From the Mouth of Elijah

by Bryan Davis

  Her respirations shallow and fast, Lauren focused on a flaming leaf. “This isn’t just a spiritual thing. I touched one of the flames. It’s real. It burns.”

  As any fire does. It would be foolish to intentionally touch a normal flame, but this is holy fire from the tree of life. To those who lack faith, it is a consuming flame that destroys, but to those who embrace it with faith, it is a purging fire that cleanses and raises to new life. Have faith, my precious friend. Jehovah-Yasha wants to enfold you in his flaming arms.

  Keeping her eyes open, Lauren sucked in a breath, walked between two branches, and grasped a burning cluster of leaves in each hand. The flames burned her skin, but she held on. Heat roared up her arms and across her back. Quaking violently, she cried out, “It … it hurts. Oh, it hurts so much!”

  Be brave, Lauren. The fire purges your sin, not your life. Hold on!

  Gasping for breath, Lauren closed her eyes and shouted, “Jehovah-Yasha!”

  The heat ebbed. The pain eased. Lauren blinked at the tree. The scene with Sapphira had vanished. Tongues of fire brushed against her cheeks and chin, but they felt warm and soothing rather than hot.

  She stepped back and rubbed her cheek. No burns at all. “I feel …” She took in a deep breath. “Lighter?”

  Ah! An excellent word! Joan zipped around in front of Lauren’s nose like an excited puppy. Fears are vanquished!

  “Fears …” Lauren looked toward the portal. Beyond it lay the sleeping mats outside the museum room where the wandering spirit had spoken to her, though they were no longer visible. “I don’t have to fear Hell anymore.”

  Not Hell or anything else. And such fearlessness is freedom to walk in whatever path God leads you, even a lava field.

  “Will fire not hurt me now?”

  Joan’s light blinked red. You are not invulnerable to normal flames, if that’s what you mean. Lava can still kill you, but continue to trust that this walk of faith on the lava field will not.

  Lauren dropped to a knee, untied her boot, and jerked it off, then repeated the process with the other boot. After peeling off her damp socks, she rose again and wiggled her toes as she looked at Joan. “I’m ready.”

  Joan glowed blue from within her glassy shell. So be it. The holy ground awaits.

  Chapter 19

  TRAILBLAZER

  As Lauren walked from the tree to the Second Eden portal, she eyed the boundary. The rectangular opening had stayed the same size, giving more evidence that the museum room portals didn’t shrink over time as others did.

  She picked up her night-vision goggles and helmet from atop the backpack and put them on, leaving the goggles dangling at her chest. After removing the clothing, tools, and other items from the pack, she pushed Apollo into the main pocket, zipped it up, and hoisted the straps over her shoulders. It wasn’t much to carry, but having her hands free might be helpful later.

  Taking a deep breath, she lifted a foot to vault onto the grass-covered lava field. When the heat rose to her bare sole, she stopped.

  Do not waver! Joan called. He that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.

  “Okay. Here goes.” Lauren jumped and landed with both feet on the dark field. Instantly, a sharp burning sensation shot into her soles. She bent her knees to jump back.

  No! Joan’s light burst like a camera flash. Do not trust in fears! Panic is the devil’s work. Trust in God.

  Gasping for breath, Lauren lifted a foot. The skin stuck to the ground and peeled away. Bullets of pain ripped up her leg and spine, sending jolts of torture pounding into her head.

  Walk, Joan ordered. Keep moving until the trial is complete.

  Lauren gritted her teeth, growling, “What kind of torturer are you?”

  Walk! Standing still will be your death!

  Lauren set her foot down and lifted the other. It, too, stuck and peeled. More pain sent horrific spasms up her calves. Sweat poured down her arms. Her scales tingled wildly. What did the path behind her look like? A layer of her skin spread across the grass and lava? Gasping, she whispered, “No turning. No looking back.”

  As she took step after step, more skin peeled, resulting in new pain, though less with each repetition. Soon, the spasms eased. The grass underneath felt soft and cool. A breeze dried the sweat, bringing relief to her entire body.

  You may stop. Your trial is complete. You may now view what has been accomplished.

  Lauren stopped and looked back. Footprints of blood and skin marked her path from the portal, still open with the tree clearly visible.

  Joan floated several inches in front of her nose. How do you feel?

  “Good.” Lauren lifted a foot and looked at the sole. The skin was fresh, pink, and unharmed. “It was terrible. I felt it burning and peeling my skin.”

  Yet, you are healed.

  “But I wasn’t before. I burned. It hurt like crazy.” She lowered her foot and pointed at the trail of flesh and blood. “There’s proof.”

  Proof indeed. Undeniable proof. As Joan’s eyelets blinked, soft blue light flowed like mist. Lauren, this is the story of the Christ, the theme of life itself. We are of the light, so we sacrifice. We give of ourselves. We burn and let others bask in the warmth of our glow. Their joy brings us joy. Oracles of Fire burn in the flames of selfless service, and unlike the tree of life, our bodies are consumed. We suffer. We die. Our physical lives are but seeds that fall to the ground and perish, but they sprout and grow to life eternal. And our new bodies? Her light flashed brightly. Oh, mon amie! Our new bodies are like the tree! We blossom and never wither. We burn but are never consumed. We lift up our fiery hands in praise to the king of all, Jesus the Christ! And the evidence of our sacrifice remains, bloody footprints that will never wash away, a path to guide other newly created oracles. For those who feel the fire burning within will need a guiding lamp. They will be afraid, because they will look around themselves and see that no one understands. Their friends and peers are following the idols of the world, lacking vision, blinded by selfish pleasures destined to perish. Seekers of truth know there is a deeper walk, a holy calling, but unless they are able to see the trail that others have blazed, they will not know how to take those first painful, fiery steps, the walk of faith that cleanses the soul.

  Joan let out a long sigh. The steps that you have now taken.

  Lauren stared again at her bloody footprints. The wetness sparkled in the light of the moon. Joan’s words were so amazing, so filled with meaning. They rang like bells chiming news of liberation. A cleansed soul! How wonderful the feeling! Now everything Micaela had done made so much more sense. She always seemed to go against the flow. It felt so good when Micaela sat down next to her at lunch when no one else bothered to talk to the new girl from Nashville, the girl who seemed to glow in the dark. Micaela didn’t care what other people thought, whether they rolled their eyes at the cross she wore around her neck or whispered derisively about the Bible she kept in her backpack. And now …

  Lauren bit her lip hard. And now Micaela was dead, the victim of a blazing explosion. Because of her kindness, her willingness to be a friend to a strange girl, she became the victim of her own fiery ordeal. She had blazed a trail of sacrifice. Maybe now she was an Oracle of Fire.

  “So …” Lauren swallowed to loosen her throat. “So does that mean I’m an Oracle of Fire now?”

  Perhaps. You have merely burned your feet. An Oracle of Fire must be burned body and soul, at least in her willingness to be a living sacrifice. At the tree of life, the fire burned and purified your soul, but your body remains.

  Lauren shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Of course you lack understanding. You have a long journey left to walk. Joan nuzzled Lauren’s cheek and floated to her ear, whispering, Lauren, I have spoken to you plainly, and I have given you sound wisdom, but I will not always be so straightforward. You have taken a baby’s first steps, and I have held your hand. A time wi
ll come when I must release your hand, for a child never learns to walk on her own while clutching a supporting finger. Yet, I will always be here when you need me. You might stumble in your ignorance, but I will never let you fall.

  Lauren nodded. “Okay. I get that.” She turned and met the little egg’s gaze. Joan was right. She had been a mother guiding a baby. It was about time the little girl grew up. “We’d better find that portal.”

  Joan’s glow pulsed. We will need transportation.

  “I heard a whistle when the portal opened.” Lauren scanned the sky. With most of the nearby trees leveled, the horizon was easy to see. Mount Elijah loomed to the north with only a few puffs of smoke rising from its ragged cone. Nearly all the other smoke had blown away, leaving a clear sky in every direction. “I was hoping to find a dragon who could fly us to the Valley of Shadows. Abaddon said we would need a winged transport to get to the cave there.”

  I suggest calling for one. Abaddon mentioned Karrick, Albatross, and Grackle.

  “Right, and he said the latter two weren’t as smart. I think I’ll call Karrick.”

  Perhaps you should call all three. Who can tell which one will be close enough to hear you?

  “Good point.” Lauren cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted toward the volcano, “Karrick! Albatross! Grackle! Can you hear me? I need help!”

  She waited, listening. Her scales still tingled, providing excellent hearing. Even the sizzle of cooling lava rose to her ears—a hiss that sounded like a long gasp for breath.

  Cupping her hands again, she turned in the opposite direction and called again. “Karrick? Anyone?”

  Whirring emanated from somewhere in the field. Lauren pulled up her goggles and looked toward the sound. The form of an elongated airplane took shape about a hundred feet away. With dark colors blending into a dark background, it would be invisible to the naked eye, but the goggles provided good contrast. Why would an airplane be here?

  A beam flicked on. Near the center of the airplane, an open hatch created a stairway leading to the ground. A man stood there, holding a flashlight. “Who is out there?”

  Lauren pulled down the goggles and turned on her helmet light. She shouted, “Lauren Bannister!”

  “Bonnie’s daughter?” He shone the light on her face, making her squint again. “How can you stand in the lava field?” The beam drifted down to her feet. “And barefooted!”

  “Well, that’s hard to explain. I—”

  “Never mind.” He waved an arm. “Come on in. Let’s talk.”

  Lauren walked gingerly toward the hospital. Although heat rushed into her clothes, nearly blistering her ankles, it seemed to have no effect on her feet. As she drew closer, she whispered to Joan, “Hide in my hair. It’s best to avoid questions for now.”

  I agree. Joan pushed into her hair, nudging upward until she squeezed under the helmet.

  When Lauren arrived, the man extended a hand, guided her up the narrow stairway, and ushered her inside. As the stairs lifted to a repeat of the whirring sound, a bank of ceiling lights came to life. The man extended his hand. “Matthew Conner. Bonnie’s father.” He averted his eyes for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “Your grandfather.”

  She gripped his hand, then slid her arms around him and gave him a hug. “I’m glad to meet you.”

  When they drew apart, she tilted her head. “My brother’s name is Matthew.”

  “Yes, I know.” He scratched through a mane of unkempt reddish hair, gray at the sides. “Walter assigned it to him during the cover-up operation. He thought it might throw the Enforcers off with a name that was too obvious, if that makes any sense.”

  “It makes sense. Sort of.” Lauren glanced around the corridor. It led to a dark, wider room in both directions. Two beds were visible near the edge of one room, though it was too dark to see if they had occupants. “What is this place?”

  “Second Eden’s mobile hospital, and I am its resident doctor and part-time pilot. We are in the main vestibule, and we have two dorm areas for patients, one to the front and one to the rear. The pilot’s cockpit lies beyond the dorm to the front.” Dr. Conner gestured with an arm toward the beds. “Let me show you the rear dorm. I’m sure at least one of our patients won’t mind waking up to meet you.”

  “That would be great.”

  He reached for her helmet. “May I take that for you?”

  She dodged his hand. “No. It’s fine. Thanks.”

  “Okay.” A flash of puzzlement crossed his face. “Follow me.” When they reached the room, he touched a switch on the wall. Lights flickered on—dim, but bright enough to see twenty beds, ten on each side of the room with one or more people lying on each one. “I won’t leave the lights on very long. We’re running out of fuel for our generator, and the ground is too hot to get more. When it cools, we’ll be able to fill up again.”

  Dr. Conner touched the foot of someone lying on the closest bed. “Irene, look who’s here.”

  A sheet pulled down from the pillow, revealing a woman with cheeks and forehead so wrinkled, her emaciated face looked no better than skin on a skull. She raised a thin arm and pushed bony fingers through a ragged mop of gray, frizzy hair. She blinked her cadaverous eyes and spoke in a weak whisper. “Who is she?”

  “Lauren Bannister. Well, she was Karen Bannister at birth. Now she’s Lauren, Bonnie’s daughter.”

  “Our granddaughter?” Her gaze darted past Lauren. “She’s even wearing a backpack like Bonnie used to.”

  “Yes.” Dr. Conner gestured with a hand. “Lauren, this is Irene, my wife.”

  Lauren gave her a friendly nod. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  The woman’s leathery lips bent into a weak smile. “I’d love to give you a kiss, dear, but I know how hideous I look.”

  Hiding a cringe, Lauren stepped closer. “It’s okay.” She bent over and kissed Irene’s cheek and turned her head to receive a return kiss. Irene’s lips felt dry and fragile, barely able to pucker.

  As Lauren drew back, she took note of a framed photo sitting on a nightstand. Dr. Conner stood with his arm around a lovely woman, both wearing diving wet suits. With blonde hair and toned body, she looked nothing like the ravaged woman in the bed.

  Joan’s thoughts seeped through. Lauren, you have such a tender heart. Kissing that poor woman would have made many girls shudder, yet you did so without hesitation.

  Lauren shifted her eyes toward the helmet. You can see her?

  I peeked. But I was in no danger of being seen.

  Dr. Conner pulled the sheet up and combed his hand through Irene’s hair. “Go back to sleep now, dearest. I’m going to show Lauren what I’m working on.” He kissed her on the lips. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

  Irene settled into her pillow and closed her eyes. With a smile on her face, her breathing eased into a deep and steady rhythm.

  Lauren tried to count the people. Two to three children slept in some of the beds and only one in others, making it hard to be sure of the numbers. “Are you the only caretaker here?”

  “Oh, no. Not at all.” He rose and, guiding Lauren by the elbow, walked farther into the room, whispering, “I have some experienced helpers. Steadfast, Pearl, Candle, and Windor, to name a few. Also some of the mothers of the children. Steadfast and Pearl are on duty in the front dorm while the other medical aides sleep.”

  “When do you sleep?”

  “I take a catnap now and then, but I don’t see how I can really sleep until I complete my research.”

  “Research?”

  Still walking slowly, he waved a hand across the beds. “Many of the sleepers are refugees, women and children who escaped before the eruption. Some are anthrozils who have a parasitic disease that came from the volcano and is now eating away at their energy receptors.” He gave her a questioning look. “I assume you know about anthrozils.”

  She nodded. “And I heard about the disease. It affects the anth
rozils who became completely human.”

  “Correct. And since they are completely human, I assumed they didn’t have any energy receptors, so I neglected to look for them. But once I began looking, I isolated a few dozen and found the parasite after several trials. I have dubbed it ‘batholith,’ which is a volcanic rock formation that has melted and intruded into other strata.”

  “That name seems appropriate.” She caught a glimpse of a woman with a face equally as withered as Irene’s. “Are you working on a cure?”

  “Most definitely.” When they reached the end of the room, he opened a door, touched a switch that turned off the light, and guided her into another room. He flicked on a flashlight and shone it at a table covered with beakers, bottles, and a Bunsen burner with a tube leading to a floor-standing propane tank. The burner’s low flame heated a beaker half filled with green liquid.

  Dr. Conner touched a laptop on the table and sat on a stool. Several open program windows flashed to life on the screen, each one filled with scrolling lines of labels and numbers. “The overhead lights consume too much energy to risk using, but I can show you what I’m doing.” He lit a desk lamp and patted another stool at his side.

  When Lauren settled on it, he swept his beam across the laboratory instruments. “I have been trying to replicate a computer model of a parasite that will cannibalize the batholith parasite infecting Irene and five others—Dallas, Elise, Kaylee, Jordan, and Jared. We think Tamara also has it, but that hasn’t been confirmed.”

  “Are they all as sick as your wife … I mean, my grandmother?”

  He gave her a gracious smile. “Most are. Jordan is the sickest. Just this evening, we nearly lost her. I don’t think she’ll live through the night. The others might last a day or two. I hear that Jared is doing the best, but even he is faltering and is trying to get here in time for the treatment I’m working on.” He slid the laptop closer and studied the display. “It’s as if the most recent eruption enhanced the symptoms, which makes sense. I think the volcanic material aids the parasite, so when it spread through the air, our patients ingested it and fed batholith, you might say, a dose of vitamins.”