Flight of the Eagles

by Gilbert L. Morris

  Then Sarah began to hear the voice of doubt. The voice chided her as one who lived by dreams, dreams with a foolish message.

  The voice nibbled at her courage, wearing it down, until she heard Dave saying spitefully, “What will you do, Sarah, if you look back and nobody’s following you?”

  Somehow the remark needled Sarah into action. Looking directly into Dave’s eyes she declared, “I won’t be looking back to see who’s following me, Dave.”

  Then, before she could give way to that nagging fear, she swung the door open and marched confidently into the darkness.

  It was so black that she could not see her hand before her face. But she had looked out the door often and knew that the gate that led out of the prison was about fifty yards at the end of the cobblestone walk she felt beneath her feet.

  Don’t think! Don’t run! Just believe in Goél. He’s there, right on the other side of that gate.

  But was he? The nagging voice began again, suggesting that she had made up the dream herself. Only by saying with each step, “Goél, Goél,” did she manage to keep a steady pace.

  And then she heard it! She had been hearing the sound of the others following her, but this was something else.

  She did not actually see the thing, even though in the darkness the sky itself seemed to be blotted out by a mountainous shape. Nor did she smell it, though suddenly it seemed that the breath of an open grave touched her face. Nor did she really hear it, though a heavy throb like a massive drum or monstrous heartbeat seemed to touch her ears.

  No, more than anything else, Sarah simply knew that the thing was there beside the path. The darkness grew darker, the smell more deathly, and the throbbing filled the air. She heard the others beginning to moan and realized that they were on the point of panic—and death.

  Sarah was no singer. As a matter of fact, she sang off-key. Neither was she a writer or a poet. But at that moment she opened her mouth, and her voice broke sweetly on the dark night air. She began to sing in a strong voice.

  “Goél is my daysman.

  My redeemer and lord is he.

  From all the danger of death

  He has delivered me.”

  As she sang, the air grew sweeter, the night less dark, and the sound of her voice replaced the monstrous throbbing. Then, with the last of her courage, Sarah reached the outer gate and pushed it. It swung open, and on the other side she fell into the arms of the one who had slipped the lock.

  She cried out in joy, “Goél! Goél!”

  12

  The Fifth Sleeper

  In the years that followed, Josh would rarely talk about what happened when he plunged into the depths of Roaring Horse River. Once he tried to tell Sarah.

  “Well, it was like I—well, really, it was something like—like dying, I guess, Sarah,” he whispered. Then he continued in a stronger voice, “The water was cold—I knew that. Yet, I didn’t feel cold.

  “And you know those rocks were like knives, but I was never cut once! Sarah, it was like—like I was surrounded by some sort of—oh, I just can’t tell you. I don’t know.”

  And he gave up trying to explain.

  The moment the cold waters closed over his head, Josh knew he was dead, but just as he began rolling over and over in the powerful current, something happened. He felt himself surrounded by a strange sense of warmth and safety. With one part of his mind he knew he was dying. Yet he felt somehow as he had felt when he was a small child and his father had held him close after a nightmare.

  Josh’s hopes faded. But just then, a tiny light appeared in the darkness. The light grew stronger, and as it grew, the voice returned again. Josh heard himself joining the song:

  “When my soul fainted within me

  I remembered Goél,

  And my prayer came in unto you,

  into your holy temple.”

  Then Josh seemed to hear the voice of Goél speaking. After that, he came to himself. He was sitting in the still waters on a sand bar.

  Josh slowly got up and looked himself over for injuries. To his amazement, he was not even bruised or scratched. Then he looked around. It seemed that the sky was bluer and the grass greener than he had ever seen them.

  His hearing seemed sharper too. He could hear a tiny cricket singing from twenty yards away. He began to walk slowly downstream, not knowing where he was or what he was going to do.

  His friends were in jail, he had no food, no money. Yet somehow Josh felt good. He actually laughed out loud, then paused, amazed at himself.

  He wandered on, totally unafraid. When he came across a path that led away from the river canyon, he took it without hesitation. He soon reached a crest that offered a clear view of the countryside. The first thing he saw was a city.

  “That’s it!” he said softly, then sat down on a tree stump to think.

  “Let’s see—what did the song say about the fifth Sleeper? I remember …

  ‘Close to the stars the Sleeper lies,

  atop a tower rising high,

  reaching to the windows of the sky.

  ‘And yet—the waters o’er him flow,

  Such watery depths he lies below’”

  Josh was puzzled by the words of the song, but he truly believed that the city in the distance must be the place where the fifth Sleeper lay. He had quickly figured out that 25 was the first number and 17 the last. Then he found the intersection of those numbers on the map he carried in his mind.

  He thought of the words again and murmured his puzzlement. How could the Sleeper be up in a tower and down under the waves at the same time?

  For a long time, Josh sat and tried to piece it together. Finally he got up and started toward the city. Before he took the first step, he spoke out loud to no one in particular.

  “Well, I don’t have Sarah’s heart to help me this time.” He glanced around self-consciously. “Goél, I’ll just have to trust you to get me there.”

  It was dusk by the time he reached the gates of the city. Once there, he kept himself hidden by dodging behind trees or buildings. Red-robed guards were looking carefully at those who filed through the entrance, and Josh racked his brain trying to figure out a way to get in.

  He waited two hours, watching for his chance to slip through unnoticed. The light slowly began to fade, and Josh felt sure that they would soon lock the gates.

  Just then he heard the sound of heavy hooves. Peering through the darkness, he saw a train of camels approaching. Later, he would wonder if he had actually heard a voice ordering him to join the caravan or if the thought was his own.

  In any case, Josh took the chance without thinking. There were only three or four drivers, and he slipped by them easily, dodging between the shuffling animals.

  Once among the herd, Josh lost control. He was pushed and jostled by the smelly beasts, but he suffered no harm and was swept inside the city. As the last animal entered, Josh slunk quickly into a dark alley. He heard the closing of the iron gate.

  Rather aimlessly, he stole along the alley until he noticed that the full moon was already lighting up the entire city.

  He was getting hungry, but he knew that he would have to find the Sleeper before dawn. So he found a wide street that seemed to go through the city and began to examine the words of the song again.

  “Well, one thing is clear,” he muttered to himself. “The Sleeper is in a tower. Guess I’ll try to find the tower. Then I can worry about the rest.”

  Finding the tower turned out to be quite simple. The town had been built of adobe houses and other buildings, none of them more than two or three stories high. But beneath the bright face of the full moon a massive tower hung over the city. Josh found his way to the tower in less than an hour.

  He felt strangely apprehensive when he finally turned the last corner and came face-to-face with his destination. Strange astrological signs were on the doors, and somehow the place seemed evil.

  Josh chose one of the doors and walked in, fully expecting to be snatched up b
y a red-cloaked guard. But he found only an empty room with a hall leading down to the depths of the structure and a stairway leading up. Josh quickly began climbing upward. He didn’t stop until he had passed through a door and stood on the roof all alone.

  “Why—why it’s a lake!”

  And so it seemed. Evidently the builders had used the ancient system of constructing a watertight roof to catch rainwater and cool the building. Except for a wall and one small rectangle in the center, the roof was like a still lake, reflecting the huge silver moon without a ripple.

  “It’s so pretty,” Josh breathed. “But—where’s the Sleeper? Must be way under the water.”

  Then his eyes lit on the small rectangle of stone exactly in the middle of the roof.

  “That has to be it!”

  Carefully Josh waded into the warm shallow water and walked across to the stone.

  “Here it is!” he cried excitedly. “A door!”

  It was indeed a door—a trapdoor, set in some kind of rubbery material to keep out the rain. However, Josh could not find handle or hinges.

  “Well, this will be easy—or it will be impossible.”

  He began to say the words of the song, and, as in the past, the voice-lock clicked. Swiftly the massive steel door opened upward like the lid of a box.

  In seconds Josh had descended the stairs and found the small room that contained the capsule. Without hesitation, he pushed the red button marked AWAKE. There was the hissing sound of gas escaping, and then the plastic cover swung open. Josh got his first glimpse of the fifth Sleeper—and his heart sank.

  “He’s not any older than I am!” he muttered in disappointment.

  The Sleeper must have awakened instantly because he caught Josh’s words and snapped back in a twangy accent, “Well, seems a pretty good age to me.” Then he climbed out of the strange box. “Who are you, anyways?”

  Josh just stared in puzzlement at the character before him. The fifth Sleeper was as tall as Josh and, as Josh had noticed, about the same age. He wore cowboy boots and a fancy Western shirt with red, green, and purple stitching that almost hurt Josh’s eyes.

  As if to outrage Josh still further, the newly awakened Sleeper stooped over and picked up a high-crowned straw hat with a feathered band. He clamped it down almost over his eyes with an air of satisfaction.

  The hat gave him a comical effect, but the blue eyes peering out from under the broad brim were tough and steady—the type Yankee troops learned to fear at Bull Run and Missionary Ridge.

  The Sleeper glanced at the capsule and shook his head. “That thing makes me as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs!”

  The comment finally stirred Josh to reply. “I’m Josh Adams. I guess you’ve got a lot of questions to ask—at least I did when I woke up.”

  “Well here, yes, I got some questions!” The boy’s hat nodded emphatically with each word. “But guess I better introduce myself. I’m Bob Lee Jackson, but most folks just call me Reb. Course, I can see you’re a Yankee, but I reckon you heard of General Bob and Stonewall.”

  “Who?”

  Reb looked at him, then shook his head in disgust. “I’d of thought even a Yankee boy woulda heard of General Lee and General Stonewall Jackson.”

  “Oh, sure, I’ve heard of them. They were Southern leaders during the Civil War.”

  “Well, I’m happy you got a little learning.” Reb smiled. He had a nice smile, and Josh liked the fearless look in his eyes.

  “I have a lot to tell you, Reb. Look, I’ve got this food here, so you eat while I tell you what’s going on.”

  “Well—some vittles might set pretty good at that. Any chitlins in that batch?”

  “No, but here’s some canned beef and some cans of cola.”

  “Shoot!” Reb complained. “Might of knowed not to trust them to pack fittin’ grub.”

  He grumbled for a while, but Josh was amazed at the way he gobbled the food. While he ate, Josh told him what had happened—about the Uprising, the Seven Sleepers, the Sanhedrin, and then about the capture of the others.

  Josh brought his tale to an end as Reb thoughtfully finished his meal. Josh could see that Reb was stunned by all the events that had taken place. At last, the Southern youth looked out from under his huge straw hat.

  “You mean it’s all gone, Josh? All the South really ain’t there no more?”

  “Not the South or the North, Reb.”

  He saw the pain in Reb’s eyes and knew what was happening. Reb was saying good-bye to his world, just as all the Sleepers had been forced to do.

  Josh wanted to shake the boy out of his grief. “But I think it’ll be better someday, Reb. That’s what the words say—that when the Seven Sleepers awake, the house of Goél will be filled.”

  “And this here Goél—who do you reckon he is?”

  “I—I’m not sure. But he’s not just—anybody.”

  “Sort of like General Lee, you mean?”

  “More than General Lee, Reb. He’s more than anyone.”

  “I’d be right proud to meet this here Goél, I reckon.”

  “I think you will, Reb. I think all of us will, sooner or later. But now we’re in a mess. I mean, we have to find the others, then we have to get them out of jail, then—”

  “Well,” Reb interrupted, “I reckon finding ’em won’t be no problem. Shoot! Easiest thing to find in any town is the jail.”

  “But how?”

  “Don’t they teach you Yankees nothing? Why, all you got to do is find a building with bars on the winder or a wall round it. It’ll either be full of crazy people or criminals. You ought to of knowed that, Josh.”

  Josh grinned. It was hard not to like this flamboyant character.

  “Yes, I guess I ought to have. But how do we get them out?”

  “Why, shoot, Josh! It ain’t really hard to get folks outta the pokey. My Grandpappy Seedy was in and outta the county jail for makin’ shine so often they had a revolving door put in just for him! Shore they did! We may be livin’ in some mixed-up time—but you betcha bird that if it’s a jail—well, they’s gotta be jailers, ain’t they? And if they is jailers, they can be had, can’t they?”

  Josh sensed that Reb’s experience with jails and police was going to be invaluable. The pair packed all the food they could carry into their pockets and left the room. Then they sneaked down the stairs and emerged in the brilliant moonlight.

  “Let’s just meander ‘round some,” Reb suggested.

  Reb was enjoying the whole thing, Josh saw, in contrast to his own quaking heart.

  “If anybody messes with us, they’ll get whupped like a redheaded stepchild!” He pulled something from his pocket, and a sharp click followed.

  Josh saw that his new friend had a six-inch switchblade in his hand. “I thought those things were illegal.”

  “Blamed guvmint tries to run a man’s business!” Reb complained. “Tell him what to plant, and how much. And sayin’ he can’t make shine—and we don’t stand for it. Anyways, this ain’t Arkansas, is it?”

  “That’s right,” Josh said, and he thought of his bow and of the arrow he had buried in the back of the priest. “I guess we’ll have to do whatever the Quest calls for in Nuworld.”

  “Well, now!” Reb grinned hugely and gave Josh a staggering slap on the shoulders. “See? That’s what we all said during the war when we fit you Yankees. And this time, we’ll win, won’t we?”

  Josh seemed to see some difference between the Southern cause and evil Nuworld, but he did not think this was the time to discuss it, especially with Reb. Instead, he suggested they begin their search for the jail.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  It could not have been much after midnight when they found the wall that rose up in a massive circle.

  “That there is a jail, or I ain’t never seen one,” Reb pronounced. “Looks like the pokey down in Pine Bluff where Uncle Freeman did his last stretch. Lookit, there ain’t but one big old gate, and there ain’t but
one little old guard. Well, ain’t that a pretty come-off! They don’t make jails here like they do in Arkansas.”

  “But, Reb, how do we get them out?”

  “Well, I don’t rightly know, but they’s lots of ways to skin any cat. We could plant that guard, I reckon.”

  Josh suddenly felt a chill at Reb’s offhand suggestion. “No! We can’t do that! We’ve got to try to be better than they are—or what difference will we make in this world?”

  Reb looked at Josh closely, then shrugged. “Well—you’re probably right. But they is more than one way to catch a possum. Lookit this.”

  He pulled something out of the hip pocket of his faded jeans and waved it before Josh’s eyes.

  “This is Uncle Waymon’s favorite skullpopper. He was the black sheep of our family. Ugly as a pan of worms! Went to being a lawman, he did. Deputy over in Garland County. But he come out of it and got himself straightened out.”

  The pride of Uncle Waymon was a black leather object obviously designed for hitting people over the head. Reb slapped it against his palm with a satisfactory whack.

  “About ten ounces of lead in it,” he confided professionally. “One tap, and they sleep like babies. Might wake up with a little headache, but that’s all.”

  “But the guard has a helmet on,” Josh protested.

  “You got hands, ain’t you?” Reb sniffed at Josh’s ignorance and continued. “Here’s what we do. We walk down and get to talkin’ with the guard. You pull his hat off, and I hit him on the conk. Then sweet dreams!”

  “But how do I—” Josh began to protest.

  “Well, now, Josh, ain’t no plan all grits and sowbelly,” Reb said. “We’ll think of something.”

  Reb walked toward the guard as if he were out for a Sunday stroll.

  Josh found himself following the trail of the tall white hat.

  Just before they got to the guard, Reb muttered under his breath, “You gotta get him to take his helmet off, Josh, and I’ll do the necessary. It’ll go finer than frog hair!”

  Suddenly they were in front of the gate, and Josh was looking into a pair of eyes the color of spit, mean and dangerous. The guard placed the top of a wicked-looking pike at Josh’s chest and said something in Nuworld, but Josh could not catch it. Josh noticed that the guard was looking at him and that Reb had stepped to one side, his hand in his back pocket. He could hear the whistle of an owl, and the moon turned the world to silver—especially the guard’s helmet that gleamed a tough, steely gray.