by Bryan Davis
Pulling out his spyglass again, Elam searched both directions, but, just as the gatekeeper had warned, there was no shallow passage in sight.
He tapped the spyglass on his head. According to Glewlwyd the bridge guaranteed his destination, something about providing a key to the altar, but he didn’t say going the safer route made it impossible to get there. Should he chance a guess and look for the passage? Choosing right would give him a safer road, but choosing wrong could mean being lost forever.
Elam sighed. It would be a foolish risk to go any other way. If the bridge provided the key to the altar, he had to go out and get it, no matter how impossible it seemed.
A soft voice drifted into his ears. “Take care, young man. The bridge is dangerous.”
Elam spun around. A woman wearing a hooded red cloak stood before him. Her velvet sleeves covered all but the ends of her fingers, and only her bare toes were visible at the bottom of her cape. As she pulled back her hood, wavy brown hair spilled over her shoulders and framed a lovely young face.
“Thank you for the warning,” Elam said, bowing, “but this is the only way I’ve seen to get across.”
She extended her hand toward the bridge, exposing a slender arm. “I have watched hundreds fall into the chasm, but there is a safer passage. I have led many travelers such as yourself across.”
Elam looked back at the bridge. “I think I’ll take my chances this way.”
Her voice stayed soft and smooth. “Only those with a perfected heart are able to cross the bridge. Do you judge yourself more capable than the great men who have attempted passage and fallen?”
“I’m not comparing myself to anyone. Since I haven’t seen any of these men you’re talking about, I have no basis on which to judge.”
“Then you doubt my word, though I have watched this bridge for centuries. You must think me a deceiver when I warn you of the danger.”
Elam glanced back at the swinging bridge again. “I believe it’s dangerous. I can see that for myself.”
She extended her hand toward Elam. “Then come with me. Join the others who have made an honest evaluation of their imperfect hearts and followed the path of realism. Is it not folly to stand alone in a dangerous place when you can walk safely in numbers?”
“Numbers mean nothing to me.” Elam tapped himself on his chest. “I’ve been alone most of my life. I have learned to follow the people I already trust, namely Enoch and Merlin. Merlin told me to find Glewlwyd, and Glewlwyd said I should cross the bridge, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“You are listening to empty promises—mere words.” She reached for his hand. “I offer you reality. No one can really make this impossible passage. It is far too difficult.”
Elam pushed her hand down. “I think you’ve delayed me long enough. I’m going to cross.”
A sad smile thinned out her lips. “Very well.” She raised the hood over her head and lowered herself to her knees at the foot of the bridge. “I will pray for your crossing, though you will surely fall with the others. Only do not curse me as you plummet to your death, for I gave you fair warning.”
“That you did.” Turning abruptly, he stuffed the spyglass back in the bag. While gripping the ropes on each side of the bridge, he slid his foot out onto the first plank. Testing the next step with his other foot, he shifted his weight forward, hoping he could hang on if the plank broke. It held firm. The next plank, however, was already split, though not completely broken. Taking a longer step, he bypassed it and landed on the next plank. It snapped, and his leg plunged through, pulling his other leg with it. With one hand clinging to each of the upper ropes, he dangled, his chest at the level of the planks and his arms spread painfully wide.
“Oh, the folly!” The woman in red sang out. “The folly of those who think themselves holier and wiser than the sages who went before them!”
A new gust of wind jerked the bridge. One hand slipped off, and his shoulder bag slid down his arm. As he tried to grab the strap, his other hand slipped, but just before he could fall through the bridge, he slung his arms over the lower rope and hung on. His bag plunged into the depths, tossed about by the wind as it shrank in the distance of the apparently bottomless chasm.
The woman spread out her arms, making her cloak look like a pair of red wings. “Pride goeth before a fall, young man, and since your pride was so great, your fall will be great as well. The reality of the chasm will swallow you and prove the vanity of your imagined moral character.”
Elam gasped for breath, his heart pounding in his ears. The wind tossed the bridge, throwing his dangling legs into a swinging frenzy. Pulling up with all his might, he pushed his elbow over a plank and muscled his body higher until he could reach the next plank and pull again. With every two inches of progress, the bucking bridge shoved him back an inch and a half. Finally, grabbing plank after plank, he crept over the walkway and sprawled over the wooden steps, hanging on to each side rope as the bridge continued to sway.
“Do you still believe you will make it to the other side?” The woman’s voice rode the wind. “You survived only the first of many false steps, and the mishaps will only become more treacherous as you learn the true nature of this bridge. If you come back, I will hold no grudges and lead you to the safer way.”
Elam looked ahead. The other side of the chasm was still far in the distance. Twisting his neck, he looked back at the woman. She rose to her feet and held out her arms as if ready to carry him away. She wasn’t far at all. Just a short leap or two, and he’d be back to solid ground and safe in her grasp.
He clenched his fist. No! He couldn’t give up now! That would prove Merlin wrong and destroy everything he believed in! Pushing up to hands and knees, he crawled forward inch by inch, grasping each plank so tightly the ragged edges cut into his hands. Every gust halted his progress, making him steel his arms to keep from toppling over the side as the bridge swung to a precarious angle. Each time it settled, he forged ahead, more confident that the planks would hold now that his weight was distributed over four points of pressure rather than two.
After what seemed like an hour, Elam reached the lowest part of the sagging bridge. He looked back again. The woman in red stood there, much farther away than before, but his destination seemed no closer at all. And now that he was at the lowest point, the bridge swung more wildly than ever.
His hands now aching, he pushed on, gripping the crossbars ever tighter as he crawled up the swaying incline. Another hour passed, and another. Still, the other side seemed far away, not an inch closer than when he started. But it had to be closer. It didn’t make any sense to move toward something and not make any progress.
He pressed forward, closing his eyes to shut out the bottomless canyon and the seemingly unreachable goal at the end of the bridge. Plank by plank, they would eventually all pass under his hands and knees. There couldn’t be an infinite number. That would be impossible.
Glewlwyd’s words came back to his mind. “In your world, yes, but here you must get accustomed to many new realities.” Then the taunts from the woman in red echoed. “The mishaps will only become more treacherous as you learn the true nature of this bridge.”Elam looked ahead again and sighed. Still no closer. How could that be? Since he had been crawling upward for hours, he had to be way past the midpoint. Was that the bridge’s true nature, that it really was endless?
Sprawling once again, he rested and let the bridge swing his body in a peaceful sway, like a baby in a windblown cradle. He was too tired to go on. The other side was just too far away. The infinite was simply beyond his grasp.
A voice whispered in his ear. “Have you given up the quest, Elam?”
He jerked his head up. No one was in sight. “Who said that?”
“I am an old friend. Close your eyes and ease your mind, for only rest will prepare you for the long journey ahead.”
“Your voice is familiar.” Laying his head back down, Elam closed his eyes and yawned.
“Where have we met?”
The voice was soft and soothing. “Many times in many places, but that is not important. For now, you must sleep.”
“But if I sleep, I might roll off the bridge.”
“No one who trusts in the bridge will ever fall off.”
“But I almost did, way back at the beginning. The steps broke.”
“True enough, but after you lost your bag and crawled, how many steps gave way?”
Elam brought the sight of thousands of stepping planks into his mind. “None gave way. But the wind made it almost impossible to crawl, and I just can’t seem to get to the end. It never gets any closer.”
“Storms blow on us all, and the goal seems unattainable to the mortal mind, to those who believe in their inability to take hold of what is freely given.”
“So what do I do?”
The voice blended in with the whistling wind. “Reflect on these signs. Rely on the bridge. Rest in your faith. Only then can you do the impossible.”
As the breeze rocked him back and forth, Elam relaxed his grip and rode with the swing. He let his mind drift, recalling all the years of suffering at Morgan’s hands, the months of hunger, backbreaking work, flea-infested flophouses in Glasgow, and worst of all, the endless days of separation from Sapphira Adi, the only girl he could ever imagine as his wife. Even after thousands of years of knowing her, the time for their union was still far in the future, years that seemed as numerous as the planks on the bridge. There was too much to do—journeys that couldn’t wait.
Soon, he was asleep, dreaming of the trials of yesterday. In his dream, he put Morgan and Naamah into his shoulder bag, then the coal-stained cap he always wore at the Glasgow shipyards, and finally, a gold band, a wedding ring, pausing to gaze at it for a moment before he let it drop inside.
Standing at the center point of the bridge, he slung the bag into the chasm, then, not bothering to watch it fall, he ran across the bridge toward the destination side, closing his eyes and leaping for the brink. He tumbled into the soft grass and lay there, taking in the delightful aroma of the surrounding flowers.
Elam fluttered his eyelids open. Blades of grass veiled his view. The aroma of fresh flowers graced his senses as the yellow and white head of a daisy bowed toward his nose, giving way to the breeze.
Leaping to his feet, he spun toward the yawning canyon. It was behind him, the impassable gulf now a mere crack in the sidewalk. The woman in red was gone.
He lifted his feet up and down in turn. The solid ground never felt so good. He held up his stinging, aching hands, gashed across the palms from thumb to little finger and oozing blood. He smiled in spite of the pain. Although every muscle ached, he never felt better in his life. There was no greater feeling than to conquer the impossible, even when given help by the infinite.
Turning his back to the chasm, he strode ahead toward the rise in the distance, the vista he had hoped to use as an overlook to get the lay of the land. When he crested the hill, he gazed out over the lower elevations all around, but trees blocked his view in every direction.
He set his hands on his hips. That spyglass sure would come in handy now, but it wouldn’t do any good to wish for something he had lost and couldn’t get back.
As he scanned the scene, his own vision seemed enhanced. Every detail was sharp and magnified, similar to how Sapphira had described her vision whenever she came near a portal location. The colors were breathtaking—dazzling blue ponds, flowers that seemed so saturated with reds, oranges, and yellows they were ready to drip, and trees so green, his mother’s emerald paled in comparison.
He jerked his gaze back to a small pond in a stand of massive trees. Something moved near its edge. Leaping forward, he galloped down the hill. The spongy grass cushioned every step, and when he arrived at the pond, he didn’t feel winded at all. Sweeping the area with his gaze, he searched for the source of movement, but not a leaf stirred. Near the border of the pond, however, hoofprints marred the rich earth.
He stooped at the prints and looked out over the crystal pool, a perfect circle no wider than he could leap if he had a running start. With the water so clear, he could see the tiniest details in the smooth stones at the bottom, yet its depth seemed a mystery. Could it be five feet? Fifty feet? The clarity made it difficult to tell.
“Drink, stranger. The water is free.”
Elam shot to his feet and swung around. A beautiful white horse stood a few paces away, its tail swishing, though there wasn’t a fly to be seen.
“Did you speak?” Elam asked.
The horse turned its head one way, then the other before looking at Elam again. “Since there is no one else here,” it replied in a bass tone, “I assume your deductive reasoning is sorely lacking. But it is no sin to be without sense, so …” He bowed his head low. “My name is Dikaios.”
Elam bowed with him. “And I am Elam.”
Dikaios turned his head to look Elam in the eye. “You are an interesting specimen.”
Patting his torso, Elam checked for changes in his body. “Why? Don’t I look human?”
“Indeed, you are human in form, but we are not concerned with shape or skin here. Yet I must say that you have already behaved unlike most humans I have ever seen.”
Elam stooped and stirred the water with his finger. “I hope you weren’t offended that I didn’t drink from the pool even after you offered.”
“Not at all. Many humans are careful about what they drink in strange lands. Your inaction is merely prudence.”
“The water looks safe. I just wasn’t thirsty.”
“You will not become thirsty here, but this water is a delicious gift that you are free to take at any time.”
“Thank you,” Elam said, rising to his feet. “I appreciate it.”
The horse shook its head. “Do not thank me. Thank the one who provides it.”
“I will be sure to do that.” Elam scanned the area on the other side of the pool. “I need to get to Heaven’s altar to find some friends. Could you tell me how to get there?”
Dikaios eyed him again. “Stranger and stranger.”
Elam squinted at the horse. Why wouldn’t he answer a simple question? Would every creature in this place be so oblique? He cleared his throat. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Dikaios, but I must move on now.” He bowed again and began walking around the pond.
With a swift gallop, Dikaios blocked his way. “You may ride me,” he said in a gruff tone.
Elam halted. “I didn’t ask to ride you.”
“But you want to.” Dikaios lowered his head. “All humans want a ride.”
“Is that so?” Elam chuckled. “If I were tired or in need of a swift transport, I might have asked for a ride. But since I don’t even know where I’m going …” Patting the horse’s neck, Elam passed him by. “I won’t be a burden to you.”
As he strolled, Elam heard the sound of hoof steps behind him, soft and slow. Soon, the bobbing head of a horse appeared at his side. “I am coming with you,” Dikaios said, “because you have piqued my curiosity.”
Elam smiled. “You are certainly welcome to join me, but if you know the way, perhaps you would like to lead.”
“Do not think of Heaven’s altar as a physical destination,” Dikaios said. “Although it exists in a real place in this dimension, it is better to perceive it as a spiritual objective, gained by inner purity. Once your character is proven, you will find it.”
A shadow glided over the grassy carpet, causing Elam to look skyward. A golden brown eagle soared overhead, its wings in full sail, riding the wind with hardly a flutter. “So,” Elam said, sliding a hand into his pocket, “maybe I’ll just keep looking around this place until something happens. It’s hard to have a plan when there’s no road map to follow.”
Dikaios gently nudged Elam with his nose. “You must not be casual about this journey. It is too dangerous.”
“Casual?” Elam halted and crossed his arms.
“My good horse, there’s a big difference between casual and confident. I’m aware of the danger, but …” As he searched his mind for the right words, Merlin’s warnings flowed through his lips. “I want to maintain a confident mind-set in full assurance of faith, otherwise my heart might melt within me.”
“Ah! An excellent speech! No doubt you have rehearsed it, but it is a good, wise saying, so there is no harm in reciting it.” Dikaios shook his head hard, scattering his mane into disarray. “But it will take more than words to pass the tests you are about to face. I have yet to see a human make it through the shield of Heaven without special concourse, but you are quite unusual, so I will watch with interest.” The horse’s eyes seemed to grow larger as he drew closer. “Take care that your confidence does not swell into arrogance, for that is the downfall of every man of pride.”
Chapter 10
The Altered Tribe
Timothy pulled back from the ovulum. “Sapphira’s face is so familiar, it’s like I’m seeing a fleeting image from my past, and other images fly through my mind, too, but nothing’s staying put long enough to set in a time or place.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward again. “Maybe if you tell me how I got here, I can start putting together the pieces.”
“All I know,” Abraham said, “is that Candle found you in the birthing garden, where our younglings are tended.”
“Birthing garden?” Timothy laughed and leaned back in his chair. “You’d better treat me like an ignorant alien. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Firsthand experience is the best teacher, even for an alien.” Assuming the village’s prayer posture, Abraham stood up and walked toward the door. “Come with me. I will show you the new Garden of Eden.”
Timothy followed, also pressing his hands together. Heading away from the center of the village, they passed only a few of the citizens, but the ones they met stopped and bowed low as the Prophet walked by. Abraham smiled and nodded at their votive gestures, but he seemed uncomfortable with the attention.
