The rancid smell of sulfur filled the air as Luis tossed another crooked limb onto the fire. He could feel the weight of the pistol deep in his pocket as if it were a hidden hoard of sin. When he moved he heard the clink of bullets against its scratched metal, for he had unloaded the weapon when he realized what place he was in. Glancing around at the ring of faces that surrounded the fire, he wondered if any of the others had realized the true nature of this forest. He suspected that they had not because none of them had run screaming into the dark in an effort to escape the place.

The ancient swordsman stood staring into the flames, leaning against his blackened sword. He had spoken little since his terrifying transformation. But there was no need for words because all of the shepherds had seen it.

The men had become themselves again: They were wolves no longer. Nando was carefully applying a salve to the rope burns on the throats of the men he had tried to kill. Mel’s wound had been bound and he gratefully ate a piece of cheese offered him by Manuel. The wine skin, forgotten on the hunt for the three, was now passed quietly from man to man, and even Don de Molino took a healthy swig.
Finally, after a long time of silence broken only by soft whispers among the men, the swordsman spoke.

"Why have you returned?" he asked, still gazing into the flames.

"We have not returned." said Nando, still focusing careful attention on gently applying the soothing salve to Merle’s throat. "We’ve never been here before."

The swordsman lay a hand to his forehead. For a moment Ishmael wondered if the old man was about to faint. De Molino spoke in a whisper.

"Strange." he said. "They seem so much like the others."

Ishmael looked at Walt, who returned his puzzled gaze.

"What others?" Ishmael asked.

"The ones described to me by the Angel."

An excited and confused whispering grew among the men as each turned to the other with the same thought until Walt finally spoke it out loud.

"We thought you were an angel."

De Molino smiled sadly at the poet.

"No. I am just an old man. A wanderer and dreamer. I speak of the Angel who gave me this sword."

As he held up the blackened weapon, a current of fear ran through the crowd of seated men. But the weapon remained as it was: burned and twisted metal.

"He gave it to me when I came to this place. I stumbled to the gates, covered in wounds, sick and exhausted. Dying. He refused to allow me to enter, standing by the gates with his flaming sword. But then he had pity on me. He allowed me to sit in the shade of the dead trees. He treated my wounds and fed me from the garden."

The men glanced about, scanning the desolation that lay all about them. There was no angel and no garden.

"He had grown lonely." the old man continued. "Age after age barring the gate, defending the garden with his flaming sword. Not even those who had been cast out remembered the place as anything more than a legend. I think that is why he allowed me to stay. He wanted the company, even if it was the company of a sinful and foolish old man."

Merle looking up and wincing from the pain that gripped his throat, asked the question that was in all of their minds.

"What place is this?"

"It is much different now from what it was then." said de Molino. "The trees bloomed with fruit. The forest was filled with animals, but the bees did not sting and the wolves did not prey on the lambs. Each day the Angel brought me food from the vines and trees. Pears and pomegranates and grapes."

"Apples?" asked Luis.

The swordsman turned to the big shepherd.

"No." he said. "Never apples."

"The ones who had been cast out." said Ishmael. "Who were they?"

"I never saw them." said de Molino. "But the angel described them to me."

"You thought we were them?"

"He told me that they might return one day and that it was his task to bar their entrance. I knew that he had grown tired waiting for them, even more tired than I had out in the world tilting with many armed giants."

"And so you told him that you would take his place." said Walt.

The old warrior looked at the poet.
"Yes." he said. "And that is when he devised his plan. It was so simple, really. He was surprised that he had never thought of it before. But even if he had, he would need me or one like me to put it into action. He had to transform the garden into a place that all would fear to enter. A place of darkness and danger, dead and twisted trees, ominous birds and fear."

"A place like this." said Walt.

"Yes. A place like this."

Ishmael rose from his place by the smoking fire with its sulfurous odor and strange light. He walked out into the darkness and stood by the tree that had almost been his gallows. Laying his hand on its rough bark he closed his eyes and listened.
He heard nothing but the dead wind. Still, he remembered what he had seen when the old man had brandished the flaming sword.

"How would he do it?" he asked.

"It is quite simple, really. All he had to do was to let sin enter in. Beneath it all the garden would remain, but sin would seem take possession of the place and transform the joy into sorrow, the beauty into desolation. Trees would seem to gnarl, the beasts flee, the flowers turn to thorns. But you see these things because your eyes are filled with sin. You are like a man whose eyes have been smeared with the excrement of pigs. You could show him the face of the most beautiful of women, and all he would see is pig shit."

"And what do you see?"

"The same as you. That was the Angel’s plan. As soon as he allowed me to cross the threshold and set foot in the garden it became what you see now."

"But when you unsheathed the sword. Why did I see it as it is?"

De Molino and the others looked at him oddly and exchanged glances.

"What do you mean?" asked Walt.

"I have no time for such discussions." interrupted Nando, standing and approaching the old man. "If we have trespassed on your land, we are sorry. We meant no harm. But we are seeking our children. We tracked these three because we thought they knew where they are. But now we will leave."

"Your children?" asked the old man. "But I know where they are. They are in the underwater city."

NOTE TO READER: Complete story can be found on my blog. Read entries in numbered order for entire text.
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