0395: Spirit and Fire

Ziggurat #310

Fantastically, a small pyre had been built in front of the platform, cobbled together out of broken up furniture and scrap paper. Standing on either side of the burning pyre were Jamie and Everett, the 10-year old Downs twins, with flaming torches in their hands and expressions of rapture in their wide eyes. Standing in the center of the pyre was their toddler sister, Maggie, along with little Reese and the taller Tessa, Clyde Jackson's daughter. The girls looked at their parents with open trust and devotion as the flames licked at their skirts.

Constance forgot herself entirely. Flinging herself toward the grisly spectacle, she sought to pull Reese and Tessa from the flames, screaming raggedly: "You monsters! What are y'all doing?"

She felt strong arms hold her back. Looking up, she saw the rough features of Clyde Jackson glancing down at her, his eyes quickly returning to the pyre as the flames began to climb up Tessa's dress and obscure the features of her younger counterparts.

"Let me go!" She screamed, clawing desperately.

"You don't understand," Clyde hissed. "They're blessed! It's a blessing to leave the flesh behind. She will not contend with flesh forever. We must be free of it to follow her."

On the platform, Miss Anna raised her hands higher and declared: "Where she goes, the flesh cannot follow! It is wickedness to cling to it!"

Struggling, Constance craned her neck until she could see Lamont. He stood impassively nearby, lighting another cigarette and watching her intently.

"Stop this," Constance begged. "Please stop it."

Suddenly, she was back in the grove.

Cool air whispered over her skin from the steady, gentle breeze of the garden. No longer held by Jackson's bear-like arms, Constance collapsed to the floor of the grove, feeling the cold water from the runlet that flowed through it soak into the pants of her coveralls. In the center of the grove, Lamont stood just as he had before, looking down at her. One arm was folded over his chest, while the opposite hand held his cigarette loosely, close to his lips.

"That was a mighty cruelty," Constance whispered. "I don't know why you would show me that."

"You know how it is," Lamont replied, his tone cool but not without compassion. "We give you the message, but you can only see it through what your mind already knows. It is you who made it monstrous."

"Go to hell," Constance spat, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet. "No such thing has ever entered my head."

"It has!" Lamont insisted. "Oh, love, it has. Look!"

He moved his hand from his mouth to gesture outward, the tip of the cigarette smoldering between two fingers. The garden outside the vine-like lattice of the grove seemed to telescope inward, until they were surrounded by the scene at the edge of the garden: A black canvas of endless stars and subtle nebula.

"The fire in your heart has driven you relentlessly toward your greatest fear, has it not?" Lamont asked, his voice lowered to a reverent whisper. "You have looked out into the night and said to yourself: 'How can that be for me? For us? There is no place for us out there. Nothing can live out there except spirit and fire.'"

He looked at her intently. "You were right," he said.