A snarl of utter rage erupted in the air. You deceived me! What is the meaning of this?
The bag was flung into the air in disgust. It flew toward Faluri’s outstretched hand. Hungali’s aim was wrong, for the bag clattered onto the stone walkway at Faluri’s feet, the white leaf and the scarlet skein of yarn erupting from their cloth enclosure.
Suddenly, the overpowering scent that Faluri knew so well filled the air. She gasped as a Talmun tree appeared where the leaf had fallen, a squat object from which dazzling light poured forth. The tree’s golden branches swayed, and its dazzlingly white leaves glimmered.
Hungali’s laughter was horrible to hear. You think a mere tree will stop me?
Another massive tree, this one the size of a great oak, burst from the chasm’s depths, its towering branches a garish black. The tree bent forward, the snake-like branches wrapping themselves around the smaller Talmun tree. The small trunk snapped, the deafening pop resembling the sound of a breaking back, and the Talmun tree hurtled into the chasm’s depths.
Your games bore me.
As these words rumbled around her, Faluri’s attention was arrested by the glimmering scarlet yarn that still lay on the stone walkway. The skein was unraveling by itself, the glimmering thread stretching until it reached the lip of the chasm. The yarn continued to unwind, stretching until a thin rivulet of scarlet spanned the infinite divide. Faluri realized she was staring at a bridge.
I see. Yet another tiresome tactic. Hungali rose upward, suddenly transforming into the handsomest man Faluri had ever seen. His jet-black hair billowed around him like a cape, and his fathomless eyes shone with triumph. Calmly, he reached out a hand, clutching the thin rope bridge. In an almost human voice, he said, “I will break this as I destroyed that useless tree.”
Hungali’s boasts were futile, for the harder he pulled at the scarlet thread, the weaker he seemed to become. Faluri saw him shake with exertion.
“Hungali.” A voice shattered the stillness, and the scarlet thread seemed to move. Faluri saw a form in the distance, a man walking toward her with measured strides. “Your day of reckoning has come.”
That voice! That compassionate, powerful voice! Faluri gasped in shock as she beheld Randolf’s approaching form. He walked upon the glimmering bridge, his scarred hands held out in front of him. His face shone with a translucent light.
Hungali lunged toward Randolf, his face contorted with rage. The man’s form dwindled before Faluri’s eyes, and the powerful breeze pushed against Randolf’s advancing figure, repeatedly attempting to hurl him yet again into the cavernous depths.
It is not possible! You were crushed.
“Faluri, come to me.” Randolf continued crossing the bridge, heedless of Hungali’s rants.
Yes, Faluri. Go to him. Step upon this futile bridge. It will not bear a mortal’s weight. When you fall, I shall be waiting to catch you. You shall melt into my embrace, and we shall become one. Hungali’s jeers pummeled Faluri’s stomach, and her heart quaked with fear.
“I will enable you to cross, Faluri. Do not be afraid. King Ellumi raised me back to life. I died for you, my sister, and a life freely given will bring death to ruin. I asked King Elumi to help me rescue our land, and he chose you to be the first to cross the chasm to his domain. Did King Elumi not give you sustenance in the canama fields? Did he not transport you here? Did not his branches weaken Hungali’s power?”
Faluri stared, seeing within Randolf all the things that he was: a loving brother, a devoted friend, and a bridge builder. Shaking, she took her first tentative step toward the gaping chasm. In her ears, she heard Hungali’s laughter. When she stepped onto the bridge, she felt it sway and give. The breeze grew so furious that she heard as if in a recurring nightmare the walkway begin to collapse yet again. The bridge groaned as it swayed to and fro. A scream erupted from her throat.
“The bridge will not collapse, Faluri. Trust me.”
Her heart in her mouth, Faluri took another step forward, her right hand extended. Warm fingers closed over her own, and she and Randolf began to walk forward together. The bridge continued to sway and shake violently, but Faluri clung to her brother’s strong hand.
As they reached the other side, they stepped from the bridge onto a snowcapped mountain peak. Instantly, the bridge ceased shaking, and in the distance, Faluri saw a towering Talmun tree burst from the chasm’s depths. She saw now why the Talmun monks reverenced the trees.
As the tree emerged, Hungali was thrown back into the chasm. A low rumble emerged from the chasm’s depths as the ground closed with a thunderous roar. The chasm had closed forever. Hungali’s screams were abruptly silenced.
Faluri flung herself into Randolf’s embrace. Brother and sister twirled round and round, and Faluri saw a dazzling sight. Vast canama fields stretched before her, the pure snow blanketing them in a profusion of downy white. The air was crisp and caressing, and the scents of cinnamon, cloves, and other unidentifiable spices tickled her nostrils.
This beauty was unsurpassed, but as Faluri stared, she glimpsed a sight more wondrous than any landscape. People worked in the fields side by side. No overseers plied their whips. People of every color and class were united here. In the distance, she saw two figures, a petite woman and a muscular man. Both of them sported pointed ears, and their faces were a mirror image of her own.
Suddenly, Faluri was running, her pace as swift as a mountain gazelle’s. As she ran, the two figures ran as well, their eyes shining. Daughter, father, and mother met in a blinding collision, their tears of joy mingling together as they embraced.
Then King Elumi was there, enfolding the family into his arms and gently wiping the tears from their eyes. Faluri saw within his kind visage a shadow of the sweet-sellers smile. But it was merely a shadow of all of the things King Elumi was.
“Welcome to Afendia,” he said, his voice like the rushing of many waters. “Welcome home.”
Two days later, a brother and sister descended a vast mountain. They trod upon a walkway of scarlet stone, which was skirted by two Talmun trees. The trees stood like strong, silent sentries.
The brother and sister journeyed to a valley in search of willing pilgrims, travelers who would accompany them to a new home, a land of perpetual joy. The Chasm Crossers would make many journeys of this kind, and all would be well. The prophecy had been fulfilled. An adopted girl from the Pacmana race had called forth the King’s wondrous grace.
Dedication
With inexpressible thanksgiving to my Savior, Jesus Christ, who enables me to journey
through this often-treacherous world and who provides
safe passage to uncharted lands.
In memory of Stella Readus, a courageous, funny, and life-loving warrior.
She is a friend whom I deeply miss,
but I know she is experiencing adventures that are unforgettable.
Chapter One
“You must listen carefully, my princess.”
Bianca stared into the earnest blue eyes of the man she so rarely saw. Father was often away from the plantation, and his visits to her were welcome. He smiled upon her tenderly. “Will you listen for me once again?”
Bianca swallowed nervously. “Sometimes, I cannot hear the singing, Father,” she said softly.
Simon Reginald nodded. He was willing to wait. The girl was always anxious to help, and she rarely disappointed him. He perused his daughter’s innocent face: the skin of pristine snow, the ebony hair, and the ruby-red lips. Bianca was twelve now. How quickly time marched along! He smiled at his daughter.
“There is no hurry,” he said. “Let this just be a day for us to spend together. I brought your favorite.” He gestured to a picnic basket.
Bianca’s eyes widened at the sight of such a large basket. “Ham and cheese sandwiches?” she asked.
Father grinned. “Naturally. And potato pancakes with apple butter.”
Bianca’s stomach rumbled with hunger. She leaned back on the cushioned seat of the carriage and rela
xed. Father and daughter rode along in companionable silence.
Finally, Bianca asked, “How is Edward? Is he any better?”
“His illness vanishes for a time and then returns. Gloria is beside herself with worry.”
Bianca nodded. Like her stepmother, she too worried constantly. Images of Stepbrother filled Bianca’s mind, his wan face and pleading eyes. She often brought him treats from the kitchen. Once she had brought him a bouquet of wildflowers to brighten his nursery. He had smiled at her.
“I want to go outside like you,” he had said hopefully. “Will you take me?”
Bianca had nodded. She would have taken him immediately, but the physicians were quite adamant that he needed to stay confined. The name of Edward’s illness was unknown, and they feared that his sickness could worsen at the least provocation.
“I’ll take you outside someday soon,” she said emphatically. “I promise.” She had hugged him tightly, feeling his frail body and fevered skin.
Bianca hung her head. What good was her promise if she couldn’t even give Edward what he needed most? “I have tried, Father. I promise I have.” Guilt slunk from its den, patting Bianca’s shoulder in reprimand. She swallowed. “I will listen harder.”
“That is all I ask,” Father said gently. “That you try.” He motioned for the driver to stop the carriage.
Simon reached for Bianca’s hand and helped her down from the conveyance. “Isaac, look after the horses,” he instructed, gesturing to the driver. The man nodded stiffly, his black-velvet skin shining with sweat.
Simon turned to Bianca. “Come. We’ll eat first. You need strength for what’s ahead.”
Bianca surveyed the meadow in which they stood. Spring wore her garments in abundant array. Veriana was lovely in springtime. Bianca relished the rare occasions when she was allowed to leave the plantation.
She watched as Father spread a blanket on the ground and arranged their picnic. In addition to the sandwiches, there were dressed eggs and a jar of pickles. Bianca’s attention was arrested by a small jar that she knew contained apple butter. She had helped the slaves to make the spread.
Father did not know that, of course. He would have been very angry, as she was forbidden to socialize with them.
But the days were long, and time always stretched before her like an unraveling skein of yarn. Bianca remembered how Priscilla had told her to go back inside. But the work had been fun! Her arms had moved rhythmically as she stirred the boiling apple and sugar mixture again and again until it was the perfect consistency. The work had been tiring, and she had sweated profusely, but the sense of accomplishment had been worth the fatigue. Apple butter was her favorite preserve, perhaps because she knew it was Father’s favorite as well.
Bianca began to eat. She drank a concoction called dandy fizz, a drink that fairly danced in her cup and laughed as it slid silkily down her throat. “Thank you for summoning me today, Father,” she said.
Father smiled. “I know how you enjoy our times together,” he said.
Bianca nodded earnestly. “I miss you when you are—”
PLINK! PLINK! CHING! CHING! CHING!
Bianca’s hands grew limp as her stomach plummeted. No! Not this soon! Her day with Father had barely begun!
The music swelled around her, a cacophonous refrain. The treasure was alive, and it called to her with supplication. Come. We are here! Bianca shuddered as the entreaty took hold of her in waves.
She had first heard the earth speak when she was nine. The gift of hearing the earth was uncommon, and Bianca knew of no one else who possessed it. Lately, the gift had seemed more like a curse.
Simon was instantly alert. Bianca’s face had grown even whiter, and sweat covered her brow. “Child,” he said urgently, grabbing the girl’s arm. “You hear it, don’t you? Where is it?”
Bianca was silent, and Simon shook her arm impatiently. “I must know! Tell me!”
With trembling hands, Bianca pointed to her left. “The Hart’s Tears lie to the west,” she whispered.
Father smiled and enfolded the trembling girl into his arms. “Well done,” he said.
Bianca managed to nod in weak gratitude for the praise before she fell into unconsciousness.
Chapter Two
Gloria Reginald knelt beside the canopied bed. Her bejeweled fingers caressed her young son’s forehead. He burns, she thought wildly.
Edward was three summers old, and he was never well. Occasionally, the fever would abate, for Simon procured many medicines. But the illness would always return.
Gloria lowered her head to the mattress, allowing her tears to flow. Edward’s birth had been so complicated, the labor so strenuous that the physicians had said Gloria could bear no more children. Edward was her only joy and her only offering to her husband.
Gloria rose to her feet. She ran a hand through her chestnut hair, making certain the ornamented combs were still in their appropriate places. She would not appear bedraggled and homely. Appearances mattered. She approached her vanity table and retrieved the heart-shaped mirror that sat atop it. She gazed upon herself, the crimson frock with the multitudes of ribbons threaded through the bodice, the glinting bejeweled combs that caused her to shine. She sighed with relief. Cosmetics would conceal the lines of fatigue etched onto her face. Perhaps Simon would—
“Mistress!”
The chamber door burst open, and Gloria turned, gasping as the slave woman entered. The woman’s ebony skin was streaked with perspiration, and she was shaking. Her scarred left cheek stood out garishly. “I apologize for disturbing you, Mistress. It is Bianca. She is ill.”
Gloria placed her mirror on the vanity and bestowed upon the slave a look of weary indifference. “What is the meaning of this disturbance?” she asked impassively.
She only hoped her voice would not betray the surge of molten anger that coursed through her veins. The nerve of him! After she had pleaded with Simon not to summon—
She lowered her gaze from the slave woman’s earnest eyes so that she might regain her composure. Finally, she said, “You have no right to be here. The child is my responsibility, not yours.”
“Please, Mistress. I know I speak out of turn, but she is growing worse. Please, might you speak with Master Simon again? He is hurting her beyond bearing. When he brought her back today, she was only just beginning to awaken from a faint. She’s never fainted before. He is only using her—”
“Enough!” Gloria approached the woman, her satin dress flowing around her like a river. Her every movement resembled a swan’s graceful flight. “It is not your place to question your master’s wishes, slave. What is your name once again?”
“Priscilla, Mistress,” the slave woman said.
“Well, Priscilla, I will speak to Bianca myself. Go now.”
Priscilla nodded gratefully. “Thank you, mistress,” she said. She quickly left the room.
Gloria sank into an armchair before her vanity. Bianca always got in the way of her life. Gloria had been married to Simon for four years now. Bianca was a nuisance, a constant reminder of Gloria’s own failings. She gave resources to her father that he desperately needed, and Gloria could give Simon so little. Well, she would talk to the girl tomorrow. She would set things right.
A knock sounded on the chamber door. Certain knocks are so familiar that the person is known immediately. “Enter, Simon,” Gloria said eagerly.
Simon glided into the room, his eyes alight. “I know where more jewels lie,” he said. He approached the canopied bed and gazed down at his sleeping son. “His cheeks are flushed,” he said. “Have you summoned the physician?”
Gloria shook her head. “His remedies are paltry,” she said, approaching the bed as well. “Simon, I don’t think the cures will ever—”
She stopped as she beheld his face. His smile had vanished completely. Gloria swallowed nervously. “I mean, the medicines seem to help Edward only for short periods of time. What if one day they no longer work at all?”
“I do not need you to lecture me,” Simon said. “Do you not think I consider every possibility? Edward is my only son, the only child you were able to give me. I will do everything I can to keep him alive.” He reached for Gloria’s hand and drew her closer to him. “Do you doubt me, my treasure?”
Gloria’s heart quailed as Simon’s words invaded her mind. He did not mean to remind her of her inadequacies, of course, but he spoke truthfully. Edward caused Simon great worry, and his mysterious illness, which the physicians could not diagnose, was a financial burden.
Gloria could only blame herself for Edward’s illness. She had given him life, after all, and he was always so near to death. But Simon must not become angry. He would go away again, and he rarely came to her as it was.
Gloria quickly shook her head. “Of course I don’t doubt you, Simon. I just—It’s just—Priscilla came to see me today.” The final words emerged in a rush.
“What have I told you about problems concerning the slaves? I will deal with them myself,” Simon said sharply.
“She said Bianca grows weaker and weaker each time you summon her. She said you brought her back today, and she was only beginning to awaken from a fainting spell. She’s never fainted before. Simon, surely there must be some other way to find the jewels.”
Simon thrust Gloria from him. “And why should a slave concern herself with my daughter?” he snapped. “I told you to make certain she does not associate with them! And there is no other way of making Edward well,” he said. “She has the gift of hearing where the resources of our land lie. You know how badly the cotton crop suffered this year because of the boll weevils. I have to have means to obtain his medicine. Different remedies require more expensive ingredients. I am doing what is necessary to help him.”
He turned to leave. “I came to deliver good tidings, but if you only want to complain—”
“No, Simon. Please stay.” Gloria seldom resorted to begging, but he had not come to her in so long. She desperately needed his company. “I understand why you seek the jewels the land gives,” she said. “I love Edward too. I’ll try to make Bianca see reason. She’s just so willful. Please, I’m trying my best.”
Blind Beauty and Other Tales of Redemption Page 9