Ash Eater

by Emerson, Joanna

  “Galen!” The lamb’s voice rumbles through me. It’s booming like the pounding of surf at the beach, unlike the soft, milky voice I’ve heard from him before. “Miya! Stand.”

  And I do. How can I disobey? My arms and legs, although sore, surge with ability. I push my dripping body up to my feet.

  And the lamb is no longer a lamb but a golden lion the size of a brachiosaurus. His body spans the river almost as if he’s a bridge.

  “Now you may look behind,” he says in the most thunderous whisper I’ve ever heard.

  Galen takes hold of my hand again as we look up the slope of the Mountain of Rejection.

  The whole mountainside is filled with hideous beasts: stone giants, hags, mangy and rabid wolves, goblins, snakes, ghouls, the giant black birds, and so many other different kinds of creatures I didn’t want to see ever again.

  They fill the spaces right up to the river, but not one of them touches the water.

  The lion turns his great big face toward Galen and me. “I wanted you to see that not even all these hordes could keep you from me.”

  The lion roars. At the blast of his roar, many of the hideous creatures turn tail and run. The birds that have been flying over the slope of the lamb’s mountain swoop upon the horde, as if last measures in a battle that’s already won.

  As I stare at the retreating monsters, the lion turns, stepping around Galen and me.

  “Are you okay?” Galen brushes a stray hair from my cheek.

  “I am when he’s near.” I turn toward the lion. His golden sheen is swallowed by brilliant white even as I gaze on him, and his shape is that of a lamb again. A pungent fear fills me, along with the desire to be next to him, never to be parted again.

  “We made it.” Galen grins as he takes hold of my hand.

  I start to follow the lamb and stop when my hand tugs against Galen’s. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “My family…” His gaze travels up the Mountain of Rejection.

  “If this is where I need to go to find my way to my family, perhaps it’s the best way for you to find yours too.”

  He enfolds my hand in his and we follow after the lamb through the river. We wade to our waists, then to our chests. The lamb looks back, nodding at us to continue. In the next step, I’m totally immersed in the river, and the following step I’m back on the other side again.

  Dripping, grinning, hardly daring to believe that a joy like this could be mine, I hike with Galen up the side of the lamb’s mountain.

  Thatched roof houses with beautiful gardens line the paths that wind up the mountain. I turn to the north, perplexed by their choice of view. From here, the Mountain of Rejection looks neither threatening nor foreboding.

  But it does look sad.

  The lamb stands at my side. He’s the size of a full grown sheep and his sweet face presses against my hand. “Those who live here have chosen to do so. They pray for those who live on that mountain, that they, like Galen, will join me here one day.”

  These simple and beautiful folk, elves just like Galen, step out of their doors to wave at the lamb and us. I try to imagine what sort of thoughts they think day in and day out. Their faces shine with joy. The despair from the Mountain of Rejection must not reach here. And I see why. Every time the lamb passes a garden, the flowers bloom, the vegetables swell, even the grass grows long enough that it bows toward him. There is far more life here than the death and destruction there. So much more hope than any of the despair.

  I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint.

  My heart has turned to wax; it has melted within me.

  ~ Psalms 22:14

  Chapter 29

  The Willow Tree Revisited

  As we climb higher, I’m much less tired than I thought I’d be, much more invigorated. It’s green everywhere but in the few places where there’s bare rock. The stones glisten like rubies, sapphires, emeralds, amethysts.

  As we climb toward the pathway up the western slope, we pass through a veil of climbing roses that cascade in front of us. The stems brush like velvet against my cheeks. That’s when I realize that among all this green there isn’t a single bramble or thorn.

  Past the roses is a raspberry bush with berries as big as my fist. I pick three of them and savor as I climb. I’m sure that this is what raspberries are supposed to taste like: juicy with only the slightest tang, and sweeter than the pick-yourself kind that I used to get with Mom when I was little.

  With a bite of raspberry in my mouth, we round the corner to the western side of the mountain. And my mouth falls open.

  Beyond this mountain is a sparkling sea, wild and beautiful and wave tossed. A blast of sweet salty air fills my nostrils.

  Galen grabs hold of my hand. “Samuel used to tell me stories about this view, and the sea, and those islands dotting the sea. I’ve always wanted to see it, but was too afraid to come here.”

  “It’s so amazing,” I utter breathlessly. “But I feel like this is only the beginning, only a sample of wonders we have yet to see.”

  How can I have dared to dream how true this would be? As we reach a ridge high on the western slope, the sun sets, coloring the sky in hues of radiance even brighter than the yellow, emerald and sapphire walls of Mom’s house. The sky is purple and pink and orange and blue. Wispy clouds create the shapes of flowers or finely cut gems or wings of eagles or angels.

  After the lingering sunset, the stars come out—first two, then seven, then fifty, then a thousand until the whole sky explodes with stars. And they are so close as if I can brush them with my fingertips if only I were able to jump a little higher.

  We round the corner to the southern slope sometime around midnight. The moon’s tip peeks over the eastern horizon of the sea, the crescent like a smile scooping up the sea to give a drink to the stars.

  The lamb settles us down on a particularly soft patch of grass in a knoll that overlooks the sea. Galen lies on one side of the lamb and I lie on the other. As I drift off to sleep, lulled by the lamb’s gentle breathing, I’m pretty sure I hear the stars sing a lullaby. And the lamb glows brighter than the moon.

  I stand in the middle of an all too familiar forest. A few of the trees are old, perhaps sixty or seventy years old, but most of them are young, no thicker than my upper arm, or mere saplings. The ground is covered with decades of fallen leaves.

  I hate it here. Everything in me wants to run, but my feet won’t respond. It’s like they have a mind of their own, wandering over to the one tree I desperately want to forget. A willow tree.

  I had blocked this out for so long. I long for the holes that once pocked my memory, the bliss of ignorance, the shaking, the trolls, the giants, the snakes, anything, anything but this.

  This single, horrible, haunting memory.

  My stomach aches and churns as if I’m going to vomit.

  The lamb’s mountain was perfect. Why? Why did I have to leave that amazing place and come here?

  There’s no one in this forest, just me, and the awful memory of what happened at that tree. Ryan’s demands, his rough hands, his words to me afterwards of, “Don’t tell Mom.”

  Numb.

  Everything in me goes numb as I remember more of his words from that day.

  “They will lock me away, tell me I’m crazy. You don’t want them to lock me away, do you?”

  The terror of being separated from the one person who, when I was a child, watched over me with such fierce protection, crawls through me now with the same ferocity it did then. Yet tearing away at me is the realization that he betrayed all that. All my trust. All my yearning to be loved.

  Leaning beside the tree is an ax. I pick it up, furious and aching, and swing.

  “Why?” I scream as I crash the ax over and over against the bole of the tree. “Why, Ryan? Why? You stole everything, everything from me! You hurt me, hurt me in the deepest places of me, and then left. And then you were the one everyone loved! Everyone loves you, and I’m so broken and hu
rt that no one wants to be near me!” Wood flies out with each swing of the ax. “How could you?! How could you do this to me? How could you leave me like this?! My soul is crippled and childish while people flock to you, to your music, and praise you for your wisdom!”

  Blow after blow I inflict upon this tree until my tears are spent, my voice is hoarse, my body is drenched in sweat and blisters cover my hands.

  Completely drained, I drop the ax at my feet and collapse to my knees. I rock back and forth, staring at the dent I made in the bole. It’s no more than a dent, too, in this wide tree trunk. I must have screamed and swung for three hours. I don’t even have the strength to topple this tree.

  But does it really have to fall? Will that bring healing or wholeness to my heart?

  There was someone else who had something happen at a tree, something that changed everything, something that brought wholeness. What did he do at that tree?

  He forgave.

  There’s a gentle rustling in the fallen leaves. The lamb is here. He sits at my side, tucking his legs under him. I bury my fingers in his wool, feeling safe again, sensing what wholeness might be like. I close my eyes.

  Suddenly, I remember everything, every detail, every fear of that day, every pain. I stare at all of this memory. All of it.

  “Why did you let me come here?” I ask the lamb. “Of all the places I’ve ever been, this hurts the worst. It hurts so bad and I can’t even chop down that tree. I can’t even make the pain go away.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  His words are like the advent of comfort, but how can that be? They seem like they’d strip hope away. But they don’t. Perhaps they’re not his final words.

  “Come,” the lamb says, “walk with me. I want to show you something.”

  I’m afraid to trust, but I do anyway.

  He heals the brokenhearted

  and binds up their wounds.

  ~ Psalm 147:3

  Chapter 30

  A Wave that Can Do Nothing Else

  We walk further into the woods to the stream I used to love, the stream I daydreamed at when mom and dad’s divorce became too much for me to handle. My safe spot. My safe spot that had been stolen from me.

  I sit on a rock beside the stream and the lamb sits beside me. I bury my fingers in his soft white wool again.

  A strange sensation overtakes me. I’m thinking thoughts, but they’re not my own. I’m feeling regrets, but they’re not my own.

  “He hates what he did to me,” I say to the lamb.

  The lamb nods. “Go on.”

  “Once he realized what he did to me, he knew he never wanted to do something so awful ever again. And it’s still eating him up inside.”

  “A wound I intend to fully heal.”

  “He knows you?” Hope like I haven’t felt in years blooms in my heart. Blooms like the flowers in the gardens on the lamb’s mountain.

  “Not yet. But he will.”

  “Will I ever go back to your mountain?” I’m not so scared here anymore, but I’d much rather be there.

  “You’re already on my mountain.”

  The lamb’s sweet kiss against my forehead and the bright sunrise tug me into waking.

  “Come children,” the lamb says, his smiling voice reminding me that last night was real, no matter how dreamlike it feels this morning, “we made this sunrise for you to enjoy with us.”

  With my hand against the lamb’s side, I gaze out at the shining sea and the waking sky and wonder how anything can get more glorious than this.

  The lamb nudges my hand with his nose. “The banquet is at noon and there’s not much further to go.”

  By noon, we round the corner to the eastern slope and step onto the grassy plateau that is the top of this mountain. There, I see the most extraordinary sights I’ve ever seen. A lion stands in the middle of the grass beside a young calf, and the both of them eat stalks of grass. Then the calf, which is about half the size of the lion, charges the larger beast and the two of them romp and play. The lion rolls on its back like a dog then jumps up to munch on grass again.

  Just beyond the lion and the calf are a leopard and a young goat, playing and eating in the same fashion. Beyond them, a wolf sleeps in the sun beside a small lamb. There are even a few bears up here feeding alongside cows.

  I’m riveted. Gaping. Especially as children play in and around all these animals. One child tugs at the face of the leopard, then stands on his tiptoes to kiss it. Another child climbs on the back of the world. The wolf seems amused by the presence of the child and its face forms a smile as it stands and prances through the field.

  Over all of these flit butterflies and faeries.

  One of these faeries flies close to me.

  “It’s you, Miya!”

  Selah!

  I hold out my palm as a place for her to land. “You’re here! I thought I’d never see you again!”

  “Oh, you’ll see me lots,” she replies, “no worries about that. And look who else is here!”

  Elos flies overhead. His bright eye winks when he sees me.

  Kitta lands on my shoulder and hugs the side of my head.

  “The banquet is nearly ready,” another of the faeries tells the lamb.

  “Good,” he replies. “I want these to sit beside me for the feats, one on my right and one on my left. They will be leaving soon, but while they are here they shall have seats of honor.” He turns to me. “While we wait, I would like you to follow me. You as well, Galen.”

  We follow the lamb through the wild and wonderful games of the animals and children. As the lamb passes, the animals stop and stoop in what looks like a bow. The children come and kiss his face and run their fingers through his soft wool.

  The lamb leads us to a throne in the midst of the plateau and the one sitting there is so bright I cannot look at him. The brightness of him exceeds the noonday sun. Out from the throne pours a river that runs straight through the whole plateau and spills over the edge.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Miya!” His voice sounds like a hundred waves crashing, like Niagara Falls during the spring thaw, like a mighty wind that envelops me and whispers into me.

  “And you, Galen, beloved, long-sought-after one!”

  Galen’s face beams at this greeting, his cheeks gleaming with tears. He trembles and falls to his knees. “I had no idea you were seeking me.” Leaving his shield at his side he lifts up his arms. “Yes, yes I did know, and I’m sorry I shut you out.”

  “You are here now. Remember that no more.” A blast of wind blew from the throne through Galen’s hair.

  “We have something for you,” the lamb says.

  A warrior with giant wings growing out of his back steps toward Galen and me. Kneeling side by side, we hold out trembling fingers, ready to receive.

  Into each of our hands is placed a pen.

  As I marvel at this gift, the lamb speaks to me. “You will no longer tremble, Miya, except at my word. You will no longer be consumed with lies and shame and rejection and fear and self-pity. You will tell my story even as you tell your own.”

  The lamb speaks to Galen, but it’s as if I’m not meant to hear, so I don’t strain my ears. But I smile because he is smiling.

  “It will be time for you children to go soon,” the lamb says. “For now, come to my banquet table. The banner of love waves over this mountain and the feast has been prepared. You are awake now and can visit me often.”

  “How often?” I ask.

  “As often as you like. You have much to forgive first, but since you have been forgiven much, my love will make it easy.”

  “Not like eating a mountain?”

  “No.” His milky laughter brushes the hair away from my cheek. “The forgiveness will flow like a miracle, like a wave that can do nothing else but crash upon the shore.”

  “Yes, sir.” A smile climbs up my cheeks.

  “You will dine with me, then you will wake, and when you wake, it will be to opportunities and open
doors.”

  “Thank you, sir. I can never, ever repay what you’ve done for me.”

  “You’re not meant to. I did it so you could be with me.”

  …to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,

  Isaiah 61:3

  Chapter 31

  Awake

  We turn toward the banqueting table that is now arrayed with foods beyond my wildest imaginings. Steaming roasts, heaping platters of mashed potatoes, fruit salads shaped like castles, pies, steamed vegetables, fried chicken, juices of all the colors of the rainbow, and various teas. Around the huge table are hundreds of guests waiting for the lamb before they sit.

  Galen and I take our seats. I’m humbled by the honor of sitting beside the lamb.

  Jewel stands near as a server. I’m so glad to see her again.

  When we’re served our favorite foods, we begin to eat, and even the raspberries on the path here tasted dull in comparison. There are pleasures here in this mountain that I didn’t even know could exist. I can hardly wait to be back at the lamb’s side.

  *

  I wake up as if from a daze, as if from the deepest sleep I’ve ever experienced, and look around. I know I’m home, but I’ve never been here before. I feel like I’ve slept for years. I stretch, roll out of bed and walk to the mirror. My face looks older, but not hardened like I was afraid it would look when I got older. But I am older. Without bitterness. Somehow this is possible.

  I rub the last of the sand from my eyes.

  I’m twenty now. How can I have slept so much of my life away? I even slept through Mom moving. It’s surreal to think she’s gone. I remember it all vaguely, but I was so caught up in my own world, my own issues.

  Why didn’t anyone wake me up?

  Maybe they were sleeping too, trapped in their own worlds.

  But I’m awake now, and I long for everyone else to wake up too.