“Hey! I’m Alice. It’s Riley, right?” I smile.

            “That’s me! It’s nice to meet you,” my date wraps her arms around my shoulders. I usually don’t go for hugs on the first date but something about this girl makes me want to open up and tell her all my secrets. I’ve never tried online dating before, but it doesn’t seem as bad as people make it out to be. Or maybe I just got lucky. I mean, she’s beautiful. Her curled blonde hair cascades down the open back of her baby blue sundress. When she pulls out of our hug, I’m met with eyes bluer than water so clear that you can see through to the ocean floor.

            “Sorry,” I chuckle nervously as I realize I’m staring. She joins me in laughter as we both sit down at the high-top table. Three tall candles rest on the glossy finish of each table, being the only source of light in the whole restaurant. The small flames cast a reddish glow with the maroon color of the walls, setting a very intimate mood for a first date. I was unsure of the location as soon as I arrived. Now, I have no choice but to make small talk in an attempt to lighten the mood. “How are you?”

            “A little nervous, to be honest.”

            “Me too! I haven’t been on a first date in years.” Why did I say that? Great idea of a first impression, Alice.

            “That’s okay!” she says, “Let’s just get to know each other for now. Tell me about yourself.” She must have seen the embarrassment on my face.

            “Okay, let me think.” I try to come up with interesting things about my life but I’m blanking on everything other than my breakup with Penelope. I’m on a first date! She shouldn’t be on my mind. Should she?

            “Well, my dad died a couple years ago. Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind! I want to know everything,” Riley leans forward on her arms, giving me her full attention. It’s a warm gesture, but it fails to rid me of my thoughts.

            “I’m sorry for your loss,” I frown. “I was actually thinking about everything that went down with my ex-girlfriend, Penelope. That’s a dark story.”

            “Don’t be afraid to share things with me! How long ago was your breakup?”

            “A little over a year ago.”

            “Why did you two end things?” Oh boy. Here it comes.

            “That’s where it gets dark. Are you sure you want to know?” I ask her, fearful of her response.

            “Of course! I have quite a few scary breakup stories myself.” If only she knew what was coming.

Two years ago…

            “Henry, our one-year anniversary is coming up in a month. I have to get her something. But what?”

“Maybe a necklace?” my best friend suggests on the other end of the phone.

“I could make her a butterfly necklace! I know she likes butterflies. I want it to be real, though, and diamonds are really expensive. Can you make real diamonds?” I ask.

“I think they’re made of carbon?” he says, his tone turning it into more of a question.

“Yeah. Google says carbon is found in pretty much everything, even ashes. That’s interesting.” I get an idea. “I’ll call you back,” I mutter and hang up the phone. I open a new tab on my laptop and type “ashes into diamonds” into the search bar. Videos pop up immediately and I find myself watching them until the sun goes down. I know how I’m going to do it, but where will I get ashes? There is a cemetery down the street from my house…

            I pull my boots on, grab a black bag from the kitchen, and go outside to grab a shovel from the greenhouse. When I step inside, my black and silver shovel is leaning against a shelf full of succulents. As I hold the shovel in my hands, a pang of guilt washes over me. Maybe I should think further into what I’m about to do. No, I think to myself, Penelope and I have been dating for almost a year. I have to do something special for her. I grab hedge trimmers and start running down the street. I don’t have much time to do this if I don’t want to get caught. The gravel crunches under my feet and my pulse is in my ears. The loud thrumming distracts me from my doubt.

            Upon arriving at the garden of death, I start searching for graves with the lumpiest dirt covering the casket. Carbon resides in fresh corpses more prominently than it does in old and decomposed ones. Squinting in the dark, I come to a cross-shaped headstone that reads:

Charles S.

Father, Brother, and Friend

He will be forever missed.

            I swiftly look away after reading the last line. I can’t let this simple factor stop me from achieving my goal. I thrust my shovel into the ground beneath me and jump when I hear a stick snap behind me. I freeze, not wanting to be seen. Dread fills every inch of my body as the thing comes closer. Its steps are quiet in the fallen leaves, like it’s about to jump out and grab me. I can feel it right behind me as beads of sweat form on my forehead. Right when my legs are about to give out, something soft brushes up against my shin. I let out the breath I was holding as I realize, it was just a cat. A black cat to be exact. How fitting.

            After digging up mounds and mounds of dirt, my jeans are brown and the top of a white casket can be seen, even in the dark. I open the casket to reveal a man that looks to be around 70 years old. His hair is white and he’s wearing a blue button-up that’s tucked into black dress pants. I grab his wrists and pull as hard as I can. It takes some force to lift his body out of the pit his casket is in. Once above ground, I lay him down and grab my hedge trimmer. His body is definitely too big for the bag I brought. The snap of his bones breaking under the pressure of the large scissors echoes through the small cemetery. First his arms are shoved into the plastic bag. Then, I cut his legs at the hip and right below the knee. Thank God he was embalmed. Otherwise, there would be blood everywhere and I don’t have time for that.

I don’t have it in me to snap his neck. I leave his head on and tie the bag closed around his neck so I don’t leave remnants of an old man around my neighborhood. I refill the hole with dirt and start on my way home, now carrying 165 pounds of old man with me. I have to take breaks every once in a while to rest my arms. I can’t carry 100 pounds, let alone 165, and I don’t want the gravel pathway to shred the thin bag I’ve put him in.

            When I get home, I put Charles in the huge freezer attached to my fridge. He needs to stay cool if I want his remains to be as valuable as possible. I pick up the phone and dial Henry’s number.

“Alice?” His voice sounds raspy. He must have been asleep.

            “Hey! I need a favor. Do you still work at the crematorium down the street?”

            “Yeah, why?”

✻✻✻

            I hear a car door slam. I look out the window and see Henry’s red pickup truck parked in my driveway. Since I don’t have a car, Henry drove here to help me take Charles to the crematorium.

            “Where is he?” He sounds nervous and tired.

            “In the freezer over there,” I point towards the kitchen and follow him through the hallway. He carries Charles to the bed of his truck and secures him with bungee cords. Once we arrive, we park in the back of the crematorium.

            “I’m sneaking you in, okay? There shouldn’t be anybody here since it’s so late at night.”

            “It’s only 10pm.” He gets out of the truck and heads to unlock the door before grabbing Charles’ remains.

            “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans.

            “What is it?” What could possibly go wrong at a time like this. Lots of things.

            “I left my key in my office. I didn’t have a closing shift or an opening one so I didn’t think I’d need it. I’m sorry, Alice.”

            “We can pick the lock! I have some hairpins,” I say, reaching for the pins holding my messy bun in place. My brown locks tumble down across my shoulders.

            Henry grabs the pins from my hand and frantically starts picking the lock, his hands shaking. The only street lamp in sight shines just enough light to see the keyhole.

            Right as the lock clicks open, the streetlamp’s bulb flickers off, leaving us in complete darkness. Henry and I both jump in surprise.

           “I’ll go get the bag.” Henry stumbles toward the truck. I know he ran into it because a loud thud is followed by some impolite words.

            The air inside the crematorium inside is cold, much colder than outside, despite the furnaces surrounding us. I flick the lightswitch on while Henry carries the black bag into another room. This one is full of metal tables and unfolded cardboard boxes.

            “Take one of those boxes and place it on the metal table over here,” he nods toward a table against the wall. I do as I’m told and Henry sets Charles on the brown surface. With an easy slice, the black bag is cut in half, revealing the pale, chopped up body before us. Henry is quick to fold the cardboard box and place the lid on. Thank goodness. The frown lines on Charles’ face were creeping me out.

“Can you help me wheel him to the furnace?” We roll the metal table into the first room. In front of every furnace is a large rectangular hole that drops into a concrete ashtray below, full of ashes. I could probably just use these. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just realized that there are ashes already here,” I mumble, partially regretting my decision to dig up an old man.

“Well, we can just use those if you’d like.”

“No. I’ve already made it this far. I don’t want to turn back now,” I decide.

“Okay. I’ll just close the door and turn on the fire. It’ll take a few hours,” Henry informs me. Henry presses a button to open the furnace. A metal door slides up and he pushes the cardboard box into the space in front of us.

            “A few hours? What if someone catches us?”

            “We’ll be fine. The whole city will be asleep in a few hours. Don’t worry. Wanna come play chess with me while we wait?”

            “Okay,” I groan and roll my eyes.

            Sure enough, the flames disappear and Henry heads to break up what’s left of Charles with a large metal rod. He comes back with a black box full of ashes.

            “That should be enough for the diamond. Thank you so much for doing this, Henry. You don’t understand how much this means to me. I know this is probably crazy, not to mention against the law. But I trust that you’ll keep this to yourself, yes?”

            “I promise, Alice, there’s no way I’m admitting to being an accomplice to this. I can’t believe you even talked me into this. But I would do anything for you.” And with that, he drives me home, making sure to lock the door again on his way out.

✻✻✻

            Today’s the day. The jewelry should arrive at any moment. Our anniversary was seven months ago, but I discovered that it would take around eight months to make the diamond. The company apologized for my loss, even though it wasn’t technically my loss, and they said they couldn’t put my diamond in a necklace. I had them set it into a ring, instead. I hope she likes it. With that thought, the doorbell rings.

            “I’ll get it!” I shout to Penelope, who’s in the other room. The velvet box comes with a note that says:

Dear Alice,

Thank you for purchasing this diamond ring. We’re glad to have helped in the permanent remembrance of your loved one.

-Ashes to Diamonds x

How sweet. “I have to ask you something, Penny.” I say as I walk into the living room. Her strawberry blonde hair is tied in a bun with little twirls coming down on her face. She looks so perfect while reading Frankenstein, her favorite book.

            She looks up at me with golden-brown eyes and smiles. “What is it?”

            “I need you to stand.” And with that, she does, leaving the dog-eared book on the couch. I kneel. “I’ve known you for two years now and there isn’t one thing I don’t love about you. I love the way your hair curls when you get out of the shower. I love the way you smile and wipe your tears after watching The Notebook for the millionth time. I love the way you’re always so interested in the news. I love your compassion for people. The list could go on forever. But, most of all, I love the way you look at me as if I’m the only girl in the whole world. I want you to look at me that way forever. Penelope Irene Bell, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

I pull out the box and open it. A diamond ring sits in the middle of the box. Her eyes are wet now, leaving trails of tears down her cheeks. She covers her face in her hands and, for a second, I’m not sure if those are tears of joy. I hear a muffled “yes” before she nods her head frantically and kneels down to wrap me in her arms.

She crawls back and holds out her left hand for me to slide the ring on her finger. It fits perfectly. The sun coming in through the sheer, white curtains makes the diamond glisten.

For the next few days, all Penelope talks about is the wedding. She spends her days looking through newspapers and wedding magazines. A few months ago, she told me about a news story she read. The grounds keeper at a cemetery found a black and silver shovel, along with hedge trimmers, by the grave of a seventy-year-old man. My guilt kicked in immediately. Every Sunday, she would tell me about another detail the cops had found. There were no fingerprints. The casket was filled with dirt. The family hasn’t even claimed him. With every new detail she tells me comes another wave of breath-taking guilt. Now that I’ve proposed, I don’t know what to do.

We’re both sitting at the glass table when she looks up from her newspaper and says, “The cops still haven’t found the culprit. Nobody saw who did it or knows who it could be. Who could do such a thing? That poor family, and they don’t even know,” her tone is full of sympathy.

After staring into her brown eyes for a while, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve thought about this every day since the cremation. My guilt has been building and I cannot take it. “It was me, okay? I robbed that man’s grave. There, I confessed. Every single day for the past eight months has been so torturous for me. And you following this story has only made it more difficult. But I did this all for you!” I thrust my hand in her direction. “Where do you think that diamond came from? I know you found the note on the counter after I proposed.”

She stares at me in silence. Her hand brushes through her hair as she tries to process this information. “How— how could you? I don’t understand. That’s absolutely disgusting! What were you thinking? I love you more than words can express, but this is too much. I don’t even want to know, Alice. It’s over.” And before I can protest or explain myself, she slips her shoes on and bolts out the door.

In the present…

            “Wow. What kind of person would steal a man from his grave? I mean, seriously. What was that? And then to use his ashes to propose to your girlfriend? That’s disgusting!” Riley scoffs.

            “It was all for Penelope. But it’s in the past now. She dumped me and I have no idea where she is. I haven’t seen her since.”

            “That guy had a name! Charles had a name! Do you even know what his last name was? Or were you too blind with your crazy ideas to look?” Her cold gaze moves from me to the candles, which are now halfway melted.

            “His name was Charles Stewart,” I mumble into my water glass before taking a sip.

            Riley gasps and the color fades from her cheeks. “Wait. Charles M. Stewart?”

            “Yeah, I think so. Why?” I ask, now confused.

            “That’s my father’s name.”

Gallantry and Grenades is a chapter from “The Last of the Bungalow Warriors” by Maurice Deats available for purchase at The Book Patch.

The war was over before either the young warrior or the Great Chief had been born, but its effects would linger, and would remain an influence on their lives.  There was still a strong feeling of patriotism, but more than that, there was a feeling of community.  And beyond that, there was a belief that sacrifice for the greater good was both a duty and an honor.

The warriors were torn this morning.  They wanted to go to the bungalow as was their daily habit, but it had been the youngest warrior’s birthday the day before, and among the somewhat meager collection of presents that had been bestowed upon him had been an assortment of green rubber army men that the only friend they had in the tiny community had given him.  These had been faithfully retrieved from packages of Cracker Jacks.  It was not originally the intention to save them for gifting purposes, but faced with the need for a suitable present and driven by a strong feeling of social obligation, they were hastily gathered together, crudely wrapped and proudly if somewhat reluctantly presented at the appropriate time at the party the day before.  There was of course nothing as exotic as ice cream at the party, but there was a cake that went a long way towards alleviating the young friend’s sense of personal loss.  Besides, toy ownership was a communal concept given the level of scarcity, so it wasn’t like he would not be interacting with them at roughly the same frequency.  Just the same, the youngest warrior was thrilled to get them, and felt richer than he had ever felt before.

So the choice was obvious.  Especially after a certain young boy came riding into the yard on his army green bike with the dark camo stripes, singing “You’re in the army now…you’re not behind the plow…you’ll never get rich by digging a ditch…you’re in the army now.”  The youngest warrior was not upset.  Truth be known, as much as he loved his life as a Bungalow Warrior, he had really hoped to spend the day with his new toys.  The Great Chief knew that morale would be low in the tribe if he forced them to be warriors today, so he gave in and the three of them quickly enlisted in the United States Army, Bravo Company.  They quickly ran up to their bedroom and reached under the bed where the weapons of war were stored and extracted a pair of metal and plastic army rifles and a knife in a green woven sheath.  The presence of the knife was not generally advertised, but military secrets were hard enough to keep in general, and it was especially hard to hide things from “she who knows everything”.  Just the same, the Great Chief slipped the knife inside his shirt as the boys scrambled down the stairs and headed for the door, cautiously delaying attaching it to his belt until they were safely outside, away from prying eyes.  The youngest warrior snatched up the cigar box with the little green army men from its place in the toy box in the corner of the stair landing on his way by.  It felt good to hold something of that great value in his hands, and owning it gave him new status that, as the youngest, was very much welcomed.

The three boys rushed out onto the porch, jumped down the length of the steps without touching any, gathered themselves and raced each other to the sandpile where a proper battle could be joined.  Since his arrival their friend had been grinning but not saying anything.  The warriors knew something was up but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of asking what it might be.  At last the boy could contain himself no longer, and from the genuine army green ammunition pouch he had strapped to his belt he produced, with a flourish he had obviously practiced, a green oval item with a handle and a pin.  A real pretend grenade!  The warriors had seen them in the five and dime and dry goods store in town but of course did not have the money for such a thing as that.  And they had never known anyone fortunate enough to actually own one.  Turns out their friend’s cousin had left it by mistake when his family had stopped by for a quick visit the night before.

The grenade was a fancy one with a place you put in a special round cap or a cap torn off from a standard roll from a cap gun.  When you pushed the handle in and put in the pin it wound up a spring.  When you pulled the pin and let go of the handle the spring would unwind and turn a mechanism inside that caused a few second delay before the trigger released and detonated the cap, simulating an explosion.  It was designed so that even if you threw the grenade, and of course that is what it was for, the cap would stay in place and not jar free on impact.  The boys tried it a couple of times and were delighted to see the delay was long enough that it wouldn’t detonate until it landed, no matter how far they could throw it.  And better yet, it wouldn’t break.  A broken toy was bad enough, but a broken toy that didn’t really belong to you and that you probably shouldn’t be playing with was far worse.  They had had some experience with this, and they knew this to be true.

The boys had had access to comic books featuring actual soldiers who were war heroes, like G.I. Joe, so they knew a great deal about war and how it was supposed to go.  They arranged the green rubber figures in various battle configurations, half on each side of the mound of sand that was the battlefield.  The top of the mound was the prized target for both sides, as anybody knew who knew anything about the Battle of the Bulge.  This battle raged back and forth, and the grenade was tossed from one side to the other from time to time, scattering sand and little green men as it exploded, aided somewhat from a small sun-bronzed hand as needed.

As much fun as this was, especially given the recentness of having acquired the troops involved, it wasn’t long before the boys wanted to take a more active role in the war, and almost as if on a signal the three of them trotted off to the pig apple tree to gather up green apples to conduct a proper battle with.  There were three of them, so they would rotate where the extra man was, but whichever side ended up with only the one soldier would have use of the grenade.  That was only fair.

Well the thing about grenades is that they will wipe out anybody that happens to be in the neighborhood when they go off.  That meant instant defeat for the receiving team.  But the boys had paid close attention when reading those comic books, and they knew it was every soldier’s duty, nay his highest honor and deepest pleasure, to fall on any grenades that happened by, thus saving his comrades and preserving the victory, and possibly freeing all of Europe and ending conflict in the Pacific Theater in the bargain.  The more grenades you fell on the greater your legacy, and leaving a legacy was the thing that all soldiers strove for, and there was no greater shame than failing to die and therefore not having an opportunity to leave a legacy.  So when the grenade landed, the boys would jostle each other as they scrambled to be the one who had the privilege of falling on it.  This put a strain on civility and threatened unity amongst the troupes.  In fact, in days to come, when some boys visiting from out of town joined in the battles, a fist fight actually broke out when one boy felt that another older boy was hogging all the glory for himself and not letting anyone else fall on the grenade.  But today there was no such conflict, as the three boys were inseparable friends and the idea of fighting among themselves was unthinkable.  Well, mostly.

The war ended eventually, with the allied forces emerging victorious.  The soldiers trudged home anxious to be reunited with their families and ever hopeful that there might be some scraps of cake remaining from yesterday’s party.  As they trudged wearily in, “she who knows everything” smiled to herself as she saw the multiple black smudges on the boy’s shirts where the caps had exploded, and guided the boys to the table where the last three pieces of cake perched invitingly, along with a glass of chocolate milk.  The chocolate had been purchased because of the party and was not something that one could rely on being available generally speaking.  As the boys settled over their cake, “she who knows everything” leaned over and put her lips close to the Great Chief’s ear so that only he could hear and said lovingly, “If I ever catch you rolling around on the ground with that knife on your belt again I’m going to skin you with it.”  And then she smiled sweetly and went back to her chores.

The idea they were defeated wasn’t something Dylan was willing to accept. There had to be a way out. He couldn’t see one at the moment, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. He couldn’t communicate with Dinah either. There were so many men focused on them it was impossible to engage her without drawing someone’s immediate attention. He snuck a glance at his cousin from the corner of his eye and was shocked by what he saw.

Dinah showed no sign of concern despite their current situation. She stood confidently, her hands on her hips. There was a gleam in her eye that told Dylan she had a plan. In all the years they had known each other, Dinah had never been a good poker player. She wore her emotions on her sleeve, making it nearly impossible for her to bluff. Dylan prayed that was true in this instance as well. The wrong move would certainly cost them their lives.

“I have worked a long time for this moment. My master will be greatly pleased with me. Your capture has been his foremost goal,” the ghoul in a suit gushed confidently.

“Don’t be so certain of that” Dinah almost laughed as she spoke, ”You’re assuming it was your master who ordained this. What makes you think it wasn’t mine?”

The pacing ceased as the demon, Abbadon, turned to fully face Dinah and Dylan. He considered the strength in her stance for a moment, and the triumph faded from his face. He had expected their fear to be palpable, and yet here was this child, for all intents and purposes, denying him his moment of glory and revelry.

“You’re right when you call me a child. I am a child of the Great I Am. It is you who should be afraid.” Dinah spoke with such authority that her words struck like a braided whip.

Abbadon hissed as he realized Dinah had read his thoughts. His master had not prepared him for this.

“Of course he hasn’t prepared you for this! He couldn’t prepare you to win a victory you have already lost. I almost feel pity for you.” Dinah’s eyes raked up and down the demon’s frame, which seemed to visibly diminish under the weight of her spoken truth.

“What is this?! It is I who have trapped you! How do you have this power? To be inside my mind! I will destroy you!” Rage erupted from the fear roiling in the mind of the fallen angel.

Dylan reached out and grabbed Dinah’s hand. He wasn’t convinced yet that Dinah really knew what she was doing. His intent was to caution her but, the moment his skin touched hers, he felt a surge of power unlike anything he had ever experienced before. His fear vanished, replaced by the absolute assurance that comes from being one of the chosen children of God Almighty.

“You have no power over us! We are no longer slaves to fear!” Dylan stepped forward as he spoke, his eyes blazing.

All over the room, guns trained in on Dylan, ready to fire at Abbadon’s command. Before he could give the order however, Dinah raised her voice so even the men in the very back could hear her.

“Fear not! We are not your enemy. The one who commands us loves you, and wants nothing more than for you to be restored to him. Lay down your weapons! You are forgiven!” Her palms thrust forward on the word “forgiven” and a great rushing wind burst forth in every direction. The men were buffeted about by the blast and could barely keep their balance. Hushed voices washed over the three figures in the center of the room as the men were released from Abbadon’s influence and returned to themselves. All over the room, men lowered their weapons and fell to their knees.

“What are you doing?! Get up you fools! She is nothing!! I am the one who commands you!” Abbadon screeched at the men in desperation

“You have no power here demon.” Dylan closed in with clenched fists.

Abbadon glared back warily as his adversary stalked him. “I am the King of the Pit! This world was given to me by my master! I am not to be trifled with, boy!” He spat the last word as an insult, but Dylan merely grinned back, not slowing his pace at all.

“I won’t trifle with you. I will deal with you exactly as you deserve to be dealt with.” Dylan closed the gap with one more stride and grabbed the demon by the lapels of his designer suit. In one swift movement, Dylan threw the creature against one of the great stone pillars in the foyer. “There is only one King. The one who has called me has the power here. Can you see that now? Should I speak His name? Will that convince you?”

“No!” Abbadon cowered against the cold marble. All semblance of his former confidence having evaporated beneath Dylan’s fiery glare. Even the men who still surrounded them shrank back. Many were trying to gather their bearings and come to grips with the new reality, that their leader was no longer who they wanted to follow.

Dinah put her hand gently on her cousin’s shoulder, a quiet request for restraint implied by the touch. Once again, power flowed into Dylan, but this time it called him to peace instead of action. He inhaled deeply, centering his focus on who he belonged to.

“I want you to deliver a message to your master,” Dinah’s voice was calm, implying no imminent threat.

“Am I to be your errand boy now?” Abbadon hissed derisively.

“You can convey our message, or you can be the message. It’s up to you.” This time there was no mistaking the danger in her still, even tone.

“What would you have me say?” The demon knew he was in no position to argue.

“The One who was, and is, and is to come, has claimed this world as His own, and there is nothing that can separate us from Him. No matter what your master has planned, he will fail. The victory was won over two thousand years ago. You are both destined to return to the pit you are so proud to rule over. For eternity.”

Dinah could see the fear in Abbadon’s eyes. Despite his claims of dominion, he wanted to be free of the pit. He wanted to rule on Earth, not under it. Even his basic nature was to want to draw closer to the Creator’s creation.

“You know I speak the truth. Now go and speak that same truth to your master. Remind him who the Conqueror truly is! In Jesus’ Name!”

The moment Dinah spoke the savior’s name a tremendous crack resounded through the building and the marble foyer opened like a great maw to swallow Abbadon. Sheer panic reigned over the hardened warriors surrounding the cousins as the former temple of worldly knowledge shuddered and began to crumble around them. Their screams mixed with the thunder of falling stone as they tried to escape.

Dylan grabbed Dinah’s hand and she could sense his fear. Without stopping to think about what she was doing, she pushed the peace she felt in her soul outward from herself to cover Dylan as well. Immediately his hand relaxed in hers, despite the chaos that rained down, quite literally, around them. She knew there was no way she could explain what was happening within her, or how she was able to do what she had been doing. Dinah just knew that faith was the key, and as long as she trusted in Him things would work out exactly as they were meant to. She need only follow The Light.

Dust billowed up from the building’s collapse as Dylan and Dinah stood in the center of it. A moment before Dylan was wracking his brain for any possible escape route, squinting through the choking cloud that engulfed them. The noise nearly overwhelming him all on its own. Then Dinah’s hand was squeezing his and his fear vanished. As though she knew what he had been searching for, she raised her other arm and pointed. Dylan turned in the direction Dinah indicated. Light blazed through the tumult and beckoned to them. In unison they obeyed its call.

In this vision, a spectacular garden stretched out before him. Lush plants of every kind blossomed and bloomed, vibrant colors exploding from their petals. Succulent fruit trees, with branches bowing under the weight of their abundant harvest, gave shade to all manner of creature both great and small. Birds dressed in the most beautiful plumage imaginable soared above him. The call of a multitude of beasts rang out through the valley below. Their chorus almost melodic. Isaac breathed in the heady scent of lilac coupled with citrus. Each inhaled breath revived his spirit and every exhale cleansed all the impurity from his soul.

A breeze caressed his face, the warmth a welcome change from the chill that had seeped into his bones throughout their ascent. Isaac couldn’t figure out how it was possible to literally feel the warmth within a memory. That he was remembering someone else’s experience in the first place was strange enough without the physical sensations it inspired. With senses so acute and responsive to the scene before him, confusion about where he actually was engulfed him. Experiencing sights and smells so real made it nearly impossible to determine if what appeared to be truth was a dream, or if he had been miraculously transported to what could only be described as Eden. As soon as he thought the name, a truth resonated in Isaac’s mind and there was no longer any doubt about where he was. Eden. The birthplace of the world. His perfect garden. Satisfaction swelled in his heart as he assessed his work. But it wasn’t his work. It was His work.

“Yes, son, it is my work.” The same voice that had spoken to him earlier reverberated through him again.

“How am I seeing this?” Isaac spoke the words in hushed reverence, “How is it I am present, here, in Your garden?”

“You are here because I am here. I am everywhere. I am present within all things and have always been. I am within you. I have chosen you for my purpose, so now you are where I am as well.” Isaac felt unimaginable joy pulse within him.

“Thank you, Father! I am undeserving of such a gift.”

“That’s where you are wrong. Because of my son you are perfect in my sight. He has made you deserving of this place, and of me. This is what I want for all my children. You will bring them to me and reunite my family.”

Isaac knew there had always been a calling on his life, but he had never imagined it to be anything so overwhelming as what had just been revealed to him. The joy so recently inhabiting him was replaced by all encompassing doubt. Who was he that he could unite God’s family? He wasn’t a great speaker like his cousin, Dylan, or a military leader like Lucas. Dinah had always been able to connect with people with ease. Isaac had spent his life in relative solitude. His circle of friends had been loyal, but few. Of all the people in his life however, he had been most closely bonded with his father. It was that loss that had affected the trajectory of his life most profoundly. His dad had commissioned him with the responsibility to live out his faith. Now that commission had taken on an entirely new meaning.

“What is it that you doubt?” God spoke gently, without accusation.

“I doubt myself. There are so many more qualified people to do what you need done.” Shame colored Isaac’s cheeks.

“What you are saying is you don’t trust me to know what you are capable of better than you do. Though I have known you before you were even a thought, and designed you exactly as you are, you believe I am mistaken?” The lord posed the question in a such a way that Isaac felt as though he had hurt His feelings.

“No! Of course not, Lord! I trust you!” Isaac was desperate to convince him that his faith was sufficient even though he knew it was not.

“If you trust me, then you must trust yourself. I have created you for this purpose. I will give you strength when you need to be strong. I will give you wisdom and discernment when you need guidance. The path will not be easy, but I will be with you.” Each word brought comfort and confidence.

The scene before Isaac changed. Graffitied concrete replaced the garden. Rubble cluttered the streets amidst the monoliths that once symbolized the greatness a, now broken, city could barely hope to achieve again. People more closely resembling wraiths huddled in alleys between the fallen spires of man’s overconfidence. Their sunken cheeks and sallow skin belied tragedy ongoing and severe. Children, covered in filth, cowered behind their parents. Worse than their physical state was the emptiness in their eyes. Abject hopelessness pierced pools of innocence.

Isaac’s breath caught in his throat and tears stung his eyes as he recognized, possibly for the first time, the truly unmet need his world was now faced with. It was not their hunger, or their filth that struck him. It was the fear that limited their every movement. A fear that overtook every thought and brought worry that even a base existence was impossible. There was no light at the end of their tunnel anymore. Only more darkness, yearning, and terror.

Faith had become such a taboo subject with the rise of relative socialist ideals that the marginalized no longer had a servant. They had vocal champions, but voice was the extent of their actions. Those who had actually been the ones to minister to the poor were bullied into silence for their belief in right and wrong. Now the desolate were used as propaganda to advance a cause.   They were no longer human. In reality, they never were to the ones who paraded them out like mascots whenever they wanted to punish the wealthy or the righteous for their very existence.

In that moment, Isaac began to see the world through the eyes of the father. At first the sorrow nearly broke him, but then it released a rage at the injustice he could barely control. Isaac felt fire overtake him from the inside, a billowing inferno of white heat pouring out from a broken heart in righteous anger, ready to consume the evil that had created such loss.

“Lord, tell me how to stop this! I can’t let this continue!”

“I will show you the way. Your words will be my words.”

“I am ready Father! Use me for your purpose!”

The flames in Isaac’s soul began to build around him. They enclosed him and pressed in. He could no longer see the city or its people. The fire grew hotter the closer it drew to him, until he could no longer look upon it. Isaac closed his eyes and he could hear the crackling of the flames grow louder. Everything else was blotted out and there was nothing but heat and noise. In the moment Isaac was sure he would be overcome a great rushing wind quenched the flames and left him in silence.

“Arise and fulfill my purpose for you!” The word of the Lord was sheer power.

“Yes, Lord! I am but a tool in your hand.” Isaac’s words were a whisper in comparison to the voice of God.

“No, you are much more than that.”

Isaac’s eyes flew open and he found himself lying at the edge of the cliff. Devin was crouched over him, worry etched in every line of his face.

“Are you alright?!” The panic in Devin’s voice undeniable.

“I’m fine.” Isaac sat up as he spoke.

“What happened? One minute you were fine and the next you went rigid and nearly fell over the edge. I barely caught you.”

“I was with God.” Isaac didn’t know what else to say so he just spoke the truth.

“With God? What do you mean with God?”

“I mean he called me to himself and I was where he was.”

“Are you sure it was God? You were so hot I thought you were going to spontaneously combust at one point!”

“I’m sure!” Isaac couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well what did he tell you?”

Isaac smiled in awe as he recalled the word burned into his mind the moment before his eyes opened.

“I am going to make you the shepherd of my people.”

Check out all the chapters of The Mountain by Duane Deats

1. Ascent
2. Canyon
3. Resurrected
4. Precipice
5. Penitence
6. Solitude
7. Discord
8. Grapple
9. Encounter
10. Obsidian
11. Awareness
12. Blinded
13. Tempest
14. Shepherd
15. Obedience

Knowing from previous experience the unpredictable nature of these tantrums, he decided to make himself comfortable on the overstuffed sofa to wait things out. Kieran thought how odd he must look as he danced his way through the chaos strewn across the floor. He had heard of tiptoeing through the tulips and nearly laughed at his own spectacle, treading carefully in an attempt to avoid the antique shards and their former floral residents. At six feet six inches tall and fifty pounds beyond the two hundred mark, he was not what anyone would call dainty. After he had eased his way down onto the sofa beneath the largest window that overlooked the Hudson, the newly minted silence became apparent. His trip through the mine field had left him the sole resident living in the crosshairs of an eerily quiet woman. Kieran was now in the eye.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Gretchen didn’t even pretend to hide her contempt.

“Waiting for you to tire yourself out.” Now that she was talking, Kieran knew he had to match strength with strength.

“You should be just as angry as I am! You were the one made to look a fool!” Her tone was venomous.

“And what good would it do for both of us to lose control? I much prefer sanity.” He never took his eyes from hers. To blink was to surrender.

“Sanity?! You expect me to be sane when some interloper dressed like a druid just stole our moment, and our crowd’s loyalty? He made them think!! There is nothing more dangerous to a mob than a conscience.” Acid scorched his ears with every syllable she uttered.

“What would you have had me do? Should I have strangled him with my bare hands? Leapt from the podium and crushed him? Showing concern would have been worse than anything he did. That would have been the weakness you fear so much.” Kieran remained implacable.

“Weakness? You think I fear weakness? You may not be as intelligent as I thought. I fear losing control. I am afraid of what our benefactor will do to us if we can’t control the masses. What concerns me even more is that you don’t share my fears. Why is that? Why are you not smart enough to be afraid?” Her derision was palpable.

“I am not afraid because death comes for us all. When and how is beyond my control, so why would I waste time being afraid? If my life is forfeit over this incident then so be it. Somehow I don’t believe that will be the case however. There is far more going on than we have been led to believe. I don’t like being a pawn, nor will I continue to be one, for anyone. I want to know what is really going on and who we are dealing with. Does that seem unreasonable to you?” Kieran posed the question as calmly as he could.

“If you had wanted to know what was really going on you would have asked before we got involved to start with. Changing the rules now is going to cost us far more than knowing the answers to your questions will gain us. What we need to do is find the man in the robes and execute him in the most public way possible. It is the only way to regain the momentum we had. The deadline is nearly upon us, and we don’t have nearly enough people to serve our purpose at this point.” Gretchen had regained her composure and was doing her best to appeal to Kieran’s logical side.

“Maybe you’re right, but I don’t intend to keep making the same mistakes I’ve already made.” Quiet resolve shown in the set of his jaw.

“Enough!” Gretchen screamed, “I won’t allow you to ruin everything I’ve worked for! Maybe you’re ok with going back to having and being nothing, but I’m not, and I won’t let you drag me down with you!”

Kieran rose from his seat and turned to face the hulking outlines of black on black that was the city skyline. He had known for some time that he was a tool of convenience for Gretchen. She would stay as long as he was useful to her, but her ambitions far outstripped his own. The idea of losing her was not one he relished, but the events of the day had given him pause. He had to look at his life and consider what he wanted it to be. The truth was that he was not satisfied with things the way they were at the moment. This was not the vision he had for this new world.

When the man in the hood demonstrated a power that required no violence, no intimidation, only a call to something more fundamentally human, Kieran recognized what he and Gretchen had missed in their approach. The man didn’t call for punishment. Just the opposite. He called for self-reflection, and mercy. What amazed Kieran was how quickly the bloodlust was silenced in that once ravenous mob. The connection the man was able to establish between the accusers and the accused was the key.

Kieran chewed on the words he needed to speak for a long moment before he faced Gretchen. In that moment, none of the beauty that had drawn him to her in the first place was visible. All he could see was the greed, the anger, and the jealousy that she had poured out all over their home. It was the confirmation he needed.

Just as Kieran drew a deep breath in preparation for what he knew would be as difficult a sentence as he had ever uttered, the lights in the room were extinguished. He heard Gretchen scream, a blood curdling shriek that left him both breathless, and desperate to save her from whatever horrors may have found her. Her cry was abruptly terminated, its end even more terrifying for Kieran than its beginning.

“Gretchen!” Kieran bellowed as he groped his way back toward the last place he knew her to be standing. This trip a far cry from his careful crossing earlier. The debris splayed across the floor proved even more treacherous in the pitch blackness than he imagined it to be in the light. The lack of response to his stricken call propelled him forward. Fortune was not with him however, and Kieran found himself half running, half crawling after the voice of a ghost. The remnants of the vase mercilessly tore at his hands and knees as he lurched through the dark. He could feel his throat constricting in panic as thoughts raced through his mind. What if he couldn’t reach her in time? What if the next thing he put his hand on was her lifeless form?

Before he could slip any deeper into the abyss of fear he was creating for himself, the lights exploded into brilliant existence. Kieran rolled to his back and covered his eyes in self-defense. With his eyes squeezed shut against the glare, he strained to hear any sign of Gretchen. His own breathing was all that greeted him. Kieran shifted his position so as to be able to get up while still shielding his eyes. He was not prepared for what he saw.

The room had been returned to its original pristine condition. Gretchen was nowhere to be found. It was as though her entire tirade had never happened. Confused and disoriented, all he could think of with any clarity was that he had not reached Gretchen in time. She was gone, who knows where, and there was nothing he could do about it. How had this happened? She needed him and he had failed her.

“You have not failed her. Yet.” A soft voice, full of power and intensity, brought the torrent of his thoughts to a grinding halt. Terror gripped him as recognition broke over his consciousness. Kieran spun toward where the voice had come from. What he saw left him paralyzed.

A man in an impeccably tailored black suit sat on the sofa beneath the window. He appeared to be completely at ease, his hands resting in his lap. When he spoke again, his colorless eyes burned.

“Kieran, I am disappointed.   You don’t seem pleased to see your master.”

Check out all the chapters of The Mountain by Duane Deats

1. Ascent
2. Canyon
3. Resurrected
4. Precipice
5. Penitence
6. Solitude
7. Discord
8. Grapple
9. Encounter
10. Obsidian
11. Awareness
12. Blinded
13. Tempest
14. Shepherd
15. Obedience

“Dylan,” she called his name softly, not wanting to scare him. Her cousin didn’t respond.

“Dylan.” Her voice was firm this time, but still Dylan didn’t stir.

“Dylan!” Desperation began to creep in this time and she shook him by the shoulders. Finally, a groan seeped from his inert form and she breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes fluttered open and she smiled, tears of gratitude flowing from hers.

“How did you find me?” His voice cracked as he tried to sit up.

“It’s a long story. What happened to you? How did you end up here?”

“I have no idea. I remember being attacked from behind on the rooftop. I didn’t even get to see who jumped me before being thrown off. I must have passed out on the way down and landed on a balcony or something. There’s no way I could have lived otherwise. I woke up on the slab, but I was sure I was dead. I’m not really sure what happened next. I must have been dreaming. It wasn’t actually possible.” His voice gave way on him at the end.

“Nothing is impossible anymore. Trust me.” Dinah stood and offered Dylan her hand. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah. I’m not hurt, just a little groggy.” He took her hand and found his feet. He also found himself in his cousin’s embrace. He patted her back and tried to reassure her. “I’m ok. I promise. I don’t know how, but I am.”

“You have no idea how worried I was. I just thank God you’re here, and alive.” Dinah squeezed him tighter for a moment longer and then released him, surveying the rest of him to make sure he wasn’t just playing off an injury.

“I gotta say, I’m pretty happy to see you too. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get back. Do you have a transport waiting?”

“Not exactly. You aren’t the only one with a tale to tell when it comes to ending up here.”

“What do you mean?” Dylan’s confusion was plain on his face.

“Let’s just say that my transportation was other-worldly.” Dinah couldn’t help but laugh at her own play on words. The day’s events had been so impossible, improbable, supernatural, that her only response could be joyous wonder.

“We can talk about it later. Right now we need to figure out how to get back without being caught.” Dinah started to move back toward the door she had come from when Dylan cried out in shock, causing her to start violently. “What is it?!”she shrieked.

“Y-you,” Dylan stammered, “You’re glowing!”

Dinah felt foolish for not remembering that there was ethereal light emanating from her very being. She also wondered how Dylan hadn’t noticed before now. She looked down sheepishly and mumbled, “I know.”

“What do you mean you know?” Dylan was still gaping at her.

“Well, it’s kind of hard to not know you’re glowing, don’t you think?” Dinah tried to make light of it.

“But, how?” Dylan clearly wasn’t going to let it go, not that Dinah could blame him. It had to be shocking.

“It’s a gift from God.” Dinah thought saying things simply would be the best way to position it.

“Wait! You say that like He gave it to you personally. Not like you have found out you have this gift, but like He actually gave it to you.” Dylan did not sound nearly as skeptical as Dinah expected him to be.

“He did. He brought me here to you.”

“I’m pretty sure He brought me here too,” Dylan hesitated, considering how best to say what he wanted to next, finally deciding to just say it, “I didn’t get to see Him clearly, but his voice. Dinah, it was your dad’s voice.”

“I know. That’s how he appeared to me too.” Dinah’s eyes glistened with the same emotion that thickened her voice.

“It wasn’t actually your dad though was it? I mean, it couldn’t have been, right?” Dylan was almost apologetic as he asked.

“No, it wasn’t actually him, but I think God knew that would be the most comfortable and familiar way for you and I to experience Him.” Dinah stepped forward and took her cousin’s hand with an encouraging smile, “I know there is more to your story here, but before we get lost in that, we need to get back. The others need to know you’re alive.”

“Yeah. Ok. Do you know where we are?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Well, I did get to explore some before I blacked out again. My best guess is the old public library.” Dylan hoped he was wrong. Getting back to headquarters from there would be treacherous at best, and suicide at worst.

“Gotcha. Well that will make this interesting. Have you seen any patrols go by?” Her tone had that forced optimism Dylan had always loved about Dinah. Even in the darkest moments, she had always been a light. He wasn’t sure she even realized she was doing it, let alone the impact it had on those around her.

“Interesting. Yes, it will definitely be interesting.” Dylan laughed as he spoke, unable to hide his amusement.

“What’s so funny?” Dinah narrowed her eyes at him as she spoke.

“Nothing. You just always know how to make things a little easier, that’s all.”

Dinah shrugged, “You’re welcome, I guess.”

“I haven’t seen anything in the area, but I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, and I haven’t been conscious the whole time so there’s no telling what is going on out there with any certainty.”

“Then we are just going to have to be careful,” she chirped.

“You think?” Dylan punched Dinah in the shoulder. It was his customary response to her sarcasm.

They worked their way back upstairs. Dylan still was a little unnerved by Dinah’s status as a literal beacon of light. He knew, though, his own life was a far bigger miracle. A vast number of unexplainable things had happened since he ascended to the rooftop of that tower. His cousin’s luminescence was really on the tame side when it came down to it. He recognized that a deviation from his long held expectations of the world was in order. Clearly, it was not still the world he had believed it to be. It was a world infused with power he knew nothing about. Dylan was surprised that he wasn’t uncomfortable in his new reality. Apparently he was not as attached to normal as he thought he was.

Lost in his own thoughts, Dylan nearly ran into Dinah as they reached the top of the stairs that led to library’s foyer. He was about to step around her when she threw her arm out and pushed him back behind her. He noted with curiosity that she was no longer glowing, then he realized why.

An array of armed men had created a perimeter around the outer edge of the room. It was clear from their matching black uniforms and equipment that these were not rebel forces. Dylan could see the insignia of the New World government on the arm patch of the soldier standing right in front of them. His back was turned and there had been enough noise in the room to allow their approach to go unnoticed.

Dylan rested a hand on Dinah’s shoulder as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “There’s too many of them. We will have to find another way out.”

Dinah remained silent and stationary. She could feel power swelling in her chest. The immediate panic and fear that had exploded in her mind at her first sight of the soldiers had been overwhelmed by indescribable peace and confidence. Her father’s voice spoke in the back of her mind.

“You know you have but to ask,” he soothed.

“Thank you Father,” she whispered.

“Who are you talking to? Come on! We have to go!” Dylan tugged at her arm, and still Dinah remained steadfast.

“Dylan, do you trust me?” Dinah searched his eyes for the answer to her question.

“Yes,” he replied after an extended pause.

“Then follow me and believe.”

Dinah pushed the energy she felt in her core outward, all the while praying and giving thanks for His protection. Immediately cries of confusion rang out from the men. Their hands flew to their eyes clawing at the darkness that had suddenly gripped them.

“Let’s go.” Dinah took Dylan’s hand and led her bewildered cousin quietly through the chaos. More sentries poured in from other parts of the building to investigate the cause of the commotion and they too were blinded the moment they entered the foyer.

“How are you doing this?” Dylan gasped as he stumbled after Dinah.

Before Dinah could answer a searing voice burned through the cacophony, stopping them just feet from the front door.

“That’s far enough. I can’t have you leaving our little party before I’ve even gotten to meet the guests of honor.”

Check out all the chapters of The Mountain by Duane Deats

1. Ascent
2. Canyon
3. Resurrected
4. Precipice
5. Penitence
6. Solitude
7. Discord
8. Grapple
9. Encounter
10. Obsidian
11. Awareness
12. Blinded
13. Tempest
14. Shepherd
15. Obedience

The gunman looked down upon his victim in apparent detachment before turning his face toward Devin who remained rooted to the ground, completely immobilized by fear. Leaves crunched beneath the man’s feet as he paced closer, stepping over Isaac’s lifeless form. Each footfall felt like a hammer blow to Devin’s chest. The man’s presence seemed to pulse outward in blasts of energy that increased in direct proportion to his proximity. He had never wanted the ability to disappear more than he did right now however, with no place to hide, Devin could only await what he knew his fate to be. Unable to take his eyes away from Isaac, Devin sensed more than saw the intruder raise his gun to point the barrel at his chest. He tensed for the shot that would end his life, just like it had his cousin’s.

“So much for chosen.” A voice like a lit cigarette burned Devin’s ears. The word choice grabbed his attention and he looked up at the assassin.

“What do you mean chosen? Chosen by who? For what?” Devin was surprised he had been able to put voice to his thoughts. He was no coward, but he had never watched anyone executed right in front of him before either. It would appear he had become more desensitized to the violence of this new world than he had thought.

“Chosen by God to make straight your ways.” A voice ashed from behind a monster’s mask. The words would have staggered Devin had he not already been on his knees. His cousin acting as God’s emissary seemed a little far fetched. Recent events would be much easier to explain if it were true though. Seeing Isaac’s impact on the two other men in the clearing certainly left a void in reason. Something supernatural definitely was at work.

“If he is chosen by God then that would make you….” Devin’s voice trailed off as truth rolled through his mind. At that exact moment the most powerful surge of energy yet crashed over him. He could tell that the stranger was pleased by this recognition of his dark origin.

“Now you begin to see what’s really happening. This is my master’s world. You and everyone in this place belong to him.” There was reverence in the tone, or possibly fear.

“I don’t belong to anyone but me,” Devin retorted before he could stop himself, but the figure simply laughed a horrifying howl that sent chills down Devin’s spine.

“Then you have already given yourself over to him. Your independence is your undoing. Instead of the strength you believe it to be, it is your greatest weakness. Pride is my master’s favorite weapon against the weak-minded.”

Devin felt like he had been punched in the gut. Recognition of his own failing flooded his mind. Regret began to bubble like tar, ensnaring his thoughts in guilt. He looked up at the creature before him, as he now knew it was the furthest thing possible from human, and was surprised to see that it had lowered its gun. Triumph emanated from its mind. Devin knew now that the energy he felt before was really the demon’s consciousness overpowering him. It was drawing strength from his weakness, pain, and fear, but there was nothing he could do to stop those feelings in that moment.

“I thought you were going to kill me.” Devin stuttered the words, terrified he was asking for his own death.

“Then who would tell everyone their prophet is dead?” the demon’s voice burned even hotter in Devin’s mind.

Suddenly, a great rushing wind exploded in the clearing. It was unlike anything Devin had ever experienced before. All his breath was sucked from his lungs. He lay on the on the ground, gasping for air as the unreal scene unfolded. Trees were snapped liked matchsticks and thrown around like so much kindling. A blinding swirl of dead leaves and pine needles whipped through the air. Then it ceased as quickly as it commenced.

The fire had been instantly extinguished, yet a light almost too bright to look at was blazing from the center of the clearing. Devin had to shield his eyes with his arm, not just from the light, but from the heat. He imagined being exposed to a blast furnace felt similar. His antagonist was not faring any better than he was. The demon howled in pain as soon as the light and heat broke over them. Devin desperately searched for the source of the scorching heat but was blinded by the intensity of the light.

Then a voice reverberated through the clearing with such power it made the demon’s pulse of energy feel like a whisper in a hurricane. Devin flattened himself to the ground with his arms covering his head. Still, every cell in his body responded to the voice, drawn to it like it was being called home.

“Don’t be so fast to claim victory, demon! I am no prophet. Where you see a servant, the Master dwells. I died once, for all time. Death has no authority over me! Now be gone! Return to the pit from whence you came.” The voice grew steadily in power, which seemed impossible, even considering what Devin had already witnessed.

As soon as the voice was done speaking light exploded through Devin’s squeezed shut eyelids and he heard a wail filled with pain unlike anything he could have ever imagined. The smell of sulfur overwhelmed him to the point he had to roll over and wretch. Terror filled thoughts ran rampant through his stunned mind. Devin considered himself to be as level headed as they come. Demons and all powerful voices definitely didn’t fall into his realm of expertise. He wiped the sick form his lips and, with great trepidation, looked around to see where the voice had come from, unsure whether or not he actually wanted to know.

Before he could discern who had saved him, Devin came face to face with the smoldering pile of ash that had been his oppressor. There was no longer any doubt where the sulfurous stench had come from that made him ill. Just as Devin made the effort to get to his knees, a hand came in offering assistance. Without thinking, Devin took it and was pulled to his feet. To his utter amazement, Isaac stood before him. The trademark smirk he had inherited from his father tugging at the corner of his lips. Devin couldn’t conceal the shock on his face. The sheer impossibility of what was happening was more than he could comprehend.

“What? Aren’t you happy to see me?!” Isaac quipped sarcastically.

“But you’re dead. I watched you die.” Devin spoke with justifiable incredulity. He wanted to believe that anyone in his position would have reacted in a similar way.

“Death can no longer hold me.” Isaac spoke with an authority that was almost as unfathomable as his resurrection from the dead.

“What does that mean?! How is that possible? And how did you know what to say to those men? Where did that come from?” He could hear the demand in his questions but felt entirely unapologetic. Considering what he had just been through he felt he deserved answers.

Isaac clearly didn’t feel the same as he turned away from Devin and walked toward the other two men who were still in the clearing, lying on the ground.   He knelt next to the first man, Alfred, gently shook him awake and helped him to his feet.

“I know you don’t understand what has happened here, but you need to go to your daughter. Just know that you have been set free, and so has your daughter, Ellie. Now go, and tell no one of what you have seen here.” Isaac spoke with the same authority as Devin had heard in the voice speaking to the demon. Alfred stumbled from the clearing, going back the way they had come.

Isaac moved on to the second man who had already gotten to his feet. Leeroy watched warily as Isaac approached him.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Leeroy. In fact, I have great plans to prosper you and your family. Go to your mother and tell her that her faith has restored you to her. Faith like hers is rare. I will call on you when I need you.” As he spoke these last words, Isaac placed his hand on Leeroy’s chest and a glow emanated from beneath his palm. Leeroy gasped as though he were emerging from a prolonged stint under water. He grabbed Isaac’s shoulders to keep from falling to his knees.

“I am yours!” Leeroy breathed the words as he continued to try to catch his breath.

“Thank you. Now go and tell no one of what you have seen here.” Isaac removed his hand from Leeroy’s chest and the man ran after his companion.

Isaac turned back to Devin who had watched everything that passed between his cousin and the two men with wonder and amazement.

Devin fell to his knees. He could see his cousin standing before him, but he was so much more than the man who he had climbed the mountain with that morning. The man had been transfigured.

“Can you see me now?” Isaac spread his arms, “Do you recognize me?”

“Yes, Lord! I can see you!”

Check out all the chapters of The Mountain by Duane Deats

1. Ascent
2. Canyon
3. Resurrected
4. Precipice
5. Penitence
6. Solitude
7. Discord
8. Grapple
9. Encounter
10. Obsidian
11. Awareness
12. Blinded
13. Tempest
14. Shepherd
15. Obedience

Not that he wasn’t fast using the conventional draw. Very fast. Of the three that met on an almost daily basis to hone their skills he was without a doubt the fastest. And he liked to think he was the most accurate as well. He was the youngest of the three and reluctant to make too much of it, preferring to let them arrive at their own conclusions naturally. They were all young, the truth be known, but no one dedicated more time to their craft than the three of them, and their confidence was growing like the unmown grass of the pasture where they practiced.

The gun was his pride. The pearl handle, the detailed tooling on the silver body. He wanted to add notches to indicate his successes, but had heard from those older and more experienced than he that that was for tinhorns. He did not want to be thought of as a tinhorn. But it was the holster that gave him the most satisfaction. The row of loops on the back of the belt that held a dozen cartridges, secured on each end with a small silver Concho.   The casings were silver with the business ends of brass. This was his trademark. The leather smelled good in the summer sun, and he oiled it regularly. Like others of his age, he wore the gun practically everywhere. If he were to be honest, he would feel naked without it. The one place it was strictly not allowed was in church. The minister had a lot of strong convictions and that was one of them. He never felt all that comfortable in church anyway, but felt compelled to go. This just added to his discomfort. A fellow felt exposed enough in the presence of the almighty without being disarmed as well. He was almost willing to risk the unfortunate result of attendance taking on the day of judgement if it meant that attendance here on earth could be a little more sporadic. But the other two went and he did not want to be thought less a man than they.

This morning was no different than most. He mounted up and rode off up the hill. Between his knees was the shiny black with splashes of white. His saddle was black with silver rivets and black rawhide ties. His saddlebags, too, were black with white western fringe and silver buckles. And these were outfitted for the day, including a hastily thrown together lunch and the last of the pie. “Ma”, as she was called, was strict in her own way, but she could make pie like nobody else.

He always enjoyed the rhythmic sound of riding, slow and labored for the trip up the steep incline, gliding almost effortlessly down the gentle slope and past the general store and restaurant that was one of the few commercial establishments in the small settlement. He had his choice of trails. He could take the long steady incline with the equally long switchback or he could walk his mount directly up the side of the bluff that was far too steep and rough to allow for riding. The latter was quicker, and as he was late arriving today he chose that. It was a stiff climb, and he was breathing heavily as he crested the hill and gazed out at the broad sweep of the pasture where the others were waiting. One of them, his brother, was twirling his gun around his finger and switching hands and putting on a show for the other who was clumsily try to copy the moves without much success. Though less sure handed than the two brothers, being bigger and stronger made that fellow a good one to have on your side in case of a scrap. And besides, he was good natured generally and all in all pleasant to be around when not crowded.

As he remounted for the short ride to where the others had secured their mounts he smiled slightly and breathed a little deeper to take in the smells of the pasture and the fresh summer air. He was happy. And on top of everything else, today was his birthday. He thought to himself as he put down the kickstand that he was glad it was summer…and that it was good to finally be eight.

The madness of a crowd was something that Gretchen never gave any credence to prior to the fall. She had believed in mankind’s humanity. Its ability to choose the right path, at an individual level, in spite of peer pressure. It wasn’t until she witnessed the mob first hand during the revolution that she was willing to concede how different people can become, when faced with standing their ground, while their beliefs come under attack. She had watched as men and women devolved into animals over something as simple as who was in line for the bathroom first. In reality, evolution, or its undoing, had nothing to do with it. An innate brokenness did.

Gretchen recognized there was a darkness present in every single person.   Self-preservation combined with entitlement served as a catalyst for the most inhuman of outlooks. The possibility of baseness presenting itself, real, in nearly any situation where enough pressure was brought to bare. In the back of her mind, she heard a voice telling her how to use the madness. It was a cold voice. The voice of ambition, self-importance, and an indifference toward anything that didn’t advance those purposes. Initially she brushed it aside. Giving in to such ideals was something that would make her no better than those that had devolved around her. “Not so,” said the cruel voice, “It would allow you to sway the lesser creatures of this world toward a greater calling.” That was the moment she realized how easy it would be to use that depravity. Control could be exerted over the masses simply by planting the right idea in the minds of a few. They would do the rest. They would convince their friends, their neighbors, anyone who would listen, based entirely on emotion. Even reasonable people would succumb to the will of the mob eventually. The mob would be an instrument of her will.

Proof of her assertions played out right before her eyes as Kieran stood on the steps of a forgotten memorial, where towers once reached toward the heavens. Throngs of people hung on his every word. He wasn’t telling them anything prophetic or world altering. He simply told them what they wanted to hear. He did it with passion and fervor. His words like bellows stoking a furnace to a white hot blaze.   They would burn the world to ash at the whim of a madman.

Despite the ravenous maw of the crowd, Gretchen felt perfectly safe. She was confident in the plan she had devised and everything to this point had given her reason to remain confident. She, through Kieran, had been able to channel the masses into a weapon more violent, and more effective than anything seen since the French Revolution. She gave them someone to blame, and the means by which to exact revenge for perceived offenses. As long as she kept them sated, they were loyal, and it was easy to feed them someone new when they became restless.

Desperation was a constant Gretchen and Kieran counted on. It was the single most powerful tool in their arsenal. It was plentiful as well. People who believed their lives would be bettered through the revolution were still as dissatisfied with their circumstances as they had been prior to the fall. The powerful had fled to Western Europe, taking their money and their businesses with them. Politicians paid a terrible price, but the ones who really ran the country escaped with ease when they saw things going south, leaving a void that was not easily filled. Small businesses were destroyed in the rioting and looting, leaving few who were able, or willing, to drag commerce forward.

Everything that could be consumed was, without thought to what would happen when it was gone. The concept of finite resources was simply beyond comprehension for the throng. Gretchen and Kieran knew that even a semblance of critical thinking could leave them in a worse position than they were in when they started. Yet, they also knew that the likelihood of reasonable arguments prevailing was less than a realistic possibility. People were too insecure to believe their own thoughts. They wanted to be told how to feel and what to do. It was simpler for them that way. It also meant someone else was ultimately responsible for their behavior. They could blame the world at all times. It didn’t matter that they would eventually run out of patsies, but they hadn’t yet.

Kieran was nearly done whipping the crowd into a frenzy. He looked toward Gretchen and she nodded. He pointed toward two men standing beside a large rectangular object draped with a black curtain. The men stripped the cloth away to reveal a stainless steel cage, reflecting the light from the torches and lanterns held by the crowd.

A wretch of a man huddled on the floor of the cage, covered in filth. He wore a grey, pinstriped suit and leather dress shoes. His jacket was torn at the shoulder seems, while his shirt displayed dark splotches of, what had to be, blood. Stubble shadowed his cheeks, chin, and neck. His bound hands were raised to shield his eyes from the light. They shook violently as they hid his face, his fear evident.

The crowd erupted into jeers and catcalls. Their lust for blood clearly on display. The man cowered in response to the noise, and begged for mercy. This only enraged the spectators further leading to increased volumes and violent overtures. Gretchen couldn’t hide her pleasure at the corporate aggression. It was exactly what she wanted, and expected, to happen. Kieran had such a talent when it came to stirring emotions in others. It was as though he could read their collective mind and strike the perfect chord that would resonate within their subconscious.

“Why don’t we bring our guest into the light?” Kieran again motioned to his men and they moved to unlock the door. With some difficulty, they dragged the resistant man out of his confines and propped him up beside the podium as if he were some kind of mannequin on display.

“How the mighty have fallen! This man was once part of the ruling class. One of them. He cared nothing for any of you then and cares even less now. He can think of nothing but saving himself as he stands here before you. What say you? Should we grant him mercy?” Kieran raised a thumb out in front of him.

The scene resembled something out of the Roman Empire. A coliseum full of zealots screaming for brutality as their entertainment. The call for vengeance was so blind that nobody cared to know who the man was or what his actual crimes were. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t actually any different than any of them, That he had been stolen from his hovel in an alley, and dressed in the suit just for this purpose, wasn’t something the masses wanted to know. They claimed the man’s life without questioning who he was for even a moment. If Kieran said he was an enemy then he was an enemy.

Gretchen smiled at the vociferous demands of the faithful, gratified by how easy it was to manipulate the rabble of society. She had never considered herself superior to anyone prior to the dissolution of the civilized world. Now she knew she was. She turned her attention back to Kieran and nodded at him again, a cold smile fixed on her otherwise lovely features. Just like that she condemned the man in the suit to death.

Kieran put the choice to the crowd once more and acclamation roared with one voice. The man was forced to his knees on the cold stone steps. Tears streamed down his face in a silent plea from a man resigned to his fate in every other way. His eyes closed as the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of his head.

It was in that moment that a lone dissenter stepped forward from the crowd and raised his hands for quiet. Silence fell as the figure, dressed in an obsidian black robe with a hood that hid his face, climbed the steps toward the condemned man. Kieran Skarsgard stood frozen at the podium, astonished. The executioner turned his gun on the newcomer, but a simple wave of the hand from the hooded figure drove the assassin to his knees. Strong hands pulled the unfortunate man in the tattered suit to his feet. The man in the suit grasped his savior by the shoulders as gratitude poured from his lips. The man in the cloak leaned in close and whispered in the other man’s ear. A visible change came over the man in the suit. He straightened up, squared his shoulders, and walked down the steps toward the mob.

“Grab him! Don’t let him get away,” Gretchen screamed.

Then the man in the cloak turned on the crowd and pointed a finger at them. When he spoke, his voice resonated with such intensity and authority that he would not be denied.

“Let him without sin cast the first stone.”

And the crowd parted silently to let the man in the suit pass.

Check out all the chapters of The Mountain by Duane Deats

1. Ascent
2. Canyon
3. Resurrected
4. Precipice
5. Penitence
6. Solitude
7. Discord
8. Grapple
9. Encounter
10. Obsidian
11. Awareness
12. Blinded
13. Tempest
14. Shepherd
15. Obedience

“Did you not call upon me child?” The voice was like a multitude in one. It sounded like the entire world was speaking to her at once. “I need your help, Lord. Desperately! Forgive my unbelief, but I never expected to hear your voice.” Dinah couldn’t control the tremors that shook her from head to toe.

“I don’t measure your faith as a man would. I have heard the prayers you couldn’t speak, and know your heart.” God’s voice soothed her fear.

“Thank you Lord! I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. The Holy Spirit has called out to me on your behalf. I know that it is your cousin that you worry for. Your worry is needless.” God’s authority was absolute and evident in every syllable, yet Dinah still wanted reassurance.

“Lord, what do you mean? Nobody has seen Dylan. We have no idea where to find him or how to help him. How can you tell me not to worry?!” Dinah regretted her angry outburst the moment the words left her lips.

“You needn’t worry because I know where to find him, and how to help him, and have already done both. Trust in me and you needn’t worry ever again.” His words were not harsh but they revealed where the lack of an intentional relationship between them had left Dinah with an insecurity that could be steadied in no other way.

“I want to trust you. But I don’t even trust me.” Dinah whispered these last words, shame burning her cheeks.

“I trust you.” The Lord spoke a wholeness into Dinah with three simple words, “Now, let me show you what you cannot see.” The blaze in the center of the room was extinguished. Blackness overtook the room and Dinah covered her head, not knowing what was to come next.

“Still you cower. I will give you reason, not just to trust me, but to glorify my name.” The Lord’s voice grew in intensity with every word spoken, until it blinded Dinah and drowned out her consciousness. It was as though she dissolved into nothing and became everything all at once.

When she opened her eyes again she found herself in the middle of a marbled foyer. Sunlight streamed through high windows. The effect of dusky hues on the surrounding marble was an ethereal glow that left Dinah wondering if she was actually in heaven. As she took in her surroundings a robed figure appeared at her side. Despite his instantaneous approach, Dinah felt no fear. She could see everything as it was meant to be seen, and could immediately discern everything about her surroundings, including the robed figure’s intentions. Omniscience blossomed in her mind. It was overwhelming. Dinah gripped the sides of her head unsure her mind was built to comprehend so much at once. “This is how you were created to be. You will grow accustomed to it.” The robed figure communicated directly with her by thought. The sound that reverberated through her thoughts was richer than any voice she had ever heard. It’s beauty left her gasping for breath. “I don’t know if I can control this. It’s too much.” Dinah reached out with her mind toward the being. Toward God. She recognized from the vastness of the being’s consciousness that it could be none other than the creator. The impulse to look upon the face of God grabbed her and she turned toward Him. Knowing what she wanted, he slowly lowered his hood.

Dinah faltered as she stepped back, her hands clasped over her mouth. Shock reverberated through her soul. Tears of joy escaped her wide eyes and she shivered violently. God reached out and caught her with her father’s hands. It was her father’s face she saw. “Who were you expecting?” The familiar smirk she had grown up with tugged at the lips of the Almighty.

“Daddy?!” Dinah wasn’t sure if she spoke the word or simply thought it.

“Yes, Sweets.” The term of endearment washed over her.

“You’re God?!” Bewilderment colored her tone.

“Why would I not be? Does He not dwell within the hearts of all his disciples? Are we not all made in His image?

” The questions rang of truth that she had never really considered. She examined the curves of his face, the krinkles around his eyes, and could find nothing but her father. Even the familiar smell of his soap and aftershave filled her nostrils. Dinah threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. She had never felt such relief, or comfort, as she did in her father’s arms in that moment.

“Now, let me show you what you seek.” Her father, God, showed her an image of Dylan, kneeling next to a cross-shaped platform in the middle of a pitch black room.

Understanding exploded in Dinah’s mind. Immediately she made her way down a marble staircase toward a basement room she knew would be there. There was no way to explain how she knew, she just did. The further down she went the darker it became, until she was unable to see where to place her foot next. She knew all she needed to do was think light into existence and it would be so. In that moment, light flooded the stairwell. Shadow disappeared from in front of her and every detail was thrown into sharp relief. Dinah was astounded by the power flowing through her. She knew it was God, not her, making this possible.

“This is what it looks like when you trust me.” Her father stood right beside her, his whisper echoed down the corridor.

“Yes, Daddy,” was her response.

Dinah searched for the source of the light and was astonished by what she found. She saw the light shift with her movements and realized that the light was emanating from within her.

“Be like a light on a hill,” her father intoned, “You have taken the bowl off of your lamp stand.”

Dinah rushed down the rest of the steps and into a broad corridor. Her hands found rough concrete as she used the wall to keep her balance while she ran toward a door at the end of the hall. Its gold hardware glinted in her light. The rich mahogany seemed to soak up any not reflected. She fumbled with the handle, impatient to get it open. The door finally succumbed to her flailing and Dinah nearly fell into the room. It looked just like the vision she had been given upstairs. The cross-shaped dais stood at the far end of the room, bathed in the glow of her spirit. Tentative steps carried her forward, her breathing shallow as she drew closer to where she should find her cousin, if the rest of the vision she was shown held true.

Dinah walked around toward the head of the cross, her eyes drawn to the shadowy outline scorched into the stone. Images burst into her mind as she felt the sting of a whip across her back. When she spun around there was nobody there assaulting her. Turning back to the cross, she clasped a hand to her mouth as she realized what she was looking at. Her father appeared in that moment to wrap his arm around her waist and keep her from collapsing.

“Don’t worry, Sweets. It’s finished.” The warmth in His tone dispersed the searing pain across her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry! I don’t know how you could have taken this for me.” Her voice was a choked sob.

“How could I not? I love you.” His voice was soft as a breeze but strong as a hurricane all at once.

“I can see that now.” Dinah clung to her father for support and he smiled. “I know you can. Now your cousin needs you.” He turned her and Dylan lay on the floor at her feet.

Check out all the chapters of The Mountain by Duane Deats

1. Ascent
2. Canyon
3. Resurrected
4. Precipice
5. Penitence
6. Solitude
7. Discord
8. Grapple
9. Encounter
10. Obsidian
11. Awareness
12. Blinded
13. Tempest
14. Shepherd
15. Obedience