*  *  *  *

Louis crouched down and watched as the scouts disappeared,
reconnoitering the terrain.  Their furtive movements reminded him of
scouts of his own . .  . what now seemed like a hundred years ago.
The paradox did not escape him.  Only days had passed, yet the void
was so huge between then and now.

Then, as now, there was a struggle.  Ideals, "righting a history of
wrongs," as he was so fond of saying, all those things seemed so trite
in this place, by this River.  He began to feel contempt of sorts, and
just as rapidly it passed.

There was still a need for ideals; Something To Fight For.

Yes, he thought, as he watched the last of the scouts vanish, there is
the mystery of this River that vexes him so.  Lion Gods and
grailstones.  Dreamgum and scythes.

The Afterlife or no . . . the answers would be his!

			      *  *  *  *

"Bunch of big blue bollocks," Sly thought, as the visuals and sounds
swirled past him, filtered through a dreamgum haze.

"Big bastard treatin' me like a sack a' sh*t, bunch a boy buggerin'
blokes behind 'im." Inward scream, outward sneer. "It's bloody Malcolm
all over again. Fookin' bastards, all of 'em. 'ey'll get theirs soon
enough though matey, roit there."

Blind fury masked by the sneer, always the sneer, kept in line only by
a sly sense of survival, would let loose someday...  someday soon.
"'at's roit matey, jus' make sure you take some of the buggers wit' ya
before the big guy takes you out."

			      *  *  *  *

If one were not devout, one might almost be disappointed. Is this
really what all one's suffering was for? Ah, but that is a selfish
thought. Sweet reward is not why one did what one did; one was not
thinking of oneself. Still, it seems ... dare I say it? Is God
listening? He is always listening. It seems unfair. There.  I said
it. Are you listening, God? Sometimes I don't think You are. I listen
so hard for Your voice, but I cannot hear it. Not here. Even Saint
Margaret has abandoned me, and she was the most devoted of the three
voices. I have no one to guide me, tell me where to step next. I am
afraid. Afraid like I have never been in my life because until now I
have never felt that You were not with me. Perhaps I had shut You out,
when I was alone and imprisoned, but even then I knew You were with me
if only I would turn to You.  But this place... it is not like the
Earth You created. And these people are so unlike my people. They are
even stranger than the English! I almost think that some of them are
proud of their sinfulness!

Father Gregory says I should not judge them so harshly. "They are
different" he says. "And that is not the same as saying they are
evil." But he did not SEE! They jumped into the water, and did not
sink! What's more, they actually moved through it as if borne up by
the devil's own hand and propelled forward.  Still. I must trust that
the good Father understands these things better than I. He is a kind
man, this Father, to impose such a light penance for my sins. Perhaps
he is not as strict as he might be, but his heart is good. And in
truth, I am much relieved to have made my confession. Even if God is
not listening to me, His lowly handmaiden, surely He will listen to
His priest's intercession on my behalf. I do hope we might prevail
upon Father Gregory to join our party. I am sure I do not merit a
personal confessor, but perhaps Charles does. I am sure Charles would
not mind if I also availed myself of the good Father in that case.
Surely Charles understands the ecstatic joy of the confessional,
having all ones sins lifted from one's heart, being cleansed and made
worthy once again to serve the Lord? Perhaps now I will be able to
hear my voices again? Please, Lord? I am ready to do your bidding?
Lord?

			      *  *  *  *

Well, life has certainly been more interesting here than with the town
I was at.  More dangerous and unstable.  But this attracts me.  Was I
so unsuited to the bucolic life that the powers in this place uprooted
me and tossed me amongst these adventurers?  Not a common man among
them it seems.  I always wanted to contact the dead, but who'd have
thought it'd be like this!  I wish we could be contacted by the
living, I'd peer out their crystal balls and tell those fakers how it
really is.

And just who are these powers who brought me here anyway?  If this is
a supernatural place, are they gods?  But this hasn't the feel of the
supernatural about it, we travail and eat and sleep, all as if we are
still alive.  If this is a scientific place, are these powers mere
men?  I should have read Jules Verne, he may have imagined something
like this; but I thought he was just a cheap purveyor of thrills for
the gullible.  Hmm, that's exactly what I was though.

Maybe I'm entertaining still, and those in power are watching us on
our riverboat stage?  That would be the cosmic laugh.  Ladies and
Gentlemen, the Eight Wonder of the World, in his first appearance on
the River Styx, the incomparable Houdini!  That's not such a strange
thought though.  Every one of us would be a big attraction by
ourselves, but as a group we'd be the biggest draw ever.  Hmmph, if
that's all this turns out to be, I'll give them a piece of my mind.

			      *  *  *  *

Taking a moment, Shaka pressed his hands to his forehead and thought,
looking around.

For a moment, it was as if he was looking at everything around him in a
new light.  Looking at the strangers before him, he thought longer
about this new place.

"Everywhere I look, I see strangeness.  Who would have thought the
world so large, with so many kinds of people in them.  I only ever saw
a handful of whites when I was alive, but here... they are everywhere!
And the yellow skinned ones like Temuchin and Mishima... and the dusky
ones like the woman I coupled with... so many different people."

Shaka shook his head.

"So twice it is now that I have died, and twice I have awakened here.
This is the afterlife... and yet it is not as my people foresaw.
And yet, I am not the only one here.  Pala and the others are here,
though they know me not.

"Why oh why is this place not the paradise we proclaimed?  That would
have been so simple.  Here, I am surrounded by people who speak
strange tongues, given a pail that gives me strange food, and forced
to wear this strange cloth clothes... it makes no sense."

The thoughts made him uncomfortable, and he started getting that
feeling again, the out of control feeling.  He fought back, thinking:

"Ahhh, but these people are not chosen by the Lion god of this place.
Surely by getting to the place where my scythe was formed, I will be
taken to paradise, or be made king of this place.

"Or if not... with the metal I shall win, I shall place myself at the
head of an army so mighty, I shall not stop until all the world is
united and Zulu!"

Shaka smiled.

"Ahhh, yes.  That is the way.  But as before... there are those who
challenge me.  And they must be... silenced.  The new one, Sly... he
is too unruly, and must be made example of.  Louis is useful, but
thinks too openly.  Mandragola can be trusted... for now.  Charles on
the other hand.  Charles I must deal with as soon as I see him.  He is
strong, and will try to keep me from my rightful place.  Did he see
the Lion God?  Did he best Temuchin?  No!  And I think it is time he
felt the scythe he thought to keep from me.  He is a warrior, and
well-muscled, but puny compared to me, and I have the scythe of the
Lion God!"

Shaka's eyes glazed over somewhat as he thought on this some more.

"And then, I shall make the black woman my queen, and the small white
one shall be my handmaid, and all the men shall serve me as my army...
and we shall be victorious!"

Shaka's smile was interrupted as he heard someone sneaking up on him.
He jumped and spun to face the attacker, but there was nobody there.

Puzzled, he turned to face where he was before, wondering what he was
thinking about.  Unable to remember, he concentrated on the task at
hand.

			      *  *  *  *

Shaw dove into the water and swam out towards the center of the river
with swift strong strokes, then turned and swam back to shore. Then
with a smile and a wave at those who he saw there he turned and swam
back out again. He stopped and floated for a short time then swam down
until he could still just make out the sun's light at the surface,
then still holding his breath he slowly let himself drift to the
surface.

"Is this what it was like? Peace, quiet, no memories because there was
nothing to remember? Finally free of all burdens and cares. Still, it
would get quite dull after a time," he thought as he broke the surface
and started the swim back to shore " and who knows, maybe I will be
able to find Frank and Will again, that would be nice after all these
years. Ha, not likely if everyone who ever lived is here, why, there
are over 1000 years of history in this little group of ours alone.
Charlemagne and Joan of Arc, who would have thought? That is if they
are who they say they are. It's hard to tell what is real here and
what is a dream, still, as dreams go this one is lasting awfully
long. Maybe I'll be waking up in a hospital bed any time now..'My,
Mr. Lawrence, you gave us quite a scare for a moment there but you
pulled through quite well.  ' 'Excuse me Dr. but my name is Shaw now,
but thank you for keeping me in one piece all the same.'...Now there
is one good thing about this river, no more reporters following me
about trying to find out what the great Lawrence is going to be doing
next."

Shaw was giggling as he walked out of the river and began to dry
himself off.  "Yes, I suppose that makes all this worth it. I never
knew that one had to go to such great lengths to be free of the press
though."

Shaw's mood sobered as he looked up at the church. "Now then, this is
where things get interesting. Is this God's plan for the after life,
they ask, Why aren't things like they were supposed to be? As if
anyone really knew. I wonder if Father Gregory has any ideas on
this. Hm, I wonder if he is who I think he is..and what is his purpose
here.  If I'm right then I don't think he would be content to sit in
his little church for the rest of eternity. I'll have to find out
tomorrow, maybe after breakfast.

Shaw glanced over at the nearby grail stone as he had this thought.
"Grailstones. Why on earth, or heaven for that matter, would God use
such a bizarre contraption? No, this isn't Gods work, I'm sure of
that, as sure as I have ever been sure of anything..and I am getting a
little tired of who or what ever is behind all this playing with me as
if I was some sort of tool for their enjoyment. Why can't I ever be
left in peace? Not even in death am I truly free of it all. Maybe once
we find whatever it is we are looking for I will have a better idea of
what is truly going on here, and then we can put stop these game s and
manipulations, and then...and then..what?"

			      *  *  *  *

river river River winding like a snake too phallic not appropriate
after all it's a river valley river surrounded by grasses no
definitely not phallic despite its windings like the Norse world-river
and ouroboros its tail caught in its mouth where is the mouth of this
River river?

this place this river this world this game ja das Weltspiel the world
game we must play here dreams and hypnosis reveal what? the mind of
the dreamer or the sender bender of the dreams or is that just a
neurotic thought perhaps we are alone here even if Gott did not bring
us back why should whoever did care what happens now perhaps they like
god left their creations recreations alone

but not alone companions friends strange as any other is always
strange certainly troubled megalomania hysteria paranoia neuroses
castration anxiety even I am not immune seeing symbols everywhere
enough to make my head hurt I wonder if Jung is here what he would
make of it Jung young again a gain loss cross how the christians cling
to their churches despite all

even here the unconscious still taunts deep below the surface
perhaps it too has caught its tail.

			      *  *  *  *

Sitting alone, still in the pre-dawn chill, Josephine stared out over
the River. She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself and sunk
deeper into her own thoughts.

Watching the flow of the River, Josephine mused about the time since
the resurrection. The people she had met, who had disappeared. Always
one to make friends easily, the strange mixture of people and
circumstance had shaken the heretofore unwavering self-esteem of a
professional performer.  Recalling her recent past actions, Josephine
nodded to herself, approving of her pro-active stance in the attack on
Temuchin's village, of learning to sail a boat and to speak a
smattering of Latin from Shaw.

She smiled softly and shook her head, murmuring to herself, "Almost 2
months and no sex. If my friends could see me now they'd think I were
a different person altogether." A frown marred her smooth brow as she
recalled her friends from her previous life.  Indulging herself, she
allowed her thoughts to roam unbidden. A kaleidoscope of faces, people
held dear, loved and cherished swam before her eyes. Lovers, friends,
adopted children.... all pictured as clearly as the day she died on
earth.

In the background she could hear the villagers stirring. Rising with a
dancer's grace she brushed the debris from her body, sparing a smile
and firming her resolve to find out if her sexual prowess from earth
had lasted into this life....

			      *  *  *  *

Following dinner, Charles wandered around the small church.  In his
mind's eye he saw images of stone walls and other churches from days
before... days before this life?

Was this truly the afterlife? This was not what what he had envisioned
Heaven to be, certainly not.  But this was not what he had learned
purgatory to be, either.  Thinking to himself, "Perhaps God needs me
here.  This group has come together for some greater purpose, and it
appears that they have chosen me to be their leader.  For once again,
in God's plan and in service to him, it is my humble task to lead the
people around me.  These good people have conscience, and give
straight council.  They serve to guide me and all of us on this
quest... This quest?  What is this quest?"

Charles walked slowly outside of the church looking at the new land
around him, still thinking to himself. "We have seen things that are
beyond our ken.  People disappearing, people returning from the dead,
large stones shooting fire and creating food and drink. A metal scythe
forged with new technique.  All of this place is passing strange, but
strangest of all, is that we have little control over our actions.  We
are pieces on a board of the Chess game.  The leaders of this place,
be they human or demon, pull the strings of us, as if we were puppets.
At the highest level then, our quest should be to regain control of
our actions.  For it is free will that God granted man and woman, in
the garden of paradise.  If man chooses to follow the will of God,
that is a choice.  we must regain that choice.  Along the way, we
should right the wrongs that we see occurring, and try to use what we
have learned from the past life, to make this a better one.
Civilization will bring order from this chaos.  Perhaps that too, is
part of our quest.

			      *  *  *  *

...surely there must be some reason for all that happens, and knowing
that reason, all that has happened will make sense.  The Lord would hardly
make His heaven less subject to reason than His earth was, at least not if
men like me are to be in it.  Or is this purgatory after all, is Charles
right?  Would there be churches with bamboo crosses in heaven?  Or in
purgatory, for that matter?  Yet what else could it be?

Set that aside; it matters not.  If reason fails me, I have nothing else,
so I must assume reason will not fail.  If The Lord intended for us to act
differently, by different rules, in this place, He would surely have told
us so.  So we must live here as we would in previous lives, and use our
reason to puzzle out the nature of this place.  He could hardly expect us
to act otherwise without some direction.

How might we find that puzzle's answer?  If we set ourselves to search for
it, we will almost certainly never find it.  For everything else we have
ever set ourselves to find in this world, we have never found, but instead
we have found other things for which we have not sought.  No, that's not
true; we found this church, and Father Gregory.  I only hope that he will
heal Jeanne's spirit; if not, perhaps even this will not be what we sought.
Or maybe we go about our search for the metalworkers wrongly; rather than
marching and sailing and searching for smoke and trees, should we simply be
praying for it?  There seems no harm in trying, especially here in God's
house.  Must remember to pray for guidance in finding it, before I sleep
this night.

If we all are infested with demonic possession, or if the powers that
manipulate us are evil and must be exorcised, as Jeanne fears, then do we
know that Father Gregory is not also a tool of the same powers?  No, I must
not say this aloud.  The peace she had in her heart after confession is
already starting to wear thin, and I must not strain it.  She deserves a
little peace.  For her sake more than anyone else's, I wish this were
heaven, or if not, that we might find the way to it.  Deborah, forgive
me... you would love her too, she is so like you in some ways, unwavering,
strong, yet she still searches for the inner balance that came so naturally
to you.  Perhaps you could share a bit of it with her, from wherever you
rest.

Or are you here too?