Escape from Paradise

by D. Richard Ferguson

  Just as he turned away, blood-curdling screams pierced the air. But they were not a child’s screams. It was one of the mountain lions.

  Adam snapped back toward Kailyn. She had slashed the creature’s throat. The wooden toy, now a double-sided metal dagger, dripped with blood.

  The second cougar lunged with unnatural swiftness and strength. Still, Kailyn parried the cat’s every movement with speed, precision, and skill unlike anything Adam had ever seen.

  The blade sliced through the air in a blur—a blur of colors that reminded Adam of the ones he’d seen rise from the cottage.

  Both lions limped away, trailing blood.

  Then with a deafening roar, the bear charged from behind, hitting Kailyn with such force the dagger flew from her hands. The beast pinned her to the ground with its paw.

  Without her dagger, Kailyn appeared helpless—like a normal child. She struggled but could hardly move.

  The bear roared again, inches from Kailyn’s face, as if trying to frighten her to death before devouring her.

  Two other children, a girl and a boy with a patch over his eye, came running from the trees. The girl, perhaps a year or two younger than Kailyn, held a dagger of her own and waved it at the other animals. They backed off but kept snarling as they encircled her.

  Kailyn ceased her hopeless struggle. Her eyes showed discouraged resignation to her fate.

  The boy took up another of Kailyn’s toys—a small, wooden hammer—and placed it in her hand while dodging the bear’s deadly swipes. But she didn’t close her hand around the hammer. When the boy let go, it dropped to the ground.

  The bear’s jaws slammed closed like a guillotine, but the boy was too quick for the beast and once again managed to place the hammer in Kailyn’s hand. This time he pressed it into her palm, forcing her fingers around the handle and shouting, “Take it!”

  Finally, she gripped the splintered handle.

  Still pinned, she could only swing the hammer a few inches, but the tap sent the bear tumbling. The hulking creature slammed into a tree trunk with the crunch of breaking bones.

  The bear lay still.

  Alexander and the rest of the beasts took off running. They vanished into the forest to the north. Moments later, the bear came to and staggered into the trees.

  Kailyn hugged the boy, then the girl. The strain in her arms and the tearful exchange moved Adam. He had seen plenty of hugs, but none like that one. It was the sort of affection he had always imagined he would have with his siblings if he ever found his way home.

  Kailyn turned and started toward Adam, no longer a child. She was a woman, tall and athletic with long, midnight black hair—the same shiny black hair he had seen at the creek when they first met. She also retained the same serious look and confident strength in her movements as when she appeared as a child.

  The two friends were also now adults, and the woman, shorter than Kailyn, met Adam’s eyes with a sweet, shy smile that moved him to his core. For an extended moment, he forgot to remove his eyes from hers. When he realized he was staring, he ordered his eyes to avert, but they rebelled.

  The man with the eye patch stepped to the woman’s side and wrapped his arm around her. Her smile broadened and she laid her blond head on the man’s shoulder.

  Adam’s emotions surprised him. Never had he felt jealousy for a woman he just met. But he couldn’t deny the sense of loss that now stung him. I guess she’s spoken for.

  The man presented an aura of gentleness, but the patch on his eye and the ordeal with the bear gave Adam the sense that this man was not one to trifle with.

  Adam hadn’t been this bewildered since the pond. Giants becoming animals, children becoming adults, and a battle won with little wooden toys? Could something out here be causing hallucinations—perhaps the blue substance that appeared on his skin when the wind first blew?

  “Are you okay?” Kailyn asked.

  Adam only blinked.

  Kailyn smiled. “I want you to meet my friends, Watson and Abigail. When I told them I was coming to help you, they offered to come along. And it’s a good thing they did. For a moment there I lost my grip on the cottage pieces. Without their help, you and I both would have been in trouble.”

  “Cottage pieces? Do you mean the toys you were playing with?”

  “I assure you they are anything but toys. They are pieces of the cottage. They have power beyond anything you can imagine. I carry them everywhere.”

  “May I see them?”

  “Of course.” Kailyn laid them out on a stone as if she were setting out dazzling, priceless jewels. But Adam saw only old, splintered pieces of wood.

  Kailyn frowned. “What do you see, Adam?”

  “Honestly?” He picked up a piece, flipped it over, then set it down. “They just look like ... toys.”

  Their obvious displeasure at his answer made him regret the flippant response. These “toys” had just been used with deadly force.

  “I take it you’re from the high country?” Adam said.

  “Indeed,” Watson replied.

  Adam glanced down at the cottage pieces. “Is war coming?”

  “War has persisted between the high country and lowlands for centuries,” Watson said. “It is a war your previous companions will soon lose, just as they lost today’s battle. As for you, you must return with us at once.” He picked up the hammer Kailyn had used on the bear. “If you wish to live, do not resist.”

  Snapshots of the mutilated bodies at the tree line flashed in Adam’s mind and he involuntarily touched his chest. He was alone with three armed mountain people who had just sliced wild animals to ribbons. He took a step back. “Am I being taken captive?”

  Kailyn and Abigail circled behind Adam, and Watson stepped closer. “Why are you touching your chest, Adam?” Watson asked. “Did you see the bodies?”

  Adam struggled to breathe. “Was it you who ... were those people trying to escape? Or ...?”

  A strong hand from behind seized his arm.

  Chapter 11

  The strength of Kailyn’s grip surprised Adam. Stronger still was her tone. “There are far worse fates than what happened to those people.”

  “Worse than having your chest ripped open?”

  She pulled him around to face her. “Adam, listen to me. You’re dealing with powers you know nothing about. And if you’re taken ...” Her voice cracked. She released his arm and turned away, hiding tears.

  Abigail wrapped her arms around Kailyn and held her.

  Kailyn didn’t strike Adam as the type who cried easily. She reminded him of a river that ran slow and deep—calm on the surface, but with unseen power beneath and not easily disturbed. For her to be troubled so deeply, and the way Abigail comforted her—Adam sensed something greater at stake here than what lay on the surface. What did she mean by ‘taken’?

  Watson set his jaw and his tone darkened. “There is no fate worse than that which comes to those who walk in the counsel of the little ones.”

  “The little ones? You mean the Great Ones?”

  A hint of a smile flashed across Watson’s face. “Yes, the ‘Great Ones.’ On this side of the river they are honored, despite their ignorance.”

  “Ignorance? Those men are brilliant. Pick any subject, and they can expound on it endlessly.”

  “Any subject?”

  “Yeah. Biology, geology, medicine, physics, magnetism, gravity—you name it.”

  “Did you ask them what powers gravity? Or magnetism? Are they cognizant of its source? Or purpose?”

  “I guess I didn’t ask that.”

  “Did you inquire as to the law of cause and effect? When did it begin?”

  “Hasn’t that just always existed?”

  “Without a cause?” Watson asked. “Are the laws of physics exempt from the laws of physics? The only uncaused effect in the world?”

  Watson continued. “I do not doubt their voluminous knowledge of this world. However, their knowledge is limited to this world. Unhelp
ful for someone who belongs to another world—an unseen world, wouldn’t you say?”

  An hour ago, Adam had been in awe of their intellect. After all, the city had enshrined their writings in the library. Would it be wise to brush all their collective knowledge aside? Who is this man to question them? For that matter, who am I to question them?

  “How could such intelligent men be wrong about the most important matters of life?” Adam asked.

  “Their intelligence goes only as far”—Watson tapped next to his good eye—“as their observations.”

  “What other kind of intelligence is there? Isn’t it irrational to believe in things that can’t be observed?”

  “It would be if observation were the only form of evidence. But to say that is to revert to the mentality of an infant who thinks the world disappears when he closes his eyes. Just because something is unseen does not disprove its existence. Nor is observation the only means of obtaining knowledge. It is useful for matters pertaining to the body, but not for matters of heart or soul.”

  “But observational knowledge can be verified. What other form of gaining knowledge can be trusted?”

  “Testimony,” said Watson. “Of all the things you believe, what percentage is from your own experimentation, and how much is from what you have read or been told by a reliable source?”

  “I see your point. Most of what I believe comes from reliable sources. But who’s more reliable than the Great Ones? I spent some time with those men. We talked for hours, and there’s no doubt in my mind they care deeply about finding the truth.”

  “Mere observation of events without comprehension of meaning is not a discovery of truth. It is half-truth. Less than half, in fact. What good is awareness of objects and processes if one remains ignorant of their purpose and meaning? To truly know what is seen, one must also know the unseen.”

  “But if it’s unseen, how do we know it even exists?”

  “You doubt the existence of the unseen? Does not that very act of doubting require the unseen powers of your mind, along with unseen motives of your spirit?”

  “I guess I can’t argue with that,” Adam said. “But have you ever spoken to those men? They’re so ...”

  “Did they look big to you?” Kailyn asked.

  “Did they look big? They were giants! And then they turned into wild animals.”

  “You saw them as animals? Interesting.” Kailyn said. “They aren’t animals. Animals can be defeated with much lesser weapons. What you saw were the powers that control the little ones. Those powers and their minions must have looked to you like animals because that’s the closest thing you know. But that you detected them at all is a good sign. The wind must have been blowing on you.”

  “Why did the ... ‘powers’ only appear when they saw you?”

  “They were there the whole time, but they only become visible to us when the light from the cottage pieces exposes them.”

  “That, and the wind,” Watson added. “The wind not only exposes them but also strengthens us to fight them. We have an advantage because the powers are incapable of detecting the wind—as are the lowlanders.”

  Adam turned away, clasping his hands behind his head. The more they explained, the more his confusion increased. Could such a story be true? He couldn’t bring himself to believe it. But what did he believe? His imagination searched in vain for a more plausible alternative.

  He half expected that when he turned around, the hallucination would be over and they would all be gone. Instead, he found all three eyeing him with curious stares.

  He could hardly hear his own weak voice as he forced words from a dry throat. “Why did you ask if they looked big? Don’t they look big to you?”

  “Let me show you something,” Kailyn said, walking back toward the site of the skirmish. “If you want to know someone’s true size, look at the footprints.”

  Adam examined the tracks leading up to the spot. They were tiny, like the ones he had seen by the dead pine. He checked his own prints. Only slightly bigger. The tracks the children had left at the scene were adult-sized.

  “Those men are perceived as great here because of the distortions of reality in the lowlands,” Watson explained. “West of the river, in the high country, reality is more perceptible. There, those men are known as “little-ones” because their souls have shrunk so small that their appetites do not extend beyond gold and fruit. They are masters at hiding their spiritual ignorance behind august knowledge of natural phenomena.”

  “We’re too exposed here.” Kailyn interrupted. She pointed to where the powers had retreated. “They will return—probably with reinforcements. Let’s move down into those trees where we can have some cover.”

  As they made their way toward the grove, Watson continued his explanation, “To apprehend truth requires both mind and soul. The mind cannot accurately process information without proper attitudes—attitudes it needs to interpret and absorb the information it receives. The way the little ones became so small was by severing the cord that connects mind with soul, leaving their souls to wither. And the mind, no matter how intelligent, cannot draw accurate conclusions when there is a diseased soul. Only an amenable heart and veridical soul discovers a conundrum’s quaesitum.”

  Abigail gave Adam a knowing smile. “Sorry, sometimes he can be a little hard to understand.” She winked at Watson and turned back to Adam. “What he means is you can’t know the truth unless your heart is receptive to it.”

  What Adam understood of Watson’s words made sense. But then again, he had felt the same way about the Great Ones—or little souls—whatever they were. Nothing, it seemed, was as it appeared, including these “children.”

  “What about you?” Adam asked. “Why do you appear as children? Why the deception?”

  “How a person appears is determined not by that person, but by the observer. The more highly you regard the one you observe, the larger he is in your eyes.”

  “So people grow or shrink based on what others think of them?”

  “They grow and shrink only in the eyes of the observers. But those assessments do not determine their true size.”

  “Their true size ...” The thought seemed simple enough, but the idea struck Adam with force. He had never given a thought to his “true size.” He had always subconsciously measured himself by what others thought—or by his own feelings about himself. But how “true” were either of those?

  “Yes,” Watson said. “True size. It is the measure of a man as judged by the Ruler. The Ruler considers great those who are small in their own eyes. Such people appear as children to those who are great in their own eyes, but who lack greatness in the Ruler’s eyes.”

  “The Ruler ...” Adam turned to Kailyn. “When you spoke to me by the river outside the city, you told me you had been sent—sent by someone who knew about the pond and how I could get back home. This Ruler—is that who you were talking about? If I go with you, will he show me the way to the pond?”

  “If you are willing, he will take you home. But you must understand—”

  Adam didn’t catch the rest. Abigail had stepped close and touched his arm. His lone thought and his entire consciousness centered on one thing—that touch.

  “Come with us to the cottage,” Abigail said, “and you will find your family.”

  She sealed her promise with a subtle smile. That smile. This woman radiated beauty with any expression, but each time she smiled, the sun rose on Adam’s world. From a rational perspective, her promises about his family seemed fanciful. But how could any lie arise from the same internal source as that smile?

  Rational or not, something in Adam wanted to believe. And everything in Adam wanted to go anywhere with Abigail—even if she was with Watson. Adam had seen the affection between them, but he’d also noticed her ringless finger. There’s always hope.

  “I would love to come.”

  Abigail’s face lit up like the sky at sunrise. She clasped Adam’s arm with both hands. “I’m so g
lad! You won’t regret it. Trust me—it will be a lot easier for you to believe when you are in the high country.”

  Kailyn’s eyes snapped to the south. Watson and Abigail tensed and began scanning the area—first to the south, then in a full circle.

  “Is something out there?” Adam whispered.

  “There’s always something out there,” Kailyn said, still studying the trees to the south. “We need to go.”

  Chapter 12

  They journeyed in silence. Watson and Kailyn never so much as snapped a twig, carrying themselves through the woods with the stealth and poise of soldiers on alert, ready to fend off an attack at any moment. An hour passed before they relaxed somewhat.

  “I’m starving,” Adam announced. “We need to find some fruit trees.”

  The friends exchanged glances.

  Finally, Watson spoke. “You will encounter no fruit trees traveling westward. Only those traveling east find fruit.”

  “Well then, let’s go east just far enough to find a tree.” Adam turned around and immediately spotted two trees, both heavy with ripe, juicy peaches. “Hey, look. How did I miss these before?”

  He started toward them.

  He had a vague awareness of some kind of commotion behind him, but the friends’ protests barely registered. It was all a faint, muffled sound, as though unseen hands pressed over his ears. His mind was capable of only one single thought: peaches.

  He snapped out of his stupor when he collided with Abigail, who had run ahead of him. She took hold of his hands with a firmness that seized his attention.

  The sun lit up her curly blond hair. Every time Adam saw her he noticed something new in her beauty. This time it was the way she would flip her hair to the side when some curls fell down on her face. Now, however, her world-stopping smile was absent.

  “Adam, please! If you go east, you won’t stop. The fruit always leads away from the cottage—never toward it.”