Chapter 4

As the group walked up the stony path, they slowed their pace. They seemed to follow in the sun’s footsteps as it lit the forest ahead, but even though it was warm, there was a cold creeping in from behind them, and suddenly, from above. Pointy sheets of white fell toward them from the sky, but they never reached their group.

Jim watched the sky, where the whiteness mingled with the blackness, wondering if God somehow shielded them from what came from above. His head snapped back to the path as the trees in front of them hissed, and gray clouds rose from the sunlit stems.

“What is this? What’s going on?” an old woman in the group said.

Pult looked into the sky. “It’s been falling all over the city since the sun came to us. But it’s more visible now that the sky doesn’t have the sun anymore. It hurts to breathe them in.”

The old woman walked back down the street, where a few white sheets reached the ground and held out a hand. One landed on her arm, and she shook it. “It hurts!”

The sheet had reduced in size, and as it fell off, it disappeared. The woman brushed her hand frantically over the spot while hurrying back.

“Okay, let’s keep together.” Jim swallowed. “If we keep together, God doesn’t let the white stuff reach us.”

The group closed in on itself, with Jim at the front. He looked at the path he’d taken a few turns ago, and how much it changed as the sun traveled up the mountain with them. He straightened the stiffened sleeves of his black-spotted beige robe and followed the path ahead. The sun stretched out its tongue toward the sky, and they had to stop where God had put Jim on the ground after He had forgiven him. The gray mass that came from the trees and the sun was too much, and they all coughed.

Among them were blackened stumps, and not much more. Soon, the sun would have licked all the trees in the surrounding forest, and they would have free passage up the mountain. They had half the distance left to go. Steep climbing, but at the top, he could alert God about what had happened. If this had all been an accident, God could fix it. And as the old woman had said, God might just have gone somewhere else for a while. They had to keep faith that God didn’t willingly put them through all this.

Jim looked around the group and toward the city. What had once been a city. All the buildings were gone, and what was left were black remnants and blackened streets. The sun had mostly left the town, though flickers still appeared in a few odd places, and white sheets fell over the once sunlit buildings, though the darkness swallowed up most of what landed there.

“The wind is sweeping away the gray,” Pult said, pointing toward the sunlit trees. “And it’s getting cold as stone here. We should start going again.”

Jim nodded and rose together with the rest of their group. Eleven people, wanting an audience with God. If He was there at all, He would need to hear them. Jim looked at the sunlit trees ahead. The sun had begun leaving them, too.

He took the lead toward the path ahead, but stopped when he heard a gasp. He turned around.

Frinda held the old woman’s arm, and they both pointed toward the city. “Was there so much white before?”

Jim watched as sheets of white fell quicker around the buildings, and small pillars of gray, black, and a darker white rose from where they landed. Foot by foot, the whiteness took over.

“I’m glad we left the city,” the old one said. “I hope the whiteness doesn’t hit someone.” She caressed her arm.

“Well, let’s keep going,” Jim said, turning around. “It doesn’t reach us here, so we’re safe as long as we keep in the group.”

Pult nodded. “We have an acolyte here. I think that’s why God protects us. We’re lucky.”

Still, they quickened their steps toward the sunlit stems. If Jim had to choose between the danger of the gray mass and the white sheets, he preferred the former. It, at least, didn’t leave him with a feeling of turning into stone.

*******

They had to stop twice more before the sun had gone out in the last trees in front of them, and the group stayed quiet for most of the time, all while keeping watch over the white sheets falling from the sky, and if God’s Hand would appear to either kill or rescue them. The whiteness kept taking over parts of what had once been their city, and Jim wondered how things went for the people who’d sought shelter among the cliffs. It had been cold and dark there, but at least they had each other's comfort. For that reason, Jim was glad that this group of people had found him. No matter their reasons for wanting to see God, they brought the sense of belonging, of not being abandoned. If God was here, maybe he’d been content with that. But He wasn’t. And He needed to be.

“I can almost see the top,” Pult said and pointed toward the mountain.

Jim stopped and swallowed. Pult was right. Now that they’d reached the end of the forest, the top was almost visible. But so was the white that fell toward it. The stuff patched the surface, and at the rate it fell, it would be impossible to reach the top.

“We need to take shelter until it’s over,” Frinda said. She looked around and started toward the mountain, where a stone jutted out. “If we go under there, we’ll be safe.”

“No, we need to run,” Pult said. “We don’t know when all of this will be over. What if the whiteness covers it all? Then we can’t reach the top, no matter what.”

Frinda stopped and looked back at the group. “I’m going to wait in there. If God hasn’t abandoned us, he’ll stop the whiteness, and then we’ll have the answer. But if he’s abandoned us, I don’t want to be stuck up there. Do you?”

Jim looked between the two, weighing his options. What she said made sense, but if God was unaware of the situation, he needed to be made aware as soon as possible. But something told him Frinda’s option was the safest one. He could just leave it to Pult and the ones with his mindset to alert God. But what if they angered him with their blasphemous words, and God punished them by letting this continue?

Jim looked up the mountain and gulped as the group split into two, and one part followed Frinda toward the space beneath the stone. They had to decide now, and follow it through. Jim had already taken the safer path and denied God’s gift. Because of that, he was alive. But the safe option wouldn’t save their world.

“I’m going up the mountain now,” Jim said, trying to convince himself it was the right choice. “The elderly and young, join Frinda. It’s too dangerous to slowly walk up there, so Pult is right. We need to run.”

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The rest of the group around him muttered.

“Are you angry enough at God to risk your lives?” Jim asked. “If the white stuff hurts, it can probably kill.”

The group walked toward the ones waiting it out under the cliff. Left were Jim and Pult. They looked at each other.

“I’m going up there to have a word with the almighty. He ruined my life.”

“Unless he didn’t intend to,” Jim said. He scratched his bald head. “Let’s go.”

Pult didn’t answer, but started running after Jim.

As they left the blackened trees behind them and started up the rocky path, it got colder. Colder, even though Jim ran so hard, sweat ran down his back.

“To your right!”

Jim looked up just in time to jump aside, barely dodging a massive, pointy sheet of white. What had happened to his protection? Wasn’t God’s protection strong enough anymore? He’d shielded them until now, even though He was absent. Why had it changed? Had Jim chosen wrong?

Another piece of white landed on the ground behind him, spurring him into motion. He looked up the mountain, where the stuff quickly filled in on the path. Moving, they had to keep moving.

Pult dashed ahead on the open path, and zig-zagged through the patches ahead, and Jim followed suit, dodging the falling pieces.

Both Jim and Pult stopped as they reached halfway, and his heart sank.

“So much for reaching the monks,” Pult said. In a cavity to their left laid three bodies, covered in white, but the beige was still visible on their bodies.

Jim ran forward, onto the white and not thinking about the hurt shining through his hands as he grabbed one’s robe and pulled at it. The whiteness slowly disappeared beneath his touch, and he turned the stiff, huddled body around. Don stared up at him with empty, cold, brown eyes.

Jim shook his mentor’s shoulders. “Wake up, Don! Wake up!”

The lifeless body fell to the side.

“Get away!” Pult shouted, and Jim looked up. He pushed his feet on the ground, and a white, spiky sheet fell onto his teacher’s body, where it lay.

Jim huffed as he scrambled to his feet and looked up the mountain. God could fix this, right? He couldn’t let his firm believers die! It couldn’t be permanent. Maybe the white stuff just… put them to sleep?

Jim wobbled up to the path on numb feet. He started toward the already running Pult, but his feet wouldn’t follow at first. Jim slowed and crouched down to touch his shoes. They were wet, and really, really cold. But his hands helped. For a short while.

As some feeling started getting back to his feet, he started running again, but he couldn’t keep up the pace. His whole body ached. Bit by bit, his feet started failing him, as the cold bit into the skin and seeped through his bones. Pult was way further ahead, and there was no way Jim could catch up. He was on his own. He slowed as his toes went completely numb, and the surrounding cold air hit hard into his robes. He stopped to breathe with a third left to go. What if he got to the top and God didn’t hear him?

His pulse sounded in his ears as he looked down the mountain, toward the small dots where the trees had stood one or two small turns ago. He didn’t see any of the others, and soon, the area would probably fill with some white, just like it had overtaken the city now. Jim turned toward the top. He’d made his choice. Now his only one was to continue.

His teeth clattered, and he folded his arms over his chest, since it somehow gave him some warmth and comfort. He wished he had something to shield his head from the strong wind, but as long as he could get to the top, he might not need it. Jim could see the altar from here, and no white had touched it or the surrounding area. He just needed to get up there. The place still protected by God.

“Ah!” Pult shouted up ahead, and Jim’s eyes snapped to the location.

A white sheet hit the man squarely in the back, and he sprawled on the ground. He rolled around, wiping at his shirt.

Jim spurred himself on, pressing himself to get closer. His feet struggled against him, and the wound he got from the trickler before ached up his leg. He threw himself forward, and a sheet landed just behind him. It was thicker than the ones they’d seen before and looked more like a lump than an even white surface. Up ahead, more of the same bashed into the ground.

Ignoring his pain, Jim shot up and sprinted toward Pult. When he reached him, the former lifted his shirt and revealed a massive red mark on his back.

“Get it off me!” Pult shouted.

Jim wet his lips. “It’s off already!”

Pult ripped off his shirt. “Then why does it still—” Another chunk of white smashed into the man’s body, and he screamed as the white clung to his back. Small dribbles of skin came off, and he rolled around, only to push himself further into the white. Pult’s face contorted, and as his body started to come apart, he looked at Jim.

“I just wanted to…” the sentence died off, and the man laid still.

Jim huffed out a breath, and white came out. He put a hand over his mouth. Had his body become a sun from within? But the sun was warm, and he felt so cold. He looked into the sky and jumped forward, barely missing the disfigured man as he dodged the chunk of white. They fell faster. He needed to get away. Jim couldn’t help him, not anymore. Not unless he convinced God to set things straight. If the square of high-monks had stayed on the top, they could pray together, and God would set things right. The sun would return. God would return.

Jim wiped his sleeve under his eyes and rushed on, switching between watching the sky and the ground. More than a few times, he had to throw himself onto the ground to avoid the falling death.

He dodged another falling chunk by leaping forward, but too late, he saw the ones covering the ground in front of him. He stomped off the stone and tried to jump over. His body landed on the edge of the white, and stinging covered his legs. He gasped and pulled himself forward with his hands. It wasn’t far to the sacred ground, where the white hadn’t touched. He could even see the square, sitting around the altar, meditating.

Jim gritted his teeth and pulled himself forward with his hands, until his legs came free, and onto the stone. He didn’t stop, even as the cold in the stone numbed his palms. Only a few feet more, and he would be safe.

“Please, help!” Jim called to the sitting figures. They didn’t stir. He coughed, and more fire dust came from his mouth.

Jim pressed his elbows on the ground and heaved himself closer, crawling as fast as he could. Even if his body was lit from within, his limbs felt like they were turning into stone.

He looked up as another chunk of white fell, pushed his arms to the ground, and heaved himself forward. It landed just behind him. He didn’t feel his legs, so it must have missed. At least now he’d be safe. No white had come into this area.

Jim sucked in a shaky breath and rolled onto his back. The stuff almost covered the city, same with the path below. He wondered how Frinda and the others in the group held up. Were they alive? The place where he’d found Don wasn’t visible anymore. Don… he couldn’t be dead, because then his body would have disappeared, right? Like it did for Pult. Jim shook his head. No, he could think later. He just needed to get up and get to the altar.

Jim stroked over the robe covering his legs, wishing his limbs would respond. Then he patted the fabric. It felt… empty. Heart thundering in his chest, he lifted the beige cloth. Where his legs had been were… nothing. He lifted it further, hoping he’d find them curled up under him. Jagged stumps stuck out from his behind, and his breath quickened, letting out more of the fire from within. Had the same fire done this to his legs? No, it must have been the white stuff.

Jim swallowed. He needed to get to the altar before all of him disappeared.

“Please, help!” he called out to the square once more. He rolled onto his stomach and pressed his hands on the stone, getting closer. They didn’t move. Jim forced back the tears. They hadn’t moved all this time.

He bit his lips and pulled himself closer and closer. Even as his muscles were about to give out, he pressed himself more, getting closer to the high-monks’ backs. The four sat in the corners of what likened a square, around the altar with the black markings.

Jim stretched out a hand to touch the closest one. Stone. They had turned into stone. Not the same color, but rigid and cold as it.

Jim swallowed, and his vision blurred as he drew himself toward the altar. He raised himself up as tall as he could and pressed his elbows on the steps to the altar, heaving himself up to the top.

He drew in a shaky breath. He couldn’t kneel. All the scriptures said he should kneel. Instead, he laid down flat on his stomach, raising his hands toward the sky.

“God! Please, come back to us!” Jim shouted, straining to keep his arms up. He coughed. “God, you have to come back! If we have angered you, please, send us a sign!” His arms failed him, and tears ran down his face. “I’m sorry, God! I’m sorry! I’ve done so many bad things these last few turns, but please, forgive us! I…” Jim shuddered, and rolled around to look at the sky.

God wasn’t here. He’d abandoned them. Was he the only one left now? No, people had come together in the mountain. Frinda and the group had stayed safe. Right? But it was so cold. The sun had gone out, and Jim’s entire world had broken apart. Died. Everyone, and everything, destroyed. Maybe this was the plan, after all.

“Please, God!” Jim shouted, his tears growing cold on his face. At least the fire within him had almost stopped. “I don’t want to die.”

Jim curled up on the altar and closed his eyes. It was all a dream. He’d wake up in a few turns, and it would be over. His stomach rumbled. Yes, he’d wake up, eat something, and feel good. He just needed to sleep. His eyelids sank, and darkness swallowed him.