Wind in the Hands (19 page)

The stars were shining brightly, cool wind blowing. The Stranger loved the desert, dissolved in it becoming a part of it and felt free and powerful.

“How much longer we have to walk?” the girl broke the silence.

“Not so long. The way will take about seven hours, but we’re halt soon,” the Stranger calmed her down.

“I cannot walk for so long. I’ve never walked so much in my life!” she was perplexed.

“Even if I have to carry you, we must reach the tunnel before daylight. I don’t know why, but we must hurry,” the Stranger stared at the sky.

“What tunnel?”

“A concealed mine. In ancient times, the habitants escaped through the tunnel out of the besieged City,” he explained. “Are you afraid of closed space?”

“I am.”

“Never mind. I’ll take your hand, and when passing through a checkpoint grip hold of my shirt and pass on with your eyes closed.”

“It was a joke. For one who did not live it is not frightful to die, but one who lives will never die,” she cited a saying by one of the Prince’s follower.

“Have you heard of the Prince?” the Stranger was surprised.

“Everybody’s heard. I like him, though not always understand. Tell me, why he didn’t take pay for curing sick people, though he had often no money on him? Why did he risk life? Why didn’t he use violence against his enemies? Why didn’t he break out of the country? After all, he could do that, but met death, which he was very afraid of. I’ve read, he even was crying before he died. Who stole his body? Or, he revived, indeed? Why are so many villains amongst his followers?”

While listening, the Stranger slackened the pace.

“Indeed,” he shook his head. “You have read books, to put it mildly, not recommended for average reader.”

“I used to read a lot, loved poetry.

‘I’m ashamed that I believed in God

Bitter to me that I do not believe now…’

This is about me. I believed in God, but through folly got in touch with the Snake, fell in love with him, but he got me hooked on drugs and got me a place with the Bumblebee to cheat mugs. There was no God. But you can’t think me on the street to make love with any gutters. Can you tell me about the Prince?”

“Sure. But first, I’ll answer your questions. The Prince was a healer and helped everybody without charge. Doctors did not treat beggar, but he proved to the world that the poor will receive healing the rich cannot buy for money. The Prince cured with power, with gift from above. And gift should be given for nothing. Isn’t it? Risked life, because he had a mission. It is far more important than life itself. Your former companions ran the risk too. A drunkard and a drug user risk not half! For what? For a dubious pleasure leading to hung-over? And he ran a danger for the sake of the truth and rescue of people. He could not leave the country because he exemplified courage and faith. The murder of the Prince shocked and shook many people. This is the God’s plan. Do you know how many feats followed the suit? And he comprehended something very important under torture and execution, gained experience that helps to understand pain and fear the other people suffer. He was left face to face with this world, without divine shelter. He couldn’t feel presence of God, while for such people this is the end of the world. That is why he was crying. Still, the Prince roughed it. His body was not stolen, rather it was changed, maybe replaced by more perfect one, and, of course, not people, however, I’m not aware of technical. All that I know for sure is that he is alive and acting. Villains… doesn’t matter how they call themselves, or how the others call them. Their essence matters. Their thoughts and deeds speak for the only thing: not only they are not his followers, but enemies. And when he comes, purification will start with the house under the sign ’Prince’s House’.”

The travelers talked away time, they walking having thrown fatigue to the wind. All of a sudden, the Stranger stopped and seized the girl by the arm. He looked somewhere into the distance and saw strange shadow figures. Tall extended forms were moving fast and smoothly dead towards them.

The Stranger stood motionless trying to find whether it was a mirage. He had been to the desert a great many of times, but seen nothing of the kind. Reality lost its shape, the sky hung out over him, the air got dense, sand viscous. The Stranger looked towards the moving figures and could not believe in the events. He found the right state: you mustn’t be afraid; instead, you should take another reality for a dream, not to ‘hover’, but pass by as if you were a passer-by, a spectator, so as not to go mad. But if you seek more, you should go beyond the limits of your consciousness, believe that you belong to other reality, and then you will be a participant rather than a spectator.

“I’m not afraid!” he said to himself and made several steps towards the horror.

“Who is that?” the girl asked cuddling to him.

“She can see them too. May not withstand”, the Stranger thought, his blood running cold.

He already could see the well-defined silhouettes: three very tall figures of almost the same height. Clothing (apparently, making the integral whole with the bodies) was of unusual style, black or dark grey. They were approaching inexorably. Troublesome music sounded in his temples. The Stranger remembered about amulets and numerous altars in the Silencers’ desert. Whether those legends of yore about daemons of the desert were based on reality?

“I’m scared, I’m scared so much. I cannot move,” the girl whispered, trembling all over.

“Close your eyes,” the Stranger said stiffly. “Don’t look. Do not look at them under any circumstance. They intend no harm on us. They are just a desert mirage. Don’t be afraid. Do not be afraid of nothing. God’s power is on me.”

He took her by hand and stared at them. He felt interest; curiosity is not a vice, but very dangerous trait.

“No fear. No fear. His power with me. Wind, come! Creator, give me powers, do not leave me!” He felt just faint breathing of the Wind, but that was enough to look at them fearlessly.

The girl closed her eyes tightly and buried herself in the Stranger’s shirt, convulsively throwing her arms around him.

The Stranger saw one of them cast a glance on him: a scornful masque on a pale yellow, unnatural, inhuman face. The rest even did not take a look towards them and walked by right off.

He was torn by conflicting emotions. He couldn’t explain what he saw. That was not a mirage, but unexplainable terrifying reality. And you must either forget about it and erase out of memory, or take it for fact. Certainly, the Stranger chose the latter, but his unprepared mentality could not cope with the ordeal that fell to him: he felt like screaming and running for his life from that place. He looked back and at the sight of the girl lying low on the sand he felt ashamed. The Bird opened her eyes and muttered: “I cannot go, leave me here.”

Chapter 29.The Hermit

In the Silencers’ desert a legendary old man lived. They called him the Hermit. Many years ago, he left the world to occupy one of the caves of the mountain hermitage. People in the vicinity venerated him as if he were a man of God. The Stranger met him by chance: he walked into the Hermit’s dwelling when examining the caves in search of ancient artifacts.

He was met by an austere wrinkled, very tall old man with white beard.

“Peace to Thee, wanderer!” he said. “Go up to mine. I’ve prepared tea for you to give strength and vigor.”

“And peace to you. How could you see me? I’ve come from outside the mountain,” the Stranger was surprised.

“I’ve seen you long before,” and without another word, he threw down a rope ladder…

The Hermit always met the Stranger with sweet-scented tea, in a mysterious way knowing the time when the guest visited him even after several years of absence. And the Stranger had no better place to have a rest, though sometimes he used to stay in expensive hotels. Their meetings were always fruitful. The Hermit showed him hidden caves, masked tunnels, crawlways, helped him to find invaluable artifacts and treasures. In the evenings, the friends lighted fuses of lamps handmade of clay and filled with oil, prayed, discussed sacred books. The Stranger often argued against the Hermit, still holding him in respect. The Hermit always cried when was saying good-by to the guest and asked for visiting more often.

After release from prison, the Stranger came to the Hermit; there were nobody who waited for him. Every day, while imprisoned in a one-man cell, he recollected the old man’s prophecy. “You will be alone for a year, you’ll be speaking to yourself, because you’ll have no person to talk to, still the God hears you and he won’t leave you, and after those days you’ll become a great person. You’ll be a man of spirit to see the Truth. The Stranger of the last way inspired by the God’s breathing will come to the City to implement the ancient destiny. He will be in glory and power to drive away horror and fear”.

For two hours, he was carrying the girl on his back, washed out came up to the cave of his best and, in the event, the only friend.

“Hermit, it’s me! I need your help. Help me!” the Stranger called out.

A familiar form was not slow to emerge in the opening.

“I have been waiting for you, Stranger. I have been waiting… your tea is ready. Climb up!” the old man responded joyfully.

“I’m not alone, I’ve brought a girl, and she feels bad,” the Stranger slapped her slightly in the cheek. “Bird! We must get up.”

She mumbled something in response. The Stranger jumped onto the rope ladder holding the girl’s hand tight. The Hermit threw down the rope with straps to help her get up.

The Stranger, faint with fatigue, laid the Bird onto the wooden bed, and fell down the floor, burying himself in fresh sheepskins emitting sharp odor. His heart was beating frantically, his head swirling. “Now, it’s going to be all right”, he tried to persuade himself.

The old man brought the tea smelling of smoke, cakes, and thick honey. He looked at the girl, sighed heavily, raised slightly her head and gave her to drink the hot tea. The Stranger who came to life recovered his breath and thanked the God for bread (he did not want to offend the man safeguarding blessings jealously) and attacked the food.

The old man looked at him with sympathetic tenderness, then dropped:

“You have changed, Stranger. Much wisdom and much grief in you, man.”

“Waters of life were flowing, Hermit, many things were taken away, many things were brought.”

“I have been waiting for you. Now, you’re a man of spirit.”

“I’m just a leaf in the wind. It is not my coming to be waited for, but our Prince. He is to come. He promised.”

The Hermit’s eyes were dimmed with tears, and he shook his head sadly.

“Can I see him? I wish I would live to see.”

“Sooner or later, you will see him. Do not hurry, my friend, everything is God’s will. I need to get to the City. Your prophecy is coming true. But I go not for fame or greatness. Fame and death go hand in hand, but I want to live. I love life whatever it is. But I’m a servant of God, and my fate is in His hands. I’ll do everything I must… May I leave the girl with you? She shouldn’t go with me until she gains strength. She is scared to death, and, in earnest, I got a fright too.”

“Have seen something?” the old man screwed up his eyes cunningly. “Spirits of the desert? You have never believe in them, and even chaffed with me.”

“They were not spirits, Hermit,” the Stranger stared at one point.

“So, who they were? People? You were frightened by children of bones, haven’t you?” the Hermit looked at him attentively.

“They were not people, Hermit. They were not people, yet, I don’t know who they were,” he shuddered and shook off all stupor.

The old man was gimleting him with gaze, then started back abruptly, turned pale, leaned against the cold wall of the cave, kept silence for a minute, and then uttered in a low voice,

“They’re already here.”

“Who?”

“Alien people. The predictions of great prophets are being fulfilled, which vaticinated invasion of aliens,” the rhetorical language of sacred books confused the Stranger who preferred modern speech patterns. The Hermit often was talking to the characters of ancient scriptures as if they lived in his cave. He admired them, held up as an example, or even reproached some of them.

“What does it mean, Hermit?” the Stranger asked.

“You’ll see this in the City,” the old man answered mystically.

“I’m not strong enough to stand against them. Nobody can withstand them.”

“A man cannot, but God can. You have a gift, you can win with it. But you must know: if you don’t hold power, they’ll destroy you, and the defeat will tell on the result of the coming battle between light and darkness.”

“What dreadful words you say! If I can influence anything, then we’re sure to lose!” the Stranger exclaimed. “I cannot govern this power. I call for it, sometimes it responds to certain words, and manifests itself, but sometimes these words do not work out like an obsolete code. I never know for sure, whether it will come or not. Sometimes, the Wind appears itself, without any apparent reason. If I face them, I have to find the right code instantly, otherwise I’ll be powerless.”