Dove Strong

by Erin Lorence

  “I’m a lot like my gran.”

  “You blessed, blessed girl. And a bit like your uncle too, if you pardon me saying it. Your eyes—their expression.”

  I abandoned the fur cloak and leaned forward.

  “My uncle? You knew him? Then he made it here to the Council before he died? We always wondered. Do you...do you happen to know how he,” I swallowed, “went? Gran deserves to know.”

  Governor Ruth collapsed on a bench. “I can’t believe, in all these seven years, he never returned home. Never visited Sarah.” She shook her head. “No, Dove. He’s not dead. Didn’t Miracle say your uncle guided that group of pagans to you and your fellow messengers last night?”

  A roaring darkness tried to swallow me.

  “Head between your knees.”

  I obeyed, though it seemed pointless. I’d captured the idea that’d eluded me. That thing I knew I should remember...but couldn’t.

  Now I remembered.

  I concentrated on my foggy childhood memories of my uncle. Uncle Saul.

  Tanned. Lean and wiry, like my father. Introverted—almost as shy as my aunt. An artist, like his daughter Trinity who saw beauty in the weirdest things.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Yes.”

  I guessed it fit. That my Uncle Saul was ‘Old Saul’—the raggedy homeless creature.

  But wait. No. It didn’t. Because my uncle, unlike every male in my family, was clean. Super-hygienic. I remembered his smell—my nose hadn’t forgotten. Soap and pine. Never sweat. Never stink.

  And another thing. He shaved. My uncle kept his tanned face as smooth as any girl’s.

  And his immaculate clothes—not only clean, but carefully created too. He never wore his pants bunched at the waist with rope like the other males in my family. He sewed his own and taught little-girl Trinity about the ‘right lines’ of a tunic.

  Most importantly, my uncle didn’t speak in Bible verse. He was soft spoken, yes. But his brain was free and whole. Not damaged like that crazy guy’s—the one who decided to stand in roads while vehicles mowed him down.

  “No, Governor. You’re wrong. It’s not him.”

  “He’s family, Dove, whether you accept it or not.”

  “The man’s crazy. My uncle isn’t. Wasn’t.”

  She sighed. “Not crazy. Burdened. When Saul arrived seven years ago, he was tragic. He’d lost a young fellow believer on his way here but couldn’t explain how. His words almost choked him when he tried. It’s my opinion that he’s still searching for the missing boy.”

  Melody’s missing brother—I forgot his name. I cringed, not wanting to believe my uncle had turned insane with guilt he’d carried all these years. But no. He wasn’t my uncle.

  “No, Governor. He can’t be—and it’s more than the Bible talk and wandering around homeless. That Saul guy out there? He’s got no self-preservation. He invites the pagan to hurt him. My uncle was too smart for that. He grew up avoiding them—outwitting them. Like me.”

  “Saul’s burden is heavier than his sorrow for a single missing boy, Dove. I’ve no proof, but I’ve suspected for years Saul’s mental change towards life and the Heathen population is God directed.”

  I blanched. “God directed? As in, God’s responsible for his insanity and suicidal tendencies?”

  I didn’t like that. She shouldn’t blame God for this guy—who might be my uncle—going crazy. I didn’t want to talk anymore.

  “Fine. I’ll pray on it.” But deep down, I knew. Old Saul was my uncle. Hadn’t my subconscious been poking me since the dumpster?

  She stood when I did. “You understand because you’re Sarah’s offspring and you admit to having some of her blessed gifting, it’s your duty to join our prayer warriors?”

  I frowned. “Only let me submit my papers first.” My hand assumed its position over them.

  She gestured at the shoulder-high, stone egg form I’d passed by the door. Seamless, but now I felt the hair-width slit near the more pointed end—an opening wide enough for one family’s answer to eek through.

  “Two?” Her brows shot up as I unearthed both creased papers from my worn bag.

  “I wish. Three.” I shoved in the second one. But how much easier to have simply carried the Brae’s result paper instead of towing their back-stabbing daughter along with it.

  “Then I expect Satan is none too thrilled with you now.”

  I shrugged. The lightness I’d expected at turning over my results to the Council didn’t happen. The heaviness continued and my stomach began to ache.

  Home. With an explosion of detail, the tanned, familiar faces of my family swam before me against a background of sunlit maple leaves and Douglas fir. They surrounded me in a circle of comfort.

  I staggered forward, my fingers reaching for a treehouse ladder made of cedar. They pressed a frigid rock door.

  Comfort vanished. I dropped my hand and screwed my face into a grin before Ruth could detect my homesickness.

  “No. Don’t celebrate, and don’t think you’re safe. You’ve made enemies here, Dove Strong. It’ll spread like the flu that you’ve a soft spot for Heathen. I wouldn’t wander off solo while you’re here…and choose wisely who to trust. You understand?”

  I understood. The sooner I shook Mount Jefferson’s snow off my threadbare shoes, the sooner I headed home, and the better off I’d be.

  31

  I rocked back onto my heels and tried to balance.

  When I could stand without keeling over, I abandoned the flat cushion that had become my home for the past few days. I wobbled my way around the others—still bowed and praying—to grab my food ration.

  I’d blinked and now fifty others kneeled in the long, carved-out stone room with me. The first night only me and Supervisor Zeph, the guy in charge of us prayer warriors, echoed around in here.

  I paused at the tiny, chopped-out window and hunted for green.

  Quarry gray and matching clouds.

  I narrowed my eyes at the familiar gigantic figure still waiting on the same boulder a couple yards off.

  I squared my shoulders and kept walking. I wasn’t scared. Only Governor Ruth’s warning had become a seed that’d gotten jammed in my head. And sprouted.

  Enemies. Not safe. Don’t trust.

  Of course Reed wouldn’t do a physical job like this himself since he had such a capable big brother. Murder was bound to take some muscles.

  At the table, I chose to eat bread over an apple so I could get back to praying.

  Supervisor Zeph sidled up and almost knocked me down with his square-toothed grin. “Way to go. You remembered to eat, warrior Strong. Grab some water too. Have you slept today?”

  I aimed a glance at the line of six vacant cots at the far end of the room, half choking on my bread to answer. “When I need to I will.”

  He eyed me. But I knew I had at least a couple more hours of praying left in me before I crashed.

  “Supervisor.” A guy from the mats waved. “Got another one down over here.”

  “C’mon people. Eat. Drink.” With a grunt, he bustled over and heaved an unconscious woman—my size and frame—off the floor and dumped her on the nearest cot. “Please, everyone.” He screwed his fists into the small of his stout back. “Please. Take breaks before it’s too late. My lumbar can’t take many more of you.”

  As I chased the bread with an extra water ration, I watched the twenty-five stacked television screens next to the table. They were divided to show the other forty-nine prayer warrior groups in other states—other councils. Of course I’d seen a television before, but never one that still worked.

  Through the small glass windows, I spied at people who seemed a few hundred yards off. Faint voices offered food and water—Supervisor Zeph-style—over the steady, low hum of prayers.

  I saw sunshine. Firelight. Big, leafy tropical plants. And weathered wood similar to the sides of the barns I’d passed on my way out of Prineville. But most screens showed images identical to my own gray, dimly-lit r
oom.

  One screen I didn’t understand. The background seemed normal—dull beige of a tent. But every believer in the tent wore bright clothing and flowered wreaths like crowns. A couple kneelers were stiff in metallic armor. The burgundy words Kansas Renaissance Faire fluttered on the beige like a banner. I guessed their clothes, flowers, and armor somehow disguised and kept them alive.

  My fingertips trailed down the short length of glass where branches made the prayer warriors appear green. I turned and marched past the window without a glance at the occupied boulder outside.

  I winced when my knees touched down on my mat. But I forgot them and the ache between my shoulder blades because I met my Lord again.

  I begged for His clear will and that the leaders of our nation’s Councils would understand. And for my family to be protected. No bloodshed.

  I prayed for other Christian families’ safety too and asked we wouldn’t be tricked into hating and making rash, sinful decisions. No vengeance. No retaliation.

  Then I prayed again for any stragglers still trying to find their way here.

  Every so often I stopped pleading and listened for anything He wanted me to hear. Only yesterday, I’d become aware of a climber on our peak headed for an avalanche he’d accidentally triggered. A non-believer, not a Christian, as I’d told my supervisor. Still, he needed to be saved.

  A soft scream interrupted my focus. I twitched in irritation. Muffled shouts reminded me that my knees ached. I shot a dirty look at the window—toward the outside where masses of non-praying Christians wasted their time being noisy. Supervisor Zeph wore a horrified expression.

  The glass rectangle in the highest right corner of televisions glowed blue—a color too fake for sky—a hard, unrelenting color. I tried to remember what’d been on that screen. A room like ours—rock hewn, bad lighting, but with only a couple dozen Christians kneeling.

  A skinny guy next to me, with wheat-chaff hair and a sunburned nose, struggled onto his feet. “An attack! Satan’s army! They’re wiping out the Councils one by one. It’s started. They fall. We all fall down.” He chuckled.

  Supervisor Zeph pointed at my neighbor. “Warrior Dahl, you are relieved of duty. Go lie down. People, you’re taking a mandatory ten-minute break. A quarter—no, half—the food and all the water will be gone by then. That is, if you’re interested in keeping your kneeling cushions.”

  Somebody groaned.

  “After that, do your duty. Pray. Pray for our brothers and sisters on Mount Charleston. We’ve no way of knowing what happened to cut them off from the rest of us. The reason could be someone knocked over the camera giving us feed. Or Satan’s forces shut them down.” He frowned at my laughing neighbor. “It’s not our responsibility to know. Ours is to pray. So do it. Dahl—you’d better be on that cot before I count to three. One.”

  ~*~

  Cal dismissed us from prayer duty at dawn. The high right screen still glowed blue. The Governor would announce the Councils’ decision at noon in the holy hall. That left us five hours to sleep.

  I stepped from the chilly room onto the frigid cobbles on unsure, grass-stalk legs. The boulder I lurched past sat empty, although some early risers clustered nearby. I caught their fragmented whispers that carried over the stones.

  “Where?”

  “She’s right there, walking. That’s the Heathen lover...”

  “—heard she sent a group of our own people into an avalanche...a murderer.”

  “Can’t be one of us... should get rid of her.”

  Even in my mindless stupor, I understood they spoke about me—and not about any of the other prayer warriors staggering toward the nearest shelters.

  My hand reached for the first slate door and shoved it open.

  The room could’ve been occupied, but no one tried to stop me. I zeroed in on the closest makeshift bed on the ground with a thick, rumpled blanket promising warmth. I collapsed under it. Done.

  32

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed, Dove Strong?”

  I opened my eyes.

  Another set looked into mine, looming, familiar ones, too big—despite being squinched up in anger.

  “First, you up and disappear. And after hours of searching, I track you here. Here. In the guys’ quarters. And now I find you didn’t even bother to secure the door behind you?”

  I half-glanced at the slate rectangle. A chain latched across its front. “Thanks, Melody.”

  She deflated. “I’m...I’m sorry. You know, for—”

  “Forget about it.” I’d lost my desire to shake her until her teeth rattled. And she’d brought along something in a bowl that made my stomach claw and purr.

  I hugged her.

  “Here.” She shoved my pack into my arms. “You left it back where you were praying.”

  “Mmm.” I gulped down the warm, leafy stew.

  Melody apologized a million times more while I ate, and then she gave me a rundown on every meal.

  I tried harder than usual to pay attention. Otherwise I would’ve missed the words she sandwiched between the fried opossum and potatoes. “...and the Council meets in the holy hall in twenty minutes.”

  ~*~

  Six or seven males huddled on the cobblestones on the other side of the door. Arms folded across shivering chests. “Well, well. Sleeping Beauty’s awake.”

  A stubble-jawed guy whose muscles made the cocooning blanket bumpy lurched forward, his teeth knocking together. “We don’t do coed. Dudes bunk with dudes. Chicks with ch...chicks.”

  I let Melody make the apologies and gazed around.

  I was an ant in a colony.

  Oregonian believers—most without wrinkles or gray hair—flowed out from the low buildings and shelters chiseled from the canyon’s sides. Between these, I saw glimpses of a low, decorative wall that snaked between sleeping quarters. Shards of white and yellowish stones popped to create the illusion of wildflowers.

  The cobbles vibrated with a door slam. I turned to find myself alone with my traveling partner. She’d sunk into a crouch, clasping a shaking hand to her forehead.

  “Get a grip, Melody. They weren’t going to pound us over borrowing their room for a couple hours.”

  She popped up and yanked my hood up over my hair. “You don’t get it, Dove. Everyone here knows who you are, and most aren’t fans. You’re a Heathen lover, and everyone here’s been hurt by Heathen. It was bad enough down in the trees acting how you did, but now—in the middle of this Council place—you had to go and start finding other enemies to save, risking our own people’s lives?”

  “It was one nonbeliever I knew about, Melody. One. He headed into an avalanche zone. And I can’t help what God reveals.”

  “I know, only, I think you need to tone it down. And be more careful, OK? Try?”

  I trailed her to the holy hall building with my head down. My eyes stayed on the smoothness under my fraying soles. I trod on fishes, crosses, and thorny crowns. And I learned, after careening into others a hundred times, to take miniscule steps and keep a slug’s pace.

  At the end of the valley ahead was the bench from my first night. A few more shuffles, and I shook off the surge that tried to carry me through the open doorway and into the carved holy room.

  Melody clung to me, still trapped in the current. “Why are we stopping? Sorry. So sorry.”

  She waved to a cloaked bulk jabbing her with its walking stick.

  I eyed my least favorite councilman on the bench, hunched over a waist-high, horizontal slab covered in stacks of papers. I craned my neck for a better look. Each bore a single black-inked word.

  Althoff. Bayer. Carney. Dahl.

  Names. And these were the Councils’ decision to the Reclaim we’d carry home to our families.

  I stepped forward until my legs pressed the slab table. “I’ll take my paper now.”

  He batted away my outstretched hand.

  “It will be right there.” I jabbed my finger at the “S” pile. “The one in there
that says ‘Strong.’”

  Wrinkled hands curled over the pile. “Now why would you get yours before the others? No cutsies. No sneak peeks. No special favors. You’ll get it the same as everyone else. After Governor tells you all the what’s-what. Then you get in line and wait your turn. Yep, afterwards.”

  My steady hand didn’t drop. “There is no ‘afterwards’ for us. Brae and Strong are heading home. Now.”

  Through the voices and footsteps of hundreds of Christians filing past, I heard Melody’s surprised gasp.

  I jerked my head around. She was shocked? To me, our leaving now seemed so obvious. And the Council’s decision papers sitting here and ready? A blessing. One we should take advantage of.

  She couldn’t expect me to sit and wait with bated breath in this mass of people and not listen to the Governor announce an answer I’d known my whole life.

  Peace was the whole reason I was here. The reason I’d been called. I wouldn’t stay and endure the hours of questions from outraged Christians like Reed. Or the long, drawn-out explanations of why no war.

  No one would force me into a pointless formality—especially one that might even be lethal.

  Inside the doorway, a giant, stooping silhouette slipped past. The pull for home transformed into a sickening lurch.

  I needed to go—to tell Gran about Uncle Saul and stop her being sad about him dying. I needed to be at her side to watch her unfold the white square from that pile and hear her read, “Peace.” I didn’t want Governor Ruth’s voice. I wanted Gran’s.

  Didn’t Melody know me after all this? How could she be so selfish?

  The word slapped me.

  I was selfish?

  No. I bit my lip.

  Well then, fine. What lit her fire, other than doing the obvious, expected thing, such as staying for pointless council meetings with murderers and upset Christians?

  “Smoky...smoke-cured mole hash...with twice roasted turnips—no, potatoes.” Which of her mother’s recipes had Melody recalled the most? “Grub falafel with...umm...umm—”

  “Blackened hazelnuts in a reduction of carob extract.” Someone from the doorway finished. “A Brae favorite.”