Ashamed, the young lambs looked down at their hooves. They huddled by the nearest wall, making do as best they could. Samson wedged down in a tight corner, beside them. The donkey dipped his ears, “And no doubt I’ll be colder and hungrier again. Certainly by tomorrow morning if not sooner!” he grumbled.
The lambs, hopeful as always, bleated, “But look how cozy it is now!”
Eden lay on the potter’s doorstep so she could watch both inside and out. The dog on the child’s bed glared at her with dangerous eyes, pressing his body across the child’s legs—but she ignored him. Instead she stared at her master and the one named Judas who seemed to have forgotten everything around them, the two men silently gazed into each other’s eyes as the rest slept.
Murmured prayers hung in the air as the night closed in.
The potter sat at the open door as well, the girl’s mother curled by the foot of the bed, and both nodded in restless sleep, their heads to their breasts. The night lengthened …
Eden suddenly opened her eyes. She must have fallen asleep.
Her master stood in the doorway looking in. The potter and the potter’s wife lifted their heads in alarm and the dog on the child’s bed bared its teeth. Be warned.
Eden partially rose an inch from her place on the doorstep and on all four paws crawled on her belly into the room. She barely moved her legs, head down, ears back—still the dog on the bed growled, low and long.
As Eden lay on the floor inside the room, she rolled on her side. She could feel the fear inside the other dog’s mind. His memory of the sudden fall from the ramp: the terror in the child’s arms as they fell through the air, the brutal thump when they landed in the hay cart. The dog on the bed began to tremble—
“It’s over now,” Eden told him. “You’re not going to fall again. No one is going to hurt you. Let my master touch your girl. Let me come close and kiss your ear.”
“Why?” the dog growled low in his throat, his paws pressing the child’s legs. “Why do they never listen? I told her not to run on the ramps! I always tell them that!”
Eden crawled an inch closer. “They never listen. Not to us. Not even to each other.”
The dog on the bed stopped trembling. Something in Eden’s voice touched him in a good way. And his ears perked to listen more. “They should listen.”
“Yes, they should,” Eden said. “Let us both show we can listen even when they don’t. Listen to me now.” She crawled closer. Her nose just under the bed. “Can I sit up instead of crawl? Can I kiss your ear?” The angry dog said nothing.
Eden laid her head on the edge of the bed. The angry dog put his head beside her, but did not move his paws.
“My nose. You can kiss my nose.”
Eden nuzzled the angry dog’s nose. He took a deep breath and sighed.
Her master stood over the bed and knelt by the child, and the angry dog did not object. Softly her master began to speak into the little girl’s ear, so softly Eden couldn’t catch what words he spoke, just that he was telling the little girl how much her parents loved her, how much they wanted her to get better, how much they wanted to see her open her eyes again …
Her master’s soft whispers went on for a long time. His voice rose and fell, reminding Eden of that time when he had counted the grains of sand in the Desert Man’s hand. And the angry dog’s eyes had closed to tight slits. He was beginning to sleep, the first sleep since their fall from the gangway, the first sleep in a long time.
“I’m going to kiss your girl,” Eden murmured.
And the angry dog murmured, “All right. All right. Just let me sleep a bit.”
Eden’s nose nuzzled the little girl’s ear, “Everyone loves you. Wake up. We’re all here.”
The little girl struggled in her dark sleep and her eyes fluttered.
Eden returned to the angry dog. “Why don’t you kiss her? She’d like it, if it was you instead of me.”
The sleeping dog opened his eyes, rose from the foot of the bed and stretched. Carefully he padded up to the child’s face and nuzzled her, saying, “I’m here now. I’m here.”
Eden held her breath.
The girl’s eyes fluttered again. In a corner of the room, the potter clutched his wife and she pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from crying out. Then fell to their master’s knees to kiss his hand. The lambs had joined Samson and the crowd of onlookers at the door. Many heads and faces looked in, worried faces, gaping mouths, eyes wide in awe and wonder.
At the doorway with the others, Judas didn’t know what to make of what he saw.
Fear and doubt and longing fought a silent battle. Could he really believe his lying eyes? Shaken, he turned his face away … but then slowly stared again, as if he could not bear to lose this moment. Yes, no denying the child had woken from her dark sleep.
And the girl cried.
As though for the first time.
The name of this man spread like birds through a field of wheat, the word of his coming flying on sparrows’ wings, swooping over the stalks.
They came to him in flocks.
Out from their homes and off their fields to greet the companions even miles from the nearest town, to offer them food or drink with little enough of their own to spare. Total strangers welcomed the companions with firewood or shelter for the night if only to sit and hear a few of their master’s words. For their master stopped in many places to speak, sitting upon rock or fallen tree while those who gathered listened, not only to his words but to the sound of his voice, which sustained them in ways food had never done.
During these times Eden sat with the one called Judas, who held her in his lap as her master’s words rose and fell and people listened and learned. Some learned to pray for the first time, others to love for the first time and yet others to forgive. Many lessons were given and many remembered, but what Eden remembered most clearly were the lambs quietly grazing among the gathered, and Samson the donkey silently swishing his tail. Judas clasped Eden in his warm arms and for a spell the troubled man ceased to argue with his unseen foe.
But seemed at peace for a time …
One lonely night found the travelers with no shelter but the land and sky, no dwellings nearby and no human flock to keep them company in a pasture of bare rocks. A night of stars but no moon and few clouds, so no rain fell to trouble them. The wind held its breath, and the warmth of their small campfire did not seem to fade until deep into the night.
The companions slept, heads curled on their arms, upon their folded robes. The lambs huddled together in a knot, and Eden dozed, pressed to her master’s side. The last thing she remembered before sleep was the one called Judas looking at her across the campfire. He stared at her with bitter eyes. Dark eyes she couldn’t meet. The troubled mind was upon Judas again, as though that terrible creature, the Hollow Man, sat upon his shoulder. The same as she knew before the cave, whispering poisoned words into Judas’ ear. And as she laid her head down beside her master’s thigh, she dreamt the strangest dream …
Eden lay on a pallet of dank straw in a dark, damp garrison cell. A bar of light fell from a slit in a heavy door. Next to her, a sleeping prisoner breathed heavily—not her master, but the wild man of the river. He wore an iron collar about his neck fastened to the stone wall. Beyond the heavy door footsteps approached, echoing off an empty hall. The footsteps stopped outside the door. A key turned in a lock, and the hinges groaned.
A Roman Legionary stood in the hall, a stern soldier who held a sword.
“Baptist!” he ordered. “Get up.”
In her dream Eden rose from her pallet, teeth bared, and leapt to the door. But her paws seemed stuck on the stone floor, she couldn’t pull them up, she couldn’t move. There was just her will to move and the prison turnkey standing in the doorframe.
If only she could get to him, if only—
Samson’s sudden bray woke Eden from her dream.
“The man of the river is dead,” the donkey cried. “They’ve killed him.”
Now the others were awake, startled by the noise. They sat up in alarm.
But who “they” were, Eden didn’t know and the lambs began to bleat, “Who killed him? Who killed who?”
The companions huddled about the master. Eden looked wildly around, but there was no one near them in this bit of field. The road lay empty, nothing amiss. Judas went among the animals, quieting the sheep, then to Samson, petting his long ears. “The man of the river is dead,” the donkey said sadly. “He who lifted my burdens, who set me free, who bid me walk with you … He is no more.”
And Eden knew the donkey had dreamed the same dream.
She caught a curious look on the face of the one called Judas. The man had undergone a subtle change. He seemed to understand every bray that came out of Samson’s mouth, and Eden wondered if he understood the language of animals now. Would he understand if she talked to him?
“Why do you look like that?” she growled.
And Judas gazed back at her with knowing eyes.
“I know you can understand me,” Eden said. “Why don’t you answer?”
But Judas merely smiled a crooked smile. The strangest feeling came over the dog that this was not the Judas they all knew, but someone or something else inside his skin. Was this the Hollow Man on the ledge looking at her? Was this the Adversary, then? Had that creature from the time in the wilderness somehow taken over Judas’ sick and troubled mind?
The twisted hateful feelings slowly passed and after a moment Judas looked merely sad, and above all worried, troubled by his new powers … as if understanding the words of beasts was unnatural and forbidden.
He let go of Samson’s long ear, sat heavily in the midst of the lambs planting his hands upon his knees, and hung his head. The lambs crowded around him, hopeful as usual. “We’re here! We’re here!” they cried. And Eden came among them, forgiving him now his moment of weakness. She nosed his hand off his knee, nosed it and nosed it again, until he touched her head and stroked her white face.
“I’m all right,” Judas told Eden. “Our master takes the pain away. And I return. But then I am still here. Alone with you.”
Wind and Waves
That day they marched without rest.
Dusk came, and as night fell the companions arrived again at the great lake. The travelers straggled like shipwreck survivors, strung out along the beach. Eden felt confused and lost. She walked along a sandbar as the ripples lapped quietly over her paws. Then she stood in the shallow tide pools with Samson the donkey, the lambs and the companions. A boat came to shore, and the companions pulled it close to the sandbar and climbed aboard. But their master stood aside, bidding them enter the boat, for he wished to be alone.
Judas lifted Eden over the gunwale into the others’ waiting arms, and she wriggled in distress. But Judas calmed her, saying, “Come now, we’ll be all right. Never so far he can’t find us.”
But as there was no room for the donkey in the boat, and no room for the lambs, they remained behind with their master. And once upon the sea Eden watched Samson standing on the shore, swishing his tail, while the cluster of lambs surrounded his legs and their master kneeled on the sandbar to pray.
As the boat sailed out to deeper water, the wind freshened and waves struck the bow; they slid into the swells and lost the land from sight. With each gust the swells mounted, causing the shore to vanish and reappear as they rode the slopes of a churning sea.
Back on the beach, Samson and the lambs retreated further and further from sight, yet even at a great distance Eden saw the other animals staring anxiously over the water while her master was nowhere to be seen. Never so far?
Dark clouds closed in from above and the wind sharpened. Now white-crested water splashed across their faces, raining into the belly of the boat.
And Eden became afraid.
The companions began to clamor in fear, clutching their oars and shouting into the wind as the sailcloth snapped above their heads. The mast shook and the sheets whipped away like writhing snakes.
The waves rose and dashed down. Everyone clung to a rope or plank to keep from being tossed over the side. Eden felt the gathering cry in every throat, a cry to heaven begging for their lives. The wind tried to shout them down but suddenly they did cry, Judas first among them. And he clasped Eden to his chest.
Their master stood upon the waves.
A few lengths from the tossing boat he beckoned them, as if to say, if I can … so can you.… Her master held out his hands to beckon her. Gently bobbing up and down, yet standing firmly in the trough, as one would stand in a field of wheat, the crests rising to his waist then falling to his calves. He stared boldly at the crowded boat, daring any of them to come to him. Any of them …
One of the companions rose from his seat at the stern, leaving the tiller to another. Eden watched him as he prepared himself, slipping his robes from his shoulders and wrapping them around his waist, girding his loins. His face pale with fear, he put one leg over the gunwale, and then the other and stepped out of the boat. For a moment it seemed he would reach their master, for the waves and water did not swallow him up. He reached out like a baby learning to walk, took one step, then another—
And that’s when the water, sensing his doubt, seized him. The surf took his limbs and he struggled in the sea like any other man.
Yet the fear and sickness left Eden and she struggled out of Judas’ arms.
Once more, as with the drowning lamb in the river, she leapt from the boat. But a man was much bigger to save than a kid, and Eden floundered with the companion as the wind and waves tossed them about, from trough to crest and down again.
Was it a wave, or her master who brought them both back to the boat?
Not a wave. Though the companions’ clothes were wet and dripping and Eden’s white fur was soaked to the skin, her master remained for a moment. He rocked gently back and forth buoyed in the troughs, and then climbed into the boat with the rest. When he came aboard, his clothes were mostly dry, and with an easy hand he wiped away the spray from the waves that had beaded on his hair and face.
He held Eden close, so proud of her for being brave. She felt his mind full of praise as he petted her. Her master’s safe arms seemed to glow through the damp wet, warming her spiky fur, deep into her body.
Now her master stared into the storm-wracked sky, challenging it to defy him. He glared boldly into the face of the waves and wind, even as his companions cowered in pale awe. They had seen what they refused to accept, and yet still they could not deny their eyes.
Eden’s master then sighed sadly in his heart of hearts, as though finally realizing what he could expect from those in the boat and what was too much to hope for.
Even the sky took notice.
The clouds shrank upon themselves and the wind calmed.
In a few moments the boat no longer rocked in the heavy troughs, and the sail luffed gladly. Judas clamped his arm about the till and grasped the sheet. The moon’s face broke through the dark night, glistening over the water.
Samson the donkey and the lambs waited patiently on the shore as the boat sailed ever closer. The lambs clustered about Samson’s legs, shuffling in anticipation. Eden leapt over the gunwale and shook all over.
The lambs bleated, “Did you walk too? Did youwalk?”
“No,” Eden told them. “I paddled. I’ve always paddled.”
“Ahem,” Samson cleared his throat, getting ready for a pronouncement. He dipped his long gray nose, “Every little lamb should know by now it’s best to paddle,” he told them wisely.
And the lambs thought very seriously about this, softly bleating amongst themselves, “Paddle. Paddle. Best to paddle—”
Until Eden noticed her master’s footprints in the sand and the companions hurrying to keep up. “Hush now!” she barked at the lambs.
Over the passing weeks Eden had grown accustomed to lambs that stayed young, that never grew up into sheep. And to old Samson who walked night and day withou
t tiring. And more than delighted in her own strong limbs, for she ran all day long, dodging the old donkey as he stoically plodded forward, round and round the lambs, keeping everyone in line and on the move.
But other things began to change.
Changes the spry old dog couldn’t quite put her paw on. For one thing, Eden seemed to hear everything human people kept inside their minds. Judas especially, of all the companions—Eden felt his every trouble. Pain from deep within twisted like a vine about a sapling, slowly strangling him. A deep ache turning his face into a mask of pain he could never take off. With every mile that passed he grew more and more fearful.
But something else had changed, something that troubled her, causing a kind of foreboding as they tramped toward each day’s horizon. The light flickered in her master’s eyes, a knowing look that spoke a thousand thoughts. The dog sensed their days together growing short, every moment precious. And Eden somehow knew their journey was drawing to a close.… Time like a candle burning to the nub.
Add to that, the stranger that came amongst them—
Not only to trouble Judas in his mind, but all of them, and in the flesh.
Eden remembered him well—their Adversary—the Hollow Man who’d tempted her master and herself in the wilderness. Long ago she knew the creature squatting before the empty cave could not be banished. Now she sensed him all around. Sometimes in the crowd listening at their master’s feet. There, that man with the cowl over his head covering his face. Other times she sensed him hiding in a clump of trees, or sitting in a cluster of boulders at night. Eden sensed him every time he drew near, invisible like a breath of wind, a shadow on their heels even in the dark.
Whether close at hand or farther away, the Hollow Man almost always stayed within sight, and if not then within earshot … and if not, then trailing behind on the last turn in the road, with only a little swirl of dust for anyone to see.
Once Eden thought she caught him whispering in the ear of poor Judas, only to see her master’s companion shrink away in horror. Judas stumbled toward her with his eyes covered as if he could not bear to behold this strange man. Then he clutched Eden desperately, his mind a black cloud of toil and confusion. She felt his tears upon her muzzle.
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