The Redmadafa

by Gary Foshee

  Shivers raced up his legs causing him to shake with chil s.

  A small fluffy cotton-puff, with long stringy fibers blossomed

  wide, floated by. It whipped and twirled in the wind resting

  shortly on the ground beneath his feet before taking flight again and floating away. He looked at his hands and then down at his

  feet. Red volcanic dirt packed hard around his nails irritating

  him. He dug at them for a moment and then nudged Urium in

  his side.

  “Hey. Does it real y never rain here? I miss the rain. It nour-

  ishes my skin and tickles when it runs down my bel y.”

  Urium remained quiet. He searched through the orders in

  his head and took out a skin of water. He took a drink and then

  passed it over.

  “No, it never does. Not since Slithler laid claim to this land…

  and not since—” he looked up to the sky, “We angels aren’t sup-

  posed to speak of this.”

  Caboose turned his head and listened with interest. “Speak

  of what?”

  “Let me share with you a story, a story that has been kept

  secret amongst the angels for a long time.”

  Caboose adjusted himself on the ground. He loved listen-

  ing to Urium’s stories—except for the last one. He still didn’t

  understand why The Augur would cause him, or anyone for that

  matter, to be born different knowing it would bring them to the

  valley. But the cold hard truth that no one wants to accept is that 191

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  he does. The Augur allows trials, difficulties, misfortunes, sickness, disease, and deformities, or what others refer to as, “Divine Interventions” to take place for many reasons. Sometimes they

  are a result of disobedience. Sometimes they are lessons to help us to become mature and complete so we will not lack anything.

  Sometimes they seem to come for no good reason at all—but then

  pan out somewhere in the future after you’ve grumbled about it

  for years. Most of the time though, they are so the works of The Augur can be revealed. But there is one thing that is for certain.

  One thing that is undeniable. The Augur made everything and

  everyone for a purpose—this he has made clear. He made every-

  one to Go and Do Great Things.

  Urium continued. “We are not to speak of this, especial y

  with those here on earth, but somehow, I know I’m supposed to

  teach it to you—I think The Augur is about to do something new,

  something that has never been seen or heard of before. It’s the

  story of The Rainmaker.”

  “The Rainmaker. Is that a person ‘kind of like The Wind

  Whistler?”

  “Kind of.” Urium took the skin of water back from Caboose,

  took another swig and laid it down.

  The Rainmaker

  “Long ago when His Majesty created all things he cre-

  ated the angels; one of them was Fedila. She was an angel

  and used to be like the rest of us. Fedila was assigned

  the responsibility of circling the earth, day and night to

  provide nutrient-rich pellets of rain upon the land—thus

  we called her ‘The Rainmaker.’ She faithful y flew around

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  the earth nourishing plants and trees, man and beast,

  and every living thing that creeps about, with her suc-

  culent vitamin enriched drops-of-life. Trees grew so tall

  their heads stretched into the heavens and drank directly

  from the clouds. Flowers bloomed by the millions and

  displayed spectacular assortments of colors and pat-

  terns—their sweet delicious nectar accumulated in vast

  amounts as honey buzzers stockpiled huge hives, hives

  the size of a thunder beast, of large honeycomb reserves.

  Plants thrived abundantly with columns of sunlight

  and moist morning drops of dew bubbling on top of

  their leafy boughs—the drops rolled down contoured

  groves feeding dark red soil which incubated their roots

  keeping them warm, safe, and secure. The fields of man

  gently rolled across the plains and disappeared into the

  horizon. They stretched for miles and rippled of thick

  grain, ripe for harvest. Heavy heads of grain, loaded with

  little golden nuggets-of-life, bobbed repeatedly every

  time she flew by singing to her like baby birds singing

  to their mother for food. High above the prairies, you

  could see her footprints treading across the long, dark

  green sea of grass carpeting the plains; feather, spear,

  steppe, fescues, buffalo and rye grass was so thick and

  green, people thought it had been hand painted by His

  Majesty himself—each blade was a shade different, no

  two were alike.”

  Caboose moved his tongue around in his mouth oozing

  saliva down his throat. It was as if he could taste each blade. He pictured himself there, rolling in the lush green banquet, his

  mouth and bel y stuffed with the delicious blades.

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  “Late one afternoon, just before sunset, she innocently

  strolled through the deep green grass on the open prai-

  rie. Off in the distance she heard the sound of music and

  felt the vibrations of drums pass through her. She fol-

  lowed the sound to a Tamarisk Tree, perched on a steep

  embankment overlooking a small stream below. At its

  bottom, circling a large horned fire clawing the dusky

  sky, the Icha Tribe danced and chanted long into the

  night. King Ichabod, their king, sat on a chair of bones

  watching the ceremony. Their faces streaked of paint and

  their bodies shown of nakedness, except for small bands

  of animal hide placed in discreet areas.

  She watched quietly from her perch above, mesmer-

  ized by the enthralling ritual. Dangling brightly from

  their ears were shiny purple sapphires, chiseled into

  small arrowheads. Colorful beads of pearls circled their

  necks and large bands of Aztec gold, inlaid with purple

  and green rubies, wrapped wide around their heads,

  arms, and ankles.

  Her lungs skipped. Her eyes sparkled. Her mind

  flooded with envy. And her heart… filled lustful y with

  desire. She flew to the other side of the earth trying to

  elude the dazzling temptation. She tried to suppress the

  feelings burning within. She even bypassed the plains for

  months trying to curve the lust swelling inside. But she

  didn’t realize that, on the cliff, high above the fire that

  night, Mageddon was there. He studied her from a dis-

  tance. He saw desire seize her heart and wonder fill her

  eyes. This was the opportunity he had waited for.”

  “Was this before he lost his place of authority?” asked

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  Caboose, engulfed in the story. He shifted his bottom around,

  leaned forward and waited for more.

  “Yes,” answered Urium. “Unbeknownst to anyone,

  Mageddon had been traveling throughout the earth for a

  long time. He flew back and forth from the Holy Mount

  trading with the kings of the earth, especial y King

  Ichabod who owned the prairies. Mageddon became

  very successful in his widespread trade and hi
s heart

  swelled with pride on account of his wealth and fame.

  It didn’t take long for greed to seize control causing him

  to lust for more. He became so powerful and controlled

  such vast amounts of wealth he discovered he could con-

  trol and manipulate the markets.

  He first lowered prices and drove his competitors

  out of business. Then he raised prices and proclaimed

  himself a god—the people groaned in misery as infla-

  tion soared high causing many to lose the small plots of

  land they owned. Countless became destitute, poor, and

  homeless. Starvation, crime, and murder ran rampant.

  Man and beast struggled just to find a few scraps to feed

  the hunger bugs revolting madly inside. But, Mageddon

  had underestimated the power of the kings. They rallied

  together and refused to trade with him ever again. They

  levied an embargo against all his goods and posted port

  sentries at sea ports to monitor all freights inbound.

  Furious, Mageddon went to The Rainmaker and

  enticed her to make a pact with him. He promised her

  if she would withhold rain from the king’s fields he

  would share his spoils with her. Mageddon wooed her

  day and night with his looted riches. He lavished her

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  with diamond rings, pearl necklaces, ruby bracelets, all

  kinds of precious jewels. He clothed her with silk dresses

  trimmed in fine gold. He colored her face with exotic

  paint and gave her an endless supply of oils and creams

  making her skin silky smooth. Baths of floral and spiced

  fragrance were prepared for her—she soaked for hours

  as young maidens washed her, causing her body to radi-

  ate with intoxicating smel s of enticement.

  But she still remained loyal to His Majesty and car-

  ried out her mission. So Mageddon pulled his last and

  greatest trick on her; he supplied her with an abundance

  of Thunder Juice—the very thing King Ichabod loved

  so much himself. Intoxicated and blinded with lust,

  her heart turned from His Majesty and she worshipped

  Mageddon alone.”

  Thunder juice, thought Caboose. I don’t understand why

  everyone loves it so much. The circle would be a lot better place without it.

  “First Mageddon made her withhold rain from the king’s

  fields—fields slowly dried and withered away, scorched

  by the powerful rays from the sun. Then he made her

  opened the floodgates of the heavens—crops and land

  washed away, others rotted in the plot they were planted.

  It wasn’t long until the kings of the earth bowed low to

  Mageddon’s power. With the Rainmaker on his side,

  they could no longer withstand the floods nor could

  they stand by and watch their people waste away from

  drought and famine.”

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  “What happened to her? Is she still following Mageddon?”

  asked Caboose. He arched his back and yawned.

  Urium stood up and walked over to the ledge. He looked

  down through the columns methodical y spread abroad.

  “When His Majesty found out what had happened he

  stripped her of her power and cast her to the plains-peo-

  ple she lusted after. Mageddon abandoned her and now

  she is the mother of prostitutes and an abomination on

  the earth. The kings committed adultery with her, and

  the juice of her adulteries intoxicated the people of the

  earth. This valley, the valley of bones and all that you see

  here, this used to be the prairie—King Ichabod’s land.

  He’s still alive…” said Urium. “He lives inside of Lucky.”

  “Lucky? But wasn’t that years ago? How could he still be

  alive?” asked Caboose.

  “King Ichabod was one of the most powerful kings in the

  world. But, just like Mageddon, his wealth and fame corrupted

  him causing him to lust for more. Mageddon promised him

  immortality if he would sell him his soul. Fueled by thunder

  juice, he sold his soul and became that which he hid inside—his

  true identity—a weak, insecure, fearful little man, afraid to stand up for what was right.”

  Lucky, thought Caboose. He didn’t say anything. He sat there

  running Urium’s words over and over in his mind. This story,

  and the others he told, were all starting to fit together like one giant puzzle. But a few pieces still remained. And he wondered…

  which part of the puzzle was he?

  Urium walked over and sat back down. He stretched his

  wings and leaned his head up against the wal . “Posers…” He

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  said. “Many powerful men are nothing but posers. They’re like

  white-washed tombs. They look good on the outside, but inside,

  they are filled with death. Countless men and women appear to

  do great things, and the world tel s them that they have done

  great things, but all their achievements are meaningless. They lie, cheat, and steal their way to the top, and all for what? So, they can make the scared little child hiding inside feel better. They are evil. They have eyes full of adultery and work only to benefit themselves. They carve their names into history by the blood of

  workers they failed to pay a decent wage too. You see, unless The Augur builds the house, its workers labor in vain. A day is coming, when the fire will test all things; the day when the dross will be removed. Then the truth will rise. Then a man’s work will be

  shown for what it real y is. Then the secrets of the heart will be laid bare and the true man will be revealed.”

  Urium’s eyes closed as his lips mumbled. “Wisdom…better

  than gold…better…” he yawned… “Than gold.”

  Early the next morning, Urium stood at the entrance looking out

  over the land. Dark-clad shadows frolicked along the ridges in

  the distance. An eerie feeling tossed in his stomach, giving him a stomachache. It was symbolic of what was to follow. Urium had

  never been to Dead Man’s Drop before. But he had heard tales

  from others and they weren’t good.

  Caboose lay on the ground curled up in a bal , still asleep

  a few feet behind him. Urium watched him for a moment and

  wondered what kind of plans The Augur had for him. Whatever

  it was, it would be the best thing that could ever happen in his life—greater than anyone could imagine. It was that way for

  everyone. Once a person rejects the broad path in life and ven-

  tures down the narrow, he or she finds a life and purpose that

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  surpasses any dream or desire they could have ever possessed.

  It is then, and only then, that they find the true meaning of life.

  Urium walked over, reached down and shook Caboose.

  “Caboose, we better get started.”

  Caboose yawned and stretched. “What time is it?”

  “Time to get going,” said Urium. “We need to reach the

  Drop before a quarter till noon.” Urium collected his things and strapped his sword to his side.

  Caboose sat up and shivered slightly. The scent of wet dirt

  filled the air. “It’s cold, has the weather changed?”

  “A front moved in last night. It seems to be trapped in the

 
; canyon,” replied Urium.

  During the night, a small Southern gale blew in lowering

  the temperature several degrees, which was unusual for the val-

  ley. It had also created a low-hanging fog that hovered over the entrance to the Drop, making visibility dim.

  Urium started down the ledge face. Caboose gave one last

  sweeping look out across the land and then numbly trailed

  Urium back down the rocky path. He thought about the story of

  The Rainmaker, Lucky, and The Scorpion Pass gate. How did all

  this tie in with why The Augur had formed him with a short leg

  and his purpose for bringing him to the valley? Urium’s stories

  were beginning to stalk him, like a pestilence in the darkness. He felt caught in a web—a web of deception.

  Back on the valley floor a strange looking bug walked in

  front of him. He stopped and watched it crawl across the path.

  “Hey Urium, look at this.”

  Urium stopped and walked back. He bent down to the

  ground and let the bug crawl up his hand; it edged up his hand

  and then his arm. Urium laid his other hand on his arm and the

  colorful creature crawled on to it. “Beautiful isn’t it.”

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  “What is it?”

  “It’s a Click Beetle.” Urium lowered his hand. The beetle

  crawled back to the ground.

  “Click Beetle,” said Caboose, remembering the click he heard right before he fell down the trap door in the Titan. “Why is it called that?”

  “It has a small spine on its bel y. When in danger it moves it

  into a special notch and bounces itself to safety making a loud

  ‘clicking’ sound.”

  Click, Click, Click, Click, Click, Click…The beetle disap-

  peared quickly across the rocks. Caboose flinched and moved his

  neck in all directions. “I don’t like.”

  “You don’t like what?”

  “The beetle; I don’t like it.”

  Urium laughed and shook his head. “Now why would you

  say that? It didn’t do anything to you.”

  “I don’t care,” responded Caboose. “I don’t like it.”

  Dark figures crept back into holes and narrow crags as they

  walked under the arches and down the path smelling of a pungent

  cocktail of tang and death. Caboose noticed something strange

  about the entrance. The wind did not pass through like a nor-

  mal airstream should. Instead, it pulsed, liked being inhaled and exhaled. Obscuring the horizon, large jagged-tooth overhangs