Eden by Keith; Korman Page B

rain fell to trouble them. The wind held its breath, and the warmth of their small campfire did not seem to fade until deep into the night.
    The companions slept, heads curled on their arms, upon their folded robes. The lambs huddled together in a knot, and Eden dozed, pressed to her master’s side. The last thing she remembered before sleep was the one called Judas looking at her across the campfire. He stared at her with bitter eyes. Dark eyes she couldn’t meet. The troubled mind was upon Judas again, as though that terrible creature, the Hollow Man, sat upon his shoulder. The same as she knew before the cave, whispering poisoned words into Judas’ ear. And as she laid her head down beside her master’s thigh, she dreamt the strangest dream …
    Eden lay on a pallet of dank straw in a dark, damp garrison cell. A bar of light fell from a slit in a heavy door. Next to her, a sleeping prisoner breathed heavily—not her master, but the wild man of the river. He wore an iron collar about his neck fastened to the stone wall. Beyond the heavy door footsteps approached, echoing off an empty hall. The footsteps stopped outside the door. A key turned in a lock, and the hinges groaned.
    A Roman Legionary stood in the hall, a stern soldier who held a sword.
    â€œBaptist!” he ordered. “Get up.”
    In her dream Eden rose from her pallet, teeth bared, and leapt to the door. But her paws seemed stuck on the stone floor, she couldn’t pull them up, she couldn’t move. There was just her will to move and the prison turnkey standing in the doorframe.
    If only she could get to him, if only—
    Samson’s sudden bray woke Eden from her dream.
    â€œThe man of the river is dead ,” the donkey cried. “They’ve killed him.”
    Now the others were awake, startled by the noise. They sat up in alarm.
    But who “they” were, Eden didn’t know and the lambs began to bleat, “Who killed him? Who killed who?”
    The companions huddled about the master. Eden looked wildly around, but there was no one near them in this bit of field. The road lay empty, nothing amiss. Judas went among the animals, quieting the sheep, then to Samson, petting his long ears. “The man of the river is dead,” the donkey said sadly. “He who lifted my burdens, who set me free, who bid me walk with you … He is no more.”
    And Eden knew the donkey had dreamed the same dream.
    She caught a curious look on the face of the one called Judas. The man had undergone a subtle change. He seemed to understand every bray that came out of Samson’s mouth, and Eden wondered if he understood the language of animals now. Would he understand if she talked to him?
    â€œWhy do you look like that?” she growled.
    And Judas gazed back at her with knowing eyes.
    â€œI know you can understand me,” Eden said. “Why don’t you answer?”
    But Judas merely smiled a crooked smile. The strangest feeling came over the dog that this was not the Judas they all knew, but someone or something else inside his skin. Was this the Hollow Man on the ledge looking at her? Was this the Adversary, then? Had that creature from the time in the wilderness somehow taken over Judas’ sick and troubled mind?
    The twisted hateful feelings slowly passed and after a moment Judas looked merely sad, and above all worried, troubled by his new powers … as if understanding the words of beasts was unnatural and forbidden.
    He let go of Samson’s long ear, sat heavily in the midst of the lambs planting his hands upon his knees, and hung his head. The lambs crowded around him, hopeful as usual. “We’re here! We’re here!” they cried. And Eden came among them, forgiving him now his moment of weakness. She nosed his hand off his knee, nosed it and nosed it again, until he touched her head and stroked her white face.
    â€œI’m all right,” Judas told Eden.