Gold on the Horizon
By now, many days had passed under those stormy skies. But even as the lightning crackled and the skies shook with the thunder, more and more people awoke. Despite everything, they found their way, in time, out of the darkness and into the light of the Door. More and more now lived in its light by Book and by Glass.
Steve had known that he must leave the safety of the fire to help these wanderers, and he was not alone. Over time, many others heard the calls in the night and were sent into the darkness to seek those who were crying out. They went, carrying lamps with them, even as Steve and Sara had been.
Even though group after group took lamps out into the darkened edges of the world, the supply of lamps never ran out. It seemed that whenever they were needed, more would be given.
Jon and Nan still tended their own fire. By now, they had sent others in Steve’s wake, bidding them farewell with tears of hope. Over time, they had seen friends come and go from the fire for other reasons, as well. Sometimes, one of those who sat with them around the circle would stand and look toward the Door as if they had heard their name called. When this happened, each one of these would approach the Door.
It would open for them; they would pass beyond. Then they would come to the fire no more.
After what seemed a long time, and yet not nearly long enough, there came a day when both Jon and Nan were sitting around the fire, passing the time. Suddenly, Nan looked up.
“Did you hear that?” she asked, laying a hand on Jon’s arm.
“No, I didn’t. What was it?”
“Someone is calling me! Let me go and see who it is.”
Jon’s heart sank. He had heard nothing. But he didn’t need to. He knew what was happening. He looked at Nan, and her eyes widened. He could see that she now knew, too.
“I’ll go with you,” he said, rising stiffly. Together, hand in hand, they walked the well-known path from their fire to Door. As Jon had known it would, the Door stood open.
Nan looked into the golden light, her eyes shining in its reflection.
“Jon, I’ve got to go! Our Friend -- he’s calling me.”
He nodded, saying, “Go. You go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
Then, with one last embrace, Nan passed into the blinding light of the golden door, turning at the threshold to say, “I’ll see you soon.” Then it closed behind her, leaving Jon in shadow.
Blinking back tears, Jon returned to his fire. To his surprise, he saw Steve waiting there, sitting in his old place, just as he had done for so long. Jon went and sat beside him, wordless.
After a long time, he spoke, saying simply, “Nan’s gone home.”
“I heard the news. That’s why I came.”
Jon stared into the fire.
“What will I do now?”
“Come stay with Sara and me for a while.”
Jon nodded. It all seemed empty. But he felt that he would like to see Steve and Sara again. There were too many ghosts around his fire. He couldn’t face them alone.
So it was that Jon and Steve went back together. The way was easy. Over time, paths had been worn through the wilderness.
Sara greeted Jon at the edge of their camp with tears in her eyes. She gripped his hands. Jon could see at once that she also knew. It helped. Jon wasn’t sure what to say, so he said the first thing that came to his mind.
“The paths have gotten much better. I didn’t stumble once on the way over here.”
Steve nodded, “Yes, the councils all agreed to work together to keep them clear.”
That made sense. As others had gone out into the darkness to carry the Doorlight farther and farther beyond the horizon, all had seen the wisdom of working together. At first, some fires had been lost because of storms or because the lamps went out, leaving their people lost in the darkness.
Those from around the rest of the fires had joined together. By now, each group had its own council. These all worked together for the good of each. Now, when storms battered one area, the councils from the unaffected regions would send aid. If a lamp went out, runners would be sent to replenish it. Even before that happened, light-tenders would be sent from fires where the lamps glowed brightly to strengthen and encourage those that flickered.
Bit by bit and little by little, their numbers had grown. In a sense, this had happened without Jon’s notice, for he and Nan had been kept busy tending to their own fire. But now Nan was gone. Her place sitting empty. Jon tried not to think about it.
Later that evening, Jon sat with Steve and Sara around their blazing fire. Seeing his drawn look, Steve asked, “Jon, do you remember the day when we left?”
“Hardest day of my life,” Jon replied. Then he paused, “Second-hardest.”
Sara put her arm around his shoulders. Jon patted her hand gratefully but absently. Then he went on, “I remember.”
Steve continued, “The night before we left, you and I went out and looked out at the horizon. Do you remember what we saw?”
Jon stared into the fire as he said, “Darkness. A black edge. Unbroken storms.”
As he spoke, he remembered the feeling of isolation and loneliness that he had felt. Back then, in the face of that looming despair, the fire at his back the friend by his side had carried him through.
Who and what would carry him now?
Steve’s voice broke into his gloom, urging, “Come with me.”
Together, the three of them climbed a low rise. Steve told Jon to keep his gaze on the ground until they got to their destination. When they arrived, he said, “Alright. We’ve arrived. Now, look up!”
Jon raised his eyes and looked. He saw the horizon. As ever, the blackened bowl of the stormy skies smothered the broken land. Blazing bolts stabbed down with distant malice. A familiar sight.
But then he looked closer. Off in the distance, he saw the light of a golden glow. Then he noticed another. And another. Soon, he lost count of them all.
As he looked in growing wonder, Steve and Sara began to name the fires, pointing out each one and telling the stories of their fellowship and partnership with the specific people who were represented by each glimmer of light. They mentioned each by name, telling of the work that each had done, of the challenges that they were facing, and of their victories, great and small.
Listening to them, Jon all at once imagined himself flying high above the surface, looking down upon the ruins.
In an inky-black sky of opaque obsidian, he imagined the sight of stars - not of stars in the storm-tossed skies, but rather a network of golden fires upon the ground, glowing in constellations of care and comfort. He thought that he could see the paths running between them, glowing like golden threads; paths that knit those points of light together into a net that dragged the wastelands for any that might yet be rescued. As he looked, the vision of the golden Doorlight suffused his vision, weaving everything together into one contiguous whole. All at once, the blackness was not the reality, but a backdrop against which the woven work shone with wonder.
He saw it. It was one creation, one body, holding back the darkness and preserving the good, rescuing the ruins.
Jon blinked again. Once more, he was standing beside Steve and Sara.
He looked once again upon the horizon. Eyes open, he now saw, all around him, a golden glow.
Jon told Steve and Sara of what he had just seen. Had it been real, or imagined? He wasn’t sure. Steve laid one hand on Jon’s shoulder and put his other arm around Sara. Together, they stood and looked out at the gold on the horizon. At last, Steve spoke.
“Just imagine what it will be like when we can really see this place from beyond the Door.”
Jon tried. It slipped through the cracks in his mind. But it slipped like oil, soothing as it went. One day, all would be healed. All would be put right. One day, there would be no more farewells, but only the eternal joy of meeting and being met. With them, ahead of them, behind and beneath them, was their Friend who had called them out of darkness into the golden light.
“Thank you,” Jon whispered to his Friend, “For not leaving me alone. Thank you for calling me when I was in the darkness. Thank you for giving me a place here and now in the work you are doing. Thank you for joining us together. I can’t wait to see what you will do in the end.”
Steve added, “In the beginning.”
Jon agreed, for they had read in the Book that the end of the story of their broken world would be the beginning of one that will have no end and no need for an end, for it will go on and on forever, each chapter better than the last.
He looked down at his glass and read upon it, in letters of gold, Nan’s favorite word, “Soon.”
Michael Somerville is the author of several short stories, as well as an in-progress high-fantasy series called the Tales of the Broken Realm. He loves telling stories of hope about ordinary characters doing their small part to help heal a broken world. By day, he pays the bills as a hands-on storyteller and project manager, leading and envisioning professional teams in the "real-world", even as he is busily building and illustrating imaginary worlds in his evenings and on the weekends.
Outside of work and writing, he enjoys a wide range of hobbies, including playing music with his family and friends on keyboard or guitar, drawing, sculpting, painting, sewing, and blacksmithing, or walking the length of the Appalachian Trail in his home neighborhood in the Shenandoah Valley, where he serves as a Board member on his local civic association.
Most important to Michael are his family and his church. Michael and Jessica celebrate their 20th anniversary in 2026 and are happily raising three wonderful daughters. He serves actively in his local church, playing music on Sunday, teaching the older elementary kids, and leading a “small group” full of wonderful saints. He hopes to hear "Well done" one day, and plans to keep serving his true King until then.
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