After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 47

Divine Healing

Notes:

The Maker...finally. It's been a while. This was a hard chapter to write, very hard, but I think I'm semi-pleased with the results^^

*****

Janner breathed, deeply, evenly, in and out. 

His eyes flew open in surprise, absorbing flickers of multi-colored lights and darkness and a burbling stream and birdsong, and he breathed again, deeply, evenly, in and out—he didn’t choke or feel the need to cough and sharp pain didn't shoot through his chest, nor did his head spin. 

Slowly, very slowly, he realized his ear did not ring, nor did his leg throb in pain, nor did his head dully ache. Nothing hurt, nothing at all, even though he stood, straight, tall—as tall as he was, at least—without wavering or trembling. Fear, paranoia, irritation, anger, terror, worry, anxiety, stress, concern, frustration: all that, too, had disappeared.

He desperately hoped he hadn’t somehow managed to die, after all his family had been through.

“You’re not dead, My son,” the Maker’s gentle, thundering Voice sounded, and yet Janner did not jump in panic, though divine fear and awe and reverence quaked through him, and he was on his hands and knees in an instant, bowing and trembling before his Lord.

“Maker,” he whispered, the sound not angering his mind. “For what purpose have You brought me here?”

The Maker’s glowing brilliance finally came into view, rays of His glory slipping into Janner’s line of sight, though his eyes gazed only at the ground. “To strengthen you,” He replied, and outside of his own volition, Janner found himself being raised from his reverie. “To strengthen you after you share your heart with Me, that is.”

Brief pain flickered into Janner’s mind, and he closed his eyes in an effort to quiet it. Warmth enveloped him, though, as if someone had embraced him with their entire being, and the pain fled. Someone had, Janner realized almost immediately, the Maker had, the Maker had drawn him close and filled his mind and body with dazzling warmth and light and peace, and He had sealed his eyes shut so His glory would not blind him. The most puzzling piece of it was that although he had only ever “seen” the Maker’s pulsating beauty, he now felt His form which was so like that of a person.

“Come with me, Janner,” the Maker said softly, His words echoing endlessly, wondrously. 

Janner listened, for he had no other choice, and if he had, he would have followed all the same. The Maker’s arm—it felt like an arm, though Janner knew its appearance was that of blinding light—remained around his shoulders, pulling him close, pouring into him an endless stream of wonder and serenity. 

The way along with they walked was the same Janner had traversed in the past, a sort of tunnel that would have been dark, had it not been lit by ancient stones of a thousand colors and shapes and sizes, dimmed, of course, by the Maker’s wonder. The bubbling stream sang with joy, glistening with the Maker’s light, interspersed with the glow of the stones. The carpet of grass and flowers danced beneath their feet, seraphically nourished by the Maker’s splendor.

The tunnel finally, though it was the sort of finally one would not mind lasting for an eternity, opened into a forest vibrantly adorned with glowing stones and luminous mosses of all the colors. Underneath the coverage of the verdant canopy above, hundreds of indescribable scents of water, light, bark, loveliness, leaves, joy, air, and wonder flooded over them, making breathing glorious. 

The Maker led him to a bench-like place among the trees, formed by massive roots and covered in a cushion of plush, sparkling moss. “We will rest and speak here,” He commanded gently, and Janner listened.

They did not speak immediately, though. Instead, they sat in silence, gazing out at the forest, savoring the melody of eternal birdsong. 

“Janner,” the Maker said after a while, His Voice soft, truly soft, the thundering gone. Surprise rippled through Janner’s mind. “Tell me your heart. Please.”

There was an odd sort of sadness in His Words, and Janner’s heart quaked. “I— I don’t know if You want to hear it.”

“Janner,” He repeated, His Voice more commanding this time. “If you won’t tell Me, I will draw it from your heart, and that will be far more painful.”

“I, I,” he stammered, tears already rolling down his cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way here, he wasn’t supposed to hurt or worry or fear or feel such tremendous guilt and shame. Perfection and peace reigned here; in the past, they had resided in his heart during these few hours of true tranquility. Why was this happening? “I’m sorry,” he finally said, burying his face in his hands.

“For what, Janner?” the Maker asked gently, and something that felt like a warm, light-filled hand wiped away some of his tears. 

“For doubting You,” he whispered, his throat tight. “I, I doubted You, and I blamed You for putting me there, trapping me there, a-abandoning me. I stopped trusting You, even though You spoke to me, even though You said I’d only have to wait a little longer—but it was more than a little longer, and I know it’s no excuse, but, but, but You didn’t say anything after that! I didn’t hear You!” 

Though he couldn’t see it, he sensed the Maker regarding him carefully. “You mean you couldn’t hear Me,” He corrected. “You chose not to hear me. You stopped calling out to Me, Janner, and you pushed Me away, but I was always there. Didn’t you hear the music? I was in the music. I’ve always been in the music, in your heart. You just couldn’t see it.”

“You were always there?” Janner murmured, shaking, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You didn’t leave me?”

“Janner,” the Maker whispered soothingly, drawing him into a startling, divine embrace. “I’ve never left you. I’ve always been here.”

Though he couldn’t believe he was crying into his Maker’s shoulder, Janner found himself relaxing, collapsing into the sublime warmth and sacred peace. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, but it was the healing sort of sobbing and grief and sorrow that was instantly superseded by relief and happiness and joy, and in his mind, a sunrise dawned. 

“I forgive you,” the Maker said gently, rocking him. “I always have, and I always will.”

*****

“Tell me, truly,” Janner whispered, happening upon Sara in the library, a book splayed open in her hands, her gaze not on the pages. “What has been on your heart?”

She did not turn around to face him, so instead he came to her, lowering himself very painfully to the floor. Now the light of the fire reflected in both their eyes, and, after his chest stopped screaming, he clasped Sara’s hand, staring at the flames for a few minutes, marveling at the manner in which it danced and leapt around the wood and from the embers, singing a song of warmth and strength at the expense of the wood and the embers.

“A fire’s an interesting thing,” he noted quietly. “When the wood is wet, it’s impossible to start without assistance. No one in their right mind would throw a damp log on a young fire, unless they truly believed in that fire’s strength, and since the fire isn’t meant to have that strength, only someone foolish or curious or desperate would toss such a log there. Steady consequences could follow such actions: the damp log could burn the young fire out, or perhaps the young fire will pour all its strength into the damp log, and the fire will continue burning at the expense of the first log’s efforts, rewarded with crumbling char and ash. Perhaps on the rare occasion both will survive, and for quite a long time be too weak to produce warmth and light. That fire, too, will die out like the first, unless underbrush and twigs and other logs are fed to it, carefully, methodically. Fire—it’s a strange thing.”

Sara finally turned to look at him, her eyes tired. “What is your point Janner?”

Cupping her cheek in his hand, he smiled sadly. “I can't help but think....that's how it's been for us all this time. You and everyone else have spent so much time helping me, worrying about me, that you’ve neglected yourself. I’ve neglected you. And I don’t want you to end up like that first fire. So, talk to me, please. Tell me what you’ve felt, what you’ve been through. We can go slowly, in increments—you don’t have to tell me all at once. But I want to know, and I want to listen. I care. And I love you.”

Tears filled Sara’s eyes, and she laughed lightly. “Janner, that’s very gracious of you, but are you sure...are you sure you can hear me talk about it?”

Janner sighed. He had to hear her talk about it, no matter how much it hurt. “I can, Sara, and if I can't, we'll just have to enlist help, maybe from Mama or Artham and absolutely the Maker. But for the start, for right now, yes, I can listen to you. Besides, you’ve listened to me when you haven’t necessarily been alright. For now, though, maybe we’re alright enough to help each other—with help, I mean.”

“But not alright enough to get married,” she murmured, sadness falling over her countenance. 

Janner’s throat burned at the thought of that, for even though it had been her suggestion to wait, it was at her expense, not his. Or was it? “Do you think you could marry me now?” he asked, gazing into her eyes knowingly.

A sob escaped Sara’s throat. “Before I could’ve, in a heartbeat. Now—”

“Now you’re scared,” he offered. “You feel like if you make that leap, Aerwiar will crumble underneath you, and you’ll fall. And no one will catch you, because no one’s there, holding out their hand to help you.”

She nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks. Janner pulled her close, even though it hurt, unable to fight the tears brimming in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re not ready now, but you will be. We will be. We will get married, Sara, I promise you that. But first let’s—”

“First, let’s get to know each other again,” she choked out, squeezing him tighter.

Janner kissed her hair. “Let’s get to know each other and the Maker again.”

“Together?”

He nodded into her shoulder. “Together.”

Pulling back from their embrace, Sara wiped some of the tears from her cheeks and reached for the book she hadn’t been reading when he first came into the library. “It’s my journal,” she said, almost shyly as she handed it to him. “I wrote in it while you were gone. It might be a good place to start.”

“The best,” he whispered, kissing her. “The truth's in there, isn't it?”

“Yes. Are you...scared?” she asked tentatively, worry flitting into her eyes again.

Janner smiled at her tremulously. “Maybe a little. But I think the truth is best. We'll make it with the truth.”

*****

Notes:

Can we consider that a happy chapter? I would consider it a relatively happy chapter....a healing chapter, at least^^ Let me know if there's anything wonky or noncanonical, please! <3