It was the message that compelled them in their mission. The message was the one thing they knew and it was the one thing-- the one Truth-- they were set upon the earth to tell.
They walked now, having set their horses to travel back to their now abandoned home. They were alone and had nothing but each other to hold fast upon. The storm raged around them, throwing strong and ravage tufts of bright white dust and earth hard against them. It was as if something dark within the dying earth was trying to stop them, something wicked, knowing the danger of the Truth they would bring. That darkness threw wave after wave against them-- the brothers from the north. In that storm of sand and dust, they found only perseverance, and in that perseverance they were intent on moving forward, on toward what was now called "Old Salem". This was the place where they had been born. This was the place where their family was destroyed and this was also the place where they had fled to the north from to hide away from... for a time.
The dust storm continued for days, slapping upon them a harsh, hard wall of white hate. It almost looked like snow, but the heat and the hard grit proved the white sands were the harsh truth. Their hats held tight upon their heads and the long coats tied tight around them fluttered in quick snaps behind them. Each step was methodical and set deep into the earth before taking the next one. They walked against the onslaught, message and mission in mind.
Suddenly, something stopped them. They straightened, braced against the wind and cocked their heads against it as if listening beyond the wail of it. The shadow of something large briefly broke through the shifting dust-filled winds. They moved closer and that form slowly came into view. A half-buried chunk of what was once a wagon peeked out from the under the dust and there, propped up against the remains of one of its wheels was the form of a man-- whether he was dead or alive, they could not tell. One of the two stepped closer and leaned down. He reached out and pressed two fingers into the curve of his throat and felt a little life left in him. He took his hands and gently shook the man. A cloud of white and gray dust came off of him in puffs and settled quickly into the prevailing winds. The man stirred. His mouth moved slightly but no words came out. They were dry and cracked and, like his nostrils and eyes, they were caked with white dust.
The man leaning in to him reached back and took a canteen from his brother behind him. He popped the top and poured an amount of water into his hand and splashed it into the dying man's face and began wiping away the dust from his eyes and face. The man leaning in then pressed the canteen to the dying man's lips and gently tilted a small amount of water over them and into his mouth. The man immediately stirred and choked on the first gulp. He then swallowed the next with great effort but did not stop. He kept drinking and before he could drink too much, the leaning man pulled it away from his lips. If he drank too much too fast, his body would spasm and that would do him no good at all. A little at a time was always best.
The dying man slowly opened his eyes and looked at the two men around him. What he saw convinced him that he was either dead or dreaming in the short moments before his death. These two men were covered from head to toe; wrapped tightly in their long coats, gloves over their hands, but what was most strange was they had an odd length of cloth wrapped not only around their noses and mouths but also over their eyes. They looked strange to him and had never seen such strangeness. How could they see anything?
"Are you real?" the dying man asking in a quiet, rasping voice.
There was no answer from the two strange men. They did not move. The leaning man then simply held out the canteen and the dying man took it, thankful for another drink of the cool water within.
"Angels maybe?" he asked, half choking back the coolness at the back of his throat.
"We have a mission," the one standing in back said through his face cloth.
"A message," the one leaning in said.
The dying man looked at them strangely. "Messengers, then." He took another drink and thought he must be dead.
"You are not going to die." This came from the one leaning next to him as if he had heard his thoughts. Then he said, "You are coming with us. You have something to see."
It was the message that compelled them in their mission. And, this once dying man was now a part of that mission. He would see a great many things. It took him some time, but he eventually was able to stand and walk. He followed them on a hard, long walk and before long, he came to see himself standing before the town called "Old Salem".
The message was about to be told.
