by Joe Derkacht
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As Sam Draper once said, I made of Ranar a cathedral world, a planetary temple entirely turned over to the occupation of worship. My hands, and those of my assistants, whether human, angelic, or Ranaran, labored to elicit both reverence and awe in the heart. Though I know intimately how that particular effect was achieved, my own response to Ranar is no different. It is why, when I am not occupied with some labor directly related to my efforts here, that I do as I understand the monks of old sometimes did: I embark upon contemplative walks, taking a single stride and pausing for long minutes to consider the divine mysteries, before beginning all over again with another stride. Ranar’s fastnesses, the long avenues through its majestic forests, lend themselves to exactly that sort of perambulation, leading ultimately to the solemn, reverent heart given up to untold depths of gratitude—always the goal of grace.
But as every citizen of Heaven knows, many expressions of worship exist. Zell’s enhancements upon the planet were never meant to make something already profound even profounder—to gild the lily, as once was said. If what I did brought reverence and awe, hers was to elicit joy and exultation. If mine brought one to one’s knees, like Jacob at Bethel, the house of God, hers caused leaping and dancing, like David before the Lord when he brought the ark of the covenant into Jerusalem.
I am always amazed at what Zell does with the miniscule, with baby roses or colorful alyssums or Sweet Williams, for instance—touches that appear like shards of light down many of Ranar’s avenues—meaning I must choose carefully those avenues I wished to tread. I cannot very well worship in solemnity and reverence at the same time I am doing cartwheels or leaps of praise.
I stood at a crossroads of Zell’s making—or of mine, depending upon one’s perspective—putting forth one foot in contemplative stride, when Leanhar appeared at my left shoulder. High overhead, Ranar’s star shone joyfully bright, while within the valleys between trees lay green, cool shadows.
As always, Leanhar waited politely. I glanced at his face to discover the reason for his sudden appearance, and saw a mixture of curiosity and expectancy. If he needed my permission to speak, my own look gave it to him.
“We have visitors.”
“All right,” I said, immediately turning in the direction of Mt. Fe, assuming they must be of some consequence above the norm. But Leanhar neither turned with me nor took a step toward the place of Ranar’s throne. Instead, he looked up in greeting, as angels descended upon us from above like a flock of birds coming to roost.
Every one of them was familiar to me, having spent long decades or even centuries in Ranar’s conversion, so I knew they weren’t our visitors. I looked to Leanhar for an answer. The angels stared curiously, with that intensity rivaled by few other creatures in the universe. It’s a look that can’t be mistaken for anything else, among angels. I could hardly accept it, but I saw agitation in their demeanor and their very stance, like so many cats on a hot tin roof, though perhaps theirs was more anticipation and eagerness than anything else.
“That direction,” Leanhar said, pointing a hand toward the west. “About sixty miles. Your earthly father and uncle have arrived.”
I know I stared at Leanhar for a few long moments. Regardless of what Nick and Erke had been to me in the old life, regardless of earthly family ties, our general protocols, the polite thing, if nothing else, would have been for them to call upon me, the Steward of Ranar, at Mt. Fe. Since they hadn’t done that, and I’d been given no prior warning, how could I not attach some unusual significance to their visit?
I don’t think Leanhar or any of the angels present communicated to me what I was seeing in the spirit. It came much more as a flash across my memory—an ancient recollection of something from the old life. Two men standing in primeval forest, their countenances godlike as their eyes surveyed the surrounding trees. Two men with axes. The branches of the trees quivering, as if in fearful anticipation.
Leanhar need say no more. We headed in the direction he indicated, toward Ranar’s most ancient stands of trees, as hallowed a ground as any except for Mt. Fe’s throne. To myself, I smiled secretly. Without their saying it, I knew the angels expected me to run pell-mell to our destination or even to fly. Instead, their eyes flitting questioningly in my direction, I walked slowly and deliberately. I would prove I could keep my own counsel, and at the same time I would take this opportunity, fully escorted by the angel cohort, to more fully appreciate Zell’s genius touches. Indeed, the avenue we took bore her handiwork upon Ranar significantly more than any other, making it doubly difficult to restrain my own curiosity and sense of urgency.
It was, in fact, impossible not to wonder about my father and uncle and at the same time think of the ancient memory that came to me. Were the two actually connected? Had I really dreamed of events more than 10,000 years in my future? Would God, would the Spirit, have actually foreshadowed this day so long ago? It didn’t seem possible, or reasonable. Yet, here I was Steward of Ranar, a world I sometimes “idly” thought of in the old life, perhaps even dreamed of, walking toward a destination that might also hold a moment of God-foreordained destiny.
Leanhar and I exchanged glances. When the other angels saw I was determined to absorb myself in the moment, one-by-one they begged release of me, nodded courteously to the two of us and, too eager to restrain themselves, departed in haste.
For my own part, I saw no reason to be in haste. Whatever the rationale for their visit, Nick and Erke would not be offended at a little delay. As immortals unaffected by the passage of time, we do not worry or fret about waiting. Neither would they do anything without me—not on Ranar—not without my permission. Not even the cherub would have done anything on Ranar without first acknowledging my stewardship.
Deserted by the escort, Leanhar and I continued on alone. Even Cielo and his numerous companions seemed to avoid us this day, neither accompanying us upon our journey or in song, though they might very well have matched our progress from afar, flying just out of sight. As for Ranar’s other creatures, they too were conspicuously absent. Except for a few of the planet’s beautiful and beneficial insects (all of them are beneficial and at least interesting, if not beautiful), one might have thought Ranar uninhabited. Had all gathered with the angels in attendance upon Nick and Erke, too?
Sixty miles on foot afforded me ample time to consider what I would do upon our meeting. Sixty miles of a subtly, ever increasing display of genius also afforded me more than enough time to develop an inner sense of exuberance nearly impossible to contain. Within a couple of miles of our destination, I was shouting and singing, perhaps loudly enough to be heard all the way to Brontonella’s abode. Leanhar exulted, too, and brimmed with joy at my exultant leaps and cartwheels. Ranar was and is truly a place of worship and praise—if not exactly the same as the New Earth, at least close relative to it.
Thousands of Ranar’s creatures awaited us—even tens of thousands. On the ground and in the sky, they milled and wheeled about in their glorious rivers of color and cried in their various languages as if in excited anticipation.
Except for the fact they are spirit, I think our attending angels would have been stepping on each other. All parted, both ministering spirits and creatures of flesh, as Leanhar and I approached, the animals bowing and scraping in obeisance and the birds alighting silently in the branches above our heads.
Nick and Erke smiled gravely at our arrival. No doubt Leanhar and I smiled gravely in return.
“Steward of Ranar,” they spoke in unison, nodding courteously. I glanced around, searching for some sign of my ancient dream. Here were the trees, and certainly here were men to match those I’d seen. But neither of them carried an axe. Unless their axes were concealed behind a tree— which was unlikely, because by the Spirit I can see through any tree I wish. Their axes could be hidden in their robes, though, just as any number of implements or other items might be concealed within my own.
As
I thought these thoughts, my father reached inside his robe and handed over a message addressed to me. I read it aloud for all to hear.
MEMO
ADDRESSEE
Steward John Raventhorst
Order of the Overcomers
Member, Whitestone Holders
Pergamum Branch
ADDRESS
Ranar, Northern Outer Trench, Sombrero Galaxy
SUBJECT
Harvest
ORDERS
Please allow the harvest of trees selected
by the bearer of this message, trees to
be transported to earth for Our use.
His Majesty, etc.
I looked up. My earthly father’s eyes met mine. I smiled at last and he smiled in return, as if greatly relieved.
I said: “I think a space of about three hundred yards in diameter, starting from where we stand.”
Around me I heard a sudden buzz, a commotion of angels and of animals.
“You’re not surprised, Steward John?” Leanhar formally addressed me.
“Surprised that this place of worship, this hallowed ground, this land labored over for thousands of years to the glory of His Majesty, is to be harvested to His glory?”
I shook my head in denial. But I think the angels, as well as my father and my uncle, had difficulty believing me.
Tears coursed down my cheeks.
“I’ve waited more than 10,000 years for this. How could I be disappointed? I dreamed of this very moment while I was still in the old life. God told me of it before the rebirth of our universe.”
Angels and men were astonished, perhaps Leanhar more than any of them.
“Besides,” I said, “if a cross of wood in the old world could bring glory to God, why not Fair Ranar’s humble redwoods?”
No one seemed to have an answer.
“Where are your axes?” I asked.
Nick and Erke smiled. Light seemed to leap joyfully from their eyes. From inside their robes, they took out axes, their enormous blades shining like molten silver, with handles as satiny and creamy-white as the Louisville sluggers of my youth.
At sight of those blades, our accompanying angels bolted into the sky like frightened birds. Waves of the avian escort followed suit, thunderously winging up and away from us, with Ranar’s sun glancing brilliantly off their metallic pinions. On the ground, the animals, led by the centii and millii, wheeled from sight in mere moments, scattering down every nearest avenue through the trees.
Nick and Erke roared with sudden laughter, their eyes once again flashing with joy. As they began to wield their axes, Leanhar and I rose quietly into the air and soon floated above the tallest of the trees.
“Do you wish to watch?” Leanhar asked.
I shook my head. On old earth, no man would ever have dreamed of felling giants like these with mere axes. But my father and my uncle were not ordinary men, nor did they wield ordinary axes. Because of my own labors upon Ranar and the tools available to me, whether the power of faith or actual physical implements, I knew axes were all they needed. At day’s end or at the end of many days, certainly they would know they had worked—but the trees, regardless of size, would still be down.
Working from opposite sides of a single giant specimen, Nick and Erke swung hard, straight and true, the noise of their blows reaching my ears simultaneously, like the report of a single cannon shot. Its fate sealed, the tree shivered from root to crown. I recoiled but quickly recovered. The strike of dolorous blow after dolorous blow, in this sacred and holy place, would have seemed egregious sacrilege, except that the Lord of the sacred and holy had Himself ordained the work. If the tree they belabored had been sentient (like some trees on other worlds), it would have rejoiced with loud praises and the clapping of hands to be so used.
Leanhar and I turned toward Ranar’s throne.
“Do you want Zell?” He asked me.
“Good idea,” I said. “What do you think she’ll suggest, maybe a continuous blanket of wildflowers?”
His gaze seemed focused on the future. “Perhaps tulips. I see a vast field of tulips in my mind’s eye—” He turned to me with a speculative look.
“You know what this is all about, don’t you? If long ago you dreamed about this day, then maybe you dreamed more—?”
“Don’t you think the Steward of Ranar should have a few secrets of his own?” I asked.
Tulips have always been my favorite flowers. What better flower to greet our visitors upon their landing? Interplanting with lavender or mint or lemon verbena might be nice, too, tulips of themselves having little fragrance, as they lay crushed beneath the weight of a— starship?