41 Epilogue: Book 2

Father Philippe heard the great doors creak open from his office and went to see who would come to visit the church on a Tuesday morning.  A small crowd stood in the Narthex, blinking in the relative darkness after the brilliant bright day outside.  They were well dressed and similarly but yet struck Father Philippe as an odd mix.  There was a massive, striped, regal looking fellow with a tiny woman who reminded him of a nun, and a child gazing in wonder at the cathedral like it was the first time she had ever been in one; who was tenderly leading a terribly scarred, blind man.

“Grace and Peace,” he greeted them, “I am Father Philippe, rector here, how may I be of service to you?  Did I hear one of you say something about tomes and books?”

“A tomb with books is what my companion said,” the great big fellow indicted the blind man with a wry smile.

“Oh, well, we have many fine examples of both here, what were you hoping to find?”

“A description of the smell,” the blind man said.

“Ah, not a fan of churches, I’d wager.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a gambling man, Padre.”

“A sure thing isn’t gambling though, is it?”

“Oh, I like him.  He’s quick. My name is Ch’Byartha,” The man stuck out a gnarled paw that was short a few fingers.  Philippe shook it warmly with both hands. 

“I’m going to assume that’s not the name your parents gave you, Son of Failure?”

“It is the name they would have given had they been more honest with themselves.”

“I see, and who is your lovely assistant?”

“This,” the man said with some relish, like a father with great pride and affection for his only child, though clearly she was not his by birth, “is Akondro.”  She timidly gave her hand and Philippe asked, “Did he name you?” leaning his head to indicate Ch’Byartha.  She nodded.  “I thought as much.  Welcome child.  I hope you come to love the church and your time in them more than your warden here.”

“Who is the warden and who is the ward when one must needs be led by the hand like a child by a child?  Yahweh has done much to humble me these last few years; i assure you Father, my feelings for the community of God are much more malleable than in my youth.”  The large one cleared his throat.  “So.  The furry wall there is Amisbhake,” Ch’Byartha continued the introductions, “Lord High Counselor to Chofa the Mysteriously Hard to Locate These Days,” Philippe shook his paw, which enveloped his own, “Charmed,” the great man rumbled.  “And her dispassionateness is none other than Ch’loi, Ambassador of the Kingdom of the Dawn.”

“Ah, so… OH!  It is you!  You’ve come!”

“Well, you did send for us.”

“Please forgive me for not knowing you straight away, I had no idea what to expect!  Thank you ever so much for coming!  Please, follow me.”  He led them outside and to the adjacent building next door.  “I am so thankful you have come.  They just started showing up here soon after the Union nuked Aedlin.  I didn’t know what to do!  I know what society would have me do.  I know what our neighbors would tell me to do but i could not bring myself to do it, you see.  They are living, thinking beings no matter their appearance or… diet”  They went through a door and began descending some old steps cut directly into the stone.  “They obviously wanted help and chose me, they came to me directly you see.  Not to cause harm or mischief but just an insistent but wordless plea for help.”

“How do you know that?”

Father Philippe laughed, “Because I am not dead!  If they were behaving in the way we have come to expect from them, I would be a raisin and the Union would be nuking Zanzibar!  Jael came first.  Just stood in the doorway one night when the church was empty.  I had no way of communicating with her you understand but my compassion was touched by them all the same.  I found something for her to eat and she left.  The next night she came again.  The following night, she brought Hagar with her.  The next night Ruth and so on.  They are in such obvious need!  I had to help them, I am compelled by grace to help them!  So I have hid them here and fed them but this can not go on indefinitely!  I have to send them on or they will be discovered.”  He reached the bottom of the stairs and turned, “Now, they are a little…disconcerting, I feel I would be remiss if I did not try to warn you about their appearance and what it’s like being so near them….”

Ch’Byartha put a hand on his shoulder.  “Trust us, Father, we know.”

“I do not know how that could be.  I have worked with starving communities, communities ravaged by war and plague and nothing, rien, has ever prepared me for this!”

“Preaching to the choir.”

He looked at each of them, shrugged, “Alright, if you’re sure?”

“We are.”

“Alright,” he unlocked the door, “that’s not to keep them in, you understand, I doubt I could even if I wanted to.  It is to keep others from accidentally stumbling upon them.  It is for their protection.”  He pushed it open and called into the darkness, “Rahab, Ruth, Jael, Hagar… visitors to see you.  He took a lamp from the wall and lit it.  Spindly shadows like giant spiders lowered themselves from the ceiling, raised up from the corners and came forward in a shy huddle of rags and clicking eye shutters.

“You named them?”  

“I could not very well ask them their own names, so yes.”

“They’re all women’s names.”

“Something about them struck me as feminine, yes.”

“You celibate, Father?” Ch’Byartha asked.

“Oui.”

“Figured.”

Philippe was going to ask what he meant but Jael, always first, came forward but not to Philippe.  She went straight to and stood before Ch’loi, her posture erect but not defiant.  As if she were presenting herself before a superior.  She did some sort of pantomime and Ch’loi made a hand gesture in return.  “You understand her?”

“Yes.”

“You..know her?”

“One has met before, yes.  What does the Reverend call this one?”

“Jael.”

“The wife of Heber, who drove the stake through Sisera.”

“Yes, but I was not thinking of that specifically, more searching Scripture for names of women associated with the people of God but not actually of them.”

“It is appropriate.”

Father Philippe did not know what she meant by that and she did not offer to explain.  What he asked instead is what was truly on his heart, “Can you.. will you help them?”

Ch’loi looked at him, her face was unreadable, stoic as stone, dour, the rigid mask of a woman who had known much heartbreak and little to no joy in her life.  But her eyes now were fierce and bright as if something inside was waking up and though her voice was small, quiet, meek, Philippe would have said it spoke with iron, “It is One’s Purpose.”

40: The Reunion Begins

Conscious thought was a novel new country.  Ch’Byartha had existed, barely, for some time now—part of the nature of which was not knowing how time passed within its borders—in a semi-dreamlike state, drifting in and out of bizarre worlds of pain and fear.  He knew not which parts were real, which were complete fantasy and which were a terrible bleeding together of both.  Fever dreams filled with monsters and misery and a pressing need to tell people dreadfully important things he could not remember.  It frustrated him to desperation  This aching need to communicate vital things, life changing things, life saving things his mind was convinced it knew yet never found opportunity to express, or indeed, even remember exactly what they were.  All it could remember was the terrible pressing urge to convey them.  

And now he was awake, aware of reality, such as it was, and the feeling bled away like the shadows of night before a sunny Spring morning in the Western Savannah.  Or was it only wearing a mask now?  Had it disguised itself as a half-forgotten dream?  Was he forgetting something?  Did he care?  The sun was warm on his face, he could hear countless birds.  The oxcart he rode in was not terribly bumpy as the highways here were smooth and well made.  His pain was moderate but familiar.  The child had lived, they had escaped Aedlin as he promised.  The fact that it was by no feat of his did not distress him.  He had never truly known how they were going to get out.  The world was as pleasant as it could be, and he was quite inclined to enjoy its hospitality.  

“And din Ch’loi busted you outta box and din she busted up the Army guy and din we hid inna bottom of a wagon dat hadda secret closet!  And din we hid inna house with dese nice people only dey wasn’t so nice afta dere baby died and dey left us to rot inna city!”  The child was filling in some of his blanks, in her way.

“Seems I missed a great deal of adventure and derring do,” Ch’Byartha lamented.

“You was dere,” she told him.

“In body, yes, love, my mind and spirit however were off wandering and wondering where my body had gotten to.”

“Ch’loi carried you.”

“She did, didn’t she.  One wonders why she would go through so much trouble for a simple guide she had found so easy to leave behind before.”  He deliberately baited these conversational hooks every hour or so, so far, no bites.  The child didn’t seem to mind them but for all of the response he got from Ch’loi, she might as well not be on the wagon with them.

The driver, a man named Mowosa, said, “Over that rise then, mistress.  T’would expect to meet a sentry of a sort before we reach it.”

Sure enough, not long after a distant voice hailed them, “That’s far enough then!”  To Ch’Byartha’s ears, it echoed not just off the surrounding hills but off a nagging, horribly mangled memory.  Mowosa brought his team up, “Ho there, Bezzie.  Ho there Blue,” and the cart stopped.  Noises settled similarly to dust, Ch’Byartha thought.  It took them a moment to clear but eventually there was a silence of sorts.  Since going blind, Ch’Byartha never ceased to be amazed at how many sounds he had never even noticed when sighted.  The silence stretched out.  Then, “Who goes there?” a new voice, “State your intent.”

“That you, Glynn?  It’s Mowosa Beka!  Bringing wares and provisions and passengers from the capital.”  

“Hey Mo!  What kind of passengers?”

“Those seeking an audience with the Saree.”

“Someone is sneaking up behind us,” Ch’Byartha told them.

“Your ears have grown sharp, Mr. Din Allorowro.”

“Or your steps have grown clumsy with age and fatness.  Amis!  I embarrass and shame my vocabulary and wit with my inability to express to you how painfully delightful it is to hear your voice again!  Why aren’t you dead?  Or are we dead?  Was this cart more than just metaphor for the passage into the bosom of the Almighty?  Mowosa, you scoundrel!  Are you Charon?  Why didn’t you tell us you were the ferryman of Styx?”  Ch’Byartha held his weak hands in the air, where massive, powerful ones gripped them with honest affection.  

“You are not dead, O garrulous one,” the deep rumble of Amisbhake’s voice chuckled, “and that surprises me as much as my presence does you, rumors and gossip are all I’ve had of you since we parted and they alone curl my tail and lay my ears flat.”

“Seems then there are tales to tell but that is thirsty work and best done over a hearty meal and something warm to drink!  What are we standing around in the road for like a rafter of turkeys gobbling and gabbling?  Take us to Chofa!  Let’s the reunion begin in earnest!”

“Peace, Kurga, or is it Ch’Byartha now?  There is much to speak of, true, but there is also much to do and I’m afraid the reunion will have to wait.”

“One very much desires to see the Primary,” Ch’loi finally spoke.

“And he very much desires to see you as well, your highness, but he is not here.  As I said, there is much work to be done and he is off about it.  As we shall soon be.  But come, there is time for food.”

“Thank Yah for that!” Ch’Byartha exclaimed.  “Oh, Amis, this is Ch’loi, Ch’loi, this is Amisbhake, he’s the loyal servant and bodyguard you traded for a worthless, zombie people-sucker and then left to die, you might remember.”

Silence.

Amis broke it just before Ch’Byartha exploded in real anger, “And who is this rare desert flower?”  Ch’Byartha, so intent upon his rage and hurt, mentally stumbled over Amis’ question.  Then he finally remember the child.

“Oh!  Oh, my gram would have my knuckles for my rudeness!  Dear child, please forgive me,” he couldn’t yet help emphasizing every word, please, forgive, me!  As if he could teach them to Ch’loi.  “This is the High Counselor of the Court of Chofa the Wise and Benevolent, former master of the Western Pastures, Amisbhake the Muscularity!  Amis, while waiting many a moon on the meager streets of the doomed city of Aedlin for one unworthy friend, Yah gave me a far more charitable one.  We found each other’s company more agreeable than our loneliness and it took much of the bitter edge off of my sojourn there.  But alas and alack, what her dear, departed mother named her none can say, for she has survived by her wit and the grace of Yahweh since weaned.”

“You have no name, child?”

“Nossir.”

“What do people call you?”

“Lotta dings.”

“What do the people who care about you call you?”

“Who dey?”

Ch’Byartha had faced Monotooth, nearly died of fever, lived as a beggar on the streets for months, been tortured and in a coma for he knew not how long and nothing of that cut his soul deeper than this one honest question from the child.  He let go of Amis and reached out and found the young orphan.  Once again he said, “Child, please forgive me!”

This time he meant it.