Phoenix Without Ashes (16 page)

Putting down his fork, Aram said, “What is it?”

A pause, then: “How shall the world end?”

“Don’t you know, daughter? I’ve read the prophecy often enough over the cycles.” He looked thoughtful. “The Creator has decreed it; Cypress Corners shall be destroyed in fire.”

TWENTY-ONE

While Aram and his neighbors harvested the wheat, while Elders Jubal and Micah and a small army of conscripted searchers combed the northern hills of Cypress Corners, Devon slept atop his hill in the south.

The sun had risen into its first full frame as Devon reached the deer trail. The valley was fully awake before he gained the summit. The clear dawn air magnified and carried to him the morning sounds of animals and humans. He heard the clinking, metallic sound of calves nosing hungrily into grain buckets as though he stood there in the corrals himself.

Once upon the hilltop, he climbed behind the screening brush. Devon wrapped himself in the dark blue quilted comforter and ate a welcome breakfast of cheese and bread and apple. He left part of the core and tossed it aside for the birds.

It took only a few minutes to assemble a new bed of pine boughs. Still wound in the quilt, Devon lay down. Later, he didn’t remember even adjusting his body to reach a compromise with the contours of the pine bed. He fell asleep immediately.

Old Devon strode up the hill, burning as he walked. The flames curled around his limbs, fanned out from the long dark beard, yet his flesh was not consumed. His son sat up from a deeper sleep and watched him come. Old Devon approached close, but there was no smoke and no heat.

“Do not bend away from me. I cannot hurt you.”

“I know, Father.”

The old man sat down crosslegged, facing Devon. “It’s all very well that you’ve gotten back to Cypress Corners safely—but right now that’s a hollow achievement.”

“I know that too.”

“Micah will comb this land—he will let the balance of the harvest go hang—if only to catch you.”

“But why?” said Devon. “I don’t threaten him. Now that I know about the coming destruction of the Ark, all I want to do is help.”

His father said, “You can ask him that question yourself soon enough. My concern is that you live long enough to do something with the answer.”

“I’ll live—if only to take Rachel away from here.”

Old Devon smiled. “I wanted a spirited son. I’m pleased.” He stood and started back to the path. Over his shoulder, he said, “Now it’s all up to you.”

“Is that all?” Devon called.

The answer floated back from below the crest. “Love and friendship are handy, but count on yourself first.” The flames died away in the air.

Devon awoke in plenty of time to watch the hands straggle in from the fields at sundown.

TWENTY-TWO

“I should hate to die in fire,” said Rachel, shivering inside the makeshift tent they had made of the quilt.

Devon said, “The sphere projector assured me it would be very quick. Just an instant before we became ash.”

“Just the same, I would not like it. What time is it?”

Devon poked his head into the outer air. “Still at least two hours before moonset.”

“I must return soon. I’ve behaved badly at home and I think my mother suspects.”

“And Aram?”

“Don’t speak of him. If he knew, he would be standing above you with a scythe.”

Devon said, “If I fear any man, it’s he.”

“Not Elder Micah?”

Devon was silent for a while. “Him too.”

There was another lapse until Rachel said, “Tell me more of the ship and the world beyond this one.”

“What have I not told you?”

She retorted, “That is something
you
should know, not I.” She lightly tugged his ears.

“I’m not sure I can remember it all,” he said, “there was so much.” Devon lifted one end of the quilt again. “Look—see the stars?”

“Of course.”

“Watch them twinkle and wane, as commonplace as fireflies in the woods.”

“I like fireflies,” said Rachel.

Devon continued, slightly annoyed. “Think what it will be like when you see the real stars shining bright and steady.”

“I think it will frighten me.”

“But why?”

“Your stars remind me of beasts’ eyes shining in the dark.”

Devon said, “What beasts?”

“The beasts of the hills.”

He laughed. “I’ve found few beasts here, and the ones I did discover were all friendly. It’s the ones in the valley I worry about.”

Rachel laughed with him. “The beasts are in the stories my mother told me, cycles ago. Little girls asked unwholesome questions and always came to a terrible end. I would dream night after night about animal eyes glowing in the dark, staring at me and never blinking. And I was afraid to ask questions.”

Devon said, “My parents encouraged me to ask questions, until they died.”

“I remember that,” she said softly. “Aram helped fight the fire.”

“Everyone did.” He paused. “I don’t remember anything of that night. They told me I crawled out, almost dead from the smoke; and then they had to hold me because I tried to go back in. I must have seen the faces in the circle above me and known my parents weren’t among them.”

“It’s true. Aram told us that.”

“I remember nothing until I woke up the next morning on a hard bed in Granny Esther’s house. She pretended to be deaf because she didn’t know what to answer me. It took her an hour to tell me my mother and father were dead.”

“I asked my father about the prophecy of fire,” Rachel said. “The one in the Book.”

“It’s coincidence!” Devon twisted around. “The Ark is not going to plunge into the heart of a star. We aren’t going to die that way.”

Rachel said seriously, “Can we really stop it?”

“We will.” The words were flat. “We are going to find those who can help us, and then we are going to set the Ark back on course. We may never live to see the ship’s destination, but our children will. Or their children.”

“Children?” Rachel said.

“Children.” He kissed her with a tenderness that grew suddenly into something more powerful than either of them had anticipated.

“Devon, I love you.”

“Rachel,” he said, and echoed the words.

“Tell me I am not damned for this.”

“You told me it didn’t matter to you.”

“And so it doesn’t.” She brought his mouth close again.

“It’s getting closer to moonset.”

“You tease me,” she said. “Do not throw my words back in my face.”

Devon pulled her close then; their lips met and moved like live things. His hands brushed along her sides, made the barest pass across her breasts. Warnings, qualms, alarms; Rachel forced them back. Something steeled in her mind, as much simple resolve as passion.

“This time,” she said, “shall I take off all my clothing?”

“And I?” said Devon.

“It would seem only fair.” She laughed, and the sound was both nervous and soft.

“Yes, it would.” Devon’s voice shook slightly.

They helped each other undress. Simple buttons and eyes became formidable barriers. Fingers trembled, turned clumsy as broomsticks. A button popped loose from Rachel’s dress, and they both laughed longer than was necessary.

At last she slipped her arms out of the garment and pushed it down below her hips. Devon helped, sliding the dress down her legs. At the last, she helped, drawing up her knees to free her feet. The undergarments went more quickly. Rachel placed the rough weave of Devon’s shirt between them. Finally they both lay naked, facing each other; close enough that each could feel the heat of the other’s body, but nothing more.

Rachel felt his fingers tickle lightly along her flank. In turn she reached out to touch the place between his legs that still gave her so much wonder. She handled him gently, but heard him draw in a quick breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I hurt you?”

Devon said, “No. Just the opposite.”

She continued to touch his penis, less tentatively now. She heard his breath quickening. Rachel said, “What do you want me to do?”

“That,” said Devon. “Anything. I don’t know.” He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her against him.

“Don’t be rough. Please.”

“I’m sorry.” His kiss was gentler, but she could feel his tension. “It won’t be like last time.”

“I know—”

Devon kissed her again; her lips, then her neck and down to her breasts. She plaited her fingers in his hair and pulled his head against her chest. After a time he freed himself and said, “I love you.”

“And I, you....”

The fumbling time came when Rachel rolled onto her back and Devon knelt between her knees. “I don’t know how to put my legs,” she said.

Devon said, “Nor I, mine.” They both laughed nervously, and clumsily maneuvering, found a compromise. Supporting himself with one arm, he began to penetrate her.

She cried out and twisted her body away from his.

“What’s wrong?” he said. “Is it hurting you?”

“Yes,” she said, eyes squeezed shut.

“Don’t you want to do it?”

“Yes,” she said. “No. I don’t know.” She rolled her head from side to side. Then she turned back toward him and said, “Do it slowly... it hurts very much.”

He tried to obey, to gentle the act, but felt his body move against his will in tiny, impatient jerks. His fingers curled and dug into her flesh.

“Devon!” Then Rachel cried out her parents’ names and recoiled, rolling away from him. She lay doubled up, hugging herself, sobbing uncontrollably.

“I didn’t mean—” He stopped, not knowing what he didn’t mean. Devon touched her shoulder unsurely. At first she tried blindly to push him away from her; then she let him hold her tightly. She continued to cry. “Rachel...” He stroked her hair. “I love you.” Eventually she wept herself to exhaustion. Devon continued to hold her while she slept.

Later:

They curled against each other like a pair of young puppies. The night had crept through the quilt and they sought the silent, automatic, uncomplicated warmth of flesh against flesh. Devon started to drowse off to sleep, then twitched awake.

Rachel raised her head. “What is the matter?”

“I started to dream.”

“Sleep, if you wish.”

Devon said, “There was something unpleasant lurking below the hills.... I don’t think I want to sleep.”

Rachel kept a long silence. “Tonight...” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Hush,” said Devon. “There have been too many apologies tonight.”

“But I—”

“No.” He lightly kissed her face. “It doesn’t matter, not as long as you’re not hurt.”

Her features subtly changed. “Devon!” Her voice was angry. Surprised, he drew back. “Don’t treat me like a child,” she said, “or, or—” fumbling for the words, “like one of Old Elijah’s wooden figures you told me about. I won’t crack, I won’t break.”

“All right,” Devon slowly said. “All right.”

“I just want to tell you why—” She stopped to take a deeper breath. “I want to tell you what happened tonight.” Rachel pulled the quilt loose from their faces and the chill air poured around them. She turned her head to look at Devon in the starlight. “When we tried to do what we did,” said Rachel, “we were not alone.”

“I don’t understand,” Devon said.

“When we—we touched like that, and you started to come inside me, I saw my mother and Aram; they were standing above us. I saw the Elders beside them, Micah and Jubal and the rest. They were all there, and they watched us!” She looked at Devon defiantly. “Do you understand now?”

“Yes,” he said, and he did.

After a while she said, “They will not always be there.”

“No.” He held her tightly. More silence, and then he changed the subject. “Have you thought about what I asked you before?”

“About leaving? Going with you out beyond the world to see all the wonders you’ve described. I have thought much.”

“Have you decided?”

She hesitated. “It would be difficult to leave this life when my place in it has been set since long before I could remember.”

“But it wouldn’t be impossible.”

Rachel shook her head slowly. “No. I suspect not.”

“If you stay, you must marry Garth.”

“I do not want that.”

“Then come with me. I’ll find others. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

“I
want
to...”

“But what?”

“Weren’t you afraid?” she said angrily. “Did you suddenly know it was all a great adventure when you fell through that—that iris-thing?”

Devon stroked her hair. She drew back her head, resisting any attempt at placation. After a time, he said, “Certainly I was afraid. I was terrified. But after a while, the things I encountered fascinated me.” He paused. “Remember Old Jedediah’s two-headed calf?”

Suspiciously, she nodded.

“After that calf was born, I wanted to study it. But the Elders decreed that it was an abomination in the sight of the Creator and ordered it put to death. The carcass was wrapped in sacking and immediately dropped down the disposal trap.”

Rachel said, “I remember. My father whipped me with a harness strap because I said it was a shame the poor calf should be killed.”

“You’re more like me than you are them, Rachel.”

She looked at him seriously, silently.

“Come with me.”

“Will we ever return?”

“When the Ark is saved. The biospheres will again begin to communicate with each other. Cypress Corners will no longer be able to hide beneath its metal sky and false stars.”

She slowly said, “That’s good. I would not want to think that I’d never see Ruth again, or my mother.”

“Not Aram?”

“Most of all, I will miss my father.”

He kissed her. “Then tomorrow.”

Rachel nodded.

“Come back here after nightfall. Bring as much food as you can. Meantime, I’ll slip into the town to find Young Silas, the teacher’s son, and as many others as I think I can trust and convince.”

“I will be here,” she said.

“Remember, your good-byes to your family must be silent.”