Out of Exodia

by Debra Chapoton

  * * *

  Barrett’s father took an axe and chopped down two strong saplings as Bram had directed him. He laid the poles on the ground and used some frayed rope to bind the shorter one across the longer one. Eugene melted the gold again, but under Bram’s orders this time, making a bronze-colored serpent to hang on the poles.

  When they both finished they took the T-shaped structure to the highest point in the camp, dug a hole, and set the pole upright. The golden snake was breathtaking.

  “Reminds me of something,” Barrett’s father said.

  “Me, too. From pre-Suppression days. Churches. Crosses. Old religious superstitions.” Eugene coughed out the last words, a guilty shudder added to the shivers he felt.

  “I think we lost something immensely important after the Suppression.”

  Eugene snorted. “Don’t know what good this’ll do.” He looked around for live snakes, but saw none. “Is this the mother snake or something? Supposed to attract all the other ones?” He mumbled an objection under his breath.

  Barrett’s father quirked his mouth. “Bram said anyone who gets bitten just has to come here and look up at this, then they won’t die. Boy, gotta take that one on more than a little faith. Sounds outlandish.” He started down the path, called back, “But what else do we have to look to for salvation these days?”

  Eugene knew the answer to that but rather than tell Barrett’s father he kept the hand-me-down knowledge to himself. “You won’t find me putting my faith in something hanging from a cross,” he muttered. His pockets were full of the gold he hadn’t melted.

  * * *

  Two days of fending off snakes left a count of forty-seven dead including Jules, Sam, Billy, and others who, Bram and Harmon noticed, spoke loudest against claiming their new land. Three hundred seventy-seven Reds who were bitten and then looked on the bronze figure of the snake lived. It was totally preposterous, but whether it was psychosomatic, miraculous, or the dawning of some inexplicable twenty-second century medicine it worked. Even Eugene found the faith he needed when an asp punctured the skin on his calf. He crawled up the hill and raised his eyes. Later, when he walked down the hill he went looking for Barrett’s father to speak to him of the long ago things he’d memorized.

  * * *

  On the third day the horses were rounded up, the last of the dead were buried, and the judges had everyone convinced that the Reds would conquer the giants. It was slow going to leave the campground. Many families grieved for the loved ones they’d lost and buried beside the lake. There was little of the usual dancing that the young ones, usually led by Mira, had always before enjoyed at the start of each leg of their long journey. This time the move had a mixture of trepidation and grudging expectancy. Most people consciously repressed the sparks of joy that they wanted to feel now that they believed they were close to the end of their journey. They moved ahead under the escort of the radiant cloud. Malcolm limped, not from any residual effects of a snake bite—he was in the vast majority of Reds who weren’t bitten—but from twisting his ankle when he ran from the first snake encounter.

  * * *

  Lydia and I walk beside Harmon and his family. We all lead our horses up the same road we’d tramped this summer, past the spot where I married Lydia, and veer off northward according to Josh and Blake’s directions. We tramp for hours, our trail of Red men, women, children, and horses lengthening with the shadows. The cloud bristles above us, fluttering in the same breeze that meets our faces. By late afternoon there’s a hint of chill in the air and something else.

  “Do you smell that?” I say to my brother. He shakes his head.

  We walk maybe a mile further and a stronger scent of that odd something in the wind brings back a memory of the first time I fled Exodia. I reach for Lydia’s hand.

  “I think we’re going to run into some of Ronel’s people. Remember Vinn and Carter?”

  She frowns and nods, drops my hand, but not before I sense her confusion, thoughts of Barrett, and her earliest attraction to him and to me. I’m touched and want to pull her close, but she needs her private thoughts to remain private and so I don’t take her hand again.

  “You smell them?” she asks.

  I feel like I should sneeze as an answer. The odor of death is so strong in my nostrils now that I’m surprised complaints aren’t echoing through our ranks. I wonder if I should ride ahead and warn those in front that our visitors won’t be hostile.

  “Yeah, I smell them. I wonder why we haven’t encountered them before now. Bad as they stink this could be a good sign. I’m going to ride ahead and meet them.”

  I mount my horse, give a quick explanation to Harmon and ride around the families who have now stopped to collect the dinner packages that begin dropping from the sky. I find Josh and Blake beyond the front of the cloud, their new horses acting skittish.

  “They smell some old friends of mine,” I tell the leaders. “Unfortunately the horses don’t know there’s nothing to fear.”

  No sooner do I say that than we hear singing. We look to the right where there’s an abandoned farmhouse and forty or fifty people file out from behind it, singing that old song that every Red but me has known all their lives.

  The Reds behind me are startled, some draw weapons. I’m quick to assure them that these are friendlies. The meat that had been landing at our feet stops. A second course showers at our guests’ feet. I coax my horse into a trot and hurry to greet my old friends.

  “Ho, Dalton,” Vinn calls out as the singing stops right at my name.

  “It’s Bram O’Shea now.” My horse circles to a stop, uneasy with Vinn’s reeking stink. “Aren’t you ever going to bathe?” I laugh at him. “I’ve been smelling you for miles.”

  “It keeps the enemies away,” Vinn says. “My friends don’t mind.” He nods toward Carter and the rest. I think how glad Malcolm will be to see them all and I wonder which one is his son.

  I dismount and stick an elbow toward Vinn. He taps it with his own and I say, “Happy to see you’ve recovered.”

  “It was pretty bad, but Carter got me back in one piece. Just took a while to heal.” He cracks a grin. “We’ve been tracking your progress. Pretty circuitous route you’ve been taking. Like a squirrel lookin’ for a nut.”

  “I guess we had some lessons to learn. Did you know there are giant gemfries in the land Ronel expects us to inhabit?”

  “Yup. Shouldn’t be a problem now that you’ve got us with you. We’ve even dyed our elbows.”

  While we talk his group begins to mingle with the Reds who’ve followed me. It doesn’t take long for us to grow accustomed to Vinn’s stink. Most of his group joins in and eats the food that’s been dropped. Lydia appears at my side and greets the two men she’d met before. There’s a quiet pain as we tell them of Barrett’s death, then, as if to balance out the heartache, Carter calls over his shoulder, “Raul, bring the kids.”

  My heart begins to pound. My former father-in-law, Raul Luna, face and hands covered with burn scars, limps forward, two little ones—my sons—are in his arms. My chest is ready to burst; the bruising thuds are wonderfully welcome. My sons!

  They are blurry bits of heaven. Eli’s fuzzy blond hair frames his baby face; his cheeks are almost too chubby. He holds my gaze, unafraid. But Gresham, who favors me with his dark hair and deep blue eyes, turns his head to look in the other direction, to look for his mother, I think. I put my hand on his small back and read his confusion: he wants Kassandra, misses her.

  “Raul?” I move my hand to his shoulder and I know instantly what has happened. There’s been a fire. He saved the boys but not their mother. Even with that touch of knowledge I don’t believe it. I step back and search the faces of Vinn and Carter’s people. They look away from me, step aside and let two people come through. I see two blond heads at the back of the crowd and then I see Katie moving forward. She pulls someone’s hand, the other blond. But it’s a man and not Kassandra.

  “Kassandra is … gone,” Raul say
s, his voice resigned. “All I have left is Katie, her new husband … and these boys.”

  I don’t know what to say, but suddenly there is another hand in mine. I read Lydia’s pure empathy and speak her words; make them my own, “I’m so, so sorry. I suffer with you, Raul, though I can’t imagine your pain. May you find your strength in loving my sons. Please stay and go into the new land with us. We’ll be your family.” And then I think of something on my own that I can say. I whisper the God-inspired words of comfort in Raul’s ear. He nods. It’s as I suspected: he’s already trusted that truth.

  He offers me Eli and I scoop him into my arms and rest my trembling lips on his head. Gresham whips his head around to watch us. Lydia holds her hands open to him and he doesn’t hesitate to leave his grandfather’s arms and cuddle up to her; her smile is irresistible.

  Katie introduces her husband to us and then she asks for help to shepherd their sheep that trail behind them. They don’t respond to her singing, she says, like they did to Kassandra’s. She drops her voice on her sister’s name. I lift my mouth from my son’s scalp and call out to several people nearby who were good with the horses and assign them to help her. I’m glad for the interruption in this upsetting reunion.

  Chapter 18 The End

  From the last page of the fourth Ledger:

  The shepherd led them in. He made them lie down in the green pastures. Their souls were restored.

  THIS HAS BEEN the best and worst week of this journey for me. Days are spent helping to care for my sons as Katie relinquishes her unwanted maternal role and Lydia accepts her step-sons with more love than I could wish for. The days, even though we travel through some rough areas, are the best. The nights are the worst. Gresham and Eli cry for their mother and wake me from nightmares of a hellish fire. Night after night I return to dreams that make my soul howl. Fears, regrets, deaths, failures. Faithlessness. Always I am comforted as I hold my sleepless sons and savor their innocence.

  “You were pretty restless last night,” Lydia says, coaxing me to speak. “Dreams, nightmares, or visions?”

  I hadn’t thought of these episodes as visions. I’ve had visions before, conscious scenes that play out before my eyes, but now I wonder about these nighttime tableaus. Another gemfry trait?

  “I saw Harmon’s death,” I say. “Clearly it was a vision. The whole Red community set out from the iron lodges, headed to the mountain. God met us at the fence, spoke from the cloud.” I look away as I remember the emotion that filled my sleeping heart.

  “Go on.”

  “The voice said that Harmon would not enter the land prepared for us. He would not enter because he and I rebelled against the commands. The voice told me to take Harmon’s shirt and put it on his son. I was to take Harmon and his son up the mountain. All the Reds watched us ascend. When we got to the top Harmon died.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. He just died. There. On top of the mountain. And I came down with his son.”

  “And then what?” Lydia pulls the story from my reluctant lips, her own lips graze the head of Eli as she holds him.

  “And then we mourned him for thirty days.”

  “The dream means something. Why did he die and not you, if you both broke laws?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I was next.”

  “Well, it was just a dream. He hasn’t died.”

  I nod my head. Just a dream. Right. But it was something else, too. I can’t explain it. It’s like my vision was of a path that split off in two directions and I could see where the trail would have ended in the path I didn’t take.

  The last vision was even worse. But now is not the time to tell my beautiful wife.

  Katie’s husband, Jessie, nears our tent. He has a favor to ask.

  * * *

  By the week’s end the Reds found their way to the hilltop where the twelve scouts had spied on the land. Josh and Blake told everyone the place had a name, at least according to what they could figure out when they explored. But they weren’t sure of the pronunciation. It didn’t matter what it’s name was, most agreed, just as long as they were far enough away from Exodia.

  “We march down right now,” Bram hollered. Malcolm’s box amplified his voice to reach every ear.

  The cloud spread out above them and then floated down the hillside. It swept out over the expanse of land as far as they could see, hid the land from their eyes for a moment, and then melted into the earth. Malcolm’s box thrummed louder than ever and caused the people’s anxious and excited shouts to carry down into the farthest parts of the valley. They didn’t waste another moment. They charged down like warriors, leading the horses and sheep where the incline was most dangerous. They went faster than they should have but they never stopped shouting. The thunderous entrance of the thousands of Reds was met with fear and retreat. The giants took off in swarms on foot, or on bikes, cars, even planes, and abandoned the lush ready-to-be-harvested land without putting up a fist or aiming a weapon.

  “Just like that?” Harmon laughed. “It was that easy?”

  Mira began to dance.

  * * *

  My sister pulls me forward and dances around me. She waves her arms and moves her feet to rhythms only she can hear, but there’s a seductive cadence to her steps and soon a line of people join in. They twirl and jump and clap. Women bring out twelve banners and I notice they are new with intricate designs: a lion, a horse, and a lamb are boldly outlined on three of them. Three others in shades of green show a mountain, a train, and an iron lodge. I wonder how they managed to sew these and keep them secret from me. I suspect that Onita used her talent to quilt these works of art. Five more banners show five more important events of our months on the trail. The last one shows a snake on a pole. It must have been created just this past week.

  The judges each grab a banner and head in different directions, some toward the farms and orchards, some toward the cities, some farther on, intent to settle in as quickly as possible. The people follow their own judge. Vinn and Carter and their friends join Malcolm as he locks step behind Harmon. I’m glad they choose to be with us.

  Suddenly my breath catches in my chest. The loathsome second vision presses to the forefront of my mind. I drop the reins and let my horse follow them on his own.

  “Bram. Bram.” Lydia’s voice pierces my trance, but I can’t come out of it. I see two paths. Clear as anything. Two paths. But one leads to something horrendous. Flames lick the feet of people of every race and culture, Reds, Blues, Grays, giants, men, children, me, Lydia, my sons. Souls. Alive. Dying but alive. The flames curl upward and devour these live souls midst anguished bawling. A silvery voice blackens my thoughts with a perverse phrase: “Here in fire wild, live souls howl.”

  “Bram!”

  At last I see the reality before me again: Lydia’s beautiful face, worried; her mother, Jenny, staring at me with heightened concern; Harmon waving the rod in front of my face, the banner limp; and Raul nodding, smiling, jiggling my sons. He knows what I’ve seen.

  “Sorry,” I say, turning my head to fill my eyes with Lydia’s comforting beauty. “It was like the shadow of death flew over me as soon as we made it to this valley. I wasn’t supposed to make it, was I?” I look to Raul. “You must have read this in the stars.” His scarred face scrunches tight and he slowly shakes his head.

  “No,” he says. “But Kassandra read it to me from the first ledger. There are two paths to every man’s life. You choose.”

  “The ledger?” I look around at all the faces staring at me, all from my brother’s tribe. Lydia fusses with a sack on her horse and produces the pages I stole over four years ago.

  I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. I reread the first page of the first ledger:

  The black voice said, “Live in fire, wild, souls howl here.”

  There are two paths to every man’s life. Some choose hell when heaven is a father’s house. The upright say aloud, “I will dwell in his house forever.”

 
So I say it aloud, the perfect anagram to what the black voice said and the first line of the ledger, “I will dwell in his house forever.”

  “Whose house?” Jenny asks.

  I look at the city before us, so recently abandoned by men bigger than I. A certain building stands out, a place of worship.

  “That house.” I wasn’t supposed to make it. I’ve been faced with two paths every minute of my life; I saw in a vision how my life might have ended. And how Harmon would have died, too. Outside. We wouldn’t have been allowed to enter this promised land. But here I am with a wife and two sons and all the happiness my heart can hold and I know exactly where I will dwell forever.

  Other Books by Debra Chapoton are available at Smashwords and other online retailers:

  EXODIA

  A SOUL’S KISS

  SHELTERED

  THE GUARDIAN’S DIARY

  EDGE OF ESCAPE

  If you enjoyed OUT OF EXODIA please remember to leave a review at your favorite online retailer.