Red Leaves and the Living Token

by Benjamin David Burrell

  He made his way through the last lingering groups to the front where the Cleric who gave the sermon was still gathering his papers. He looked up as Raj approached.

  “What can I do for you, my friend?” The Cleric asked.

  “I'm sorry, this may seem a little out of place but... did you see a young Botann woman with an 13 year old Zo boy in this morning service?” Handers asked.

  “See? No. But we do keep records of our congregation. Why do you ask?”

  Handers fidgeted with his shirt nervously. “My son is missing. I think that this woman...”

  “I see.” The Cleric put down his papers. “Do you know her name?”

  “Moslin Verdu and my son's name is Emret.”

  The Cleric stared at him, his brow furrowed. “Moslin Verdu? You're sure?”

  Handers explained, “She's my son's nurse. She invited me here earlier. I thought she might've brought my son.”

  “Might I suggest we continue this conversation somewhere a little more private?” The Cleric gestured towards a door in a nearby corner of the chapel.

  -

  The Cleric pulled open a heavy wooden door and led Handers into a small room. A young Botann girl, a few years younger than Emret, sat in a chair by the corner window, reading.

  “Sinesh, could you wait in the hall for just a moment?” The Cleric asked the girl.

  The small room was surrounded with book shelves. In front of the shelves, as apparently there wasn’t enough shelving, the books were simply piled on the floor. A large desk took up almost the rest of the space left by the books. There were two chairs crammed up against each side of the desk.

  Sinesh picked up her bag and the book she was reading and left.

  “Thanks dear.”

  Handers stood next to the open chair but didn’t sit down. He was still fascinated by the intensity of the clutter.

  “I take it, you know Moslin.” He said without looking at the Cleric.

  “Yes I do.” The Cleric answered as he squeezed around his large desk and sat in his formal chair. “She's my daughter.”

  Handers stopped looking at the books in front of him and turned to the Cleric.

  “Master Cleric Bedic Verdu,” Bedic extended a hand of greeting.

  Handers shook it. “Your daughter? I had no idea she was the...”

  Bedic let out a grunt sort of laugh. “If you had would that've changed the way you spoke to her last night?”

  Handers stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “She came by my home last night, upset. We had a nice conversation about what happened.” Bedic explained.

  “Listen, I like your daughter. She's been really kind to my son.” He noticed a large BOOK on a small waist high table next to a shelf. The cover of the book, partly covered in papers, appeared to be an illustration of something similar to the Token he recovered at the beach. He stepped towards the book.

  “But at the same time she refuses to respect my wishes in some important areas regarding his care. As a parent, I can’t tolerate that.”

  “Oh?” Bedic replied.

  Handers slid the papers aside to reveal the full illustration on the cover of the book. It was an image of the Token he recovered on the beach. He was right! What would that be doing here? He wondered.

  “She won't stop reading him a book that influences how he perceives his illness. Its deceptive and unfair. When he realizes it isn't true it's going to be incredibly destructive.”

  Bedic got up and scooted over to the book that had attracted Hander's attention.

  “So you asked her to stop reading him the book, and in retaliation, she kidnapped your son? Thats a pretty drastic reaction, don’t you think?”

  “I didn't say she kidnapped him. I... I can't find either of them. The other nurses said she came here this morning.”

  Bedic moved in to pick up the book, forcing Handers to back out of the way. Bedic continued to a nearby shelf and slid it into an empty spot.

  “I sympathize with your situation. I can't imagine the panic you must feel, missing a child like this.” He stepped over to the door and opened it.

  “I think in this case, your emotions are your enemy. You’re grabbing whole heartedly to the first possibility that comes to mind. I suggest you go back and collect as many hard facts as possible. When my daughter returns from where ever she went to blow off steam from your argument I'll have her contact you.” He stepped out the door. “If you'll excuse me, I need to attend to my granddaughter. You remember the way out?”

  Handers let out a frustrated sigh and followed him to the door. He supposed the old man was right. Perhaps he’d been a little quick in making his conclusions. It was a little early to know what happened. But at this point he sure could use some help. If Moslin had nothing to do with it, he’d bet she’d be willing to help look for him.

  He watched Bedic and his granddaughter holding hands as they disappeared down the stone hallway. The image brought a wave of unpleasant emotion. What if he never saw his son again? What if he never got to hold his son’s hand? He quickly pushed the thoughts from his mind. He’d find Emret. He had too. But… What then…

  He watched Bedic and his granddaughter turn the corner, then glanced back at the open door to Bedic’s office. That book! He didn’t like thinking about the fact that he’d been seeing things mystically disappear and then reappear in front of him. What was it, a hallucination? Not a pleasant thought. There had to be some rational explanation for it. He quickly slipped back into the room and over to the shelf where Bedic had put the book. With a quick scan, he located it, slipped it out and put it back onto the pedestal.

  After a quick peek out the door to make sure he’d still be alone for a few more minutes, he hurried back to pedestal. On the way, his arm brushed past a sloppy stack of papers leaning precariously near the edge of the large desk. He turned in time to see them sliding off and made a vain grab at them, but it was too late. They hit the ground with a loud smack.

  He cursed under his breath, then listened for a moment for any reaction outside the room. Nothing. He looked at the door then back at the book. The image of the Token was clear and unmistakable. What is this thing? He wondered as he traced his finger over it.

  He flicked the cover open and flipped through the first couple of pages. Lots of small print. Then a full page illustration. He stopped. A beautifully executed pen and ink depiction of a small animal with bright red fur sitting in the underbrush of a thick pine forest. Next to it was a small plant with bright red branches and leaves. Below the plant and animal was an area of bright red soil. Red was the only colored ink.

  He turned the page.

  It was another illustration in simple pen and ink with accents of color. On one side, there was a person standing in the corner of the page holding the glowing white statue from the front cover. Across the page from that person was the small red plant with bright red leaves. Mountains and forests, drawn more as small icons, separated the man from the little plant.

  Hander’s vision blurred unexpectedly. He thought he was passing out. Then as suddenly as the dizziness had come on his head was clear again. Only he wasn’t in the room looking at the book any more. He was standing in a pine forest holding the token up in front of him.

  Oh no, he thought. This isn’t good. A portion of the forest began to glow in the pattern of a path starting where he stood and stretching out as far as he could see through the trees. In a jolting blur of motion, he shot forward along highlighted path. He moved faster and faster until the individual trees turned to streaks. The forest ended abruptly, and his body crumpled downward with inertia as he changed direction. He shot almost straight up, climbing above the jagged cliffs of a mountain range. He crested a peak descended on the other side as fast as he had climbed. At the base of the mountain, he hit the ground with a jarring impact and continued forward into another forest without pause. The trees blew by then abruptly stopped. He head spun, and he had the irresistible urge to vomit. After a moment, his
head cleared. There below him was that same little plant with the red leaves that he’d seen drawn in the book.

  As soon as he caught his breath, he was pulled backward, as though being pulled through a sheet of glass. And then he was back in the Cleric’s office standing in front of the book. He stepped back from it in reaction.

  That was his cue to go, he thought. This wasn’t what he needed at all. He scooted over to the door and stepped out. The hallway was still empty. He took a deep breath and cursed again. He doubted he’d have this chance again. He had to see if there was anything else in there that’d be useful.

  He returned to the book, leaned in and very delicately turned the page.

  What looked like a giant ink blot filled almost the entire left page. Armies of Zo, Bota, and Petra filled the bottom of both pages like ants swarming around a much larger animal. The ink blot appeared to be some sort of creature that was attacking the tiny armies, thrashing its black arms and tail.

  In the middle of the army, one man stood apart. He was drawn much larger than the rest and was holding a glowing white token in his out stretched hand.

  Hander's vision blurred, and he fell forward. He caught his balance after a moment and looked up. He was in an open field of heavily trampled grass. So much dust had been kicked up around him that it clouded out the horizon. Again he was holding the Token up in front of him. Zo Soldiers ran frantically to the side of him, fleeing from an unseen danger. He turned just as a black mass struck down with impossible force hitting the fleeing soldiers. The ground trembled, and the explosion hurt his ears. The sky filled with their bodies twisting and turning. Horror shook down his spine as he saw their faces and heard their screams.

  Handers saw himself turn to confront the looming black mass. He followed its form up into the sky, looking for it’s top but could see nothing but black above him.

  From the left, a piece of it shot out and came down towards him. He saw himself hold the Token up to it as he stood his ground as though it were some kind of weapon. The creature’s appendage bore down at an incredible speed then twisted backward in an ear deafening collision. The Token’s glow had grown to a blinding glare. The appendage seemed to have collided with that glare, with the aura of light emanating from it.

  Handers’ head started to spin; he felt the same sensation of falling backward through a plane of glass. Then he was back in the room again standing over the book.

  Handers stepped back again in reaction, then just stared at the book for a moment trying to grasp the significance of what he had just seen. He felt like he wanted to throw up after what he’d just seen. It just didn’t make any sense. None of it. There had to be more of an explanation.

  So he turned another page.

  The man with the Token was now wearing a glowing white royal crown. The massive black creature appeared to be attacking from the left. This time he was holding up a glowing white sword and a shield in defense instead of the Token. Behind him, the little red plant and the little animal sat on a little spot of red ground. The man appeared to be protecting them.

  He turned the page quickly before anything happened.

  The small white sword that the man had been carrying was now a shaft of light shooting up into the sky from his hilt. The shaft of light seemed to be cutting through an appendage of the black creature.

  Handers turned the page again quickly.

  The drawing showed a destroyed landscape. Crops burned, earth scorched. Nothing living. In the center of the blackened landscape sat the red plant and animal on the little spot of red earth. Unharmed. The only life.

  “What is this fascination with that book, if I might ask?” Bedic’s voice startled him. He hadn’t heard the sneaky old man come in.

  “Oh, I'm sorry, I...” Handers tried to explain. He shut the book and stepped back.

  Bedic stood in the doorway staring at him with an amused grin. “You know this book is a compilation of many of same stories that you yelled at my daughter for reading to your son. I'm having trouble understanding your obsession.”

  “What is this book? Where did it come from?”

  Bedic walked over to the pedestal. “Its called the book of healing. And It came to me as an inheritance.”

  “The book of Healing?” Handers asked.

  Tell me something Mr. Handers. Here you are digging through one of my most valuable books, causing who knows what kind of damage, and I delay calling to have you thrown out in order to save you some embarrassment. Yet you linger. Is there a reason you’re still here talking to me?

  Handers pushed past him to get to the door. He heard the old man take a deep, pensive breath behind him as he left the room.

  “Mr. Handers.” Bedic called from behind.

  Handers turned to see that Bedic had followed him into the hallway.

  “I've been thinking since our conversation. As I said, my daughter came by last night quite upset. You had quiet an effect on her, it would seem. Something she said before she left has planted a seed of doubt in my mind.”

  Handers stared at him.

  “She asked me if the stories I told her as a child were true. I couldn't figure out why in the world she’d bring that up. But now in the context of your son's illness and sudden disappearance the explanation looks troubling.”

  Handers stepped towards him. “What do you mean? What stories?”

  “The only other time she's asked me that question she was about three weeks away from losing her oldest child to a horrible disease. So you can appreciate the kind of mind-set she was in at the time.

  “She lost a child? I... She never told me.”

  “Well, we don't talk about it either. Not directly. Instead, she brings up these stories that I told her as a child. So here we are again only it's not her child this time. Its yours.”

  “What were these stories?” Handers asked.

  “The same ones she's been reading to your son. Stories about healing.”

  Handers gave him angered look. “Faith healing?”

  “You have no idea, young man, where either of us has been. You'd be wise to keep your criticism to yourself. I have done everything in my power to help her get past this. But she seems intent on punishing herself to the bitter end.”

  “I thought you said she died of disease?” Handers questioned.

  “Does it matter? The fact is her daughter died, and she didn't stop it. To her that was inexcusable.” Bedic let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head. “She had completely unreasonable expectations of what she needed to do. If she'd just have been a little more daring, if she'd just had a little more... faith."

  Handers glared at him. “That's exactly why I didn't want her reading those stories to my son!”

  Bedic looked away. “If I'd have known it would've caused her so much guilt I never would've read her those stories.”

  “Where did she take my son?” Handers demanded.

  “I told her the stories were figurative! Not to be taken literally! But, she wouldn't listen. She already had it in her head of what needed to be done. But when it came time to act she didn't have the guts to do it. Her daughter died, and she saw it as a result of her cowardice.” He whispered to himself, “But, It wasn’t her fault...”

  Handers rushed up to Bedic, grabbed him by the arms and shook him. “Where did she take my son?”

  Bedic looked up to meet Handers’s eyes. “This time it would seem she's found the courage. I believe she took your son to find Red Leaves… to be healed!”

  “What?” Handers demanded.

  “I told her when she was a little girl that 'Red Leaves' grew in the center of the old city.”

  “The old city?” He asked.

  “Yes, in Shishkameen. That's what she meant when she asked if the stories were true. She was asking if 'Red Leaves' was real.”

  “And you told her yes?”

  Bedic looked away and nodded slightly. Handers dropped him. His feet didn't hold, and he fell to the floor.

  “I t
hought telling her the truth would do more harm than good. She's fragile.” Bedic continued.

  “She's going to feel pretty good when she finds out you lied to her,” Handers stabbed.

  His foot steps echoed down the stone hall as he stormed away.

  -

  Finally outside again, he hurried around the back wall of the school, wanting to get back home and gather some things together as quickly as possible. But as he turned the corner to head back into the city he was stopped abruptly. A large stone archway blocked the walkway in front of him. “Not again!” He muttered to himself. This was enough to drive a person altogether mad.

  He took a deep breath and stepped around it. If he just closed his eyes and kept going eventually he’d forget he saw it, and he could be on his way. But the images from the book and his previous encounters with the arches flooded into his mind, one after an another. Forcing him to remember. He opened his eyes and turned back. A pathway extended out behind the archway now that he was on this side of it. Whereas, on the other side, looking through it into the city, there wasn’t anything.

  He followed the path with his eyes as it rose up towards the mountains in the distance. Just as before he could see the side of the mountain in extraordinary detail even though it had to be hundreds of miles away. At the top of the path, he could see a white structure shimmering in the distant sunlight.

  “Shishkameen is that way,” Bedic’s cracked old voice called with as much volume as it could manage from the school wall above him. He was pointing north towards the river while handers was facing the mountain range due west.

  Handers looked up at him. “Thanks.”

  Handers turned back to the Archway and pointed. “What’s this?”

  “What is what?” The old man asked.

  Handers stared at the distant blue mountains and then back at Bedic, “Nothing.”

  “I would suggest you hurry before she gets too far ahead of you.”