Ted Dekker - Outlaw

He stared down the path, which vanished in a tangle of underbrush.

“Forgive me. I’m not accustomed to the ways of others. Fear doesn’t stalk me. But this doesn’t mean that I am weak. If I join your fear, I too would be lost in darkness. The blind cannot lead the blind.”

She watched him, momentarily at a loss for words.

“This is a strange way,” she finally said. “If not for Shaka, I would think you had lost your mind.”

“But I have. Thankfully.” He immediately realized that these words would mean nothing to her, so he clarified. “In a way of speaking,” he said, smiling. “The mind cannot see the light as it is. The light allows me to see in a valley of darkness, yes? You must be patient with me.”

“And you will see that all of your talk means nothing against his warriors. Every day people die. There can be no greater darkness.”

“Then all the more reason for me to be the light,” he said. “It is the only way that I can see truth.”

“And what truth can you see now in this desecrated jungle?”

Stephen saw the opening to offer her courage and he seized it with a great passion. He took her hand and gazed at her face, her body.

“I see a shining star on the path before me, dressed in the red and golden feathers of a paradise bird. My heart leaps in my chest and cries out the glory of such a creation. Who could have created such a beautiful soul? Only the one through whose eyes I see this vision of splendor.”

Her eyes softened.

“I see a soul that cries to be known as blameless. A soft heart that is cherished by its Creator. A gentle spirit full of kindness and love that her mind cannot yet recognize. But I see it. I see it all and I find more delight in you, Lela, than in any bird or tree.”

“I am not a young woman to be chased by a young man,” she said softly, but there was wonder in her eyes.

“I chase nothing. And you must know that however young, his body is strong.” Stephen winked at her, a mannerism he’d picked up from Shaka. “He can face ten boars and bring them to the ground bare-handed. You cannot imagine what he can do with his spear.”

This drew an unsure but unmistakable smile to her face. He grinned, delighted by his success in offering her this reassurance. So he continued.

“I can assure you, Kirutu will not stand against such a powerful sight. He will run into hiding at the sight of him.”

She blinked, clearly in doubt. It made Stephen wonder what Kirutu was. He’d read his mother’s account of battle with fascination, but without fear. Now a small voice in the furthest reaches of his mind tempted him with a whisper of concern.

What would it be like to face a hundred men intent on hatred and armed with axes?

But the whisper quieted as quickly as it had spoken. This wasn’t his true self speaking. It was only a ghost of insanity, not to be feared.

“No man has ever defeated Kirutu,” she said.

“And no man ever will. He defeats himself.” But once again he was speaking in terms that she couldn’t possibly understand. His words were falling on deaf ears. He would have to speak her language. Surely this was part of the challenge that Shaka had set before him.

“That’s it!” he cried.

“What is?”

“Shaka’s challenge. I must enter the valley and speak the language of the dead as a means for life. That’s it! Jika, jika, jawa !”

“Jika jawa?”

“A word we made. Either way, so be it.”

“The language of the mad.”

She refused to find comfort, so he shifted his approach and acknowledged her misguided belief. She seemed obsessed with it.

“If I’m wrong, then only I will pay,” he said. “I ask only that you trust Shaka’s faith in me.”

“If you are wrong, then I will pay with my life.”

Her fear struck a chord of sorrow in his chest.

“No, Lela. I will protect you. There’s nothing to fear by my side.”

For a long time she just looked at him. But the lines of worry on her face had softened. She was starting to trust him, he thought. And for a moment he wondered if that was so wise. But he knew no other way.

“So be it,” she finally said.

He smiled. “ Jika, jika, jawa .”

Lela offered a nod, turned back down the path, and began to walk.

They traveled late into the afternoon, often cutting through the jungle on paths used only occasionally by hunting parties. Birds took flight above them, disturbed by the passage of humans below. Possums and snakes rattled the underbrush in hasty retreat.

It was at the Tengali River just east of the Tulim valley that his domain ended. He’d never been beyond. And yet he felt only eagerness to cross it. This day had brought him more wonder than any in recent memory.

The more questions they asked of each other, the more his fascination with Lela grew, despite her refusal to tell him anything about the Tulim valley. She was intelligent and tender, her fear aside, but this wasn’t the reason for his interest. Her companionship, on the other hand, was exhilarating.

He embraced the realization that he was living and breathing and walking with the very form of God, made manifest in another besides Shaka. And he found himself touching her arm and her hair more frequently than she might have desired.

And yet with each passing hour her optimism rose. Or perhaps it was only his love for her, returned in kind. She liked him, he could not mistake this truth. He could see the sparkle of interest in her eyes, the curve of kindness in her lips, the intention to impress him in her gait.

He loved Lela, and she loved him. There could be no insanity on earth in the presence of such love. It made him wonder if Wilam had loved his mother in this way. If so, then why had such insanity followed? Such beauty and yet so much suffering. It could not have been the same love he felt now.

Lela stopped by the exposed roots of a towering deciduous tree, winded from the long, arduous climb up the path that would bring them into the Tulim valley.

“There, over this summit,” she said, shoving her chin at the forested crest ahead, “you will see all of the Tulim.”

She’d often stopped to rest this past hour. Clearly she didn’t have the same endurance as he or Shaka. It had been over a day since he’d slept, and only now was his body beginning to tire. How many times had Shaka urged him to climb faster, run longer, sleep less? To discipline the body is to remind the costume that it is only something to be used and enjoyed , Shaka often said. Never let it use you .

“Are you with a man?” he asked impulsively.

Her eyes darted up.

Perhaps he should clarify his question.

“My mother wrote much about the union of many to produce infants. You were to be with a man?”

“There is no love in this valley.” She spat to the side. “I will gouge out the eyes of any man who attempts to force himself on me.”

Her vehemence took him off guard.

“And yet you are from among the Impirum. Julian wrote of much beauty among your people.”

She turned away. “There is now only Warik. Only hatred.”

“With you I feel only love.”

Tears misted her eyes. “It’s been a long time since any man loved me,” she whispered.

Those words broke his heart with compassion. How terrifying it must feel, not knowing that one was loved.

He thought to tell her that, in reality, she needed no more love than what was already offered inside of her, where the realm of the Master’s love would rule, but again…she wouldn’t understand. He could only serve her by speaking to her limited understanding.

He felt a strange kind of belonging next to Lela, an awakening of awareness that she, even by her simple presence at his side, fueled his own fullness of love. As did Shaka, when Stephen was with him. But with Lela that love felt different somehow.