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Prologue

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She had been struck by a sudden yearning to see lush country landscapes - which wasn’t exactly understandable, especially since the forecast said to expect at least one more day of chilling spring weather... as if there hadn't been enough already.  An incredible front had been crossing the country blanketing entire states so the sun had not been seen for more than a half hour’s time the past week.  The weather between these infrequent moments of brightness vacillated between drizzling rain and sullen mists with an occasional downpour or hailstorm thrown in to break up the monotony.  It definitely wasn't pleasure riding weather, nevertheless, she was glad she'd done it.  She wasn't going to have the opportunities to enjoy the countryside, regardless of the weather, for that much longer. 

The cool spring breeze blowing through the cracked window toyed with rich brown hair that almost seemed to glow with reddish highlights despite the wan lighting.  Her bright evergreen eyes drank in the country around her seeing it as only an artist soon to be missing it could; noting every nuance, every play of shadow and light, every subtle blend of colors.  The smell of wet earth saturated the air and she drank it in, savoring its richness.  The road she drove on was, so far as she was concerned, unexplored and she merrily dodged potholes and puddles wondering how she had managed to miss it during her earlier excursions.  She knew most of the roads back here well enough to drive them at midnight, which was saying a great deal.  Somehow, 'though, she had missed this one and the thrill of trying something new in this kind of weather added quite an adventuresome spice to her hunt for undiscovered beauty.

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Bennu stumbled to his knees, robotically climbed back to his feet and continued plodding down the road.  His strength had reached its limits some miles back.  He would get little further, but he didn't care.  He was past caring.  Gone were the unconscious proud carriage of head and the princely grace of movement.  Gone were the bright golden sheen of hair and the subtle aura of gentle power.  The clarity of his mystic eyes was now glazed, burning with a new brightness that had nothing to do with his origins.  He was a man beyond exhaustion, beyond hope, and almost beyond life.  He had stopped looking to the heavens for light.  He knew he would not find any, but the rain, the cold, the lack of sunlight was killing him.  He pushed on, driven by an onus that was ingrained and instinctive, although reason no longer knew where he was nor even cared.  He was like a child's forgotten wind up toy, mindlessly putting one foot before the other.  He would continue until his spring wound down, then he would fall and move no more.  He stumbled on, gray clouds thundering ominously overhead, but he didn’t notice.  He was dead to the world around him, burning hot despite the chilling breeze.

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MIRA-CLES

By Amita4ever

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Chapter 1 - Broken Angel

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She had driven miles on this backcountry road without seeing a single living creature, and as another huge raindrop hit the windshield, she knew why.  Anything with any sense was hiding from the storms continuing fury.  "Not including me," she added wryly to herself, "but Mom always said I hadn't the good sense God gave a door mouse.  I guess this just proves it."  She could tell this storm was going to be a bad one, but she intended to enjoy every splashing raindrop, every roll of thunder, every flash of lightning. 

She crested the hill wondering what hidden vista the rise hid behind it, and found her gaze drawn instead to a man walking along the road.  At first she was startled to find something alive and moving out in this weather, but on the heels of her surprise was the fundamental sense of something desperately wrong.  The man’s steps were faltering and uncertain.  He carried a duffel bag on his shoulder, and it seemed as if that weight was going to drag him to the ground while his only protection against the elements, a blue denim jacket, was thoroughly soaked.  She didn't care to think how cold it would be.  She honked briefly trying to get his attention and accelerated as much as she dared on the rough muddy road, but feared she would arrive too late.  The section of the road he walked on was built up to allow for a bridge over a stream and the steep embankments on either side looked dangerous. 

He was oblivious to the approaching vehicle, and even as she pulled up behind him she saw him stumble.  The misdirected step sent him sideways and as his weight hit the slick sodden shoulder of the road, it gave way beneath his feet dropping him down the embankment.  He tumbled toward the swollen raging stream below like a puppet whose strings were cut, making not a single effort to save himself.  She stopped her truck and was out of the door as he reached the bottom. 

From the edge of the road she saw where he landed facedown on the bank, half in and half out of the water, but even as she began looking for a safe route down the embankment, the current caught the man and dragged him in.  This stream was like a hundred others scattered throughout the backcountry.  Normally little more than knee deep, the rains had swollen them to the size of small rivers.  The raging chest deep current could drown a horse, but she did not hesitate.  She leaped down the embankment and into the water intent on the limp form pulling away. 

The flow yanked her under as the sudden enveloping shock of frigid cold caused an involuntary gasp, and she forced her way back to the surface coughing in surprise.  Ahead of her she caught a glimpse of pale and gold, and she caught his collar in a desperate lunge only to be swept downstream with him.  She struggled against the current as 50 yards of shoreline rushed passed in moments, then she glimpsed the top of a fence post passing fast.  She grabbed at it, catching it somewhere below the surface, and held on with all her strength. 

Her sudden resistance buried her face in the water, as the sodden ground holding the post heaved beneath their sudden weight.  She felt the post shift under her hand.  Please God, she prayed, Let it hold a little longer...  She had no illusions.  The cold water would sap her strength quickly, but they might have a chance if she could only get her burden under control.  Turning her face from the current she could breath again, but the man trailed downstream like a wet blanket, catching the current and trying to tear her arms from their sockets.  His danger was compounded by the fact he remained face down in the water, but she couldn't help that until she could get a better grip on him.  She strained against her anchor, drawing the man closer. 

The fence post protested, tilting dangerously, then suddenly it gave way.  "Jesus, no!" she choked as her anchor pulled loose dropping her beneath the surface again, but before she could even consider relinquishing the post her hand slid up the wet soaked wood.  She nearly cried aloud in pain as her fingers wedged between the post and its last surviving strand of wire.  Broken on one side by the flooding, that single wire was their sole tenuous contact with the shoreline, and it proved the foundation of a miracle.  As the current swept them downstream the wire stretched taunt but remained stubbornly intact and connected to the post forcing the current to swing them in a swift arc toward the shore.  In the shallower water she found footing and clambered out straining to drag her burden behind her. 

She was nearly exhausted after her brief combat with the river and sank to her knees with her shoulders and arms screaming in agony, but she knew she couldn't rest.  "Please, Jesus," she whispered, "don't let him die!  Not after all we’ve been through."  She groped back to the man and rolled him over.  Immediately the gentle elegance of his features struck her... an angel as pale and wan as alabaster, his face could have graced a work of Renaissance art by Raphael.  “Please,” she pleaded again as she felt for a pulse then found one faint and fading. 

Her First Aid lessons had been taken long ago, but suddenly she recalled them with striking clarity.  She began mouth to mouth resuscitation without a second thought.  Two large breaths to expand his lungs, then watch his chest fall and feel the warm breath on her cheek.  After a count of five one large breath and watch again.  Over and over she repeated the sequence, praying as she counted, then he took a sudden shuddering breath of his own and began a fit of violent coughing that wracked his entire body.  She rolled him toward her as he coughed the water from his lungs, then both rested in the advancing rain with eyes closed, a quiet prayer of thanks on her lips as she caught her breath.  It wasn’t until a fleeting touch on her knee brought her back that she stirred. 

The man looked no different and she wondered if she imagined it, but as she leaned down she heard a faint whisper of breath form the words, "thank you." 

She sighed and squeezed his shoulder gently in acknowledgment.  She had managed to save him from the water, but the battle was not over.  Although the cold of their swim and the chill breeze was causing her to shiver, she could feel heat radiating from his skin.  He was literally burning with fever.  He needed help, but she could offer none in a cold wet pasture.  She stroked his fevered cheek and leaned close, reluctant to leave him but knowing she must, "I'll be right back, I'm going to get my truck."  There was no response, and she knew she had to hurry.  She climbed awkwardly to her feet and began stumbling back toward the road. 

On the edge of the road ahead of her truck’s right fender sat something dark and sodden.  She almost ignored it, then she recognized the man's duffel bag lying where it had fallen as its owner literally slipped out from under it.  She hastened around taking a moment to snag the soaking bundle, then flung it on the floor of the truck as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

It seemed hours before she was able get her truck down where she needed to go, although she knew it was truly closer to minutes.  She finally halted the truck a long 10 yards from the fevered man, daring to drive no closer on the soft ground.  Already the water logged soil sucked at the tires, and she knew the rancher who owned the pasture was going to be greatly grieved by the deep muddy furrows she was carving.  Nature, however, would eventually heal them, and that was more than she could say for her fevered Raphael. 

As she knelt at his side once more she begged for God’s blessing over them both, but aloud she said "Come on!  Let me help you.  Time to get up!"  She slipped an arm behind him and all but dragged him to a sitting position.  He was dead weight in her arms, and she was wondering how, but by God's grace, she was going to lift an unconscious man who weighed more than herself into her truck when he moaned softly and a feverish hand reached up to grab her shoulder with more strength than she would have thought possible.  She didn't waste time with questions, but repositioned her arm under his shoulder and struggled to help him to his feet.  When they finally succeeded he leaned on her heavily, his entire body trembling with the effort.  Even his head rested against hers, his eyes closed as if the mere effort of opening them was a task beyond his meager strength.  All that lay before them now was 10 yards of treacherous ground.

Every step was a momentous effort but many prayers and encouraging words later found them standing by her truck and she was suddenly faced with the question of where she was taking him.  "Do you live near here?" she asked.  The shake of his head was feeble.  "Are you staying with someone?" 

"no," his answer was so weak she barely heard it.  At a loss, she continued her efforts and after several more prayers they managed to get his soaking form sitting in the seat of her truck.  Hurrying to the driver's side, she climbed in next to him marveling at what they had accomplished -- convinced they had not accomplished it alone.  From there she pondered what to do with him as she peeled his sopping jacket from him and wrapped him in a blanket from the emergency kit she kept behind the seat.  It wasn't much, but it would have to do.  She felt strangely reluctant to take him to any authorities or even a hospital and she realized that left her with only one other option.  She didn't know who he was, where he was from, or what he was doing out here but he needed help; he needed her.  As she shut her door he roused again briefly, "Bennu... my name... is Bennu," he offered weakly, then slumped limp in the seat as consciousness appeared to desert him completely. 

Suddenly fearful, she again felt the pale throat seeking signs of life and was rewarded with something stronger than she had felt before.  She knew she had made her decision, for somehow the mere contact of her skin on his had conveyed the need of his situation more clearly than words ever could.  She cupped his pale cheek and whispered, "How do you do, Bennu.  Now, please, just hang on.  I'm taking you home, God help me... God help us both... to my home."

She chose her egress from the pasture as carefully as she had chosen her entrance trying to minimize the damage to the grassland as well as ensure her vehicle didn't founder.  She couldn't afford to get stuck, not today, not with Bennu...  She shook her head.  I'm being stupid.  He needs a doctor!  But she knew she wouldn't take him to one.  She balked at the very thought of it and she had never ignored God's urging before, nor had he ever guided her wrong.  God was, after all, the ultimate judge of character and she felt as if Bennu needed to be sheltered.  She felt it very strongly, in fact. 

She edged her truck over the final embankment and it lurched as it settled on the road.  The sudden sway knocked Bennu against her but rather than push him off, she let him ease down until his head rested in her lap.  She felt his vulnerability with a strength that was near overwhelming and it roused a fierce protective passion in her.  Her arm fell around him possessively not knowing who or what she was protecting him from, but feeling he needed the reassurance.  Even so, shortly after she hit the highway he began shifting restlessly and murmuring in a lyrical language she had never heard before.  She could feel his burning fever through her wet jeans; so hot it almost felt as if her thigh was being scalded by degrees.  She did not doubt now that he was the reason she had been drawn to the country, but he was so very sick.  How could she possibly help him?

Continue to Chapter 2  OR  Return to chapter listing

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Chapter 2 - Simple Truths

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She stood before her bedroom window looking into the night.  A cool breeze played gently with the flowing material of her nightgown causing it to shift and undulate softly.  She closed her eyes to enjoy the breeze's caress then thought better of it.  As much as she enjoyed the close comfort and songs of the night, her guest didn't need the chilled air the open window was letting in.  Venting a small sigh of disappointment, she shut the window and returned to the comfort of her oriental papasan chair. 

Snuggling down into the bowl shaped curve, she found her gaze had again come to rest on the blonde haired stranger that laid in her bed.  It had been nearly four in the afternoon when she finally made it home.  Repeatedly calling his name she had managed to focus his delirious thoughts on movement long enough for the two of them to stumble inside, then, with an extreme lack of modesty, she had stripped him naked, but for jewelry – a curious golden medallion - and buried him beneath blankets in her own bed.

She had also been so bold as to empty his duffle bag and throw the sopping clothes it contained into the washer.  Besides clothes, the only other items in the bag were a soaking map, which she spread out to dry, and a formation of glorious purple crystals.  The care with which the crystals had been wrapped implied a value placed on them so after taking a moment to admire their beauty, she carefully set them aside. 

She spent the remainder of the afternoon beside him trying to calm his tossing and turning with gentle words and the cool touch of a damp cloth, but now he seemed to draw no comfort from her presence.  It was easy to tell his dreams were not pleasant, but always he spoke in his strange lyrical language that made his words a tortured song... a song that bothered her greatly for while it expressed his anguish with poignant clarity, she could not understand it in the slightest.  This in itself was not so much troubling as it was frustrating for she aquatinted with many languages.  She could speak three herself, and could recognize a good many more even if she could not comprehend them, but this beautiful flowing tongue was like nothing she had ever heard before. 

Who was he?  Where was he from?  She knew so very little about him except, she thought wryly, he must have the wits of an ass, traveling in this weather dressed like he was; he had the physique of Michaelangelo’s David, she had noticed that while undressing him; and his name was Bennu… Phoenix.  All of which told her nothing.

She twisted the useless washcloth in frustration.  Her inability to soothe him stole any sense of contentment she might have, but she was wary enough to realize his tossing had considerable strength and he might hurt her without any awareness of it.  That didn't sit well with her, but what could she do?  She watched until her own weariness caught up with her, and finally, reluctantly, allowed herself to sleep. 

She had slept for a little over an hour when she was awakened by an agonized voice calling her name.  At first she thought it might have been a dream, but a single glance at Bennu assured her it was not.  His breath came in tortured heaves as sweat glistened on his skin catching the moonlight bathing his features in its soft cold light.  She stared in awe at the anguished beauty revealed there, then he called her name again.  She couldn't help but answer regardless of the danger.  She sat on the edge of the bed laying one hand gently on his sweat slick shoulder as the other reached up to brush the damp locks clinging to his forehead aside, "Peace, Bennu, I am here."  The pale bright eyes that turned on her were filled with such a blind despair that she thought her heart would burst for the sight of them and he repeated her name again, questioning, incredulous and unbelieving, as trembling hands reached up to touch.  Flesh met flesh and suddenly she was pulled into a fevered embrace as he began sobbing her name over and over in heart felt relief.

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The dreams were so real!  Bennu called out her name in desperate anguish.  Where was she?  She had left and set this task upon him, but there was so much to accomplish and so many against him.  He needed her strength, her wisdom, her support.  "Mira!" he cried again, I need you, his mind echoed, I need you so.  He felt as if he were being overwhelmed, as if his duty were crushing him beneath its weight, and he no longer had the strength to bear it, then he heard a voice by his side. 

"Peace, Bennu, I am here."

"Mira?"  He didn't believe she could really be there, that she was real, but hands touched his shoulder and caressed his face with gentle reality.  Desperately he reached out toward the voice... reached out and found solid flesh.  She was there!  She was real!  “Oh, Mira, Mira,” he pulled her to him and clung to her for as long as his exhausted arms would hold her, and she held him, then gently pulled away murmuring soft reassurances to ease his reluctance.  He had so much to ask her, to ask for, to understand, but for now her mere presence was enough.  Released from its crushing torment, his mind succumbed to its desperate need for sleep and fell to quiet slumber.

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Mira Stanfield looked down on the sleeping man.  She wondered how he knew her name, then realized in a sudden rush of disappointment that he could not.  It was another Mira he needed so desperately, but she did not question the blessing.  The cool cloths seemed to soothe him now, and so she stayed by his side until, sometime later, he awakened.

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Bennu slept, but he was content now for he knew Mira remained at his side.  Constantly he felt her cool soothing touch, and, though the thick fog of his fever, felt the vague comforting presence of her mind.  Her mere nearness eased his torment, and for the first time in too long he slept -- truly slept -- knowing in his soul Mira would hold him safe.  Later he awakened wondering if his fevered mind had only dreamed her, but the presence remained...  “Mira?” he breathed hopefully.

“I am here, Bennu.” she answered as a hand briefly caressed his cheek.  Relieved he opened his eyes – yes, she was still there.  He could see her shape in the glimmer of moonlight.  She was dressed in the white gown he remembered as her dark hair cascaded down to frame her pale face.  Her green eyes glinted in the silver luminescence of the moonlight and seemed to shine like tiny stars in the night.  Although fever and fatigue stole the clarity of his vision, his memory filled in the familiar details.

He reached a shaking hand up to touch her cheek, reassuring himself of her reality, then let his arm fall.  “Why, Mira?  Why did you leave me?”

“Leave you, Bennu?” Mira questioned, and despite knowing she was not his Mira, his accusatory tones hurt.  “Did I leave you?”

The pain in her voice startled him, but his words spilled out before he could stop them, “Yes, you did.  You left me.  Left me alone... you...” he paused, then sighed, “you... you had no choice.  Iago killed you...”  His voice suddenly faltered, then continued in tones of wonder, “Mira, am I dead?”  His hand reached out to touch her arm ever so gently, as if expecting her to suddenly vanish, “You speak to me.  I can hold you.  This cannot be unless...  Oh, Mira, have I died and joined you within the Golden Light?” 

The hope in his voice stunned her.  Oh, Bennu, she despaired silently, what burden do you bear that you want death so badly?  “No, Bennu, you still live.”

“Then how..?” His voice fell, echoing his disappointment.

Then how are you here? she heard the uncompleted question; not literally, but logic filled in the missing words.  By God’s grace and mercy you landed in the hands of someone who cares and wants to help, she wanted to answer, but that was not what he needed to hear.  “You needed me,” she answered softly.

His face hardened, “I have needed you before.”

“I could not help you before.”  Simple truth.  She wasn’t sure she could help him now.

“Why,” he snapped, “have you been so busy within the Golden Light that you could not be bothered by my suffering?”

“I too have been suffering!”  Mira knew the harsh tones she heard were uncharacteristic of the gentle face before her, but the edge of his words was so sharp she found herself reacting before she even realized what she was saying.

“Have you?” he returned skeptically.

And suddenly Mira knew why Bennu had been brought to her.  His Mira was dead, and Mira Stanfield could only hope it had been a quicker death than she was being forced to endure, for the burden was torturous.  “Yes!  Dying is not so easy as you may believe.”

“What can be so difficult about dying, Mira?” he asked bitterly, “Certainly it can be no more difficult than living.”

“How can I explain the pain of dying, Bennu?” Mira sighed reaching into her own heart for the answer, “It is something that eats at your soul.  There is so much you need to accomplish, and you know you will never be able to do it.  Every time you think about it, it rips you apart.  You think of all the loved ones you will have to leave behind, of all the people you will never meet.  There are so many you could help in one way or another, if only you had the time, so many lives you could touch... that could touch yours, but you will never get that chance.”

“No,” Bennu murmured, “It is no more difficult than living.”

Mira shook her head, “You think of the things you will never learn.  You think of the skills you have spent a lifetime acquiring that will never be used to their purpose.  Above all, you think about the reason you were put on this earth to begin with.  Are you going to fulfill your calling,” her chest burned as she fought the despair of speaking her soul’s torment inflamed, “or are you leaving it for someone else?  Are there others with the abilities?  The time?  You know they have a task of their own.  Are you burdening them with your task as well?  Will lives... even a single life... be lost because of your failure?  For most keenly you feel you have failed.  Don’t tell me I have not suffered, Bennu, you cannot know the weight of this burden.  The pain I feel simply can not be spoken, though, for your sake, I try.”

Bennu was silent, then reached up gently wiping away the silent tears that gleamed on Mira’s cheek, “I am sorry, Mira,” he whispered, “I did not know.  I always thought of death as a deliverance.  A release from the burdens of life... a transition to something greater.”

“It is, Bennu,” she answered softly, “If one believes in the Truth, the Way, the Light... but the dying...  Oh, Bennu, can dying this way be forgotten?”  It was a question that haunted her.  She knew God had a purpose for her life, and so far she felt as if she had failed Him.  Could He possibly forgive her that?  Could she forgive herself for falling so short?

“I had not considered that.  I never thought that dying could be, in its way, worse than living.  I had so much hoped for the peace it promised.  Thank you, Mira.”

“For what, Bennu,” she smiled ever so softly.

“For life, for a reason to continue.  Life has been hard, Mira, but I see death might be worse.  I fear there are none with the power or the ability to take up my burden.  You and I were sent with a special task, and I alone remain to complete it.  I must live, though at times I feel it is hopeless.  What of you, Mira, are you happy now.”

She could not lie.  “No, Bennu, I am not.”

“Why?” his astonishment was plain, “Surly the promise of the Golden Light is all the Book says - sitting at the right hand of Life, being at one with the universe, joining in the celestial song.  Are these promises true?  How could you be a part of that and not be happy?”

“I can not say, Bennu, I am not yet a part of it.”

His eyes widened in astonishment, “Why, Mira?!”

“I can not let go of life yet,” these were Mira Stanfield’s words, a plea as much as an explanation, but she knew Bennu would find an answer in them, “How can I rest knowing my work unfinished?”

“And that work now rests with me,” Bennu murmured, “Oh, Mira,” he closed his eyes, “It is so hard.”

“You must trust in what is greater than yourself,” she answered, hearing in her own words the answer to her own despair.  It was as if another were speaking the words to her, for her benefit as much as his  “You must trust the Son knowing you will never be asked more than you can accomplish if you follow the Light of the World.  If it is His will, He will make a way."  How could I not remember such a simple truth?  She asked herself, but the answer was obvious.  Knowing and knowing were often two different things.  "Trust the Son will provide.”  It was a promise straight from God's Word -- I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me -- she began to understand.

Light of the World?  He had heard that name before, but not on this world.  They did not know of that Light here.  “This world’s sun is a pale orb, so weak compared to our own,” Bennu muttered bitterly.

It was a curious comment, but Mira was only superficially aware of its implication as the simple, realization of the scripture unfolded in her own mind.  “No, this is a different Son, Bennu,” she explained, “This Son always shines.  The Light of Truth and Love is His.  It was by His will we were brought together.”  Not just for your benefit, but for mine.  Oh, precious Jesus... my Lord... thank you!

“His?” Bennu answered almost sarcastically, not failing to note her odd use of a pronoun, “If His love is so great, how can He hold your death against you?  That your mission was not completed was no fault of yours.”

She smiled.  It was the wondrous sweet smile of one who had just received a precious revelation.  “He does not," her voice was filled with wonder, "All is forgiven, Bennu.  It was only my own doubts that kept me from His Peace.”

Bennu saw a serenity settle on her features that resonated within his soul.  He had known that peace once, and had lost it on this world so far from home... so far from his people and those who worshiped the Golden Light.  He felt like a coal moved from the flame, his ember slowly dying.  “Where do I find this sun?”

“Where ever you are.  There is no place you can go that He is not.  The universe and all that is in it is His creation, but of all that He has made, He loves those made in His image best...”  Mira lifted her hand to his forehead finding the heat was fading; his fever had broken as they spoke.  There was so much more she wanted to say but she saw a new wave of exhaustion creeping in darkening his eyes.

Bennu fought this new tiredness trying to press in on his thoughts.  Was it possible?  Had Mira found the Light of All among these primitive people?  When they had first come there had been pockets of sun worship, but they were largely superstitious faiths worshiping celestial objects and ignorant of the greater truth behind them.  “But only the Most High can create life...”

“It is His Son you seek,” she answered softly, “He who died to save the world.”  Her hand slid down to cup his cheek knowing he would be hard pressed to stay awake in a few moments, “but sleep now, Bennu.  This journey has only just begun.”

“But it is so hard, Mira.”

“No one ever promised life would be easy, Bennu, especially for those who know their purpose.  We must have faith to endure, knowing our rewards rest in another place.  We must strive to succeed though it seems for every step we are knocked back two.”  Mira smiled as she thought of something her mother used to say, “When things are hard one may have to count the inches to see the progress...”

Bennu smiled wearily, picking up the warm thought in a fleeting brush of contact, oddly flavored but full of love and warmth and caring.  He was mind-blind with weariness.  “You were ever one to put things in perspective, Mira, and you are right.  I must count the inches and they will become feet... and the feet will become miles.”  He took a deep breath, and exhaled in a gesture as much resignation as resolve.  “Thank you for coming,” he reached up effortfuly to touch his hand to her cheek, “for life,...” he sighed softly, “... for hope,” then his hand fell as warm, dark healing sleep opened it’s embrace and nestled him within. 

Continue to Chapter 3  OR  Return to chapter listing

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Chapter 3 - New Beginnings

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Bennu awoke and was immediately aware of two irrefutable facts.  The first was that he lay in a bed in someone’s bedroom - feminine by the look of it - and he had no memory of arriving.  His last conscious memories were of dirt roads and endless storms.  Was she a friend?  Something half remembered reassured she was.  The second was that he was unable to verify it, for his mind was clouded with a tell tale blindness that warned he had only recently broken from a deliriously deep fever.  Until his body could flush itself of the toxins built up during that fever he would be essentially mind-blind.  That was an unsettling thought considering he didn’t know how long he had been ill, nor how far Preminger was behind him.  What he did know was that for the moment he didn’t care.  For this moment he chose to forget the chase and remember the dream... he had seen Mira.

A refreshing sense of renewal filled his heart.  How long had it been since he had felt hope?  Could a mere dream have such an effect?  She had seemed so real; hadn’t he even held her in his arms?  He lifted a hand to his forehead and shut his eyes trying to remember.  She had spoke of seeking a new sun, one with a light of truth and love?  A sun of the Great Creator?  Or was it Son?  She had used the pronoun He.  Bennu shook his head.  Something about it was familiar, but he could only recall the expression of revelation and wonder he had seen touch Mira’s face.  He wanted to learn more of this sun/Son, but for now he was content to know Mira was at peace.

The sensations of his body stirred him to move, thirst, energy, hunger...  The storm had finally cleared and outside the bedroom window the long awaited promise of life giving sun filtered through the weave of the curtains.  He pulled the covers back and struggled to sit on the edge of the bed.  His head swam with the change of elevation but as it cleared he became aware of sounds beyond the open doorway.  The clink of dishes and a distant feminine voice singing an upbeat song reminded him he had a benefactor, but who?  He wished he could touch her thoughts, and for the briefest moment his concentration yielded an erratic split second of warmth, caring, curiosity, preoccupation, power...?  It was like trying to make a judgment based on a glimpse out of the corner of your eye, but he sensed nothing sinister in that brief moment and knew he would have to take a chance.  He stood slowly then walked cautiously to the window.  Parting the drapes he touched the glass feeling a new warmth upon the pane.  It was a filtered taste when he sought a raw feast, but first a more pressing need.  Touching the medallion around his neck for reassurance, he turned and walked carefully to the door.

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“Miss?”  

Mira turned around from fixing her breakfast surprised to find her erstwhile guest standing naked in the living room.

“Could you tell me where your bathroom is?” 

Mira looked hastily out her living room picture window and blushed.  At that Bennu glanced down noticing his state of undress for the first time, “The human body is nothing to be ashamed of,” he explained gently.

“Perhaps not,” Mira answered as she drew the blinds, “but there is something to be said for modesty.  Despite being a girl of respectable reputation, certain neighbors would, no doubt, jump to conclusions if a naked man was seen walking around my house, but I’m glad you’re up and about.”  She turned and smiled at him, focusing carefully on his face, “The bathroom is down the hall, last door on the left.”  Her smile faltered as she noticed how frail and unsteady he seemed.  “Do you need any help?”

Bennu shook his head, “No.”  He turned making his way carefully down the hall, but at the door he stumbled.  He grabbed desperately at the doorframe.  When she reached his side he was kneeling on the floor clinging to the door jam with one hand, and his medallion with the other.  “Yes,” he revised his opinion, “I am... weaker... than I thought.”  He was deathly pale, and looked to be on the verge of passing out.  With effort he raised his head to look at her, “Could you... help me outside?”  His head dropped again and Mira steadied him as his entire body swayed.

“Outside?” she questioned incredulously, “Now?”  She wasn’t sure she understood what she was hearing.  She would have thought a better place was back to bed.

“Yes,” came the weak answer, “Now.”  There was an urgent plea to the tone.

Mira was at a loss, but had no real reason to deny him.  The morning sun had dawned gloriously bright, as if trying to make up for the past week’s absence and her privacy fence would keep the neighbors from noticing.  Maybe the fresh air would do him some good.  “If you think it will help,” she knelt beside him.  “Here, put your arm around my shoulders.”

He did as he was told, still clinging desperately to his medallion.  Once she got him to his feet they made their way slowly back down the hall and out the back door.  After descending the steps she helped him to a boulder in her rock garden that provided a flat surface above the wet earth.  He sat down facing the sun, pulling his legs up cross-legged with an effort.  For awhile Mira stood behind him, and he leaned against her until he found the strength to sit alone.  She retreated to the steps and sat down to watch, unsure if she would be needed again.

Instead he seemed to gather strength from the sun, like a flower blooming in the pure morning light.  The sun created an aura about his skin that inspired the artist in her, and on a whim she stepped inside long enough to grab her sketch pad.  For the next hour while Bennu communed with the sun - how else could she describe it - she sketched, or at least she tried to.  The man before her evoked images in her mind that were powerful and haunting, but try as she might she could not capture the images she saw. 

It was not that she was not a bad artist.  She had done well in school and had been employed as a graphic artist.  She had even assisted in the art classes at the local college before more pressing matters forced her to quit, but she had always felt stymied.  There was a part of her potential that could not be reached no matter how many books she read or classes she took.  It left a portion of her life hollow and unfulfilled, and it never rang so empty as moments like this.  By the time an hour was up she had 3 drawings cast aside and another on her pad, but none captured the essence she was searching for.  She studied the image on the paper.  She could feel what was wrong, but not how to make it right.  She snarled softly and thudded a frustrated fist on the pad.  She may have recently been reassured of her place in God’s kingdom, but it didn’t erase her exasperation at being unable to do what her heart called her to do.

“Don’t let your anger interfere,” Bennu’s gentle voice came from behind her where he had been looking over her shoulder.  He had finished communing with the sun and removed himself from the rock without her even noticing, and Mira spun to face him in startled surprise.  “You have the talent here,” Bennu touched her forehead, “and here,” he touched her heart, “but you do not listen.  You concentrate so hard on getting it right that you do not let the spirit guide you.  See here,” he took the pad and pencil from her lap, “You see this as a failure, I see it as an unfinished thing of beauty.  Even in the darkness one can find light; even in mistakes one can find a masterpiece.” 

He lifted the pencil to the paper and began to draw with deft strokes here and there.  Mira began to see what she wanted taking shape under his hand. 

“Don’t concentrate on what it should look like, let your image flow.  Drawings are like life, you take it one stroke at a time and you must be willing to move as the will of the spirit guides.”  He fell silent for a few moments, then handed her back the pad and pencil.  She stared at the picture, a man clothed in radiance contrasted against the darkness of a cold and empty tomb.  The man seemed real enough to touch though he was only paper and graphite. 

“This is a powerful image,” Bennu commented wistfully, “this man is close to your heart.”  Mira could only nod.  He let her contemplate for a moment then carefully removed the drawing from the pad and set it aside.  “Let’s try this.  Do not draw here,” he pointed at the blank sheet of paper, “but here and here in your heart and mind.  Let the Golden Light guide you; listen to the spirit.  Now draw me,” he commanded. 

Mira glanced at him obediently but he smiled and shook his head, “No, not that way.  Close your eyes.”  Her puzzlement was immediate but Bennu reached up to gently brush his fingertips over her eyes forcing her to comply, “Listen to my voice.  Focus on what you hear within the tones - the essence.  Imagine.  Now draw.  No, keep your eyes closed, just draw.” 

She started to protest, but he smiled... she could hear the smile in his voice, “Trust in the spirit.  Do not concentrate on the paper, only on the image in your mind.  Listen to my voice,” he commanded again.  “Listen to the spirit and draw me.  Draw what your heart sees.” 

She sighed and complied, lifting the pencil to paper as he continued to talk in an almost hypnotic voice.  She did not know how long he spoke, only that when he finally stopped, she realized her hand had too.  She looked at her paper and could not believe the curious beauty she had created.  It was not the portrait of a man but something much more, and although it had about it a quality of amateur grace, it promised something greater yet to be realized.

She heard Bennu sigh, “You have drawn a truth of my heart.  You have a rare talent, the ability to discern Truth and capture it with your art.  Even among my own people, ones who could capture Truth in a way that made it tangible to others were very few.  I knew the best.  You have her gift.” 

Bennu's frowned faintly, What other talents might you hide? he wondered, If only I had more time.  He shook his head, then shook himself from the melancholy mood, “I believe I interrupted you in the middle of fixing breakfast.  I would like to make amends.”  He stood up offering her his hand.  Dumbfounded she accepted and was pulled to her feet, “May I fix you brunch?” 

Mira stared in disbelief.  Had this been the man so weak she had to help him sit?  While she thought he might still be a bit pale, his skin now claimed a golden tint that was more appropriate to an apparent sun worshiper.  It was a change that bordered on miraculous.  “If… if you like,” she stammered, “Thank you.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he smiled opening the door for her.

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Sometime later Mira pushed herself away from the table, “I couldn’t eat another bite.  Tell me, are there any secrets to cooking you can teach me in addition to drawing?”

“Spices,” he grinned, “the right spices can make most anything a masterpiece, and most have medicinal uses as well,” he waved a dirty fork at her like a lecturing professor, then got up and began gathering the dirty dishes to carry them to the sink.  Mira felt rude as she chose to remain seated for a bit longer, letting her guest do all the work, but Bennu seemed content with it.  She had before her a physique of unique physical beauty and wanted to appreciate him while she could.  He now wore his jeans in respect to her desire for modesty, but she finally compromised her own standards when he asked if he might open the picture window again.  She knew she should have requested a shirt as well, but the artist in her screamed at the thought of his glorious anatomy completely covered.  She marveled at the way the sun reacted on his bronzed skin, and at the quiet strength evident in the muscles that glided beneath that tanned exterior.  Bennu seemed quite aware of her appreciation, but was neither bothered nor provoked by it.  He accepted her innocent admiration at face value and appreciated her tolerance.

When he was finally finished in the kitchen, he gathered her art supplies and brought them to the table.  “I can do little more to help you with capturing Truth.  I have no experience.  The spirit and the Light are your best guides now, but I can help you with just art.” he smiled.  He arrayed the supplies before her then sat down across from her with all the authority of an experienced teacher.  As it turned out, he was indeed.  They spent the rest of the morning and good part of the afternoon in the most unique class she had ever attended.  Finally, he sat back.  “I can teach you no more.  You are an apt pupil.”

Mira stared at the pieces of artwork spread around them.  “Oh, Bennu,” she sighed, “What have you done?  I can see what I have been trying to do for years, and it was so easy.  Why couldn’t I learn before?  I’ve taken so many classes...”

“You have always had the talent,” he told her, “but never someone to teach you as you should be taught.  You have a spirit born gift, and it effects everything you do.  While I could teach you nothing more regarding your gift, I could teach you how it affects you, and how to be aware of the way it affects your perceptions.  Until now all you have been taught was working counter to your gift.  The ways of the spirit and the ways of the earth...” he shrugged.  "They rarely coincide,” he concluded simply, then looked at her seriously.  “I can tell you this much about your gift - do not take it lightly.  Whatever you envision, you can make real to others with these,” his arm swept over her supplies, “Through the spirit you can see the souls of men, and some with your gift can even discern the Truth of objects; they can depict its past, its owner, something it has done.  It is a powerful gift.  You must not abuse it.”  His blue eyes caught her green ones with such intensity that she nearly cringed, “You must never abuse it.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

Continue to Chapter 4  OR  Return to chapter listing

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Chapter 4 - Never Say Good Bye

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Bennu made himself useful insisting that her garden needed weeding while the ground was soft from the recent rains.  Mira protested, although not overly strenuously because she knew she was not likely to get to it, and she had a feeling Bennu was actually looking for a reason to be out in the sun again.  “Who am I to protest?” she finally threw up her hands, “We’ll do it together.”  Their occasional conversation as they worked was idle; the useful properties of this herb or that, the synergetic benefits of planting certain flowers with one another, her plant’s contentment, this last said with such seriousness she assumed it must be a joke.  It was not the conversation she would have expected having with a stranger pulled half dead from a raging torrent the day before, but somehow it was right.  There was a camaraderie so deceptively familiar that it seemed they might have been friends for years.  She did not understand its source, but she basked in its warmth knowing one way or another, it would be brief.  

Afternoon quickly passed into evening.  As shades of dusk began to fall she made some hot tea, then took him to an open field behind her house where they sat and watched the sunset.  Brilliant swaths of amber and fuchsia fading into azure evening blended like wet watercolors on God’s cloud touched easel and Mira watched with rapt enchantment as the golden orb finally sank beneath the horizon.  She sighed, awed and disappointed it was over, then glanced at Bennu only to find him staring at her with an open intensity that was disconcerting.  “I haven’t said thank you,” he finally broke the silence in a soft low voice.  In the quiet stillness she could hear the delicate accent of the lyrical language he had spoken in his fever, and the resonance of it caressed her heart.

She tried to hold his gaze, but finally dropped her eyes.  It seemed she was looking into his soul, or perhaps he into hers, and she flushed feeling like a girl on her first date.  “Yes, you did,” she answered somewhat giddily, “after I helped you out of the stream.”  She said it lightly, but the words triggered potent sensations in Bennu’s mind; falling, shocking cold, suffocating water, life’s breath, sustaining encouragement.  It was a blurred jumble, and into the turmoil his purblind mind pulled a flash of remembered panic and desperation from her thoughts, the memory of a fading heart beat, the image of his sodden pale body lying deathly still in the wet grass.

“I don’t recall all that happened,” he said with dawning realization, “but I know you saved my life.  How can I repay you?”

“Repay me?” her surprise was genuine, “What is there to repay?” then she became serious, “Bennu, you can’t begin to know what you have done for me.  You have given me my heart’s desire,” she touched the art pad and pencil sitting unused beside her, “How can I repay you?”  He stared into the bright elation that lit her features and recognized the sincerity of the question.

“Your joy is sufficient,” he smiled.

“As is the pleasure of your company,” she replied warmly, and even without his gift he could feel her candor.

A companionable silence fell over them as they lay back and watched the stars fade into view.  “Bennu,” Mira finally asked idly into the night, “where are you from?”

 “Another time, another place…” he sighed absently, “Another world.”

It was an enigmatic answer, but there was much about Bennu that was enigmatic.  “Do you miss it?” she asked gently.

“Yes,” there was bittersweetness in his voice as he reached up reflexively to touch the medallion under his shirt, “Everyday, but I can’t go home again.”

“So what are you running from?”

At this Bennu looked at her sharply, silently berating his clouded mind, but her expression looking up to the stars was as innocent as her voice.  “What makes you think I’m running?”

She shrugged, “There was a reason you were out in that storm when every other sane creature was in hiding; that and a feeling.  I felt it… something… after I touched you.  A danger.  Do you believe in Providence?  God sent me to help you,” a smile flickered across her lips, “just as He sent you to help me.”

God?  This world had so many gods.  Some worshiped their money, some their jobs, some carnal pleasure, and others clung to faiths that filled their lives but left them fearful, spiritually empty or even corrupted.  Was Mira’s Sun/Son hidden among these faiths?  Perhaps, if he could find what he was looking for, he would have the time to learn more, but until then…  He sat up and turned to face her, sitting cross-legged.  “Perhaps I am running toward something,” he offered.

She raised herself up on one elbow in a silent expression of curiosity, and he stared at her again trying to perceive her mind and weigh her conscience.  His heart whispered trust, and he sighed.  “So much of my past is lost to me, but there is a reason I am here; I know the weight of it.  I even know pieces of it, but the rest is hidden.  I know the places to look, but there are others that want to find me first.  So far I have been able to stay ahead of them.”

“Have you done anything to deserve this pursuit?” she asked plainly.  There was trust in her tone, as if she would accept whatever answer he offered, and Bennu wished he could know her mind. 

“I exist,” he finally answered, “I know things they have no right to.  Perhaps there is knowledge I could share with them, but I have too many questions of my own.  I cannot answer theirs until I resolve mine, but I promise there is no harm in what I do.  My purpose is one of peace and healing, that much I know.”  He smiled, “Perhaps I seek my own heart’s desire.” 

She shook her head, “That is not always an easy burden,” then she smiled, “but God makes a way.  So what brought you to my neck of the woods?”

Bennu had thought briefly to ask about this god of hers, but the change in subject drew him back to his purpose for exploring the countryside, “The Donoma Mounds.  I read the Silver Lark Farm has a strange ring of mounds that might be of Indian origin.  I was trying to find them, and my pursuers were close enough I could not wait for the storm front to pass.”

His benefactor nodded, “I know the place.  As the crow flies, its only a few miles from where I found you,” she hesitated.  “You know, I think I remember reading something about the Donoma Mounds when I was in high school…”  Her brows knit, “One of the professors at the college used them for a class project; he wrote up their findings for the local paper.”  She paused thoughtfully, then shook her head, “but darned if I can remember what it said.  Something about them not being what they appeared?  I don’t know.”  She sighed.  “Sorry, guess I’m not much help in that respect.”

Bennu grinned, “You’ve been great help in other respects far more important.  I’m sure I can find this professor.  Where is the college from here?”

“Tell you what,” Mira roused herself from the rock, “I’ve got an appointment out of town tomorrow, but I know a gal taking classes out there.  I’ll give her a call.  If you don’t mind working within her schedule, I’m sure she’d be willing to give you a ride there and back.  Then, if you still want to see the mounds, I’ll take you out the day after tomorrow.”

Bennu beamed, “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“None that I can foresee,” she grinned, “but if I’m going to call, we’d better head back to the house before it gets too late.”  Bennu helped her to her feet and Mira left the star’s glittering illumination behind without a single backward glance for it seemed somehow the one beside her glowed with an inner light just as beautiful.

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Mira was by no means a late sleeper, but by the time she rose Bennu had already greeted the sun rise, restored her couch to order and started breakfast.  Afterwards they washed the dishes, in tandem this time, and reviewed her lessons as they waited for his ride.  When the honk of a horn announced its arrival, Mira went to the door to see Bennu out.  He carried his duffel bag, the satchel and contents freshly laundered, in wary readiness.  Mira was looking forward to his company for at least one more night, but if something happened she knew he would be gone any way he could, her expectations not withstanding.  That knowledge tainted her mood but when he turned to offer his farewell she surprised even herself by raising her hand, “Don’t say good bye, Bennu,” her words spilled out, “I heard in a song once that good bye is forever.  In my life that seems all too true.”

“They are only words,” Bennu chided gently.

“I know.  It’s foolish,” Mira shook her head, “but they are words with a fateful meaning it seems.  It was the last thing I heard from my father before he was killed by a drunk driver and it was the last thing my mother said before she finally died of cancer.  Even my best friend; she called me late one night after her husband left her.  She said she loved me and said good bye, then she put a bullet through her head and I couldn’t do a thing to stop her.”  The growing ache in her chest was appropriate, although she knew it unrelated, “What can I say; those words seem a fore shadow when spoken by people I care about.  I don’t like to hear them.  Please, don’t say good bye, Bennu, I never want to hear you say good bye.”

Bennu nodded, “Very well.  I’ll see you later then?”

Mira smiled softly, “Later then.  Thank you.”

He caressed her cheek, a gesture meant to encourage and reassure, but she could tell her moment of foolish weakness bothered him intently.  She forced a bright grin and waved as he settled himself in the car, then she stood in the doorway, in mute rebellion against the building pain, and watched as the car disappeared down the street.  When it was gone she retreated, shutting the door behind her.  Only then did she release her tight control and the agony surged like a sudden wave.  She clutched at her chest as she fell to her knees panting rapidly while her eyes filled with tears.  She felt like a pebble rolled on a surging torturous tide, lost between the swells without a chance to get her head above the water.  Over and over she was tossed about between waves of pain, and finally the tide began to recede.  She gasped raggedly as it ebbed, and slowly beat her fist upon the carpet, “Alright, Dr. Alison,” she wept as she lay on the floor, “I concede.  It’s time to try something stronger.”

Continue to Chapter 5  OR  Return to chapter listing

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Chapter 5 - Seekers

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Mira drove along the highway thinking back over the day.  Dr. Alison hadn’t had anything good to say, but considering the situation that was to be expected.  Her meeting with the SonLight Ministry, on the other hand, had been enjoyable.  They were planning an art show for the region’s Christian artists and the pieces she had contributed were well received.  The show’s profits were being donated, in their entirety, to the Pregnancy Crisis Center.  SonLight had hopes of someday actually putting together a collection worthy of touring, but that was on hold for the time being.  So far they hadn’t found any pieces worthy of serving as the feature pieces for such a tour. 

She smiled thinking of the great God who had sent her Bennu.  She might not be good enough to do the feature works, but she now felt confident she would have some pieces on the tour when it happened.  She laid out a few designs in her head as she drove, wishing she had a free hand to sketch them out on paper. 

It was fun, but her mind was not so occupied that she did not see the worn red car pulled over to the side of the road.  A florescent seat cushion in the back window read “NEED GAS.”  On the median side a car door stood open and a young woman was comforting a small child as some distance up ahead she saw the figure of a young man trudging away with a gas can.  Other cars zoomed by knowing the highway patrol would eventually take care of the strangers, but Mira’s heart went out to family.  There was a load strapped to the top of the car; that and New York license plates announced they were a long way from home. 

Passing by the car, she pulled in ahead of the young man.  He looked astonished, then hurried to her far window.  “Hi,” Mira greeted him cheerfully, “looks like you had more miles than gas.”

The young man looked embarrassed, then nodded, “My wife told me I should fill up, but I was sure we could make it.”  He heaved a big sigh and shook his head, “We’ve been sitting there for half an hour and I just couldn’t stand waiting any longer.”

Mira nodded sympathetically, “It’s a long ways between cities out here, but there’s a station a few miles up the road.  I can go fill up your can or give you a ride – which do you prefer?”

“Would you really?” the young man breathed in wonder, “Oh, thank you.”  He seemed unable to believe a stranger would be so willing to help out, but it didn’t take much in the way of convincing.  A few moments later he was beside her in the truck and she had rejoined traffic.

“You pick up strangers like this often?” he asked incredulously.

Mira laughed, “Would you believe you’re the second this week?”  Then she shook her head, “But, no, I don’t make a habit of it.  I help whenever the good Lord leads.  Sometimes, like now, I help as my heart leads.”  She offered him a bright smile, “When you get right down to it, it’s the same thing.  Christ said ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’  That means we serve him anytime we help one another.  Besides,” she added pleasantly, “it makes me feel good.”

“You’re not worried about kooks or murderers?” he questioned genuinely curious.

“Oh, I wouldn’t pick up just any stranger I saw; there is common sense involved, but no, I’m not worried.”  She paused thinking about the gift of peace she had received the night before last, and as she did that sweet smile of wonder graced her face again, “I’m not afraid to die.  I know Christ.”

“Christ, huh?” the young man asked skeptically, but even he noticed the gentle peace on the woman’s face, “He makes that big a difference?”

“Yeah,” Mira answered simply, and the young man grew quiet and thoughtful.  When they reached the gas station they filled his can after which Mira topped off her tank, then surprised her passenger again when she turned down his money and went inside to pay.  As she entered she noticed another man in a suit already at the counter and she diverted to grab a 4 pack of fruit juice from the cooler as the start of a low “I looking for…” conversation began across the room.  Something about the voice drew her attention, and for a moment she shivered feeling trapped and violated.

She didn’t recall seeing any other cars at the pumps, but glancing outside she spotted a big model black car sitting off to the side.  A wary wave of premonition washed over her as she approached the counter.  The man’s presence was like a breath of frost; he was not evil, but he felt threatening nonetheless.  “You’re sure you haven’t seen him?” she overheard his hard voice.  There was impatience and animosity in the chill tones, tightly controlled as if they were a constant he lived with daily.  Some one to pray for, Mira thought idly, then shifted in line so she could grab a package of gum.  As she did she glanced over to see what held the attendant’s attention and saw the photo of a man on the counter.  Even upside down Mira recognized him immediately. 

The bottles nearly fell out of her hand, and as they clinked dangerously the man turned around irritably to glance at her.  She caught a brief glimpse of ice blue eyes before she looked away to attend her predicament and to hide her face before her shock was revealed.  “Sorry,” she mumbled as she resettled her merchandise, then she found herself comparing the agent’s eyes to another’s.  They were so different and yet so similar.  Both eyes contained a distant grief, but Bennu’s eyes were the essence of a bright day, a corn flower, a bubbling brook - the blue of life.  This man’s eyes were cold and hard, the absence of warmth, of love, of soul - a wretched empty blue of some one who was jaded with life and merely lived day to day.  Oh, how this man needed prayer.

The man turned back to the attendant, “Well?”

The girl lifted the picture, looking at it carefully, then said instead, “He doesn’t look like the sort to be a fugitive from justice, does he Agent Preminger?  Is he dangerous?”

 “I wish I could be more reassuring,” the man identified as Agent Preminger answered ambiguously, “I’m sure he doesn’t intend to do anyone any harm, but I would be lying if I said he hasn’t left injuries in his wake.  When threatened, his actions have been unpredictably hazardous.”  This surprised Mira, but she knew there was something vital missing from the explanation. 

The girl behind the counter seemed surprised as well, and followed up her first question by asking what the man was wanted for.  Mira could sense the agent’s displeasure at being cross-examined, but he did an admirable job holding his temper, “He has information the government needs, and they want him very badly,” he offered tautly, “There is a sizable reward for any information leading to his apprehension.”

“Sizable?” the girl asked.

“Sizable,” the Agent Preminger confirmed in sullen tones.

Had Mira not been prepared, she would have undoubtedly dropped the bottles this time.  Bennu had not said it was the US Government that was after him!  A chill of trepidation slid down her spine.  If this agent asked her directly, there was no way she could fool him.  She did not lie, had no aspiration to start, and could not do so convincingly if she tried, but there was no doubt in her heart that this was the who and the what she needed to protect Bennu from.  She did her level best to stay calm and look unimportant, praying all the while for the heart of the man before her and for God’s guidance and blessing.

   The attendant, on the other hand, was duly impressed by the agent’s indeterminate allusions and finally admitted she had seen a hitchhiker that looked a lot like the man on her way to work a week or less ago.

“You couldn’t be more specific?” the agent asked dryly, but the girl just shrugged.

“Do you know how many hitch hikers I see every week?” she shot back without rancor.  “There was just, I don’t know, something different about him.  I almost gave him a ride.”

“But you didn’t.”

The girl shook her head, “I figured a mile wouldn’t do him much good, and I would have been late for work if I took him any further.  Someone must have given him a ride though, because it was pretty chilly out, and he didn’t stop here to warm up.”

“Thanks,” Agent Preminger said with tight annoyance, “One more question; are there any old Indian sites in the area?”

The attendant thought on it for a moment, then brightened, “Yeah!  There’s the old Donoma Mounds out at the Silver Lark Farm.  I remember them from a field trip I took in a sixth grade.”  This caught the Agent’s attention and he asked the girl to show him where on a map under the Plexiglas counter.  She did so warning him that some of the roads might be washed out after this last storm.  He seemed to regard her warning lightly, but Mira silently hoped a good many more were washed out than she imagined; anything to slow him down. 

The agent coolly thanked the attendant again, and exited to his car without another word.  His voice had called up visions of bars and echoes of pain, and Mira wondered what scars the heart of this government agent carried.  Staring after him for a moment, she finally shook herself and turned back to pay for her purchases before making her own exit.  Agent Preminger was in his car looking at a map as she drove by, but as she passed he glanced up.  He caught her eye briefly and she forced a smile before turning her eyes to the road.  While she dared not look back to verify it, she could swear she felt his eyes staring after her as she left the gas station and started back the way she’d come. 

Her passenger, Brian by name, started up a conversation that very shortly wound its way back to her faith.  Mira realized God had a two-fold purpose for her random act of kindness using it to inform her of Bennu’s danger, and now to share about Him.  She did so willingly, setting her other concerns aside for the moment as she candidly answered Brian’s questions.  He seemed curious, and as they finally approached his car Mira finally said, “Look at it this way, Brian.  If you want to buy medical insurance, you do your research and ideally you would want to buy the policy that gives you the best benefits from the most reputable company.  Sometimes its expensive, sometimes its not.  It depends on what you have to sacrifice to purchase it, but it gives you peace of mind, and it might even save your life.” 

Brian nodded in agreement.

“If you would put so much consideration into a policy covering your body for the short time you live on this earth, shouldn’t you put at least as much care into choosing the one covering your immortal soul for eternity?  Now as an agent of the J.C. Salvation Agency,” she grinned, “I’m here to tell you my company takes the cake when it comes to historical accuracy, bookkeeping, you name it, and I guarantee the reliability of my Lord’s policy, but you don’t have to take my word for it.  The conditions of this policy were laid down in over 300 prophecies before my Lord ever arrived to buy the stock, as it were.  He met every condition laid down; some of them recorded 2000 or more years before he came.  Over 300 precise prophecies fulfilled with 100% accuracy I might add -- no other company can make that claim.  And while he did his house-to-house stint and taught his first agents he didn’t say buy my policy, learn to my truth or jump through these hoops to earn your salvation the way others do.  He said I AM the policy; I AM the Truth.” 

She reached over into her glove box and pulled out a worn burgundy book with the words Holy Bible on the cover, “Its all spelled out here in black and white.  If its not in here its not endorsed by the company, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.  That’s specifically mentioned in the last book, chapter 22, verse 18 among others.  But I suggest you sit down and read the company history and the policy.  Also call the 24 hour 7 day a week customer help line – we call it prayer,” she added with a wink, “and ask for a recommendation to a reputable agent to help you out.  Beware of false agents.  Regrettably there are more than a few out there, some very well known and respected.  They know the company very well, and are good at twisting it into something its not.  That’s why it’s important for you to understand this yourself,” she indicated the Bible, “and never read or tackle a problem without touching bases with customer assistance first.  They’ve got someone there who specializes in understanding.” 

She pulled off the road across from his car and turned to face her passenger.  “This policy is free, Brian, a gift.  It can have a price later, but the rewards are even greater.  Make your own informed decision, Brian.  After all, what have you got to lose?”

“My immortal soul?” Brian chuckled.

“You said it,” Mira answered seriously sobering him instantly, “Here,” she handed him the Bible, “take this one.  I’ve got another one at home.”  He flipped through it warily as if expecting something to jump out at him, but found only text, much of it hi-lighted in different colors with numerous notes in the margins.

“I couldn’t,” he protested, “I can see you’ve had it a long time.”

Mira shook her head, “Since I asked for my own coverage, but its right I should pass it on.  I won’t have a need for it soon and I’d rather you and your family had it.  Maybe my scribbles will be helpful.”  Brian looked at her curiously, but she continued, “Don’t forget, each member of the family has to take out their own policy once they understand the terms, but enrollment is entirely voluntary.  From the beginning we have always been given a choice.”

Brian was not sure what to think, but Mira saw honest gratitude toward her actions if not her gift in his eyes as he closed the Bible and laid claim to it.  “Try starting in the second half first,” she offered as he climbed out, “say the book of John, and here,” she handed him the four pack of juice after she pulled one lose for herself, “Your wife and kid are probably hot.”

“Thanks,” Brian smiled, “Thanks a lot.”

“My pleasure,” Mira grinned, “Have a safe trip.”  He collected the gas from the back of the truck, and Mira waved to his wife as she crossed the median and resumed her trip home. 

Now it was time to worry about Bennu.

Continue to Chapter 6  OR  Return to chapter listing

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Chapter 6 - Dead Ends

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Professor Kenyon’s research had proven beyond a reasonable doubt that the Donoma Mounds were, in fact, a hoax created by an ambitious shyster back in 1863.  After building the mounds he advertised them far and wide as a site of ancient healing and even managed to turn a profit from oils and unguents blessed through “ancient Indian rites on the sacred site” sold as far away as Europe.  Only a few years after its dubious origins were revealed, however, the schools were again using it for field trips when they studied the Native Americans of the area.  Like the embryonic “gill” slits on human fetuses, although debunked, the legend persisted.

It meant, however, that whatever Bennu was looking for wasn’t to be found at Silver Lark Farms.  This left him the freedom to flee ahead of his pursuer.  To this end Mira had contacted another friend who knew a number of truckers, and as God would plan it he knew a driver leaving in the morning for a five state run.  The driver could drop Bennu off anywhere along the way so even if Preminger was able to track Mira down - which Bennu assured her was very possible - she would, even truthful, be of minimal use to him. 

The morning arrived all too soon for Mira’s pleasure.  She knew something about the impending departure was also bothering Bennu, but she wasn’t sure exactly what.  It was only when she paused to glance over the drawings sitting on the table that she felt his eyes alight on her and remain.  When she turned she found him staring at her with a piercing intensity, as if his eyes could see her thoughts themselves, then he shook his head in a dissatisfied gesture.  “You have done so much for me,” he sighed, “and I can’t know you.”  The word ‘know’ as he spoke it carried a definition she could not fathom, but she understood the disappointment.  Her heart yearned for him to stay, even though she knew it wasn't possible.

She couldn't protect him from the government, neither could he find what he was looking for here.  He had no choice but to leave, and she had no choice but to watch him go.  She had known it was only for a time of healing that they had been given time together.  That time was over, but she didn't want him to think he was completely alone again.  She fished in her pocket and pulled out a special copper penny.  “Bennu,” she started hesitantly, “There something I want you to have.”  There was a sweet ache in her voice that caught him immediately, “I know it’s not much, but it’s very special to me.”  She placed the coin in his hand.

Bennu looked at the coin.  He was familiar with pennies, but this one was different.  It was well worn from obvious handling, and a heart shaped hole had been cut out of the middle.  In and of itself the coin had little value -- with a hole it probably couldn't even be spent -- but to the woman who saved his life it had a value beyond naming.  He could see it in her eyes.  “I couldn’t,” he protested, trying to hand it back, "It is precious to you."

“Yes, you can.  That is why I want you to have it,” she replied firmly, closing his finger over the coin, “I’ve had it a long time.  My mother gave it to me.  She said it was something I could always carry that would remind me of her love... of God’s love.  Now I want you to have it for the same reasons.  I know you have to travel light, and you may not know me as well as you’d like, but I want you to know you're never alone and I want you to have something to remember me by.”

“You’ve been a light in a very dark tunnel,” he smiled, “I would not forget that, but thank you.”  His fist firmed around her token, and he raised it to his heart, then his other hand reached up to caress her cheek. “Thank you,” he said again with profound sincerity.

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All too soon they were on the road.  At the freight yard she found the front office and knew they were expected when a man leaning against the wall threw down a cigarette and waved welcome.  He walked up to the passenger window and spoke to Bennu in a gravelly voice she couldn’t make out, Bennu nodded and the trucker departed.  When her companion sighed, then glanced at her regretfully, she knew they didn’t have much time.  He started to speak, then hesitated.  “Yahshabshalowm'e,” he said quietly, the word floating off his lips like the note of a mournful song, “In my people’s tongue it means ‘peace stay with you.”

“Yah-sha-sha-loom-eh, Bennu,” Mira answered just as quietly, and he smiled at her attempt to reproduce the unfamiliar syllables, then she added “Please, take care, will you?”

“I will,” he reassured her pulling her close in a brief hug, “Thank you, for everything.” 

She returned the embrace, but when she let him go he paused reaching into his shirt pocket.  From it’s depths he retrieved a small crystal not quite an inch long.  It was familiar, and after a moment she recognized it as a piece of the crystal he carried in his duffel.  She knew the formation to be among his most cherished possessions, though she didn’t know why, and now he offered her the fragment tenderly.  “Something of mine to keep,” he said laying it in her hand and closing her fingers over it.  “I’ve carried it close to me ever since it broke off.  It will be something to remember me by.  Do not let it be taken from you.”

She stared at the gift in wonder, feeling a warmth radiating from the stone that seemed to have little to do with body heat.  “Its beautiful,” she whispered, then she lifted a kiss to his cheek, “Thank you, for more than you will ever know.”  He reached out to briefly caress her cheek, then collected his duffel bag and slipped out of the truck.  She watched as he walked by the office, then with a final wave disappeared around the corner. 

She had hoped to see him off, but it was better this way.  Many trucking companies used the terminal and the less she knew about the truck he was leaving in the less use she was to Preminger.  That thought was small consolation, and as she lost sight of him she felt the tears she had been forcing back break free, tears of sadness and tears of gratitude.  They coursed freely down her cheeks.  “God be with you, Bennu,” she wished the hunted miracle worker, “God be with you... and good bye.”

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Chapter 7 - Epilogue

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Bennu watched as the snowstorm threw it’s delicate crystals against the bus terminal’s glass front, then turned to sit as he waited for his bus.  On the seat next to him a previous patron had left a magazine.  He had not planned to read, but the illustration of an inhumanely beautiful landscape on the cover caught his eye.  It was a picture that no one on this earth could have ever seen, but there it was none-the-less; an image of his homeland as he fondly remembered it. 

He picked up the magazine and quickly thumbed to the cover story.  It was a story about a young Christian artist named Mira Stanfield, whose works were now touring the states in a “visual presentation of the compassion and promise of Christ.”  She had donated her final works -- works completed before she was claimed by the same cancer that had taken her mother -- to the SonLight Ministries, a local organization she loved.  The gift had become the means for the ministry to share its message nationwide.  The pieces were so powerful that despite their religious subjects several had even received secular recognition. 

The four pieces featured in the article were the cornerstones of the “Seeking the Light” tour.  The first two pieces, “Touched by the Spirit” and “The Golden Light of Christ,” were works that called to Bennu’s heart with a familiar longing, but the last two brought back a flood of memories that left him weak.  The cover piece, entitled simply “Home,” brought tears to his eyes, but it was the last that let those tears fall.  In a masterpiece called “Angel of the Light” he recognized himself clothed in a radiant robe with arms upraised in praise to the Light of the World.  Behind him wings of glorious flame echoed the exultation, but as he stared something more revealed itself... a realization that this was not simply an image of him, but it was Truth! 

An understanding as deep as his soul dawned on him and he suddenly saw the whole of the piece.  He did not exult the Lord of All Life alone, but rather his wings were in truth a blazing Phoenix that paid homage while Bennu joined it as prince, protector, and servant.  Truths known and unknown; this one image captured everything he held dear, everything sacred.  Somehow, the artist had seen to the heart of his soul, the truth beyond his soul... that thought touched a chord in his memories and at that moment he knew who the artist was. 

From his pocket he fished out a special penny feeling again the love that always seemed to flow from the heart shaped opening.  It brought back memories of a bright talented artist who had helped him when he could go no further and had been a source of encouragement on many a dark night.  He still didn’t remember much of their initial meeting, the fever blurred his memories, but he knew she had saved his life.  Then Mira had come to renew his soul, to start him on a new spiritual journey of hope and love learning about the Most High's presence here on this world.  Mira?  He glanced over the body of text again.  Somehow he had never learned the artist’s name.  She had known his, and their brief friendship had been so comfortable the need to ask hers never arose, but she did have a name...  Mira Stanfield.  Her name was Mira too. 

It was then that he knew who had actually renewed his soul.  It had not been his Mira.  It had been Mira Stanfield!  No wonder she had been able to speak of death so poignantly, she had been speaking from her heart.  The cancer had been killing her even as she had saved his life.  Bennu shook his head in regret.  He had never known.  He had not fully recovered in those two short days he was with her, and she had given him no reason to go searching, to risk staying.  If only he had known...

He refocused on the article with difficulty and scanned the pages until he reached the last few passages, then found himself reading slowly word by word.  It said, “Dying is suppose to be a private thing, but Mira wasn’t one to keep secrets, and as her physician and her friend I think she would want me to share this.  Despite her family history, she didn’t have much use for doctors, but when she began to have a persistent discomfort similar to her mother's she finally submitted to tests.  I had to tell her that the tests were positive for cancer.  Further tests showed that it had already advanced past the stages of treatment.  She had, perhaps, a year to live.  She had always tried to obey the will of God -- I can’t say she accepted this without question, but I do not fault her for her doubts.  I think her faith was stronger than mine would have been.  There was, however, something that drove her; something that I could not understand.  She kept saying, “I can’t die.  I’m not finished yet,” but when I would ask “with what?” she could only shake her head.  I’m not sure she knew completely herself.  I only knew I could feel her despair. 

She choose to avoid those arduous procedures that might extend her time at the cost of her active lifestyle.  She wanted to live her remaining life to its fullest for as long as God allowed.  I think she was praying for a miracle, and she finally received it.  I have to be honest, it was not what I would have asked for.

It was perhaps eight months after she was diagnosed that she began these powerful pieces that are on tour.  I could not understand where this inspiration or this incredible talent suddenly came from.  She had always been a good artist, but the works she began producing were like nothing she had ever done before.  It was like a gift from God that had been dormant all her life had suddenly burst into bloom.  She was the happiest I had ever seen her, I mean ever, in her life!  She was dying and she didn’t care; even the cancer could not stop her.  I have seen others die of this cancer.  It is a cruel heartless monster that grants little mercy to its victims.  The pain and suffering others have experienced is beyond describing, but once Mira focused this new talent on God she suffered none of that.  She was beyond it.  She was doing God’s will.

I never knew until the day she died how this was accomplished.  She met someone and for Mira he was evidently a Godsend, but who he was is a secret she took Home with her.  She only wrote this of him on the final page of her journal...  “I have always known God wanted me to do something... all my life I have known and here I was dying and I hadn’t even begun.  I didn’t know how.  Then I met him.  To have a purpose in life is a powerful thing.  It can be a reason to live, or seem a reason to die.  Mine was a reason to live and yet I was dying.  Under the weight of his he wanted die, and yet he had to live. 

It was strange.  We encountered each other walking in our own separate valleys, but he was able to rise out of his despair and lift me up to the highest mountain top.  He taught me to hear God’s voice in a way I had never known before, and how to put It in my work.  He gave me the means to answer my call.  I wish I knew where he is now, but our paths parted just days after we met.  He had his own mission to pursue.  I don’t know what it is, but I do know he is a blessing to the life of every person he meets.  I’m not sure he realizes that.  His mere presence enriches and God’s Love is spoken in his actions.  I pray for him daily, and can only hope I was able to help him through his valley, even just a little.  Meeting him was a lesson each of us should learn - evidence of the impact we can have on each other’s lives.  Even as total strangers, God can use us to change a life, he is proof of that.  He is my Angel of the Light.”

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