Walk In the Fire

by Steph Post

  THE ROUGH steps cut into the side of the ravine were cold, their limestone surfaces slick with patches of pale green moss. There were no rails to steady Tulah as she tramped down the steep bank and more than once she tripped and slid, her bruised feet slipping off the stones and her fleshy toes digging into the layers of decaying vegetation on either side of the stairs. Though there were torches below, the fathomless darkness, punctuated only by nuggets of luminous foxfire, crept in around her and she could do nothing but trust that the True God would see her safely down. When she finally reached the bottom of the Valley of Anat, the front and back of Tulah’s robe was soaked with sweat.

  In the very center of the Valley, a low circular platform built of stone rose a few inches up out of the sucking mud and Tulah stepped onto it and found her place in the outer circle. Twenty symbols were etched on the circumference and Tulah set herself squarely over the crude drawing of a sickle as she waited for the remaining Watchers to make the perilous Descent as she had.

  The walls of the Valley rose high over Tulah’s head and were sheer in some places and stubbled with brambles and whip-thin birches in others. The bleached, peeling bark of the trees reflected the eerie beams of moonlight filtering down through the ravine. From somewhere outside the circle of torch light, Tulah could again hear the trilling of water and the rustling of curious night animals. Among the bloodless trees, Tulah was able to make out small figures carved in limestone and caches of bones, half buried under the years of sifting, fallen leaves. She clasped her hands in front of her and tried to focus on the light cutting through the shadows and not on what may have been lying beyond them.

  Finally, the Ox, leading the other Angels in procession, made its way slowly down the steps and onto the stone platform. The four Spirits stepped through the ring of Watchers and assumed their marks at the edge of the inner circle, each one next to a tall, flickering torch. When they were all in their correct places, the Angels joined hands and raised their burnished masks. The Ox began to speak.

  “Followers of The Order of the Luminous Sevenfold Light. Watchers of the True God of John and Ezekiel, who bow only to Everlasting Attar, who usher in the Latter Rain so that the Great War may be fought and the City may be built and the Chosen may find their place. Let us begin to Reap.”

  One by one, the Watchers were called again, this time by their Name of Names, and each robed figure stepped forward and entered the inner circle. No one had yet fallen, though Tulah had seen it happen twice before. Once, the Watcher had crashed to the ground, writhing on the stones in agony until dead. The second time, the Watcher had screamed during the Reaping and so had been swiftly stabbed in the heart by an Angel. Both bodies had been unceremoniously dragged off the platform and thrown among the trees to rot. When Tulah was called, however, she was not afraid. The lightning of the True God was striking in her heart. She walked to the Angels with her arms outstretched and let herself be brought into the fold.

  In the very center of the platform, a black star had been cut and burned deep into the stone, and there Tulah stood, waiting to be judged. If she did not survive, then at least she would die in the very place where Benjamin Irwin had witnessed the True God reach down and touch the earth. But she would not die. She would not fail. She would be at Attar’s side when the Rain came and the world was rebuilt in the firmament. The Eagle stepped forward and held out the chalice of Lotan to Tulah.

  “Assemble yourselves, and come; gather yourselves on every side to my sacrifice that I do sacrifice for you, that ye may eat flesh and drink blood.”

  The Eagle placed the cup in Tulah’s hands and she looked down at the dark, curdling liquid. All four Angels were singing around her and Tulah raised the Lotan to her lips. She opened her mouth and poured the poison down her throat. Immediately, Tulah had the sense that she had swallowed fire. She could not see and could not hear, though she was vaguely aware that the cup had been taken from her hands. It felt as if her body was being torn apart in cauterized strips from the inside out, but Tulah controlled herself. She clenched her fists and thought of the Luminous Light. She would not move and she would not utter a sound. And then, almost as soon as it had come over her, the burning subsided and Tulah was left only with a bitter, acrid aftertaste in her mouth. The Mithridatium had worked and, along with her absolute faith, had kept her alive. Tulah’s vision came back to her, though it was blurry, as tears streamed from her single eye. She choked out the response.

  “Ye shall eat the flesh of the mighty, and drink the blood of the princes of the earth.”

  The Angels bowed their heads; the trial was almost over for her. The last Angel, the Lion, took his place in front of Tulah. She loosened her robe, baring the top part of her chest, and then dropped her hands to her sides. The Lion held up the dagger for the other Angels to see and they began to sing once more. Tulah closed her eye. She was aware of the slashes, each blooming through her flesh about an inch below her collar bone, ripping through the scars from years past, but she felt them as if from a distance. She opened her eye when she felt the fingertips of the Angels touching her, pressing their fingers into the blood. She watched as they each bent and marked the star at her feet. The Angel of Man then touched Tulah’s throat with two fingers, anointing her with her own blood. The thunder of its voice washed over her.

  “Thou shalt be for fuel to the fire; thy blood shall be in the midst of the land; thou shalt be no more remembered.”

  The Angels all bowed low to her and then stepped back so that she could leave the inner circle. Underneath the mask, Tulah’s face was wet again, but this time for another reason. She had endured The Night Recompense. Her soul had been weighed and was not found wanting.

  SHELIA STABBED her cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. The Rabbit was cramped, and smelled like day-old shrimp, but she thought it was safer to wait in the car where she’d have a better chance at getting away if she had to. The road just beyond the Quincy’s parking lot was dark, with only an occasional car weaving past, some drunk on his way home from the bar, but otherwise the night was quiet. Too quiet. And Shelia still wasn’t convinced that the best plan wouldn’t have been just to run. She fit another Capri to her lips, but was suddenly blinded by oncoming headlights. Shelia squinted and flicked her lighter, waiting to see who was going to get out the vehicle and what they were going to do to her.

  She watched the door of the car open and a woman get out. Shelia sighed in relief. It was Ramey. Shelia kicked open her own door and stood up as Ramey walked toward her. She waited anxiously for the Cannon boys to get out the car as well. Ramey stopped about five feet in front of her, but with all the shadows Shelia couldn’t see the expression on her face. Her heart began to race again. Maybe Judah and Benji were still in the car, just waiting for Ramey to lure her closer so they could shoot her. Grab her and take her to God knew where, to do God knew what to her. Or maybe they had just sent Ramey to kill her. Shelia quickly eyed Ramey up and down. No purse. Her hands were empty at her side. Did she have a gun stuck somewhere in her jeans?

  Shelia tapped her foot and took a last drag on her cigarette before pitching it across the pavement. She might as well get it over with. Shelia took a few steps toward Ramey and nodded warily to her as she looked around, keeping her eye on the car in front of her.

  “Where’s Judah?”

  Ramey came closer and now Shelia could see that there was a strange look on her face. Cold. Distant. Resolute. Ramey shook her head slowly and then locked her eyes on Shelia’s.

  “He’s not coming. Looks like all you’ve got is me.”

  Judah pressed the cigarette between his lips, sighted down the length of the rifle, took aim and fired. He dropped the gun at his side and squinted through the early morning light. He had missed his target by a mile.

  “You sure you know how to use that thing?”

  Judah could hear Benji behind him, clambering awkwardly down the bank and over the stagnant ditch. Judah had heard the Mustang pull up beside his truck, but w
as in no mood to talk to his brother. He kept his eyes on the length of field sprawling out before him, a rectangle of land choked with dogfennel and pokeweed. Once, many years ago, his mother, Rebecca, had grown vegetables in the field across the road from Sherwood’s now vacant house. Field peas and okra. Tomatoes and hot peppers. Judah listened to Benji, stumbling and sliding along on his single crutch, but refused to turn around. Benji finally came up to stand beside Judah at the stubbly edge of the field. He was panting heavily.

  “I can show you how, if you like. There’s this thing you gotta do. It’s called aiming.”

  Judah let a curl of smoke seep out of the corner of his mouth while he glared at his brother.

  “Benji, you couldn’t hit water if you fell out of a boat.”

  Judah raised the .22 again, taking aim at the Folgers can propped up on the split rail fence, but then lowered the rifle. He stared at it in his hands for a moment before tossing the gun into the soft, sandy dirt. Judah picked up the warm tall boy of High Life next to his boot and guzzled.

  “Screw it.”

  Judah crushed the beer can in his hand and flung it up in a high arc across the overgrown field. He cut his eyes to Benji, who was watching the can sail through the air.

  “Well, at least you quit drinking whiskey.”

  Judah shrugged.

  “Finished what we had in the house. Liquor store don’t open ’til nine, so I’m stuck with the Champagne of Beers. I think that might have been the last of the six-pack. You want to run up to the truck and check, though, be my guest.”

  Judah took a final drag on his cigarette and then flicked it down at his feet. He could feel Benji clocking his every move.

  “Don’t you think you should try sobering up, maybe? With it being daylight and all?”

  Judah lit another cigarette. His mouth was immediately filled with the stale taste of ash. He couldn’t remember how many cigarettes he’d smoked. Or how many packs. The cigarettes only tasted like dust now, but he kept on smoking them. Judah shook his head.

  “No. No, I don’t think that at all.”

  “Or how about sleep? You tried sleeping yet?”

  Judah raised his head and stared up at the pewter sky. The sun was still low enough that it hadn’t yet touched the field, but already the temperature was climbing. There was a film of tangy sweat on the back of Judah’s neck, but he thought it was more from the alcohol than the heat.

  “No. What’s the point?”

  Benji planted his crutch firmly in the dirt so that he was no longer swaying. His mangled face appeared even more gruesome when he frowned.

  “You’re just gonna spend the day like this?”

  “Jesus Christ, Benji.”

  Judah whirled on him, his fist raised, and met his brother’s eyes. They were swept clear of the usual narcotic glaze. Judah didn’t miss the irony. He unclenched his hand and let it dangle at his side.

  “She left. You know that, right?”

  Benji nodded cautiously.

  “I saw her drive away last night. I saw her carrying a bag out to her car before that. She wasn’t saying much.”

  Judah studied the end of his cigarette.

  “Yeah, well, they never do.”

  Benji frowned again.

  “You’re comparing Ramey to any of the other girls who’ve run out on you?”

  Judah stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and spoke around it.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. She had every right to leave. In fact, it was probably the smart thing to do. What the hell do I have for her? What the hell have I given her but trouble and grief?”

  “Come on. You made her happy.”

  Judah shook his head and gazed back out over the field. At the far end, the webs of dew were being to sparkle in the creeping sunlight.

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  Benji bobbed his head.

  “You did. Sometimes these things just turn sour. You and Ramey, you were always like this. Even when you were kids. Fighting for each other one moment, against each other the next. Half the time, the rest of us couldn’t tell if you loved or hated each other.”

  “There a difference?”

  “And just think about it, even if she doesn’t come back. Even if you never lay eyes on her again, just think about what you two had. How many people can say they’ve had someone like Ramey in their lives?”

  A flush of panic raced through Judah, but he tried not to let it show on his face. He anxiously glanced over at Benji, but his brother was still staring thoughtfully at the field. Judah tried to keep the tremor out his voice.

  “You think she’s not coming back? Ever?”

  “I don’t know, Judah. I didn’t hear what was said between you two. Did it sound final?”

  Judah flung his cigarette to the dirt and ground it out with the toe of his boot.

  “Maybe.”

  Benji heaved himself up higher on the crutch.

  “I can’t say, Judah. From what I know of Ramey, though, she don’t say shit lightly. She doesn’t threaten to do things she don’t mean, and she doesn’t do things if she’s not convinced of what she’s doing. Ramey just ain’t seem like the type of woman who makes a show of leaving just so you’ll get your act together and come after her with your tail between your legs. I’ve had about a million of those girls. And they’re as far from Ramey as black is from white.”

  Judah clenched his jaw, trying to keep it together.

  “So you think she’s gone for good.”

  “I think you’d better start thinking that way, at least. And get over your rolling around in self-pity. Get your mind back in the game.”

  Judah squatted down and picked up the rifle. He brushed off the fine layer of dirt he’d accidentally kicked over the stock.

  “What game? It’s like none of that matters anymore.”

  He ran his fingers over the polished wood. Benji spat in the dirt next to the gun and Judah jerked his head up, catching the reprehension in his brother’s eyes.

  “Oh really? You know that Lesser’s funeral was yesterday? Did you know that?”

  Judah wrenched himself up to standing. He hefted the gun in his hand a few times.

  “I did.”

  “Well, he saw what this family could be. The potential. The money it could make. The pride it already carried and how much more was ahead of it. Lesser believed in that. He wanted more than anything to be a part of that. He didn’t want to just be some dumb dropout, selling slushies at the gas station for the rest of his life. He wanted to be part of something bigger.”

  “Not sure he got what he wanted.”

  Benji grabbed Judah’s arm.

  “When this cast comes off, which is in a few weeks by the way, and I’ve got my legs underneath me, I’m gonna belt you one in the teeth. When you least expect it. Because somebody’s gotta knock some goddamn sense into you.”

  Judah looked down passively at Benji’s hand, still gripping his arm.

  “Ramey was pretty good at that.”

  Benji let go of Judah and shoved him in disgust.

  “Well, she’s not here no more. But I am. Gary is. Alvin is. Other people who rely on you. Other people who need you with a clear head, making smart decisions to get the Cannons back on track. Back to where they need to be.”

  “It’s no use going back, Benji.”

  Benji threw his hand up.

  “Well, then forward! Hell, sideways. As long as there’s some kinda momentum. When you came back from Daytona, I could see it in your eyes. You were hungry. You wanted something more than just sticking to the line you’ve been walking these past few months. Maybe you were holding back for Ramey, maybe for something else, but it’s time you put an end to all that. You’ve been feeding the fire of the Cannons bit by bit and it’s gotten you nowhere. It’s time to pour on the gasoline, brother. It’s time to bring those flames to the sky.”

  Judah looked at Benji as if he’d never seen him before. The sun had finally
crested the edge of the tree line and his brother was now fully in its path. Benji’s face was flushed and his eyes were glinting as he stood up straight, barely using the crutch at all, and jabbed his fist into his palm. Judah turned away from him. His head was beginning to pound as his body slipped from drunk to hungover, and he didn’t want to hear it. Enough with the Cannons. Forget the Cannons. All he wanted was Ramey. And she had left him. A pair of doves suddenly flushed out from the undergrowth and streaked across the field, their wings clapping as they rose up into the air. Judah brought the rifle to his shoulder and fired.

  He missed. And he was glad. Judah lifted his head and watched the birds until they disappeared from view.

  SISTER TULAH was not impressed. The Day Recompense had brought her nothing. Reverend Simpson had even gone so far as to suggest that Tulah not be expected to contribute to any of the proposed business deals shuttling across the Table all morning. In front of the entire Order, the Honorable Reverend had stuck out his droopy pink lip and intimated that pity should be taken upon Tulah and her enterprises, due to the recent decimation of her church. Pity. She could have wrung his scrawny turkey neck.

  Tulah rolled up her dirty, white athletic socks and jammed them into a corner of her suitcase. The digital clock on the nightstand next to the lumpy hotel bed indicated it was only half past noon, but Tulah wasn’t sticking around for the free buffet lunch. The Recompense was over. She was ready to get the hell out of Georgia.

  It wasn’t just her missing eye or the lurid tales of her church being consumed in flames from a biker’s Molotov cocktail. In fact, she doubted those two elements had much to do at all with why she was spoken over like a child at the Table and avoided like a fat kid being picked for dodgeball when the Outer Council had broken into groups to discuss more specific, independent business interests. No, Sister Tulah knew exactly why she was being treated like a leper. It was her failure with the phosphate mine.

  Needing a group to join when the Table adjourned, Sister Tulah had ended up listening in as two members from Alabama put together a juvenile plan that involved diverting donations from a non-profit ministry into an offshore shell company. Brother Robert had given Tulah a sloppy grin and made a joke about how they could always try bribing state senators if they wanted to go big time. The rest of the group, sitting at the small round table in the corner of the ballroom, had laughed, seeming to think this was the funniest thing since Jacob tricked Isaac. Brother Robert had even dared to nudge her shoulder and wink. He had winked. It was ridiculous; embezzlement was so easy she could have done it in her sleep. And Tulah certainly wouldn’t have bored The Order with such an unimaginative scheme. If Brother Robert hadn’t been a fellow member, she would have stabbed him in the cheek with her ballpoint pen. Instead, she had been forced to sit through the condescending jokes and sidelong glances. When the Inner Council, still seated at the large conference table at the front of the room, talking in hushed whispers to a chosen few, had finally stood and announced that the final hour had arrived and that The Recompense was officially over, Tulah had never been more relieved. Three years ago, she had sauntered from the ballroom, a check in hand, a finalized deal under her belt and gloated all the way to the buffet table. This year, she had hurried from the room, her head still held high, but her heart filled not with triumph, but with indignation. How dare they. How dare they all.