by Bryan Davis
Again she resisted the urge to look back. Could her father hear everything? Would Abaddon reveal her secrets? Maybe it was better to stay quiet. He probably wouldn’t wait very long before continuing.
“Shall I recite for you some of the secrets you shared during your previous visit here?”
Bonnie tried to reply with a formal air, hoping she could convince him. “There is no need for that. If we are both aware of my diary’s content, what good would it do to give it voice now?”
“You are a lover of truth, but you seem to have forgotten how powerful words can be. They pierce. They penetrate. They both break and bind. Let us test them once more and see if your incisive lament is the sword of a slayer or the scalpel of a surgeon.”
Abaddon shuffled to the opposite side of the table and flipped through the pages of his journal. When he stopped, he touched the surface with his claw.
As before, a three-dimensional image rose from the book, this one depicting a bedroom with pink and purple striped wallpaper. A winged girl lay on the bed, a pen in hand as she wrote in a spiral journal.
Nausea curdled Bonnie’s stomach. The scene was all too familiar—her thirteenth birthday, the night the slayers killed her mother. Her father had drawn her blood that day, yet another attempt to further his longevity experiments, though he had promised so many times not to do it again. He had broken his promise only hours earlier and callously filled another tube from her arm.
As the Bonnie in the image picked up the journal and read her entry silently, her voice came through, the tone matching the emotion in her words.
Dear God,
I descended into the shadowlands today. A specter of fear wrapped his cold, cruel fingers around my heart and led me into his chamber of treachery, a sanitary cube of torment that once again enclosed my mind in darkness. Can any instrument of torture deliver cruelty as savage as love betrayed? Does a dungeon’s rack stretch a body as sadistically as betrayal stretches trust? Can faith endure a traitor’s sinister hand as it turns the wheel, each notch testing conviction until the sword of despair separates peace from its rightful habitat?
He bared my skin. He pierced my flesh. He robbed more than my life’s blood; with his brazen face and callous dismissal, he robbed my innocence. He shattered my image of a father’s love.
Once upon a time, a tall, strong knight took my little hand and led me to the edge of a cliff. Comforted by his powerful grip, I felt no fear, for this valiant knight would never let me fall. Below lay the jagged rocks, the raging river, and a thousand feet of cold, empty air. As I leaned over the precipice, the joy of beholding danger with unflinching eyes flooded my soul. I have an anchor. I have a sure hold in the land of promise. My father would never let me go.
Yet, he did let me go. Nay, he pushed me over the side. And now I fall, staring up at him as he coldly walks away. The wind chills my heart, and the certainty of eternal torment rushes at me with no savior in sight.
God of wonders, catch me now in your loving hands. Fly down on your stallion and rescue me from this plunge into despair. Let us ride together, buoyed by wings of faith and energized by the love that delivered your only begotten son, for he is the king who catches his falling sparrows. Let us waltz together in this dance of death, for you have called me to suffer with you in willing sacrifice and to burn the image of your crucifixion in my heart. Let us live together in the light of your resurrection, for I cannot survive this walk of faith without the comfort of knowing that you will never let go of my hand.
You are Jehovah-Jireh, my provider in times of trouble. You are Jehovah-Shalom, my peace in the midst of turmoil. And above all, you are Jehovah-Shammah, the God who is always there, a true father who rises to my aid when the specter has taken off his fatherly mask and exposed his treacherous heart.
Ask me for my blood, and I will give it freely. Yea, ask me for my life, for you have already crucified me on Calvary’s hill and raised me from the dead, purging the life of sin I left behind. Ask me for my soul, for you have already paid for it with your own precious blood, the holy blood of Jehovah-Yasha, my savior.
And now I see it. I can give you nothing that you have not already given to me. I am purchased, a slave of love. I am your vessel to be used in whatever way you wish. If you make me an urn for ashes, a common earthen jar to bear incinerated bones, leaving me to collect dust in a forgotten tomb, even then, I will be content. For just as you would not leave your son forever in the ground, I know you will raise me up from the land of the dead. You have not ignited this fire in my heart to be wasted in Sheol’s pit. Though dead, buried, and forgotten, I will rise again.
No matter what happens, I will never forsake you, for you will never forsake me. You are with me, no matter where I go.
Love,
Bonnie Conner
The projected Bonnie laid the journal down, and the image faded away.
The real Bonnie wept. The words brought back every tortured memory, the pain of every needle that gouged her skin, the scarring of her soul that only savage betrayal can leave behind.
Abaddon looked on quietly, giving no hint of emotion. As Bonnie tried to stifle her sobs, the sound of weeping continued, as if stirred up in an echo behind her. This time, she had to look.
Her father strode out from the shadows, tears streaming. Not bothering to wipe them away, he held up his hands. “I am the traitor,” he said, his voice quaking. “I am the one who pushed Bonnie off the cliff.”
Abaddon nodded slowly. “Does your posture mean that you are giving yourself up to me?”
“I’ll do anything to make up for what I’ve done. I was supposed to be a doctor, and I gave it up because a little girl died on my watch, but instead I became a torturer, a torturer of my own daughter.” He covered his face with his hands, unable to control his sobs. “I am such a fool.”
Bonnie ran to him and wrapped her arms around his chest. “I love you, Daddy.” She rocked back and forth with him and cried. “Will it help if I say, ‘I forgive you’ again? I’ll say it a thousand times!”
“You were such a fool,” Abaddon said. “My sources tell me that you finished your life as a hero. You forsook your foolishness and embraced the faith your daughter so valiantly lived in front of you, in spite of your betrayals.”
“What good is that?” He kept his gaze low, his head bobbing. “I died! I couldn’t make up for all the harm I did. I couldn’t stay around and be her daddy.”
“Since you have acquiesced to my authority over you, I can now prepare you for a potential resurrection. You will not be able to abide with your daughter yet, but you might have the opportunity to, as you say, make up for all the harm you did.”
Bonnie drew back from her father. “A potential resurrection? You mean, he might not go?”
“It depends on the decisions the Second Eden dwellers make. If they do not call for a doctor, the fuel that gives this place the power to send him there will not be set aflame.”
Bonnie checked the hourglass again. With most of the sand now in the top half, she had plenty of time to figure out her next step. Fortunately, Sapphira had stayed put. She was smart enough to figure out that Abaddon might not be aware of her presence. If he had decided that Bonnie was the only intruder, Sapphira was free to roam without suspicion.
“Okay,” her father said, spreading out his arms. “I’m yours, Abaddon. What do you want me to do?”
The dragon’s eyes flashed blue. “For months now you have avoided becoming a statue, because you had no idea how important that initiation was in your preparation for resurrection.”
“How could I know? You never told me.”
“You refused to listen and learn.” Abaddon pointed a claw at him. “You ran and hid.”
“I was turning into a statue, and when I ran, my feet started catching on fire. Wouldn’t you run from whatever was causing that?”
Bonnie looked down at her father’s shoes. Thin smoke rose from the toes and heels, and they seemed to glow.
; “We were discussing truth,” Abaddon continued. “One must never run from such revelations.”
“Even if I’m about to burn? I would suffer excruciating pain and then become a pile of ashes.”
“Or so you say, yet you have seen a fiery resident of this place. She neither cries in pain nor burns up, and every statue holds another flaming soul who lives on without suffering. So it is your false perception you fear. If we were to strip the solid shells, to outsiders, the inhabitants of this land would appear to be unapproachable apparitions, sources of discomfort, fit only for viewing from afar or perhaps in videos viewed in museums that display such oddities for parents and children to ponder with head-shaking disapproval. Yet, the one who sees from within the fiery body observes others with new eyes. He sees beyond the blinders that most men wear, some willingly and some in ignorance. The inferno’s eyes foil façades and unmask the heart, stripping away lies, pretense, and cultural correctness that cause men to live the lie, though they really do not believe the lie at all. Those who fear this flame value acceptance and approval above truth.”
Bonnie glanced down again. Now her father’s shoes had sprouted flames, and they crawled up his pant legs.
“That would mean that seeking and believing truth is penalized,” her father said. “You have to give up freedom to interact with others.”
Abaddon gave him a grim nod. “In the fallen world, yes, this is true. Every man and woman who ever plied truth’s trade learned this awful fact. Once he or she strips off the outer shell to try to interact with others, the inner fire becomes clear. From Jeremiah to Joan of Arc, one who treasures truth beyond all things becomes a pariah or a paragon, either of which makes him or her hated with passion or admired from afar, and therefore friendless until the day of martyrdom.”
Bonnie’s father looked down. Now he knew that flames had enshrouded his legs, but he didn’t seem to care. “So what’s the purpose of doing this here, I mean, in this valley of souls?”
“To train your soul. When you resurrect, you will remember your time here for only a short few moments, but your mind will be prepared for the heartache that accompanies the martyr’s path, for no one who resurrects from the dead can ever return to a normal life. To others, you will be considered a prophet or a demon. There is no middle ground.”
“So be it.” As the flames reached his waist, he lifted his arms, grimacing at the heat. “I am ready. Send me wherever you wish me to go.”
“It is not I who sends. It is the one who calls. Both you and another will be ready to go, and either one of you will be able to help in the perils the people face, but I do not know which of you they will choose. Yet, I will prepare you, both by the fire that now envelops you and by these words, which you will remember only while your feet are firmly planted in the garden.”
As the flames rose to his chin, Bonnie’s father tilted his head upward, like a drowning man reaching for air. Agony strained his voice. “Speak, Abaddon. I am ready.”
“Heed my words, Matthew Conner. The death of a little girl and the blame you heaped upon yourself have seared your heart, creating scars that enabled you to cruelly punish your wife and another girl. By this fire, I burn those scars and peel away their remains.”
The flames covered his face. His fiery head still tilting upward, he screamed loud and long.
“Your heart will be raw, vulnerable, bleeding. If the Second Eden dwellers call you to resurrection, they will ask you to do something that you will not believe you are able to accomplish. Fear will grip your newly wounded heart, causing pain beyond words, and you will be sorely tempted to deny their request. Yet, you must accept immediately. If you delay, you will soon forget my warning, and all will be lost.”
His fire-wrapped body now heaving, he nodded. “I will … try.”
Abaddon opened the bottle he had used earlier, tipped a drop out onto his hand, and touched the flaming head. As before, a shroud of fog enveloped the fiery body, and when it disappeared, a large egg sat in Abaddon’s grasp. “Now you will await word from above.”
Inside, Bonnie’s father cried out so loud his words penetrated the glass. “Call to me, and I will answer you.”
His glass shell radiating orange, he lowered himself to a sitting position. The words repeated again and again, fading each time. His fingers stood out clearly as they pressed against the inside wall.
Abaddon set the egg on one of the table’s mounts. “His suffering is great, but it is only temporary.”
“Temporary?” Bonnie raised a hand to her mouth and bit her finger. It was terrible! Her father was suffering so much! And there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing.
She looked at the hourglass. About half of the sand had passed through to the bottom. What did that mean? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? However many, with Daddy in so much pain, it would seem like hours. And what of Makaidos? Surely his pain was just as great. When would one of them be able to go to Second Eden?
Abaddon set a wing tip on Bonnie’s shoulder. “It is time for you to go. When the call comes, the room will be swept with fire, and only those already in flames will survive.”
Chapter 13
Piercing a Gem
With the coil of rope in hand, Billy reached the top of the ladder and emerged back in Second Eden. He pulled the hood over his head and jumped through the wall of fire. Working quickly, he tied the end of the rope to the iron stake, reeled it out, and tossed the other end into the volcano’s throat, making sure the mesh still protected the rope.
Listener climbed to the top of the ladder and leaped through the fire, grinning. “I feel like Superman.”
“You’ve been listening to Walter’s stories, haven’t you?”
“Superman, Batman, and Spiderman.” Squinting, she looked up at him. “Are there any women superheroes?”
As Acacia’s snowy head appeared, Billy nodded toward her. “You’d better believe it.”
Acacia stood and waved her arms inside the fire ring, keeping the cyclone going. When Dallas and Rebekah climbed to the top of the ladder, Acacia looked at Billy. “It’s time to close this door.”
He checked the knot at the stake. “It’s secure. Let’s do it.”
While Dallas and Rebekah stood inside the fire circle and looked on, Acacia stepped down a few rungs and, hanging on tightly to the rope, kicked the ladder until it slid away. She climbed back up, grunting and slipping. Rebekah reached down, grabbed Acacia’s tunic, and hoisted her the rest of the way.
The fiery vortex slowed. As soon as the flames cleared, a plume of gray vapor rose from the volcano. Mount Elijah was once again open.
Billy helped Acacia reel the rope back into a coil. “I saw you write something on a scroll down there,” she said. “What was it?”
“Just a note telling what we did and who we took with us.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if it’ll do any good, but maybe someone will find it.”
Dallas wrapped her arms around herself. “This place is freezing,” she said, her teeth chattering.
Billy stripped off his cloak and tossed it to her. “That should help for now. We’ll call Thigocia and get you a Sahara treatment right away. We brought some extra clothes, but we’ll have to wait until we find our passenger dragons before we can get them.”
Looking up, Billy shouted into the sky. “Thigocia, are you up there?”
Twin lasers cut through the clouds. Seconds later, the tawny dragon dropped into sight. Since five people now stood on the volcano’s top, she had to perch on part of the demolished wall that once covered the cone while slowly beating her wings to keep her balance. “I see that we have new arrivals.”
“Mother!” Dallas leaped forward and clutched Thigocia’s foreleg. “It’s so good to see you. We hardly had a minute to speak after our resurrection.”
Thigocia sniffed Dallas’s hair. “Ah! Firedda! My gentle one!” As she rubbed Dallas’s back with her clawed hand, she looked at Rebekah. “And is this my granddaughter, Legossi?”
With
a frigid wind whipping her blond locks, Rebekah bowed her head. “It’s a joy to see you again, Thigocia, yet I notice you did not call me a gentle one.”
Thigocia gave her a toothy smile. “Warriors like you and myself are rarely called gentle, my dear.”
“Thigocia,” Billy said, “can you give us all a Sahara treatment and take these two to Grackle and get them the clothes we brought? The rest of us will hoof it back.”
“Very well. They can mount here, and we will meet you at the rendezvous point, though I will watch over you along the way. The Vacants are on the move, but I cannot tell if they will take a path toward us or to the river.”
As Dallas rejoined the others in a huddle, Thigocia took in a deep breath and poured out a jet of hot dry air through her mouth and nostrils. All five humans spread out their arms and basked in the flow. After four repetitions, everyone was dry and toasty.
With freezing drizzle still falling, Billy nodded at Dallas. “Keep the cloak. I’m getting used to this place, and Grackle can heat up his scales for me.”
Dallas hugged the cloak close to her body. “I am grateful for your chivalry.”
Rebekah nodded toward the volcano’s throat. “Are you going back to the mines with explosives to blow a hole in the escape tunnel?”
“Probably in the morning,” Billy said. “When we resurrect Makaidos at the ceremony, we’ll tell him everything that’s going on. Maybe he’ll have other ideas.”
After Rebekah and Dallas mounted and flew away on Thigocia, Billy, Acacia, and Listener retraced their steps down Mount Elijah’s switchback trail. With every footfall, an unsettling feeling in his stomach grew stronger, a stewing swill that raised foul odors in his throat and into his nostrils.
When they reached the lava field, Billy grasped Excalibur’s hilt at his hip and scanned the ridges on each side, both partially veiled by fog. “I sense danger.”
Listener looked into the clouds with her spyglass. “I don’t see Thigocia anywhere.”
“If I sense it, then she probably does, too.” Billy withdrew his sword. “Come on. Let’s get to the dragons.”
