by Davis Bunn
“I know. I’m sad too.”
“But you’re coming back, aren’t you?”
Outside the window in front of their table, Paris was struggling beneath its winter burden. Traffic around the Place de l’Opéra was slow but steady. The day was gray, the trees bare, and the people bundled against the cold. But it was still Paris, and he was seated with two beautiful girls. Two people who cared for him and trusted him to be there for them.
Taylor rose from his chair, bent over, and kissed Allison. He then moved around so that two smaller arms could wrap around his neck. He said to them both, “Yes. I am coming back.”
THE JOURNEY SOUTH WAS A TIME OF RECOLLECTION AND setting things in proper order. Taylor stared out the window as snow-covered lands whipped by at more than a hundred miles an hour. He was not touched by the speed, nor by the destination. What would come was beyond him. He had prepared as well as he could. He knew this now. He was trying his best to learn a new way of life. These changes of his went far beyond any physical act and touched at the eternal wellspring. He reached into his briefcase and withdrew the small traveling Bible he carried with him everywhere now. But he did not open it. The words in his head were clear enough. Love never fails.
Winter’s gray remained in place through Bordeaux. When the train arrived in Biarritz, Taylor found he could not see the mountains at all. Inyakie greeted him with a solemn handshake and quiet words. They drove in easy silence into the mountains, following the Pilgrim’s Route, the same one used by penitents for more than sixteen hundred years. The gray swept in until Taylor could see little more than the empty road ahead and the snowbanks to either side. Inyakie handled the car with the easy skill of one who would know the route blindfolded.
They overnighted in a hostel run by a local monastery. They were the only guests. The monks let them sleep in the central hall by the fire, the guesthouse’s only source of heat.
The next morning a wind had strengthened, blowing in drier and warmer air from the southeast. Inyakie drove them further along the Compostelle Pass, then pulled down an unmarked side road and drove another two hours. When the road ended at the face of an ancient rock slide, they pulled packs from the trunk and headed off on foot.
The path was in truth not a path at all. They clambered over and around the snowy rock slide for almost an hour. Inyakie then led Taylor up a series of narrow steps, so crude they could only be identified by those who already knew the way.
They climbed and climbed and climbed, halting only once, for to stop meant to look down, and the drop was into looming emptiness. The steps curved gradually around the sheer cliff face until they were brought alongside a rushing, ice-encrusted river. Here the steps grew broader, and handholds were gouged from the rockface. Which was very good, as ice coated everything. Their progress became slower still.
When they reached what Taylor had expected would be the top, he discovered that they stood beside a semifrozen lake. The broad expanse was ringed on three sides by yet another curving cliff, this one seven hundred feet high. Over this cliff fell a semicircular waterfall. Winter’s icy teeth dripped from every conceivable surface. Some of the lumpish daggers extended two hundred feet and more.
A narrow path traced around the lake’s northern edge. With every spring thaw the path would disappear and not return until the next autumn’s dry season. Inyakie unfurled a pair of waterproof ponchos from his backpack and handed one to Taylor. The path was partially covered by a natural depression in the cliff face. As they began clambering along the slick trail, a crack resounded from overhead. Inyakie shouted a warning. They plastered themselves to the stone wall as tons of ice rained down around them.
Spray from the waterfall was constant, filtering into his very bones. By the time they reached the lake’s opposite end, Taylor was drenched and freezing.
Then Inyakie took a deep breath, gave Taylor a shivering grin, and disappeared beneath the falling water.
They entered a cave filled with the waterfall’s thundering din. Inyakie withdrew a light from his pack and started forward.
They walked for almost an hour through the dank tunnel. With every step the temperature rose.
They emerged into an entirely new realm.
The bowl was less than a quarter of a mile wide. The cliff faces rose sheer on all sides. The sky overhead was now utterly blue, yet just an hour after noon the base was already in shadows. Taylor was not merely warm. He was hot. A series of boiling thermal springs turned the bowl into a high-altitude hothouse. He followed Inyakie’s example and stripped down to shorts and T-shirt and hiking boots. Even so, by the time they descended to the forested base, he was sweating profusely.
Inyakie spoke for the first time since beginning the hike up the unmarked stairs. “Welcome to the true home of my father’s oldest elixir, the hyperclime. To most this place remains nothing more than a legend. Those who know of this place, they call it the Basqueland’s secret heart.”
“I thank you for your confidence,” Taylor replied.
Inyakie studied his feet a moment, then added, “Kirra is with child.”
Taylor found himself nodding with his entire frame, as though any simpler motion would not have been enough. “Then this day is truly complete.”
Jacques halted further talk by rounding the corner. He shook Taylor’s hand and added his own careful inspection to Inyakie’s.
Inyakie translated, “My father asks what progress you have made.”
“He is not asking about our new corporation, is he?”
“Of course not.”
Taylor chose his words with great care. “I don’t know if I’ve learned enough yet even to answer. But I’m trying. And I’m praying. And I know that this learning will be a part of every day I have left on this earth.”
Jacques had to reach up to take his grip upon Taylor’s shoul ders. This time he spoke in English, “Now I know that God’s hand has been upon this since the beginning.”
So it was that they took the path down to the campsite. To one side of the tents were stacked trays holding the precious plants, ready for Taylor to replant in his company’s new hothouses.
Then Kirra came into view, her form rounded by a future that did not contain him. And Taylor was able to greet her with a smile that truly came from the heart.
Wall Street Journal
Revell Executive Ousted
THE BOARD OF PHARMACEUTICAL GIANT REVELL Industries yesterday took the extraordinary step of firing its CEO and largest shareholder, Amanda Revell, daughter of founder Jack Revell.
Revell Industries, which has been losing market share over the past three years, has become highly dependent on its Integrin product. Widely prescribed for pain relief, Integrin was developed by Geneco Labs and acquired in a cash buyout by Revell just prior to Integrin’s release. Integrin is now reportedly responsible for up to 75 percent of the Revell company’s profit.
But Integrin’s position as market leader has been challenged recently by Elixir Products, brainchild of former Revell employee Taylor Knox. Aided by Amanda Revell’s own younger sister, a biochemist working on indigenous plant remedies in Europe, Knox has brought to market a natural therapy that competes directly with Integrin. This groundbreaking herbal remedy reportedly has no side effects. As reported in a WSJ feature last summer, interest in alternative medicine and traditional healing is on the rise. Knox’s company is seen as a potential leader in this new wave.
Amanda Revell has recently been implicated in a corruption scandal involving the Food and Drug Administration. Two men who claim to have been in her direct employ have been convicted of offering bribes to government scientists to ban the Elixir line for health and safety reasons. Jackson Yerby, an American, and Colin Tomlinson, from Manchester in England, were both sentenced to seven years in prison by a federal court. They are said to be assisting the authorities in their investigation of Amanda Revell, who strenuously denies any link to these men.
For several months, there has been industry spec
ulation about Knox bringing counterclaims against Revell. However, Knox is gaining a reputation for bringing his Christian values into the business world. This has earned him both scorn and praise in industry circles. Knox and his French partners have recently established a trust aimed at “preserving mankind’s legacy of natural healing therapies.”
When contacted by the WSJ, Knox confirmed that Amanda Revell had been directly involved in threatening both his life and livelihood. When asked what he intended to do about it, Knox was unequivocal. “Pray for her.”
