chapter 5
THE OTHER SIDE OF HEAVEN
Timothy opened his eyes and blinked at the odd light fixture hanging from the ceiling’s wooden panels. It appeared to be a circle of miniature lanterns sitting on a disc supported by three thin chains. He glanced at the other strange surroundings. Varnished wood railings bordered his bed, and an IV tube ran from his arm up to a wooden rack that looked more like a hat tree than an IV stand. And the hanging dispenser wasn’t the sterile plastic bag or glass bottle he expected. It was a small leathery pouch, rough and brown like a well-worn saddle pack, and the liquid in the tube seemed polluted by the dispenser, tinged with oatmeal-colored strands within the clearer flow. He fingered the exposed needle penetrating the back of his hand. What kind of hospital is this?
Leaning over to peer through the open doorway, Timothy called out, “Nurse! Can you hear me?”
There was no response. He ran his fingers through his sheets but couldn’t find a button to summon help. “Nurse!” he called again.
A few seconds later, a young black boy wearing a “Lions” sweatshirt ran in, his long dreadlocks bouncing in time with his stride. The moment he saw Timothy, his eyes widened. “You’re awake!” With a big smile, he turned and dashed from the room, yelling, “Mother! He’s awake. The stranger is awake!” His shouts faded with his retreating footsteps.
A little girl, no more than ten years old, peeked around the door. With thin hair dangling over the rough, patchy skin on her gaunt face, she smiled and offered a weak wave of her hand.
As a gush of sympathy washed over him, Timothy returned the smile. This girl was probably suffering from some terrible disease and searching for a new friend in the hospital. “Hello,” he said. “What’s your name?”
She jerked her head away, and the sound of pattering feet echoed from the hall.
Timothy squinted at an analog clock on the wall, but its numbers went up to twenty-four instead of twelve. “I guess it’s about fifteen, thirty,” he said out loud. “This must be a military hospital.”
Pushing the sheet down to his waist, he examined his body. Fortunately, they hadn’t dressed him in one of those awful, drafty gowns with the tie strings in the back. Wearing a loose T-shirt and boxer shorts made a lot more sense. He pulled up his shirt, exposing his stomach and chest. No wounds. No surgical scars. Just flabbier than usual. That meant a pretty long stay. Could he have been in a coma? The boy’s reaction indicated something like that.
He rubbed his chin. No beard. That meant a recent shave. He mentally checked the rest of his body. No pain anywhere except the slight sting where the needle pricked his skin. His toes moved fine, so no spinal injury to worry about. Since the coma was over, it made no sense just to lie around. Maybe he could carry his IV out to the hall and find out what was going on.
Drawing his knees up, he shifted his body toward the side of the bed, but a new voice interrupted his plan.
“Where are you going, Ichabod?”
Timothy jerked his head around, expecting to see a nurse with the same ebony skin he had seen on the boy, but a young white woman smiled at him from the door, her blonde tresses draped over green scrubs. With bright eyes and smooth, radiant skin, her joy dressed her face with beauty.
Timothy settled back in the bed, smiling. “You caught me trying to get up.”
“Caught you?” She gave him a blank stare. “I think you are too big for catching.”
He gazed at her expression. Was she joking, or did she really not understand? She was either a great actress or completely clueless. He massaged his thighs, trying to get his circulation going. “I guess a doctor has to make sure it’s okay for me to stand.”
“Your guess is correct.” She strode to his bedside and pulled a multicolored leaf from her pocket. Pinching the stem in her fingers, she dangled it over his face. The yellow near the bottom tip slowly changed to orange, while the red near the top changed to green. “Your energy flow is slightly below normal, Ichabod, but, other than that, your vital signs are perfect.” She returned the leaf to her pocket. “We were never able to find your companion, so it’s no wonder you were out for so long. Most of us thought you couldn’t possibly survive without it.”
“My companion? What are you talking about? And why do you call me Ichabod?”
“That’s the name the Prophet gave you.” She laid a cool hand on his forehead. “You must have amnesia. If you can’t remember your companion, you must have taken a terrible blow to your brain.”
“My first name is Timothy. But I don’t remember a last name or much of anything else. I guess I must have banged my head pretty hard if I can’t even remember that I had a … a companion.” He glanced at a ring on his finger, a gold band with an embedded white gem. Could it be a wedding ring? Maybe. But it was on the wrong hand. “If I do have a companion, I don’t know what happened to her.”
“A companion is not a ‘her.’” She bracketed her hands in front of her chest as if holding an invisible grapefruit-sized ball. Her palms radiated a white glow that passed across the gap between her hands. A translucent egg appeared, slightly smaller than a hen’s egg, almost ghostlike and floating in midair.
“An ovulum!” Timothy whispered.
She lowered her head and peered at him through the egg. “That’s what the Prophet sometimes calls them. We just call them companions, because that’s what they are.”
“‘Ovulum’ just popped into my mind. I don’t know what it is.”
She separated her hands, and the ovulum faded, but its outline remained, barely detectable and floating without any visible means of propulsion. “The Prophet has a special, stationary one he calls ‘Enoch’s Ghost’ that he keeps on a table at his home, but ours are smaller and mobile.” The companion zipped up to her shoulder and perched there, rocking back and forth. “Clearly you remember something about them, or you would not have known its name.”
“I can still see it on your shoulder,” Timothy said, pointing. “It was invisible before.”
“It has always been visible.” She glanced at the strange lamp hanging from the ceiling. “Sometimes the lighting makes it hard to see.”
Timothy shut his eyes. There were just too many new and odd surroundings to figure out. Had he been abducted by aliens, or was this the most vivid nightmare in history? “I must be dreaming,” he said. “Or else I’m losing my mind.”
He felt her fingers comb through his hair, stopping at a spot near the top of his head. A slight twinge of pain blended in with the soothing sensation. “When we first found you, there was quite a lump right here, so it’s no wonder your memory is impaired.”
“How long have I been here? And where is here, anyway?”
She laughed gently. “The Prophet said that questions would fill your mind. He anxiously awaits your release so he can answer as many as possible.”
“What does the doctor say?” he asked, his eyes still closed. “Can I leave soon?”
“She says that you may leave. In fact, she insists that you leave immediately. The Prophet’s instructions were clear. Now that you have awakened, you must go to him.”
Timothy opened his eyes and smiled. Her fingers felt heavenly. “I’m guessing that you’re the doctor.”
“You seem to enjoy guessing, and you are correct again.” She pointed at a closet. “You will find your clothes in there. I will send my son in to assist you.”
“I heard him call you ‘Mother.’ Is he adopted?”
Her blonde eyebrows scrunched toward her shining blue eyes. “Of course. Aren’t we all?”
“Uh … No. I don’t think so.”
She set her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “Timothy, I think we’ll have to work hard at understanding each other. I get the impression that some words have different meanings where you come from.”
“And we obviously have different customs. Not that I minded, but I was surprised that a child is allowed to come and go as he pleases.” He nodded toward the clock. “Especially in a military hospital.”
She looked up at the clock. “Military? What do you mean?”
“Uh … Army? Navy?”
“Ah!” she said, nodding dramatically. “We do have an army.” She deftly removed the needle from his hand, but as she wound the tube over the IV hanger, a single drop of the gray liquid fell to the floor.
Timothy rubbed the wound on his skin, wondering what kind of alien medicine had been pushed into his veins.
She lowered the bed rail and waved toward the closet. “Take careful steps.” As if demonstrating, she padded slowly toward the door. “We wouldn’t want you to bump your head again.”
Just as she reached the exit, the boy walked in, now wearing a blue “Lions” baseball cap that matched his sweatshirt. “Mother,” he said. “When are we leaving?”
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Very soon. I will take Listener home first so we’ll have room to transport our guest. You can stay here and help him get ready.”
The boy tilted his head and rubbed her hand with his cheek. “Will you leave Father’s companion with me, too?”
“No, silly man,” she said, pressing his cap down. “Now that we’re going home to stay, I’m going to put it back on its shelf.”
“May I see it again before you leave?” The boy extended his cupped hands. “Please?”
The doctor smiled at Timothy. “I hope you’ll pardon this interruption.”
“Of course,” Timothy said. “Please take your time.”
She reached into her pocket and withdrew a purple velvet-covered box, similar to, yet somewhat bigger than a ring box. After flipping open the hinged lid, she tipped out a glass egg into the boy’s hands. His eyes widened, as did his brilliant smile. Transferring the egg to one hand, he petted the top with his fingers. The touch seemed to make it glow with a pale yellow hue.
The doctor lowered herself to one knee and stroked her son’s back. “That means your father loves you, and he misses your touch.” As she continued, her voice began to break. “Don’t ever forget what a great man he was or how much he loved you.”
“I won’t, Mother.” A tear passed from his eye to his cheek as he continued to stare at the glowing orb. “Every time I hold his companion, I feel him hugging me.”
After a few more seconds, she held the open box under his hands. “That’s enough for now. I have to take your sister home.”
The boy petted the egg one more time before lovingly rolling it back into the box. His mother closed the lid and nodded solemnly to Timothy. “I will be back very soon.” With that, she swept through the doorway.
The boy turned a dial on the wall near the door, and the flaming wicks above grew brighter. “Do you want me to get your clothes for you or help you walk to the closet?”
Timothy wiped a tear from his eye and sat up, dangling his legs. His bare toes brushed the rough, wooden floor. “Yes, please bring my clothes, if you don’t mind.”
While the boy gathered the clothing in his arms, Timothy glanced out the single, unadorned window. Clouds and filtered sunlight filled the view—no grass, no trees, no parking lot. This room was obviously on a high floor.
The boy dropped the clothing bundle on the bed. Two soft-soled walking shoes tumbled off the top but stayed on the sheet. He placed them side by side and smiled. “I think that’s all.”
“Thank you.” Timothy pulled out his trousers, a freshly laundered and pressed pair of beige khakis. “What’s your name, young man?”
“Candle,” he replied, his grin revealing a lovely set of bright teeth.
“Candle?” Timothy slid his pants over his legs, then lowered himself to the floor and pulled them the rest of the way up. “I’ve never heard of anyone named Candle before. Do other kids tease you?”
Candle’s brow furrowed. “Uh … no. I don’t think so. I know two other boys and a girl named Candle. It just must not be a popular name where you come from.” His brow smoothed back out as a new smile lit up his face. “My mother likes my name because she says I light up a room whenever I walk in.”
Timothy patted Candle’s shoulder. “Well, I certainly agree with that! Your mother chose well.”
“She didn’t choose it. She just likes it.” Candle rubbed his cheek against Timothy’s hand, just as he had done to his mother’s.
“I see.” Timothy slowly drew his hand away, wondering if he might be committing a social blunder by ending his show of affection, but since Candle’s smile never dimmed, this brush of the cheek must have been similar to a quick pat on the back. Timothy pulled a polo shirt over his head and began tucking it in his pants. “I didn’t catch your mother’s name.”
“Catch her name?”
“Yes.” Timothy zipped his pants and tightened his belt. “She never mentioned it.”
“Angel. Her name is Angel.”
Timothy sat on the bed and picked up his socks. “How appropriate.”
Candle smiled. “My father thought so, too. He said she’s a gift from Heaven. And my sister is named Listener. She doesn’t talk, but she listens to and remembers everything.”
“Being a listener is a great character quality.” He stretched a navy blue sweater over his head and pushed his arms through the sleeves. “Is she older or younger than you?”
“Younger.” Candle helped him pull the sweater’s hem down to his waist. “But not by a whole lot.”
After quickly tying his shoes, Timothy reached for the final garment, a heavy collegiate jacket, blue with orange trim. “Is it cold outside?”
“Pretty cold, but no colder than it usually is up here.” Candle flapped his sweatshirt’s long sleeves. “I was comfortable in this.”
Timothy dropped down to the floor again and lifted each leg in turn. They felt heavy, but not too bad. He put on his jacket and smiled at Candle. “Where to now?”
Candle slid his hand into Timothy’s. “To the loading platform. We’ll walk slowly so Mother has time to return before we get there.”
“I would have liked to meet your sister while she was here.”
“She came to your door.” Candle nodded toward the exit. “Didn’t you see her?”
In his mind, Timothy redrew the little girl’s gaunt, scaly face peering around the door frame. “I did see a young girl, but I thought she was a patient here.”
“Well, that was Listener. Mother likes for both of us to come whenever she’s assigned hospital duty.”
“She seems like a friendly girl.” Timothy pressed his lips together. It was probably best not to keep asking about Listener, though her pitiful appearance raised plenty of questions.
As he guided Timothy out the door, Candle smiled and squeezed his hand more tightly. “I hope Valiant can meet you.”
“Why is that?”
“He is my village’s leader.” Candle turned the dial by the door. The lanterns in the hanging fixture winked out. “Valiant was worried that someone without a companion might be altered.”
Timothy looked for Candle’s companion. He caught a glimpse of it floating near his shoulder. “Altered?”
“Yes.” The boy’s dark eyes seemed to dance. “But you’re not one of them. I can tell.”
As they walked down the hallway, Timothy marveled at Candle’s noble innocence, feeling free to walk in public hand-in-hand with an adult male. Was he twelve years old? Thirteen? A few boys his age might hold hands with a father, but probably not with a stranger.
The dim corridor was unlike any hospital he had ever seen—roughly hewn beams instead of tiles for floors, a single hardwood bench serving as a waiting area instead of sofas surrounding a television, no visitors carrying flowers or balloons, no nurses with trays of medicines, and no patients lying in gurneys awaiting transport to the next battery of tests. The place felt more like a rustic log cabin than a hospital.
Passing room after room, all with closed doors, Timothy gazed down the seemingly endless hall. “Where is everyone?” he asked, his voice echoing.
Candle pushed their clasped hands into a gentle swing. “Mother will meet us on the transport deck. We’re almost there.”
“No. I mean the patients. It feels like we’re alone in here.”
“We are. You’re the only patient, and I’m glad. Now Mother and Listener and I can go back to our farm.”
Timothy looked down the hall behind him. The end seemed at least a hundred yards away. “Such a huge hospital, and I’m the only patient?”
Candle turned into a short hallway that led to a double door. “The last war was almost three years ago, and nearly every room was filled. We even took care of some of the altered tribe.” He pushed open the swinging door. “Here we are.”
A frigid breeze swirled into the hall. The doorway led to a concrete platform that ended abruptly about fifty feet out, a dead end at the cloud-filled sky. There was no apparent driveway up to that level, and the platform was too small for a helicopter to land safely, especially in this wind. The thick overcast made it impossible to see any surrounding buildings, and even the ground below was hidden in a gloomy mist that enveloped everything.
Candle held the door. “Aren’t you going through?”
Timothy zipped up his jacket and stepped out onto the ledge. His fingers immediately stiffened, and his lips dried out. As his teeth chattered, he buried his hands in his pockets and bounced on his toes. “It must be … below zero … out here.”
Candle joined him, seemingly unaffected by the cold. Now his companion was easy to see as a stream of vapor formed around the egg and blew away with the wind. As his black dreadlocks flapped under his cap, he held the bill to keep it in place. “Here comes the transport,” he shouted, pointing up.
Following Candle’s finger, Timothy spotted a huge winged creature among the clouds, closing in as it disappeared and reappeared, passing from one cloud to the next. “A dragon?” he asked.
“What else is big enough?” Candle half closed one eye at him. “You don’t ride on birds, do you? The altered tribe uses birds.”
Timothy tried to smile, but it probably looked more like a frozen grimace. “I have … never flown … on a bird.”
With a powerful beating of its wings, a huge dragon landed. The splendid creature flashed purplish scales and breathed a thick vapor that crystallized and rained to the landing platform in icy pellets.
Three seats had been tied in single file to the dragon’s back, fastened with wide straps that wrapped under its belly. As the dragon lowered its head, the rider waved at them. “Hurry aboard! Ichabod looks cold!”
His teeth still chattering, Timothy nodded at the female rider, Angel, now wearing a black leather jacket and corduroy pantaloons instead of green scrubs.
“Ever since Father died,” Candle explained, “Mother has had to fly our dragon herself.” He stepped up the dragon’s spiny stairway. “Come on,” he called back, waving. “Grackle will warm you up.”
Still burying his hands in his pockets, Timothy climbed the neck, trying to keep his balance in the stiff breeze. When he made it to the top, Candle and his mother reached out their hands. He finally had to expose his frigid fingers again as they guided him to the seat in the middle.
As soon as he sat down, Angel shouted. “Give us a bit more heat for our guest.”
A soothing radiance rose from Grackle’s scales, instantly thawing Timothy’s fingers and toes. The dragon swung his head close to Angel and blew a series of high-pitched whistles.
Twisting her body, Angel reached for a belt attached to Timothy’s seat. “Grackle wants to know if you’re comfortable now,” she said, fastening the belt over his waist.
Timothy unzipped his jacket halfway. “I’m fine. In fact, it’s quite warm.”
“I’ll tell him to lower the heat a notch.” Turning back to the dragon, Angel whistled a sweet, warbling tune. Flashing a set of eight sharp incisors, Grackle nodded and stretched out his wings.
Candle tapped Timothy on the shoulder. “Hang on! Grackle loves to give new riders a thrill!”
Timothy gripped the back of Angel’s seat. “Thanks for the warning.”
As Grackle lifted off, Timothy looked back at the hospital, expecting to see the usual high-rise building shooting up from a medical office complex. Instead, a narrow, single-story, tubelike metal rod hovered in the sky.
“How does it float like that?” Timothy asked.
“It’s not floating,” Angel replied. “It’s flying. We keep the hospital moving to protect it from the altered tribe. A circuit of magnets on the ground keeps it in motion.”
“I don’t remember anything this advanced. How long was I out?”
“Candle found you in the birthing garden about a month ago. We don’t know how long you were there already.”
Suddenly, Grackle plunged. With his stomach pressing into his throat, Timothy rose an inch from his seat, but the belt kept him from flying away. Still, he felt no fear, only a sense of exhilaration, even joy.
Candle lifted his hands and belted out an ecstatic cry. As the flight leveled, he called forward. “Good dive, Grackle! Maybe the best one yet!”
Releasing Angel’s seat, Timothy laid a hand on his chest. “That was good,” he said. “An excellent ride.”
Grackle flew around a village, a group of low buildings nestled in a thick forest of tall evergreens. Thatched roofs of bright yellow covered the majority of the humble cottages, while a few carried dark reddish tiles on sharply angled decking. To Timothy the hamlet looked like a cross between an African tribal community and a low-income development in urban America.
They passed over a massive garden, a field of black soil and spots of greenery that lay just outside the village boundary. Several rows of tall, bushy spruce trees encircled the garden, like sentries protecting the harvest. As the dragon descended, a grassy meadow came into view beyond the village’s opposite border. A fruit-filled orchard lay between the grass and the village, and a mountain ridge hemmed the meadow in on the far side.
The dragon settled into the lush field, spreading his wings gracefully and landing with hardly a bump. After unbuckling his belt, Timothy stood and stretched his arms. The air, though still crisp and cold, was far more tolerable than at the hospital, more like temperatures he remembered from somewhere in his past. Could he have lived in a village like this? It certainly didn’t seem familiar.
After waiting for Angel to disembark, Timothy stepped down the dragon’s neck, followed by Candle. As the boy skipped from one spine to the other, his egg-shaped companion bounced along with him, slightly more visible now.
While Angel reached under Grackle to loosen the buckles that held the seat straps in place, Timothy slid his hands into his pockets and watched her companion slowly orbiting her head. It paused for a moment at her ear as if whispering a secret. She flashed a smile, then laughed gently.
“What did it say, Mother?” Candle asked.
Angel tweaked Candle’s nose. “A privacy. A funny one, but still a privacy.”
“Why doesn’t my companion ever tell me a privacy?”
“Because you’re too young.” She gestured toward a path in the forest. “On our way down, I saw Whetstone climbing a tree. I’m sure you can find him.”
Candle reached for one of the straps. “I’ll help you with the seats first.”
“No need.” She nodded at Timothy. “Our new friend will likely offer his help.”
Timothy jerked his hands out of his pockets. “Of course. Glad to.”
“Thank you, Mother!” Candle dashed away, followed closely by his companion.
Timothy watched Angel guide the first seat down the dragon’s flank and copied her motions, pulling on the strap attached to the middle seat. “Do your ovulums speak to you often?”
Angel set the front seat down and shook her hair out of her eyes. “Your words are a confusing blend to me, IchabodI mean, Timothy. You speak as one who has never known the joy of a companion, yet you continue to say their ancient name as if you knew them in the days of our genesis.”
“I’m sorry.” He laid the seat next to hers and kept his gaze fixed on it. “I’m just trying to communicate the best I can. I don’t mean to be so ignorant.”
“No fault of yours. Your brain is injured, but surely it will mend soon.” She combed her fingers through his hair until she found the bump. “Does it still hurt?”
“Not much.” He wanted to finish his job, but her gentle touch gave him reason to pause. “Does the bump feel smaller?” he asked.
She lowered her hand and smiled. “Much smaller.”
Timothy pulled down the final seat and set it with the others. “Where do you store these?”
“Store them?” She withdrew a bottle from her pocket and poured thick goop on a cloth. Reaching under the dragon’s belly, she massaged the spot where the buckle had rubbed against his body, smearing the goop and pushing it between the scales. Grackle responded with a deep-throated purr. “Why would we store them?” She looked up at him while continuing the dragon’s treatment. “They are not affected by the wind.”
He spread his arms over the seats as if covering them with a tarp. “To keep them safe from rain and thieves.”
She pushed the cloth and bottle back into her pocket. “I have heard of rain from the Prophet, but I have never seen it, and we have no thieves among our people.” She rocked one of the seats back and forth. “They will be safe here.”
Timothy searched a nearby ridge for any sign of a cave. “Where do you keep Grackle?”
“Keep Grackle?” She gave him a surprised look. “Do you mean as a captive?”
The dragon snorted, spewing ice crystals that scattered across Timothy’s feet.
He jumped back and stumbled over one of the seats, landing on his backside. Angel rushed over and hoisted him easily, her strong arms almost lifting him right off his feet. “You must be careful,” she said. “Grackle knows many words.”
Brushing the grass from his pants, Timothy glared at the dragon. “I think I’d better keep my distance until I get to know your ways better.”
“At least from him,” Angel said, shaking a finger at Grackle. “He enjoys humor at the expense of strangers.”
Timothy bowed toward Grackle. “I apologize. I should have known that dragons aren’t held against their will.”
He bowed in return and whistled a cheery sounding note.
“Grackle is free,” Angel said, “but you can always find him close to home, unless you come during mealtime. Then he will likely be hunting in the rabbit fields just over the ridge close to where my village lies.”
Timothy eyed the ridge and imagined another village beyond it much like the one he had seen from the air, perhaps bordered by a field teeming with rabbits being chased by a purple dragon. A lone eagle crossed the ridge, flying rapidly toward them. Timothy pointed at it. “That’s the first bird I’ve seen since I’ve been here.”
“An eagle!” Angel clutched his forearm tightly. “Does it have a black underside?”
As it flew closer, the predator’s details became clear—long brown wings, white head and tail feathers, and a coal-black breast. “Its underbelly is black. It looks kind of strange.”
“Because it carries an altered one. Since he is out in the daylight, he must have come from a surprise attack somewhere.”
“Should you warn anyone?” Timothy asked. “Can someone chase him?”
As Angel watched the eagle, her grip on his arm loosened. “It’s too late. He is on his way to the basin of shadows.” She lowered her chin. “We will likely hear bad news very soon.”
A happy shout sounded from the forest. Candle and another boy clung to branches near the top of a tall spruce and waved down at them.
Angel waved back and yelled, “I will meet you here later!”
“I’ll watch for you!” came the wind-blown reply.
The fresh breeze forced Timothy’s hands back into his pockets. “Candle is a delightful young man,” he said, trying not to shiver.
“Yes, I know. He learned a great deal from his father in a short amount of time.”
“He mentioned that your husband died. May I ask what happened to him?”
Angel gave Timothy an inquisitive look. “My husband? I’m not familiar with that word.”
“Uh … your mate? Your man?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh! My Adam.”
“My Adam? You mean his name was Adam?”
“His name was Dragon, because he was bold and fearless, but he was my Adam, and I was his Eve”—she interlocked her fingers“—man and woman joined together until death. But since he was killed in the last war and his spirit has passed beyond the Bridgelands, and since it is not wise to raise a son without the guidance of a father, our laws require me to seek another Adam, if possible, before three years have passed.”
Timothy shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it shouldn’t be hard for a beautiful woman like you to find one.” As soon as those words spilled out, he regretted them. Obviously she hadn’t remarried, and he was too ignorant about this place to know why.
She gazed at him. A hint of tears glistened in her eyes, and her face flushed pink. Turning quickly, she nodded toward the village. “The Prophet instructed me to bring you here as soon as you recovered your senses.”
“I’ve committed enough social errors to prove my senses aren’t quite up to snuff, but I’ll do my best.”
She repeated her inquisitive stare. “Snuff?”
“‘Up to snuff’ is an idiom. It means … um … ‘working normally.’”
“I understand,” she said, nodding. “Perhaps the Prophet can help you reach snuff. He is a wise and powerful man.”
Timothy stifled a laugh. “Then, please lead me to him.”
She turned to the dragon and whistled a few low notes, then a melodic warble. Grackle gave a short whistle in reply.
“He will wait for us.” Angel folded her hands at her waist and scanned Timothy from head to toe. “Your attire is suitable, but I perceive that your unfamiliarity with our customs will make people very curious.”
Timothy straightened and copied her suddenly formal manner. “I think that is wise to assume.”
“Then I will instruct you as the need arises.” Angel pressed her palms together in front of her chest. “This is our prayer posture. We must walk this way or the people will stop us.”
Timothy mimicked her position. “Like this?”
“Excellent.” She pointed toward a well-worn path in the woods. “Walk in front of me, and I will tell you which way to turn.”
Timothy headed toward the path, walking slowly to make sure Angel kept up. “Why would the people stop us?”
“They are friendly and will want to know all about you. Your pose is a polite request to allow you to proceed without distraction. They will smile and bow their heads as we pass, and we should do the same.”
“That should be easy enough.” Timothy followed the path through the increasingly dense forest until he came to a fork.
“To the right,” Angel said.
Timothy veered right and maintained his slow pace. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you to lead the way?”
“Easier? Yes. Proper? No.”
He kept his eyes focused ahead and his mouth closed. It probably wasn’t a good time to ask about gender roles. He would likely just stick his foot in his mouth again.
“We are coming into the village,” Angel said. “When we clear the tree line, walk on the right boundary of the road and double your speed. We will avoid stares if people don’t have a chance to notice your lack of a companion. After passing the center circle, proceed along the street lined with wooden rails and look for a small house on the left, one with a dragon banner on each side of the door.”
“Is that the Prophet’s house?”
“It is.”
Timothy reached the clearing and quickened his pace. “What is the Prophet’s name?”
“Many call him ‘Father’ when addressing him, and the elders call him Abraham, but when we speak of him in conversation, it is always ‘The Prophet.’” She cleared her throat and whispered. “Let us be silent now.”
Passing over the road’s hardened beige-colored clay, Timothy marched near a long rail to which three donkeys were tied, one on his side of the street, and two on the other. An occasional gap in the rail allowed for entry into a much narrower, parallel walkway that crossed in front of the doors of the humble homes.
Only a few people walked by, smiling and bowing as Angel had predicted, each one with a companion hovering somewhere over his or her shoulder, some more visible than others.
Timothy responded with smiles and head nods, hoping he wasn’t committing any unintentional faux pas. A young lady coming out of a stacked-stone house stared at him, but when her companion orbited close to her ear, she quickly smiled and bowed, her face reddening.
As they neared the end of the street, the village’s center came into view. More people streamed into it from the eight identical roads that intersected at a central roundabout. Families walked in groups, a man and woman linking elbows, and one to four children tagging along in no apparent order. Two families stopped and congregated, laughing and chatting. One couple walked in the prayer posture, marching quickly without interruption. Another man led a young woman riding a donkey. They stopped and talked with another couple while three children petted the donkey.
“The woman on the donkey,” Angel whispered, “is betrothed to the man leading her. Adams and Eves stay side by side. A woman leading a man indicates that the man is her suitor in a courtship arrangement.”
“I am leading you,” he whispered back. “Will people think we’re betrothed?”
“I am not riding a donkey!”
Timothy shook his head and mumbled, “I have so much to learn!”
He circled the roundabout, staying to the right as he navigated through the intermixing streams of people. Companions hovered all around. Sometimes it was impossible to tell which ovulum belonged to whom, but as he passed close to one teenaged boy, he caught a glimpse of something inside the boy’s companion, an almost imperceptible pair of eyes. As it passed around from ear to ear, the ovulum’s gaze never wandered from its apparent owner.
Although the mix of adults, teenagers, and children seemed normal enough, no one appeared to be more than thirty years old. Not a gray hair or a wrinkle marred the head or face of man or woman.
When he reached the opposite side of the circle, he came upon another road lined with rails. Donkeys stood tied to them, waiting in front of various homes. He searched the houses on the left and spied the dragon banners on each side of an open door. The hut was no more than an adobe shack with a thatched straw roof, smaller than any other home on the street.
A man bowed at the doorway, apparently in homage to someone inside. Rising again, he walked to a donkey at the hitching rail and extended a hand to the woman who followed. As Timothy and Angel approached, the man smiled while helping the woman mount, then led her away.
Timothy paused at the low doorway, gazing at the colorful banners, red dragons on blue backgrounds, each breathing streams of fire through mouth and nostrils as if aiming at each other or at anyone passing into the house.
“Just walk in,” Angel said, her voice rising above a whisper.
Timothy ducked his head and entered the dim one-room hut. Near the back, a man sat on a chair facing the door, gazing at an ovulum on a small table in front of him, larger than the hovering companions and much easier to see. A soft red aura surrounded the glassy egg, a glow that feathered out and disappeared a few inches from the shell.
The man looked up. Along with his reddish, neatly trimmed beard, a gentle smile decorated his ruddy face. “Angel,” he said cheerily, “you have brought our stranger. I thank you for your labors.”
Angel bowed low and pulled Timothy into a bow with her. “It is always an honor serving you, Father.”
As they straightened, the Prophet tapped the surface of the ovulum. “Enoch tells me that your home has need of your presence, though I don’t know the reason. You must hurry there immediately.”
Angel’s brow furrowed, but, as her hovering companion nuzzled her cheek, no other hint of concern broke through. She bowed again and walked backwards toward the door. “I am at your service, Father.” Once she reached the threshold, she turned and ran.
The Prophet motioned toward a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Sit, friend, and we will talk. I have long awaited this opportunity.”
Timothy slid into the chair. He fidgeted, pressing the toes of his shoes against the dirt floor. He fumbled with his hands before deciding to fold them on the table. A beam of light from a small hole in the roof struck an array of dangling crystalline beads on the adjacent wall, giving the entire room a rainbow-spattered glow and coloring his nervous fingers with dancing hues.
“There is no need to be anxious,” the Prophet said, covering Timothy’s hands with his own. “You will find no evil in my home.”
“I detect none.” Timothy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am perplexed by mystery. I remember my name … Timothy … but little else.” He quickly scanned the space around the Prophet’s head, but the strange lighting must have kept his companion hidden in shadows.
“You may call me Abraham.” The Prophet caressed the glass egg as its glow flooded his fingers in red light. “I think I might be able to help you learn more about yourself.”
“Okay,” Timothy said, flattening his hands on the table. “I’m all ears.”
Abraham chuckled. “That is a fine idiom. I will remember to teach it to my people.”
“I noticed that they use idioms I’ve heard before, but some of mine are foreign to them.”
“That’s because as I learn them, I pass some along and keep others to myself.” Abraham pressed his finger on the glass. “But I learn much more than simple idioms. I taught my people several languages, finally settling on English as it became the language of a certain prophet on Earth I used to watch. Also, most of our technology comes from what I was able to copy by studying what you have in your world.”
Timothy pointed at himself. “My world? I’m not from this planet?”
“I believe you come from another realm and dimension, one that I have watched for countless years.” Abraham gazed into the red glass. “But the fact that another world exists should not shock you. Many authors in your realm have speculated such things, so the idea is not foreign to your people.”
“Maybe not so foreign, but reading about a new realm feels a lot safer than suddenly showing up in one.” Timothy leaned closer to the ovulum. “You can see my world in there?”
“And much more.” With a curled finger, he signaled for Timothy to peer into the strange egg. “This orb is called Enoch’s Ghost. It is the twin of one the great prophet Enoch possessed long ago, and he now often speaks through this very glass to give us a window to other worlds—to your world, to worlds of the afterlife, and to Heaven itself. It also replays the annals of times gone by.”
Timothy looked inside. “I see a dark chamber and a girl with white hair and brilliant blue eyes.”
“I have seen her many times,” Abraham said, “almost always in that dark room. I don’t know why Enoch shows her to me from time to time, but I perceive greatness in her. She has suffered cruel treatment over the years, but she has overcome every challenge.”
Entranced by her sapphiric eyes, Timothy drew closer. “She is mesmerizing. Do you know her name?”
“Only through a brief song Enoch sings about her on occasion.”
Timothy pointed at the glass. “The ovulum sings to you?”
“Oh, yes.” Abraham laughed softly. “Before any rooster considers crowing, Enoch makes sure I arise bright and early with a song, and he grants me encore performances throughout the day.”
The image of the girl faded, leaving only a swirling red fog within. Timothy settled back in his chair. “Can you sing the one about the girl?”
Abraham cleared his throat. “My voice is no match for Enoch’s, but the song is short enough to keep you from seeking a rock to hide under.” He took a breath and sang in a rough tenor.
To see beyond the veil of men
Demands a child of piercing sight.
Sapphira Adi, born of earth,
Is now a daughter of the light.
Timothy let the name roll quietly off his tongue. “Sapphira Adi.”
“A lovely name, isn’t it?”
“It is lovely … and familiar.” Timothy leaned forward and gazed at the chaotic swirl within Enoch’s Ghost. “Sapphira Adi,” he whispered, “For some reason, I think we have met before, and I believe we are destined to meet again.”