Continuing saga of survival in a post-apocalyptic America only recently freed from foreign oppression.
The setting is America in the not too distant future. Disease and War has brought the country to its knees but in doing so has created new opportunities. Beginning with the first glimpse of a nuclear flash, the individuals in Spero join the hordes of refugees as they try to regroup and rebuild. Tasha, a beloved character from book one of the Birth Pangs series, guides her wounded charge through the carnage to a place of safety and healing. But war is never far off, and efforts to fight off despair using human effort abound. These have been tried and found wanting. In Spero, something else is offered.
“Do not despair, my child,” the woman exhaled soothingly. She reached her hand through the fallen beams and pieces of window to touch his. He was miraculously untouched by the fallen debris; nonetheless, he was imprisoned beneath it. With the boy’s safety momentarily assured, the woman appraised the situation.
The evening had been proceeding normally enough. She had been preparing to enter the marketplace when things had gone awry. The market was a collection of vendors gathered in the remains of one of the “supermarts” of old, its owners long gone now. In many areas, these buildings had been stripped for materials leaving virtually no remains. In places like this one, most of the building still existed, even if in disrepair, and served as shelter for various merchants. Such a building had its hazards, but generally served its purpose well. Even in its prime, however, it had been inadequate to endure the calamity she and the boy now found themselves in.
A light had flashed to the east, followed by a rumbling. All eyes were drawn to the horizon to find a sun where there ought not to have been a sun. Then the building began to shake and tremble. The woman had only a moment to notice the boy near the entrance to the marketplace, and then to notice the walls buckling. She had jumped towards him and shoved him away from the danger, but alas, she had been too far to rescue him completely; debris fell all around him, trapping him. The boy was lying, frightened, under a heap, and she was not strong enough to create an opening.
“Do not despair,” she repeated. A confusion of sound emanated from the building—a mixture of continuing collapse and human cries. People were running in all directions around them. Some were running past her out of the ruins, but some were running in. Others, outside, were hurrying by to some unknown destination. The woman remained hunched over with her arm extended into the heap to touch the young one’s trembling hand. She heard a disconcerting shout nearby and turned her head to see that the speaker had spoken truly: a fire had broken out. She noticed now, too, that there were other bodies under the heap. These did not appear to be as fortunate as the boy. She averted her eyes.
“Help me!” The boy strained to call to her. He was on his belly with his head turned out towards the open plain, which was once parking lot. He could not lift his body even an inch. A steel beam was nestled across his back, though it did not apply pressure to him.
“Yes, I will,” she replied firmly and calmly. She sat up and shouted at some of the people who were running around her, but none of them stopped. They all had someone else on their minds, someone else to save. Or worse, they were cowards looking after their own safety. The woman graciously discarded this possibility, but could not keep from being annoyed that no one was coming to her aid. She bowed low again so she could look into his face. “I will get us help,” she assured him.
“No one will believe what I have sing,” the boy replied. The woman looked at him with surprise.
“I don’t understand,” she said, studying the boy’s predicament again to see if maybe he’d sustained a head injury she couldn’t see.
“Look,” the boy instructed her. He said it, but he could not point. She followed his eyes instead, and this meant turning around to glance behind her.
Coming towards them was a man. There was something extraordinary about the man. He seemed to be fantastically beautiful. His clothing seemed to belong to his being so that one could not be sure he was clothed at all. Rainbow colors flitted about the ground around him as though he were a prism dividing the light that passed through his utterly substantial body. He had a sword. It sprayed light about just as the man did. Remarkably, none of the people running around them seemed to notice.
The woman gasped. She fell backwards ignominiously, but quickly regained her composure. She fell at his feet in a manner that suggested to the boy that she was worshipping the man.
“My Lord!” she exclaimed. “I would not have expected this in a million years!”
“No eyes shall see, no mind shall conceive,” he laughed in reply. “Arise, woman.” The woman leapt up and meant to embrace him, but he stopped her with a solemn gesture.
“The boy …” she said.
“Yes, the boy,” the man reminded her.
“He’s trapped under the weight of these things. The building has fallen apart all over the place, but he is in a pocket of safety,” she informed the man.
The man placed his sword on the ground and bent low to look into the rubble. “Hello, boy,” the man greeted him.
The boy was certain that there were colors dancing around him that he had never seen before. He searched his mind for some label to attach to this remarkable thing he was witnessing. One possibility seemed obvious. He ventured, “Are you an angel?”
The man threw his head back and laughed. The boy found this to be an unexpected and unnerving response to his question. He felt embarrassed and driven to try to think of any thing at all that might explain the man better. Lying there immobile, he grasped for other explanations until finally thinking of one. It seemed a long shot. He had heard both searching statements and derisive statements about this possibility out of the same mouth—his father’s. Because his father never seemed to have made up his mind on the matter, the boy was hesitant to say anything, especially after hearing this man’s response to his question. Still, he could think of no other possibility.
“Are you … Jesus?” the boy stammered. The woman shrieked.
“Forgive him his blasphemy, my Lord!” she exclaimed, throwing her body between the man and the rubble that was the boy. “He does not know any better!”
The man sat up and looked at her sternly, “Is that not the tragedy of this generation, this race?”
“Pardon him, please, my Lord!” she insisted.
“Surely you know that there is mercy for the ignorant,” he chided her. “Full-throated justice and full-blooded mercy dance together with ease within him. Surely you know.”
The woman’s face reddened slightly. Of course, she knew. The boy, on the other hand, still had no answer to his question. Despite his position of peril, he couldn’t help but stare at the marvelous man and consider what he might be. But the man was doing something, now.
The woman was gently moved aside, and the man had produced what seemed to be a sash. He wrapped it around his waist, once again making it difficult to discern what was garment and what was skin. All this while, people still rushed to and fro about them without any awareness of the marvel among them. The man was on his hands and knees. He passed out of the boy’s sight, presumably working down by the boy’s legs. Suddenly the claustrophobic cave expanded. The heap spread up and out, away from the boy, and he was able to turn his head. The boy rolled to his side and, to his amazement, the man seemed immensely larger. The man was actually above him, supporting the fallen debris on his back. The man seemed to have passed through the building’s remains and lifted them right up. The boy looked up into the man’s crystalline eyes.
He saw what seemed to be liquid light streaming down the man’s torso. It was the man’s blood. The boy was sure of it. The man looked down on the boy kindly with his oversized arms to either side of the boy, like pillars holding up a temple ceiling. The boy was in awe as he considered that the drops of light falling on him were the man’s blood; this man was enduring pain for his sake. Though the man was suffering, no hint of it could be seen on his face.
Realizing that the initiative had shifted to him, the boy turned all the way around so that he could crawl out of his brief prison. But when he turned he caught sight of some of the other bodies that were nearby, one of which had been under the same pile of wreckage with him. It was his mother. Nearby was his brother. The boy froze there on his hands and knees and stared at the gruesome scene. His arms gave out, his knees slid back. The boy slumped back to his belly, still in danger, his eyes transfixed at the sight of his mangled family.
Something inside the boy snapped right then. Something broke, and the man and the woman both knew it when it happened. The boy’s eyes went dark, and they knew it without seeing it. The man and the woman both began to tremble, but not because of the after effects of the explosion to the east or the movement of the building still settling around them. They wept. Their bodies heaved with their sobs. The boy lay there, still and broken on the inside.
Gathering her wits, the woman reached in and grabbed the boy from underneath his shoulders. She dragged him out, and he remained motionless the entire time. When the boy was out from under the heap, the man let the pile drop with a crash. He wiped the blood from his sides with his sash and reclaimed his sword. They wept for the boy a little longer.
“The saying that is written will come true,” the woman said at last, gathering the boy into her arms. His head was in her lap, and she stroked his hair. The boy’s lifeless eyes stared into the darkening sky.
“Marana tha,” the man returned with conviction. He used his sash now to wipe his own eyes.
The two slowly regained their composure. The evening had progressed since the explosion had set these events in motion, but a great setting sun to the west and to the east still granted them a little light. The man stood over the woman, who was still sitting and comforting the boy. The sword was in his hand.
“Are you prepared to receive your charge?” the man asked her.
“I am,” she replied, choking up slightly.
“Then receive it,” he replied, touching her on each shoulder with his sword before returning it to its sheath, which belonged somehow to his body. There was a moment’s silence. She looked at the boy.
“You can ease his pain,” she offered hesitantly.
“I could, but such easing means dulling his memories. A man needs his memories in order to overcome them. Is it better that he feels no pain but is no stronger?” he replied.
“And yet some will not overcome,” she asserted.
The man sighed. “Such is the weight of the dignity of choice set upon this race. Some will overcome. Some will not. The pain is not theirs alone, though, and neither is the joy that results. Yet, I can help heal this wound,” he said, reaching down and placing his hands on the boy’s head. He left them there for a moment with his eyes closed. He opened them and looked at the boy’s eyes.
“It is nearly dark in there,” the man winced as though he had been struck. “I will bear some of his burden, but I have also seared the wound closed. It will take time for the scar to fade away. I have acted carefully. I cannot remove the wound altogether, and by the inexorable way of things it will reopen. Pray that he is strong enough then to endure it.”
“Will I see you again, my Lord?” she asked the man as he stood to leave.
“Are you still a child that you would ask such a question?” he responded gently. “You know that such questions cannot be answered by us. No eye has seen, no mind has conceived. Do your duty; that is your task. Do my duty; that is my task. His grace is sufficient for us, but I too long that we might yet dine together at the great table. Now, go. The times are yet dangerous and deadly, but do not despair. Do not despair, my Lady, do not despair.”
With that, the man melted into the night before her eyes, leaving her to carry out the ordinary business of escorting her charge from this place of danger. But she knew that she was not alone.
Professional Reviews
Spero, Book 2 in the Birth Pangs Series
by Jean Heimann
Spero, the second book in the Birth Pang series continues the adventure of the futuristic fantasy tale, which takes places in the United States in the not too distant future. Spero focuses primarily on one of the main characters in the novel, King, who, as a young boy, is rescued from the ruins of a nuclear explosion by the strong and courageous Tasha, who is fleeing an epidemic that has gripped the nation and wiped out large portions of the population. Tasha cares for King as her own son, taking it upon herself to: nurse him back to health, protect him, and educate him in the skills he needs to acquire in order adapt to this dangerous new world, as they travel west to find a home.
King and Tasha are eventually taken in by the Cherokee Indians in Oklahoma where they are welcomed and accepted as they earn the respect of their new family. Here King develops into a strong, courageous, and honorable young man, who is on a quest to discover his identity and his purpose in life in this new world. While he attains a sense of family and security in this more stable environment, war and dangers are always lurking on the horizon, and King continues to express questions, concerns, and fears about the past, present, and the future. In addition, he has been blessed with the gift of prophecy to guide him -- to obtain insight and wisdom on his life journey and to assist others in decision-making in difficult situations; however, this gift in itself becomes a major challenge for him. He must determine whether or not he will accept the gift with all of its idiosyncrasies, “burdens”, and responsibilities. Tasha, who is mysteriously gifted herself in many ways, leads the "fatherless" King to seek counsel from the adult men of the Cherokee community, who do their best to help him. Amid his many travels and adventures, King receives guidance and advice from other father figures along the way who try to help him heal emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually and to cope with the challenges and trials of his daily life by introducing him to the reason for hope in this life.
Similar in nature to the writings of C.S. Lewis and JRR Tolkein, Spero bears a Christian theme, includes Scripture passages, and is rich in Christian symbolism. The main theme in Spero, (which is Latin for “hope”) is hope vs. despair – choosing light amidst the darkness in this life that we face on both interior and exterior levels. What is hope? Where will we put our hope? In politicians? In our government? Spero explores the virtue of hope from a practical, philosophical, and theological perspective. In Spero, the things of this world which people often look to for hope – their government, their schools, and even their churches – are destroyed.
In the face of the present day perils of our daily lives and in the midst of the disordered desires of our confused society, we all need to ask ourselves these crucial questions and share the the Truth with our family, our friends, and all those we encounter. Sharing Spero with others is one way we can lift up the hearts of others in the true Source of Hope.
In his clear, easy to read writing style, Horvath presents us with an action - packed story that grabs our attention from the first page and holds it until the very end. Once again, he re-introduces us to an interesting array of characters from the previous book, expanding on their roles. He also brings in new characters, which he describes in picturesque terms. Many of the scenes are described in considerable detail, allowing the reader to clearly envision the scene as if it were being shown on a movie screen and to analyze possible outcomes.
Spero appears to be most appropriate for teenagers and adults and is appealing to both Christians as well as non-Christians. Horvath weaves a tale which is not preachy, but is entertaining, action - packed, and interspersed with both humor and romance. Spero is an imaginative fantasy that subtly instructs, entertains, and intellectually provokes the reader. It is fascinating reading. I'm definitely hooked on this series.
The fifth and final book of the Jade Owl Legacy sees a full battle for life as we know it. The world is threatened by the denizens of the Jade Village leading the China Hans through a fantastical world and to a conclusive battle.
The FBI Inspector (380 pages) is a collection of 25 short fiction crime novellas involving the law enforcement services of FBI Inspector Joe Giralo along with his three government agents, Sal Velardi, Arthur Orsi and Dan Blachford.
