Free Ancient Eyes by David Niall Wilson Page B

mountain, they had hardened their minds and their hearts.
    Some went up to Reverend Forbes's church, as he'd told them was proper. Others found their moments of worship on their own, gathered in barns and parlors, or even took the long drive down to the Catholic Mass at San Marcos by the Sea, though the journey meant being up hours before the break of dawn and being half way down the mountain. The old ways were not the ways of Reverend Forbes or of the churches in the valley and on the coast, and they would not die easily.   Still, without the central focus and leadership Abe's father had provided, it was difficult to imagine how things could have been preserved as they were before.
    At first Abraham and his mother cleaned the stone church.   She had gone twice a day, dusting and sweeping, and he had weeded the path, patched leaks, and kept the grounds clear.   All but the graveyard. Abraham hadn't set foot in there since the funeral, and this lent a further solemnity to the memory.
    He had never had a proper moment to pay respect to the man who'd helped to give him life, and who had taught him so much about what he could do with his hands, and his mind. Nothing on Earth could have pried Jonathan Carlson off his mountain, but he'd known of other places, and other times, and he'd shared that knowledge with his son.
    "I wouldn't be here now," he concluded, "if he hadn't given me the dreams, and for that I thanked him by running away, abandoning my mother, and never even visiting his grave."
    There was a sudden bitter edge to his voice that he fought to soften, and failed. The dreams and reminiscing had opened floodgates of emotion he'd worked years to shore up, and he had no defense against it.
    "But," Katrina's voice cut the deepening silence, "what does it all have to do with what's happening now?   I mean, why the letter? Who is 'back?' Who was that on the phone, and these dreams…?"
    Abraham hugged her and leaned his head sideways to rest on hers.
    "I wish I knew," he said at last.
    "Will you go back?" she asked softly.   "At least to see your mother?"
    "I don't know," he replied.   "I want to see her.   I'd even like to see the mountain, and maybe visit my father's grave, but I don't want to be sucked back into that place—or that life."
    "You still didn't say who 'he' is," she chided, poking him in the ribs. "The note said 'he's back,' and I know it can't mean your father.   There are still things you aren't telling me."
    Abe nodded slowly.   "I'll tell you—probably soon, now that it's all coming out in the open, but not tonight. It's a long story.   In fact, if the 'he' of the note is who I sense that it is it isn't any more possible than if it were my father she spoke of. That man is dead, as well— though maybe a part of him lingers on. Some things should never be left unfinished."
    "What did you leave unfinished?" she asked, her voice taking on a note of exasperation. "Abe what are you talking about?"
    "I'm sorry," he replied, and hugged her tightly.   "I'm thinking and talking at the same time. I didn't leave anything unfinished.   My father did. He didn't finish 'The Cleansing'."
    Kat started to poke him again and ask him to explain, but at that moment, the phone rang.

SEVEN
     
    Sarah climbed slowly up the ancient path. It had been several years since she'd made the climb, and it was obvious from the condition of the path that no others had been up it recently. The undergrowth to either side had encroached so that, had she waited another season, it might have been difficult to find where the trail had run.
    There had been a time when Sarah had climbed to the old stone church daily, sometimes more often than that, if something needed fetching. Now the ache in her back and the scratches of the weeds and brambles lining the path made her wonder if she could accomplish it even once. She leaned on an oak staff she kept for such journeys, and she depended on it for support more than she would have liked.