False Dawn

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

Evan tossed the hinge aside and paused to blow on his cold, gloved hands. “There never was a Shangri-La, or an Oleana.”

  “Oleana?”

  “There was a song once, about Oleana. It was supposed to be a wonderful place, fantastic and pleasant, where there was no work and no trouble. It turned out to be a land swindle. But the song was sung, long after the fraud was exposed.” The simple, enthusiastic melody jigged in his mind. “There never was a Big Rock-candy Mountain, either—that was another one of those songs, about a place where everything was perfect. Shangri-La was a book, and a film about a perfect, peaceful, long-lived place.”

  “But this wasn’t perfect, Evan. It was a chance, just a chance.”

  He was about to say that a chance was as close to perfect as they would ever get, but held back. Even if it were the truth, he did not want to face it. “I know,” he said very softly.

  “But there isn’t even a chance any more, is there?” Thea waited for a reply, and when none came, she went back to work, sorting necessary things from the unnecessary. She moved through the building emotionlessly, betraying little of the deep loss she felt. She went as if she were exploring another world, an alien place that had no meaning for her but the satisfaction of her curiosity. Evan knew that she was using the work to shield herself from shock, as she had shielded herself from so many other shocks before. She even had the guts to whistle once when she found several long-tined cocktail forks with barbs at the points.

  “Look, Evan,” she said as she brought them to him. “What quarrels they’ll make. I’ve salvaged all the whole ones.” She studied the forks as she turned them over in her hands. “Whatever possessed them to keep these things? I’m glad they did, but why?”

  “Maybe they couldn’t give them up. Maybe they were special. Maybe having them made it easier for them to live up here. How do I know? But we can use them, so maybe it’s good that they were here.”

  “There are some other forks too, but they’re heavier. They won’t carry as far, even if we can file them down enough to use as quarrels.”

  “Never mind them. These will do fine. And those fondue prongs you found. They’re good, too, and the little seafood knives. They’re all long and fairly light, especially if we remove most of the handles on the fondue forks.” He shook his head, unable to understand why anyone would have brought such needless luxuries into the mountains. He stared at the rumpled snow and the few metal bits that had escaped burning.

  “I guess it is hard to give up nice things. I remember that Mom had some good china that she insisted we take to Camminsky Creek. It was expensive and pretty. She almost never used it, but she kept it.”

  “Yeah,” he said, recalling some of the senseless trophies the Pirates had taken when they were looting.

  These had included women’s jewelry, a crystal candelabra, fine china, and luxury fabrics like velvet and brocade.

  Thea saw the new strain in Evan’s face, and her disappointment at the loss of Gold Lake lessened. She touched his arm fleetingly. “It’s not important,” she said, and even she was not sure what she meant.

  They stayed at Gold Lake one more night, then followed the road down to a place that had once been called Bassetts. It had been burned out long before Gold Lake was. Another, wider road merged with the Gold Lake road there, leading south and east out of the little valley lying at the beginnings of the north fork of the Yuba River. It was now early February, or so Evan figured, and the winter storms were at their worst, pounding the mountains with freezing breakers of snow. It was difficult to keep warm and folly to try to press on in the faces of these storms. Three days of heavy snow stranded Thea and Evan at Bassetts, and it was more than a week before they left the old hut in which they had taken shelter.

  “We could go back to Johnsville, at least for a while,” Thea suggested as the storm ripped the shredding sky. The three layers of canvas which was their door boomed and bellied like sails on a clipper ship.

  “We could. And the Pirates might come up the mountain. Or we might run out of food, even there. We can’t go back, Thea. We wouldn’t be safe.”

  “Do you think we’re safe now?” Thea challenged.

  “Safer than we’d be near the Pirates.” He gave her a moment to think about what he had said, then added, “Do you want to have to battle for a cluster of burned buildings?”

  “No,” she said dubiously.

  “Look, Thea, one more good storm and the winter will be almost over. That’s been the pattern for the last six years. Once the weather calms down, traveling will be easier. We’ll find a good place, some place that’s protected, where we can stay without Pirates coming.” There was a forced enthusiasm in these words, and he wished that she would not remind him of how vulnerable they were.

  “But we won’t get a thaw for a while, Evan.”

  “And maybe we will. You can’t tell.” It was a vain hope, he thought, as the darkness deepened.

  “All right. I can’t tell anything about the weather.” She turned away.

  At Yuba Pass they found a survival station, and in it several cases of food and other vital supplies.

  “How long can we stay here?” Thea asked as she looked at the bright room with its shiny cabinets and wonderfully stacked cardboard boxes. Only three of the boxes had been damaged, their contents long since scattered. But the rest waited in army-made lockers, just as they were when they had been put there. The stamps affixed to the boxes dated them as 1982; over thirty years before.

  “A week, maybe two,” Evan said, wondering how to find out if the contents were still good.

  “It will be better in a week. There’s another storm coming up, I think. But it should clear up after it passes.” The uncanny sense that warned her of changes in the weather was touching her bones. “But it’s going to be a wet spring.”

  “A wet spring it is, then,” Evan said, prepared to delve into the treasures they had found. “Ten days from now, you see how you feel. We’ll be rested then, and fat and sassy. I sure wish we had a bathtub. But sponge baths are a lot better than no baths.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you like to be clean?”

  “Sure. I don’t itch when I’m clean. I just wondered what made bathtubs better than any other kind of washing?” She sat wearily on the edge of the drab metal table. “Hot water’s fine, but—”

  “I’ve always like to soak—”He broke off. “God, it’s funny what you miss. I miss hot baths and good food and music. But there were other things we lost that were far more important.”

  “And now we can be tired and hungry and scared. You might is well miss nice things than any others.” She moved away from him, “Make us a meal, Evan, and then you can tell me how good it used to taste.”

  “Quincy north; Truckee, south,” Evan said as they looked at the rusted sign by the old highway. There, in the Sierra Valley, the snow had turned slushy as warmth came back into the mountains and the trees armed themselves against the spring with long, leaking icicles. The creeks and rivers were growing noisier under their layers of snow; in a little while they would be free-running and only in the shade of the trees would there be any snow left.

  “Quincy,” Thea said, feeling a draw to that pleasant place she had tried to forget, but could not. “Do you think…I hoped we could go back there…”

  “Thea, the Pirates are at Graeagle.” His words were harsh but his face was shadowed with sorrow. He tightened his hands on his pack straps and attempted what might have been a smile. “Come on. We’ll do better going south.”

  “I know. But it would have been nice.” She cast one swift glance over shoulder, then turned her back to the north.

  Keeping to the old ranchers’ road that skirted the base of the mountains which rose around the marshy expanse of the Sierra Valley, they avoided the open places where unfriendly sharp eyes might be watching. They could see buildings in the distance, white buildings that looked well kept, almost prosperous in their austerity. That might mean safety and a
welcome, being that there were just the two of them. More likely it would mean hostility and danger. They decided not to put the matter to the test.

  As they approached the town, Thea pointed out the crosses that stood at the peaks of the roofs of many of the buildings. “What are they for?”

  “I don’t know,” Evan said, casting his mind back, trying to remember if there had ever been a religious community here before.

  “Well? There’s sure a lot of them. Even that barn over there has crosses on top of it.” She pointed.

  He paused, looking through the snowy brush toward the town. “I don’t like it,” he said slowly.

  “Neither do I,” she said, plainly relieved. “Let’s stay away. We can avoid the town, Evan. We’ve got enough food to last us a couple more days. There’s no reason to stop here, is there?”

  Evan nodded his agreement, and tried to ignore the persistent flicker of worry that stung his thoughts.

  “It’s too special there, like they’re making signs to keep us out,” Thea said, putting words to his fear. “We don’t belong here.”

  “No, we don’t.” He glanced up the slope behind them. “We’ll look up there.”

  They found a comfortable hollow for the night, between the old cemetery and the bulk of Randolph Hill. A few miles away the town of Sierraville kept to itself, announcing the passing of the night with a mournful bell and strange chantings.

  Snug in her blankets, Thea asked what the music was that drifted toward them some time after midnight.

  “It’s called Veni, veni, Emmanuel. It’s a Gregorian chant, about seven hundred years old, more or less.” He wondered why they would be singing that particular chant, when he remembered that it was near Lent, the season that promised resurrection, the return of Christ and the sun and the green things of the earth.

  “It sounds sad,” she said after giving it some thought. “What’s it about?”

  “It’s calling Emmanuel, the Savior, to come to them.”

  “Gaude, gaude, Emmanuel captivum solve, Israel.” The music rose in the night, a celebration lost in the wilderness.

  Evan reached up and tightened the flap of their tent; he had heard rustlings in the trees and he wondered if there was any danger of badgers, dogs, or even larger animals troubling them. He hoped that hazard would not arise for a while, until they had something more durable than a tent to protect them.

  “Are they going to do that all night?” she asked, irritated by the monotonous patterns of sound.

  “They may,” Evan allowed, thinking back to the endless services he had heard in Rome when he was twelve years old. He had been very devout then, and had found inspiration in the singing of hymns. It was three or four years later that he realized it was the music, and not the religion behind it, that had held him transported. “Sometimes, at special holidays, the services go on for hours.”

  “Great,” she said, pulling the end of her blanket over her head.

  Evan lay back, listening to the chanting, and thought about the men who were singing. Eventually he recalled hearing that there had been a monastic order getting started in these mountains, years ago. Something like the Trappists, or Cameldoleses, he thought; very strict, very severe. He could not remember if they had included a vow of silence in the Rule. When the chants he heard now were new, a monastery had meant sanctuary, but Evan doubted that these singers were very charitable. No one could afford to be now, not even monks.

  When the singing stopped at last, he fell asleep to dream of lost Easters and the world that went with them.

  They were still at breakfast, listening to the solemn tolling of the bells across the valley, when the five monks arrived; somber, dirty men with unkempt beards. Their robes of dark sacking were so filthy that it was difficult to tell what color they had been before grime had turned them brown-gray, and stiff with grease, the way the Pirates’ leather outfits were.

  “In the name of the Father, the Son in His Suffering, and the Penitent Spirit, we give you good day,” said the tallest and gauntest of the five.

  Evan had almost crossed himself as he heard the greeting, but saw that Thea had reached covertly for her crossbow; Evan restrained her with a quick gesture, seeing that the monks were stern-featured and carried heavy walking staves. He guessed that a practiced blow from one of those thick sticks could and would break bones. He did not want invite their antagonism, or their fear. “Good day to you, Brothers,” he said, making his tone cordial as he narrowly observed them.

  One of the five monks frowned. He pointed his walking stick at Thea. “Is this woman your wife, or are your souls in peril for fornication?”

  Evan knew this was not a promising beginning, “She is neither my mistress nor my wife. We travel together, agapate, as the early bishops of the Church did.” He hoped fervently that deliberate ignorance was not part of these monks’ existence, and that they knew of the agapate traditions.

  The leader nodded in what looked like approval, although his face was as stern as ever. “You are taming the fires of the flesh, which is good in the sight of God, and works to forgiveness of sin and error. We, Penitent Sons of an Angry God, scourge the imps of desire from our bodies with flail, prayer, and fasting.”

  As she tried to catch Evan’s attention, Thea felt the back of her neck grow warm, as if there were other eyes on her, unfriendly eyes that marked them for destruction. She moved away from the cowled men.

  “Your woman does not speak,” said one of the monks with curious satisfaction. “It is good for a woman to remain silent. St. Paul praises silent women. St. Anthony wanted to strike out the tongues of women so that they could not indulge in idle, godless chatter.”

  Hearing this last, Thea wanted terribly to speak up, but saw the warning in Evan’s face. Rigidly religious these men were, and their faith made them dangerous.

  “I see you have broken your fast,” said the leader monk, looking at their tin plates with food scraps in them. “If you are willing to accompany us, you could spend the day in prayer, and share our evening meal, for the good of your souls and the duty you owe to God.”

  “We do not wish to impose on your holy retreat,” Evan said, thinking there was something dreadfully wrong with the monks. He saw that their formidable walking staves now formed a barrier around them, and that they had no choice. He turned slowly to Thea, moving as carefully as he would have moved in front of hungry animals. “We have had a long journey, Thea,” he said tentatively, hoping that she would not refuse now, when their vulnerability was at its greatest.

  “Thea!” thundered the smallest of the monks. “That name is sacrilege!” He was about to raise his staff when his leader stopped him. “That will do, Brother Roccus. A name does not prove heresy, but ignorance. Her name is the sin of her parents, the sin of pride, for which they surely burn in hell.”

  It was all Thea could do to keep from running, her hands covering her face as she saw the ferocity in the monk’s eyes.

  “Forgive Brother Roccus’ impetuosity. His zeal is commendable, but it leads him into error. The temptation to error is strong in him, and he has not subdued it.” Was it Thea’s imagination, or did Brother Roccus shrink at his superior’s words? “He knows that he will have to ask pardon of you and of Our Lady and Her Son Who Suffered Martyrdom for him.”

  Evan said quickly, “We recognize that all mankind is filled with sin.”

  The leader of the monks nodded gravely. “It is well that you do, for your sin is great.”

  “But there is no sin between us.” Evan was prepared to explain his chastity, but the old monk interrupted him.

  “Yours is the great sin of pride, for you tempt yourselves with the flesh and think that you will not fall. There is much error there.” He turned. “We are returning to the monastery. You are to come with us now.”

  “May we bring our packs? And our tents?” Evan did not think they would be refused so reasonable a request.

  “No. They are objects of vanity,” the leader pronounce
d after giving the matter his consideration. “You have chosen to go in the world, but have not trusted to God to feed and shelter you. This you reveal by your packs and tents, which is vanity. We cannot have such objects within our walls, for they might lead us into similar vanities.”

  “The packs have our food and supplies, Brothers, that is all.” Evan hoped that the monks’ definition of vanity did not include food.

  “Was the food provided to you?”

  “We found it by…” Evan realized he could not credit chance for their food. He let his pause lengthen, “…by the Grace of God. We were lost, and our steps were guided to a place where this food was.”

  Again the leader fixed Evan with his angry gaze. “And you did not acknowledge your debt then. You should have thanked God for His care, and given all this freely, as it was given to you.” He studied the packs. “Brother Odo will take them. He will examine them and be accountable for them.” The leader indicated a brawny monk with shifty, stupid eyes set in a moon face. Reluctantly Evan handed the packs to him, knowing that it was unlikely he would ever see them again.

  Taking a chance, Thea turned to the leader, her eyes on the ground and her voice as soft as she could make it. She understood these men now, knew their severity that grew from hatred and fright, men who had fled the world, certain that they would be devoured if they did not flee. She also knew that they wanted women to be complacent, submissive, and weak. “What is your name, Father?” she asked, hoping she had settled on the right title.

  Her gamble paid off. “I am Father Leonidas. I succeeded Father Gervase, the founder of our Order.”

  “It must be a grave task, guarding the spiritual good of so many,” she murmured, thinking back to the Shiloh Community where she had worked as a field hand nine years earlier. “Your willingness to open your monastery doors to us is beyond our merit. I fear we will bring too much of the world within your walls.”

  She saw a rictus movement of his mouth that could have been a smile and knew that her bluff had failed.

  “That is the devil that speaks in you, woman. You are not to turn away from the Glory and the Agony of God for the midden of the flesh.”