The light subsided and Adam saw the Ruler’s face. His knees buckled and he found himself on the floor along with Levi and most of the others around him.
Adam had many times been amazed, but never in awe—not like this. He had felt belittled by those who outshined him in degrees, but never dwarfed by true greatness. Rather than embarrassing him, it drew him in—drew him to not only see the glory but to participate in it. Adam had never felt smaller, but it was an exhilarating smallness, like one standing before a massive, thunderous waterfall that would crush him if he got too close, but that was so majestic that merely watching it fortified and expanded his soul.
He realized now that he had been born with a need to be awed. He was like a child who didn’t know he was thirsty until the first time he drank.
“Did you notice his hair?” Levi asked. The Ruler looked to be in the prime of life, and yet with white hair and a gray beard. Levi turned to a server standing with them at their table. “Tell Adam what you told me about the hair.”
“It points to his existence from ancient times,” said the server, “and to his comprehensive wisdom. He’s the oldest being in existence and has witnessed, understood, and remembered every event stretching back to the very womb of time, comprehending the purpose and meaning of all things. He knows every heart, every motive, every thought, every impulse, every appetite, and can be trusted as a guide to always point his people to the best possible course.”
“And his legs?” Adam asked. “They look like they’re solid bronze.”
The server nodded. “Powerful, immovable, utterly and eternally stable.”
The Ruler’s fiery eyes penetrated to the secrets of Adam’s soul.
His voice shook the hall. He spoke with awesome authority, perfect clarity, and ultimate finality.
“And check out his sword,” Levi said, pointing to the blade secured at the Ruler’s hip.
“With that sword,” said the server, “he will crush all his enemies in perfect justice, spotless purity, and overwhelming glory. He holds in his hand the destiny of every person in existence. He is at once the best friend and the worst enemy anyone could have.”
As the server spoke, awe expanded in Adam like a starburst with rays touching every corner of his soul. In the Ruler’s presence, he felt thoroughly known and understood.
He also felt ... dirty. The Ruler’s goodness awakened him to a darkness within him—a darkness utterly incompatible with the Ruler’s goodness. And yet, he didn’t feel repelled. Just the opposite. He sensed it would be possible to be at peace with the Ruler—though couldn’t imagine how. And while Abigail had been his tether to the good, the Ruler now attracted him to the good with irresistible glory.
Adam’s awe gave way to surprise when he saw what the Ruler was wearing. “Is that an ... apron?”
Levi smiled. “Isn’t it amazing? He’s the great Ruler of the kings of the earth, and yet he serves every week as our chef.”
Adam scanned Levi’s face, trying to discern if he was serious. “The Ruler is the chef?”
“It’s true. He says serving as chef is an essential part of his work as Ruler because his food is the only source of life. Fruit brings death and misery, and so the only law in the high country is that we must prefer his life-giving delicacies over fruit.”
“That’s the only law?”
“Yeah! You can do anything you want as long as you prefer real food over the garbage in the lowlands. He says that’s the only law because it’s the supreme way to honor him. And because it does the most good for society—and for yourself.”
After removing his apron, the Ruler spoke, controlling his thunderous voice with gentleness and compassion that set Adam’s troubled heart at ease. Still, the Ruler’s voice rattled Adam’s body.
“I am the beginning and the end. I am, I have always been, and I will always be. Why do the powers rage? Will the king of the lowlands take a stand against me? I will crush him, the powers, and their people to powder on the day of judgment. But those who lay down their arms and come to me will be given full pardon. I am a shepherd. I gather the lambs in my arms and carry them close to my heart. Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Learn from me, for I am humble and gentle in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. Blessed are those who eat at my table!”
As he spoke, some fell on their knees and then on their faces, trembling in awe. Others stood like soldiers at attention, displaying profound respect and honor. Others sat in chairs in deep contemplation.
As the Ruler finished speaking, the best aromas yet wafted from the kitchen.
“Ah,” said the Ruler. “The pies are ready. Enjoy, everyone!”
Before the words were out of his mouth, the servers moved toward the kitchen to bring out the desserts.
The Ruler picked up his apron, but instead of returning to the kitchen, he approached Adam’s table.
“Welcome, Adam. I have so looked forward to meeting you!”
Adam opened his mouth but could generate no reply. His co-mingled joy and awe silenced him. Others had embraced the Ruler. Adam wanted to, but instead he fell again to his knees.
The Ruler extended his hand and lifted Adam to his feet. “Come. I would like you to join me in my cottage.”
Adam lost his breath. From his first day in this world, he had known the cottage was important—more important than anything else. Most of his life he had suppressed that knowledge, but it had always lingered in his soul. In his quest to see it, he had forsaken everything, faced giants, stepped over dead bodies, fought wolves, and gained and lost the most remarkable woman he’d ever known. And now, after everything, he was about to see it. Chills ran through every nerve in his body.
Chapter 26
Adam had been so desperate to secure the Ruler’s help in rescuing Abigail, he had pushed his body to the limit in his flight to the high country. He’d envisioned himself crashing into the banquet hall, clutching the Ruler by the arm, and beseeching him to come with him to the orchard. And on the journey, he would pepper the Ruler with the stockpile of pressing questions swirling in his mind.
But now, as they strolled along the path to the cottage, all his anxieties settled behind the solemnity of the moment. Peace fell upon him as he watched the swaying treetops massage the sky in the cool breeze. As urgent as his concern for Abigail was, he sensed the Ruler could be trusted to carry that anxiety while Adam faced the momentous occasion at hand. The mysterious structure that had beckoned him since his first day in this world stood just ahead.
Adam craned his neck before the ancient structure’s towering door. It wasn’t just the size of what stood before Adam, but its magnificence that moved him to his core. It made him feel small and vulnerable, and at the same time supremely honored to have been invited to this place—and by none other than the Ruler himself.
As they approached the doors, Adam wondered how a mere man, who stood no taller than Adam, would open such a gate. He thought not even the guardian from his vision would be able to gain entry. But the Ruler laid a hand on the door and swung it on its great hinges with ease.
As they stepped in, Adam crossed the threshold into what seemed like a different world.
At first, the light blinded him, and the echo of their footsteps in the cavernous foyer sent a shiver down his spine.
As his eyes adjusted, he looked up. A series of plaques along the foyer walls detailed how all things came to be and how the half-real world became broken and lost its connection with reality.
From there the Ruler took him through the only doorway leading out of the foyer. In the next room, a decagon, each of the ten walls emitted a different color.
“These are the ten primary colors,” the Ruler explained. “Each one shows a different shade of the Father’s heart. Together they reveal what he is like—how he thinks about things, how he acts, and what he desires. There is nothing in existence more beautiful than the desires of the Father’s heart. Most of his shades are not vis
ible in this world, but he has enabled humans to view these ten—and thousands of different shades within the ten.”
A circular fireplace heated the room from the center. Adam hadn’t noticed the chill in the corridor until they entered this room and felt its inviting warmth. A marble counter encircled the fireplace and a blue haze filled the room.
“You would do well to spend much time in this room,” the Ruler said. “The more you gaze upon these colors, the more they penetrate your heart. That’s why you are so drawn to people like Kailyn, Watson, and Abigail. Their hearts reflect these colors.”
On each of the walls hung a mirror. Adam stepped in front of the first and was startled to discover the mirror did not reflect his body, but his heart. His surprise turned to sadness when he found no trace of that wall’s color in him.
The mirror’s display of Adam’s inner being was not only visual—it reached all the senses, especially the sense of smell. A putrid stench intensified the ugliness of the image.
He moved on to the next wall, and then the next. Each mirror revealed the same repulsive ugliness—no colors. The realization that he was nothing like what he should be—nothing like the Father—set his heart racing like a criminal about to be caught. He wanted out of this room.
Humiliated, he tried to cover the ugliest parts with his hands. The moment he did so, scorching heat enveloped him from behind. The fireplace had become a raging furnace, and he smelled the hair on the back of his head being singed.
Then he caught sight of the Ruler’s reflection in the mirror. He circled the room, watching the Ruler’s reflection in each of the ten mirrors. The flood of colors proved more than Adam could handle and he dropped to his knees.
He looked again at his own reflection, and terror seeped into every crevice of his soul. Could the monster in the glass really be him—his true self?
He considered the way he had always thought about himself and the way he’d portrayed himself to people. What a lie! I’m a complete fraud. He had imagined himself to be a good man. But the mirrors revealed selfish motives, arrogant pride, ingratitude, and irreverence.
It was clear now—he had always known of the Ruler. He’d known, deep down, there had to be a Ruler, supremely good, and worthy of adoration. He had known these things and suppressed them because he wanted to live for himself. And for that—the realization fell on him like a guillotine—for that, he deserved to die.
The weight of regret and sorrow pushed him from his knees to his face, tears wetting the floor.
The sting of his guilt doubled, doubled again, and a dark wave of dread swept over him. Utterly condemned, his lungs still drew air but in the truest sense, he was dead. This room had killed him by showing him that on the inside, in the ways that matter most, he had been dead all his life.
A gaping hole opened in his chest. His hand instinctively rose to his heart but found only a cavernous void.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t stay here,” the Ruler said. “Come with me to the next room—the one I built,” he added, with a tone of satisfaction.
Unable to stand, Adam turned his head, expecting to see the Ruler’s feet. Instead, he saw his face. The great monarch had stooped to Adam’s level.
The Ruler stood, took Adam in his arms, and carried him from the room.
When they came to the door of the Ruler’s prized room, a row of towels hung from hooks on the wall alongside the door.
Adam expected this room to be the most ornate and impressive space of the entire building. But when the door opened, an overpowering stench assaulted him from inside the room. The smell of death.
Darkness shrouded the room, and Adam hesitated in the doorway. The Ruler put a firm hand on his elbow and pulled him in.
Adam slipped and fell. Something greased the floor and now covered Adam. He looked toward the doorway where light from the hall shone on the red, tacky fluid. Blood! Something had been slaughtered in this room.
After what he saw of himself in the last room, his only thought was that it should be his blood on this floor. Perhaps it would be—if he stayed much longer.
On hands and knees, Adam slipped and slid back to the door and into the hallway. The Ruler followed and closed the door to the blood room.
Adam sat against the wall in the hallway and looked up at the Ruler. “What happened in there?”
The Ruler sat on the floor next to him. His voice grew somber. “It’s my blood.”
“Your blood? What happened? Who did that to you?”
“My Father,” he said, almost whispering.
“Your ... your Father?” Adam could manage no other words.
The Ruler took one of the towels and began cleaning the blood from Adam’s arms and legs.
“But ... why? Was he angry with you?”
The Ruler dabbed some blood from Adam’s face. “No. He did it because he was angry with you.”
“With me?”
“Yes, Adam. Remember what you saw in the mirrors?”
Adam hung his head. He didn’t have to ask why the Father would be angry with him. But why had the Ruler been punished for Adam’s evil?
The Ruler seemed to have heard his unspoken question. “He punished me because the punishment you deserved was more than you could take. For justice to be done, it would have had to go on forever. You would have been sent to the lake of fire in outer darkness. I didn’t want that. I knew I could take the full punishment and recover.”
The Ruler moved in front of Adam and toweled the blood from Adam’s hands. “Look at me, Adam. I love you—more than you could ever know. So does the Father. So together we decided I would pay the debt you couldn’t pay.”
The despair of death that had enveloped Adam gave way to glimmers of hope. “So ... the Father is no longer angry with me?” he ventured, thinking it was too good to be true.
The Ruler’s answer chilled Adam to his bones. “He is furious with you. As am I. You still bear the guilt of your evil.”
Adam’s stomach pushed into his throat and he slid away from the Ruler. His heart raced. “But ... I thought you paid that debt.”
“I did, but for my sacrifice to be applied to you, you must pass through the next room.” The Ruler stood and extended his hand. Adam took it and followed him down the hallway. Their slow steps echoed in the empty corridor as they progressed to the third room.
Adam’s uncontrolled trembling shook his voice. “What’s in this one? I don’t know if I can ...”
“Don’t worry. The only thing you have to do in this room is trust me.”
Adam stopped.
The Ruler smiled. “I know—scary words. But important ones. This is the most comfortable, welcoming, rest-giving room in the house. However, many have died in here. If you want to survive it, you must trust me.”
Two padlocks and several deadbolts sealed the room. Adam lifted his eyes to the inscription above the door: If you do not stand firm in faith, you will not stand at all. The Ruler drew a set of keys from his pocket and released each of the locks. Then he threw the door open with a dramatic sweep of his hand. Adam stood in the doorway and all his apprehensions melted away.
A vast hall filled with people stretched before him. He couldn’t even see to the other side. Some relaxed on overstuffed furniture—pictures of contentment. Others slept on beds. Some busied themselves with projects—projects that were humanly impossible. One man brought a stone to life. Another carried a load that would have crushed a normal person.
Everyone looked happy.
The Ruler stepped in and opened a palm of invitation. Adam approached the threshold, then stopped. The room had no floor.
He stepped back and reexamined the activities in the room. People moved about in the normal way, as if on a solid surface.
One man didn’t seem as contented as the others. He reclined in a large easy chair but kept shifting his position and looking down at where the floor should be. Then, he stood. As his weight lifted from the chair, in a flash the Ruler ap
peared at his side, extending his hand. But rather than taking it, the man flailed in a fruitless attempt to steady himself, then plunged downward, screaming in free fall until he disappeared from view.
When the Ruler returned to the doorway, Adam asked, horrified. “How long will he fall?”
“Until he trusts me.”
“But what if he never trusts you?”
“Then he will fall forever,” came the grim reply. The Ruler then stepped several paces into the room. “Come. You must pass through this room.”
Chapter 27
The Ruler’s smile lit up the entire promise room as Adam walked to him across the floorless expanse without sinking an inch. “Excellent!” The Ruler placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Keep trusting me like that, and you will find this room the source of ever-increasing happiness.”
Adam stepped further into the room, lost in wonder.
“The promise room is the Father’s treasury,” said the Ruler. “All his riches are stored here.”
A pedestal near the door captured Adam’s attention. The gleaming, translucent material mesmerized him. He glanced at the Ruler, who extended his arm toward the pedestal. “Feel free.”
Adam stepped closer, hands behind his back, careful not to touch it. He circled the piece. Opposite the Ruler, he stopped short, eyes wide, lowering his face inches from the side of the pedestal.
He stood. “Is this ... gold?”
The Ruler smiled. “You’ve never seen gold like that, have you?”
Adam shook his head. “I can ... see through it.”
“That’s what pure gold is like.” Then the Ruler motioned with a nod. “Touch it.”
Adam stepped back.
“Don’t be afraid. This isn’t like the gold you’re used to. Go ahead—touch it.”
Adam reached a tentative finger.
The pleasures that coursed through his body startled him. He remembered Kailyn’s words In the high country, anyone’s gold can heal you. At the time, it hadn’t sounded plausible. But here he was, touching gold he didn’t own, and it filled him with sensations of pleasure unlike anything he’d ever felt even with his own gold—hope, contentment, peace, and joy.
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