Against the Fading of the Light (Action of Purpose, 3)

by Stu Jones

  Another warrior spoke up. “What do we do?”

  “We are now invested in this. We must see it through,” Queenashano said evenly.

  “He can’t have made it far,” one of the more seasoned warriors said.

  “Yes, in this you are correct.” Queenashano turned to the seasoned warrior. “You will leave now. Follow his trail. Track the boy and kill him before he exits this canyon. We will follow slowly, the others releasing after you in timed increments as prescribed by the old ways. They will succeed in the event that you fail.”

  “I will not fail,” the warrior stated boldly.

  “That remains to be seen.” Queenashano’s eyes brightened with a hidden flame. “Either way, the trials of the ancients must continue.”

  The darkness of the dream towered endlessly over him like an eternal titan, threatening to wake at even the slightest movement. He took in a deep breath, held it, and then breathed it out. Time and the universe seemed to wash over him, bathing him in endless secrets unknown, even as he failed to truly understand them. In a strange moment of clarity, Kane knew this was not a normal dream. He was aware of himself. More acutely, he was aware that he was dreaming and that he was supposed to remember whatever it was that he was about to see.

  In his mind’s eye, his body elevated, touching both sky and space as the world rushed backward like a bizarre string of time-lapse photos. Back it went, back before a billion risings of the sun, back to the darkness. And in this darkness, he saw something: a gleam of light, a spark, a splinter, a single object hanging amid the nothingness, and around the object hung a sprit—no, the spirit of God. Formless and yet quite distinct, it spoke to the object in a tongue Kane did not understand. Light bloomed forth in the darkness, and the universe was born.

  Kane watched, his mind reeling, his body paralyzed at the sheer spectacle, the magnitude of creation, and as it flew before his eyes now, he saw that it was this device that God used to create everything. And as he watched, he witnessed a terrible conflict take place, quickly filling in the gaps in his mind as he tried to process it all. One army clad in glistening, mirrorlike armor and the other black as night as though each twisted creature had been dipped in oil. On and on they fought, never surrendering, never retreating, fighting for the fate of all things—the armies of heaven and hell locked in a terrible, eternal battle for control of the sacred object. Kane watched as one lone soldier broke away and tried to flee with the object. Heaven was trying to secure it, and hell was trying to steal it—“the Machine,” it was called. An engine with immense power imbued by its creator—a single device that had the power to create and, in the wrong hands, destroy and corrupt everything that existed throughout the universe. Kane watched the angel and demon fight over the Machine as they fell from heaven to earth, streaking across the night sky like burning meteors against the clear, deep black of night.

  Then, in a turn that startled him, he too was flying, careening across the atmosphere after them and watching them as they fell. Time sped up and then slowed, revealing the location where the device landed and its recovery thousands of years later by primitive civilizations, after which it was hoarded by kings and pharaohs and buried forever in vast tombs of treasure, only to wait in the silent dark to be discovered again. The celestial warriors that had fallen with it were long gone.

  Kane watched the images flash in rapid succession: images of the Machine’s recovery by a modern archaeological dig, its seizure by the US government, and subsequent study of it at a secret location somewhere in the Arizona desert—an underground research facility nestled deep within the bowels of a massive, towering hydroelectric dam.

  Kane watched as the End War happened with a stunning quickness, as nearly all life ceased to exist, and as the pitiful survivors of the world tried to reclaim their lives. Then he saw himself, his Susan, his children, and his friends, as their story was recounted before him in all its desperate hope and savage horror.

  And as the time arrived definitively at the present, Kane watched with a grim finality as Malak and his dark Coyotes marched upon this secret facility, a looming hydroelectric dam. And under a banner of fire and death, they claimed the Machine for the powers of darkness. He saw the sky boil with bloody rage and a new evil pour itself out across the vast expanse of the universe, heralding the coming of the Master. And there he himself was alongside Courtland and Jenna and many others, including Tynuk, the feral warrior boy. All of them stood together, a single, frail barrier between this terrible evil and everything they knew and understood.

  As his mind took it all in, an overwhelming sense of dread overtook Kane. For now he knew the stakes of this most dangerous game. For the first time, in this moment of clarity, Kane truly understood the gravity of their calling and the real purpose of his mission. The Machine could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands—desperately evil hands that had searched for it for so long now. And as he considered this, he realized how all the pain, loss, and misery that had broken him had also driven him to this exact place—the place where God would meet him, restore him, and empower him to be the man that God needed him to be. He understood now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this task was bigger than any of them, that they must stand against this darkness one final time. And through it all, Kane also somehow knew that, in the end, this noble calling might very well be his last.

  Kane opened his eyes and sat up slowly on his bedroll in the dark of an overcast midnight sky. The camp around him was quiet save for the pop of the fire and the droning of Courtland’s titanic snoring. Kane took a moment to compose himself, inhaling sharply as he brought his hands to his face and raked them through his shaggy, brown hair. The vision still lingered powerfully in his mind, the moisture hanging in the air across him like a curtain of silken quiet. And in the humid dark of night, Kane’s lips began to move with reverent care.

  He pinched his eyes shut and begged his God to spare them from this evil, to bestow upon them all the wisdom and fortitude they would need for this last, unconquerable obstacle. And as he prayed, he felt it descend upon him. Like the soaring answer to his heart’s purest hope, he felt it rise inside him: a wellspring of righteous confidence and strength that swelled within his chest and gently drew his wounded heart up and out from the darkest of places.

  Somewhere in the dark, an infant was crying. She could hear it, sobbing pitifully, far away from her now. So far away. Jenna awoke with a gasp, sitting halfway up, her body rigid. Slowly she lowered herself back to her elbows, her body relaxing, her nose taking in the heavenly smell of meat sizzling over an open fire. She lay fully back for a moment and wiped a tear from her cheek, her fingers lightly touching a child-size silver cross that hung around her neck.

  “I love you, sweet girl.”

  Her life was what it was. No one could change their past no matter how much they all wished they could. Even so, none of it made the nightmares any better. Everyone had lost someone, and some had lost many more than that. It was the cruel nature of this new existence, living after the death of civilized society. They each had to choose to either give up or go on. There was no middle ground.

  She rubbed her face and sat up to pull back her gray wool surplus blanket, revealing several little ones who had snuggled up next to her and each other like a litter of rabbits in the cool of the night. They had headed west on I-40 and were now in between Memphis and Little Rock. It had been a bit laborious since they had gone well out of their way to avoid the major cities on their journey west. It had been for the best though. The ruins of civilization were now only burned husks— havens for the depraved and infected.

  She tousled the hair of a curly-headed little boy named Curtis as he began to stir. Jenna pulled on her jacket, the cold fabric sharply reminding her of the way her heart had felt throughout the night. Her dreams were fantastic and terrible, with angels and demons and a mission from the very throne room of heaven. It was an insurmountable task she could hardly get her head around. How in the world was she ever going
to tell Kane and Courtland without them thinking she was absolutely off her rocker?

  She roused herself and moved across the ashen, gray half-light of the early morning to plop down beside the small fire where Kane sat quietly prodding several sizzling lumps of potted meat.

  “Smells amazing.” Jenna breathed in through her nose.

  “Huh?” Kane mumbled, his thoughts far away. “Oh yeah, it sure does.”

  “You doing OK? Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Sleep isn’t so restful for me these days.”

  “I know the feeling.” Jenna nodded as other members of their group slowly trickled in to quietly sit and stare into the smoking pit of red coals.

  “Morning.”

  “Mornin’.”

  Kane knifed a chunk and raised it. “Who wants to be the guinea pig and let me know if it’s done?”

  “I can handle that.” Winston smiled and outstretched his hand.

  “Alright. It’s hot, now.”

  Winston nodded and played hot potato with the steaming meat as Kane dropped it into his hands. The pudgy man dropped the greasy meat onto his shirt, where he cradled it in the cloth before popping it into his mouth.

  “Ish dome,” Winston said and smiled, chewing gingerly.

  Jenna raised her eyes as a disheveled, groggy Courtland quietly lumbered his way over to the group and sat down with his back to a roadside boulder. His giant bulk dwarfed the sizable stone behind him. He yawned and stroked the gray-white stubble of his newly forming beard.

  “I think I’d do anything, right about now, for a cup of coffee,” the giant grumbled.

  Jenna smiled warmly, and Kane raised his knife. “Here, here!”

  “But,” Courtland continued, “I’ll take what I can get. Besides, enjoying a quiet breakfast with my friends, free from fear and oppression—well, that sounds pretty great too.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Dagen shambled up, diligently working his crutches. “Uh, I mean, I would drink to that—if I were still a drinking man.”

  “Giving it up altogether?” Jenna asked, her eyes checking him.

  “Can’t find alcohol anywhere anymore. But the stuff’s no good for me, anyway,” Dagen said. “Never has been.”

  The group nodded quietly as Kane began doling out small chunks of potted meat to the group. A few of the children giggled at some childish tease. Kane removed the makeshift skillet, a rectangular section of scrap metal, from the fire and began to eat his own meager helping of potted meat. Several plastic water bottles began to circulate. It didn’t need to be said that rationing what water they had was of critical importance.

  Jenna received a bottle and took two small sips, swished, and swallowed. She took a breath, released it, and passed the bottle. She tried to think through how she’d put it into words.

  “I…uh…” She paused and licked her lips as she set her eating implements down. She wiped her hands on her pants. “So, I had a really vivid dream last night.”

  All motion around the fire slowed to a stop as the eyes of the whole group centered on her. She shrugged off the attention. “It was…uh… pretty bizarre. A whole story about—”

  “Angels and demons and a battle for the fate of everything— known and unknown,” the older gentleman, Sam, said.

  Jenna stared at Sam with astonishment.

  “I had it too.” Sam shrugged his shoulders.

  Kane set his plate down, looking up appraisingly. “Who all had this dream?” he asked knowingly, looking over the small gathering. “Give me a show of hands.” They all watched as every single member of their group, including Dagen and the now-serious-faced children, raised their hands.

  “Yeah.” Kane wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Well, it’s obviously not a coincidence. We were meant to see it. We were all meant to know the stakes—how important our cause is—how important it’s always been.”

  “The stakes,” Dagen repeated with a strange look in his eyes.

  “Yes,” Courtland replied, “we’ve become embroiled in something much bigger than us. It’s bigger than justice or revenge, even bigger than saving Kane’s children”—Courtland turned directly to Kane and pointed—“which we’re still going to do, my brother.”

  Kane inclined his head marginally, his eyes never leaving the plumes of smoke drifting from the dying fire.

  “This is big—like, fate-of-all-creation, scary big, isn’t it?” Jenna’s voice wavered.

  Kane nodded.

  “I had the dream too,” Winston said. “I saw a hydroelectric dam. It’s also a secret government facility. That’s where that thing is kept.”

  “The Machine,” Courtland said carefully, “a device with unspeakable power.”

  “I don’t know where that dam was though,” Winston started.

  “I do,” Jenna said. “I’ve been there. That was the Glen Canyon Dam on the Colorado River in northern Arizona. Charley and I had our honeymoon on Lake Powell.”

  “Wait. What are we talking about here exactly?” Winston broke in. “What does this mean? That we’re supposed to go to war with that psycho and his bandits over this…Machine? What if we fail? I mean, look at us—”

  “We won’t fail.” Courtland smiled, interrupting the pudgy man gently. “We can’t fail. This is just like the greatest stories from the Bible: stories of Moses, Joshua, David, and countless others who all stood where we now stand, terrified and outnumbered by the most horrific enemies they could imagine. Confronted with an evil that threatened to wipe their ways from the face of the earth, they chose to fight. Even amid the darkest of times, these good people clung to their faith in a God who was strong enough to win the day. And win the day he did, again and again and again.”

  Everyone sat listening as the giant spoke.

  “This is our chance. This is our opportunity in this life to truly do something worth doing. To stand in righteousness when we are commanded by the forces of darkness to kneel.”

  Jenna placed her hands together against her lips and glanced skyward in a silent prayer; the small group sat completely still, taking it all in. “But are we really supposed to be going to war?” Jenna shook her head, a distant tear developing in the corner of her eye. “It’s really scary that, after all this, we would deliberately go after Malak with a mission to stop him. I get trying to secretly rescue Kane’s kids, but open war? I can’t help but think that maybe there’s some other way. Is there a way to stop this without going to war with these hateful men? I mean, as Christians, aren’t we supposed to be promoting peace?”

  Kane had remained silent, deep in thought, until he took a deep breath and all eyes turned to him, waiting.

  “Yes,” he said at last with great composure, “you’re absolutely right, Jenna. We are commanded to establish peace on this earth, but peace has never been the reward of those who sought peace with truly evil men. Evil must be fought. It must be contested. It must be subdued in order for justice to again cover this land. Only when justice is reestablished will we have peace.”

  Kane considered his next words, rubbing his hands together thoughtfully. “Look, I know the Bible says to turn the other cheek. That’s in order to preserve your witness, to be Christlike. But what of it when turning the other cheek means the annihilation of all the good that is left in this world? What then? Darkness will reign, and the light will be stamped out. Now, I’m not saying God can’t prevail without us, but I think he’s choosing to use us. In his wisdom he created both the lion and the lamb, and each has its purpose. I think we’ve come from where we have for a reason. I’ve known in my heart for a long time now that God had a special purpose for us and that this purpose is to stand against the forces of darkness. It’s the only thing left that matters.”

  Jenna’s gaze questioned silently. “I know. I feel it too. We’ve all just been through so much…”

  Kane looked directly at Jenna and smiled easily. “We have, and that’s all the more reason for it to mean something. If we fight to preserve the
way, to rekindle the light, is that not a noble and worthy cause to fight for? If we do it only that the weak and oppressed can live without fear, only to stop the failing of the light across this earth and beyond, is there anything more worthy of our greatest effort?”

  Courtland nodded deeply, a faint look of astonishment showing at the wisdom of his friend. “There is no other way. We must find the courage to pursue this darkness and pray that, in being obedient, our God aids us and grants us the power to vanquish it.”

  Jenna reluctantly nodded in turn. “If there’s no other way, then I’m with you. You know that.”

  Kane reached over and squeezed her shoulder, and Jenna and Courtland glanced at each other, as a sly look formed across Kane’s bearded face. It was a look of sincerity and promise, a hardened look of confidence—a look no one had seen from him in a very long time.

  “We’re going to do this together—all of us. We can hide and wait for this evil to mercilessly devour all that is most precious, or we can fight against the fading of the light. We’re going be in the history books, one way or another, so I think it’s time for us to decide what kind of story we’re going to write.” He paused, chewing the corner of his lip with a boyish look of daring. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve wallowed in the misery of defeat for far too long already. I think it’s time for a story where the good guys win.”

  10

  HE HAD WALKED for hours, and the sun would be high in the sky by now, if one could see it to measure its progress. With each step Tynuk took, it felt like his foot might step through the floor of the world, and then he would fall, and keep falling endlessly until the end of time itself. The dark sky blurred with the rising wind and twisted together with the walls of the Palo Duro Canyon to create the feeling that he was walking in circles, a rat trapped in a dreamlike maze.

  The warrior boy raised his head and squinted, the light breaking into colors that distorted and melted through his ocular nerves and into his brain. He wiped at his dusty, parched lips and outstretched his hand toward the strange figure who continued to lead him forward past the many eyes that watched him from the walls of the canyon as he went.