Soul Searching

 by Christopher Hopper

Tendrils of smoke slithered around the unsuspecting tree trunks like long fingers, coaxing the massive giants effortlessly towards an unseen death of suffocation, and eventually the flame. Leaves cringed in their upper perches and yet the resilient bark showed no sign of fear for what was to come. The air was stained with the unmistakable scent of fire and not a hint of wind could be discerned to ease the foul air. Any light from above was swallowed whole in the hanging haze of smoke, the wooded scene now hardly negotiable.

An undistinguishable form emerged between spaces in the trees, and then vanished. The swirl of the heavy smoke near the ground was the only evidence anything stirred. And then the shape of a man appeared, lean built and draped in a green cloak.

The haze parted further as the man strode into a small clearing and then looked above. His eyes burned in the smoke as he fought to draw a breath devoid of the foul air and regain his sense of direction. But neither was possible.

“Great God of Athera, lead me now. I am in need of your direction as I ever have been.”

His next breath burned worse than the previous and he hardly thought his prayer had been heard, let alone answered. His eyes watered and nostrils roared with pain. A deep cough issued up and he doubled over wiping the spittle from the corners of his mouth with his sleeve. He knew that he must accomplish his task soon or else be included in the numbers of the silent massacre to come, his remains forever burned to ash. That, and the subject of his searching was surely on the brink of death as well, if not already dead. After so much searching, he was so close.

I can’t fail now.

Resolved that he must again try the secret words, he gathered his strength and stood erect for a last time. Still, doubt filled his heart. He had already beckoned the covering protection earlier, but to no avail. He would not last much longer in the woods without it.

It was his only hope.

With oaken staff held high over his head in one hand, the vile fog seemed to sense the man’s mounting power and surged around him ever thicker; clearly the smoke was living and set of the most wicked mind. But ignoring the violent press to take his last breath, the man shut his eyes and spoke the command skyward.

“Ieyth ne fora ou reenhe miyne.”

His words were no sooner out of his mouth than sucked up in the dense atmosphere. All lay still. Even the swirling smoke seemed to await the next moment, wondering if the chant would avail its said purpose. The man stood motionless.

Silence filled the wood.

Suddenly a low tone, felt more then heard, filled the air, though no sense of direction was betrayed to the listener. The hum gained in presence and soon the man’s cloak trembled in the volume. The smoke ebbed and seemed to look for a place of retreat.

A slight smile took up into the space of the man’s cheeks and his eyes opened. He grasped his staff with both hands and then drove the end into the ground.

Crrrrack!

With what sounded like a bolt of lighting striking but an arm’s breadth away, a wall of wavering light encircled the man, snuffing out the haze of smoke all about him. Within this protective layer it was as broad day, pure and bright. He drew in a deep, fresh breath of air within the security of the strange, shimmering bubble. The tongue of the Mosfar yet held strength despite the increasing presence of Morgui.

All is not lost.

He rubbed the sweat and tears from his face and then pointed his staff forward producing a shaft of light. It, too, dispersed the thick haze and created a path ahead. Wasting no time, the cloaked man was off at once, striding down the path with renewed resolve.

I must find him.

He passed down row after row of the ancient trees, shadowed by the enormous sleeping giants he had so grown to love. He grieved inwardly for them, knowing their pending fate, one he could not delay. But they were unimportant now; the lives of the Sons and Daughters of Ad and Eva were on the brink of annihilation. And the one in particular he sought must be brought back alive. The High King’s life depended upon it; his life depended upon it.

He walked more quickly now, the smoke growing denser in the particular direction he headed. And the extent of his sight grew shorter for it. The power of Creation was diminishing.

Hold out for me a little longer.

His eyes darted from left to right, searching the underbrush. He knew he must be getting close.

Just there a dark shape clung to the base of a tree. His heart quickened.

Can it be?

He ran and began calling out, but the shape, now clearly that of a collapsed man, did not move in the slightest.

I am too late.

Still clinging to his staff, he knelt beside the crumpled heap and pulled the shoulder around. To his utter relief, the second man groaned and tried to raise his head, squinting against the foreign light.

“Rest easy, my friend. All is well.”

Safe within the inclusive realm of the protective wall, the man smelled fresh air and gasped with all his might. Soot covered his mouth and nose, his eyes red and swollen. The air filled his lungs too quickly and purged themselves in a violent series of coughs. He doubled over in pain, blood and saliva oozing onto the forest floor.

“Your strength will return shortly, Jadak son of Jadain.”

Jadak winced and resisted looking up.

“How—how did you know my name, stranger?” Jadak shook again, wracked with deep coughing. Then a gentle hand rested upon his chest and his body suddenly was at ease.

“Because I know your son.”

Jadak’s weary eyes widened.

Just then a massive tremor surged deep beneath them.

“Dionia is restless. Come, we must part with great haste.”

Still holding his oaken staff, the cloaked man bent over and lifted Jadak into his arms much like one would carry a small child across the chest. He turned and walked with Jadak resting in his arms. The action seemed effortless and Jadak wondered inwardly at the man’s strength despite his apparent meager size.

“As you might think, the strength is not mine.”

“Ah—aye, I was wondering.” Did I say something? Jadak questioned himself.

“Aye, but be at rest, son of Jadain. You are safe, for now at least. Let me do the rest of the work.”

“And if they should ask me who my rescuer is?”

“Fane, son of Fadner. I should think you know my father.”

“Young Fane? Is it really you?”

“Tis I indeed, in the flesh and spirit.”

Jadak was at a loss. With everything he had just been through, an ordeal that no one could imagine, suddenly now the Light of the Most High was showering upon him full and bright. Though in his darkest moment, he was not forgotten; though in his deepest lament, he was not forsaken.

“When I crawled up on the roots of that tree, I knew it would be my grave.”

“Yet the High King had another plan for you.”

“Aye, this is clear,” Jadak said, his eyes building with tears. His body was spent and his spirit worn; he had been wounded deeply and still his heart had trouble receiving the grace that carried him.

“Why is it you rescue me?” Jadak finally asked.

“Many reasons, I should think, don’t you?”

Jadak did not offer any.

“Come now, Jadak,” Fane offered as he walked briskly through the wood. “Are you not as coveted by the Most High as any?”

Jadak hesitated.

“Well, put your doubts to rest. It should be evident.”

“And with all the souls in need of saving at this dark hour, you would journey into the bowels of this wood for an old man?”

“The Mighty King wishes that not one may perish.”

“And still, I would ask you of the other reasons.”

Another tremor surged through the ground, rustling the branches above. But Fane did not lose a step and continued through the forest. The smoke was increasing and both men knew that the fires were drawing nearer.

“There is another reason.”

“And a truthful man would share it despite the feelings he knows it would call up.”

Fane eyed him knowingly.

“You see, young Fane, I know a man’s thoughts, too, though not as certain as you.”

“Very well,” Fane relented. “I need you to help stop a mouse from whispering in the lion’s ear.” Fane walked on in silence as Jadak contemplated his riddle; he didn’t need long.

“He is in Mt. Dakka?”

“Aye.”

“And he’s been given audience with the King?”

“The King is not there now, but they have held company together before his departure.”

“And now?”

“I should think him in the council of the Dibor and any number of the royal family.”

“The new King, the Dibor—you assume I know much, Fane,” Jadak admitted.

“And am I wrong?”

Jadak shook his head. “Nay, you are right as ever.” He took a deep breath, knowing what was to come. “Then let us stop this banter and allow you to use every breath for walking until I can do the same. We have much to do and a deceitful mouse to silence. But if I may ask you, how did you know I was not utterly lost? That I was not taken?”

“Because your son said you were forever lost.”

“I—I’m not sure I follow.”

“Your son is a liar.”

THE END

Final Word

Cool, huh? Okay, that's all for now.

Be sure to catch the interview with Christopher. And if you missed any of our other special features, including works by Ted Dekker, Bill Myers and Tosca Lee, you can find them here.