As Far as the East is From the West (Servant of Light Book 2)

by Jeremy Finn

  With the ascent up the looming peak, the path grew thin and difficult to follow. Yet, in difficult spots, ropes hung or steps were chiseled into the hard dirt. He was certainly not the first to make the climb, but it was lonely despite the signs of human frequency. Tobo felt truly isolated from the world of man up here. It was an enjoyable feeling, though it bore a rim of anxiety which he attributed to his healthy caution at being in potentially hazardous situations beyond the ability to call for immediate help. As he was facing one of these dangerous scenarios, a steep climb of about fifteen feet with no clear path to ascend, something out of place caught his eye. Large boulders littered the level area beneath the ledge. On one of the larger, Tobo saw a pair of white and red shoes placed neatly on the top of the rock. He quickly surveyed his surroundings in an attempt to identify the owner, but no one was in sight.

  Tobo stepped across the field of jagged rocks and occasional undergrowth until he reached the oddity. A close inspection revealed a normal pair of relatively new sneakers with the laces neatly tucked into the shoes. They seemed to be placed on the edge of the boulder on purpose. Tobo felt them and noticed they were soaked with water. He tried to recall the last time it had rained and realized it was the afternoon of the day before. After connecting all the available evidence, he decided someone had abandoned the shoes for whatever reason and was likely not coming back for them. On a whim, he decided to take them with him. Perhaps he would find the owner camping up the mountainside somewhere or he could give them to the park gatekeeper when he went back down the mountain later this afternoon. He looped the laces through a strap on his backpack so the shoes dangled just below his pack, and continued to look for a way up the small precipice.

  After some searching, Tobo discovered a thin rope hanging from a small tree above the steep incline. It was knotted at intervals and would do the trick as an assist for climbing the obstacle. The little feeling of cautionary anxiety crept up in him as he grasped the rope, but he compelled himself onward and was soon safely at the top. It was not much farther to the peak of the mountain. The trees suddenly gave way to huge clusters of rock rising into the sky. As Tobo lifted his eyes to survey the tops of the rocks, he grew dizzy and had to steady himself on a sapling by his side. A quick inspection of the base of the rocks revealed several paths where people had apparently ascended in the past. Most of them were too risky for even Tobo’s adventurous spirit, but he finally settled on a dirt ledge that ran steeply up the side of a giant tan stone. Though the ledge was no more than three feet wide at any point and gave way to a sheer drop on the side opposite the rising rock, there were several sturdy little pines clinging to the mountainside that provided handholds and security against a slip into the leafy void far below.

  Just as he was reaching a point where he would have to make a difficult decision of whether or not to continue along a ledge cut into the rock without floral handholds, a pattern of unnatural colors above caught his eye. Steadying himself on a stunted pine to mitigate the vertigo, he looked intently toward the top of the rock peak only thirty feet or so above him. There on the edge of the peak with his back facing him stood a young man with a red shirt, white slacks and white baseball cap. He was standing on the edge gazing downward where the mountain fell away beyond Tobo’s sight. Tobo thought to call out to him and ask for advice on the best path to reach the summit when suddenly, and to Tobo’s horror, the man stepped peacefully into thin air and vanished before he could even release an abrupt sound of surprise.

  “Hey! Are you okay?” Tobo yelled, and then followed with his best attempt in the local language. Only the soft summer breeze came in reply.

  Tobo realized the man was very likely dead, but he did not know for sure how far the drop was from the other side. He clambered down the path he had followed and hastily attempted to skirt around the base of the rocks forming the peak of the mountain. After a few slides and a fall on the rocks that left him bleeding from one knee, he reached the area under the precipice where the man had walked off into thin air.

  Initially, Tobo did not see anything. He scoured the rocky area under the peak and checked several times to be sure he was in the right spot. Not only was there no sign of the man, he could not even see a broken tree branch, disturbance in the dirt or spot of blood anywhere in the area. As he gave up hope, he realized he could not see a small ledge just below the precipice. He decided to go back up the mountain and see if perhaps the man had landed on the ledge and was left unconscious.

  Although he thought it would be easier scaling the peak a second time, it was not. Perhaps this was because the image of the man slipping over the edge burned in the back of his mind. With significant physical effort and a considerable amount of risk accepted only because he was now on a mission to potentially save a life, Tobo succeeded in reaching the very top of the mountain where he saw the man standing. The view was magnificent, but he had no mind for it right now. He inched his way to the edge and peeked over. He could see most of the ledge below, and it was vacant but for a few loose stones and a lone scraggly pine hanging over the narrow shelf.

  Very carefully, Tobo inched his foot forward as he tried to gain sight of the sliver of space hidden from his view by the descending sandstone. For the briefest moment, he sensed something behind him. Before he could turn his head to look, however, he was shoved violently from behind. The force of the push sent him sprawling forward and he shot his limbs out wildly trying to latch on to anything that might break or stop his fall. He landed with a sickening thud on his back. His backpack was up on his shoulders and cushioned his head from a certainly fatal strike on the rock shelf. The ledge was just wide enough to support his splayed body and he laid shaking for an instant, unable to do anything but attempt to breathe.

  The shock gave way first to anger. Someone pushed him and was trying to kill him. What kind of sick person would do that? Then anger began to subside to fear. How was he going to get off this ledge? What if the push came from the man he saw earlier? Perhaps he was crazy and now it was just the two of them up here on this mountain late on a hot summer afternoon. Regardless, he still saw no sign of the man and decided to focus on getting off the ledge. Once he was down, he could high tail it down the mountain and inform the authorities.

  Tobo dug through his bag and realized to his joy that he had packed about thirty feet of climbing rope and a few carabineers. It might not be enough to reach the bottom, but at least it would get him a lot closer. He made a small loop in one end of the rope and hooked a carabineer on the end. Then, he found the sturdy little pine hanging over the edge and wound the rope around its base once, securing the rope to itself with a clip of the carabineer. He tossed the free end of the rope over the edge and lost sight of it as it dropped below the curving sandstone cliff.

  Tobo gave one final look around before approaching the ledge. There was not a soul in sight. He looped the rope under his left arm and around his buttocks then up to loop twice around his right arm. It was not an approved method of rappelling, but it would have to do. As he started slowly over the edge he felt the enormous weight of his body through the tension of the rope. His arms burned and the cord cut into his rear end, but it was working. He slowly allowed rope to slide across his arms as he stepped gingerly down the stone wall.

  When he was about ten feet down, he felt an odd pull on the rope. At first, he thought something below might be tugging on it – another hiker, perhaps – but then it jerked again and he realized it was coming from above. He stared at the spot where the rope was fastened to the little pine. No one was up there, but again he saw the rope jump as if someone were yanking it upward. The fear welled back up inside him. For a moment, he just tried to hold on as he stared at the anchor point. Obviously this was a trick of his stressed mind and the mountain winds.

  Again the tugs came, this time more violently and in pairs. His whole body bounced on the line and the shoes tied to his pack knocked against his back.

  “Stop it!” Tobo cried out, realizing as h
e did that he was giving credibility to his fear that something unseen was assaulting him. The tugs ceased, but he saw miraculously the carabineer twisting and moving on its own. A look of horror passed across his sweaty face as the latch on the carabineer opened of its own accord.

  Tobo dangerously let the rope slide rapidly across his arms and he was barely able to keep the line from flying out from under him as he scampered uncontrollably down the rock. Just as he neared the extended arms of the treetops reaching toward the peak from the mountainside below, the tension on the rope loosed and he felt his body go into free fall. He pushed hard with his legs against the rock face and lunged toward the looming tree branches. He caught one and grasped it with his bloody hands burned from the friction of the rope sliding rapidly through them. Though his grip was enough, the strength of the limb failed. It cracked loudly and managed only to slow Tobo’s descent. Again he flailed crazily and managed to catch another few branches on his way down. None of them were as strong a hold as the first, though, and it managed to cause his body to twirl and flip as it continued to fall rapidly downward. Finally, it felt as if a thousand skeletal hands reached up to thrust their boney fingers through his back as he landed on a thick cluster of mountain azaleas. His body was raked with pain and laid half skewered on azalea branches and half contorted over a field of irregular rocks.

  Again, he lay motionless attempting to collect his senses and absorb what just happened. His first instinct was to check his limbs for mobility and then sweep his head for signs of blood or torn flesh. Miraculously, he realized nothing was broken or terribly punctured. Nonetheless, he was riddled with inch-long gashes and small puncture wounds. His bones throbbed and he knew he would be a collage of purple and brown bruises the next day. The rope lay beside him. The carabineer was disconnected from its loop.

  Tobo stood with great effort and surveyed his surroundings once more. Nothing. Nothing but the rocks, trees, soft breeze and the bare peak before him. No sign of human life. Then, he felt the same presence again, looming nearby but clearly unseen.

  “I know you’re there!” he screeched hysterically. “Leave me alone! I didn’t do anything to you!”

  Silence came in reply, but the presence continued. It felt as if an unseen body was watching him just beyond the edge of his sight no matter where he turned to look. Tobo had no idea what was going on, but was certain he needed to get away from this mountain top as soon as possible. Though he did not believe in such things, his mind was demanding there was some kind of evil presence lurking around the spot, intent on doing him harm.

  He adjusted his backpack to fit tightly and began to hop over the rocks downhill as fast as caution would allow. The shoes hanging off the back of his pack bumped repetitively off his buttocks, but he paid them no heed. Just as the air began to cool, he passed below the little precipice where he had begun his conquest of the mountain peak. The rest of the way was relatively gradual and well-worn. At times he reached a jog as he jumped down log stairs layered into the pathway and used rope railings as safeties to expedite his descent. He did not see another human the whole way down, and he did not stop jogging until he reached the spot where the dirt trail joined the paved roadway following the stream to the entrance of the park.

  Tobo passed by the gatekeeper’s shack with its shuttered windows and paused at a tub where spring water dribbled out of a pipe continuously and filled a cistern. He washed off the caked blood on his arms and legs and pulled any remaining fragments of azalea out of his skin. Then, he continued down the road to where several little buildings huddled along the sides of the pavement and spilled a soft glow onto the shadows falling off the surrounding trees by the roadway. Most of the restaurants were sparsely populated and he randomly picked one that looked well-lit and cozy. He needed to take a break and slow down his heartbeat. Besides, he was starving.

  The proprietor emerged from behind a ragged cloth separating kitchen from dining room and asked what he would like to eat. She was on the far end of middle-aged. Both experience and weariness shone in her eyes framed by scraggly vines of curly hair descending to her shoulders. She knew he was foreign by his looks and explained she spent several years studying abroad when she was younger. That is why she could speak his language. Tobo ordered a spicy tofu soup with chunks of local river fish and turned his attention to calming his nerves. The woman lingered over his appearance, but apparently did not care much about what had happened to him and turned to re-enter the kitchen.

  By the time the steaming bowl of red broth littered with white chunks came to the table, he had almost convinced himself the frightening events of the day had been some fabrication of his taxed mind and body. He was just enjoying his first spoonful of spicy goodness when the woman paused for a remark.

  “Why do you have an extra pair of shoes?” she asked with an inquisitive expression.

  “Oh,” Tobo replied. He had forgotten about the odd souvenir. “I actually found these up on the mountain side. I thought I would bring them down and give them to the gatekeeper, but by the time I finished my hike, he had left for the day. Don’t you think it’s odd? I found them sitting neatly on a rock near the top of the mountain as if someone had left them there on purpose.”

  The woman did not say anything at first, but dropped the tray she had used to bring out Tobo’s food. It struck the floor with a clatter and Tobo jumped.

  “Are you ok?” he asked with a bit of concern.

  “You must bring those shoes back,” she said in an ominous tone.

  “No, I don’t think you understand,” Tobo argued, “I didn’t take them from anybody. Someone left them there. They were soaking wet and it hasn’t rained since yesterday. Clearly whoever left them there was not coming back for them.”

  “You are right,” she replied. “Whoever left them is dead now.”

  “What?” Tobo exclaimed as soft chunks of tofu fell out of his mouth. “What do you mean? How do you know?”

  “In this country, when someone goes to commit suicide, they leave their shoes as a symbol of their action,” the woman explained. “Whoever owned those shoes committed suicide on the mountain.”

  Tobo looked at the shoes. It was an odd practice, he thought, but now that he knew it, the evidence all seemed to line up. Then, he remembered the young man he saw on the top of the mountain. The image of him stepping off into the air flashed vividly before him.

  “I think I saw him,” he said under his breath to himself.

  “What?” the woman stepped closer to him.

  “I mean I thought I saw a man step off a cliff, but I looked all over the place and there was no sign of a body,” he explained.

  “I am closing,” the woman said simply and began to gather her things, close windows and turn off lights.

  “What do you mean,” Tobo protested. “I just started eating!”

  “I am closing now,” the woman repeated. “I will get a container for you to take your soup home.”

  Tobo sat perplexed as the woman sloppily poured his meal into a container and rushed him out the door. As he walked down the road toward home, she called out to him from the doorway before closing it, “You should return them now.”

  Tobo just shook his head in confusion. It was practically dark now. Did she expect him to climb the mountain in the dark? It only took about ten minutes to walk to his apartment building, but it seemed longer. Whenever he passed stretches of the road where no one lingered, he felt that presence again always looming just beyond his visual reach.

  Tobo flicked the television on as soon as he entered his fifteenth floor apartment and collapsed on the floor with his back against the wall. He chucked his backpack into the entryway where shoes laid piled upon each other and slurped down the rest of his meal. The simplicity and monotony of television helped to ease his mind and he decided to go to bed early. After a long shower and much attention to his wounds, he settled into his thick blankets on the floor and fell quickly asleep.

  He woke hours later to a
tapping on the window in the living area. At first, he tried to ignore it, but the sound was annoying and he could not sleep. Assuming some wayward moth had fixed its sights on his kitchen night light, he crawled out of bed to address the problem. The sliding glass doorway to the enclosed porch was open, though he did not recall leaving it that way, and the long window on the edge of the glass wall enclosing the porch was open to the night. Tobo inspected the area but did not hear the sound again. He reached out the window to pull it closed, but it was stuck. He leaned his head and shoulders out to get better leverage and tried again. Suddenly something pushed hard against his back and the top half of his body rolled over the waist-high sill and hung over the night air fifteen stories over the parking lot below.

  Tobo gasped and clawed with his hands. He set his legs rigidly against the inside of the frame and struggled to pull himself back inside. He fell to the tile floor and twisted around to face his assailant. Again, nothing was there, just his empty apartment. The television flickered on by itself. The channels flipped a few times and rested on a telecommercial for running shoes. Tobo sat on the floor of the porch staring at the woman in a tight, shiny dress waving her hands smoothly over a pair of shoes that the narrator seemed to believe would bring world peace and cure cancer.

  “Ok, I got it,” Tobo said to no one. “I’ll bring them back. Just leave me alone!”

  He jumped up, pulled a pair of pants over his pajamas and unlaced the shoes from his ragged pack. He took the elevator to his car and drove up toward the mountain park. It was the dead of night and nothing but cats frequented the streets. When he reached the last lights outside the park gatehouse, he climbed out of the car and lifted the bar marking the end of vehicular access. He drove up the steep road with his headlights casting an eerie pale light on the shadowy forest rising around him on both sides until he reached the spot where he had embarked on the trail that morning. He pulled the car to the side and yanked the keys out. It was pitch black at first, but slowly his eyes adjusted and he could just barely make out the features of the rocks and trees immediately around him. As he stepped onto the dirt trail and passed through the first veil of trees and bushes, he almost turned back. That presence was still with him, and it almost drove him to insanity in this lonely, desolate setting. But somehow he knew the woman was right. If he didn’t return the shoes, the presence would never leave him.