CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

Once through the doorway, there was a tall tunnel, going only slightly upward and spanning a full four yards through the mix-stone front wall. With just enough room for one to walk comfortably, it was rather narrow compared to the needlessly high-arched ceiling. In the sidewalls were dozens of nooks filled with empty polished luminaries. Numerous others contained over-flowing phylacteries and scrolled treatises, prayers, and verses. At the end, a thick alder door swung on a large steel rod of a hinge, in such a way that it would seal up the tunnel like a bottle cork.

Through this door was one very broad and high-ceilinged room with several layers of heavy alder rafters. These layers served as floors without walls, whereby wide, hand-hewn staircases allowed a person to ascend from several directions. These staircases were numerous and varied in size, elevation, and location, with a number of switch-back designs consisting often of landings that were essentially smaller habitable locations. There were rails in places but not many.

As usual, Hugly looked up at this array with childlike awe and a desire to run about the whole of it. All the wood in this home had been treated to a garnum soak, which made them not immune, but quite resistant to catching fire.

Approaching a heavy post, Isha Maera actuated a mounted brass rod that articulated several other jointed rods that eventually reached a ceiling trap door, which closed down slightly, where its polished, metal face reflected the sun and brightly lit the entry area. Once she had settled Truck onto some marmot fur cushions, Isha Maera began giving instructions to Hugly, as he sat on a wood bench peeling the gum from his feet.

Soon, he was running off and returned with a full-sized, stone wash basin that he loudly dragged along the wood floor until reaching Truck. The entire time he looked down or off away, quickly taking in the orders in the simplistic way he was given them. Isha Maera squinted at him when he wasn’t looking. He departed and returned again and again, filling this tub with buckets of very hot water that Truck could not enter until Hugly had brought buckets of cold water to tame it.

Once within, Truck recounted to his sister, the story of his rescue at Hugly’s hands, followed by Isha Maera very busily pouring oils in the water and administering several remedies for Truck’s injury. At the last that he sniffed, his face went ashen white very quickly for a few moments and then color returned as he slumped comfortably with droopy eyes into the steam-covered water.

Hugly was off on an errand, and while in a very fine mood, Isha Maera took a seat on a stool and began rubbing an ointment into Truck’s eyebrows.

“Given a return of some motion, I suspect you will recover,” she said, smiling and clearly thinking of several things at once. “It was good to see you laughing. Do you still laugh when you’re nervous?” She asked.

“Yes. Especially when things are perilous. But when it happens, there’s no time to address it.”

“Hugly is my Schmonkle, by the way

,

” said Truck with his broad smile near the wispy water surface.

“Oh, no you don’t…” Isha Maera stopped her cheerful humming. “You don’t get to just arrive here and take a Bone’s Schmonkle,” she said, pausing her outstretched arm and leaning her head to look in his face.

“He’s clearly mine,” Truck replied with satisfaction. “He brought me here, and I never told him where I was going. He saved me and literally carried me to my destination from afar, without even a discussion on the subject. I haven’t even been able to give a proper thanks. It’s truly overwhelming…” He was slurring his words a bit.

Isha Maera forcefully pushed her finger against Truck’s forehead and began to speak firmly, “He brought you here because this is where I sent him from. He just returned as he was supposed to. You just happened to be with him by coincidence. Hugly has been my Schmonkle for nearly three years. What little you know. My Schmonkle brought my brother to my house. He serves me!” she scolded in a shift from her earlier delighted tone.

Truck looked directly at her through his drooping eyes with his face now more serious. “It’s a very rare thing for a woman to have a Schmonkle. What great work are you at, needing one?”

Her eyes drew wide at the insult, and her voice went sharply up an octave and in volume, “What great work are you at, Truck Bonesift?! Some highly efficient method for getting bubbly beer to your face?!”

She stepped up from her stool and spun away with her hands to her mouth in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Forgive me,” she said softly.

After a moment of reflection, she turned and spoke again in a measured tone. “You don’t know what you are saying. God left Hugly with me during Foster’s absence. And just because my beloved returns soon, does not change anything. I’ve been very busy praying for him, as well as having been deep in medical studies you couldn’t even fathom. Hugly is God’s gift to me. I need him.” She pressed emphasis.

Truck steadied his tone. “What do you know about Hugly?”

“What do you mean?” Isha Maera suddenly knew she was on unsteady ground.

“Well, what does his name mean?” Truck asked as he watched himself pat the still water with his hand.

Isha Maera began to pace looking for a way to answer.

“How old is he?” continued Truck.

Quickly she answered, “He doesn’t know his birthday, but he is about twenty-seven to thirty.” She knew she was on the spot.

“He’s twenty-three,” declared Truck. “Born in June or July in 414.”

Needing a victory now, Isha Maera began fishing for one. “I’ve been good to him. I’ve taught him lots of things. Given him a place to stay. Protected him. Prayed for him…”

Truck took a deep breath, lifting himself a bit and revealing a line where his pale skin met the bright red that had been submersed. “Did you teach him his numbers?”

“We’re working on that,” Isha Maera said, looking upward, knowing she was being pinned.

“You taught him “twenty”, didn’t you?” Truck asked looking off at the wall.

“Everyone needs to start somewhere,” Isha Maera defended. “He has no education. All Schmonkle’s need education. It’s tradition. He and I have been working on that.”

In that moment, Hugly entered the room. With his arms straight down, he took several long steps toward the two, stopped flat footed, and looked directly at Truck. “You’re her sister,” he said to him.

Truck’s smile returned. “Yes, she’s my sister.”

Hugly smiled too, flitted his eyes, spun around, and hurried out, literally on his hands and feet. Isha Maera snickered uncontrollably, and Truck laughed a little.

The two siblings settled themselves and did not contend so emotionally for the remainder of the evening. They moved on to enjoy a meal with Hugly, who came early, ate, and left quickly. He scarfed his plate clean in less than two minutes, and then he departed early to go off and sleep in his preferred loneness in one of the outbuildings.

“He doesn’t like to eat with people,” said Isha Maera when he’d gone. She served yellow and white cheeses, and a soft flavorful field-mouse butter that was spread on a very fine leavened toast. Cured meat was caramelized before them on a glowing piece of pressed turf. A flame would naturally cook such foods to perfection much quicker, but a licking flame had been forbidden by decree for nearly one hundred and forty years. It seemed to be one of those decrees that everyone complied with out of a personal and social agreement. Penalties were, however, rather severe.

Isha Maera had put Truck belly-down on a large soft cushion. He lay propped up on his elbows with a wrapped warm stone that she set on his lower back. With Hugly off to pursue his sleep, the two sat drinking a light and very dry creepberry wine, discussing Truck’s visit.

Isha Maera broke the issue: “You put off marriage to pursue your studies, and suddenly you’re here. What sent you to me?”

Truck cocked his head and squinted, before addressing the true issue between them. “You may think you’ve put your family on hold, but we all love you. Father may have been harsh, but you changed. He’s been quite hurt over it. He hurts daily, I assure you. But I figured, that you married a Nok… non-Bone, and even a face-down believer…” Truck had nearly used a slur and then went on to unintentionally use another in the same sentence. “…but he would never disown you. Mother cries for you. I’ve seen her. And I decided that I’ve waited long enough. I stepped up from all my scripture studies, and I’ve come to meet a man so important as to capture my sister away.”

He was attempting to put the issue in terms that were amenable. He intended to continue, yet Isha Maera was compelled to interject.

“You think of him, as the Raemys speak, ‘face-down-believer’ and all that, and how the rescuers are some kind of cult. But I tell you, Foster is as dedicated to God as any Bone… and more than most.” She slowed her speech for emphasis and thought. “And you think he’s less than a Bone, or so far from us that I might be considered to have married an animal. But he probably knows more about God than you, to the verse and the punctuation. He’s strong in God.

“To this day, I’ll bet you and your old classmates are still deliberating about traditions and duties to establish, or duties to overthrow, or duties to create policies that influence everyone… Meanwhile, God moves Foster to

do

in the name of God—things you would not even consider. You and the Clown Army…”

Truck began to chuckle.

She continued anyway, “…haven’t the courage to do half of what Foster’s done. And from them, he soon returns. You’ll see. He is a good man, a great man—a man after God’s heart.”

“‘The Clown Army?’ I’d completely forgotten you used to call us that,” Truck said, amused. “Speaking of which, Enoch dreams you’ve never married, and he thinks you’ll one day come back and be his bride.”

“Then he’s still as much the fool I thought he was,” Isha Maera said firmly.

Truck reflected and then took a long drink. “I did oppose your marriage to someone who’s not a Bone, and to a rescuer no less, but I also know you would have been miserable with someone like Enoch. Don’t forget, I opposed your arranged marriage to that fat, hairy marmot too. And I stood up for you when Mother was afraid to speak. I couldn’t stomach that whole unhappy mess, and I risked my own relationship with Father over it… for you… because I love you.

Truck continued, “I can tell from your letters that your marriage isn’t just a symptom of rebellion. I know you love him, but you’ve been estranged from everyone for a quarter of a century. Everyone’s hurt. Everyone’s changed. It’s not right. So, I’m here, and I’m very happy to see you.”

He paused a moment to take a breath, as his throat had clenched in the anxious thoughts. “And I’m not wholly opposed to the rescuer doctrines. It’s controversial in the Temple. The Raemys all criticize it, but principally, we all look forward to being rescued. I’ve actually studied it intently, and I dare say I know more than any of the Raemys. It’s just the whole idea of ignoring the scriptures and only focusing on the divine leader that’s—”

Isha Maera cut him off. “It’s not ignoring the scriptures. Instead of just the past, it’s about God in the past, present, and future. The temple is so smart. They look at the past and purposely blind themselves to the prophecies. The Raemys are just afraid of losing the traditions they have made to keep themselves on those lofty seats and in those brightly colored robes.” She said the last part with a particular bit of bitterness.

The issue hung, as silence settled in. After a long moment, Isha Maera spoke again. “To be a believer is to take courage in God. To be a rescuer is to be so confident in God’s plans as to partake in His righteousness—to every single day, take up a burden He puts on you. It’s higher righteousness to seek the pleasure of God.”

Truck looked her directly in the eyes, surprised to see her so grown up and so forthright in doctrine. “So you have become a rescued believer, then?” he said, confirming. He pushed his lips together and gave her an impish look. “What you said is right.” He blinked long and heaved a sigh. “Some truths we stumble over.”

And through only a slight difficulty, Isha Maera looked directly back at him in confidence. “I do believe. I do need rescue. We all do. And, yes, I am a rescuer in His likeness.”

“Well, I have to say,” Truck began, “when you put it that way, it makes, well… it is scriptural. And I have to admit, you’re right. It’s just that we don’t talk like that.”

As Isha Maera began clearing the table and resumed her cheerful humming, Truck asked, “He’ll be here soon then?” “Tomorrow,” she answered, barely containing her joy.