The Traveler fr-1

by John Twelve Hawks

  “Isaac Jones once told his brother-”

  “Don’t quote the Prophet to me, Mother. He said a lot of things and they don’t always agree. When you look for the basic ideas, it’s clear that Isaac Jones believed in freedom and compassion and hope. We can’t just repeat his words and think we’re right. People need to change their lives.”

  An hour later, she was sitting in church beside her mother. Everything was the same-the familiar hymns, the rickety pews, and the faces that surrounded her-but she didn’t feel like part of the ceremony. The whole congregation knew that Victory From Sin Fraser had gotten involved with Hollis Wilson and an evil Harlequin named Maya. They stared at Vicki and expressed their fears during the public confessional.

  The confessional was something unique to the Jonesie church, a peculiar mixture of a Baptist revival and a Quaker meeting. That morning it developed in a typical manner. First, Reverend J. T. Morganfield gave a sermon about manna in the desert, not only the food provided to the Israelites but also the riches available to any believer. As a three-piece band began to play with a driving gospel beat, the congregation sang “Call Your Faith Forward,” an old-time Jonesie hymn. People stood up during the singing and at the end of each chorus expressed their concerns.

  Almost everyone mentioned Vicki Fraser. They were worried about her; they were afraid; but they knew God would protect her. Vicki looked straight ahead and tried not to look embarrassed. The way they talked, it was basically her fault for believing in Debt Not Paid. Another chorus. A confession. A chorus. A confession. She felt like standing up and running from the church, but she knew everyone would follow.

  As the singing got louder, the deacon’s door near the altar opened and Hollis Wilson walked out. Everyone stopped singing, but that didn’t appear to bother him. Standing at the front of the church, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a leather-bound copy of The Collected Letters of Isaac T. Jones.

  “I have a confession to make,” Hollis said. “I have a testimony for all of you. In the fourth letter, written from Meridian, Mississippi, the Prophet says that there is no such thing as a truly fallen man or woman. Anyone, even the most miserable sinner, can make the decision to return to God and the circle of the faithful.”

  Hollis glanced at Reverend Morganfield and the pastor responded, almost automatically, “Amen to that, Brother.”

  The entire church of believers took a breath and seemed to relax. Yes, a dangerous man was standing by the altar, but they were familiar with the style of his confession. Hollis looked at Vicki for the first time and nodded very slightly as if to acknowledge the connection between them.

  “I have strayed for many years,” Hollis said. “I have lived a wayward life of disobedience and sin. I apologize to anyone I have hurt or offended, but I do not request forgiveness. In his ninth letter, Isaac Jones tells us that only God can grant forgiveness-which he gives equally to every man and woman, to every race and nation under the sun.” Hollis flipped open the green book and read a passage. “We, who are equal in the Eyes of God, should be equal in the Eyes of Mankind.”

  “Amen,” said an old lady.

  “I also do not beg forgiveness for joining with a Harlequin to stand against the Tabula. I did this, at first, for money-like a hired killer. But now the blindfold has been ripped from my eyes, and I have seen the power of the Tabula and their plan to control and manipulate the people of New Babylon.

  “For many years, this church has been divided by the issue of Debt Not Paid. I believe, very strongly, that this argument has lost its meaning. Zachary Goldman, the Lion of the Temple, died with the Prophet. That’s a fact, and no one disputes it. But what’s more important is the evil being done right now, the willingness of the Tabula to betray mankind. As the Prophet said: ‘The Righteous must fight the Dragon both in darkness and in light.’”

  Vicki glanced around the church. Hollis had won over some of them, but definitely not Reverend Morganfield. The elderly believers were nodding and praying and whispering, “Amen.”

  “We must support the Harlequins and their allies, not only with our prayers but with our sons and daughters. That’s why I’ve come here today. Our army needs the help of Victory From Sin Fraser. I’m asking her to join us and share our hardships.”

  Hollis raised his right hand and gestured as if to say: Come with me. Vicki knew this was the biggest choice she had ever made in her life. When she looked at her mother, she saw that Josetta was crying.

  “I want your blessing,” Vicki whispered.

  “Don’t go. They’ll kill you.”

  “This is my life, Mother. It’s my choice. You know I can’t stay here.”

  Still crying, Josetta embraced her daughter. Vicki could feel her mother’s arms holding her tightly, and then finally letting go. Everyone watched as Vicki left the pew and joined Hollis near the altar.

  “Goodbye,” she said to the congregation. Her own voice surprised her. It sounded strong and confident. “In the next few weeks, I might ask some of you for help and support. Go home and pray. Decide if you want to stand with us.”

  Hollis grabbed her hand and they headed quickly for the door. A pickup truck with a camper shell was parked in the side alleyway. As they got in, Hollis pulled an automatic out of his waistband and placed it on the seat between them. “Two Tabula mercs are out front, across the street,” he said. “Let’s hope they don’t have a second group watching us.” Slowly he drove down the alley to a dirt access road that ran between the two rows of buildings. Hollis kept turning until they reached a paved street several blocks away from the church.

  “Are you all right?” Vicki glanced at Hollis and he smiled.

  “I had a little fight with three splicers, but I’ll tell you about that later. For the last few days, I’ve been driving around the city, going to public libraries and using their computers. I’ve been in contact with this Harlequin in France named Linden. He’s Maya’s friend, the guy who sent me the money.”

  “Who else is in this ‘army’ you were talking about?”

  “At this point, it’s just you, me, Maya, and Gabriel. She’s brought him back to Los Angeles. But listen to this…” Hollis thumped his fist on the steering wheel. “Gabriel crossed the barriers. He’s a Traveler. The real thing.”

  Vicki looked at the traffic as they turned onto the freeway. Thousands of people sat alone, each held within their little box on wheels. The citizens gazed at the bumpers in front of them, listened to noise from their radios, and assumed that this time and place was the only true reality. In Vicki’s mind, everything had changed. A Traveler had broken the restraints that held them to this world. The freeway, the cars and drivers, was not a final answer, only one possible alternative.

  “Thank you for coming to the church, Hollis. That was a dangerous thing to do.”

  “I knew you’d be there and I remembered the alleyway. Besides, I needed the permission of the congregation. I could tell that most of them supported me.”

  “What kind of permission are you talking about?”

  Hollis leaned back in the seat and laughed. “We’re hiding out at Arcadia.”

  Arcadia was a church camp in the hills northwest of Los Angeles. A white woman named Rosemary Kuhn, who liked to sing hymns at the Jonesie church, had given forty acres of Malibu ranch land to the congregation. Both Vicki and Hollis had visited Arcadia when they were children, taking hikes, swimming in the pool, and singing songs around the Saturday night campfire. A few years ago, the camp’s water well had failed and the zoning board had condemned the site for different violations. The Jonesie church was trying to sell the property while Rosemary Kuhn’s children were suing to get it back.

  Hollis took Route 1 along the coast, and then followed the two-lane highway that ran through Topanga Canyon. When they turned left at the Topanga post office, the road got narrow and very steep. Coastal oak and dense chaparral were on both sides of the road. Finally they passed beneath a wooden archway with the word CADIA painted on
a vandalized sign and reached the top of the ridge. A long dirt driveway, eroded by flooding, led them to a gravel parking lot.

  The buildings at the camp hadn’t changed in the last twenty years. The camp had men’s and women’s dormitories, an empty pool with a pool house, a water tank, and a large community center that was used for meals and church services. The long white buildings had red tile roofs in the Spanish style. Flower beds and a vegetable garden, once carefully tended by the Jonesies, were now overgrown with weeds. All the windows had been smashed and empty beer cans covered the ground. At the top of the ridge you could see the mountains on one side and the Pacific Ocean on the other.

  Vicki thought they were alone until Maya and Gabriel came out of the community center and walked down to the parking lot to meet them. Maya looked the same: strong and aggressive. Vicki stared at Gabriel, searching for a change in his appearance. His smile hadn’t changed, but his eyes looked at her with a new intensity. She felt a little nervous until Gabriel said hello and hugged her.

  “We were worried about you, Vicki. Glad you’re here.”

  Hollis had gone to an army surplus store and purchased folding cots and sleeping bags for the two dormitories. A camp stove, water bottles, and canned food were in the kitchen of the community center. They used an old broom to sweep away some of the dust, then sat down at one of the long tables. Maya switched on her computer and showed them personal information about Americans their age who had died in car accidents. During the next few weeks, they would obtain the birth certificates of the dead people, then driver’s licenses, then passports for different identities. Eventually, they would cross the border into Mexico and look for a safe place to hide.

  “I don’t want to end up in a Mexican jail,” Hollis said. “If we’re leaving the country, we’ll need money.”

  Maya explained that Linden had sent thousands of dollars to America hidden inside an antique Buddha. The package was being held by an art dealer in West Hollywood. It was dangerous to ship money and pick up packages if the Tabula were searching for you. Hollis volunteered to guard the back of the building when she entered the front door.

  “I can’t leave Gabriel alone.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Gabriel told her. “Nobody knows about this place. Even if the Tabula found out, they’d still have to drive up that winding road. We’d see the car ten minutes before they got here.”

  The Harlequin changed her mind twice during lunch, and then finally decided that it was important to get the money. Vicki and Gabriel stood in the parking lot and watched Hollis’s truck head back down the hill.

  “What do you think about Maya?” Gabriel asked.

  “She’s very brave.”

  “Maya’s father put her through some pretty harsh training to turn her into a Harlequin. I don’t think she trusts anyone.”

  “The Prophet once wrote a letter to his twelve-year-old niece, Evangeline. He said that our parents give us armor to wear and we decide to put on more armor as we get older. When we become adults, the different pieces of armor don’t match and they don’t protect us completely.”

  “Maya is very well protected.”

  “Yes. But she’s the same underneath. We’re all the same.”

  Vicki took the broom and swept the floor of the community center. Occasionally she glanced out the window and saw that Gabriel was pacing around the dirt parking lot. The Traveler looked restless and unhappy. He was thinking about something, trying to figure out a problem. Vicki finished sweeping and was wiping down the tables with a wet rag when Gabriel appeared in the doorway.

  “I’ve decided to cross over.”

  “Why do it now?”

  “I need to find my brother, Michael. I just missed him in the fire barrier, but maybe he’s in one of the realms.”

  “Do you think he’s helping the Tabula?”

  “That’s what worries me, Vicki. They could be forcing him to do this.”

  She followed Gabriel into the men’s dormitory and watched him sit on one of the folding cots with his legs flat in front of him. “Should I go away?” she asked.

  “No. It’s all right. My body stays here. No flames or angels.”

  Holding the jade sword with both hands, Gabriel took long, deep breaths. Suddenly he allowed the upper part of his body to fall backward. The quick movement seemed to change everything. He breathed one last time and then Vicki saw the transformation. His body shivered and went completely limp. Now he reminded her of a picture she had seen of a stone knight lying on a tomb.

  Was Gabriel above her? Floating through space? She looked around for a sign and saw nothing but the water-stained concrete walls and dirty ceiling. Watch over him, she prayed. Dear God, protect this Traveler.

  50

  Gabriel had crossed over, his Light passing through the four barriers. Opening his eyes, he found himself standing at the top of a staircase in an old house. He was alone. The house was quiet. A faint gray light bled through a narrow window.

  An old-fashioned parlor table was on the landing behind him. A vase with a silk rose was on the table, and Gabriel touched the stiff, smooth petals. The rose and the vase and the room that surrounded him were as false as the objects in his own world. Only the Light was permanent and real. His body and his clothes were ghost images that had followed him to this place. Gabriel pulled the jade sword a few inches out of the scabbard and its steel blade gleamed with a silver energy.

  He pushed back the lace curtains and peered out the window. It was early in the evening, just after sunset. He was in a city with sidewalks and shade trees. A line of row houses was on the other side of the street and the area reminded him of the brownstone neighborhoods in New York City or Baltimore. Lights were on in a few of the apartments, and the window shades had a soft yellow color, like pieces of old parchment.

  Gabriel rearranged the sword so that the strap was over one shoulder, the scabbard touching his back. As quietly as possible, he climbed down the staircase to the third floor. He pushed open one of the doors, expecting to be attacked, and discovered an empty bedroom. All the furniture was heavy and dark: a large dresser with brass fittings and a bed with a carved wooden frame. The room had an old-fashioned look that reminded him of movies set in the 1920s. He couldn’t find a clock radio or a television set, nothing new and bright and gleaming. On the second floor, he heard the sound of a piano coming from below. The music was slow and sad: a simple melody repeated with slight variations.

  Gabriel tried not to make the stairs creak as he climbed down the last flight. On the ground floor an open doorway led into a dining room with a long table and six high-backed chairs. Wax fruit was in a bowl on the sideboard. Crossing the hallway, he passed through a study with leather club chairs and one solitary reading lamp, then entered the rear parlor.

  A woman sat with her back to the doorway, playing an upright piano. She had gray hair and wore a long black skirt and a lavender blouse with puffy sleeves. When Gabriel stepped toward the woman, the floor creaked and she glanced over her shoulder. Her face startled him. It was emaciated and pale, as if she’d been locked up in the house and left to starve. Only her eyes were alive; bright and intense, they stared at him. She was surprised but not frightened that a stranger had appeared in the room.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked. “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “My name is Gabriel. Could you tell me the name of this place?”

  Her black skirt made a rustling sound as she approached him. “You look different, Gabriel. You must be new.”

  “Yes. I guess that’s right.” He stepped back from the woman, but she followed him. “I’m sorry to be in your house.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t be sorry at all.” Before he could stop her, the woman grabbed his right hand. A look of wonder appeared on her face. “Your skin is warm. How is that possible?” Gabriel tried to pull away, but the woman held him with a strength that didn’t seem to match her frail body. Trembling slightly, she leaned down and kissed the back of h
is hand. Gabriel felt cold lips touch his skin, and then a sharp pain. He yanked his hand back and saw that it was bleeding.

  A small drop of blood-his blood-was on the corner of the woman’s mouth. She touched the blood with her forefinger, studied the bright red color, and then placed the finger in her mouth. Ecstatic, possessed by pleasure, she shivered and closed her eyes. Gabriel hurried out of the room and down the hallway to the front door. He fumbled with the latch and then was outside on the sidewalk.

  Before he could find someplace to hide, a black automobile cruised slowly down the street. The car resembled a four-door sedan from the 1920s, but there was a vagueness about the design. It looked like the idea of a car, a gesture, instead of a real piece of machinery built in a factory. The driver was an old man with a pinched, shriveled appearance. He stared at Gabriel as he passed.

  No other cars appeared as Gabriel wandered the dark streets. He came to a city square surrounding a little park with benches, an outdoor bandstand, and a few shade trees. Shops with window displays were on the street level of the three-story buildings. Lights glowed through the windows of upstairs rooms. About a dozen people drifted around the square. They wore the same formal, old-fashioned clothing as the woman who played the piano: dark suits, long skirts, hats, and overcoats that concealed thin bodies.

  Gabriel felt conspicuous wearing his blue jeans and sweatshirt. He tried to remain in the shadows of the buildings. The shop windows had the kind of thick glass and steel frames that protected displays of jewelry. Each store had one window and each window had one object, illuminated with lights. He passed a skinny, bald man with a twitching face. The man was staring at an antique gold watch in the window. He looked dazed, almost hypnotized, by the object. Two doors down was an antique store with a white marble statue of a naked boy in the window. A woman with dark red lipstick stood very close to the window and gazed at the statue. As Gabriel passed, she leaned forward and kissed the plate glass.

  A grocery store was at the end of the block. It wasn’t a modern establishment with wide aisles and glass-door freezer cases, but everything looked clean and well organized. Customers carrying red wire shopping baskets walked between shelves of merchandise. A young woman wearing a white smock stood behind a cash register.