It would be pointless to say that I’d never seen a man burn himself to death. Just as I’d never witnessed a train accident, been kidnapped, or watched someone rise from the grave.
Saberhagen’s clothes were completely engulfed in flames. He stood erect on the altar, groaning like a man who’d just stepped into an icy pool. When the smell hit me, I knew it would be a long time before I’d eat barbecued pork again.
Even from across the cavern I could see my tormentor’s skin begin to bubble and peel. And still he stood!
“Tulzscha! O haunter of the green flame! Ia! Ia! Kryon Tulzscha! F’tagahn! TULZSCHA! TULZSCHA!” Saberhagen screamed these words, even as his face cracked and his hair incinerated. And then he turned to me. With blank eye sockets and lipless teeth, he said one last thing.
“The only way out of here is the last thing you’d expect. Remember what Gowen told you.”
He managed to bark out a few more ‘Tulzschas’ before his body collapsed on the dais in a burst of sparks. Charlie was moaning and I hoped she wouldn’t wake in time to see this. The door was still locked, but the police would be here soon, we could get her to a hospital…
As if in answer to my thoughts, I could just make out the faint sound of footsteps. I wheeled Charlie a few feet away from the door, in case the cops had to force it. Only those weren’t footsteps.
Rhythmic, faint, but growing louder. Not from above, but from below. Almost like a drum. Or—a heartbeat. Something massive. For some reason I thought of reptiles. A massive, three-chambered, cold-blooded heart.
Saberhagen’s charred and reeking skeleton still smoldered on its pyre. From the smoke, a single, green tendril of gas seeped upwards. With every subterranean thump, the colored steam grew more solid. It reached the domed ceiling and spread about the ancient stalactites.
Something gave Saberhagen his power. And it was about to pay us a visit.
The green smoke began to glow faintly, casting a sewage-green glow over the underground room. Everything seemed coated in filth and slime: the altar, the piles of boxes, Dan’s corpse—for a second, even Charlie seemed as vile and unclean as a pile of dog shit.
The column of smoke was now a solid pillar of green flame that reached from Saberhagen’s ashes to the lofty cavern roof. The pounding was clearly audible and I had the horrible, crushing feeling that the entire cave was pulsating, as if we were inside a horrible organ, and the green flow was a stream of the giant’s blood.
There was no time to wait for the police. There was no time to do anything. I knew that if Charlie and I saw Tulzscha, or whatever this unholy thing was, we’d be lucky if we died quickly.
Charlie shook; she was beginning to wake up. Her bonds were tight; a pair of police handcuffs around each wrist bound to her to the chair. Where the hell were the keys? Did Saberhagen have them? Were they among the piles of crates and sleeping bags?
Something in the air was burning my eyes and I found it almost impossible to keep them open. The glowing flame danced about the chamber, illuminating everything, but casting no shadows. The air was hot, filled with the smell of putrefaction.
Dan! He must have tied her up. I lunged at his body. The dagger in his back kept making him flop over onto his face, but eventually I managed to empty his pockets. I almost missed the tiny handcuff key among the pocket change.
Blinded, choking, and nearly weeping in fear, I managed to release my friend. Her head tilted, and her eyes blearily opened. “Sherman?”
Great. Now what? There wasn’t even a handle on the inside of the exit door and Dan didn’t have that key.
The flames continued to dance to the hellish tattoo, almost a solid object. Sparks showered the cavern. A few landed among the pile of boxes and ignited, burning with a legitimate red fire.
What had Saberhagen told me? The way out was where I’d least expect it? Remember what Gowen had said. Gowen was in a coma, he hadn’t said two words to me!
Charlie slid out of her chair and I was in no condition to set her back up. My eyes felt like they were soaking in chili sauce and I honestly thought my nostril hairs were burning.
Gowen did tell you something.
A lone message, across the decades. A scrawl on the back of a photograph.
The book of Job. What the hell did that mean?
I’d never been to church, not once. Desperately, I tried to remember something from the Bible story. Some guy who never gave up, never cursed God no matter how bad things got for him.
What was I supposed to do, just sit here and wait for divine intervention? Pray? I wasn’t making some connection.
Charlie began to cough and wheeze, worse than Dan had with his crushed throat. I had seconds to get her to safety and I was ready to cry with frustration. I felt abandoned and sick and hopeless.
Wait, what did Gowen’s diary say? I struggled to recall the verse.
Job threw himself on the ash heap.
Squinting through agonized eyes, the green flames danced and spun like a whirlwind, swirling through Saberhagen’s ashes. Surely not…
The last place you’d expect.
Charlie was too heavy to lift, I was forced to drag her. She cried, but was not fully awake. If it weren’t for the burning supplies in the corner I wouldn’t have been able to see through the putrid green fog. Keeping as much distance as I could, I pulled Charlie around the altar.
There, under the elevated pyre, was a small hole, about the size of a washtub. The one place in the whole cavern not filled with the noxious, green gas. As the thumping in the air grew so loud I thought my eardrums would rupture, I forced Charlie into the tiny opening. It was not an easy fit and she lost a bit of skin, but the vile air didn’t touch her. Too bad there was no room for me in there.
Sick to my soul, I wedged my body in front of the opening, leaving my back exposed. In the dark, I touched Charlie’s gritty hair.
“I’m sorry, honey.” I’d never been so sorry in all my life.
I waited for the burning, for the suffocation, for the end. I could no longer see anything. I wasn’t even sure I was conscious.
If anyone’s listening, please save Charlie. She doesn’t deserve this. And watch out for Denton…and…and…God bless Mommy and Daddy…
Had—had the beating stopped? Was the cavern dark? I dared not turn around. But—it seemed to be getting cooler in here! I could breathe! Just a little peek…
I had remembered Job, but forgotten Lot’s wife. The ball of green fire was the last thing I remembered.
Ironically, it was one of those mornings that made you glad to be alive. It must have been quite early; fog still rose off the silent river, as the sun just cleared the horizon. The dew on the grass was starting to burn away. Already, the birds were filling the air with their joyful song.
“Why should that strike me as odd?” thought Gowen. He tried to clear his head. Wasn’t it November? Distractedly, he walked along the riverbank. He had the nagging feeling that there was something he was supposed to be doing, some overwhelming responsibility that he could not remember.
As he plodded along, Gowen became aware of a figure up ahead. A fisherman, seated on a rock. Perhaps he could explain what was going on.
The angler did not turn as the reverend approached, but nonetheless seemed aware of his presence. He was dressed in a pair of patched overalls and a shirt of simple homespun cloth. His rod was a mere cane pole. On the ground next to him sat a can full of night crawlers. A fire burned a ways back from the water. The smell of roasting fish told Gowen the man had already had some success this morning.
He didn’t object when Gowen sat on a nearby log. The man was obviously a country boy. He wore no shoes and had a long, unkempt beard that hung down to his chest. His nose was prominent and his skin so dark that he might have been a Negro or a Persian.
Gowen said nothing for a long time, the cardinal rule of fishing. His companion cast and recast several times. Eventually Gowen spoke.
“I haven’t been fishing since my dad died. Maybe twenty years.”
The stranger nodded without looking over. “My dad never took me fishing. I used to go with some friends of mine, though.”
The man turned and smiled at him, and Gowen was filled with an inexplicable feeling of well-being. Didn’t he know this man? The reverend didn’t recognize him, but he looked somehow familiar.
Gowen noticed another pole on the ground. “Would you mind if I joined you?”
The stranger cast his line again and chuckled. “I’d love to have you, friend. But are you sure you have time right now?”
Again, Gowen was seized with the feeling of something important he’d left unfinished, some momentous task he’d abandoned.
“I don’t know.”
The fisherman pulled in his line, noticed his bait was gone, and placed another worm on the hook.
“Life can be like that. Always seems like there’s something more to do. Even on a lazy day like today.”
An uneasy feeling filled the minister’s gut. Just outside his waking memory, he had an image of someone—a woman?—who was depending on him for something. Something immediate and vital.
Gowen stood. “I guess I should go.” He glanced longingly at the spare fishing pole, the lazy river, the amicable angler. Then he began to walk.
“David,” called the fisherman.
“Yes?”
“We’ll go fishing someday. I promise. Just not today.”
The reverend started to respond, but the man was no longer there. Neither was the river. Nothing was there, only heat and darkness and flames. Cringing from the burning, the reverend stumbled through the darkness. Where was he? That light up ahead…
He was carrying something, some heavy, inert burden. Something in his scrambled brains told him it was vitally, desperately important that he not drop it.
Were his clothes on fire? Was he breathing? Nothing registered. Just the trek towards the light. Not the light of the flames, but the light of—the sun?
He was climbing from the pit. The air was cleaner. He burden seemed lighter. Was this death? Was he about to enter the joy of the Lord?
Rough hands seized him from both sides. No! He was so close! The demons dragged him…
But not back to the pit. Strong arms half-pulled, half-lifted him and his burden into the clear air.
Gowen collapsed in the yard behind the burning Synod headquarters. Sammy forcefully removed what he’d been carrying, as Sgt. Knowles beat the minister with a wet shirt. Clanging and shouting from the front of the building gave evidence of the arrival of the fire department.
As he faded out of consciousness again, he turned to the object Sammy had laid at his side. It was alive; he could hear its labored breathing and coughing. Just before he blacked out he realized that, for the first time in his life, he’d touched a naked woman.