The Great and Terrible Page 4

  Chapter Three

  Several days later, Ammon found himself on a mountain, climbing away from the city to get some time by himself.

  It was the most beautiful place under heaven or sky. Mountains and rock, trees, desert, and blue lake–all lay before him in exquisite detail. The air was so clear he felt he could see the end of the earth, the sky so deep blue, it seemed to merge into space. The view was entirely indescribable to those who were unwilling to pay the price, those unwilling to get out and make the steep mountain climb.

  Ammon paused near the top of the mountain and glanced over his shoulder, looking down on the narrow, rocky trail, then turned back to the mountain and, moving surely, pulled himself up through the rocks. He pressed against the mountain, searching for footholds while stretching his fingers across tiny ledges of rock. The sun was at his shoulder and the surface of the rocks was warm to the touch, though there was a coldness that seemed to emanate from deep in the mountain, a chill he could feel when he pressed against the stone, as if the sun’s heat didn’t penetrate as deeply as it once had.

  The seasons were changing. There was great change in the air.

  Breathing deeply, the man pulled himself through a small crevice, climbing carefully, and emerged on the top of the highest peak. Stepping away from the ledge, he turned and looked down, following the hidden trail with his eyes as it wound through the trees, then up the side of the mountain. Here and there, the trail completely disappeared, concealed by huge chunks of the mountain. So far as Ammon could tell, he was the only person who knew about the ancient trail; he had never seen anyone on it, and there were no indications of other use. He liked that. In this world it was difficult to keep something like that to oneself.

  Turning slowly, near the ledge, Ammon took in the view. To his left and his right, the great mountain range spread for hundreds of miles, craggy fingers of great rock shining in the afternoon sun. The rocky peak on which he stood fell away on two sides, forming sheer cliffs that extended almost to the valley floor. A narrow box canyon wound into the south side of the cliffs. The only vegetation on the mountain peak was the small leaches that grew in between the rock crevices and thin patches of wire grass that struggled through the rough soil. There were no trees or shrubs on this side of the mountain, for he was right at the tree line where the snow stayed until midsummer and the wind always blew. Just behind him, however, on the gently sloping face, was a forest of incredible trees, massive green firs with wide, spreading bows, ancient as the rivers, splendid and tall. The trees swayed like an ocean in the afternoon breeze. If he listened carefully, Ammon could hear the powerful whoosh of the wind moving through the trees, the sound echoing off the mountain walls and rising on the wind. He took a deep breath, the scent was sweet and musky with pine. He savored the silence. It was good to be alone. It was worth the long climb just to be by himself, to have time to ponder and say his simple prayers.

  Looking out on the landscape, familiar words came to his mind. This is holy ground. Standing on top of the mountain, he always felt the same way.

  What was it, he wondered, that drove him to the summit? What was it that compelled him to climb the steep path, working his way up the dangerous trail? He couldn’t answer the question; all he knew was that he felt it necessary to climb, to reach the highest point, to be on top of the world, to measure the distance, to see both sides of the mountain and the granite peaks all around. Being up there helped him, somehow, to understand the way things operated down below, reminding him that there was more to life than the day-to-day grind.

  Below the magnificent trees, the great city spread in every direction. On the other side of the city, far in the distance, the shallow lake reflected the afternoon light, a huge bowl of white sand holding a splash of pure blue. The city center was breathtaking, with vertical buildings of white granite and gray limestone reaching up to the sky. Beautiful homes, each a lesson in exquisite architecture, spread from the downtown area to the base of the mountain and west to the lake, reaching almost to the shore. The city was alive with people moving through the afternoon rush. He knew that, even as he watched, somewhere down there in the tallest buildings, Michael and his leaders were meeting to draw up their plans. Elizabeth was down there too, and Luke. And the enemy was down there, also making his plans.

  Ammon sat and leaned his head against the rock, then lowered his head and slowly closed his eyes. He listened to the wind moving through the tall trees and felt the heat of the sun and the cool mountain air. In a world of growing contention, he needed this time. He needed time to think about Samuel and why his brother had left.

  * * *

  As Ammon sat in thought, believing he was alone, the other man kept his distance, watching carefully through a gap in the trees.

  As the sun dropped to the horizon, Ammon heard footsteps, the sound of soft leather soles crossing the rocks. He stood and turned quickly. The man moved toward him, approaching from behind, his face hidden by shadow and a low-hanging tree. He was short and dark haired, a plug of a man, imposing by his thickness, determined and bullish, with a broad neck and thick arms. He marched up the sloping side of the mountain with deliberate strides, then forced a broad smile and extended his hand.

  Ammon moved toward him, and the two men embraced. “Ammon, I knew I’d find you,” the other man said.

  “Master Balaam,” Ammon answered, “what are you doing here?”

  Balaam held Ammon by the shoulders and stared into his eyes. “It’s good to see you, Ammon.”

  “Thank you,” Ammon answered. He studied his former teacher. “You look well, Master Balaam.”

  Balaam frowned and shook his head. “Don’t waste the politeness on me, Ammon. I know how I look. I look worried. And tired. And I feel even worse.”

  “Why is that, Balaam?”

  The great teacher didn’t answer as he walked a few steps away.

  Balaam was older than Ammon, his face a little more worn, his hands a little more rough, though there was not a full generation that separated the men. He was the chancellor at the main university, the headmaster, as he was known, and for many years Balaam had been one of Ammon’s favorite instructors. Demanding and intelligent, a bit on the fringe, eccentric and emotional, Master Balaam was loved by his students and respected by his peers. He filled his entire classroom with the booming sound of his voice, sometimes rising, sometimes falling, emotion and drama seeming to carry every word. Some said he was melodramatic, and there was no doubt that was true, but he loved teaching and the classroom, for it was his stage and he was always the star.

  Ammon patted Balaam happily on the shoulders, then took a step back. “Balaam, how have you been?” he asked. “It has been a long time.”

  “Yes, a long time. I am fine; thank you for asking. And how is my star pupil? I always hear good things about you.”

  Ammon smiled awkwardly as he settled himself on the flat rock. The afternoon sun bathed them in a warm light, but it was setting very quickly and a cool evening breeze was beginning to blow. Balaam placed his hands on his hips and took Ammon in; always the professor, he measured his charge.

  In a city of beautiful people, Ammon was one of the most beautiful. His light hair blew back and fell over his neck, and his ice-cold blue eyes were piercing and bright. His face was square; he was tall; his grip was bone-crushingly tight. He came from a good family; there was no doubt about that. Ammon was a good name; it had deep roots and strength. It meant courage and daring. Son of the Light.

  Yes, Ammon was a good name. And they needed this man. He had incredible potential, with his courage and strength. He was just what they needed. And Balaam had been sent for him.

  But he’s so young, Balaam thought. So young and naïve. He studied his friend from behind a blank mask. He thought it was too early, that they were pushing too hard. They needed to give life more time to steal the zest out of him, more time to frustrate him with disappointments and regrets.

  He puzzled a moment. Perhaps he should
wait.

  No! He had his instructions. It had to be now.

  Balaam studied his former student, and Ammon became uncomfortable as the silence grew long. He scraped the ground with his foot. “Where have you been, Balaam?” he asked. “I heard you were out of town.”

  Balaam folded his arms. “Oh, you know, we teachers have to get away and recharge every once in a while.”

  “Sabbatical?”

  “Of sorts.”

  “You’ve been gone a long time.”

  “Long enough to see that much has changed since I left.”

  Ammon grunted in agreement, then stared at his friend. “Balaam, why are you here?” he finally asked.

  “I wanted to talk to you, Ammon.”

  “You couldn’t just come by my home?”

  “I wanted to see you alone. Someplace where we could talk for a while without being interrupted. And I know what it’s like at your place. I’ve been there–remember? It’s like a carnival. Music. Dancing. And far too much singing! Your place is so noisy, it hurts my ears.”

  Ammon smiled. “You’ll have to talk to my sister; she’s responsible for that. She has more friends, I believe, than anyone else I know.”

  “How is Elizabeth doing?”

  “She’s gorgeous and happy. Just what you would expect.”

  Balaam nodded. “And Sam?” he asked, though he already knew.

  Ammon didn’t answer. Balaam waited a moment, then let the question pass.

  Ammon stared across the valley and the falling light. “You didn’t hike up the ancient trail, I suppose?” he asked as he nodded toward the cliffs at his feet.

  Balaam almost snorted. “Of course not,” he huffed. “Only a fool would climb the old trail.” He gestured toward the back side of the mountain and its gentle slope. “There are more reasonable ways, much easier ways, to get up here.”

  “Other ways, yes, but they aren’t as interesting.”

  Balaam picked up a sharp rock and ran his finger along the edge, feeling its hardness, stroking it carefully. “So let me see,” he said with almost a tease in his voice. “Since I have been gone you completed your studies and graduated top of your class. Chairman of the student committee. A gifted musician. A fierce, almost heartless, competitor on the field. I swear, Ammon, you are the most ambitious student I have ever known.”

  “Ambitious?” Ammon questioned. “I don’t know about that. Some things come to me easily; other things I have to work at very hard.”

  As he talked, Ammon thought of the last test he had taken before summer break at the university, an oral examination with one of the department heads, a cranky and unpleasant fellow with eyebrows that extended like a barn owl’s ears. What had been scheduled for a half day spilled through the afternoon and into the night, turning a normal evaluation into a grueling and nerve-racking ordeal, a contest of wills, a battle to prove how much Ammon really knew. The examination crossed subjects and specialties, delving into issues of philosophy and moral character. Ammon had a reputation as an intelligent student and gifted athlete as well, and the professor was convinced this had to be a mistake. By the time it was over, Ammon was nearly sick with exhaustion. Yet he had answered every question, and he felt a quiet thrill. Standing at the desk, he watched the professor write one simple line in his notes: Ammon has completed the examination in a satisfactory manner.

  High praise, indeed. And Ammon couldn’t have been more relieved.

  Thinking of the experience, he couldn’t help but smile. Ambitious! Hardly. But he wasn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with a professor, not when he called him out, hoping to prove that he was less than he was. Ammon considered the experience, then turned to Balaam and said, “No, sir, I don’t think I’m so ambitious, and I know I’m not as talented or as smart as most. I just seem a little more confident, maybe because I’m willing to work a little harder than they do.”

  Balaam listened, then shrugged. “All right then, a minor distinction. But for whatever reason, you seem to continue to do very well.”

  “Maybe. Thanks for noticing. But I don’t suppose you came all the way up the mountain just to tell me I do a good job?”

  “That, and to take in the view.”

  Ammon laughed pleasantly. He knew that wasn’t true. Balaam didn’t live slowly. He didn’t “take in the view.” His life was lived at full speed: “Listen to me! Learn! Or get out of my class! Don’t talk to me about beauty. I’m teaching reality here!” The teacher was far too intense to stop and smell the roses. The only occasion when he might catch the scent of a flower was when he cut through the gardens on his way to a meeting or some other activity that was worth his valuable time.

  Ammon glanced down at the trail and smiled. Balaam out hiking? To take in the view? It was just about as likely that the sun would fall from the sky. “Tell you what,” Ammon challenged as he patted a rock. “Come, then. Sit down. The sun is just going down. We can watch the sunset together while you take in the view.”

  Balaam swallowed, but he nodded and sat down heavily. He looked immediately frustrated. He liked to move when he talked, to illustrate with his hands and express himself with broad gestures that gave life to his words. Still, he sat down on a flat rock near the edge of the cliff and stared into space, looking over the city below. “Ammon, can I speak with you frankly?” he asked after a time.

  “Has it ever been otherwise?”

  Balaam slowly nodded. Yes, there had been times.

  Ammon leaned slightly forward. He had seen the nod. “What’s on your mind, Balaam?” he asked hesitantly.

  The teacher fidgeted a moment, then stood up and walked to the edge of the ledge and searched the horizon. The sun was starting to dip, burning through the low sky, turning from an indefinable brightness to a deep reddish hue.

  “War is coming,” Balaam said. “It is coming, I know. I don’t think you believe it. A civil war, here! But it is coming, I tell you, and others know it’s coming too.”

  Ammon answered slowly. “Maybe. We’ll see. But there are still many leaders who believe that it won’t come to that.”

  Balaam frowned deeply. “They do not understand.”

  Ammon studied his teacher. “Do you understand, Balaam? What makes you so sure?”

  “Listen to me, Ammon,” he answered in a low voice. “The pressure is building. Like an overfilled balloon, it is waiting to burst. Everyone feels the strain; there’s no way it can hold. There are too many misunderstandings and too much jealousy, too many hurt feelings and too much hate to keep in. And when the war breaks, it won’t be subtle. It will be sudden and brutal, with enormous casualties. Women and children, the young and the old–all will be victims in the coming war. It will be a war of attrition, not a battle for ground. It will be a war whose only purpose is to inflict casualties. It will be winner take all and the spoils not divided until the battle is through. No one will be safe. All will feel this war’s pain.”

  Balaam paused, then swept his arms across the enormous horizon. “The battle draws near. Like a storm cloud in the evening sky, the conflict looms large–dark, mean, and boiling with thunder and light. And though the coming storm is out there for everyone to see, because it is off in the distance, and because of its size, some find it impossible to gauge how close it really is. Is it moving toward us? Is it moving away? Some people wonder. Some people still hope. Perhaps it will pass. Perhaps it will blow itself out. But I’m telling you, Ammon, this storm will not veer away. It is approaching, and quickly. A dark night draws near.

  “And there is only one way to avoid the disaster that is coming, only one way to avoid the destruction of all.”

  Ammon shook his head as he looked out on the city and the blue lake beyond. He thought a long moment, suddenly sad.

  In that instant he saw a vision . . . no, he felt a vision, for it was much more a feeling than something he could see with his eyes. It was as if he were looking on something that had already occurred, looking back on a memory that had already been, so
mething he had seen, even experienced, though a long time ago. Fuzzy and soft-edged, he saw the vision unfold.

  The great city lay empty. All of the people were gone. It was a canyon of brick and marble, empty, narrow, and deep. A dry wind blew down a long, lonely street, pushing paper and dust through a half-open door. A single bird, black and ugly, lay motionless in the street. All was quiet. And there was a smell in the air like nothing he had ever smelled before. The air was thick, brown, and gritty, and it was growing dark.

  And the city was empty!

  Where had everyone gone?

  Millions of people! No! Even more . . . !

  A deep shiver ran through him, and his skin seemed to crawl. He shook his head to clear it and pulled in his arms.

  War! In this place! How could it ever be? The word was so rarely spoken it just didn’t fit here. It was simply inconceivable that war would come to their homes. It had happened in other places, true, but that was a long time before and a long way away. This place was special, this place was home, battles took place over there, not in their backyards.

  And yet Ammon knew that Balaam was right.

  The most terrifying element of the coming war, and the thing that made it so easy to deny, was the fact that the rot had grown from the inside and was already bone-deep. Home had a cancer. Home had a disease. Home had an ugly, hidden virus, putrid and deadly and capable of bringing their entire society down. Evil people, hiding behind the right of expression, had joined forces and plotted to bring their freedoms to an end. And those people walked in their midst, smiling and plotting and hating their friends, while waiting for the day when they could fight in the open instead of slink in the dark, their jealousy and hate quietly boiling inside. For them it was no longer a question of what was right or what was wrong, only of which feelings had control of their hearts: the love they had felt for each other and their God, or the hate that now stewed because of their jealous pride.

  Yes, war was coming. It fact, it was already here.