Emerald City Dreamer

by Luna Lindsey

  “Milady!” Out of breath, Fiz bowed deeply and kissed her hand. His raccoon ears twitched forward as he looked up into her eyes. So charming, even though his longish hair was always a tousled mess. “I present to you, a gift.” Still bowing, he placed a button into the palm of her hand.

  He straightened his back and swept his arm to the side.

  “Today while strolling through the square, I spotted a Lost One preaching Christianity beneath the fatal obelisk. He had horns upon his head.” Fiz tapped at his temple, and finished his description with a flourish of his wrist: “His hair was rough, with arms hung to his knees.”

  “A troll…” Jett mused. “Like the boy Ivy reported. Ask and ye shall receive…”

  “Yes, like that! A troll quoting the Bible! I gathered in close, and he started using wild glamour. He cleared the weather and made the sun come out.”

  Jett looked outside. Wind thrashed rain against the window so hard she could hear it. Backlash. Mother Earth did not like to be controlled so forcefully.

  “He enthralled the whole crowd, maybe twenty people,” Fiz continued, motioning an expanse with his hand. His tail curled with excitement. “Then he floated right up in the air. They all saw it. The whole group was ready to be baptized right there in the puddles. Imagine, one of the fair folk converting people to Christ! What is the world coming to? Satyrs at Sexaholics Anonymous, I say!”

  Indeed. Treason or ignorance? This troll did not belong with the murdering disciples of the One-God.

  Her eyes smoldered, but Fiz laughed at the irony and continued on.

  “He must have stored the glamour. It shot all around the square like an explosion before he floated right up into the air. After the fireworks, he fell into a deep sleep. That is when I absconded with your gift.” He nodded at the button in her palm and made a gesture with his fingertips. It disappeared from her hand, which gave him another opportunity to bow and present it again. “Milady…”

  All the pieces were coming together. Though clouds resist force, they can be blown about by the subtlest of breezes. As luck would have it, she would have luck. And here was her lost troll, handed to her by a faithful duine chlainne who kept his wits about him when the clouds blew in.

  One down, two to go.

  “One more thing, milady, relating to the eventual fate of this young man. He was whisked away suddenly by his companions, an old man and two women of questionable character.”

  Fiagai. She closed her hand around the button protectively. “Go on.”

  “The women simply showed up, offered help to them, and dragged the troll to their car.”

  “Could you tell which way they were headed?”

  “No, milady. I couldn’t keep up.”

  “Thank you, Fleetfoot. You have served me well.”

  “Cool. Can I have a peanut butter sandwich?”

  “Only if you make me one, too.” Jett held the button up to the light, and then slipped it into her pocket. Breakfast first. And peanut butter sounded just fine.

  CHAPTER 16

  *

  EZRA STIRRED. Something jabbed his back and his arm was asleep. So dark.

  “So you’re finally awake. Can you stand?”

  Elder Noah.

  The memory came back in flashes. The square. All those faces, looking up at him. Then the blur of spoken word and light. A feeling of dread overcame him. He’d done it again, and in front of so many people!

  He groaned and rolled over, putting his hands in the dirt. His knee hit a root. They weren’t at camp. This was a trail.

  “You must be exhausted after performing so mighty a miracle. I would have gotten some water, but I had to keep watch for them.”

  Ezra looked up. He always had excellent night vision, so he could make out Elder Noah’s face in the tree-shrouded moonlight as he held a cloth to his head.

  “What… what happened?” Ezra asked as he tried to stand. His head spun and his vision blurred, so he sat back down.

  “You performed a miracle, Ezra. A godly wonder. You prophesied and brought the Holy Spirit to an entire crowd.”

  “I did?” Ezra pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

  “Yes, and you also attracted the attention of persecutors.” The Elder held out the blood-soaked bit of torn shirt he’d been pressing against his head. “They struck me, before I cast them out. I commanded them to leave, in Yeshua’s name, and they fled.”

  “They did?” Ezra’s unusual outbursts had always gotten him in trouble, but now Elder Noah spoke to him in revered tones.

  “As soon as you can walk, we’ll get you back to camp. Then I’ll tell Elder Isaiah the good news.”

  “No– don’t. Please don’t tell anyone.” Ezra wrapped his arms around his middle.

  “Humility, is it?”

  “No, it’s not that… it’s that I… they won’t understand.”

  Elder Noah paused and seemed to consider that for a moment. “It is true; there were a few things about your display I didn’t understand myself. But I always promised myself I would recognize a true prophet if I saw one. No doubt about it, you performed a miracle. Now come on.” Elder Noah held out his hand. Ezra grasped it and stood. His head reeled at first; then as he opened himself to the forest around him, his heart filled with God’s presence, and he rapidly regained strength. Soon, he found himself helping the wounded old man down the darkened path.

  Camp had entered the quiet phase of night, when the brothers and sisters softly bore testimony around camp fires or read their Bibles by flashlight. Elder Noah made straight for Isaiah’s tent. In lieu of knocking on a flimsy tent door, he cleared his throat and called out the prophet’s name. The flap unzipped and Elder Isaiah stepped out.

  “You’re late. Where have you been?” he asked gruffly. Then he saw the blood, and a hint of concern entered his voice. “What happened?”

  “Elder,” Noah began. “Ezra here, he performed a miracle before the unbelievers. He spoke prophecy and evangelized. He calmed a storm, and his feet lifted from the ground in a pool of heavenly light!”

  Elder Isaiah glanced left, then right. “Lower your voice, Elder!” He glared at Ezra, a judgmental, fiery glare. “There can be only one prophet in any dispensation. You know this.”

  A look of confusion came over Elder Noah’s face. “This is true, but… I saw what I saw. I am not saying he is the Prophet, only that he bears gifts of the Holy Spirit.”

  Elder Isaiah considered for a few moments. “Light you say? And he arose from the ground?”

  “Yes. He even spoke in tongues, like the Mount of Transfiguration. Like the Pentecost. The clouds parted.”

  Elder Isaiah tapped his finger against his jaw and cast a glance at Ezra. “What makes you so sure that this miracle was of God?”

  “By his fruits. The students listened eagerly; we left them wanting more. And on our return, we were pursued by persecutors. They tried to stone me. By the grace of Elohim, I avoided their attack and cast them out in Yeshua’s name. Satan only attacks the righteous.”

  Ezra wondered why they argued this in front of him. He’d never seen the Elders disagree about anything.

  “For such are false apostles,” Elder Isaiah quoted from scripture, “transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ. And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.”

  And there it was. The Prophet and leader of the Wanderers had cast his judgment. Ezra had begged Noah not to tell.

  Elder Noah continued to argue. “Why would Satan–”

  “Enough, Elder!” Isaiah turned to face Ezra. “What do you think of all this, brother? What say you about your miracle?”

  “I… I…” he stammered. He could not disagree with Elder Isaiah. But to admit he was right, that his powers were of the devil? “I don’t know what happened,” he finished.

  Elder Isaiah grunted. It reminded Ezra of a growl of a dog he’d once seen in an alley, guarding a bone. And an older memory, much older… no more like a dream
, of a king who would stop at nothing to amass more power.

  Ezra stuffed down such thoughts as covetous and jealous. It was not his place to judge, especially given the taint on his soul.

  “Elder Noah, we will continue this conversation in private. Take the boy to your tent, and bring Elder Levi. The three of us will pray, and discuss what to do.”

  Noah’s tent stood just a few paces off. Inside, he gently motioned to a sleeping bag on the left. “Best get some sleep, Ezra. Don’t worry, I believe in you.” He put his hand on Ezra’s shoulder and squeezed.

  Ezra climbed into the bag and tried to sleep with his thoughts spinning round and round. Perhaps Lucifer worked through him to lead them all astray. Now even the Elders fought with a spirit of contention.

  Of course he was a devil. He’d known it all his life, and he had the horns to prove it.

  He’d seen a picture once. Someone had handed him a pamphlet against Satanism. The picture showed a demon, a frightening image of a man with wings and the head of a goat. With horns like his. Since then, he’d seen other horned gods in shop windows, sellers of occult goods and other nonsense from foreign lands. And he knew they were Satanic.

  His mind flashed once again to the horrible scene in the square. He’d been filled with euphoria. But wasn’t that Lucifer’s way, to tempt with the pleasures of the world?

  A horrible thought occurred to him. What if he were the Antichrist? He’d misled a lot of people out there today. He’d begun by telling them about the love of God, but then found himself telling them to pursue their interests and seek out inspiration. Wasn’t that idolatry?

  After a time, hushed voices came closer to the tent. Ezra’s ears picked up every word, in spite of himself.

  “I swear, he spoke the words of God.” That was Elder Noah.

  “But you said he spoke of magic and pagan beliefs.” Elder Levi’s voice.

  “He is young,” Elder Noah said, “maybe still tainted with the ideas of the outside world. Did Yeshua not say, through Paul, that he gives unto all men gifts of the spirit? Even giving to men the gift of working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another discerning of spirits, to another divers kinds of tongues. All these worketh that one and the selfsame Spirit. Thus are not all men apostles, prophets, teachers, and workers of miracles?”

  “And yet, I am still our leader,” Elder Isaiah said, “our prophet, our teacher. Why would Elohim send two prophets? And one speaking damnable heresies?”

  Elder Isaiah was the true prophet. He actually talked to God, so he should know.

  “Are we so blind that we cannot recognize a miracle?” pleaded Elder Noah. “No wonder He no longer deigns to show us wonders.”

  Elder Noah would not defend him if he knew Ezra’s secrets.

  “Word is already starting to spread,” said Elder Isaiah. “People are starting to speculate about why you came back late. We have to tell them something.”

  “We tell them he got sick,” said Elder Levi.

  “Thou shalt not raise a false report, says scripture.” It was Elder Noah again. “Mark my words, next week when we go back, twenty people will be waiting for me and Ezra. Some are sure to convert. We can use this.”

  No one said anything after a brief silence, so Elder Noah spoke again. “We could use this to inspire faith. Convert the world like it says in Revelations. This could be one of the signs–”

  Elder Isaiah cut him off. “And then what happens when Ezra turns out to be a deceiver, a pawn of the Adversary? What happens to our Wanderers when we lose favor with Elohim?”

  “And what happens if we cast a prophet out of his own land?”

  What could he do? He could leave. Then they wouldn’t have to make such a terrible choice. He wasn’t sure how he would eat, and he would miss his friends here. He wouldn’t be their problem anymore.

  The tent flap opened.

  Ezra pretended to sleep. “You awake?” Elder Noah asked. He nudged the sleeping bag gently with his boot. Ezra stirred and pretended to wake.

  “Brother, listen, I know I’ve treated you pretty harshly in the past. I… I guess I don’t like kids much, and I don’t approve… at least I didn’t approve… of our policy to take in strays. So, I’m sorry for any unchristlike words I may have used towards you in the past.” He scratched at the bandage on his forehead.

  Why was he being so nice? Probably afraid of him, afraid of his power.

  Ezra sat up slowly. “It’s okay.”

  “Anything I can get for you? You must be hungry.”

  Ezra nodded. “Very.”

  Noah slipped out and returned with a bowl. “You can stay here in my tent until the Elders figure out what to do with you. You’ve caused quite a stir.”

  Ezra nodded. “Can’t I stay in my own place tonight?”

  “No. You’ll stay here.”

  Ezra scooped stew into his mouth. His first priority was to get some time alone, to think about whether he should leave for good. Why wouldn’t Elder Noah let him go home? How was he going to get away if they… Oh, I see. They didn’t want him mixing with the rest of Congregation until they decided what to do with him.

  After finishing his food, he stood. Noah stood with him.

  “Uh, I uh, need to use the bathroom.”

  “Of course you do. Let’s go.” Ezra smiled weakly, and inwardly sighed. So it wasn’t going to be that easy. He’d have to wait until the Elder fell asleep.

  He felt naked, standing at the latrine. The eyes of fellow brothers glanced his way now and then. Brother Ezra, the topic of the day, and probably the butt of a lot of jokes.

  Noah led him back to the tent, and zipped it up tight, sealing the outdoors away. “It’s late, let’s get some sleep.”

  Ezra complied. He didn’t want to arouse suspicions and get a guard posted to the door, so he huddled in his sleeping bag, listening to the sound of the elder’s breathing until it turned into a gentle snore.

  Then he slid out of his sleeping bag without unzipping it, and then slowly unzipped the tent flap. Elder Noah stirred a bit, but the plastic zipper wasn’t too loud. The darkness of the chill night air enclosed around him. Ezra started walking towards a hidden place he knew, down an overgrown trail that not even the Wanderers knew about.

  Ezra thought back to his first memory. He didn’t know his age then; he must have been six. He’d been in school. The kids were taunting him. They poked him and called him Billy Goat Gruff. He cried. Then there was a flash of light. He couldn’t see. Then he was in the principal’s office. Lots of people were there. Were they his parents? What did his mother look like?

  No matter how hard he tried, he could never remember.

  They said he’d punched someone. But he hadn’t. He didn’t punch anyone. He never wanted to hurt anybody. Somehow the other kid was hurt real bad. The next thing he could remember, he was in his bedroom, crying. He slipped out the window and never went back.

  After that, he’d made do sleeping in abandoned buildings. He ate trash or made deals with restaurant owners for leftovers.

  Since then, he’d seen things. A lot of things that shouldn’t exist, and yet, there they were, little people and odd creatures. No one else could see them, so he started doubting his perceptions. He had learned to not point out anything unusual to anyone. It was best to wait to see if they saw it first.

  So if he wasn’t a demon, he was crazy.

  He’d met a lot of crazy people on the streets who thought they were prophets. Maybe all the prophets were crazy. Did it work the other way around? Did prophets think they were crazy?

  Maybe it took crazy to hear the word of God. Maybe you had to see things that weren’t there, and believe you had horns and long creepy arms. Maybe only then you’d have enough faith in God that He could speak through you and open wide the clouds and lift you up into the air. He looked up into the broken clouds, hints of moonlight here and there, but no answers.

  His thoughts and memories and prayers rolled around in his head for the whole
walk, battling one another. When he reached the stream crossing, he remembered Jacob from the Bible, who wrestled with God, and wondered if this is how he felt. Surely Jacob knew it was God he wrestled with. He prayed asking if this was how Jacob felt.

  He crossed the small creek easily. Then he stood on a fallen log that spanned a pile of branches intentionally placed by park services to hide the path. Beyond it, the ferns grew in very closely around the old path, so that you could hardly tell it had ever been a trail.

  He paused for a moment on the log.

  “Hello there, Old Mother,” he said. He leaned down to see the large spider, nested in her web, blocking his way. “Thank you for guarding my secret, pretty girl. Sorry to destroy your home again, but you’ll have it rebuilt by morning.”

  She dined on a fresh kill, and didn’t even twitch as he pinched the top strand connecting to the gnarled roots of a fallen tree. Gently, he lowered the entire web, like a gate, and she patiently sat in the center, eating her dinner while her web collapsed. Then he released the second strand, and passed through into his own world.

  He wandered among the crowding ferns until he found his favorite place, next to the creek, under a towering boulder. Beside it was a rough pyramid, nearly his height, that he had built out of rocks during previous visits. No eyes but his had ever seen it. During more peaceful times, he had felt compelled, placing one stone upon the other until it was complete. He’d built one in every city they’d stopped in, near every site of Congregation, and even before that when he lived alone.

  Sighing, he sat, leaning against the soft moss, listening to the creek for the voice of God.

  Had he really made his life better by joining these people? Before he met them, he ate from dumpsters. Now? He still ate from dumpsters. If it turned out they didn’t want him, he should leave. Especially if he really was a demon.

  Or maybe he should leave even if he were a prophet.

  He was pretty sure some of the things he’d said at the University were blasphemous. He believed those things; at least… he thought he believed them. They had come from a place deep down inside him where all his favorite thoughts came from.