Breathe

By Beverly Brooks

A spiritual allegory set in a small village named Jerilum, Breathe invites the reader to a simpler time and place as a backdrop to a deadly play of power. Jerilum is a peaceful village steeped in tradition but with a force of evil ready to engulf it. Darkness, unrecognized until almost too late, has infiltrated Jerilum. A sanctuary exists nearby in the form of a beautiful, lush forest, which is used for traditional times of walking such as weddings, burials, and celebrations of birth. But as demons advance, the people are going to need more than tradition. There among the trees, Grandma Bohn, the beautiful Annabel, and a crippled young man named Luke find peace, and more importantly a friend named Yashmea. While a few villagers build their lives around their friendship with Yashmea, others are less enthused.

But as the darkest day comes in the life of Malachi, Annabels husband, he may have to consider that friendship so long left unexplored. What he doesnt realize is that the fate of a village hangs on his decision. There seem to be so many deaths, but then again everything is not as it seems. Malachi, exhausted by grief, is finally drawn to find Yashmea. But will he find him in time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781449782658

Beverly Brooks

Beverly Brooks has been a probation officer for almost twenty years. She is actively involved with youth and drama ministries at Community Christian Church in Waukegan, Illinois. She and her husband, Wayne, a chief of police, have been married thirty-three years.

Book preview

THE BEGINNING AND THE END

Malachi sat amidst the rubble of the Healing Center. He watched a remnant of villagers looking through the piles of debris for any precious herbs that might be left. In the distance children were crying and clinging to their mothers. Nearby men with dazed expressions tried to take in the carnage.

What were they to do with all the dead bodies? Their traditions called for walks in the lush forest, ceremonial dinners, and more comforting rituals to get through the grief. No one could conceive of returning to the traditions. Malachi had never thought they were of any real value but now without any traditional structure to life; there was a kind of aching emptiness. Shaking his head, Malachi stood up slowly.

To think that a few months ago he was looking forward to Annabel giving birth to their firstborn child, laughing and fishing with his best friend Luke. The ever-present, Grandma Bohn, had brought the most beautiful quilt he had ever seen to their house. They all had supper together and carefully tucked the quilt into the crib that Malachi had carved by hand for his son or daughter. And now they were all dead.

Malachi slowly made his way back to his cottage and walked into the bedroom. He was drawn to the little empty crib and picked up the brightly colored quilt. Pressing it into his face Malachi’s shoulders sagged and he fell to his knees weeping uncontrollably.

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CHAPTER ONE

The village nestled quietly beneath a sky of pewter with rosy hues of dawn beginning their trek across the heavens. Solid log houses dotted the landscape; set back from the gravel road meandering through the village. A whitewashed two-story building, the Healing Center, dominated the center of Jerilum and on either side sat the School of Preparation and the Village Hall. A stone’s throw further was the General Store with a broad wooden porch and a slightly dilapidated roof settled precariously on top. The road moved on past the small houses and over a slight ridge. It set itself free just past the last building of the village, released from gravel and settling for a well worn path through the meadow and off to the land beyond. The other end of the gravel road dwindled to a pathway leading into the lush forest that surrounded the village on three sides.

It was to that end a young slim woman now slowly approached. Turning back she surveyed the sleepy village. Annabel loved this time of morning. Early before the activity of the day started she kissed the forehead of her sleeping husband, drew on her head covering and headed for her beloved time beneath the trees. Every morning.

Now Annabel lifted her face to the barely perceptible touch of a breeze and closed her eyes to focus on the feeling of its caress. Her long blonde hair fell across the shoulders of her worn blue cotton dress and tumbled down her back. In a little while it would be confined to a demure bun atop her head, but for this time she let it loosely frame her face and ripple with the breeze. A slight movement near the Healing Center caught Annabel’s attention but when she focused her bright blue eyes, she could see nothing out of the ordinary. For a moment she stood puzzled by the distraction, then in happy anticipation of what lay before her, Annabel turned her back and headed into the forest.

Holding himself rigidly still for a moment and then slipping behind the wooden gate in front of the Healing Center, a man of medium height with brown hair entered the building. Taking care to avoid letting the door close with any noise, he eased it against the doorframe and slid the bolt into place. Perspiration broke forth on his forehead. Making his way to the back of the building, he opened the door to the room where the healing herbs were kept. Hands shaking slightly, the man carefully pulled a bag from beneath his cloak and for the next twenty minutes concentrated on the task at hand. Occasionally he would lift his head and train his ear, and then satisfied that he was safe, he resumed his mission. Finally folding the bag and tucking it beneath his gray cloak, the man ordered his steps and without a sound made his way out through the back of the Center. Avoiding the main road he deftly covered the ground between the Center and his home. For a moment he thought about Annabel’s look toward him. He was fairly sure she had not really seen him, but they would want him to be absolutely certain.

Luke rolled over on his side and carefully eased himself upright avoiding any pressure first thing in the morning on his left leg. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he focused his gaze out the open window next to his bed and inhaled deeply from the mix of lilac and fresh early morning air. Staying perfectly still for a moment, Luke closed his eyes and breathed a single word. He reached for a slightly worn dark cherry walking stick and maneuvered himself to a standing position. Stretching first, Luke pulled himself up to his full height then slowly made his way into the tiny kitchen. He started the familiar beginning ministrations for coffee by tumbling a couple of pieces of wood with kindling into the stove. Stooping down Luke petted the shaggy reddish dog that stood just above his knees. Samson slowly unwound his body from the hearthrug where as usual he had spent the night.

A bird chirped close at hand as Luke opened the door for Samson to bound outside and sniff the new morning. Luke looked toward the forest. The towering trees swayed gently, ruffled by an unseen breeze. The forest was immense and unfurled itself like a rich green cloak to the tiny village. Once inside the variety was uncanny. There were pathways and streams, secreted nooks with small clearings, all beneath a canopy of silken leaves and unexpected colors. A waterfall christened the southern edge tumbling from a hillside encrusted with warm brown rocks that settled themselves into a cliff where sparkling water fell in a riotous race.

Most of the villagers took it for granted untouched by its beauty after generations of familiarity. Likewise the stately trees prolific in their variety were scarcely given a thought, accepted as the landscape that bordered village life.

Usually the breathtaking view, appreciated by Luke anew each day, filled him with peace and drew him to finish the morning routine so he could make his way there. Today though he felt oddly unsettled. Glancing around Luke saw nothing out of the ordinary. He whistled in two short bursts for Samson, and then turned back toward his kitchen. A presence nearby sighed and settled down to wait.

A gentle knocking sound from the door called Luke into his front room and opening the door he saw Grandma Bohn. She was a sturdily built elderly woman with a white mass of hair gathered on top her head. Grandma was wearing a heavy, gray woolen shawl that Luke was certain she had made. A steaming pot was in her hands surrounded by thick towels.

Grandma come in, come in. What brings you out so early? Here let me take that pot.

A changing of the towels and pot into Luke’s hands was done with Grandma ever so carefully watching for the moment when Luke’s left leg was steady again. While Luke limped into the kitchen and set the pot on the worn table, the aroma wafted through the house. Settling its presence, the warm food lifted Luke’s spirit and the little cottage seemed to smile. Even Samson came forth wagging his tale and surveying Grandma with dancing eyes, jumped up suddenly to give her a lick on the arm.

Samson!

Oh really Luke, he is fine. Bending down she eagerly petted Samson’s head and gave him a few good solid rubs to the side. From her apron pocket under the shawl Grandma brought forth a couple of small meat chunks and held them out. The dog immediately devoured them and somewhat shyly licked the fingers of his benefactor.

No wonder he was so anxious to jump on you. He’s getting pretty fat you know, maybe extra treats should be banned from our house.

Nonsense. Everyone needs a little extra something to get them through the day and put a smile on their face. Grandma moved closer to the kitchen table.

Please sit down – I was just finishing up coffee. Would you like a cup?

Luke took Grandma’s shawl gently laying it on an empty chair as she slowly lowered herself down on the bench near the stove. He then brought out another cup and glanced toward the cast iron pot on the table swathed in towels.

Go ahead. Open it up. It’s your extra something for today.

Luke smiled as he pulled the towels down and used one to lift the lid. The aroma poured forth in even greater amounts and small pieces of meat, carrots, potatoes and tiny dumplings peeked out of a thick rich sauce.

It’s for your dinner today. I made so much that I thought maybe you would like to have some. Grandma fidgeted slightly with smoothing her apron and patting her hair.

Thank you so much Grandma. This will be a real treat for me …so I guess Samson and I will both have a smile on our faces today. Quickly turning aside Luke began replacing his own towels around the pot and transferring it to the stove. Then he slowly folded the other towels and stacked them on the table. The room was suddenly quiet and heavy.

You remembered.

Oh Luke of course I remember. Forgive me. I wanted to bring you something to make this day better.

Every year I hope I will forget and it will pass as just another day.

Luke I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to bring it up…

Grandma’s words were cut off by Luke’s face as he sadly shook his head.

It isn’t you. Do you really think I could forget with this? He tapped his left leg slightly and sat down with care on a nearby kitchen chair. You were one of the only people, besides Malachi and Annabel who helped me through that time.

And Yashmea.

Luke winced and hung his head. Of course Yashmea, forgive me for not saying him first. I think about the bitter time it was and I drift from remembering the blessings that came with the suffering.

Grandma laid her wrinkled hand on Luke’s arm and gave a soft squeeze. Of course dear, we all do that. He understands.

Luke looked over at Grandma Bohn remembering that she too had her history of tragedy. He turned to face his elderly friend. But hers was so long ago he hesitated a few breaths before he spoke, Grandma do you still think about what happened with your husband and children?

For a moment Grandma’s eyes glazed with the shimmer of tears but with a steady voice she answered, There is never a day that I don’t think about my family. At one time they were my whole life. But they are gone and I am still here. Now I am among friends and other families and Yashmea has been good to me. He has comforted me in ways I never imagined.

They both sat in silence for a few minutes drinking their coffee and Samson went and laid back by the hearth. Sun came through the windows and brightened the room. The smell of the stew caressed the room and the little cottage seemed a haven. Luke found that his heart was a little lighter. He still remembered the history of this day and probably always would; but Grandma’s kindness soothed his heart a bit.

Luke knew Grandma Bohn’s activities were primarily cooking and sewing for others and suspected the stew that reposed on his stove was part of a large batch that would be seeping through the village home by home today. He looked over and his eyes held a twinkle of knowledge.

Did you make some for Marcus’ parents also?

Grandma sighed heavily and nodded. Sometimes I feel so defeated to bring a pot of stew or a blanket to such tragedy and sorrow but…

She noticed Luke struggle to his feet and put a finger up as if for her to wait. He limped away toward his bedroom and Grandma took the opportunity to glance around at the cottage. It was very much like her own small cottage – really most houses in the village were set along the same lines. They were simple square structures with little furniture, one or two bedrooms, a front room for gathering and a kitchen. But where Luke had a small kitchen, Grandma’s cottage had a good size one. Grandma smiled as she remembered Jed building on to the house and constructing the ample room for her. She had always loved to cook and bake and sew. Many sweet hours had passed with her family gathered in the big kitchen while the aromas and fabrics flowed all around. Such happy days they had been. Then the tragedy had come into her life like a thief followed by weeks of sitting with idle hands. Until the day Yashmea himself had showed up in her kitchen.

Her musings were cut short as Luke slowly approached her. Squinting slightly Grandma tried to see what he was carrying. As he gently laid the well-worn blanket in her hands, Grandma recognized the fabric. The lush green that had reminded her so much of the forest infused with patches of brilliant yellow, purple, and prints of the same colors.

You still have this. Grandma spoke softly with a slight tremor to her voice.

Of course. You have no idea of the number of nights I clung to this and it told me I was loved and mattered to someone. So don’t ever dismiss what you do for others and Yashmea with your food and blankets.

Grandma nodded and with glistening eyes softly handed Luke the quilt. When he returned from the bedroom, they finished their coffee and talked about the village a little before Grandma slowly stood up.

Will you be going to the forest later? Grandma put her shawl on and lapped one side over the other.

Yes but I think more toward afternoon today. I have a few things around here to take care of and then I need to stop at the Healing Center.

Which of the healers will you be seeing? Grandma had stopped abruptly just a couple of feet before the door and Luke almost ran into her.

He came alongside the elderly woman and made direct eye contact.

Don’t worry – I will be seeing Agnes. She is the only one there that I see.

With a sigh of relief, Grandma crossed the last few feet to the door and opened it carefully. She patted Luke’s arm.

Good choice but be very careful while you are there and make sure any herbs are only from the hand of Agnes.

With a final nod, Grandma slowly negotiated the front porch,