Late that evening, after each had taken time to sit alone and think, they bundled up in whatever clothes they could find and went out to the meadow to watch the stars. Saul brought along a Thermos full of piping hot cocoa, and he poured a little into each of their cups. The moon had set hours before, and the night sky glittered with a dizzying abundance of stars. Peter had never seen anything like it.
Saul adjusted his red hunting cap and gazed up at the Milky Way as it climbed the western sky, tilting gently rightward. A meteorite slashed across it, splitting the stars of the Northern Cross.
Davila joined him, her head tilted back with his, their profiles aligned. "It's always looked like smoke to me, like a fire burning in the distance." She wore an old ski suit from Saul's cellar, a one-piece affair from the '70s, forest green with red and yellow stripes across the chest. "The ancient Sumerians and Babylonians believed it was smoke from Ara, the Great Altar."
Saul set the Thermos down in the snow and received his cup of cocoa from Peter.
Davila said, "On summer nights, you can see the constellation Ara low in the Milky Way, just above the horizon." Her profile shifted a notch, a smile perhaps. "My mother used to tell me a story about it. Actually, it's from the oldest story ever written, the Epic of Gilgamesh."
They all listened as she spoke to the night sky.
Long ago, she told them, in Mesopotamia, the gods conspired to make a great flood that would wipe humanity and all its wickedness from the earth. But one of the gods, Enki, took pity and warned the righteous King Utnapishtim of the coming flood. Enki counseled the king to make a great ship and load it with all his kin and young animals of every kind. The flood raged for twelve days, stranding the ship on the peak of Mount Nimush. Opening a hatch, King Utnapishtim released a dove, then a swallow, but both birds soon returned. Then he released a raven, and when it did not return, the king knew there was land beyond the mountain, that the flood had receded. And from that day forward, people honored the salvation of humanity by burning sacrifices at the Great Altar, Ara, whose smoke is seen in the Milky Way.
Finished, Davila wetted her lips with a sip of cocoa. "The story of Noah and the Ark is just an echo of this ancient myth."
Another meteorite streaked across the Milky Way, and they all gasped. It was so bright that for a moment the entire mountain stood painted in white light and jagged shadows.
Saul turned slowly to face the summit, muttering, a prayer perhaps. Demi wrapped herself tight in the thick Pendleton blanket she had brought with her.
Saul raised his cup to the Milky Way. "In ancient rabbinic tradition, it's called Nehar Di-Nur, the River of Fire. It's a pathway for angels and the righteous to pass between earth and heaven."
"My father's people believe the same thing," said Demi. "We call it the Dusty Trail. It's a road for spirits passing between earth and heaven. Wovoka said that God would clear the land of settlers and return all the Native dead. That's why people dance beneath the Milky Way, to guide the spirits home."
Peter cupped his hands around his hot cocoa, but he had lost his appetite for anything sweet. "I don't know about the dead coming back to life, but if Dr. Brisling's right, the land is about to be cleansed just like Wovoka said."
"Maybe Wovoka did see the future," said Saul. "People thought he had buhah, mystical power. But maybe he was just going off the Hebrew Bible." Removing his cap, he ran his fingers through his white hair. "Growing up in Idaho, I took a lot of abuse. The boys used to beat me up after school, urinate on me, call me a dirty Jew. I was a teenager when they liberated the death camps in Europe. None of my extended family made it out alive. And I remember reading the Bible back then, the Psalms about the wicked perishing and the meek inheriting the earth, and I thought to myself, we'll inherit the earth someday. We're the meek ones. I imagine Wovoka found a similar message in the Psalms." Saul donned his cap on and pulled down the earflaps one at a time. "But my God, I never thought it would actually happen."
"It wasn't supposed to. Not like this," said Peter.
From the smallest of seeds, the Kingdom of God. That was the promise of the Mustard Seeds, semina sinapis, divine knowledge of Seth, blueprints for a future world transformed by science and technology, free of want and strife. A promise for everyone.
Peter put his arm around Davila, and she rested her head against his shoulder.
Saul blew on his cocoa then took a little sip. "It's an old story, perhaps the oldest. Over and over, the gods destroy the world so better seeds can take root. That's what Jason Dayan told me, and I'm beginning to think he was right in that. I always thought our stories were made up, just myths we tell themselves to feel special, better than everyone else."
Peter pulled Davila close. The stars glimmered faintly in the sheen of her black hair. He kissed the top of her head. It was warm with her peculiar scent, rough and clean, like sun-bleached stone.
Saul clutched his cup in both hands. "But they're not myths. They're not stories at all. They're memories."
Twelve days later, in the waning afternoon, the four of them walked the summit road, climbing the barren ridge above Saul's meadow and taking in the whole of the mountain's western slope. A gentle snow had begun to fall. The big flakes drifted down, muffling the air, blurring the lines between near and far, earth and sky.
Saul wore his wool trousers, plaid coat and red hunting cap, earflaps deployed. Davila, dismayed by the constant cold, had taken to layering work coveralls over her green ski suit, topping it all off with a bushel of scarves. Somewhere beneath it all, she kept her pistol. Demi wore the drab wool of army surplus, her high-powered rifle slung over her shoulder, eyes sharp beneath the bill of a modern hunting cap. Peter had grown fond of a pair of old hiking boots and a full-length camel hair coat that had belonged to Demi's mother.
Saul scanned the mountainside, red cap swiveling from side to side. At length, he looked up into the snow-bright sky, squinting. "I don't imagine the doctor's coming back."
With each passing day, they had grown increasingly pessimistic about seeing Brisling again, or any chance of receiving a cure. Twice, a helicopter had gotten close to the meadow, but each time it had hovered for just briefly before banking away. The radio offered little solace. President Almerson had closed the US borders. Martial law had been declared in seventeen major cities, including Seattle.
As they stood on the ridge, a raven came sailing in low, near enough to hear its wings slice through the air. It alighted on a nearby boulder, cocked its head and eyed them warily.
Saul regarded the bird for a moment then toed the snow with his boot. "What do you two want us to do?"
"What do you mean?" said Peter.
Demi took out a pair of binoculars and scanned something in the distance. "He means if one of you gets sick. You might become dangerous."
Peter and Davila had tried to avoid the topic. Neither of them wanted to spoil what they had together in their little shed by the meadow, however ephemeral it might be. But Davila had grown increasingly fearful that she might be susceptible to JCAV. She was, after all, only half Jewish.
Saul toed the snow again. "So, what do you want me and Demi to do?"
Peter sighed. "Well, if I get sick, and I don't know where I am, or who I am, I suppose I don't really care what you do."
"We might have to . . . put you down." Saul had certainly put down horses in his day. It would be no different.
Davila pulled down the scarves covering her mouth, her lips flushed. Then she patted the front of her coveralls where she kept her gun. "I'll take care of myself."
Before Peter could object, the raven cawed. Then hopping across the boulder, it took flight, flapping a short distance before rolling over and plunging down toward the meadow below.
A split second later, they heard the rumble of an approaching airplane.
Demi swiveled her binoculars hard right. "I see it. It's military."
A huge gray airplane with four under-wing propellers approached from the north, lumbering just above the treetops. Mounted guns bristled from its side. They all scrambled to the boulder and crouched behind it. As the plane rumbled by, it banked slightly toward them. But its guns remained silent. Instead, a drogue chute fluttered out from the rear cargo hatch and broke loose. The plane flew on, leaving behind the blossom of a second parachute, big and white. Beneath it dangled a container, swaying gently as it drifted down to the meadow below.
"Maybe I was wrong about the doctor," said Saul.
Then they all ran down the road as fast as they could.
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Thank you for reading Chapter 48!
I realized the beginning of this chapter takes place at the peak of the Leonid meteor shower, so I had to include some shooting stars!
Please do comment.
Thank you.
-Frode
Image: Milky Way over Steens Mountain, courtesy of the U.S. Bureau of Land Management