The Rev. Judith Hardanger-Hansen stood strong and fearless, wearing her best white vestments with green stole for the Pentecost season and leading the congregation in the Creed.
"I believe in God, the parent inscrutible, ground of all being. And in Jesus Christ, the only Offspring our leader, who was conceived by the Sustainer Spirit, born of the unwed Mary, suffered under Imperialism...
She still felt weak and sore from her ordeal in Troll Valley. Her ribs hurt when she coughed, but she had made the decision not to see a doctor. She had a purple eye and a bandage on her cheek, but she'd explained to people that she'd fallen while walking in the woods.
...was oppressed, crucified, dead and buried. The third day he transcended human categories; he disappeared into everlasting Mystery...
It was all best forgotten. Once again she had trusted a man; once again she had been exploited. It did no good to obsess about mistakes. The main thing was to go on; to be strong. All truth was a construct if you believe something, then it's the truth for you. She would believe that none of this had happened.
...and became united forever with Deity in the mind of the Church. His principles will one day liberate Humanity....
A thought picked at the hem of her mind. Something she had always told rape victims she'd counseled with... something about seeing a doctor...
No. The matter was closed. She had the right, as an autonomous Soul, to construct her own reality, and her reality admitted no consequences for events that did not fit her Paradigm.
"I believe in the Sustainer Spirit; the Holy Catholic Church, containing but not limited to the community of Christian believers; Karma, the transcendence of the Universal Mind, and progressive Evolution. Amen.
She climbed into the pulpit and faced the congregation.
Congregation?
"I gave her to the congregation...."
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, concentrating on her spiritual Center. The congregation would think she was praying.
When her spirit was quiet, she turned to the Winnowed Bible before her and scanned the page for her text.
"Where's my text?" she wondered to herself. She looked up and down the columns but could not find the words she meant to preach on.
She said it aloud: "Where's my text?" The congregation began to fidget. People glanced at one another.
This wasn't good. Still, such things happened. The secret was to be calm, not to let on that anything was wrong. "I make my own truth. I will make this moment what I wish it to be."
She had her sermon notes. She would go straight to them, and quote the text from memory.
What was her text?
Something about blood, said a voice from within her.
No, that wasn't right! She never preached on blood. Nobody preached on blood nowadays. We'd gotten beyond that, thank God.
"Something about blood!" said a voice, and to her amazement she recognized it as her own. What was happening to her?
"Blood!" she repeated, to her own horror. "Blood and more blood! Rivers of blood, and lakes of blood! Blood feuds, blood oaths, and menses! Blood brothers and blood will out! The blood of innocents, the blood of martyrs, the blood of the Lamb!"
Suddenly she knew, as she struggled to take her tongue back, that some other Judith, some Judith she had buried with contempt long ago, had grown over time like a seed in the silent earth and chosen this moment of trauma to rise again. Some inner Justice, some secret Solomon, had spoken the terrible words, "Divide the living child in two." And now a light had gone out somewhere in her mind. Some interior passageway had been bricked up. That other Judith, now unjustly strong, had taken control and was pushing her back, ever back; back into some dark, gridded cell of her mind where she could scream forever and no one in the universe would hear....
"My womb," her mouth said quietly. "They took my womb away. They said they'd put it where I could have it when I wanted it again, but now they won't give it back!"
Down in the pews, a deacon edged forward in the north aisle and whispered to another deacon. They went up quietly, and one of them took Judith by the hand and led her back to the sacristy while the other assumed the pulpit.
She went without a struggle, and before the sacristy door closed her voice could be heard, pure and sweet, singing, "There is a fountain filled with blood...."
Dear Carl,
I hope you get this letter. I trust that, packed in the thermos and protected in the refrigerator, it will survive the fire. It seems possible that my way of going will trouble you, and I'd like to set your mind at rest.
I told you once that I wanted to prove that orthodox Christians were not by nature persecutors. I think I've found a way. Like all God's arguments, it is at once simple and unthinkable.
I will set my body between the burners and the witches. I trust that with the time I buy, you will be able to carry out your task and this time at least the burners will fail.
I might add that, now that it is upon me, death even death by fire is not as terrible as I feared. This is a good way to die. I'm grateful for it.
I'm sorry to leave you at a turning point in your life, but our Lord must have plans of His own for your nurture. I trust Him. That you will survive I am reasonably sure. I think one killing is sufficient for this night.
Fram!
In the Beloved,
Harry Gunderson
Martell finished reading the letter, then laid it on the bedsheet with his left hand. He looked up at Deputy Stokke, who sat in a chair by his hospital bed.
"Thanks for bringing that," he said. "I'd have been sorry to miss it."
"You want to make any changes to this statement?" Stokke asked, referring to his notebook.
"No. I realize it's all pretty fantastic, but it's what happened and I've kind of gotten out of the habit of telling lies."
Stokke said, "The thing is, if I submit this the way you dictated it, you're gonna have to go on the Dangerous Sectarians List."
"The what?"
Stokke explained.
"That sounds like a list I belong on."
"Yeah, well, that may be true and all, but I've had to put lots of people on the list since that night at Troll Valley. Most of those yahoos deserved it, and some of 'em are going to jail, but I don't like it."
"I wish I could let you off the hook."
"I'll let myself off the hook. I'm gonna do some rewriting on this thing. You went down into the valley to stop Oski, and you had an argument with him, and a riot broke out, and somebody set off some kind of explosion, and Oski died. That's not a lie. I'll just leave out the part about the god and the wolf and the sword."
"Can't you get into trouble that way?"
"Sure can. Someday I'll lose my job, I suppose. Someday you'll get on the DSL, and they'll do to you whatever they're gonna do to the ones who won't conform. But it's not gonna be today. I'm not gonna do it to you today."
"Thank you. God bless you."
"Your pastor friend was a brave man."
"He was a true hero. Oski never guessed it."
"They found his sister dead in her bed that same night."
"I figured."
"And we haven't caught that Solar Bull guy. The car he stole was abandoned in South Dakota, but there's no sign of him. The kid he stole it from's just down the hall here."
"I know. He's all right he'll be released today too. But I guess he won't go anywhere he just stays at the girl's side in intensive care."
"The church people took the lady pastor away and put her in some kind of care program. And the church janitor'll be OK. Anything you need here?"
"No, I'm fine, I think. Somebody's coming to give me a ride home."
"You know you made the national news? The president mentioned Troll Valley in his radio address yesterday. He said the tragedy of Sigfod Oski's death just shows how much we need the DRA." Deputy Stokke got up, said goodbye, and went out.
As he left Elaine walked in, casual in the manner of a runway model. Martell watched her, amazed at his own dispassion. She's a beautiful woman, he thought. But just a beautiful woman. The pain is gone, and with it the love. Incredible.
"How's the arm?"
Martell glanced at his right arm, bandaged at the wrist where the hand used to be. He didn't feel like an amputee. Phantom Limb, the doctors called it the mind's insistence that the lost member is still in place.
"Not too bad," he said. "I guess I won't play the violin again."
"The days you were in that coma I felt so responsible." Martell looked up at the word, to see her staring at the floor. "I still do. I got you into all this."
"No. It was Oski's plan like you said, he saw everything and planned everything beforehand. And I'm not sorry. I'm well, Elaine, for the first time in years. Small price to pay."
"I can't help feeling guilty leaving after all I promised you."
"You can't stay with me just out of gratitude."
She avoided his eyes. "I never said I loved you, Carl. I have so much to think about. I've got to make some sense out of all this. I've got to get away. Maybe I'll make my peace with Jehovah like you. Then, if you still want me...."
Martell had no idea whether she was lying or not.
"What'll you do, Carl?"
"With Oski gone I find I'm not very popular here," he said. "Especially since I'm linked to his mysterious death. And of course my new faith is grounds for dismissal. They're letting me resign. I wouldn't stay anyway. I'll try to find some kind of work. I had thought about seeing if there was an opening back at the University face my fear but that's out of the question. So I'll face the fear of unemployment and homelessness instead. It'll be a kind of vacation after Christiania. What'll you do?"
"Oski left a will. He was generous."
"Viking chieftains always were."
"Maybe I'll go back to school. Finish my degree."
"Good for you."
She stood up. "Can I kiss you goodbye?"
"I don't see why not." She bent and kissed him lightly on the lips. It was just a kiss.
"I'm a very screwed-up woman, Carl. You can do better," she said.
"Goodbye, Elaine. I hope you find everything you're looking for."
She smiled. "Nobody lives that long." As she turned away her face caught the light from the window. For the first time, Martell noticed that there were crow's feet at her eye-corners, lines on her throat. Then she was gone. He watched the slow door close behind her.
As she went out, Harry and Minna Gunderson came in. Martell was just thinking how nice it was of them to stop in when he remembered, with a shiver that ran down his entire body, the fundamental law of the world. They were a merry pair of cosmic felons though, dressed in white and walking lightly. It was the first time Martell had ever seen Harry move without pain.
"How are you, Carl?" they asked.
Martell could not speak.
"We're not restless spirits, Carl. We're just two old friends, stopping to say goodbye before we go Home."
Martell managed to whisper, "Why are you here?"
Harry sat down on the unoccupied bed. His body looked solid, but the sheets didn't crease. "First of all, to say well done. You will be mentioned in dispatches. Secondly, to give you guidance."
"Guidance?"
"You're wondering what you'll do with your life, aren't you?" asked Minna, standing by the foot of Martell's bed.
"Yes."
"Well don't."
Harry laughed. "What Minna's trying to say is that you'll have plenty to do. Don't think that the DRA is the end of the story for the church in America. This is just where things start to get interesting. I'm rather sorry I won't be around for the fireworks."
"What's going to happen?"
Harry laughed again. "You don't think I'd tell you, do you, even if I knew? How do you think I'd have felt if I'd known beforehand that I'd die by fire? I'd have gone crazy with fear and depression. God shielded me with ignorance beforehand, and with His presence when the time came. It's the same for all of us."
Minna said, "What we can tell you, Carl Martell, is what you already know. You are a sword. What do you think a sword is for? For breaking yes, but afterwards for being re-forged better than before. There will be need for a sword, 'piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit.' There must be resistance to the new order; a resistance that's not led by the men who burned Harry."
"That sounds like lonely work."
"'I have left me seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed down unto Baal.'" said Harry.
"I always loved heroism," said Martell. "But I never much wanted to be a hero myself."
"Guess what, Carl Martell?" said Minna. "Life isn't about what we want to do. It's about what we're called to do, and whether we say yes or no."
"I've already said yes. I won't turn back. But I'm only Carl Martell. I was never known for courage. I wish I had something some sign or something. I'll quote Scripture to you too 'The sword of the Lord, and Gideon.' Gideon asked for a sign, and he got one. I know that's selfish after the things I've experienced, but faith and courage are new to me. I could use some help."
"There's always help, Carl, if you know where to look," said Harry. "Well, it's time we went on our way. Ready to go, Minna? Say Carl, I could use a drink for the road. Could I have some of that water?"
Martell poured water from his carafe into the glass on the side table, a little confused as to why a spirit would need a drink. It took a moment before he realized he was seeing yet another fundamental law broken.
He was pouring with his right hand. The phantom one.
The carafe hung steady in the air, draining its contents. He could feel it in his hand. Only he could not see the hand. It was just like movie special effects. His mouth fell open and the glass overflowed.
He turned to Harry and Minna, but they were gone. Only Harry's words remained, as much a memory as a sound: "There was the hand, and there was the sword in it, both of them parts of you. The sword will be there again in the day of your need."
Ten minutes later a nurse with a wheelchair arrived and Roy Corson followed her in. "How you doing, Carl?" he asked.
"I'm ready to go. Dressed and everything."
"Good, the car's waiting. Arm OK?"
Martell held it up. "Call me Tyr," he said, smiling. "I put my hand in the wolf's mouth."
"Just the kind of idiotic thing you'd too, too. You having trouble shaving with one hand?"
"I'm growing a beard."
"Curiouser and curiouser. You're going off the deep end, you know that? This is how it starts. First you get religion, then you grow a beard, the next thing you know you're teaching Sociology."
Martell sat in the wheelchair. "I won't be teaching anything," he said. "You know that."
"Nice time to become a religious fanatic." The nurse pushed the chair out the door and they proceeded down the hallway.
Martell said,"It is, isn't it?"
"Is what?"
"A good time to become a believer. These are the times when God does wonderful things. This is when the hypocrites get winnowed out, and the corruption of power is gone, and church starts looking like Christ. How many times have I heard you mourn your radical days?"
"Hey, don't get me into this!"
"Why not? You're part of the Establishment now, and it drives you nuts. Join us, Roy. Be a subversive again."
As they waited for the elevator, Roy said, "Christ," and it was impossible to tell how he meant it.