Harry closed his eyes. Pain and anger mixed in a frothing brew. His best friend and his dog were probably wounded, had to be wounded—that blast probably shredded them, and if they weren’t wounded, they would have fought their attackers tooth and claw, there would have been a lot more blood. Anguish gripped his heart. He forced his eyes open and reread the note, then crumpled it and stared out the dark window.
A familiar voice cleared its throat. Which was an odd thing to do considering it was a voice embedded in his own head. “Ah, Harry?”
Finally, Harry realized people were staring while trying hard not to. Embarrassed, he pointed at the empty wine decanter on the table and shrugged, trying to look sheepish. Most people nodded and went back to their muted conversations. Harry exhaled a sigh of relief and thought, Why a church? How can someone so evil with such evil intent meet in a place dedicated to the Holy?
“Ah, that’s not just any church, Harry. That is a place of darkness. Acts committed there almost a thousand years ago created a very thin veil between this world and another darker one, which is actually a prison.”
“Really? How does that happen?” Harry asked, relieved to be distracted.
“Arrogance… Treachery, betrayal, and always bloodshed. The more blood, the more horrible the incident, the more innocent people involved and twisted or betrayed… the thinner the veil gets. In this particular case, it has been stretched almost to the breaking point, and the incident that almost shredded that veil is called the Goslar Precedence Dispute.”
“Well, you know, I am not tired; I don’t have a place to rest anyway and it’s a long time till morning. So tell me more.” Harry spoke out loud again. The waiter and the bartender looked his way. He smiled back and saw the bartender bend down and reach beneath the bar to move something a little closer to hand in case he needed it. Harry didn’t blame him; the train had been blown up, people killed, several wounded, and no culprits found. Everyone was on guard. He turned back toward the window and pretended to sleep. “Okay, Speaker, get on with it. What happened at this church to turn it into a doorway to hell?”
“Hmm, not what I would have called it but definitely appropriate. Well, long story short, two prominent clergymen had an argument over who could sit next to a more prominent clergyman, and it led to a battle.”
“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe anyone could be that stupid!” Harry grumbled, then realized the waiter and bartender were watching closely with very concerned looks on their faces. So he pretended to snort in his sleep, scratched his nose, added a makeshift snore, and then settled down again. He didn’t open his eyes to see if his act passed review, but since he didn’t hear the bartender pull the revolver out from under the bar, he assumed he was convincing.
Harry focused his stunned thoughts on his embedded mentor. “Speaker, if I didn’t know you couldn’t lie I would accuse you of it now. You mean to tell me two preachers fought over who got to sit next to the visiting bigger preacher?”
“Yes, for all practical purposes that is exactly what happened, and they brought their congregations with them and they all got into it.”
“Damn! That is worse than any Baptist convention I’ve ever been to! I mean I have seen folks steal from the offering plate while pretending to make change, and I have heard of ’em slapping the preacher at the back door because he stomped on their toes. Frankly, I thought that’s what they paid him for and if they didn’t like where he was a’walking they should move their feet… but this… this is terrible.” He shook his head, disgusted.
But the George Washington avatar didn’t stop. “Let me finish. On June seventh, 1063, the Saturday before Pentecost Sunday, the issue came to a head. They came at each other with clubs, then things escalated to swords. Whereas a week before, hymns and spiritual songs had echoed through the chamber, now battle cries and the wails of the dying sounded. They actually took the wounded and slaughtered them on the very altars where they had offered communion days before. Blood poured out and ran down the drains like rainwater.”
“Were the men who started it punished?”
The sword’s Washington avatar had appeared in Harry’s imagination seated across from him at the train diner. He slowly shook his head. “I think what happened to the ones whose arrogance caused the slaughter is what finally ripped the veil. They were pronounced guilty and then allowed to bribe their judges. They got off free of charge.”
“Arrogance, murder, bloodlust, slaughter, and then injustice. I am ashamed to admit I’m human sometimes. I remember John Timothy telling me that these kinds of things create rips into the darkness simply by weight of the evil. How many places are there like this?”
The sword bowed his head. “I am not going to tell you. But know this. Before this war is over there will be many, many more. Portals will be torn and things unloosed that make what happened at Goslar look like a picnic dinner.”
Harry had stopped feigning sleep and stared at the figure only he could see. “I don’t know how to fight this, Sword. It’s just me now. Brady is gone, Raleigh with him. How do you expect me to stop the strongman from being called forth?”
“I don’t know if you can, Harry,” the sword whispered so quietly that even though it was in his head he barely heard the words. “But I do know you have to try. We don’t have anybody else.”
Harry trembled. Threadbare grief fastened onto his face. He felt like his heart had aged a hundred years and was little more than ancient yellowed linen with rotting seams. So, true to his nature he joked, “You know, this situation is so miserable it reminds me of a story.”
“Oh no, Harry, please don’t. It’s not that bad… it’s only life and death, and mostly death, but even so, you don’t have to tell a story. Really, you don’t.”
Harry frowned, sighed, and bowed his head. The sword felt his discouragement and grumbled, “Fine! Just get it over with!”
“Well… My good friend Steve Ford told me—”
“Oh great… not him again.” The sword’s sigh was long and loud.
“So do you want to hear it or not?”
“Well, honestly, Harry, if I had my rathers, I could do without…”
Harry ignored the sword’s protest and puttered on. “Two ancient, arthritic rednecks sat chewing and spitting outside the Moab café. Jamie’s old three-legged dog hobbled up, turned around twice, noticed its tail, and then began to bark and chase it. Finally, the poor dog fell exhausted to the ground and proceeded to lick its behind.
“One redneck was looking at the dog and said, ‘I really wish I could do that!’
“The other redneck stiffened his eyes widened, he looked down and then back at his friend scratched his chin and replied, ‘Well, you can try, but he’ll probably bite ya.’”
Harry slapped the table and pretended to laugh, and then just stopped.
“That was a noble effort, Harry, but… I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” the sword said, confused.
“Every time I think I might have a chance to live through this, something else comes along and bites me. You understand me now?”
“Oh, Harry, I see now, and the irony is disturbing because…”
“There is more coming, isn’t there?”
The Washington avatar grimaced. “Yes, there is.”
Harry tried to be bitter but he was too tired. An empty smirk drifted across his face. “Something else, Sword? My best friends are wounded and captured, and I’m walking up to a portal to hell and knocking on the door. What else can possibly go wrong?”
You’re going to regret you asked that, Harry, the speaker thought but kept to himself; then he said, “Sarah sent you a message, Harry.”
Harry fell back into the train’s dining room seat, closed his eyes, and stared into the darkness. His heart beat faster and he could feel heat rising to his face. Hope was trying to break through the despair of the moment but he deliberately fought against it. His heart longed to hear from Sarah but his head had a terrible expectation. Slowly he read…
Harry, I don’t know how to start this letter…
That can’t be good.
Ha, that’s an old name, isn’t it? I called it a letter, not email, or text or FB message… letter. I mean, it has to be a letter because an AI that looks like George Washington is holding a quill pen, dipping it in ink, and scratching these words down on parchment…
She’s stalling even now. She doesn’t know how to say it.
Harry, I am having a hard time… a very hard time… writing this. Perhaps I should explain. I had a dream. Actually, more of a waking vision. Harry, in that dream you were hurt.
Nothing new about that, Sarah, but it is nice to know you dream about me… for all the good it does.
You were strapped down on a metal table. You didn’t have any clothes on…
Oh well, maybe I spoke too soon, haha.
Oh gosh, I shouldn’t have said that…
Hmm, gets better and better.
I mean, it’s not like I looked or anything. Well, you were bloody, so I didn’t look. Well, that’s a lie—looked a little bit but only for a second.
I shouldn’t be happy about that, but I am.
Dang it, Harry! Kusaila also had the dream.
Shoulda known, shoulda known… too good to be true. But why is Kusaila dreaming about me naked?
We had the same dream, Harry!
Does that mean you were in the same bed?!
Kusaila is a prophet as well as king of his people, and he assured me it was a prophetic dream and that I should warn you about it.
Well, thank him for me, but I don’t care if he is your second cousin’s mother’s preacher, he shouldn’t be dreaming with you!
Be careful, Harry! I don’t know what you are doing. But quit! Stop! Run away.
Like that’s going to happen. I am not running; they have Brady and Raleigh, and if I run it’s toward them, not from them!
It’s probably that witch’s fault. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that…
You are right, you shouldn’t say that. She is the only one of you that cares about me. She warned me it was a trap. She is as chained to this as I am.
The sword won’t let me scratch it out either… said I needed to be honest.
So, you were there, Sword? Of course you were… anything else you want to tell me, you iron-plated sorry excuse for a friend?
The sword appeared in Harry’s imagination, took up a chair, and gently said, “Harry, I don’t talk to her about you and Belle, and I don’t talk to you about her and Kusaila. It is not my place to be your or her spy! Some things you just have to work out for yourself. Keep reading.”
Harry’s face knotted, struggling to hold back the flood of tears that threatened to break at any moment. His face felt hot and his eyes ached. He wasn’t used to crying. After a brief pause and a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes again and continued reading.
So here goes, honest. I miss you, Harry Ferguson! I love you. Thinking about you causes my heart to ache and it’s like visiting a fresh grave where the person you love lies deep beneath the earth.
A bitter pain pushed through his chest into his eyes as he read Sarah’s words. It hurt to cry, especially now, especially after all that had just happened. He also felt guilty. Brady and Raleigh were wounded. Probably bleeding out someplace or being tortured, and all he could do was feel sorry for himself.
I don’t know how we got here, Harry.
Hmmm, if I remember correctly you betrayed me in a dragon’s lair a thousand years ago and things just got worse from there. Oh hell, that’s not right… I forgave her and I meant it. But she asked… A sad chuckle snuck out of him and he continued reading.
You have to be with your witch in order for Lizzy to come into being.
One would think. But I didn’t plan on that… on second thought, when all this is over maybe I do/did/will… hmmm… I don’t know. I will worry about that later.
I am not okay with that.
Why does that make me feel better? Good grief.
But I know it must be. And Harry… I feel I have to be here with Kusaila to help him fight back the hordes that threaten to destroy his people.
Sarah, even now you’re trying to sugarcoat it so I won’t accuse you. I understand how it is… You were alone, he was a handsome king, probably really charming, and you were vulnerable and he just took advantage… happens all the time. Yeah… hell yeah, but why does it still feel like you stabbed me through the heart? Again?
He asked me to marry him, Harry. I said yes.
Harry closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. One more heartbreak, the load was getting so heavy… I don’t know what to say… Harry opened his eyes and stared across the table at the empty seat opposite him. He had expected this, but when it came it struck his heart like a molten sword. I don’t know what to say… I just… wish you well? I guess is the right thing. But it is not going to be easy to forget you. I am sure the day will come when I hardly think of you. Maybe only a hundred times a day. But it will come, you will slip easily away in time’s river and… who am I kidding, the day I forget her and quit loving her I will be broken on a bloody battlefield and even then… Harry rubbed his eyes. For some reason he couldn’t see well. His hand came away wet.
I do love him. Not in the same way I love you.
Mercy, Sarah, there are some things I did not need to hear. Not now… not ever.
But in a way that is right for this time and this place. He needs me, Harry, his people need me. And you need to be with Belle Rodum. And my tears are staining this digital parchment even as I speak.
You too, huh? Harry’s hot tears streamed down his swollen eyes. People in the train car had seen his struggle and quietly moved away till he was left by himself and his grief. He forced himself to finish the letter.
I am so sorry, Harry. And I am also confused. The North Star said you and I would be together. We would have adventures and hard times and I thought he kept his promises?
I don’t like to think about that, but it keeps popping up, and no matter how I tried to rationalize it or justify it, it makes it hard to trust in anything else he said. I keep thinking about the first dragon rider I saw. He was in the cave close to the dragon’s lair. Nothing but a skeleton about to fall apart. All his adventures and battles and loves over. And he dies alone in a dark cave surrounded by his enemy’s treasure.
But I don’t see a way around this. I have peace in the middle of the confusion and the heartache. I also know that I am a thousand miles and a thousand years away from you. That means in a very real way I am dead and you have not been born.
Well, that makes it easier, doesn’t it. Golly, wish you would have said that sooner.
Talk about long-distance relationships, huh? Now I am stalling. I don’t want to say goodbye. Because I know that it is the last time… Oh, Harry! Wow! You remember that gem the speaker gave me formed from your tear? It’s glowing, Harry! Even as I watch it. It’s burning bright red… Goodbye, Harry. You were…are…? Will… always be my first love.
Sarah
Harry breathed in a long breath, held it for as long as he could, then let it out. He opened his eyes. The room was clear.
****
Sarah felt the alexandrite gem, the jewel the sword had made for her from Harry’s tear, grow hot against her chest. She carefully pulled it over her head and held it. It shimmered with a soft red glow. As she drew it closer, one of her tears fell onto the gem. It sizzled and then cracked. A loud pop and a bitter seam ran across it, scarring it. She dropped it to the floor, held her face in both hands, and wept.
Behind the canvas curtain that acted as the door to her tent, Kusaila bowed his head and sighed.
Chapter 18
Back in Moab, Texas, current era
Brady picked his large canines with a makeshift toothpick and turned to his son, Brian, who stood sweating over a huge grill in the backyard. “Tell me something, Brian, does griffin taste more like pork or deer meat to you?”
“
Hmmm, a little of both, I suppose. Has a bit of a wild taste, but Shani’s recipe for marinating made it so tender. It was amazing how good it turned out.”
“Don’t reckon those beasts were shifters, do you?” Brady blurted out as he leaned back in his rocker with his hands behind his head.
Brian gulped and stopped in the middle of turning over a huge piece of griffin steak. He looked up at his father, who had started to drift off to his second nap of the morning. He hadn’t thought about that! He knew that not all species of shifters reverted to their human form in death… so there was a possibility that these were… his stomach rumbled and a wave of nausea threatened to turn to something worse.
He sure wished his dad had thought to mention it before they had invited the whole town, or at least the part of the town that was in the know, over for a potluck, and a singing, and big juicy steaks that might or might not have been people. Brian’s stomach rumbled again as Jamie the café owner walked over. She was still chewing on a big bite of griffin steak, but it didn’t stop her from trying to talk between chews.
“Brian, you and Shanee did a great job on this meat… never had”—chew, chew, chomp, swallow— “anything quite like it. It is… delicious! And ya sure seem to have a lot of it. Is there any way you can get me several hundred pounds of it? I could stick it in the freezer and bring it out for the festivals. Everybody in Moab needs to taste this at least once in their lives!”
Brian’s dark hue paled. He forced back the third wave of nausea and tried not to think of the whole community chomping down on… no, he was not going there.
He took a deep cleansing breath and forced himself to respond, “Afraid not, Jamie, these things attacked us and we just decided turnabout fair play. I don’t think we will ever get this opportunity again.” Thank God, glory to Jesus, amen, he prayed fervently and privately. A sudden wave of cascading bile threatened to breach his good intentions. “Jamie, do you mind watching these steaks for me? I have to go…” And without waiting for a reply he shoved the long-handled tongs toward her and ran. Jamie watched as Brian dodged people and jumped over dogs, finally running behind an available tree. She saw his hand grasping the trunk and realized he was doubled over. Loud retching noises came from behind the shaking tree.
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