Into Eden: Pangaea - Book 1 (44 page)

Seth looked down at Jesse, “There’s much more in the
Prophecies
than just prophecy. Much more. The Prophet has given us the words of God!”

“Don’t you mean, ‘gods?’” ask Perez.

“No. I mean, ‘God.’ The one and only.”

“That kind of talk can get you beheaded in Atlantis,” Perez replied.

“Truth is truth whether or not it’s popular—or legal.”

Perez said no more, but got up and walked over to the fire to warm himself.

“Your brother doesn’t get it, does he Jesse?” asked Seth.

“No,” answered Jesse, shaking his head. “And neither did I for the longest time.”

“It’s not polite to talk about someone in front of them,” Perez said.

“Dinner’s ready!” Rama called from the kitchen.

Chapter 23
Coming Home

The next day Jesse loaded Enoch into the chariot and the three of them headed back down the mountain road towards River Bend. For the first few miles the horses trudged through the snow as they had the previous day, but in an hour or so they discovered that the snow was melting rapidly as they descended to the lower, warmer lands above the Elmer River. In two hours they were clopping through the mud of a slippery descent. In three they could see the city far below and the road had begun to dry. By the time that they reached River Bend that afternoon they found the tropical city buzzing with activity as the river trade was back to its normal, hectic, boisterous, self.

The three picked an inn close to the Elmer, a place called the “Riverfront” which was marginally better than the Dirty Lady (no dogfights) where they had stayed on their first visit. Jesse was able to book passage on a riverboat leaving for Whitehurst the next morning. It took a good portion of their dwindling funds to arrange transport for the two boys, two horses, a dog and a chariot, but the river passage to Whitehurst would cut their trip upriver by many days, and time was of the essence. The bull-heads working the docks were the last an-nef that the three would see in a long time as an-nef didn’t dare venture north of River Bend—they knew where they weren’t wanted. As the boat left the dock Jesse looked back and thought that barely a year ago he had only heard of an-nef in stories. Now these people were as common as, well, people.

The ship’s captain didn’t like Jesse taking Enoch into his cabin. He didn’t like having a dog on board, in fact. But an extra denarius and the captain forgot about his prohibition and Jesse made Enoch as comfortable as he could. Jesse was starting to worry about his uncle and friend. He rarely talked any more, and on occasion when Enoch was startled he might just let out a “yip” instead of the old, “Watch where you’re going, sheep brains!” that Jesse had grown so accustomed to. It was as if the weaker that Enoch’s host became, the more that Enoch yielded its mind back to it.

The passage to Whitehurst took two weeks, and when they arrived Jesse was excited because they were now just three days by chariot to Albion. If the gods willed, and Enoch could hold on, they would be back at home in time for Enoch to get a new host. Gods, let it be so!

The three only spent one night in Whitehurst, and were on the Southern Highway before the sun came up the next day. Not even Perez complained. He recognized that Enoch was failing fast, and privately he doubted that they could make it on time. The first night out of Whitehurst they slept beside the river. The second night they were fortunate enough to find a farmer that let them bed down in his barn for the evening for a few coppers. By late the next afternoon they were still making good time in the chariot and Jesse thought that they might make it all the way to Albion by the next day when Enoch took a turn for the worse. He had stopped eating completely the day before, and now he slipped into a coma. They were so close, Jesse thought, so close.

Jesse urged the horses on, pushing them hard. In the distance, off to his left he could see a large estate.

“See that estate?” he asked Perez.

“Yeah…what about it?”

“That used to be Enoch’s.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope. He told me about it on our way south. Enoch’s son lives there now.”

“Enoch has a son?”

“Lots of them, I suppose.”

“Why doesn’t he ever talk about them?”

“They’re estranged.”

“All of them?”

“I guess so.”

“Man, that’s sad,” Perez concluded.

Many people have speculated about what a comatose person can really comprehend. Are they just sleeping? Do they dream? Or can they, at some level that we cannot yet understand, process information though incapable of acting on it. The correct answer is probably, “Which person?” “Which coma?” But when deep in Enoch’s subconscious the words, “Enoch’s son” resonated on his fading mind he began to stir, and for the first time in several days, to speak.

“Stooooooop…” Enoch whispered.

“Enoch! You’re talking!” replied Jesse, excitedly.

“Stooooooop” Enoch said again.

“We can’t stop, now, Enoch. We’ll be home in another day. We have to get you there so that you can leap to your new host.”

“Please stop, Jesse,” Enoch pleaded. “Please. I’m not going to make it. I want to see my son one more time before I’m gone. Please, Jesse, I’m begging you, stop.”

“Okay Enoch. I’ll do as you ask.”

Jesse backed off on the reigns and turned the chariot into the long drive that led to Enoch’s old estate. They pulled up in a circular drive and Perez got out and tied the horses to a hitching post.

Jesse bent over and asked Enoch, “What’s your son’s name?”

“Solomon.”

Jesse walked as fast as he could to the main house, but his hip was hurting him badly and he limped the whole way. He hesitated briefly, and then knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again, this time a bit harder. He was about to knock a third time when a matronly woman with gray hair came to the door.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I am Jesse, of the house of Nashon. I’ve come to speak with Solomon, of the house of Enoch.”

The woman turned, and then yelled down the hall, “Solomon! Someone here to see you!”

In a minute a man as tall as Jesse appeared at the door. He was blonde, blue-eyed, and looked enough like Jesse for the two of them to be brothers, except the man was two-hundred, if he was a day.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“I am Jesse, of the house of Nashon. You are Solomon, of the house of Enoch?”

“Yes.”

“Your father is out in my chariot and wishes to speak with you.”

Suddenly the man’s face changed from curious to anger.

“My father is dead.”

“I know,” Jesse replied, “and his host is near death as well. He’s pleading to speak to you one last time.”

Solomon hesitated for a long minute. So long, in fact, that Jesse was about to repeat himself when finally Solomon replied, “Okay,” and stepped out on the porch with Jesse. Jesse just pointed toward the chariot.

“I think that he wants to speak to you in private.”

Solomon walked to the chariot slowly, as if he were walking to his own execution. He approached the chariot with caution. In the back was a large black dog, apparently asleep, and wheezing badly.

“Hello,” he said at last.

Enoch slowly opened his eyes, “Solomon, is that you?”

“Yes Father.” Solomon was surprised at how easily the word “Father” slipped out.

“I’m dying, Solomon. I do not expect to see the sunrise, and I’ve come to apologize.”

Solomon was feeling himself starting to choke up. He knew the things that Enoch must apologize for, but he said anyway, “For what?”

“For being a bad father. For being a bully and being selfish. For not treating you or your mother right. For not taking you lion-hunting.” At that Enoch began to cough. Exhausted, he closed his eyes and said no more.

Solomon reached into the chariot and petted the dog. “I forgive you Father. You take it easy, now. I’ll tell Mother what you said.”

Enoch had slipped back into his coma. When Solomon saw that he was not going to awaken, he went back to the porch where Jesse stood talking to Perez.

“Why doesn’t he have a new host?” Solomon asked Jesse accusingly.

“Because he got sick when we were away!” Perez interrupted.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Is he gone?” Jesse asked.

“No.” Solomon shook his head. He’s sleeping. But he doesn’t think that he has much more time. Try to get him across the border to your father’s estate if you can.”

“We will,” Jesse replied.

“It would be easier if we had fresh horses,” Perez spoke up.

“By all means,” Solomon replied. “Help me get them harnessed.”

The three men swapped out the horses and Jesse drove the chariot back down the driveway toward the Southern Highway at a trot. Darkness was closing in, and they had a long way to go.

Tamar walked out on the balcony of her bedroom clothed in a thick bathrobe with a fox-fur collar. It was just after four bells and she could see her breath in the cold fall air. She hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks and every morning about this time she would wake and walk out to the balcony to look south toward the Territories. Her son was out there somewhere. Jesse had to be. She remembered the last time that she had seen him. Still mending from his wounds at the hands of the an-nef and barely able to dress himself. Oh, perhaps she had been a bit controlling with him. But a mother had a right to be, didn’t she? That didn’t mean that she didn’t love him. It just meant that she knew what was best. At ninety he could hardly be expected to appreciate the ways of the world, why….

Tamar felt a tear role down her cheek and she wiped it away. She did fear for Jesse. With every passing day that he did not return the realization that he would not return became more of a certainty. His life was over before it had hardly begun. That thought stung her and she felt herself starting to lose control. But she would not lose control! She was a strong woman and she wasn’t about to have the servants awakened by her squawking! No! She…she…she banged her fists on the railing and then let it come. She was bawling like a baby and whimpering like a child and she couldn’t stop herself. The thought that at two-hundred and seventy-five she was now both a widow and childless was more that she could bear. “Poor Jesse!” she sobbed. “Poor, poor Jesse! What did those wretched an-nef do to you?” The loss of her youngest was now so sure that she could feel her heart ache for him. “Poor, poor Jesse!”

Down the hall one of the servant girls hurried toward Tamar’s bedroom, candle in hand. She knocked lightly on the door.

“Mam, are you alright?”

“Go away!” Tamar yelled back. There! She had done it! She had lost control and her servant heard her do it. The servants would be whispering about her behind her back today, sure enough. She could hear it now, “Tamar’s been bawling her eyes out over the loss of her son!” When that thought crossed her mind again she collapsed on the balcony and began to bawl again. “Jesse! Jesse! My poor Jesse!” she said over and over.

Had Tamar opened her eyes she could have seen that all across the mansion candles were being lit in bedrooms as servants and some of her late husband’s other widows were awakened by her breakdown. Soon the sobbing would stop, and the wailing would begin. There was no consoling her now. Jesse was gone and he was not coming back.

Tamar’s wailing went on for perhaps half an hour. Outside her room other servants, also carrying candles, gathered to discuss what to do. None of them was brave enough to open the door, so in the end they just tiptoed away and pretended that they were never there.

Tamar wailed until she was hoarse from wailing. Too exhausted to even sit up, she lay prostrate on the balcony, still staring toward the south. The sun was now almost up, and she was distracted momentarily from her grief and self-pity as the morning light reflected off a white insignia on a speeding chariot.

She sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes. Who could possibly be approaching at this hour of the morning? As the chariot drew closer she could see that it was driven by two men. The one at the reins looked like…looked like…Jesse?

Tamar pulled herself up by the balcony railing, cinched up the belt of her bathrobe and ran for the bedroom door. By the time that she was down the stairs and into the courtyard the chariot was through the gate, but still speeding. She looked, but couldn’t believe her swollen eyes! Yes, it was Jesse.

“Jesse!” she yelled, but her prodigal son ignored her pleas, driving the horses at full gallop between the stable and the barn.