Disclaimers!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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:

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

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

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.
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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

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.
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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

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.
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"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

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

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.
------------
"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.
------------
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.
---------
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.
------------
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

As the moon sunk in the sky, the two men slept, each lost in dreams.
---------
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.
---------
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

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

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.
----------------
"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."
---------
Cobb rolled over in his sleep, smiling slightly. Nearby, Dranger slept too, also dreaming.
--------
"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.
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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.
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"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.
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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