Glorious Sunset
Glorious Sunset
Ava Bleu
www.urbanchristianonline.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Discussion Questions
About the Author
UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!
What We Believe:
Copyright Page
To everyone struggling to find their way and hoping for a little love and light to go along with those important life lessons, I speak for you.
Acknowledgments
This book was truly a labor of love as I navigate my own personal journey and learn the spiritual lessons of the flawed and humble. Some of us have a little further to go to reach salvation than others; we are dedicated to our path but sometimes a little wobbly on our new legs. Bear with us.
I believe in love, I believe God has a purpose for us (and love has a lot to do with it), and I believe God has a sense of humor. With those thoughts in mind this tale of miracles was born. No doubt you will recognize a fantasy or two; I play upon those familiar themes with the greatest respect to our literary legends and homage to global tall tales, Christmas stories, and spirited fables from Africa. Every culture has myths and stories passed down through the generations. No one can say how much of these stories may be true, but until someone can say with certainly what isn’t true, some of us will choose to revel in the possibilities and, most certainly, find God in every one of them.
Thank you to my family—my heart and soul. Thank you to everyone who read my story and listened to me go on and on about this king and his endless love. Thank you to my editor Joylynn Ross for believing my little story has a place. I’m so proud to be one of the many authors on the Urban Christian line and do hope you enjoy this novel as much as I enjoyed writing it.
It may best be fitting to close this in the tone of my wonderful hero:
“I wish you pleasure and enlightenment such that your spirit will reach to the heavens with the joyful abandon and happy surrender of the branches of the magnificent baobab!”
. . . Or, happy reading.
Ava Bleu
Prologue
1600 AD: Jaha, West Africa
The acrid smell of a burning village brought King Taka Olufemi awake, sputtering, coughing, and wincing in pain as he did so. Slowly memory returned and with it the horror. He cracked his eyelids open, his eyes immediately burning with the pebbly smoke that floated in a low-hanging cloud. Pushing himself upright from where he lay causing sharp pain to streak through his torso and the agony brought his gaze down as he sucked in his breath and jerked his hands to the source. Seeing the jagged, torn flesh of the wound in his side, the rest of his memory came and with the memory:
“Oh no. No, no, no . . .”
He forgot his pain. He fought off the sway of the world as he stood, struggling to focus and see through eyes watering with smoke and something else he didn’t dare identify. He didn’t need to see when he could smell. He was a king and warrior; battle was in his bones and death always a close companion. He smelled both here.
He looked around. Men, women, children; the massacre was complete. Beyond the hall huts and houses of his village were blackened ash. The air still burned with the stench of fire. He couldn’t understand this. In all his life he’d never seen such brutality, never known such dishonor. Still, he firmed his jaw and kept looking, turning in a wide circle until his feet staggered to a stop before his brain could even register.
His body knew how to find its heart.
He stumbled like a drunkard. When, finally, he was upon her he could only drop to his knees. Agony slammed him like a lion strike in the wild. And much like a lion strike, the blow from the magnificent body was the stunner, but then the massive teeth would rip a man’s flesh from his bones as a second course. He felt the teeth ripping his beating heart from his chest and groaned with the searing pain as he admitted to the horror before him.
“Zahara.” He gathered his murdered queen in his arms and breathed into her fragrant hair, tears welling in his eyes. The wrenching that tore through him was brutal; already his body ached, keenly, from lack of her. The panic began, at that moment, threatening to strip away what was left of his sanity. With the madness came the screaming, purging to the only one who could hear him now.
“I am King Taka Olufemi!” he shouted to the universe, with all the power of his soul. “You may take my kingdom, you may take my loved ones and friends, but you may not have her! Do you hear me?”
The room crackled with audible air bubbles popping all around. The sound grew in crescendo and the hall lit with a light unseen by most people. Taka had felt this sensation many times throughout his life. It was always followed by the appearance of Aniweto. Ani was his gentle-voiced friend and confidant but he was more commonly known as his guardian angel. The legend of Taka’s easy communication with heaven had always been a blessed thing to him, but the blessings hadn’t helped him today. Knowing the power that brought Ani into his life, he knew his words went straight on high. Right or wrong, today he would use his friend to get his point to the one who had wronged him.
“I’ve given our Father my allegiance and my faith, and this is how He repays me?” he said, his voice hoarse. “My tribe, my people: all gone. And all I would have asked was that you leave one person. Just one person!”
He fumbled for his sword, his mind automatically preparing for battle with an enemy, as if this enemy could be bested by a sword. He looked at it and realized the futility. He glared at Ani, and though his ego demanded it, his soul could not mask the pain. “I have nothing left to live for. In one afternoon you’ve taken everything from me. I’ll give you the rest to complete the package!” Quickly he moved the sword around, its tip at his own stomach, the blade slicing through the skin of his damaged hands.
“Taka!” Ani exclaimed. It was his friend’s voice but it was different today. It didn’t happen often, but occasionally his familiar guardian would change slightly. Ani’s voice would deepen in timbre and his eyes would shine with a light that told him he was visited by the Almighty through his dear Aniweto’s body. As Ani had always told him, he was merely a messenger and a vessel, a tool of the Father. But Taka sometimes forgot exactly what that meant, how close and special was his relationship and his gift to reach the Almighty so easily. Today, apparently his request was beyond Ani. Through his friend he listened to a voice felt to the depths of his soul. He knew he was not only with his guardian this day, and the Father’s next words confirmed that.
“I did not take them from you, son; evil did that. My pain is greater than you could know. But even still, even with this tragedy, you know better than to take what I have made. You are still here, Taka. All is not lost if you still have the will of a warrior.”
Will of a warrior? Taka bent to lift the body of Zahara in his arms. His soul twisted with grief. “Here is my
will, lying dead in my arms. Tell me, Great One, have I not done everything you have asked of me? You tell me this is my destiny, to be without her? It cannot be. I ask for only one thing: give her back to me. With this one woman I can pick myself up and go on. She is more than my wife; she is my best friend. She is my reason to rise. All I need is Zahara and I will accept whatever you have for me. I will accept this carnage. I will swallow my tears and bury my people without a murmur of complaint. I will never cry again; just bring her back.”
“Have you considered perhaps Zahara could not accept this carnage? She has not years of battle, has never seen this much destruction or dreamed she would have to survive it. She is a strong spirit but this is too much for most of my children to bear. Too much for all but a man weaned, trained, and protected by his guardian angel. You are the only one with the strength of mind and spirit to withstand this horror, Taka. I will be here for you even when it seems no man wants to hear your voice. I will guide you and see you through every step and you will honor her with your courage. My son, my heart hurts for you but it is Zahara’s time, not yours.”
“I beseech you,” he moaned, his hands clutching the cloth of her garments, willing the life back into the woman who wore them. He would put her down and crawl on his hands and knees if that was what it took. He would beg if that was required. He was beyond pride, beyond rationality.
“She is already gone on, Taka. It is her time, son. It is not yours. It is not yours.”
The finality in His tone finally snapped Taka out of his subservience. Hope died like clay drying in the sun. He lay his wife’s body down gently and stood to the Almighty. “Then I say it is my time as well. I still control that, do I not? Do I not?”
“Would you insult me so as to take what I have given you in love and throw it away?”
“What of that which you have taken from me? She and I had so little time together. Had I known what was to come I would have spent every waking second in her arms, braiding flowers through her hair. We had not even created life between us yet you take her from me already?”
“The love you and Zahara shared was a gift. Two years of pure love, more than some have in a lifetime—”
“It wasn’t enough!” Taka yelled, fury growing out of control inside him. Two years with Zahara could never be enough. A lifetime could never be enough. “You are a false and cruel entity to play games such as this. What is the purpose? Are we just toys? Playthings to amuse you?”
“Taka, I allow you license to speak because my love for you is great, but it is not your right to question my purpose.”
“If I cannot question your purpose, if your reply to me is that I have no more right to question my existence than a child should question why he must take his sustenance every day, then it is obvious to me you have no respect for me. Perhaps you never have that you could dabble in my life in this fashion with no more care than you would have for the rubbish we burn as trash. I see now I am more disturbed by this massacre of your children than you ever could be. Thank you, Father. I have made up my mind. For this I will take from you yet another of your children!” Taka once again picked up the sword, ignoring the pain in his hands. The tip was at his abdomen and his face drawn with determination.
“Insolence!” Ani’s body quivered with emotion. Ani had never raised a voice to him. The very ground vibrated with the anger of the Almighty. “Taka Olufemi, I have watched you grow from a child to a man and I have blessed you with strength and courage, pride, honor, and dignity and yet all you can see is what you do not have at this moment, at this time. You ignore all I have given and denigrate my purpose, and even my existence. You are a spoiled child, and, even worse, an arrogant, short-sighted man. I had thought you contained more. You want your queen back?”
“That is all I want. And you would never have to do a single thing for me again. You would never need to speak to me or grace me with Ani’s presence. I would be satisfied never to hear the voice of either one of you again if you give me back what you have taken.”
“Very well. You will not die today, Taka. But you will no longer exist as you are. You are a phantom to the world.” The Almighty reached down, cupped Zahara’s cheek lovingly with saddened eyes, and then removed the ruby brooch from her dress. “This token of love you once bestowed upon your wife will become your home and vessel. Zahara, as you knew her, is no more. Her spirit has already moved on and will take another form soon, and after that another, and another. You will live a life of chance, Taka. You come alive only when someone picks up this bauble and rubs life into the stone in the center. You will neither age nor grow old. You live to grant wishes to the people who release you from this stone, to watch as they appreciate what you have thrown away. Three wishes, three days. Once the third wish is granted you return to the stone.”
“What has this to do with my wife?”
“This brooch will travel through the hands of men. There is no telling where it will go or how it will get there. Zahara’s spirit will someday settle into the body of a woman who will share her face. You will know her when you see her, though she will have no memory of you. If she chooses to be with you, you will be able to live your life with her as a mortal man. If she denies you I will remove you immediately and you will go on to the fiery afterworld you so covet.”
Taka took a deep breath, finally feeling some hope. Finally, a chance. “So I must make her fall in love with me again. That should be easy. Zahara and I love each other deeply.”
“Zahara is gone, Taka. You will have to touch her spirit if you have any chance of living a life with the woman you claim to love.”
Taka frowned, feeling at a loss. “Touch her spirit? That means nothing to me. Nonsense and drivel. I still have this body and this face; her ‘spirit’ will certainly accept me. I am her king; she will know me, despite what you say. Our love is stronger than death. Our love can survive anything. You shall see. What do I do to start this journey?”
The Almighty looked at him a long time, His face softening. Taka felt a tingling in his side and looked down. He touched the place that had been wounded and felt nothing but his own perfect skin. He looked back at the Power behind Ani who said merely, “What do you do? Thank me for my mercy, son.”
Chapter 1
Present day: Columbus, Ohio, USA
Violet Jackson’s company, Shades of Violet, was buzzing with activity, phones ringing and people moving around; it was crazy and manic and Violet loved it.
Her business wasn’t large, but it was profitable and growing every day. She had a staff of one assistant and a multitude of interns eager to cut their human ecology teeth in a bona fide design studio and Violet was more than willing to take advantage of their free labor. It freed her up to do other things like what she was doing now: convincing someone to do what she wanted.
Violet thrust a swath of material toward a slight woman with glasses perched on her nose.
“Red?” the woman said. “I don’t know.”
“Absolutely, red,” Violet assured her.
“Red seems so radical.”
“This change in your life is very radical.”
“But, what about this nice pink here?” The woman meekly held up a “candy hearts” pink paint swatch.
Violet hid a sigh and dropped the material. The thing about Columbus, Ohio was that it wasn’t New York City. There were precious few people who had both the money and the desire to delve into unchartered territories. Artists with courage were always broke, unlike those rich little bohemians in New York. And the rich people in Columbus were busy trying to one-up each other by seeing which one could get the dullest dull colors they could find and calling it “classy.” Sure, she liked some plain stuff too, but not all the time. The reviewers claimed it was because she was black and naturally took to reds and golds. Whatever.
She took the woman by the arm. “Doris, I love you to death but I will not do another pastel chic job for you. For some people that might work, but not for you. Red is your favor
ite color.”
“But red walls? What will people think? I’m forty-five years old. It’ll look like a hippy pad.”
“It will be tasteful and classy and you will wonder why you ever hesitated.”
“But—”
“Listen to me, Doris. You said you wanted to completely change that house and I don’t blame you. But you also told me pastel is what he liked. Ivories, beiges, light peaches: those were colors he wanted, am I right?”
Doris nodded, wide-eyed.
“Where is he, Doris? Where is this man you spent your whole adult life trying to please? I’ll tell you where: he’s shacking up with some silicon-stuffed porn star in a penthouse with a Porsche and his freedom, that’s where. So what the heck are you still trying to please him for? The kids are away at school, Doris. There’s no one rumbling around in that house but you. It’s pretty much the only thing you got in the settlement.” Well, that and maybe a million or ten. But rich women loved it when you pretended they were just like regular working-class grunts. “So you tell me, who should you care about impressing now? Doris?”
Doris looked at her shyly. “Me?”
Violet held her hand to her ear. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”
“Me?”
“You’re darned right. And what has been your favorite color for only your whole entire life?”
“Red.”
“Okay then. Am I going to be creating a warm, comfortable home for you with red walls that reflect the fire in your fireplace and in your soul and giving you a sense of peace and pride and confidence? Or am I going to my Rolodex to refer you to one of my associates who specialize in your ex-husband’s favorite pastels?” Violet was bluffing, of course. She would no sooner turn away business than she would cut off her right arm, but bluffing sometimes worked.
Doris smiled, bashfully, and pumped her arm in the air. “I want red! Oh, I want red!”