?"
Arthur cringed slightly but nodded. "Yeah, sort of. In this one, the vision of the Grail pulls him back from madness, so he goes off to seek it."
"Does he get it?"
He shook his head. "No, he's too unpure."
"What?"
"Well, he's a traitor and an adulterer, there's no way he'd be able to get to the Grail."
"What does that have to do with anything? He's a good fighter, so why wouldn't he be able to walk up to the Grail?"
"Well....that's a long story."
"Oh."
He turned back to his book, and continued reading. After a few moments, a tinny ring began sounding. "Oh!" she yelped, jumping up to retrieve her cell phone, and knocking his book to the floor. "Oh, no, don't get up, I knocked it down, I'll get it." She bent down to scoop up his book, and he couldnt' help noticing that the neck of her blouse was rather loose-fitting. He cleared his throat slightly, embarassed. She straightened up, cell phone in hand, and handed his book back as she answered the phone. She frowned, and looked at the phone. "They hung up. Well, they can always leave a message, I guess." She wrapped her arms about herself. "Brrr! It's cold in here!"
Smiling slightly, he draped his jacket around her shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and sat back down. He noticed how the jacket sleeves hung past her fingertip, and the hem almost concealed the hem of het skirt. She looks like a little girl playing dress-up, he thought absently.

They walked hand in hand down the leaf-strewn main avenue of the campus. She was wearing his jacket again, though with jeans this time. After all, it had begun to get cold. They were just past the library when he saw her. She was walking toward them, black skirt swishing against her shoes, and bead belt swinging and clicking from her movement. She was neither tall nor short, and her figure could only be described as one too thouroughly healthy to ever be forced into a corset. Her rich brown hair hung long and curled slightly as it fell around her shoulders. As they approached, a small gust of wind whooshed by, stirring up a trail of leaves. As they swirled around her, she laughed. Arthur had never heard such a laugh, as free as a bird song, as rich as notes from a French horn, and as light as the air. As she laughed, she gathered up a bit of her skirt in her hand, and twirled in the midst of the leaves. Her skirt swung out, swishing around her calves, revealing two small feet sheathed in brown boots. As she twirled, her hair lifted off her shoulders and flew in a perfect arc around her, creating a natural halo. A few quick twisting steps through the leaf-dotted air, and then she was past them.

Sara snorted slightly. "Boy, talk about a real hippy! Well...I guess she's too young to really be a hippy, but her parents were, I bet." But Arthur did not hear her.

Sara had insisted on staying inside today, having no desire to walk about in the wet snow. Arthur gave in reluctantly, though he had hoped to spend some time walking in the snow before going for coffee. So they sat in the dormitory lobby instead, Arthur reading while Sara watched TV. Glancing distractedly out the curtains, he suddenly realized that there was at least one person brave enough to slog about in the snow. The Twirling Girl, so he called her, was out there, building some sort of snow mound. He watched, curious, until Sara begged him to close the curtains, claiming that the sight of the snow outside made her feel cold. Soon, however, the girl came inside and rummaged about in the dorm kitchen. Then, poking her head into the lobby, said, "Excuse me, but do either of you know if there's food coloring anywhere in here?"
Not looking away from the tv screen, Sara said, "Try the pantry."
"Well, in all honesty, I did, but I can't quite see the top shelf. Normally, I'd just pull up a chair to stand on, but..." She extended a booted foot, which was covered in snow and mud. "I don't think Custodial would appreciate that very much." She laughed again, and Arthur's heart skipped a beat. "I'll go see if I can find some for you." He rose, and was in the kitchen before Sara could protest. She huffed slightly, then returned to her movie. Arthur returned shortly, and handed a carboard box to the girl. She peered inside, and saw bottles of several different food colors. She clapped her mittened hands excitedly. "Oh, thank you!"
Even after the girl had gone, Sara remained sulky, finally finishing her movie. "I'm going back to bed, it's too cold out here." She gathered up her stack of DVDs and walked off.
As she disappeared through the door, Arthur jumped to his feet, quickly grabbing his scarf and hat, and jamming his arms into his coat sleeves as he walked outside. As he looked outside, his heart sank. The girl was no longer in sight. Then his eyes were drawn to one bright spot in the snow. There, in front of the dorm, sprawled a large dragon, resplendant in heraldic colors.

He saw her again in the spring. She sat under a tree that had recently burst into patchy green leaves. Her skirt was spread across the grass, and she was intently reading a small leather-bound book. With her hair hanging loose and her face slightly flushed from the warmth of the day, he thought she looked like an Ophelia or Belle Dame Sans Merci by Waterhouse or Rosetti. He hesitated, not wanted to interrupt the perfect picture, but then she looked up, noticed him, and smiled. He walked over quietly, and sat beside her.
"What is your name?"
A smile flickered at the edges of her mouth. "Rachel."
"Rachel, what are you reading?"
She held out the book to him. "Tennyson. At the moment, the Lady of Shallott."
"There she weaves by night and day,
A magic web with colors gay,
She--"
She smiled and joined in. "She has heard a whisper say, a curse is on her if she stay to look down on Camelot."
He looked at her, and she laughed again, the laugh so rich and light. "Go on, keep reading, I didn't mean to interrupt."
They read all that long sunny afternoon, sitting together in the checkered shade of the tree.
-----------

He sighed, remembering that first sight of her. No matter how many years passed, he would never forget that laugh, and the sight of her twirling amongst the leaves. At that moment, the sun rose above the horizon, and all the birds began to sing. He listened to their song, then returned to the job of shaping the earth.
copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 7: Salve Regina Te Luctis Ante

2004-11-10T09:49:00.000-08:00

(brain...dying...auuggghh....)
The two men walked on in silence for most of the afternoon, lost in thought. The undergrowth of the area was not thick enough to require machetes, but it was thick enough to impede their progress. They were now on the north side of the mountain, and the sun was beginning to stretch their shadows in front of them.
They had stumbled around for a good two hours before Dranger began to realize that they should have found a marker. He stopped, and turned to Cobb. "You haven't seen anything that looks like a marker, have you?" Cobb shook his head, frowning.
"Me neither. But we should have. That map..." he paused, trying to picture it in his mind. "Yeah, should've been only about a forty-five minute walk. We've gone on for more than twice that. We gotta turn around." He began truding west through the trees, Cobb following him.
They backtracked for an hour and a half, then spread out in a slightly wider search pattern. Dranger tugged at the brim of his hat, wondering if perhaps he'd read the map wrong, or if the marker had possibly been destroyed by some natural process. But it didn't seem as if anything dramatic had happened in this area, no landslides or earthquakes, and the statues seemed to have been constructed in such a way as to last through most normal weathering.
A shout from Cobb woke him from his musings. He hurried off in the direction of the sound, and found Cobb busy clearing vines and grass from a flat stone marker. It was not particularly well-hidden, but unless one's attention was completely focused on finding it, it would have been easy to overlook. They must have passed right by it at least twice that day, but been too lost in their thoughts to see it.
Cobb took a corner of his shirt and rubbed the face of the stone clean. The surface was flat and broad, and polished to a smoothness that contrasted with the landscape. Blowing the loose dust away, Cobb read:

" Seek and find, but if you do not,
Your end will escape your quest.
Be not concerned with your own thought;
But seek it without rest,
And find it you certainly must.
Search you out what is best,
For all the rest is only dust."

As they read the inscription, Dranger suddenly noticed that he could no longer see his shadow, and had to squint to make out the writing on the rock's surface. Looking up, he realized that the sun had almost completely sunk below the horizon. He slipped his pack from him shoulder, and began to take out the contents. Cobb noticed, and began to do the same, realizing that setting up camp would be more easily done in the light of a setting sun than in complete night. They finished putting up the tent as the first stars came out, then cleared a space for a fire. As it crackled and leaped in the night, Cobb gathered a few pieces of fruit from the nearby trees, while Dranger vanished into the woods. A few minutes later, he came out carrying two small birds, which he began to pluck and clean. Within an hour, the birds were roasting on a makeshift spit over the fire, and the two men had finished the fruits.
Spreading out their sleeping rolls, they both lay on their backs, gazing up at the stars. Neither had ever seen a sky so clear and devoid of interference; by comparing the constellations to the top of a nearby tree, they could even watch the progress of the night. Stars appeared over the horizon, while others dipped down behind the tree. The movement was slow and imperceptible, but measurable. Watching the stars spin across the night sky was like watching time itself.
--------

"I just stopped to say goodbye. The taxi's waiting, so I gotta go."

She stopped at the door, and turned to face him. Her small suitcase dangled from one hand. "I'll try to stop back by and get the rest of my stuff sometime soon. Wouldn't want it to get in your way."

He nodded numbly, still not able to believe that this was really going to happen. But there she stood at the screen door, holding that suitcase, with a taxi waiting out front, and here he sat, still unable to rouse himself to do anything that might keep her from going. "Why?" he croaked.

She sighed, and leaned against the doorpost. She looked tired; he hadn't quite realized how exhausted she looked. "Because you never look at me, Stan. You never talk to me. You're always doing something else. We used to have something. I don't know how I held your interest then; I sure as hell don't remember now. But I can't just be a knick knack that happens to be able to cook." She opened the screen door, and put a foot outside the door. "I can't live like that. So I'll let you get on with your life. You'll get over it pretty soon, and you won't even miss me." And with that, she was gone.

He heard the taxi's wheels crunching on some loose gravel as it pulled away, and then it was over. Over the next few months, he realized that she was right. He did get over it, and he didn't miss her. And he hated himself for it.

------------------

Dranger shifted around, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep, hoping that it would free him from the memories that came back at times like this. But how had he let her slip away? It seemed like one moment, they had been amazingly happy, then the next day she had left him, claiming that he no longer paid attention to her. But he had never noticed...perhaps he really had spent too much time moving around. He just never knew what he was supposed to concentrate on, it seemed like whatever he chose was always wrong. In the end, shortly after Lisa had left, he had simply stopped caring. In his world, no-one cared what you were or were not interested in, as long as you did the damn job.

He rolled over resolutely, determined to sleep; but sleep was a long time coming.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The man's hands were chafed and raw as he rubbed down the surface of the stone. He looked down at the flat stone marker, now beginning to be worn smooth. He rubbed his hands, trying to alleviate the pain, then got up and walked down to the stream. He held his hands under the water; it was not exactly ice cold, but it was better than nothing. Little red streams flowed from his palms as the blood diffused in the water. He noticed that several blisters had broken open.
He wondered again why he was doing this. Surely most men would either settle back and live life in ease, "going back to Nature" as it were, or would try to build a raft and leave the island. Why could he not do this? For six long years he had waited here, working on bizarre sculptures and strange tests, though it was unlikely that this island would ever have visitors.
Finally, he decided that the water had done all it could. He bound up his palms with long grasses that grew by the side of the stream, and headed back to the stone. Reaching it, he sat down and picked up a small rock that lay beside it. The rock was worn flat on one side, and was beginning to grow almost smooth. He placed the flat side against the stone surface and began working again, slowly grinding down the face of the stone marker.
As the sun began to set, he got up and went to the river again, soaking his hands in the cool clean water. He then ate a simple meal of fruit and boiled roots, while watching the sun set.
As the rays of the sun began to lay flat across the horizon, he turned his eyes to the clearing around him; the low angle of the light brought out every tiny hill and deepened the shadows in the smallest hollows until the whole land seemed to be rippling. The evening light was a pure and vibrant gold, turning everything it touched into a flaming image of itself. The water down by the sea turned a deep blue as it lapped against the shores, while the sand turned a heraldic red-gold, as its dunes mimiced the motion of the waves.And in a final flash of green light, it was over. The sea was dull blue-green again, and the sand began to look grey in the twilight. Arthur sighed, and turned back to the clearing. Layng down amongst the grass, he began to drift off.
------
"I think that this is the gold that the leprechauns hide for us." Her smile was almost as mischevious as that of the mythical little men. He looked around. "What gold, Rachel?" "You preoccupied little twit, this gold!" She flung her arms out, indicating the entire grassy lawn. He looked around at the campus buildings, seeing no gold. She must have caught the bewildered look on his face. Her smile dimmed slightly, but also grew more gentle. "Here." She grabbed his hand and sank onto the grass, forcing him to sit also. She put her hands on either side of his face, and turned it so that he saw nothing but the grass. "Silly boy, you can accept an old dead Greek's idea of a wine-dark sea, but can't see it when the suns pours gold over everything?" He blushed, smiling slightly. "Here, boy, close your eyes." She placed her cool hands over his eyes, shutting out the light. "Now, listen: When you open your eyes, you will be in Fairyland, where the grass glows golden. The trees will talk to you. And you will find a princess, if you know where to look." He heard her tinkling laugh, and felt her remove her hands from his eyes. He opened his eyes. The first thing to meet them was a gleam of gold and white. There she sat, her skirt spread upon the grass, her bare arms shining like rods of gold. Her skin gleamed in the late afternoon light, casting light on all about her, so it seemed to him. Hardly daring to do so, he raised his eyes to her face. The light of the sun danced in her eyes, and dusted itself aross her face. Her cheeks glowed like white-hot coals, and her brow was as clear and lovely as gilded porcelain. The light of the sun was tangled in her rich brown hair, a diadem with which no crown jewels could compare. She laughed again, and turned his head back to face the landscape. He saw the grass, glowing as though lit with an inward flame, and the trees whispering secrets in the wind. "Never forget," she whispered in his ears, "to see."
-------
He smiled in memory of the girl who had been a princess while the sun was setting. Unnoticed, a tear slipped down his face, shining like a diamond in the first light from the stars.
copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

2004-11-08T19:10:00.000-08:00

(update: The end of this post marks 10,366 words.)

Chapter 6

"Why do you think we're here?" asked Cobb suddenly. Dranger took a quick sip from his canteen and wiped his mouth. "Here where?""Here. On this island. Why'd we pick this one? Why'd the company send us? Why'd this guy make an island this way? Why any of it?"
"Oh." Dranger screwed the lid back onto his canteen and packed it away again. Standing, he stretched and yawned. "Well, kid, that's too many questions to tackle all at once. Pick one, and we'll figure that one out before moving on to the next one. Deal? And let's walk while we talk. No sense wasting time."
Cobb grinned in acquiesence. "Fair enough. So, what would make a guy do this with an island? You figure he's just some rich S.O.B with too much time and money for his own good? Some crazy artist trying to escape the world?"The older man shook his head, brushing a few loose vines out of his way. "Naw...Look at those rocks that we saw. Too roughly done to be some guy with money. Heck, he'd hire someone to do it for him. Or manufacture it. I doubt that it'd be an artist; no-one out here to see the stuff."
"Alright, Stan, who do you think it is?"
"Well, whoever he is, he's well-educated. I don't know Greek or Latin, but I know what they look like. Seems he speaks both, and some of the phrases he uses sure sound intellectual. So I'm guessing he went to a good school. Which makes it even stranger, because what would a kid like that be doing out here?"
Cobb acknowledged the point, and fell silent for a few paces. Then he spoke up again: "So why are we here?"
"Well, there's always the direct cause: we're here because we're scouting out possible mining locations for the corporation. This island was in our assigned sector. But I have a feeling that that's not what you mean. So," he shifted his backpack slightly, "what you mean is, 'Why have all the various choices of our very different lives lead us to this point where we are walking on an island which has been turned into some sort of obstacle course by God-alone-knows-who.' Right?"The younger man laughed, and nodded. "More or less, yeah."

At that moment, pushing through another web of vines, they came across another pillar. This time, it had no clay coating, nor was it stone. It was a wooden pillar; to be perfectly precise, it was a tree. Its roots were still planted deep in the ground, but the trunk had been carved and polished until it gleamed dully in the afternoon sunlight. It had been given the form of a strong man, reaching toward the mountain peak with hands upraised. In the wooden fingers rested a small clay bowl.The men walked around the statue until they stood almost face to face with it. The face was clean shaven, though by no means young, and the eyes were fixed relentlessly on the peak of the mountain. The figure wore a long robe, and it was on this carved textile that they found the message of the statue:

"Look above to what lies ahead,
Travellers, and kneel in thanks,
For the pilgrim's prayer is heard.
You wait upon the mountain's flanks,
And journey up unto the peak,
So light a fire and give thanks;
For grace given to the weak."
While Dranger read the verses aloud, Cobb's eye fell upon the feet of the statue. A small basket lay there. Peering in, he discovered several pieces of flint. He selected two pieces, then, when Dranger had finished reading, reached up and took the basket from the hands of the statue.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"Cobb shrugged. "Just what it said to do." He held out the bowl for inspection. "See? Dried leaves. Like potpourri." He brandished the chips of flint."Incense, not potpourri.""Whatever. Anyway..." He struck the flint chips together. The first few sparks went awry, but one finally landed in the bowl. The leaves ignited almost immediately.

A small wisp of smoke curled upwards, smelling of strange spices and dry leaves. Gently, almost reverently, Cobb scooped up the bowl and returned it to the statue's hands. He seemed to extend the strange offering to the mountain itself. The smoke curled upward slowly, hypnotically...
-------
Cobb blew a smoke ring towards the ceiling and tried to look thoughtful. It was enough of a challenge for him under the best of circumstances, and being high was not the best of circumstances for attempting to look thoughtful. But he tried anyway.
"Yeah, I think there's more to the universe than we ever know about. I think we get glimpses of it sometimes though."The girl snuggled closer to him, her head on his chest."Yeah. Something weird happened to me once...I always wondered what caused it.""Yeah?" He took a drag on the small cigarette. "What happened?""Well," she said as she sat up a little straighter, "I was out driving really late one night. I mean, I didn't actually have my license yet, but, like, I'm a good driver, and my parents were off somewhere on a business trio or something like that, and my friend was having a really great party, so I just took the car, it wasn't like she lived far away or anything." She sipped at a can of soda. "So, yeah, I was coming home from this party, and I swear I wasn't drunk or high or anything 'cause I knew I was gonna be driving." She began to grow more solemn. "So on the way home, it was late, about 4 am, and I guess I fell asleep or something. I woke up and the car was headed out of my lane, and there were bright lights ahead." She shuddered at the memory. "I yelled something, 'Help' I think, and all of a sudden, I was back on my side of the road, and the other car was safely past me."
Cobb had grown silent while she was relating the story. He didn't mind talking all mystical: after all, it always interested the girls. But he always got a little uncomfortable when people moved into telling stories about things that had happened to them. That was a little too close to home.
"Aw, c'mon Steph. You just said that you fell asleep at the wheel. Why not just assume that you were still sleepy, and just don't remember pulling the wheel back over?""Don't remember nearly getting hit head on by a car?" She rolled her eyes. "Get real, you jerk. I wouldn't forget a single instant of that." She shook her head. "No, someone heard me asking for help, and helped me." She sipped the soda again. "Maybe I just haven't worked out my karma yet."
--------
"Down! Down! Dow-!" The voice was drowned out by a sudden flood of sound accompanied by an equally sudden flood of debris. The shrapnel pattered across the helmets of the men before burying itself in the ubiquitous mud.
"Hey Dranger!" He turned to see a man, no more than eighteen years old, crawling his way towards him. He extended a hand and pulled him alongside his position. "Yeah?"
"Man, you think we're gonna survive this one?"
"Hope so. Couldn't say for sure."
"Me too. Got a girl back home who'll be mighy upset if I don't come back and marry 'er." He grinned. Dranger laughed and slapped the boy on the back. "Yeah, you better survive this. There aren't enough pretty girls in the world; it'd be a shame to leave one of 'em unmarried."
"Grenade! Grenade!"Reflexively, the men ducked and covered their faces, turning away from the incendiary. The world exploded momentarily into a brilliant flash, which almost instantly turned to smoke. As it cleared, Dranger came up coughing, looking around to see who was injured."Hey man, help me check the other guys." He grabbed the young man by the straps of his pack, hauling him to his feet.
But the boy did not follow. Instead, the moment Dranger released him, he crumpled into a heap in the mud. "No!' Kneeling beside him, Dranger wiped his face clean of the mud that covered it. The boy's eyes were moving slightly as he tried to open them. Finally, he managed to raise his eyelids enough to look up."Hey man..."
"Don't talk, we gotta get you to a medic. Medic!"
"No, Stan. I think it's too late." He held up a hand, drenched in blood.
"Damn it, soldier, you can't die! You gotta go home and marry that pretty girl of yours." He looked around desperately, but no medics were in sight. He whispered a prayer, to whatever powers there might be. "Don't let him die. Not now." He looked back down at the young soldier in his arms. The boy's eyes were open and staring, the inevitable glassiness beginning to appear. "No! No! Not like this! How can you let him die?"
"Hey, soldier!" Dranger looked up. "We got wounded men over here. Help us carry them!"Dranger got to his feet, looked down at the man at his feet, then pulled the boy's dog tag out so it would be easier for the burial crews to find. "Yes sir. Coming, sir." He pulled himself together, and trotted off through the rain.
The rain fell softly all afternoon, making the mud run red. The light of the setting sun made the helmets of the dead gleam dully, though their dog tags shone brightly. One tag, hanging from the neck of a soldier, no older than a boy, caught the light more fully than most, shining like a star in the oncoming darkness. As the sun fell below the horizon, the star flickered and went dark. As the light faded from its surface, a name could have been read on it, if anyone had been around to see:
John Dranger, Private.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The young man sat on the grass in the warm sun, calmly crushing dried leaves into a clay bowl. More leaves, nuts, and grasses lay in the sun behind him, still in the process of drying.
He finished crumbling the leaves and set the bowl aside. He gathered up the nuts from the sunny area behind him, and placed them on a nearby rock. Grabbing a smaller rock, he pounded the nuts until the shells split. Seperating the nut meats from the shells, he placed them back in the sun to continue drying. Turning back to the shells, he reached for another bowl, which contained a rough pestle. He scooped the fragments into it, and began to grind them into powder.
The sun slowly slipped past its zenith and began its long slow descent towards the horizon. The young man set aside the small bowl, and rested, rubbing his hands and wrists occasionally. He knelt in the long grass, and took one of the bowls that lay in his work area. He put a few pinches of the plant matter into it, then took a small twig out of his firepot. He hold the bowl aloft, then set the smoldering twig in the bowl. Soon, a sweet smelling smoke began to rise up from the bowl, twisting and coiling its way into the sky. He watched it, tracing the swirls and eddies within the small cloud.
"I do not know why it has been given to me, but I thank you for this great and terrible gift."
He sighed, and as he drew his next breath, he smelt the soft tang of the smoke brush his senses.
---------
The young man lay in darkness, sprawled on a couch. Even in the dim light of the room, he wore dark glasses. Without warning, the door opened, letting in a ray of afternoon sunlight. The man squawked quietly, and rolled over.
"Hey man. Your eyes still giving you problems?"
He nodded mutely.
"Now you know why you're not supposed to participate in staring contests till four in the morning."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know the doc said it's an infection, and not completely due to that one lapse of judgement."
"Yeah, I know. Just trying to increase the guilt. Helps the healing process, you know.'
Arthur grinned slightly, adjusting the sunglasses. "Yeah, man, whatever you say. Now close that damn door, you're letting out all the dark."
"Sure thing, man." As Arthur relaxed back into the couch, he heard the click of the door shutting, signalling that his roommate had left the room.
He sighed. "I don't know if You're out there. I have no idea who or what You might be. I'm not sure you exist. But I want to know. And I think that if You were who people claim You are, You'd want me to know. So if You're there, I want to know about it. I can't take this uncertainty anymore. I don't know how to live. So show me. And show me in a way that I can't explain." He closed his eyes and shut out the last remnants of the light.
"Dude, wake up, time for dinner."
Arthur's eyes flew open, and fixed upon his roommate. "Oh, right." He blinked. Does it seem dark in here to you?"
"No, but I'm not the dope with the sunglasses either."
He slowly removed the glasses, blinking slightly in the light. "Hey! I can see! They don't hurt anymore!" He blinked a few more times, then laughed wildly. "Ha! My eyes are better!"
"Sweet, man! I guess the stuff the doc gave you finally started working!"
"In 45 minutes? When I had to wear sunglasses in a room with all the lights off before?"
The other man shrugged. "Miracle of modern medicine. Why, you got a better explanation?"

------
Arthur laughed at the memory. Perhaps it could have been explained away, but he had had no desire to do so. He had asked for a reason to believe, and the reason had been granted. It had worked, and that was all that mattered.
The smoke curled up towards the heavens, curling and twisting as it did so, spreading its sweet smell across the sky.

copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 5: Miserere Mei, Domine

2004-11-07T20:29:00.000-08:00

(If anyone is reading this--I know ya'll are, Mom and Dad, thanks!--Please please please post a comment with a critique. ANY critique. Just keep in mind that this is a FIRST DRAFT.)

The sun was slipping towards noon when the two men stopped for lunch. It was a simple affair: a few sips of water from their canteens, two or three pieces of fruit apiece. Dranger, usually taciturn, ate quietly, but pondered the sudden silence of his confederate. Cobb was usually a gregarious man, sometimes to the point of frustration, but today he ate his meal in peace, neither talking nor humming music as he often did. The silence was overwhelming, but not complete. The occasional bird twittered in the trees, and everywhere the sound of wind in the trees whispered through the air. Usually, unless the wind was gusting unusually loudly, the sound of the waves breaking along the shore could be heard as well.
They cleaned their hands in silence, then resumed their march.
"Hey, Cobb.""Yeah?""You ok?""Yeah. I think so.""Not getting sick or anything?""No. No, don't think so. Why?""You've been awfully quiet since you woke up from your nap.""Oh...Yeah, guess so. Just thinking.""Well, that's allowed. Thought for a minute that you'd left your tongue back in that hollow.""No..." he mused, then murmured under his breath, "Maybe I left a lifetime back there.""Huh?""Nothin'.""Oh."
Just as the sun reached its peak, they came across another marker. It stood in front of a field of rocks; apparently the remnants of a landslide. In fact, had the marker not been as tall as a man, they would have missed it, assuming it to be another rock in the debris.

"Weary traveller, here you find
No rest or peace from journey wild
No quiet place for body or mind.

You stand here with guilt, defiled;
Those who are pure pass through.
Your life too hurried and wild;

Your journey now is, too.
Pray as you journey forth,
And be wary as you do,

Speed will measure your worth."

Across the bottom of the inscription, a banner read "Miserere Mei Domine," while across the top danced figures in rapid motion. From where the two men stood, the shapes were not perfectly discernable, but they seemed to be images of people running; more disturbingly, some were quite obviously images of sudden death.

"So..." whistled Cobb. "Is this a booby trap?"Dranger hesitated, suddenly unsure. "I don't know," he said slowly. He examined the drawings more closely. "I don't think it means that we will die. I think it means that we'd better be quick getting over these rocks. Look, see that?" He pointed to the field of rocks. On closer examination, it proved to be constructed in a manner too odd to be merely coincidental. The first layer was of small rocks and gravel. On top of that layer was strewn larger rocks, including many smooth river rocks. The topmost layer was of very large slabs of rock, roughly shaped liked wedges.
"I think that the instant you set foot on one of those rocks, it will tilt, like a seesaw. If it tilts too far, it could dislodge other rocks---"
"And start a real rockslide. So the idea is to get from one rock to another as fast as possible."
"Exactly. 'Speed will measure your worth.'"
"That doesn't seem t0 make much sense though; he doesn't seem to think much of lives spent running around, but then makes that sort of thing the test for crossing?" Cobb scratched his head. "Yeah. I don't get that."Dranger shook his head, eyeing the rock field. "Well, there's nothing else for it." He eyed the distance to the far side. Turning to face Cobb, he asked,"You think you could heave a pack that far?"Cobb thought, shrugging his shoulders to test the weight of his pack. "Yeah, I think so. It's not that far."Dranger nodded, and began removing his pack. "Thought so. Once I'm across, toss the packs over to me, then you come across. The last thing we need is a big fat pack on our back when trying to balance on a damned teeter-totter."Cobb grinned, then slapped Dranger on the back. "Why don't you let me go first, old man?"The other snorted derisively. "Old? This is called the prime of life, you dolt." He winked at the younger man, and stepped onto the first of the rocks.

The rock tilted more rapidly than he had expected, and he stumbled off the slab to the left, managing a small leap on to another of the wedges that lay in that direction. He caught his balance, but could feel the rocks beneath threatening to slip loose. He steadied himself long enough to leap forward. And leap again. And again...

--------
"Will one of you S.O.B.'s get that line lashed tight?" The voice shouted hoarsely above the roar of the waves. "On it, sir!" Dranger scrambled across the deck, lunging for the line that was flapping in the spray. Finally grabbing it, he clung to it tenaciously, tugging it into place, and tying the knot that would hold it securely.
All night through the storm, he paced the deck, watching carefully, making every line secure, listening to the sound of the engine. When morning dawned, the storm finally blew itself out. The captain ordered the young man to sleep, which he did the instant his head hit the pillow. From his youngest days, he had found that sleep came much easier if the body was worked to the point of exhaustion every day. Sort of like allowing batteries to drain before recharging them, he always explained.
------
Halfway across the treacherous rocks, Dranger paused, a deep weariness settling into his bones. He attempted to push it away, drawing on resources of strength that he had always found deep within himself when he pushed his body to the limits. But this time, the wells of endurance were dry, and he had to brace his feet to keep him from falling over. He could dimly hear Cobb shouting something at him, but the thud of his heart drowned out the words. He choked out a whisper, desperately: "Have mercy...!"
He took a blind leap forward, putting all of himself into the leap. As he flew through the air, he saw the two packs lying on the far side of the rockslide. He hit the ground hard, but the ground was solid, and it joyfully refused to shift beneath him. He lay there for a few moments, winded; somewhere through the haze of the moment, he felt Cobb's hands, checking for bruises or cuts. He inhaled deeply, clearing the haze somewhat, and sat up slowly.
Cobb rocked back on his heels at stared at him. "Man, I thought you were a goner there for a minute."Dranger nodded, slowly brushing dust from his tattered shirt. "Yeah...Yeah, me too. All of a sudden, I just..." He coughed, then sneezed and continued. "Just ran out of juice, or something. Never felt so weak in all my life." He flexed his fingers, then slowly got to his feet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Miserere mei, Domine," whispered the young man as he heaved yet another slab of rock into place. The logs slipped about beneath the load, and he had to work slowly to keep the whole thing from collapsing into the rockslide that it mimicked.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked up. Nearly noon, then. Time to rest for awhile, since it was too hot to work. He looked at the large obelisk that lay on its side beside the rock field. It was covered in what had once been soft clay, then laid in the sun to bake. The clay was now hard, though it was also brittle and would crumble easily.
The young man hesitated. It would take some time to get the pit ready, but then it could be firing during the hot part of the day. That would accomplish something without too much physical effort during the sun's peak. He took a quick drink from a crude jar that sat beside the rock, then turned to the pit than ran parallel to the rock field. It was moderately shallow, about two feet deep, and about six feet long. The young man began to push a few large rocks into the pit; when he was satisfied that there were enough, he tossed in armfuls of wood and dried leaves, packing them down tightly. When the layers of wood were level with the surface, he ran back to the trees and found a stout branch. He wedged it beneath the stone pillar, and placing a smaller rock beneath the branch for a fulcrum, levered the monument onto the pile of tinder. He packed more stones around the sides and top of the pillar, interspersing them with wood and leaves. Finally, more tired than he had anticipated, he strode over to a covered clay container, and gingerly brought it over to the stange mound. Lifting the cover with a stick, he prodded the contents, stirring up the banked fire inside. After feeding a few bits of dead grass into the coals to liven them up, he tipped the contents of the pot onto the mound, watching as the sun dried leaves caught fire, then passed it on to the wood. He took his stick and lit the end, spreading the fire around evenly. He then tossed the stick into the blaze, and sat back, watching contentedly. As the stones heated, they would heat the clay, making it stronger, less prone to crumbling. He lay down in the nearby shade, to wait out the heat of the day. The coals flickered red and yellow, red and yellow...Red gleams through the shadows...
---------
The haze began to clear, but still all he could see were pulses of red lights. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes. Finally, the jumbled images began to clear, and he began to notice surrounding sounds. Sirens. Oh. That explained the lights then. He tried to turn his head, and realized that he was upside down. It was then that he felt the first pang of fear.
"Young man? Are you ok?" The oddly comforting face of a policewoman peered in at the window. He glanced toward her. "I...I think so...I gotta get out of here..."
"We'll take care of that. Here, can you wiggle your toes? Yeah? Ok, fingers? Good. What's your name, son?"
"Arthur."
"Nice name. Arthur, this is Darren. He's a paramedic. He's going to put a neck brace on you, and then we're going to get you out of there. It doesn't look like anything's wrong with your neck, but we want to make sure, ok?"
Arthur decided that this would probably not be a good time to nod. Too much neck movement. "Ok."The police officer smiled. "Good man."
Her face disappeared from view, and was replaced by the smiling young face of a man who could not have been much older than Arthur himself. "Hey there. Ok, I'm opening the door...Good, it's not jammed too badly. There. Ok, now hold still. I'm going to slip this around your neck. Now, I've got to strap it pretty tightly, and it won't be comfortable, but I promise you won't choke. Ok...Good." He called to someone behind him, and a stretcher appeared. "Ok guys, let's get him out of here..."

On the ride to the hospital, Arthur lay still, breathing deeply. The police officer sat next to the gurney, talking quietly."You had a pretty bad accident. From what we can tell, you were fine going through the intersection, but the other guy didn't see you, and decided not to stop. He plowed right into you. He's pretty shook up, mostly because he's afraid of what he might've done to you. But it looks like you're going to be ok. You must have more lives than a cat." She chuckled pleasantly. But her patient hardly heard her. His mind was adrift, contemplating the narrow scrape. "I should have died in an accident like that, shouldn't I?"The officer paused, suddenly serious. "Yes. We usually don't need an ambulance after one that bad."He continued breathing slowly, pondering her words. He treasured them, if one can treasure the spoken prospect of one's own death, as if they were jewels. After all, he should not have been alive to hear them. He should not be seeing the glimmer of headlights in the rear window of the ambulance, or smell the antiseptic air. But he was, and he did.No more rushing through life now. No more hurrying to get to the important places. Life was his, and he intended to drink it to the dregs.
-------
The fire blazed, flickering on the still form of the young man in the shade, slowly and steadily hardening his formerly fragile creation.

Copyright 2004 Elizabeth J. Weaver

Chapter 4

2004-11-07T16:50:00.000-08:00

The morning sun beat down on the two men who trudged through the sparse trees at the foot of the mountain. The thick undergrowth made it difficult to walk quickly. The fresh strength of their breakfast was beginning to wear thin, although it would be another two hours before they could realistically eat lunch.

Finally, Cobb sat down on a large rock that protruded from the ground. "Hey man, why're you so intent on getting there so soon? I mean, we could at least take it easy on the way to get wherever it is you're going." He gestured at the fruit-laden trees. "We don't even have to use up all of our rations: just eat the stuff that grows here of its own free will, and save all our food till we hit the sea again. That way, it's hardly wasting time, since we ain't paying a price for it."

The older man shook his head, eyes still fixed ahead. "There's always a price." He pushed through a tangle of thickly-grown moss that hung between two tree trunks. Stepping through it, he was lost to the shadows beyond. Cobb leaned back, straining to see his partner, but the mossy opening was too dim to see clearly. Cursing, he got to his feet and trudged over to the tree trunks. Stepping through, he blinked rapidly, eyes dilating to meet the sudden lack of light.

He found himself in a small hollow, the ground beneath his feet covered in a sort of soft grass. At the far end of the hollow, a single shaft of sunlight fell through the foliage, illuminating a small stone monument. Dranger knelt in front of the object, examining the text inscribed on its surface.

"Stay, traveller, and strive no more;
Rest is here, and quiet peace.
Before you trod the path once more.

But this will be no sweet release
For those who do not strive
But seek only their own ease."

There were no images carved upon the rock, making it seem strikingly sparse after the decorations of the other monuments. Cobb listened to the rhyme, then laughed and spat. "Is that it? Just sit and rest? Hell, I can do that." He threw himself down on the grass, and closed his eyes. Dranger slowly settled to the ground, his back against a tree trunk. He took a last glance at the stone, then pulled his hat brim over his eyes and dozed off.

Cobb, for all his desire to take life easy, found it immense difficult simply to rest in such a quiet space. Every sound from the surrounding trees startled him, and he began to get restless. Not wishing to appear afraid, he refused to wake Dranger, and instead simply sat, waiting.

It began to seem as if years rather than minutes were passing. He knew from the sun's position that it could not, in fact, have been more than 20 minutes since he first sat down; far from being comforting, this in fact made him even more restless.
He shifted about on the grass and looked across the hollow at his partnet, who sat against the tree as if glad for the rest, yet ready to continue trekking toward the mountain top at the slightest suggestion.
But Cobb could not make that suggestion, uncomfortable as he was. For the first time, he envied his comrade's imperterbable nature. He wondered if Dranger were as tired as he seemed to be...

"Mr. Cobb." The stern authoritatian voice broke upon the ears of the youth slouching upon a chair in the office. The young man looked up, a lopsided grin plastered across his face.

"Mr. Cobb, you have spent more days absent from this school than you have spent in it. Now, as you have just turned sixteen, you are legally allowed to remove yourself from school, but I highly advise against it. If you had proven yourself capable of looking out for yourself by honest labor, I should be supportive of such a decision. But you do not work, you simply live off the goods of others, supplemented by what you can scrounge with the least amount of effort."

The man behind the desk removed his thick-rimmed glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if steeling himself for a futile task.

"Mr. Cobb, I know that you do not see the value of applying yourself to any sort of work. You are intelligent, highly intelligent, and can indeed live off the hard work of others. You are beyond doubt capableof providing for yourself in uunorthodox ways. There would be no use lying to you about the fact. I cannot force you to stay in school or to take a job, but I hope to persuade you to do so.

"It is said that 'he who does not work shall not eat.' I doubt that you put much stock in traditional wisdom, but let me assure that this proverb quite often proves true. However, if you do decide to apply yourself, whether in manual labor or in school, I have no doubt that you will soon prove successful."

By the time he reached the end of his speech, he knew that it had been a futile, though necessary, attempt. The young man continued to grin disarmingly, but the grin was slightly forced, and the eyes glazed over. He was, in fact, so absorbed in whatever else he was thinking about, that he had not even noticed that the principal had finished speaking.

"Mr. Cobb." The young man started slightly, then rose to his feet. "Yessir, I'll keep that in mind. Anything else?"

The man started to say something, then thought better of it, and shook his head. "No, that's all. If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets..."
Cobb shook his head to clear the memory, but it only served to shake others loose. The years of travel, hitchhiking and stowing away; the string of girlfriends, always happy to lend money to such a charming person--and after all, didn't he show such promise? He exhaled slowly, burying his face in his hands, deep in thought.

"Hey."

The sound startled him, and he jerked upright. Dranger stood over him, and the suns position indicated a time close to noon.

"You ready?"

Cobb nodded slowly, getting to his feet. The two men passed out of the hollow, and began again the slow trudge through the forest. One stopped for a moment and looked back. Through the distant opening in the trees, he could see a shaft of sunlight, a small stone monument, and the remnants of a lifetime.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The man awoke as the sunbeam moved slowly across his face. He looked up to see the interwoven branches of trees overhead, which permitted only one single sunbeam to pass through. The project was unfinished as of yet, but when completed, would turn the small space into a cathedral of wood and grass. It had taken months to get the trees cleared from the hollow, and another for the grass carpet to grow to sufficient lushness. Now his time was primarily occupied with twining bits of hanging moss between the tree trunks. No harsh walls could be permitted here, but neither should passage be too easy.

He got to his feet, and walked over to the rough-hewn rock that protruded from the earthen floor of the hollow. Smaller rocks lay nearby, and the grass was littered with tiny chips and fragments of rock. Sitting down beside the stone, he picked up a smaller stone and began to chip away at the larger stone. A vague shape was beginning to form uunderneath his determined hands.
Many days were spent in this pursuit. As the sun arced across the sky each day, he noted the slight changes that marked the annual progress of the months. Each night, as he went to sleep, he made a single mark on a damp clay slate. After thirty marks were inscribed on the slate, he made a single mark on a wooden pillar that stood by his resting place. After twelve marks were made on the pillar, he carefully incised a single mark into a stone obelisk. The obelisk had only three small marks on it, though it would be time for another soon.

As the weeks passed, the stone continued to take shape under the worker's hands. One day, satisfied that the shape was at last satisfactory, he strolled down to the stream that flowed nearby. He filled his hands with dense clay and returned to the hollow. Resuming his seat by the stone, he began applying the clay to its surface. He coated the stone completely, smoothing it carefully.

As he worked, the sun, moving into the second half of its arc, began to cast its beam onto the surface of the stone. Sitting back, the artist wiped his hands clean on the grass, and watched the clay begin to harden in the warmth of the sun.

He left the hollow and began making his way back to his sleeping place. It was not far; he preferred to live near his current project.

He did not stop on his journey back, but simply plucked fruit from the trees as he went. As he entered the natural clearing where he slept, he sat upon the grass and began to eat. Consulting the clay slate by his pallet, he decided that he would have to hunt on the following day.

After washing his hands in the stream, he lay down upon the grass, which still retained the heat of the afternoon sun, and fell asleep, happily exhausted by the labor of the day. As the stars began to shine in the evening sky, the young man dreamed.

"Still studying, old bean?" asked a voice in a dreadfully fake Oxford accent. The young man sighed and glanced up from his book.

"Yes, Harold, I am." He quickly dove back into the book, reaching absently for the cup of tea that sat on the table beside his chair.

The other man was of a type that others referred to as "sporty," lacking both the discipline of the true athelete and the true humor that marked a dazzling wit. In their place, he had a striking determination to finish college without reading a single book more than absolutely necessary--which he insisted was as strict a discipline as any--and the flippant tone that merely assumes the humor rather than bothering to actually seek it out.

"So what's Einstein absorbed in today, I wonder, hmm?" He slipped a finger under the cover of the book that lay flat upon Arthur's knee and tilted it upward in an attempt to read the title.

"Homer, if you must know," stated Arthur flatly, adjusting his glasses and turning a page.

"I thought you did Homer last year? Not again, surely?"
"You might say that." He relented, and held up the cover to be read.

" 'Homer's Iliad"...Good grief, you're not trying the Greek, are you?"
"Why not? I'm supposedly learning the language, might as well put it to some use."

"Well...suit yourself, I guess. But the Spats and I are heading out to a club, see if we can find some chicks." The sporting young man grinned devilishly. "You oughta come, you know. Find your Muse!"
Arthur laughed perfunctorily, never taking his eyes off the book. "I need to finish this translation right now; I have a meeting tonight, and I don't want to leave it till morning."
"Ye gods, man, don't you ever have fun?"
"Not what you would think fun, no; not often, anyway."
Harold shook his head pityingly. "You're repressed, you know that? One of these days you're going to wake up gay. Or sober."
"Don't you have some partying to do?"
"Of course. Just wanted to try to rouse you from your academic stupor. See you later!"

Arthur sighed in relief as his classmate left. Harold was neither bad nor stupid, but he was terribly annoying at times. He quickly checked his watch, and returned to his reading.

Soon, he closed the book, made a few final notes, tucked his reading glasses into his bag, then gathered up his things and walked briskly out of the coffeeshop door. He strode rapidly across the wintry campus, crossed the brown lawn of the library, and ducked inside. Finding his way to the familiar study room, he opened the door and stepped inside.

"Hey, it's King Arthur! Clear him up a seat, boys, can't have him excluded from the Round Table, can we?" The familiar laughter rang around him as he took a seat, grinning. The room contained a circular table, which at the moment was surrounded by young men, most of whom clutched papers of some sort, scraps of writing to be presented for critique by the group. No way in Hell, Arthur thought, would Harold consider this sort of thing to be fun.

"Hear ye, hear ye, come to order! The most secret society of the Seige Perilous is now called to order! My young authors, are you ready to take the literary world by storm?"
A loud shout rang out, affirming that they were.
"Ready to joust with giants, using no lance but a cheap ballpoint pen? Yes, Thomas, your typewriter counts, but it's not as good a metaphor. Ready for the jousting, then?"
Another vigourous shout answered him.
"Ready to---Oh! Sorry, ma'am, we didn't realize you could hear us through the door. Yes, ma'am, we know all about being quiet in the library. Yes ma'am, we realize that use of the study rooms is a privelege, not a right. Yes, we'll be quiet from now on. Thank you ma'am."

The irate librarian closed the door, and the somewhat chastened leader spoke to the room in general again.

"Well, boys, you heard her. We can't run about disturbing the Lady of the Library, so let's get on with business. Has anyone got scribblings to share?"

The young man turned over in his sleep, smiling at the memory of work well done, of which contented rest is the best reward.

Ombre

2004-11-05T20:12:00.001-08:00

The two men stared up at the mountain ahead, silhouetted in the early morning light. It loomed over them like an inescapable doom.
Dranger hoisted his pack more securely on his shoulders, took another glance at the map at the base of the statue, and set off to the northeast with the mountain on his right.
Cobb, still studying the map, took no notice for a few moments, then looked around, startled to see that his companion was no longer standing beside him.
"Hey man, wait up! Where're you headed?"
Dranger looked at him for a moment, as if trying to ascertain whether the question was rhetorical or not. He spat into the sand, and replied, "I'm following his map, you no-account. I want to know what he knows."
The younger man brushed sand from the knees of his jeans as he stood. "Well, that's easy enough. Looks like the map ends up at the peak of the mountain. Can't be more than a day's hike both ways. C'mon, let's get on up there, if you're so all-fired curious." He turned, scrunching through the sand into the shadow of the mountain, but stopped when he realized that his companion was not following. Dranger stood just outside of the mountain's shade, his own shadow stretched long and black on the sands behind him. "Well? Are you coming or ain't you?"
Dranger nodded and said, "Yeah, I'm coming, but not that way. I don't think that'll be the fastest way to the top."
"And how exactly do you figure that?"
Dranger shaded his eyes with his hand and looked at his partner. "Well, Number one, this coot knows this island more than we do. If there are any dangers to be avoided, he knows them and he put them on that map. Number two, if he really is crazy, he may have booby-trapped the areas off the path, in which case we'll want to avoid them anyway. "
Cobb shuffled his feet in the sand, edging towards the light. "Man...this sucker's starting to scare me. Maybe we should just leave, yeah?"
The other chuckled sardonically and began trudging back towards the northeast. "Nope, can't leave now. We're in this till the finish, I think." The younger man had to agree.
They walked for a quarter of an hour through the cool sand before finding what they sought: a stone marker, carved into the shape of a small obelisk. It appeared to be blank at first glance, but upon moving to the far side of the monument, they discovered writing:
"Pause, traveler, in your hurried flight,
Observe the shadow on the sand
That in yourself which mimics night;
At this time you must stand,
Consider your position now
Cut off from the rest of Man."
It was, in fact, impossible not to observe their shadows, since the writing was on the eastward side of the monument. In the morning light, the shadows of the two men completely covered the obelisk and stretched away into the distance.
"So....does he expect us to be afraid of our own shadows?" remarked Cobb, genuinely baffled. also unsure, Dranger rubbed his chin, thinking. He began to muse, half aloud:
"Shadows...and being cut off...Well, of course we're cut off, we're on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean, and no-one else knows where we are...But he wouldn't know that...have to apply to anyone...cut off..."
"Maybe the next one explains this one?" Cobb interjected.
"Yeh...maybe..." He still did not move, eyes fixed on the twin shades upon the ground. "Shadows..." The faintest flutter of a smile darted across his features. "We stay here too long, we'll fade away with hunger and the sun." He squinted at the base of the statue.
"Here we go...another map, next location on it." He traced the route with his fingertip. "Keep going around to the northeast, bear a bit more east..." He frowned. "He's given a name to that area of the island...'Hic Draconia.'"
Cobb was unfazed. "Hick what?"
"Hic Draconia. Means 'Here there be dragons,' or something to that effect. They used to put it on old maps when they didn't know what was there...Looks like we got a stop or two before we get there though."
"Dragons? You're an idiot if you think there are dragons in there. Besides," he grinned, exposing his stained teeth. "We ain't either knights or fair maidens. I reckon any dragon'd think twice about chomping on one of us."
Dranger smiled, but didn't seem to hear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The man wiped sweat from his brow, then bent down to examine his find. He'd stumbled upon it--literally--in the forest. It had been half buried by the stream, and it had taken a full morning's work to pry it out of the muck. With a strong tree branch for a lever, and several more for a platform, he had finally managed it. Now it lay upon the logs like a subdued monster. He looked around, finally finding what he was searching for: a tree, covered in strong supple vines. He grabbed a sharp stone from the ground and began hacking at the vines. After a few minutes work, he had several long vines. He gathered them up and began tying them around the rock to fashion a crude harness. He then began pulling it, letting the rock rest on the logs as they rolled across the ground. In a few minutes, the log was beginning to be shifted off the platform. He dropped the harness and walked behind the rock. Picking up the logs that had been left behind them, he postioned them in front of the rock again, and continued pulling. Movement was slow, but certain, and as the sweat poured off his body, his mind drifted...

"No, Arthur, I simply will not agree. I cannot...cannot do this, not while you still maintain your view."

"Come on, man, it's not like I'm trying to lie to myself or anyone else. It's simply my opinion, and why is that 'bad'?"

The old man creakily got to his feet and began to pace the room. "My dear boy, I know that you are learning many things in school. You are learning to think for yourself, and this is a good thing, an excellent thing." He sighed, and began tamping tobacco into his pipe. "However. You say that there is no need for man to be saved; that man is, in fact, always moving towards 'salvation' as a species, and that the whole of human history is a moving onwards towards this state. You state that man never fell, per se, merely awoke to his potential for making his own decisions and became self-aware." He slipped his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and took out a book of matches. Striking one, he touched the tip to the fragrant mound in the bowl of the pipe and took a few puffs. Exhaling slowly, he turned to the young man sitting on the sofa. "You not only hold these ideas, which are strictly contrary to the Creed which you yourself affirm every week during the service, but you have begun spreading them amongst the congregation." He sat down beside the young man. "Come now, you're an intelligent young man, and goodness knows you're not sheltered. Can you really believe that humanity is moving ever upward?"

Arthur sighed, and nodded. "I don't see why you can't see it. And if I honestly believe it, I don't see why it causes problems! It's just a belief, no different from the beliefs you recite every week. I don't see why you won't allow me to participate in the Mass anymore."

The priest sighed and rested his head in his hands. "My dear young man, if beliefs are so unimportant...." He raised his eyes to look the young man in the face, then stood again. "If beliefs do not matter, then you might ask yourself why it matters to you whether or not you partake ofthe Eucharist. After all, it's only a belief." He smiled, then turned to peruse the shelves of his study. The young man, sensing that the interview was at an end, retrieved his hat and scarf from the coatrack by the door. Donning both, he paused in the doorway, eyes searching for a hint that the old man might relent, but finding none, he went out, closing the door softly behind him.

The man smiled faintly at the memory, recalling the year of struggle and soul-searching that had occured afterwards. "That one question...the unaswerable question." For it had been true: he had been hurt deeply by the priest's refusal to allow him back at the altar rail as long as he had held ideas in direct opposition to the ideas proclaimed by the congregation every week; but he also could find no reason that such a refusal should hurt him, unless he truly believed that he was being deprived of something of value. The next few months had been spent reading and arguing, trying to discern what value he found in the traditions of the Church, and why he found it there. Finally, he had broken down, and admitted error. He could still almost taste the first time the Bread and Wine had touched his lips after the year of being barred from the altar rail. Unconsciously, he passed his tongue over his lips, this time tasting only the salt
of his own sweat.

Chapter 2: De Angelis

2004-11-05T16:43:00.000-08:00

The two men groaned and rolled over, covering their ears with whatever come handy.

"Holy moly, I never knew a bunch of birds could be so loud."

"Never spent much time around seagulls, have you?" It was not a question. Technically, it was hardly language, muffled as it was by the blanket pulled tight over the speaker's head. "Bloody awful noise they make. I grant you, these are a bit louder."

The early morning light dwarfed that of the fire, making it a weak gleam as the men cooked their meal. After eating, they scrubbed the dishes out with sand and packed them away. Then, striking camp, thy set off across the beach, heading due east in the shadow of the mountain. Suddenly, the men stopped. One of them muttered a curse under his breath.

"Cobb," said the other man calmly. "Don't tell me we picked an inhabited island."

Cobb took a few steps forward. There ahead of them was a column, standing straight and tall in the sand. It appeared to be made of clay, though a few small plates had fallen off to reveal the tree trunk underneath. It waas covered in symbols and images.

Dranger and Cobb stared at the column for a few moments, then both men shouted in surprise, having just realized that they were able to read the "native" writing. The strange symbols were, in fact, the letters of the English alphabet, made strange only by their serendipity.

"Sing, Muse, of the man of many travels,
Tossed about on the wine-dark sea."

"I am Arthur Galay, M.A.; a classicist. I landed here in the year _____ Anno Domini. "

"I traveled the world, roaming to and fro, seeking my purpose, seeking what it was that I was made to give to the world. Here, on this island, I have found it. This island is the gift."

The two men stared at the writing that was molded in firm letters upon the column, then turned their eyes to the images surrounding the text. At the top, barely visible from the ground, a small raft sailed upon stylized waters, surrounded by leaping dolphins. A few words, "In exitu Israel de Aegypto," ran along the lower edge of the image. Along the sides of the text crawled banners with strange phrases incised into the surface: Latin, thought Dranger. Maybe a few in Greek.

At the bottom of the column was a large flat surface, with a single precise drawing. Cobb crouched down to get a better look at it.

"I'll be---" he chuckled. "It's a map. The nutcase left us a treasure map."

Dranger hardly heard him. He began walking around the pillar, examining it from all sides. He nodded slowly, then said, without facing Cobb, "It's not a map. It's a guide."

"Guide, map, what's it matter? Saves us some time."
"No, you dolt. Look at it. Look at the shape of it."

Cobb took another look, unsure of what he was supposed to see. It just looked like some your typical twisted tree trunk; well, a tree trunk that was covered in clay, written on in Latin, and stuck on a deserted island, that is. Two long strands twisted upwards from the text, and it looked like there were two broader ones coming down the back....Cobb started, amazed as the image resolved itself. A central trunk twisting upwards, crowned by a rounded head. The two strands that twined upwards revealed themselves to be arms, and the two in the back became folded wings.

"An angel..."

"Yeah, dimwit. Not just a map. A guide."

Cobb looked discomfited, shifting his eyes from the angel's upraised hands, to the map, to the mountain in the center of the island.

"so......A guide to what? What are we supposed to be looking for?" He suddenly stamped his foot--which is a futile gesture in soft sand--and threw down his hat.

"Dammit, Dranger, we're here on our own purpose, not some crazy man's quest! If there was someone stranded out here, he must be mad! Who else would do this sort of thing? Any normal man'd send up smoke signals, or make clear signs! He be trying to letthe world know he was here, even if he had to blow the whole place to high heaven!"

"Of course he would. But he's not trying to let the whole world know. He's not trying to display this...this...whatever it is. He only wants the right sort of person to see it. He's a man who thinks he's found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but only wants to show it to someone who's looking for leprechauns."

Cobb stared at Dranger, wondering if sunsickness usually set in this fast.

"Dang, man, you're as nutty as he is. Was. Whatever."

Dranger shrugged, and squatted down to examine the map.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The heat of the sun on his face awoke the man. He found himself lying on the beach, a short ways away from the trees. He could not remember how, or even when he had come down from the mountain top.

His eyes darted to the peak of the mountain, but were forced to turn away. The light of the noonday sun had settled right above the top of the mountain, and no human eye is strong enough to stare at the sun for long.

Slowly, he got to his feet. "I am alone, no-one knows I am here, and there will be no rescue." He said this slowly and firmly, as though he had known it for some time, and accepted it as fact.

Deliberately, thoughtfully, he made his way into the shade of the trees, and examined a dead tree that had fallen into the soft sand.

"There are two material things necessary for a man to live," he mused. "Firstly, nourishment, both food and water. Secondly, shelter, either a house or clothing or both together."He paused for a moment. "Does fire count as shelter? Might have to think on that one awhile." He smiled slightly, and lifted his eyes to the trees above. Several different kinds of fruit lay within his line of sight. "Well, that takes care of number one."

Suddenly he stopped, frozen in thought. "This is the dry season in this corner of the globe, I remember old Sampson makig a comment about that...If there is this much fruit now, then it must grow year round..." His eyes darted about rapidly, as if searching his mind for any consequences he had forgotten. "I needn't work to eat...in fact, it might be impossible to improve conditions by working....I could spend my next 40 years here working, but if I am denied the ability to work..." He gave a derisive laugh. "Perhaps this is why Adam couldn't go back in the Garden: he'd have been driven out of his mind by boredom!"

His mind flew back to the events of the night before, previously thrust out of his mind by the perceived necessity of survival. He sat down slowly, as if not wishing to disturb his thought processes.

"To live in Paradise, a man must either be a madman or a saint: he can no longer be merely a man. Either he must become a thing of nature and live as the beasts do, or he must transcend nature and no longer be subject to it."

A light began to grow in his eyes.

"This is it, then. This is what I've been searching for. This place...it is Atlantis, it is Mu, it is my Grail..."

In the silence that fell after these words, he began to be aware of a sound, so soft that even the slight scrunch of footsteps in sand would obscure it. He began to search for the source of the sound, and soon located a small stream running through the trees. Also he stooped to take a drink, his foot slipped; as he regained his balance, he realized that the ground by the stream was slightly different. It was less sandy, and more like regular river mud.

"Here, then, it begins," he said. After quenching his thirst, he began to carry some of the rich clay back to the fallen tree.

The Gift: Chapter One

2004-11-05T15:22:00.000-08:00

"When the stars threw down their spears, watered Heaven with their tears..."~William Blake

"To the right hand I turn'd, and fix'd my mind
On the other pole attentive, where I saw
Four stars ne'er seen before save by the ken
Of our first parents. Heaven of their rays
Seem'd joyous."~Dante Aligheri

The horizon lay flat and empty at the edge of the ocean. The waves moved perfunctorily, lazily, under the hot eye of the sun. Far off in the distance, one small speck drifted gradually toward a larger speck. hours passed. As the sun melted down into the warm waters, the two specks merged. The eye of the world sank below the horizon into darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A fire blazed on the shore of the island; the two men bent over it, instinctively coming together for protection against the darkness.The light of the fire danced in and out of the trees. The men had dragged their boat quite far out of the water, being unfamiliar with the tides of the island. They had built their fire a good way inland, but not too close to the edge of the forest.
The firelight now flickered against the tree trunks, now illuminating the shadows between them, now hiding them in blackness again. As the fire burned itself out on the sand, the two men set up their tent and went to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The man fought his way to consciousness, throwing off sleep and exhaustion. He forced his eyes open and stared. Like most civilized men, he had never seen a night sky completely free of articificial light or pollution. He saw it now. A million, a hundred million, a thousand million spears of light rushed down from the dome of heaven.He was silent a moment, lips moving, reciting the words of the poet. He stared up like a madman, unable to look away, tears streaming from his eyes.
A dark shape rose up on his right, a mountain towering against the brilliance of the stars.He slowly got to his feet and stumbled slowly toward the center of the island. Soon, he began walking briskly, then broke into a run. Never taking his eyes off the peak, he ran, dodging a few trees, and began scrambling up the side of the mountain. He fell, scraping the skin from his hands, then got up and continued running. The stars slowly turned on their course above him, constellations and galaxies swirling in their timeless dance.
Finally, bleeding and gasping for breath, he gained the top of the mountain, and stood there transfixed. An entire sky filled with stars, more than any eye could see, hung above him and below him lay an ocean so calm that it reflected each point of light. The sky grew brighter, hour by hour, then with a mighty leap, the sun mounted above the horixon. At that moment, the entire jungle below erupted into song, a song mixed with the flutter of a thousand wings. From every tree, birds began to take to the air, singing and chirping loud enough to deafen him.