Outlaw

by Ted Dekker

  “You’re a naive boy who will die with me.”

  “Die? I cannot die. Neither can you.”

  “I am dead already!” she snapped, flinging out her hand. “I came only because Shaka called me. Julian is there still, under Kirutu’s rule of terror. Wilam is enslaved. If they discover that I’ve left the Tulim valley, they will put me to death.”

  Stephen looked at Shaka. “Why haven’t you told me about this insanity before?” he asked.

  “Because your time had not come,” Shaka said.

  “And my mother’s time?”

  “Has come as well,” he said.

  So then…it was as he’d guessed. Once again urgency raced through his mind. It was going to be such a day indeed.

  “Then we should go and show them the way out of their insanity,” he said. “We should leave immediately! Shaka, show Lela. Then we can enter the valley and show them all.”

  “Show me what?” Lela said. “That I’m to trust a child to protect me where he sees no danger? I would be better off returning alone.” She made her plea directly to Shaka. “I beg you…come with us. Kirutu will only laugh at this one.”

  “It’s his path to take. I wouldn’t dismiss him so quickly.”

  She held his gaze for a long beat before he broke off and looked at Stephen.

  “This isn’t for me to show her, it is for you. And only when you know it yourself, among those of your kind.”

  “You are my kind.”

  Shaka offered no agreement or disagreement.

  “Lela has slept near the falls two nights, waiting. If you leave now, you will reach the valley by nightfall. Sleep before you enter it.”

  Two nights? Shaka had left him alone for a night three days ago. Now he understood.

  “She’ll show you the way to your mother. Find her, Stephen. She will know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Find her.”

  “I will. You must not doubt this.”

  There was a thread of question in his teacher’s eyes. He approached Stephen and took his hand. Smoothed his palm over his knuckles. When Shaka looked up into his eyes, that hint of concern had been replaced with a probing gaze of deep affection.

  “The valley will be your great crucible, my son,” he said softly. “Everything I’ve taught you must be understood among your own.”

  “Of course, Shaka.”

  “You will be tempted to forget.”

  “I will remember.”

  “Nothing can threaten you.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Do not forget who you are. That you need nothing more, nor anyone to be complete. In this way you disidentify with all labels. Remember the words I spoke to your mother on the hill before she made a way. Be, Stephen. Only be the light. Never forget.”

  The persistence of Shaka’s warning surprised him, but he’d learned to listen.

  “I will never forget.”

  “If you do, you will suffer. Many will suffer. The scales over Kirutu’s eyes are thick. His ears cannot hear. His heart is imprisoned by hatred. He is enslaved to his costume. He is terrified of death.”

  “Darkness cannot exist where there is light.”

  “You will see this darkness in a way you never have. It will know you have come.”

  “My light will only chase it away.”

  Shaka’s mouth slowly curved and a sparkle lit his eyes. “And how bright is your light!” He lifted Stephen’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Forget nothing.”

  Many times he had said this. Did he doubt what Stephen himself knew?

  Shaka shifted his eyes to Lela, then stepped past Stephen to stand in front of her. He pulled her head close and whispered into her ear. Stephen saw her eyes soften over his teacher’s shoulder. Tears misted her eyes.

  Stephen gave them their space, stepping several paces away and squatting as Shaka spoke through her fear. She’d called him naive—perhaps it was best to be naive. Her suffering was unnecessary, this he knew, but he felt a deep compassion for her, because she was so bound by fear. Perhaps Shaka was helping her see even now.

  Not so many years ago Stephen had faced dreadful fear alone in the swamps at night while Shaka watched unseen, ready to rescue him if he couldn’t overcome the terror of death in the jaws of a crocodile or at a viper’s bite.

  From Lela’s perspective Kirutu was that viper, poised to strike. She feared a future that by definition did not exist in the present and, therefore, was unreal. Her fear caused her to suffer unnecessarily.

  Shaka kissed Lela’s forehead and she nodded, then stepped away from him.

  Stephen stood as she approached, eyes moist. He didn’t fully understand what had pushed both Shaka and Lela into such a somber place, but this did not concern him.

  Lela placed her hand on his chest and looked up into his face. “I will place my trust in you, son of Julian. Please, protect me. Keep me safe.”

  He glanced at Shaka, but his teacher was looking off to the horizon.

  “I will,” he said. “You have no reason to be afraid.”

  Her faced softened. She looked at his chest and brushed her hand over his muscled arm.

  “Your mother’s heart cries for you. She would be so proud. No Tulim could match your stature.”

  To this Stephen could not respond. He hardly knew what to feel. Pride, perhaps, but he had long ago learned the price of pride.

  He could not deny, however, that her hand on him seemed to deepen his affection for her.

  “You are very beautiful, Lela,” he said. “No bird of paradise could compare to you.”

  “I didn’t come for flattery from a young man,” she said.

  He did not know the nuances of the word flattery, but the rise in her energy pulled at him, so he said more, thinking to lift her joy.

  “I am overwhelmed by you.”

  “And far too naive,” she said, using that word again. He ignored it.

  Lela reached up and pulled his lower lip open. Looked at his teeth. Satisfied, she gracefully turned toward the path.

  “I will take you.”

  “I will follow.”

  “Stephen,” Shaka said.

  He turned. “Yes?”

  “Take your spear. There are many boars in the Tulim valley.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  THE JUNGLE screamed with life; the sun beamed its unwavering approval; the streams ran with joy; the world was full of glory and making no apologies for its triumph. All of this presented itself to Stephen’s awareness without interruption as the morning quickly passed, and with it the jungle that separated them from the Tulim valley.

  But none of this awareness was so acutely focused as his growing appreciation for the wonder that walked beside him.

  For the woman. Lela.

  He’d long watched the splendor of the parrots soaring through the air, the flight of an arrow finding its mark through a steady breeze, the sniffing of mice seeking a morsel, the western sky painted in brilliant hues, announcing the close of the day.

  But watching Lela—stepping lightly down the path, leaping nimbly over fallen logs, glancing at him with her large brown eyes—made all he had yet seen lesser wonders.

  He would remember what Shaka had said, always, and without pause. And now he hung on her every word as well. Hers was the first voice he’d heard other than his own and Shaka’s.

  The sound of her laughter after being startled by a slithering snake had so filled him with delight that he wanted to throw his arms around her and cry, “Me too, me too! I laugh with you!” Even her occasional tsking in disapproval at his veering the wrong way, or jumping to snatch a fruit from a branch for her, sounded like laughter in his ears.

  “Quit showing off,” she said.

  He wasn’t sure how to respond. And he found no reason to change his behavior.

  They walked side by side where the path was wide enough, she in her grass skirt, he with his spear in his right hand and a single bone knife at his waist.

&nbs
p; “Why do you smile this way?” she demanded. “Don’t you know what awaits you?”

  “I only see you now. And what I see pleases me.”

  She tsked. “A child in a man’s body. I’m old enough to be your mother. Your own mother is in a pit and all you think about is the woman at your side. What kind of man has Shaka made you?”

  She was too young to be his mother, but he let the comment pass.

  “You too could be a child, if you choose. These are only costumes.”

  She shook her head. “You speak with words that have no meaning. A child cannot hope to save his mother from this valley of death.”

  “Then tell me what I will find.”

  She spit to one side, a curious behavior that he found interesting.

  “Shaka tells me to say nothing. It is for you to discover if you can save her.”

  “You misunderstand. I would only find my mother so that she would know the truth. I cannot save her. She is safe already.”

  She pulled up on the path where it overlooked a shallow gorge suffocated with thick trees and vines. “Stop with this foolishness! Do you find this just a childish game? If your purpose isn’t to save her, then why do I risk my life to bring you? Your mother has given her life for yours!”

  Her words washed over him, and for the first time since leaving Shaka’s sanctuary, he felt the gentle slap of offense. She was questioning his love? He didn’t know what to make of such an absurd accusation.

  Do not forget, Stephen. Shaka’s words whispered through his mind.

  Do not forget that no man can possibly hurt one who is safe in the awareness of who they are. But Lela wasn’t safe in any awareness. His objective must be to chase the fear from her heart.

  He stared down the path, which vanished in a tangle of underbrush.

  “Forgive me. I’m not accustomed to the ways of others. Fear doesn’t stalk me. But this doesn’t mean that I am weak. If I join your fear, I too would be lost in darkness. The blind cannot lead the blind.”

  She watched him, momentarily at a loss for words.

  “This is a strange way,” she finally said. “If not for Shaka, I would think you had lost your mind.”

  “But I have. Thankfully.” He immediately realized that these words would mean nothing to her, so he clarified. “In a way of speaking,” he said, smiling. “The mind cannot see the light as it is. The light allows me to see in a valley of darkness, yes? You must be patient with me.”

  “And you will see that all of your talk means nothing against his warriors. Every day people die. There can be no greater darkness.”

  “Then all the more reason for me to be the light,” he said. “It is the only way that I can see truth.”

  “And what truth can you see now in this desecrated jungle?”

  Stephen saw the opening to offer her courage and he seized it with a great passion. He took her hand and gazed at her face, her body.

  “I see a shining star on the path before me, dressed in the red and golden feathers of a paradise bird. My heart leaps in my chest and cries out the glory of such a creation. Who could have created such a beautiful soul? Only the one through whose eyes I see this vision of splendor.”

  Her eyes softened.

  “I see a soul that cries to be known as blameless. A soft heart that is cherished by its Creator. A gentle spirit full of kindness and love that her mind cannot yet recognize. But I see it. I see it all and I find more delight in you, Lela, than in any bird or tree.”

  “I am not a young woman to be chased by a young man,” she said softly, but there was wonder in her eyes.

  “I chase nothing. And you must know that however young, his body is strong.” Stephen winked at her, a mannerism he’d picked up from Shaka. “He can face ten boars and bring them to the ground bare-handed. You cannot imagine what he can do with his spear.”

  This drew an unsure but unmistakable smile to her face. He grinned, delighted by his success in offering her this reassurance. So he continued.

  “I can assure you, Kirutu will not stand against such a powerful sight. He will run into hiding at the sight of him.”

  She blinked, clearly in doubt. It made Stephen wonder what Kirutu was. He’d read his mother’s account of battle with fascination, but without fear. Now a small voice in the furthest reaches of his mind tempted him with a whisper of concern.

  What would it be like to face a hundred men intent on hatred and armed with axes?

  But the whisper quieted as quickly as it had spoken. This wasn’t his true self speaking. It was only a ghost of insanity, not to be feared.

  “No man has ever defeated Kirutu,” she said.

  “And no man ever will. He defeats himself.” But once again he was speaking in terms that she couldn’t possibly understand. His words were falling on deaf ears. He would have to speak her language. Surely this was part of the challenge that Shaka had set before him.

  “That’s it!” he cried.

  “What is?”

  “Shaka’s challenge. I must enter the valley and speak the language of the dead as a means for life. That’s it! Jika, jika, jawa!”

  “Jika jawa?”

  “A word we made. Either way, so be it.”

  “The language of the mad.”

  She refused to find comfort, so he shifted his approach and acknowledged her misguided belief. She seemed obsessed with it.

  “If I’m wrong, then only I will pay,” he said. “I ask only that you trust Shaka’s faith in me.”

  “If you are wrong, then I will pay with my life.”

  Her fear struck a chord of sorrow in his chest.

  “No, Lela. I will protect you. There’s nothing to fear by my side.”

  For a long time she just looked at him. But the lines of worry on her face had softened. She was starting to trust him, he thought. And for a moment he wondered if that was so wise. But he knew no other way.

  “So be it,” she finally said.

  He smiled. “Jika, jika, jawa.”

  Lela offered a nod, turned back down the path, and began to walk.

  They traveled late into the afternoon, often cutting through the jungle on paths used only occasionally by hunting parties. Birds took flight above them, disturbed by the passage of humans below. Possums and snakes rattled the underbrush in hasty retreat.

  It was at the Tengali River just east of the Tulim valley that his domain ended. He’d never been beyond. And yet he felt only eagerness to cross it. This day had brought him more wonder than any in recent memory.

  The more questions they asked of each other, the more his fascination with Lela grew, despite her refusal to tell him anything about the Tulim valley. She was intelligent and tender, her fear aside, but this wasn’t the reason for his interest. Her companionship, on the other hand, was exhilarating.

  He embraced the realization that he was living and breathing and walking with the very form of God, made manifest in another besides Shaka. And he found himself touching her arm and her hair more frequently than she might have desired.

  And yet with each passing hour her optimism rose. Or perhaps it was only his love for her, returned in kind. She liked him, he could not mistake this truth. He could see the sparkle of interest in her eyes, the curve of kindness in her lips, the intention to impress him in her gait.

  He loved Lela, and she loved him. There could be no insanity on earth in the presence of such love. It made him wonder if Wilam had loved his mother in this way. If so, then why had such insanity followed? Such beauty and yet so much suffering. It could not have been the same love he felt now.

  Lela stopped by the exposed roots of a towering deciduous tree, winded from the long, arduous climb up the path that would bring them into the Tulim valley.

  “There, over this summit,” she said, shoving her chin at the forested crest ahead, “you will see all of the Tulim.”

  She’d often stopped to rest this past hour. Clearly she didn’t have the same endurance as he or Shaka. It had been over
a day since he’d slept, and only now was his body beginning to tire. How many times had Shaka urged him to climb faster, run longer, sleep less? To discipline the body is to remind the costume that it is only something to be used and enjoyed, Shaka often said. Never let it use you.

  “Are you with a man?” he asked impulsively.

  Her eyes darted up.

  Perhaps he should clarify his question.

  “My mother wrote much about the union of many to produce infants. You were to be with a man?”

  “There is no love in this valley.” She spat to the side. “I will gouge out the eyes of any man who attempts to force himself on me.”

  Her vehemence took him off guard.

  “And yet you are from among the Impirum. Julian wrote of much beauty among your people.”

  She turned away. “There is now only Warik. Only hatred.”

  “With you I feel only love.”

  Tears misted her eyes. “It’s been a long time since any man loved me,” she whispered.

  Those words broke his heart with compassion. How terrifying it must feel, not knowing that one was loved.

  He thought to tell her that, in reality, she needed no more love than what was already offered inside of her, where the realm of the Master’s love would rule, but again…she wouldn’t understand. He could only serve her by speaking to her limited understanding.

  He felt a strange kind of belonging next to Lela, an awakening of awareness that she, even by her simple presence at his side, fueled his own fullness of love. As did Shaka, when Stephen was with him. But with Lela that love felt different somehow.

  He let a wave of emotion that cried for him to pull her close wash over him, then let his affection be known by his words.

  “You are loved by a man now,” he said softly.

  Lela seemed to soften, staring into his eyes. But she didn’t seem able to accept the fullness of his love.

  “By a child,” she said.

  His smile broadened. “By a child who knows how to love. And by far, far more.”

  She offered the jungle a blank stare. “I envy you, son of Shaka,” she said quietly. “This kind of love is only a distant memory for me.”

  “I will help you remember,” he said. “The woman who gave such love to my mother has forgotten far too much.”