The Seventh Mountain (2 page)

He was still running when he came to a
corridor that crossed the one that he was in.
Which way should I
go?
Both ways looked the same and exactly like the one that he
was in. Something in him made him want to turn left and run as far
as he could. Something else in him made him want to stand and
fight. Which was right?
How can I fight something that I can’t
see?

The voice was everywhere he went. He passed
several more corridors before he had the urge to turn left again.
This short passage dead-ended into an odd shaped wall. Eight inside
corners inset into the end of the passage. All but one corner had
protruding stones. He used the stones to climb the wall.

In the darkness of the platform before him
he knew that he must face this evil thing whose name he might never
know. He looked down and saw a sword in his hand. It felt ever so
right. Its long thin blade was sharp on both sides. The handle and
hilt were some form of polished metal. It was light, too light for
its size. He rested the point on the stone slab that he was
standing on. The sword tip slid into the stone effortlessly. He
raked it to his side, carving the stone all the way, more than an
inch deep, as it went. It took no physical exertion to slash the
stone.

“You’re going to die here.”

Mark saw, in his mind’s eye, a sword
coursing silently through the black toward him. He raised his sword
to block the blow. His assailant’s blade was sliced cleanly in two
when it struck Mark’s sword.

Mark’s mind flashed an idea of escape. He
jabbed his sword, hilt deep, into the stone floor and sliced a
circle around himself. Gravity worked.

Mark fell to the floor below. It was a large
room filled with rows of marble tables and chairs. Each row was a
different color. Dining booths lined the walls. He picked himself
up. Everything still worked.

“You’re going to die here.”

Mark started running again. There was no way
to get away from the voice. He desperately wanted to get away from
it. Running was the only thing that he could do. His thoughts
reminded him of a first grade reading book,
Run Mark, run
.
Running was his only escape.

A different level of consciousness broke
over him. He realized that he was kicking the covers off his bed.
He forced himself to lie still. Seconds ticked like single drops of
rain before the coming storm.
Is this real or am I still
asleep?
He waited. The voice was silent.

Mark slid his robe on over his pajamas. The
hardwood floor was unexpectedly cold. He almost expected it to be
marble. He found a pair of socks in his old wooden dresser. He
looked in the cracked mirror. The dream had been so real. He
expected to have a sunburn.

Going downstairs, he paused, looking down
the stairs before touching the wooden handrail. He halfway expected
it to be lined with pictures and statues.

Military life didn’t afford much in the way
of luxuries. Elbowroom was one of those extravagances that was
lacking in this house. That was obvious in the combination
kitchen-dining room where his family was seated for breakfast.

His family was in their usual morning
places. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper;
mom was busy in the kitchen, and James was at the table, drinking
his usual morning orange juice. He braced his mind for the
onslaught of the voice to commence again. It never came.

James, his older and only brother, was both
a brother and a bother. James felt that it was his place, and only
his place, to insult Mark whenever the chance presented itself. Let
someone else try it and there would be strife. James was definitely
somebody to be reckoned with. That was the major bother; Mark
always felt like
the little
brother whenever James was
around.

“Morning Mom. Morning Dad. Morning James.
What’s for breakfast?”

“Baby’s hungry,” said James.

“Shut up!”

Steve, Mark’s dad, didn’t stir from the
newspaper. “That’s enough, guys.”

Mark’s mom replied, “Biscuits and scrambled
eggs.”

“Okay, sounds good.” Mark looked at his dad.
“I had a strange dream last night.”

Steve looked over the newspaper.
“Dream?”

“Baby had a scary dream. Poor baby.” James
stuck his lower lip out.

Mark gave James a scowl. He knew that James
was just trying to get under his skin. Mark almost forgot to use
the etiquette that had been pounded into his head over the last
almost twelve years. Being the kid of a Marine demanded that the
use of terms like ma’am, sir, please and thank you, be steadfast
elements of ordinary conversation.

“Yeah… I mean, yes, sir. It was like, so
real. You know the kind I mean?”

Steve looked at Mark and nodded. “Yes. The
kind where in the dream you think you’re awake but you’re not.” He
folded the newspaper in half and laid it on the table.

“Yes sir, that’s the kind.” Mark yawned and
rubbed his eyes. “The first part was kind of all right. I was just
trying to find my way to school, only I didn’t know the way. I was
lost in some kind of a desert only it was weird. It was too hot,
even for a desert. It had rocks and junk all over. And… there was
this mountain in the distance.” Mark paused here and then finished
hurriedly, “I knew I had to go to school, but I couldn’t. I was
lost. I didn’t know the way.”

Steve looked at Shirley. They both had a
prickle of trepidation. Was this the beginning of the prediction
that the hooded man had spoken of, or was it just Mark’s natural
apprehension of starting junior high school next year?

Steve pulled a chair out for Mark to sit
in.

“Well, let’s see. Being in the desert is
kind of a normal dream. Feeling lost is kind of a normal dream too,
and dreaming about a mountain up ahead is kind of common. You see a
mountain looks big and imposing. It makes you think that you can
never cross it. Being lost in the desert with a mountain being the
only landmark; that leaves you only one way to go. The way to solve
the problem is to go toward the mountain. You cross a mountain one
step at a time.”

Mark said, “I think I understand.” Only he
didn’t, not really. He knew that the dream had meant much more than
just that. The dream had the feel of being important, very
important.

“Well now, let’s see if we can tackle the
other part of the dream.”

“This part was different, but kind of the
same. I was in this school and everywhere that I went there was
this big voice. It kept telling me I was going to die. I tried to
get away but I couldn’t.”

“Baby was soooo scared.”

Steve looked at James. “Knock it off.”

James frowned. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me what the school was like.”

“The school was different from any school
I’ve ever heard of. It had marble walls and big crystal hanging
light things. It felt good to be out of the desert, someplace cool.
I don’t know if it was in the mountain from the first part or not.
I couldn’t see outside; there weren’t any windows. It had this
really long hall with lots of doors and I knew some rooms had
really bad things in them. I knew I had to stay out of those rooms.
I couldn’t get away from the voice that…” Mark hesitated about
saying the voice was in his head, saying instead, “It was
everywhere, that voice. It hated me. It kept telling me I was going
to die.”

Steve paused for a moment. “It sounds to me
like you might be a bit concerned about leaving grade school this
year and starting junior high school next year. You don’t know what
to expect. Anytime you change from something that is familiar to
something that is unfamiliar, well, it’s a little strange feeling,
maybe a little scary at times. You did start school a year earlier
than most kids. It might be that deep down you’re feeling like you
won’t be up to the task. What do you think?”

“Maybe you’re right. I never thought of it
like that. Thanks.” Mark knew that his father’s explanation about
this dream should have been right, but his inner voice told him
that it wasn’t.

Everyone had just about finished breakfast.
Steve said, “You guys are running late this morning. Go ahead and
get ready for school.”

The dream was still fresh in Mark’s mind
when he went to school that day. The school turned out to be the
same as it had always been and he was glad that it was. The beige
cinderblock walls sported a few bulletin boards and display cases.
The terrazzo floor exhibited the same old and worn appearance. The
faint musty smell of old paper and the unpleasant smell of copy
machines lingered in the hall. Unlike his dream, spring green
filled the large windows that still dominated the outside wall of
his classroom. This school was nothing like the one in his dream
and that reassured him that it really had been only a dream. It
felt like finally being home after a really bad day when everything
that could go wrong, did.

 * * * 

Steve and Shirley seized the opportunity to
go horseback riding while the boys were in school. Shirley Young
was Mark’s mother, twenty-nine on both of her last two birthdays,
and she still looked like she was no older than eighteen. Sun-ray
colored strands flowed across her shoulders like a magazine
model’s, and her gentle azure eyes always reflected a deep felt
love of all the wonders of nature. Her smile warmed even the
coldest winter day. It had been here, in this very park, that
Shirley had discovered her true purpose in life. To her, keeping
her family safe and secure was all that really mattered.

Shirley, being raised in Georgia and then
moving to North Carolina, had southern charm dripping from her
voice. North Carolina had given her the habit of calling everyone
honey or hon, something that even after thirteen years of marriage;
Steve couldn’t quite get used to.

She held the reins lightly as her horse
ambled along the familiar wooded path. The sweet smell of spring
pine and daffodils wafted on the morning breeze. It was beginning
to look like it would be a perfect day. It had started this same
way twelve years ago. Tomorrow would complete the twelve years.

“Honey, can you believe it? Tomorrow Mark
will be twelve years old.”

“It seems like yesterday.”

Steve Young was Mark’s father. His square
jaw and huge biceps were standard Marine issue, nothing remarkable
there. The remarkable thing about Steve was his voice. His voice
was a remnant of being raised in Scotland during his formative
years. He had never lost that sweet melody even though he spent the
latter part of his life in the Southern United States. That
southern drawl never did take hold.

Steve was just about to complete his third
tour of duty. Events of recent history had kept him deployed for
the most part. He loved to spend what little time he had stateside
with his family, and he always wanted to make the most of it. To
Steve, being a practical, down to earth, get the job done kind of
guy was what life was all about.

“Do you think he’ll like his new bike?”

“Yeah, he’ll love it. It’s the best there
is.”

Shirley stopped. Steve brought his mount up
beside her and his eyes smiled at her.

“While we are on the topic, Mark’s birthday
that is, we have never fully discussed what happened here, twelve
years ago.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why do we need to
discuss it? What’s to discuss?”

“Steve.” She hesitated. “That horse broke
both of your legs. I heard them break. When I woke up, you were
healed. What happened?”

“That’s not all that horse did.” He put his
hand on his collarbone. “My left collarbone was smashed, broken
ribs, too. That horse hit me so hard; I know I had internal
injuries.” He remembered the taste of blood gurgling up from his
throat. Steve’s training as a Marine had taught him to assess his
injuries. That taste definitely meant he was bleeding inside.

“Oh hon! I didn’t know.”

“Here’s the kicker; that horse wasn’t after
me. She was hell bent on getting to you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I tried to get her to come after me. When I
moved, she focused on you.”

“So that’s what you were doing. You dove
back in front of her to keep her from getting to me.”

“Yeah… Now you know. I don’t want to talk
about it anymore.” He tapped the horse with the reins to get it
going again.

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

“I just don’t.”

Shirley started to speak, but Steve stopped
and spoke before she could. He knew that she wasn’t going to leave
it alone. He turned the horse to face her.

“You know, throughout my life there has
never, ever been a situation where I couldn’t act in order to make
a difference.”

“But honey, it was you that acted. What you
did saved us both.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’ve been shot,
blown up, run over, half-drowned, folded, spindled and mutilated
and whatever else you can think of! I have always been able to turn
the tide! ME! Always, every time… every single time, except this
one time. The one time that it meant the most to me to be able to
act, I was the one who needed rescuing!” The impact of his fist in
his hand let her know how serious he was.

She looked deep into his eyes. “I guess that
it has been eating at me too. I mean, there you were on the ground,
broken and bleeding, and I was helpless to do anything. I think I
kind of know what you are saying.”

“No! You don’t understand… I failed! I tried
to save the most precious thing in the world and I failed! Do you
understand what that means?”

“Honey, you didn’t fail. Your courage bought
us a few precious moments of hope. If it weren’t for that, then it
would have been too late for those two guys to help us.”

Steve looked down and shook his head. She
didn’t understand. Those two guys being there was just a fluke. It
wasn’t something that you could depend on. Being a soldier that
could get the job done was something that you could depend on.
Failure usually meant the death of what one held dearest. He knew
that he needed to change the subject. He calmed his tone.