The Centaur (51 page)

There were many things of interest in the bag and he contented himself with a long drink of water from one of the five gallon containers and several hours’ inspection of the items in the bag. Extra socks, he recognized. The underwear was baffling and he tried them on his head, his knees and his elbows before discarding them on the ground, resigning them to the unknown category in his head. He found a melted chocolate candy bar, bit it, liked it. A bottle of cologne, tasted bad, smelled good, so he doused himself in it. Tasted deodorant sticks, licked them, made faces. Shave cream, squirted his eye, cursed it. Razors, scissors, knives, extra
buttons,which he put in his numerous pockets for later examination. If a soldier thought these things important, he thought it wise to follow the unknown man’s example until he could make up his own mind what was important.

He found pictures of men, women and children. These he also placed in his pocket, deeming them much too important to throw away. He found papers with writing on them, papers without writing, pens and pencils, which he recognized fairly well and last, but not least baffling, two rolls of very thin, very soft paper that drifted away in the breeze when he tore pieces from the roll. He thought perhaps these were bandages of some sort and flattened them out before replacing them in the canvass bag. He also deposited his arrows, darts and knives in the bag, but attached his sword to the belt which matched the uniform. Another tightly wrapped, plastic bag contained a rectangular piece of cloth with metal holes along the edges. There were also nylon cords and tent stakes. A tiny slip of paper fell to the bed of the truck and on it he found primitive markings showing how to set up a shelter using the cord, stakes and cloth. He was impressed with this simple device and packed it in the bag as well. A search of the cab produced three empty water bottles which he promptly filled and put in his bag.

Further rummaging turned up several bags of popcorn, stale, but edible.

Lucifer was immensely pleased with his finds. He took the popcorn up onto the top of the truck and sat cross-legged, watching the horizon to the southwest while eating the chewy popcorn. It was too salty and made his lips dry. He finished the corn and spun around, intending to drop into the bed of the truck for more water, but he was thoroughly surprised to learn he was not alone. A man with curly brown hair, cropped close to his head stood looking at him down the barrel of one of the combustive weapons humans preferred. Nasty, loud and impersonal. Deadly none the less.

“Hello,” Lucifer said and raised both eyebrows. He tried the word in Uriel’s second language first.

“Hello,” the man answered deadpan, but did not lower the weapon.

Lucifer raised his hands instinctively and smiled.

“I would like to know if you have any idea where these soldiers might have gone,” Lucifer asked him.

“I don’t know,” the same unwavering voice. His green eyes were almost expressionless. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“My name is
Luci…” the angel began and then changed his mind. His name carried such a stigma.

“Pardon me?” The man frowned and raised the gun a bit higher. “Are you a woman or a man?”

Lucifer looked down at himself, and then leaned a tad bit closer to the stranger.

“I believe I am a man, sir,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. As far as he could tell, he looked about the same as the man in front of him. Generally speaking. “My name is Luke.”

“Luke? Just Luke?” The man did not seem satisfied and Lucifer nodded. He remembered their penchant for taking too many names for themselves.

“Luke Ramsay,” he smiled.

“Ramsay?” The man hesitated and lowered the gun slightly. Lucifer took the opportunity to pounce at that moment. He flung himself on the man, the rifle exploded next to his ear and then they were tumbling around in the back of the truck.

The angel soon gained the upper-hand and held the soldier pinned beneath him, one of his numerous daggers at his throat.

“Now, my friend.” Lucifer smiled down at the terrified green eyes and rubbed his ear with one hand. “Tell me who you are and what you are doing here alone. Where are your comrades?”

“Konrad?”

Lucifer let up on his hold a bit. The man was completely confused, disoriented, possibly insane.

“Do you know Konrad?” The man asked and looked as if he would cry.

“I know many things.” Lucifer got up and pulled the fellow up with him.

“I am… I was… I didn’t come with these soldiers.” The man looked about as if lost. “I came across the desert.”

“Ahhh. So did I. Go on.”

“You are Luke Ramsay?” The man squinted at him in the bright sunshine. “Which one?”

“So you know the Ramsays?” Lucifer was truly amazed. Did everyone know Uriel?

“I know them… of them. Everyone knows them.”

“I see,” Lucifer nodded and then leaned forward. “You look very familiar, my friend. Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so, sir… ma’am.” The man shook his head briefly as if to clear his vision. “Are you sure you are not a woman?”

“I think not.” Lucifer frowned.

“You should be,” the man said, blinking at him. “You are very beautiful.”

“I think I should resent that remark, perhaps.” Lucifer jumped down from the back of the truck and found his bag. He took out one of his water bottles and took a long drink, washing down the popcorn. He could feel the stuff between his teeth and he didn’t like it. He tried to dislodge it with one finger and accidentally choked himself.

“Heaven help me,” he gasped when he stopped coughing. “I’ll never get used to this.”

The man climbed out of the truck and stood next to him as if waiting for instructions.

“Well, my friend.” Lucifer looked up at the grayish sky. “Grab your bag… you have a bag, don’t you?”

The man nodded.

“Grab it and come with me. There’s no sense in staying here.”

Lucifer watched as the man crawled under the truck and came back with a similar bag, bulging with mysterious lumps and bumps. He hefted the bag on one shoulder and waited.

The angel slung his own bag over his back and winced as the strap cut his shoulder immediately. He put his cap on and took one last look back at the ruined city.

“You never told me your name, my friend,” he said as they started off after the cold trail of the soldiers.

“My name is Ernst. Ernst Schweikert,” the man answered and then pulled a pair of sunshades from one of his pockets. “You might need these. So you are a sergeant?”

“A what?” Lucifer looked back at him.

“A sergeant.” Ernst nodded to the markings on the uniform.

“Oh, no. I’m a messenger or so some would call me.”

“And what is your message?” Ernst asked him after a few seconds.

“I bring good tidings of great joy, for unto man will be born a new Light and it will be sign unto you. You will find the child wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.”

The angel’s words drifted back to the man on the still air.

“I’ve already heard that news and it’s
not
news. It’s old. Don’t you have something a bit more… recent?”

Lucifer did not respond, but smiled to himself.

“Can you perhaps tell me where I am and what is going on?” Ernst tried again.

“I cannot say, but you are welcome to travel with me.” Lucifer continued on. Each step kicking up dust. “There is much work to do.  Much announcing.”

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

“Stand back.” Mark held up one hand and maintained a stern expression as they approached the barn. It was rough building made of field stone and wood with a sod roof. Grass grew on top of it and two goats were making a meal of the fresh new sprouts. He could smell the scent of horses, sheep and cattle emanating from within. Earthy smells. The sort that had always made him homesick for a home he’d never really known. “I’ll see what this is all about, and then we’ll sort it out.”

“Give her this,” the maid thrust a pitcher of milk in his hands. “I hear tell thot evil demons canna aboide milk. P’raps she will drink it and die.”

“Have a care, Mr. John, she
moight use th’ evil eye on ye,” Robert whispered as he ducked under the low door post.

Inside the barn was warm and dim. Sunlight slanted through slatted windows and a sweet breeze wafted through the entire barn. A horse nickered in the farthest stall while harnesses and bridles bumped and tinkled together like wind chimes. A cat brushed his leg, causing him to jump.

“Sophia?” He tried to call her name without shouting. He still had no idea how to explain her to the people outside. She had picked a bad day to make jokes about witchcraft. It was the second time in one day that sorcery had been mentioned in a very negative light.

“I’m over here,” a voice traveled on the dust motes, barely audible.

“Sophia,” he whispered her name again and made his way into the second stall. He was relieved to see her sitting in a pile of hay with her back against the railing. He knelt in the straw in front of her.

“Are you all right?” He asked and reached for her hand.

“I hurt,” she said and then looked at the pitcher.

“Oh, Mary, the maid, sent you some milk.” He handed her the pitcher and she turned it up, making a face at the taste of the lukewarm raw milk.

She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater and closed her eyes.

“This is not good, Mark,” she said and struggled to push herself up. She brushed back the folds of the over-sized sweater. Her stomach was very large and Mark drew a sharp breath.
It was not time
. She had barely been three months pregnant. It was not possible, and yet, he knew it was quite possible. Anything was possible here. “I must have been out for a long time. I woke up here yesterday. At first I thought I was in the barn, and then I found I was right about the barn, but not the right barn. Oh Mark! What happened? Do you know? Can you tell Sophia what you did? Why was the Captain in your room?”

“The Captain? Galipoli was in my room?” Mark sat back on his heels and studied her face. She was very pale and beads of sweat stood out on her face.

“Yes. I followed him.” Sophia winced and placed one hand on the side of her stomach. “My clothes don’t fit Mark. I need something to wear.”

“They think you are a witch,” he told her. “This is not a good thing, Sophia. I need to work this out.”

She grabbed his arm and her eyes widened. “What? Work what out? Mark, you have to take me home. The baby will come soon. Do you understand what that means? The baby? Your baby? Michael Emmanuel?”

“Of course, I know about the baby, Sophia. Now hush a minute. Drink your milk. Let me think…”

“John?!” Lily’s voice, muffled by the building’s depths interrupted him. “John? Are you all right in there?”

“I’m fine, Lily!” He shouted and then sat down in the hay. “It’s just a poor lass. She’s in trouble. Hold just a moment!”

“Lily? Who’s Lily? Who’s Mary?” Sophia drank a bit more of the milk and then shivered to her toes. “And who’s John? Why is she calling you John, Mark? What… wait… wait…” she held up one hand in front of her face. “John Mark. I’ve heard that before. No, I’ve seen it. In the attic. That’s your name John Mark Andrew.”

“Now, Sophia, just calm down. I didn’t bring us here. I don’t know how we came to be here, but I will find a way out. I promise. In the meantime, I would suggest you pretend not to know me until I can sort this out. These people are… well, they are not what you are used to dealing with. And they burn witches hereabouts.”

Sophia frowned at him and then grimaced in pain.

“I’m going to go and bring back some things for you.” He got up and dusted off his pants. “You won’t be allowed to come in the house.”

“Mark!” Sophia reached for his leg and he caught her hand. “You can’t leave me here!”

“I’ll be back. You’ll see.”

He turned on his heel and a pain racked her as she tried to move.

The others hurried after him, asking all sorts of questions as he walked quickly back to the house. He could answer none of them truthfully.

When he had gathered blankets, a fresh nightgown, water and a ration of mutton and bread, he faced them in the kitchen.

“Now, I want you all to listen very carefully,” he told them. “I want you all to stay out of the barn. The girl is not a witch, but she is ill. I know a bit of healing and she might be infectious… I mean contagious.”

All of them gasped in unison and put their hands over their mouths in horror.

“Not the plague, John! Tell me!” Lily was white with fear.

“No, not the plague, more like the ague,” he said. “Now stop worrying. It’s just a fever. She may have a… she might have a broken bone or some such. You know how that brings on the fever.”

Again, his small audience sighed in unison, and then followed him as he checked the cupboards for basic ingredients. Honey, vinegar, salt. He ran through a mental list of everything he could remember necessary for the healing arts. He gave instructions for several items to be gathered and taken down to his lab so he could get started when he returned from the barn. After admonishing them to stay away from the barn once more, he took his bundle and went back outside.