Children of the Source (6 page)

    Carson swore under his breath.
  “All I need.”

    “Look,” I said, “you’re known as reliable, competent, and one of General Jagger’s favorite people.”

    Carson snorted.  “Favorite people.  God, that man never had a favorite in his life.  If I’m one of his favorite people, that’ s a mystery to me.”

    I smiled. “He has his own set of problems.
  You’ll be his man here.”  I bent forward.  “Look, we know about Luke.”  He jerked as though struck.  “You think  it’ s over and your son is no more.  What happened to O’Banion is meant to show you physical death is not the end.  You will dream that Luke is alive and communicate with him.  Physical death is not the end.”

    A sharp whistle cut the air.
  “Troop train,” bawled the lookout.  We could hear the commotion outside.  The buzzer sounded on his desk.  Carson stared at me his face a welter of grief and possibility.

    “Luke lives still.”

    He shook himself, took a ragged breath, and punched the intercom. “Yes?”

    It was Colonel Deckart. “Maybe it’s the two battalions General Jaggers promised ... ”

    Will Carson turned red.  His voice, a lash, cut Deckart off.  “If I had everything that bastard promised me, I’d have a damned brigade, and enough supplies and equipment to keep some semblance of order out of this nightmare.  Have a company of men sweep and secure the area.  Oh, yes, have the hangman get a body bag and turn over Mr. O’Banion to Jamie.”

    “Yes, sir.
  Right away.”

    Carson looked at me steadily.
  When he spoke his voice ached with what seemed all the years he’d spent as Military Governor.  “How much longer is all of this going to go on?”  I could see he was thinking of his slain son, and beloved deceased wife, Linda.

    “This is the beginning of the end, Will.”
  I could sense his grief, anger, but also  his iron will, and deep belief in his duty and purpose.  “A certain Major Derek Randolph is coming in on this troop train.  We grew up together.”

    “I knew that he was from here, not that you knew him.
  I badgered Command to get him.  He has a reputation welled earned.  I have his promotion to full bird on my desk.  He’s my new deputy.  Deckart is headed back on this troop train.”

    “Come out to Cheshire with him, Will.
  There is a new load of fuel for your Command chopper coming in on the train.”

    Carson raised his angry eyes to the ceiling and gave a great sigh.
  “They promised that two years ago.”  I think the fuel was more of a happy accident than anything else. 

    “You’ll be needing it,” I said.
  He walked me to his office door.

    “Will, O’Banion made me promise to take care of his daughter.
  May we take her with us?” 

    “Please do.”

    “Tonight you’ll dream of one you think you’ve lost.  Believe that dream.”   He made no comment, but offered his hand.  I took it and we parted.

    Troop train.
  We could feel the excitement.  New people.  Badly needed supplies.  And news, the biggest thing of all.  It was something everyone hungered for.  What was going on in the world?  Few knew.  The Central Government Radio broadcast the news, but the contents proved superficial, censored at best.  Word-of-mouth was used most, but we had better ways, and sources in our community.  Local people knew this and constantly  questioned us when we came to the fort.  For instance we knew of the troop train three weeks before its arrival.  Of course we’re talking probabilities.  Some things are more likely to happen than others.  This was one of them.

    I went outside.
  Mike, Grant, and Laith stood talking by our mounts.  O’Banion’s body, in a body bag, lay across one of our pack mules.  The hangman and Laith were good friends.  Meg stood in the protective arms of Laith, quiet, listening.  Laith created an atmosphere around him that held whatever purpose he directed.  Now, a quiet, almost anesthetic one surrounded him giving an air of comfort and security.

     I greeted them and watched people still studying the blood and tear stains.
  They showed glistening wet in the sun.  The broken glass had disappeared.  The people turned to look at me apprehensively, but one man called me out, and coming toward me.

    “Jamie, Son of Endor, Lucifer’s spawn, how did you work this deception of your father’s?”
  The voice struck, loud, accusing, virulent, planned.  Nick Ryan, a local hanger-on, saw himself as Benson’s heir apparent.   Intense, thin, with an unruly shock of black hair, he had that irritating missionary attitude toward life, and coveted the leadership of Benson’s group.

    “Hello, Nick.
  You’re being very dramatic today.” 

    Nick showed a tendency toward violence.  Laith had poked him in the nose a couple of times.

    “You mock God with your tricks,” He said in a voice for everyone to hear.

    “How?”
  I was curious.

   He sputtered.
  “God would not do this.” 

   “How do you know what God thinks?”

   He turned white.  “You ...  .”

   “I think the Creative Force can speak for Itself.”

   “But this,” he blurted, shaking, and pointing to the stains.

   “It was to show you that blood begets blood.
   That you may rob a person of his physical body, but he will still live.  The stains will stay as a reminder of these things,”  I said.  I had the full attention of all the people.  “I do not presume to speak for God; to be a surrogate for whatever you may call or consider the Creator or Creative Force.  The Creator can speak for Itself.  It does.  In the breeze.”  I raised my hands, a breeze sprang up, heads turned.  “In the trees, flowers, and all of the Earth.  The seasons and rhythms you see and feel about and within you.  You go out in a quiet place alone, and speak your heart to the Creator.  When you are done you feel better, and wonder when and how the answers will come.  Then coincidences begin turning up presenting opportunities to solve those challenges, problems, and you realize your hopes and dreams.  These experiences are the words of the Creator working and weaving within your lives.”  I looked at the people and they were silent.  Even Nick.

     “You are never alone for the Creator you pray to lives within each of you.
  When you feel comforted, it is the response of this Creator.  An acknowledgement you may not know how to define.  But the comfort is real, and so is the feeling of balance and rightness within.

     “Why do you look up and speak to something outside of you?
  Ignorant men have taught you this, not daring to believe that a loving Creator would stoop to live within its creations.  But how could a loving Creator do otherwise?  What you seek is within you.”  I knew these people.  More than half had come to us for healing at one time or another.  They knew my words were not idle.  I pointed to the spacecraft.  “Do not fear them.  Move with your dreams and gut feelings.  Ask your Creator Within for answers and they will come.  What father or mother would deny a son or daughter an answer to a question?  When a question is asked, the answer is usually raising its head in a future experience just around the corner.”  I stopped and laughed, “A storm is coming, and I have talked long enough.  Remember not to destroy or fear something because you don’t understand it.”  The crowd broke up in twos and threes.  Most walked to the perimeter on the southwest overlooking the train depot.

    “Everyone ready to go?”
  We mounted our mules, moved toward the main gate to go down the hill.  Laith edged his mount next to mine.

    “You spoke well, Dad.”
 

    “Thank you, sir.”
  I smiled.  “It needed doing.”

3

    “I thought we were going to see Uncle Derek, Dad?”  Laith said.

    “We are.”
  I pointed toward a tall clean shaven man conferring with a small group of officers two blocks away.  “Send him a message we’re here.”  We’d just passed the Verde Street turn-off.  Mike and Grant pulled up their mounts next to ours.  Everyone looked at Laith, including Meg.  He faced Derek and closed his eyes.  In less than a minute Derek turned, the surprised look on his face turning to pleasure.  He broke away from his small knot of officers and trotted over.

    “Damn, where did you come from?”

    We dismounted and exchanged hugs.  “Business at the Fort,” I said.

    He laughed.
  “I’ll hear about it, I’m sure.  God, Laith, you’ve grown..  You’re almost as tall as I am.”  He grinned at me.  “Been feeding this guy pretty well, Jamie.”  He clapped Laith on the shoulders.  Laith grinned.  “Been three years too long.”

    Meg looked up at Laith,
  “How did you do that?”

    Derek looked at Meg.
  “Excuse me, Miss.  I didn’t get your name.  How exquisite.”  Meg blushed.

    “This is Meg O’Banion, Uncle Derek.”
  Laith said.  Randolph’s eyebrows went up in recognition.  Laith gave an almost imperceptible nod back to the body bag on the mule.

    Derek’s face tightened briefly.
  Then he smiled.  “It’s called telepathy, Meg.  Kinda like sending a message with your mind.  Laith thought of me very strongly.  Maybe you’ve done this with someone special to you.  We all do this constantly.”  He looked at the soldiers and activity between the train and the fort.  People from the fort had spilled out and down to the train.  “Well, General Carson is expecting me to report.  It’s good to be home.   I’ll get out to see you as soon as I can.”  We parted.

    The storm broke by the time we got to the Church of the Nativity.
  The front doors and pews had long since warmed someone on a cold winter night.  The place hadn’t been used for worship for many years.  So it was with no act of irreverence or disrespect that we led our mules inside.  The magnificent painting of Mary, Jesus, and her parents above the altar stood in excellent condition.  The rain poured and the temperature dropped.

    Eventually the rain slowed, no longer dancing off the street.
  The gutters ran full, and here and there the sun began to break through, catching the wet like a thousand diamonds.   Suddenly Mike cocked his head to one side.  Laith noticed and motioned us to watch.  The mule named Harley, stamped his hoof and snorted, impatient to be gone.  I ran a hand over his soft muzzle, and he nuzzled me back.  We waited until Mike spoke.  When he did he seemed far away. 

    “Nomads wait at the corner of Elm and Humphrey in the ruins of the rock house on the northwest side.”

    “How are they armed?” Grant asked.

    “One revolver that works.
  Two rifles and one shotgun are bluffs.  Three rounds for the revolver.”

    “Who is the child?”  Laith asked.
  “She’s sick,”

    Mike blinked his eyes open and seemed startled.
  “Sorry.  I couldn’t get that.”  We discussed the information, questioning Mike on what he picked up.  Meg sat watching, not understanding.

    “Any crossbows, spears, swords?”
  Grant asked.

    “No,” Mike said, quite sure.
  That made things easier.  Crossbows were perhaps only a little less deadly than rifles.  These once medieval weapons had gained a popular revival for their accuracy, and dependency on scarce ammunition.  We used them. 

    “I think we can pull it off,”
  I said, and looked around for opinions.  Three silent nods greeted me.

    “What about the revolver?”
  Meg asked.

    “Easy to handle.
  One weapon anyway,”  Laith said.

    “How?” she challenged.

    Grant said, “Time is plastic, not fixed, Meg.  You think of it as a stream of moments one after the other that can’t be altered.  It can be changed if you know how.”

    The rain had stopped.
  We led our mounts out into the sunshine.  Few things smell better than the earth after a rain.  We made our way across Beaver and the one block to turn up Humphrey.  Two blocks went fast.

    We’d almost made it past the intersection of Elm and Humphrey when three men jumped out behind us, weapons ready.
  With a loud dramatic voice a thin hollow faced man announced,  “Hands up.”

    We raised our hands, according to the script.
  “What do you want?” I asked innocently.

    “Idiot,” roared
the leader.  “Jack, Harold, Ike see what guns they have.  I’ll keep them covered.”  The three men ran up.  I could see the revolver protruding from the leader’s belt.  Two women stood up.  They were unbelievably dirty.  Suddenly a young girl’s thin wailing  pierced the air.  A curse followed.  One of the women ducked down.  The leader looked back.  In less than fifteen seconds the three men lay on the ground grunting with pain.

    “Through playing games?”
  I asked the startled leader.

    “We could kill you easily,” he said, gesturing with the shotgun.
  “Get your asses up,” he swore at his men.  We sat on our mules quietly.  His men crawled off to one side in no condition to get up.

    “Your guns won’t work,” I said easily.

    “This does.”  He jerked the ancient .38 revolver from his belt, pointing it at me.   “Get off that beast.”   I got off Harley.

    “Won’t work,” I repeated.

    His hand holding the revolver trembled.  “What are you doing?”  I held my hands up.  “I feel off.”  He extended the weapon, aiming point-blank at my face.

    “Don’t.”
  It was one of the women.  The leader wavered.  “Can’t you see it’ s Jamie.  Maybe he can help the girl,” she pleaded.  “Lord knows we can’t,”   

    The leader’s gaunt features mottled with rage.
  “He said my gun wouldn’t work.”

    “Maybe it won’t.
  The man’s a wizard,” the woman said.  “They have no weapons.  Give them the girl and let’s go.”

    The man named Ike spoke up, “Give her to them.
  God, Harry, she’s a stone around our neck.  They ain’t got no weapons, but it’s a way to get rid of the girl.”

    “Shut up, damn you.
  She’s my niece.”

    “What’s wrong with the girl?”
  I asked.

    “She’s crippled.
  Fell down a cliff.  Legs don’t work.  Bladder and bowels ain’t too hot either,” the woman said.

    “Shits her pants.”
  Ike snickered.

    “Hey!”
  Harry shouted.

    “Can you help her, Wizard?”
  the woman asked.

     “Yes,” I said.
  I knew I could.  The probability was clear.

    “Can you save yourself, Wizard?” breathed Harry, eyes lighting, mouth half open in a snarl.
  He straightened the revolver, shoving it into my neck, and pulled the trigger.  The hammer came down with a harmless click.  He raised the weapon, barrel pointed skyward.  A sharp report shook the air as the revolver went off.

    “Goddamn,” Harry said, shaken to his core.
  “Goddamn.”  He looked around, seeing the shock on his people’s faces.  “Take the girl.  Her name is Marilyn,” Harry said quickly.  Then turning to where she was lying, he picked her up.  She must have been about Victoria’s age with long stringy blond hair. She looked terrible.  Eyes gazed back listlessly.  She smelled horrible.  Laith dismounted, transferred Meg to Grant’s mount, and gathered the injured girl gently into his arms.  Every move a prayer.  Then he remounted.

    We left them watching us disappear over the edge of the hill, and made our way uneventfully back toward Cheshire.
  I always enjoyed the view of the Peaks from Whipple Street and Ft. Valley Road.  The Peaks seemed  massive, indomitable.  Laith looked over at me.  “That is the first time I’ve seen anyone bend time.  You’re just plain good, Dad.”  He gave a bell like laugh.  It’s good to laugh.

    Mark Lancaster carried a cleaned and fed Marilyn into one of our healing rooms.  Susan, his wife, followed.  Laith and I stood by the examining table.  I nodded at the girl.  She showed no fear.  “We’re going to make you better, Marilyn,”  I said.  Mark laid her on the table.  She wore shorts and a T shirt.  “Could we look at your back?”  She nodded and with Susan’s help turned over.  I drew back the T shirt.  A third of the way up the backbone the ugly yellowing of a bruise showed.  The skin was twisted with scarring.

    Time is plastic.
  I communicated with the injured area, finding out how and when it was before the accident.  Taking that moment and condition I communicated it to the injured cells, changing their frequency so they behaved as they did before the accident.  I changed my visual focus seeing the changing energies and their colors called auras.  Re shaping the energies, I watched the yellowing change to pink and her toes wiggled.  Sensation had returned to her lower body.  She turned her head. “What did you do?”

    “With your help, we changed the injured part of your body to a healthy state,” I said.

    “Will I stay normal?”  There was an anxiety in her tone.  Not daring to believe.

    “Yes, Ma’am, you will.

    “Why is my back so hot?”

    “Energy, miss.
  A protective field to help keep the healing.  It will stay hot for a while.”  I pulled down her shirt.  “Sit up.”  She did, wiggled her toes more, eyes big.  “Now, step down and see if you can walk.”

    She placed one foot on the floor, then the other.
  And stood.  Holding on to the table, she shuffled her feet forward, and took a tentative step.  Then another.  Smiling, tears trickling down her cheeks, she walked across the floor to the door and back.  “It’s been three months since the accident.  I thought this was going to last forever.  How can I thank you?”

    “Your walking is thanks enough.  I think we went and done it.” I said.
  “Marilyn, Mark and Susan Lancaster are going to be looking after you.”

    Later that afternoon Judith and I with a dozen others were sitting around the meeting hall having tea.  “So, Jamie, how did you get into healing?”  I blinked and looked at Greg Lopez.

    Fleeting images with a gust of emotion swept me back.
  My heart raced with the gut catching experience.  My father lying crumpled on the floor from a heart attack.  My mother, stricken, knelt at his side, helpless.  I knew he hadn’t much time.  In an agony of desire, I pleaded to be able to help him.  You can’t imagine how much I loved that man.  The vast desire, the cry within to help him.  And suddenly something opened up.  Energy, I can’t describe, poured out, not from without but from within.  I held my father and felt the energy flood into him, easing his body.  He relaxed, taking a great breath, eyes touching me with a grateful thank you.  A blessing.  He lived in good health for another twelve years.  And when he died, he was taking a nap in a rocking chair with a favorite cat in his lap.

    So, I told them, in halting fashion, of what happened.
  The Avenue of Energy stayed open, widened, deepened as I explored.  I found I could use it to heal or help heal nearly anything from animals, trees, to people.  This Source Within also gave information, and challenged me to explore and ask questions, to seek.  Doors opened that I never knew existed.  In relating to others I found I had to be careful, as the information I gained changed how I viewed reality in almost every way.  I learned that everything is alive, conscious, and eternal.  And change is a constant.

    “So why is this world so god-awful nasty with everyone setup to eat everyone else?”
  Jana asked, and shook herself with a shiver.

    “I’ve never found a good answer for that.  Nature is hardcore.
  Nothing comforting about how our system is set up,” I said.  “It’s always left me with a sense of incredulity that a world can be so beautiful, and so savage and unforgiving at the same time.”

    “So why all of this.”
  Jana gestured.

    “I don’t know who set up this world.
  It gives you pause when you consider that a group of Beings got together and created the Earth.  It’s a staggering idea.  The Earth is a living Being, too.  It’s pretty scary, but three things come to mind.  We learn by experiencing ideas created in contrast, extremes.  The  intensity of the experience produces the intensity of emotion which produces the opportunity for understanding the idea.  The more intense the experience, the more emotion.  Emotion is the chief learning tool of this system.  It teaches you about the power of ideas, and what you believe.  The mind mirror.  This is one of a number of worlds where this is possible.”

    “What is the second thing?”

    “The bottom line is you get what you believe.  What can be more magical?  It is the linchpin for all we experience.  So watch how you feel and what you believe, because the experiences you draw to yourself like a magnet, mirror your mind-set.”  I paused and said, “Mary Bareton, my mother-in law, said to me once that there is a place of supreme power and intelligence within everyone that automatically creates exactly what you believe.  Call this your Soul or Entity.  It also sets up probable events, that get introduced to you in their infancy; a disease, an accident, an opportunity, an event.  That is why often a lot of physical problems appear and introduce themselves first thing in the morning when you wake-up.