As Far as the East is From the West (Servant of Light Book 2)

by Jeremy Finn

  6:15 pm – I was mistaken. It is not a rapids I heard roaring in the distance, it is a grand waterfall! It took me longer than I expected to reach the sound because the terrain has become more rugged and the bushes form long lines of intertwined thickets. I am quite nearly exhausted and will certainly have to stay the night here. Even if I could return home, though, I think I would choose to stay. I don’t know why I feel compelled to write. Maybe it is the grandeur of such a place. All day I have desired to record the amazing normality of nature in this wood, but now I find a waterfall more magnificent than any other I have seen in all my life! Granted, I have seen larger, more dramatic, louder falls, but there is something about how this plume of white water rolls majestically over the rocks above with a glassy curve and rends itself into a white foam as it rushes downward and dashes against the monstrous, grey rocks littered below. Above the falls, abrupt cliffs rise and small pines cling to the precipice like bonsai on display. The setting sun colors the stone walls orange and yellow. In this low place it seems evening is coming on faster than it should. The darkness creeps in quickly. The cool, moist breeze generated by the falling water ebbs and flows against my skin, refreshing my weary body after a day of exertion in the summer heat. I think I shall dangle my feet in the clear pool at the base of the falls while I chew my baguette and sausage. There are no trees for some distance around the base of the falls and it makes for a natural amphitheater of sorts. Despite the lack of bedding and creature comforts of home, I think I will sleep quite well here tonight.

  Joan Mather

  25 August, 4:00 pm – I found this journal sitting on a rock some distance from the waterfall Mr. Muhr must have been writing about. I read the few pages of text and thought at first that Mr. Muhr may have met some unhappy fate as the weather changed unexpectedly or a wild animal happened upon him. A scouring of the surrounding area yielded no clues of any incident, however. Perhaps he just forgot to take the book with him in all his apparent excitement. The funny thing is, I too feel compelled to write. I don’t think I will have the luxury of lingering at the falls as long as he did, though. I am on a tight time schedule and must make a few more miles before nightfall. Perhaps it was a bit too ambitious of me to try to cover the whole spine of the mountain range in just one week. I am an experienced hiker, but this is beautiful country and I did find myself lingering a bit too long in certain spots. My boss will never forgive me if I show up to work even an hour late Monday. They just don’t understand the draw of nature and the relief it can bring to a weary soul. By weary, I don’t mean physically. I am certainly weary in that sense. Any man would be near exhaustion after traversing the grounds I have over the last few days, let alone a middle-aged woman like myself. The weariness I am trying to convey is the weariness of the spirit caged in cells of concrete and steel day after day. Even when I get out of the office for a brief time to walk to lunch or reach my commute home, concrete and steel still surround me on all sides. They block off all observation of the natural world besides a small window to the heavens above. Here the smells and sounds and sights are so much better! They are not artificial, created by men out of once natural things and transformed into something artificial to serve his wanton desires. Give me the smell of flowering bushes over the stench of exhaust. I will take the sound of birds in the distance over the cacophony of constant construction work. Wouldn’t you choose to see shifting patterns of green, brown and shadow rather than the immovable, geometric blocks of black and gray?

  5:00 pm – I guess I have loitered here too long. I must make a few more miles before nightfall and the sun is in rapid decline. Despite the draw of evening, it is still quite hot, though, so maybe I will take a dip in the pool at the base of the falls before bidding farewell to this magical place. I will place my belongings at the base of this lone tree hanging over the water by the falls and enjoy a private skinny dip. I wonder if I should take this book with me or leave it as I found it? My sense of intrigue tempts me to leave it behind.

  Samuel Lightfoot

  20 September, 7:30 pm – Very interesting – this book. It is strange I am the third person to write in it. Maybe it’s worth something to somebody. It’s not often I find anything of practical use this deep in these here woods. And the clothes too. I am afraid of what happened to that woman. She said she might leave the book, but I don’t think she would leave the clothes too, would she? But here them are. I don’t see any sign of her body layin about. Maybe it washed downstream. Maybe if I told people about it I might get a reward or something. Well, maybe they might be thinking I killed her too. The winter is coming and I can’t live off the woods no more. I will have to go back to that city to sleep in them shelters or find a warm grate to stop me from freezing. Too bad there isn’t anything very valuable in her stuff. I can make use of some of the camping things sure enough, but I wish she had some money or jewelry. Then I could fill my belly for a few days.

  8:00 – I looked through her stuff a bit and the sun set while I was busy. I guess I better had stay here tonight. I don’t really want to, though. I don’t think my grandfather would have liked this here place. It is beautiful, but kinda in a way like a wolf’s eyes are beautiful. There is something in them that tells you danger. If my grandfather’s kin found these clothes, it would be enough for them to right up and stay away from this place. Death sometimes leaves spirits behind. Sometimes there are some parts of the person that sometimes stay in this here world. At least that is what they would say. I’m not so superstitious as them, though. Then again, why am I writing in this here crazy book? Writing pains me and I never done it in years like this much. I think there is something to this place, or this book. I think I will go away a bit to make my bed. I could hang my hammock between these two trees, but it seems cooler here anyway and the air it is already chilly. Wait, am I out of my mind? I’m thinking I heard the water stop. Yeah, it did. How does a waterfall just stop like that? I think I see something under the fall. There’s something that was all covered up by that falling water. Maybe it’s valuable. I’m going to go have a look for myself.

  Theodore Wilson (Ted)

  14 October, 3:00 pm – Well this is something else. I think maybe someone is playing a trick on me, but I’ll play along for now. I wonder if it’s Pete or Bob that set this up. Well, if it is, here is written proof that I knew it from the get-go. So that’s why you guys slipped away in the fog this morning. I thought it was just an accidental parting or that maybe you saw a buck that I missed and had to break away silently to avoid spooking the animal. But I never heard the rifle shot. I just assumed you were involved in a long pursuit. We never made a plan, though, in case we got separated. Well, now that I know the joke, I’ll just wait here for you two dunderheads to show up thinking you had me all scared and confused. But the joke will be on you. I’m smarter than both of you, you know.

  4:00 pm – Ok, how long are you guys going to play this out? I’ll admit, you had a pretty crafty idea putting those clothes there next to those trees. And the book is a nice touch. I wonder whose idea it was to write up all those stories and make it seem like something creepy was going on here by this water fall? I bet it was Pete. He’s the one with the wild imagination. And putting that woman in there – shame on you! You know I’m a married man. I’ll tell Nelly about that little skinny dipping bit and then you’ll get what you deserve. Mind you I have enjoyed myself sitting here watching the golden and crimson leaves drift silently into the wonderful pool at the base of the falls. There is nothing like a crisp fall evening in the woods. I can smell the maturing leaves like an essence on the bold air around me. They cover the forest floor like a wild carpet – something I would be entirely fond of if not for the fact that it concealed deer tracks.

  5:35 pm – Ok, it’s getting late and you guys are still at your prank. Despite the fact that I called out for you, you still insist on huddling under the bushes somewhere, probably snickering like little girls. If you wait much longer, we won’t reach camp until dark. I tell you
, I’m certainly not going to be the one preparing supper tonight. It’s so beautiful down here as the shadows bounce off the rock walls around me and the trees above me drop leathery leaves silently into the pool before me.

  6:10 pm – The sun is down. Now I’m plain angry. I’m going to leave this spot and try to work my way back to the camp. I’m a good woodsman, but in the off chance that you find this book while searching for my lost body, I hope you see how foolish and dangerous your little prank was. If you find this book, head back to the camp. I’ll either be there or somewhere along the way back. Hold on now...

  There, I got him! Would you believe it? The oddest thing just happened. Some rock must have fallen into the river somewhere upstream or some rascally beavers maybe finished their dam. Whatever the cause, the water fall suddenly stopped flowing. And guess what? There was the biggest buck I ever laid eyes on just standing there behind the falls! He must have been there the whole time just hiding out and waiting for me to leave. Boy, you fellas missed out this time! Here you are thinking you played a grand trick on me and in the end you actually led me to the spot where I was able to shoot the prize buck of my life for sure. I better get over there and pull his body up onto the shore here, though, because I don’t know when that beaver's dam or whatever might fail and I lose the carcass to the pounding waters.

  Peter Denali

  15 October, 6:30 pm – Well this is evidence, I guess. Though not the evidence I was hoping for. It took me some time to read through this with my flashlight, and now I’m fumbling with the light tucked under my arm as I write. Somehow I feel this might be important, though, to write as I discover what happened here. Ted took the time to write and apparently so did many others. Bob and I started out this morning looking for Ted since he didn’t come back to camp last night. I guess now I know why, but where is he? The fact that his gun is propped against this tree makes me uneasy. Certainly he wouldn’t have left it here, unless maybe he had his hands full dragging his prize buck away. But, I don’t see any signs of dragging in the dirt or blood stains on the leaves. Could the waters have started again and crushed him? They are flowing steadily now. I’m due to meet back with Bob in less than an hour at the camp, so I better hurry. We can come back in the morning when it is light again. I’m not the superstitious type, but it’s pretty creepy out here at night. After reading through this book, I can’t help but imagine there is something nefarious going on here. Every time these people went near the water, they stopped writing. There are effects left behind, like Ted’s rifle and the woman’s clothes, and of course this odd book, but no sign of bodies or struggle. Maybe someone is hiding out here and murdering them. I’m starting to think real quick that it is time for me to go. I’ll come back in the morning with Bob. Wow! Now I’m freaked out! The water fall stopped as I was leaving the clearing. I’m back in the bushes now, well away from the devious site. But wait, what’s that? It’s hard to see that far with my little flashlight, but I swear it’s Ted all huddled up in a fetal position beneath the falls. I think he’s still alive!

  Ralph Emerson

  19 October, 12:00 pm – This book can serve as a record. What kind of a rescue person am I if I can’t even remember to carry a pen and paper? At any rate, I think I‘m the first one to stumble on any sign of the two lost hunters. It’s only been two days since their friend stumbled out of the woods and relayed the story of how he lost his partners in the deep recesses of the woods. Since then, we have scoured the forest and now it appears I have found the spot. The problem is, though there are rifles and some clothes in this little copse of trees by the water’s edge, I don’t see any sign of the two men.

  12:30 pm – I feel stupid. First I don’t bring a pen and paper, and then I neglect to even read the writings in the book I picked up and started using. Now I have more information on what happened here and I know this is the spot where the two men went missing, but I am afraid I am even more confused. The best I can make out, both men fell victim to the falls. Apparently, for some reason they flow and cease at intervals. I think I’ll do one more sweep around the area and, if I don’t find anything, I’ll wait for the water to stop again then check behind the falls. I have lots of equipment that should make it a safer venture – a helmet, life vest, and strong climbing rope I can tie around one of these trees to serve as a life line in case a deluge of water suddenly approaches. I can’t imagine I wouldn’t hear it first, though.

  3:00 pm – Well, a sweep around the area revealed nothing new. I even walked upstream a ways to see if I could find anything responsible for the intermittent flow of water. Nothing. I’ve been sitting here a while all suited up with this rope around my waist waiting for the water to stop. The more I sit here, the more uneasy I feel. I think it is probably just the dreary scene – the trees are mostly leafless and the sky is grey and oppressing. It’s unusually cold today too. I’ve been reading through this book again and again to pass the time, and something occurred to me. If someone reads this, they are going to think I’m crazy, but then once I finish the mission here, I won’t share this part anyways. I don’t know, but it seems like the waterfall tempts people. Odd idea, but everyone seemed drawn to it and everyone stopped writing just as they were about to draw closer to it. The fact that my radio picks up so much static here adds to my anxiety, but I’m sure it’s just the mineral content of these towering rocks around me. Oh, there it goes! The water stopped. Somehow I knew it would. What’s this? It looks like there is a cave running back behind the falls. I wonder if the others saw this? Could they, or their bodies, be back there? I can imagine if the falls started up again they might be trapped back there or washed farther into the cavern. But I have this rope and at worst I can pull myself back out. Wait. At first I thought it was just a sound of the forest, but now I’m sure there is someone calling for help from within that dark cave! Someone is still alive!

  You

  31 October, 7:23 am - You find this journal sitting under a copse of trees by the edge of the pool fringed with a thin layer of ice. There is a bundle of damp clothes mostly covered with brown leaves, two rifles slowly rusting against a tree and a rope tied around another tree and tied at waist level to a small tree on the opposite bank across the crystal clear stream. Do you feel compelled to write?

  Insight

  Honestly, I’m not sure exactly what this one should mean. Sometimes it is best that way. The author does not always have to have some specific message or meaning he is attempting to convey to the reader. I believe a good author will sometimes want to make the reader do a little imagining of his own. Leave an open end and enough ambiguity for multiple directions so the reader can continue to enjoy the story after he reads it by taking it with him in his mind and pondering its implications and outcomes in his spare or dull moments. In this case, is it the book that is other-worldly? It seems to compel people to write. Why? Or is it the falls that are magical? Are they beneficent or malevolent? They seem to tempt and draw in, but maybe they are bringing the wanderers to what their hearts truly desire. All the names are plays on people famous for work with national parks or with some special connection to nature. Did you notice the slowly increasing stand of trees by the clear pool as the story progressed? What do you make of this?

  SAMSARA

  The cobblestones rolled under Thomas’s feet as he strolled casually down the bustling avenue. A cacophony of sights, sounds and smells pervaded the corridor around him. Colorful clothing hand crafted by aged artisans hung in windows. The displays were simple and did not assault the senses like the displays of the department stores the next block over. Above the hum of bartering voices, the rhythmic chop, chop, chop of a traditional candy maker seemed to coincide with his footsteps. He was tempted to pause at a stand where two old women worked diligently over a bowl of sticky dough and a large circular pan filled with bubbling oil. In about the space of two minutes, they produced golden discs of chewy goodness filled with a gooey mixture of honey and sesame seeds. Thomas was tempted, but it had been
a long day of scouring the quaint little district for unique tea ware and other unexpected treasures.

  As a foreigner, Thomas loved this part of the city. Although everyone here had skin of a different color and spoke an unfamiliar language, he only truly felt in another world when he came to this street lined with traditional restaurants and shops selling the wares of yesteryear. Above the tiled and thatched rooftops, glass and steel monsters rose into the sky, but this was a little haven nestled in the chaos of a city geared toward progress and always leaning forward in pursuit of modern architecture and technology.

  As he was nearing the end of the street and contemplating whether to take the bus or subway, a nondescript little storefront caught his eye. At first, he thought it must be closed and long abandoned. The windows bore a thick sheen of dust and the sign overhead was faded and pock-marked, but a dim light seeped out around piles of pottery and closely shelved teapots. It caught Thomas’s curiosity and he decided to give it a quick look.

  He pushed the heavy glass door open and carefully entered the dimly lit room. The shopkeeper made the most of the small space. The walls were terraced with shelves that ran to the ceiling and contained every manner of pottery. The floor space bore low tables of some undetectable material completely overwhelmed with stacks of plates, bowls and cups. Narrow walkways cut odd angles through the maze of ceramics. It would be a nightmare for any parent with a toddler in tow. In the front corner, the shopkeeper sat hunched over a cluttered table facing the door and two pale monks sat facing her with their backs to Thomas. The bells hanging from the door tinkled softly and Thomas looked kindly toward the shopkeeper expecting the customary greeting, but the old woman did not even acknowledge his presence with a glance. The three connoisseurs remained engaged in soft conversation as they carefully cradled tiny teacups producing little wisps of steam that rolled toward their lips.