Battle for His Soul

by Theresa Linden

  A rustling sounded above him. Probably the wind in a bush.

  He picked up a good-sized, sturdy stick. He could use it for the splint, but he’d need another similar-sized one. He went to the tree and snapped off two branches.

  The rustling came again. It didn’t sound like wind rustling a bush this time. It sounded like a creature moving through dry brush.

  Jarret peered at the canyon’s rim. There had to be an animal up there. It didn’t have to be a coyote or a fox. What else lived in the desert? Besides, it was up there and they were down here. There wasn’t a good way down. Was there? Could he have missed something?

  Determined to make a thorough check of the canyon walls after he built a fire, he carried an armload of sticks back to Roland. He slowed as he neared the shadows, trying to make out shapes and sounds.

  “Roland?”

  “I’m here.”

  He followed Roland’s voice, slowing as he stepped from the moonlight to the shadows. His eyes adjusted, and he made out Roland’s form.

  “Did you happen to hear anything?” Jarret dropped the sticks and started arranging them.

  “Hear anything?”

  “I thought I heard something up on the rim. What do you think’s out here?”

  “Our horses.”

  “They’d be up there.” Jarret pointed to the rim of the wall behind Roland. “I was at the far end of the canyon.”

  It took a good minute for the thinner branches to catch, but the flames soon grew strong. He set aside a few sturdy branches for the splint and crawled to where he could get a good look at Roland’s leg.

  “What’re you going to do?” Roland whispered, his gaze distant, his eyes glassy in the firelight.

  “I’m gonna get you outta here. I think you need a splint on your leg before we move you.” Jarret pulled his t-shirt off over his head and ripped it. The cool air on his chest invigorated him. He could do this. He had to do this.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Roland leaned his head back on the boulder. “I think that’s gonna hurt.”

  “Don’t be a baby.” Jarret smiled, but Roland wasn’t looking.

  “Okay, doc.” Roland turned toward him and actually smiled back.

  Jarret swallowed hard. How could Roland smile with the pain he must’ve felt?

  With trembling hands and careful movements, Jarret positioned Roland’s leg and made a rough splint, tying branches on either side. He prayed he was doing it right, the way Papa had taught him. Roland kept his eyes shut and breathed funny, but he only groaned once.

  With the splint complete and a fire burning, Jarret set his mind to the next task: searching the canyon walls. Light from the flames reflected off the nearest walls, dying a few feet up, leaving the rest in darkness. He saw no hand or footholds for climbing.

  He stepped from one rock to another and peered into the darkness around him. How would he see anything without light? He tried to remember his impressions when he had seen it all in the sunlight. The walls were mostly steep sheer rock, jutting out in several places that had made it impossible to see from one end of the canyon to the other. He had noticed a few cracks where one wall met another. And of course, there was the cave at the end of the dry creek.

  Jarret stumbled to the far end of the canyon and stood gazing at the dark opening of the cave. Any chance it came out somewhere? What if something lived in it? It was so dark that—

  Roland. Roland was lying there helpless, cold, and in agony.

  Jarret snatched a dry branch, dropped down, and did an army-crawl into the cave. Once inside, he sat up and lit one end of the branch.

  The flame illuminated the reddish rock of the cave and made shadows shift in eerie shapes on a curved ceiling, high enough for him to stand, and on curvy walls with dark cracks of unknown depths, too narrow to squeeze through. A beam of moonlight made a two-foot, almond-shaped patch on the back wall.

  Jarret moved into the moonlight and peered up.

  The starlit sky looked down upon him through a narrow crack between the wall with the patch of moonlight and another wall. The walls rose up about twenty or so feet, but a person could probably climb them. Yeah, if he put his back to one wall and used his arms and legs—

  He tried it. With a bare back flattened to the cool rock wall, he brought his legs up one at a time and pressed his knees against the opposite wall. He repositioned himself to get a foot on either wall and climbed up a couple of feet. He stopped and caught his breath.

  Yes! He could do it. But what about Roland?

  Jarret dropped down and crawled out of the cave. They would have to hang onto each other. What else could they do? It was the only way. They had to try.

  He returned to Roland and found the fire nearly burnt out. The extra branches lay too far for Roland to reach, but they wouldn’t need the fire now.

  “Find anything?” Roland said, teeth chattering.

  “Yeah, but it ain’t gonna be fun.” Jarret stooped by Roland’s good side and slipped his arm around him. “You’re gonna have to get up.”

  Roland nodded. Clinging to Jarret and straining, he got up on his right leg. “Lead the way.”

  The walk down the dry creek was long and awkward. Jarret had taken it slow and used extra caution so Roland wouldn’t fall. When they reached the cave, he helped Roland down onto his back and dragged him by the shoulders through the low opening. After hoisting him up onto his good foot, they rested under the moonlit crack.

  “We’re . . . going up there?” Roland said between breaths.

  Jarret nodded. “You’re gonna have to hold onto me. Put your arms around my neck.”

  Roland shook his head, gazing at the opening above them. “No way. There’s no way.”

  “Yes, there is. I’m getting you out.”

  “How’s that going to work?”

  “I tried it already. The walls are close enough to climb. With my back to one wall and my knees—”

  “By yourself, sure, but with me? I can’t do it, and I’m too heavy for you to carry.”

  Jarret swallowed hard. His thoughts flashed back to the drive to Tucson and to them singing together. “You ain’t heavy. You’re my brother.”

  Roland smiled and made a weak chuckle. “I’ll try.” He wrapped his arms around Jarret’s neck.

  Jarret pressed his back to the wall, but the extra weight kept him from getting a knee up high enough to reach the other wall. So they tried it a different way. Jarret jumped up into position, with his back and knees holding him in place, and then he hoisted Roland up with him. It had taken every bit of his strength to do it, but he got Roland up and wedged between the walls with his arms and one good leg supporting him.

  “I can’t,” Roland said, wincing. He let out a long groan and slipped a few inches.

  Jarret dropped down, grabbed Roland around the waist, and eased him to the ground.

  “I can’t do it. I can’t climb,” Roland said. “Just go. Get help.”

  “No.” Jarret squatted by Roland’s side and helped him to a comfortable position. “What if a coyote or something comes down here? What about snakes?”

  “What’re you going to do if a snake bites me?” He laughed, but it turned into a whimper. He clutched his thigh. “Just go. I’ll be right here.”

  “I can’t leave you.”

  “You have to.”

  “I . . .” Remorse flooded Jarret’s thoughts. “Roland, I’m really . . . I’m sorry, this is all my fault.”

  “No.” Roland put up a hand to silence him and then rested his hand on Jarret’s arm.

  “I ain’t been the best brother to you. All those things I told you I did—”

  “Hey. Don’t. I don’t hold anything against you. We all make mistakes.”

  “But I—”

  Something fell onto Jarret’s shoulder.

  He jerked back, gasping in a high, sissy tone. “What was that?”

  “Snake!” Roland scooted away from the thin dark snake sliding down the crack. />
  It moved quickly, keeping its body unnaturally straight.

  “What kind of a—” Jarret leaned in for closer inspection. He exhaled. “It’s a rope.”

  “Hello, down there.” An unfamiliar voice came from above and echoed in the cave.

  “Hey!” Jarret jumped to his feet. “Can you help us outta here? My brother’s leg is broken.”

  “One leg?” Now the voice sounded familiar, but all they could see of him was his shadow high on the wall.

  “Yeah, just one leg.”

  “Is he strong? Strong enough to hold a rope?” The voice sounded like . . . Enyeto?

  “I don’t know.”

  Roland sat slumped against a wall of the cave. He nodded. “I can hold on.”

  Jarret shouted to the man, “Yeah. He says he can.”

  “Good. Make a loop at the end of the rope. He will stand in it with his good leg. I will pull him up.”

  Jarret set to work on the loop, making a strong double eight knot. Then he helped Roland up and into it. Roland ascended from the cave. Jarret let out great sigh, and tension drained from his body as he watched.

  Once Roland reached the top, the rope returned, falling like a snake to the ground. Jarret climbed the rope, hand over hand. At the top, his arm muscles trembled and threatened to give out. He struggled to get a good grip on the cold rim of the rock wall and struggled to pull himself up. With a grunt and a final effort, he made it. He pivoted on one knee and plopped down onto his hind end, ready to collapse.

  As he caught his breath, he assessed his surroundings.

  He sat near a three-foot-high boulder, his feet dangling into darkness. More boulders rose up around him, forming a jagged pattern against the black horizon. To his left, the ground sloped down to a wide, level area. Was this the lookout on the mesa top? He had noticed it when approaching the mesa. He’d wanted to reach the top. And here he was.

  A horse whinnied.

  Behind him and to his right, three horses stood on the level ground of the lookout, Red Storm one of them. Moonlight reflected on the shimmery coat of Diamond, the blue roan. And there was that old Indian, Enyeto, stooping by Selena’s buckskin, Trail Blazer. Enyeto had made himself into a mounting block so Roland could climb onto Trail Blazer’s saddle.

  Roland mumbled a protest.

  “Just force your leg up there,” Enyeto said.

  Jarret scooted off the boulder and went to help.

  Enyeto straightened up and locked eyes with Jarret. “You make a good knot. Your father, he made good knots.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I taught him.”

  Seeing this different side of the old man, Jarret smiled. “He taught me.”

  Enyeto gestured toward the other two horses. “I found them before I found you. I will take them back. You are light. Trail Blazer is strong. You will ride with your brother. Keep him in the saddle.”

  Jarret nodded and did as he was told.

  Enyeto rode Storm and led Diamond along a trail that zigzagged down the side of the mesa. He sat straight and proud in the saddle, a stately figure under the moonlight, riding between black shadowy mountains under a deep-purple sky. He kept the pace slow, probably for Roland’s sake.

  Roland sat slumped over the saddle horn, hugging Trail Blazer’s neck, groaning whenever they rounded a bend. His leg had to be killing him. Jarret remembered the trip back from Phoenix with his bruised ribs. Return trips usually felt shorter than trips out, but this one would feel endless to Roland.

  If anyone knew the shortest path, it would be Enyeto. He rode with confidence, not scanning the surroundings to get his bearings. Whenever he did gaze off in the distance, he seemed to be appreciating something, maybe the beauty of the night.

  Jarret’s thighs ached from rubbing the back edge of the saddle. With Roland in the saddle, he had seated himself behind it and had to lean forward to keep balance. He wouldn’t complain, though. It was nothing compared to Roland’s pain, nothing compared to what he deserved. He had a lot to make up for . . . to Roland, to God.

  After a time, Enyeto dropped back and rode alongside Blaze.

  Thinking Enyeto had something to say, Jarret remained quiet. Minutes passed. Enyeto said nothing so Jarret decided to speak. “How’d you know we were down there?”

  Enyeto took a moment before answering. “Many years ago, I rescued your father from that same canyon.”

  “What? You’re kidding?”

  “He was a boy of eleven. Always he is searching for artifacts, arrowheads, rock engravings, pottery shards. Anything he can find. It is like a drug to him, and he cannot keep himself from danger.”

  “My father?” Jarret smiled to himself. This was news. Papa seemed so completely the master of himself.

  “He makes a good knot, climbs down safely. Perhaps you found his rope today.”

  “What?” Amazed at the possibility he’d found the very rope his father had used, Jarret opened his mouth to comment, but Enyeto continued talking.

  “Yes, the rope is secure. But when he is done exploring, he cannot climb up. He has no muscles. I find him in the same place I find you, trying to climb the walls like a spider.”

  “Yeah. I was doing that. I couldn’t help Roland, though. Not with his leg.”

  Roland, still hunched over the saddle horn, moaned softly. He probably wanted the nightmare to end.

  “So did my father get out on his own?” Jarret asked.

  “No, halfway up, the walls grow too much apart. There he got stuck. I pull him up with my rope.”

  Jarret laughed.

  Enyeto smiled. “Your father, he is not much different from you. We all have our weaknesses.”

  He tried imagining Papa as a reckless boy. He was probably still reckless as a young man. Jarret wished Enyeto would say more, but as the silent minutes passed, Jarret’s mind returned to the Monastery.

  Jarret stood unnoticed in the doorway of the refectory, scanning the long table of silent, dining monks. What was he doing here?

  One monk stood and read from a book. “. . . whether I come and see you myself or hear about your behavior from a distance, it will be clear that you are standing firm in unity of spirit and exerting yourselves with one accord for the faith of the Gospel. . . .”

  Since most of the monks were clean-shaven, he easily found the priest that he’d spoken to in the confessional, the one with the full white beard. Just his luck that the priest sat at the far end of the table.

  Jarret’s insides bristled. Why was he doing this? With a deep breath, he forced himself into the room. He had been walking with the stolen bottle of wine at his side, where the monks wouldn’t notice it, but now he brought it up and intentionally carried it in front of him.

  A few monks glanced up from their soup bowls. Jarret eyed each one who dared to look at him as he strolled to the priest.

  The reader kept on. “Do not be intimidated by your opponents in any situation. Their opposition foreshadows downfall for them . . .”

  Jarret stopped at the end of the table and stared until the bearded priest met his gaze. Then he planted the bottle on the table and turned to go.

  A chair scraped the floor.

  Jarret glanced over his shoulder.

  The priest stepped around the table and grabbed Jarret’s arm. His blue eyes locked onto Jarret’s eyes, his gaze piercing right into Jarret’s soul as if he could actually see it. The priest smiled and pulled him into a hug.

  Trembling with an unfamiliar feeling and unsure as to why he had done this, he strode from the room to the words of the reader.

  “. . . but salvation for you. All this is as God intends, for it is your special privilege to take Christ’s part—not only to believe in him but also to suffer for him.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  GOODBYE & HOMECOMING

  Ellechial

  “Why don’t you give it to Roland as a token of your new friendship,” Ellechial said, curious as to whether Jarret would sense his advice.


  Jarret stuffed his blue and white plaid t-shirt into Roland’s suitcase and yanked the zipper. He set Roland’s suitcase next to his by the open bedroom door.

  Ellechial beamed with love.

  His job complete, Jarret paused and looked the room over, taking it in slowly as if it brought past events to mind. The beds and furniture glowed with a heavenly hue under the light of the setting sun. His gaze lingered on the beds. Perhaps his thoughts returned to when he’d forced Roland to switch beds with him, or maybe he reflected upon the night he drugged Roland. Whatever the memory, it put a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  He reached for the suitcases but then stopped. His gaze fixed onto the angel statue on the dresser. “I don’t remember seeing you before,” he said aloud, crossing the room to it. He lifted the statue and examined it. His heart turned toward Ellechial in a wordless prayer.

  Ellechial brightened and drew nearer his charge. “I’m always by your side, Jarret.”

  Ellechial lifted up another prayer of thanksgiving. All of Heaven had rejoiced at Jarret’s conversion in the canyon and again as he’d knelt before a priest in the confessional, unburdening his soul and receiving sacramental absolution. Jarret had even listened to Ellechial’s voice and had apologized to Roland the other day, though it wasn’t the smoothest apology.

  “Hey, I’m real sorry about what happened, getting you in danger and all. Of course, I don’t know why you followed me in the first place. You know I can take care of myself. It’s you who—” He shut his mouth and took a breath. “I mean, it’s not just this incident. I guess I’ve been rotten to you for years, kind of used you to amuse myself or as a punching bag. Maybe if you weren’t such a mama’s boy when she was alive, and now with Papa . . . You know he favors you. You’re his . . .” He pressed his lips together and gave his head a little shake. “What I’m trying to say is—”

  “I know what you’re trying to say,” Roland had said. “Don’t worry about it. I accept your apology. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. You don’t have to feel guilty. Let’s start over.”

  “Start over?”