Kelsey

It was cold. Bitter cold. Kelsey walked quickly, trying to keep warm. Her ears were freezing; they felt almost numb. Reaching up, she tugged her toboggan cap down over her ears, hoping it would at least shield her ears from the wind, if not warm them. Hiking her backpack higher on her shoulders, she listened to the crunch and squeak of her boots on the new snow.


She reached the foster-care center and hurried up the front steps, pausing for a moment to shake the snow from her boots. Tamping down the butterflies that threatened to flutter in her belly, Kelsey took a deep breath. A rush of warm air met her when she opened the door, and her exposed skin felt much colder in contrast. She hurried to shut the door and walked up to the front desk.

“Mrs. Dorran?”

She looked up from the paperwork she was reading and peered over the edge of her reading glasses. “Oh, Kelsey, hello.” Her smile looked tired. “You’re here to check on the placement in Montclair?” she asked as she removed her glasses.

Kelsey nodded, her lips pressed together. She so wanted to move, and yet she didn’t want to move again. She wanted a new family, but what if they were worse than what she had? She shivered. God, Your will be done. You know my heart.

Mrs. Dorran shook her head, her eyes crinkling with her sad smile. “I’m sorry, dear. It fell through.”

Kelsey exhaled, her eyelids sliding closed. Swallowing hard, she looked up again and met Mrs. Dorran’s eyes. “Okay. Thank you for trying.”

Mrs. Dorran nodded. “I’m sure something will work out soon.”

Kelsey made a faint attempt to smile and began backing towards the door. “You’ll call me if something works out?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Dorran nodded and smiled confidently.

Kelsey knew the social worker was putting on a brave face for her. There were too many teens in the system to get them all into good homes. Besides, most foster parents want little kids, not teenagers. Little kids are generally more adaptable, not to mention cuter. She sighed heavily. That was one of the reasons they were trying to find her a different placement. The Klassens, the ones fostering her at the moment, wanted a younger kid. Not a sophomore in high school.

She trudged along the sidewalk, her boots squeaking in the snow. A car whizzed past, and her eyes followed it without really seeing it.

She’d age out of the system in a couple years. They let you stay until you graduate high school. If you can graduate.

What would she do when she graduated? Try to get a job at a McDonalds, maybe, and find a dinky little apartment with rent higher than it was worth.

Kelsey sighed and kicked at a pile of dirty snow that a snowplow had piled on the edge of the sidewalk. She wanted to complain that it wasn’t fair. To rant to the sky that she didn’t deserve this, that her life should be different. But she knew better.

She took a deep breath, the cold air sharp in her lungs. Life wasn’t fair – she knew that. But she also knew that everything has a reason, and that you are here for such a time as this.

Shoving her icy hands into the pockets of her coat, she wiggled her numb fingers against the nylon lining. Knowing didn’t really help with feeling, more’s the pity. She paused by a lamppost and looked up at the sky now purple with dusk. Her breath clouded in the air and a tiny bit of winter struck her face. Half-smiling, Kelsey stuck out her tongue. Snowflakes were unique, just like people. They carried a message of death, and one of hope.

The wind was picking up, though, and it was getting late. She needed to get home. She made a face – it wasn’t home. It was just a place to stay. Would she ever be truly home?

The words of Jewel, a unicorn in C. S. Lewis’s Narnia, came to mind. “I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it until now.”

It was true. Kelsey sighed. She didn’t belong here anyway, so she never could really be home here on earth. Her allegiance lay in another country. She belonged somewhere else. No matter how hard she wished, it would probably be a long hard time before she could go home.

Tugging her cap over her ears again, she hurried off down the street. Her temporary home was waiting for her, and her temporary ‘parents’ would be getting worried if she was home, amend that, back, soon.





The pencil lead scratched softly on the paper as Kelsey bent over the page, humming tunelessly. Glancing up at the clock on her wall, she heaved a sigh and pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. Turning back to her homework, she began writing again, but stopped after only a few words. She gave a small grunt of disgust as she stared in vexation at the blunt end of the pencil.

“Dull again,” she muttered, tossing it onto the desk where it clattered annoyingly. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. As her bangs flopped back down, she leaned back against the chair, closing her eyes in weariness. It was so late, but at least she was almost done with her homework. Another glance at the clock goaded her to her feet.

She picked up the pencil and made her way, again, to Mr. Klassens’ office at the back of the house. She hated being a nuisance, but she had to sharpen her pencil. A light shone from the crack underneath door. She knocked hesitantly, standing first on one foot, then on the other. Finally, Mr. Klassen called, “Come in,” in his ‘I’m busy’ tone of voice.

Kelsey opened the door slowly. He sat in front of a classy black desktop computer, his fingers tapping the keyboard in front of him.

“What is it?” His tone was sharp and slightly annoyed.

“May I…” Her voice wobbled and she mentally glared at it. He was brusque, but that didn’t mean she had to be nervous. “May I sharpen my pencil?”

He leaned back in his leather desk chair. “Didn’t you just sharpen it a few minutes ago?”

As she stepped across the threshold onto the thick carpet, Kelsey shook her head. “No sir. I last sharpened it about an hour ago.” She walked over to the electric pencil sharpener on top of the file cabinet.

Frowning, Mr. Klassen looked at the digital clock on his desk. “What are you doing up, anyway? It’s ten-thirty. You should have been in bed an hour ago.”

The sharpener whirred and she winced at the noise. “Yes, sir.” She withdrew her pencil and blew on the tip to remove any loose shavings. “I’m finishing my homework.”

He frowned again. “You should have finished it already.”

She bit back her frustration. Didn’t he understand how much homework she had? “Yes, sir. But after school I checked in at the center, and when I got home I helped Mrs. Klassen with dinner. I couldn’t get to my homework until after I had washed the dishes, and I’m struggling with science, so it’s taken a while.” Maybe, just maybe, he might offer to help her… She dismissed the thought as soon as it appeared. No, workaholic Mr. Klassen couldn’t think of anything but business.

“Well, you need to get to bed.” He waved his hand, dismissing her. That rankled.

Kelsey walked to the door, staring at the plush rug under her feet. Rejection – why could she never inure herself to that feeling? She felt it often enough. She shut the office door behind her, and as it gave a soft click of finality, she heard the tapping of computer keys recommence.

Reentering her room, she set the pencil on her desk and walked over to the window. As she stared out over the wintry street, she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Dead grass showed in dark patches where the snow had melted earlier in the day, but now a hard frost crusted over the ground. At one end of the street, a streetlight flickered.

Shivering again, Kelsey rubbed her arms as she stared at her reflection in the window. Her reflection stared back, light glinting off her glasses. She gave another shiver and closed the blinds, shutting out the darkness, the cold, and the image of an insecure girl. After turning out the light, she made her way to her bed, massaging her tired face with her fingertips. She huddled between the cold sheets, trying to stanch tears until slumber claimed her.





Beep. Beep. Beep. BEEP. BEEP. BE-BE-BE-BE-BEEEEEP!

Groaning, Kelsey rolled over and slapped the offending alarm clock. She blinked at the LED numbers, sure she’d read the time wrong. No, she had read it correctly – it was an hour later than when she had set the alarm. Had she slept through the snooze, or was the clock faulty?

She sat up, shivering, holding the covers to her chin. Ugh, it was cold. She threw off the sheets and jumped out of bed onto the cold wood floor. After pulling on jeans and her warmest sweatshirt, she grabbed the homework she had been working on the night before, giving it a cursory check before stuffing it into her backpack.

The screeches of a smoke alarm and the smell of burnt bread drifted upstairs, and she knew that Mr. Klassen had burnt the toast again. She hustled downstairs, dropped the backpack by the front door, and walked to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she greeted the Klassens with a strained smile.

Mr. Klassen gave a civil grunt without looking up from his Blackberry and toast.

Mrs. Klassen returned Kelsey’s smile as she poured herself a glass of orange juice. “Ready for school?”

Sliding onto a stool at the breakfast bar, Kelsey nodded. “Yes ma’am.” She wolfed down some toast and began making a sandwich for lunch. School was a brisk thirty-minute walk away, and she was pushing it for time. Finishing the sandwich, she zipped it into a plastic baggie and ran for the door. She snatched up her backpack and stuffed the sandwich inside, all the while telling herself not to panic. If she ran part of the way, she’d make it in time. Pulling on her coat, she hurtled out the front door.

Kelsey hurried through town, praying she wouldn’t be late. Jogging to the crosswalk, she looked both ways and stepped off the curb.

Loud sounds crashed into her consciousness.

Bright lights blinded her.

Everything exploded in pain.

Someone was screaming – and then she realized the sound came from her own throat. What had gone wrong?

Darkness seeped around the corners of her vision. She tried to process what had happened, but it was too had to think. Bright pain and dark oblivion shut out all else. She let go and the pain carried her away.





She had to wake up. She was going to be late for school.

Kelsey fought to open her eyes. Something was beeping – sharp, shrill beeps. They were faster now. She had to turn off her alarm.

She lifted her arm to hit the ‘off’ button.

Her arm refused to move.

She forced her eyes open. A jagged bright red line bounced across her field of vision.

She blinked slowly, trying to comprehend it. The beeping grew louder. As her eyes began to focus, Kelsey realized there were several graphs at the foot of her bed. Bright colored lines jerked frantically, the beeps growing closer and closer together as they grew louder.

A hospital? Was she in a hospital?

Drawing in a jagged breath, she winced. It hurt to breathe. Come to think of it, everything else hurt, too. She coughed weakly and fought to keep her eyelids open.

She heard a vague noise, like lots of people talking in muted voices. Her eyes drifted to the wall on her left. A picture hung there, splashing brilliant color against the stark wall.

A white shape stood silhouetted against a vibrant sunset.

A horse? She squinted. No, it had a horn. A unicorn?

Jewel?

She shut her eyes. What did Jewel say?

“My real country… home at last… I belong…”

Kelsey took a deep breath, fighting the pain. As she exhaled, her eyes drifted closed.

The next thing she knew, she no longer hurt. No pain, anywhere. It was gone. She opened her eyes to light – warm, comforting, pleasant. She looked around and her jaw dropped. With a radiant laugh, she ran across the soft grass into waiting arms.

Kelsey buried her face in His robe, breathing in the scent of life.

“I’m home,” she whispered, and laughed again. “Home at last!”

The Prophesy

The prophet turned sideways and spit blood out of her mouth. The metallic taste shocked her and sent pain spiralling past the base of her neck. She glanced down at her torn robes and bruised limbs. Her blonde hair hung in ragged tangles about her dirtied face.


“You must press on! Hurry!” The young man by her side, also apparently in pain, helped the prophet to her feet and led her up the side of the hill; his eyes emitted concern and worry as she spit out more blood and gave a hacking cough.

“I don’t know how long...how...long I can go on...like this.” The prophet grimaced and struggled to pull herself over a large stone.

“You must! Pray to your God, but please, don’t stop now. They will come. They are coming.” He pulled on her arm and helped her over another rock. The top of the barren hill came closer within their reach. The smouldering remains of the village behind them could be as easily smelt as seen.

The prophet knew her time was soon to come but when she glanced at the young man beside her, she knew she had to continue for his own sake.

Yells and shouts vaulted up from the valley below. The young man turned and looked back, fear etched over his face.

“Oh save us! They’re coming!” He frantically scrabbled forward against the loose rock and dirt. The prophet wiped some blood from her arm and followed with renewed strength,

“They’ll catch us eventually.”

“You don’t need to remind me of the future, prophet.” The young man’s voice was laced with scorn.

“I’m only telling you to prepare you.”

They were now at the top of the hill. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to go. Their enemies were rapidly approaching and they had to face them soon.

“What do we do now?” The young man strained to see through the smoke in the valley, perhaps hoping to locate their pursuers.

“We wait. If you wish, you can leave now and I will pray to Yahweh that He might spare you.” The prophet crouched low to the ground and pulled the hood of her tattered cloak over her bloodied face. The young man looked down towards the valley and then drew his gaze back to the figure at his feet. He shuddered at the thought of the torture to come but steeled his will and hunkered down beside the prophet.

“You have questions.” The prophet stated without looking up.

“I do.”

“It would be best for you to ask them now before they come.”

The young man picked up a fist sized rock and gazed at its surface,

“What makes you so full of faith? How can you not be afraid of what is to come? Why am I staying here when I know that I will not go to the place you will go to when I die?”

The prophet licked her cracked, dried lips and breathed in the scorching air and smoke only to cough and wheeze it out.

“I have faith because I have seen His love. I have seen His face and have heard Him speak to me. I know what waits for all who choose the path of righteousness and I know what waits for those who choose the path of destruction. I am not afraid because I know that man may harm my body but they cannot harm my spirit. Words may tear my soul to pieces but my spirit remains with Yahweh. I have nothing to fear except Him.”

The young man contemplated this and then spoke,

“How do I know that this Yahweh is real? How do I know that He will save me if I surrender myself to Him?”

“You must have faith.”

The prophet stood and looked down the hill. She spotted several dark spots at the bottom of the hill and then turned to the young man.

“They are coming now; you can see them at the bottom of the hill there.” She pointed to the spots and removed her hood. Her piercing blue eyes scanned the surrounding land, stopping on the young man.

“Yahweh will save you if you have faith. Do you have faith?”

“No, I have no faith. I have the least of faith out of all men.” He swatted at a fly that had been buzzing around the gash on his leg.

“For one to state such a blunt thing is a step in faith. I cannot demand you to make a decision but I can prod you in the right direction.”

The black dots were closer now; the prophet could make out the glint of armour that and the bloodhounds that bayed and followed the trail of the prey. She was the prey this time.

Many times she knew this would come, that the enemy would find her and kill her. She had watched her friends and family get picked off by the forces of evil. One by one they had died and left the world to be with the Maker. At one point in her life she had been scared of dying, but now she was quite content with the thought of leaving this desolate place.

“Can you forgive them?” The young man interrupted the prophet’s thoughts.

“Forgive who?”

“Our pursuers, those who have hurt us and killed our friends and family.”

“Yes, I forgive them. It is important that they are forgiven; I find joy in knowing that I help ease their burdens.”

“How do you ease their burdens when you have your own to carry?”

The prophet could hear their pursuers shouting now, but she ignored them and turned to the young man.

“It’s quite easy. I share my burden with Yahweh’s Son, which makes my burden half as heavy. When I supplicate for my enemies, I simply forgive them. This eases their burden because when they live in unforgiveness with other humans their burdens multiply. Not only do they have to come to terms of forgiveness with Yahweh, but with mankind as well. By forgiving them I make their burden one human lighter.”

“That makes sense.”

“Think about it, but think quickly, because they are here.”

The prophet turned, willing herself to blink back the tears that formed under her heavy lids; tears for the young man who had not made his decision yet. Yahweh, please grant us more time. I beg you to give us more time so that one more sheep might be added to your eternal flock!

The bloodhounds were only 100m away and the soldiers were not far behind. The prophet felt the excitement in the air and the lust for blood. She gritted her teeth against pain. Within moments they were surrounded by dogs and men. The leader stepped forward and raised the visor of his helmet.

“Are you the prophet Sapphira?”

The prophet rubbed her head which ached terribly and then slowly replied, “I am.”

“You are wanted on terms of speaking forbidden myths and filling the minds of the people with foolishness and rebellion.”

The soldier turned to the young man and spoke with even more hate,

“Are you High Lord Berenya?”

“I am.” The young man pursed his lips, but when he looked at the prophet, his eyes held a glint of life in them that hadn’t been there before. She took heart at this site, hoping for the best.

“You are wanted on terms of treason.”

The soldiers pushed the dogs out of the circle and roughly grabbed the two prisoners. They chained their arms behind their backs and placed collars around their necks.

“You are desired in Cavalion where you will be tried and sentenced.” With that, not another word was said and the group moved out silently.



~~~

The prophet began realized how greatly these soldiers admired her. Perhaps it was because she shepherded a large group of individuals who did not follow the immoral ways of the Viper King, thus labelling her as a politically unique individual. Usually she couldn’t care less about what men thought of her, yet it was somehow comforting to know that these men cared a little bit.

Once they had reached the Valley of Kieli the soldiers had hooked one long chain to the collar of the prophet and Berenya, the High Lord. This bound them together so that if they fell from their flying mount, they would immediately choke to death; quite an unpleasant thought.

The prophet let out a stifled gasp, which quickly turned into another cough, when the soldiers brought ten grozels forward. She had only read of these hated beasts and seen them from afar, but now that she was close up she recognized how disgusting the creatures really were.

The Joker, who was universally known as the great evil, had distorted Yahweh’s beautiful creation and of his distortions and come up with the grozel. This large beast was round like a spider and had four stumpy legs. Its head was connected directly to the body, thus it had no neck. The prophet squinted and saw the leathery wings that characterized the grozel’s frame. They seemed to be analogous to a bat wing.

“Get over here.” A fat soldier growled, glaring at Berenya, and yanked their chains towards one of the larger grozels.

Berenya’s face was no longer emotional. Now it seemed to be set in stone, although the prophet could tell he struggled with the thought of riding upon one of the cursed creatures. The light still gleamed in his eyes, causing her heart to leap again. If only he would tell her his decision, if he had made any.



~~~

Cavalion came quickly, giving Berenya and the prophet a feeling of relief. The smell of the grozel happened to be worse than what they both imagined and they were glad to be rid of the foul beast.

The battalion of soldiers quickly led them into the palace courtyard. This was the location where they would both be judged, most likely without having a say in the matter, and then sentenced to whatever the judge decided. The prophet smiled at the thought of having a death sentence. She hoped to leave the earth quickly and with minimal pain; in this way, she would get to her Maker’s side much faster than if she were to rot in jail.

Berenya, on the other hand, had been hoping silently that he would be sentenced to jail. He wasn’t ready to die yet.

Both prisoners were awed by the majesty of the courtyard. The pillars were made out of pure marble. In fact, the entire palace radiated with the gleam of freshly scrubbed marble...black marble. The choice in colour irritated Berenya to the point that he stomped his foot; this caused the guards to look at him and smirk. The prophet simply stood silently, watching, listening, and occasionally swatting at a fly.

The soldiers all snapped to attention when the sound of trumpets erupted from behind one of the many pillars. As soon as the giddy tune had finished being played, a royal entourage of lords, ladies, servants, and of course, the Viper King, strode into the courtyard.

The Viper King’s appearance didn’t shock the prophet. She’d heard how he dressed in black snake skin and dyed his hair in oil mixed with pig’s blood. As he approached, she grimaced as she took note of his appearance, realizing for the first time that the rumours were probably true.

“Sir Reydav, unchain the prisoners. Sir Xavier, summon the executioner. One of you,” The evil king smiled at the prisoners, “will die today.”

Sir Reydav yanked the chain that connected the prophet and High Lord Berenya’s necks. The Viper King hissed,

“Not so hard...not so hard. We want them to remain worthy of sacrifice.”

“Yes m’lord.” Sir Reydav replied, then he unhooked the chain that connected the prisoners, leaving the collars around their necks.

Berenya immediately stepped backwards, in hopes to escape the putrid odour that emanated from the Viper King. He was shoved forward into position by several soldiers.

“So you are the trouble makers.” The Viper King strode up beside the prophet and raised her chin with his fingers. He rubbed his thumb over her dirty cheek, “It’s a pity you’re so filthy. I would have enjoyed your service in my courts, but now you’re fit for the pig pen.” He spit out his words as though even considering her beauty disgusted him. The girl entered into a series of coughs, this time choking up blood.

“And you,” He turned to Berenya and laughed, “I never thought I’d see my friend stand among prisoners in robes of shame. I’ll give you a second chance, Berenya. Swear your allegiance to me and I will forget everything that has happened and we can return to the way things used to be. Unfortunately, the prophet is to be punished.” The Viper King stood in front of the High Lord and studied him with his hard gaze.

Berenya shifted underneath the weight of the Viper’s King’s suggestion. He knew he could return to a life of luxury and pleasure, but was that what he really wanted?

The executioner entered the courtyard, followed by his apprentices. They all pushed a large black marble cauldron. The prophet felt a surge of worry but she quickly repressed it with prayers. So it would be oil then; apparently the Viper King hadn’t forgotten about his favourite torture method. She wiped the blood from her mouth and pushed her ragged locks behind her ears.

“Well...what’s your decision?” The Viper King prodded his old associate.

Berenya gazed at the executioner and the cauldron, then at the prophet, “I would rather die than forsake my God, Yahweh.”

Berenya offered a small smile to the prophet, who was literally glowing on the inside.

“Fine then!” The Viper King cursed and slapped Berenya, causing his face to bleed again, “You will die Berenya. You will die for treason. But, the prophet here,” The Viper King turned to the girl, “You will spend the rest of your life in prison. Not just any prison, but my torture prison. There you will be tortured to the edge of death, but never allowed to die. Perhaps then you will forsake your god.”

After overcoming the initial shock of realizing she wouldn’t die, the prophet managed a smile and spoke, “Never. I will never forsake my God.”

Holding On

#3


Holding On



Slipping behind the loose panel, Faranzo grinned to himself. His shrill-voiced nurse could never find him in this secret passage. Beginning to explore the passage with the light of his candle, the boy said to himself, “This even makes up for a stupid trip to visit a stupid nobleman because he didn’t pay the stupid tax. A secret passageway all to myself!” Nurse had remained next to him the entire journey and she scolded him no matter what he did. Peasant!

Faranzo scowled. Faintly from outside he heard a rumble of thunder and knew a storm was raging. Riviv also was a pest, always nagging his older brother to play with him or do something stupid like put a frog in Nurse’s bed. Not that the older boy would have minded vexing that woman, could he have known they would not be blamed for it. Why could Reviv not understand that Faranzo was eleven years old, almost a man, and could not be bothered with such immature children as his six-year-old brother? He had almost caught Faranzo discovering the passage yesterday, so the older boy had locked Reviv in a closet today so he could get away safely from Nurse to explore it.

Lost in thought, Faranzo had neglected to notice his path and now he gazed all about him, wondering how many turns he had taken and how far he had strayed from the opening into the castle room. Suddenly feeling afraid and very alone, the boy examined the wall next to him, hoping that it had an entrance through which he could pass. The shadows seemed to be pressing in around him, the silence echoing silently in the long passageway, when he spotted a large, heavy iron ring jutting out of the wooden floor. Grasping hold of it with both hands, Faranzo pulled with all his strength, desperate for something to open a way out of there. The ring did not move, but in a moment he discovered that he could turn it. Swiftly, the boy twisted the loop of iron, praying that it would do something.

At last there was a great clash beneath him, like something large and heavy had fallen, and the iron bar came easily out of the wood in his hand. Faranzo gazed at the thing in his hand in surprise, noting that it looked similar to a giant screw. Then the floor beneath him creaked and shook slightly. Grabbing the candle, which he had set down, the boy leapt to his feet and turned to run down the passageway but he tripped and found himself falling through where the floor should have been, things tumbling on top of him. Then something hit him with tremendous force and he knew no more.



***



Pain, unbearable pain, was shooting through his body, pain like he had never imagined. He could not think, he could not breathe, he could only fight the pain that threatened to consume him. Far away he heard screams of agony. His legs were filled with fire, his brain was exploding, pain tore at him like a raging tiger. With all his strength, he pushed the searing pain out of his head and opened his eyes. Darkness. He thought he must not have actually opened his eyes, but he had and all they could see was blackness. Then he realized that the distant voice screaming was his own and no other sound could he hear. In the darkness he had to fight the agony alone, using all his strength just to hold on to life. The pain overcame him and he fainted.

Outside, the storm increased its vigor. A small pool of water formed beside the castle wall until it found a crack between the stones, through which it flowed onto the floor where it materialized into the shape of a woman clad in a loose tunic.

“There,” the Rain Nymph laughed softly to herself, shaking her dripping locks which sent a patter of rain to the floor. “What a glorious storm. Now, where did I hear that sound?” After listening for a moment, the Nymph caught again the sound of sobs and she followed it through the passageways, her liquid eyes seeing easily despite the darkness of the hall. Soon she drew near a great stone wall, through which she could hear a child crying. Singing softly to herself, the Nymph felt along the walls until she found a small round dent, into which she pushed her finger. Slowly, a small portion of the wall swung open and she quickly ducked through the opening, almost falling over the child which lay there.

“Oh you poor thing,” she murmured, immediately sitting down beside it and taking its hand.

“Mother?” the boy asked, lifting his head and trying to see her.

“Not mother, little one,” the Nymph shook her head with a quiet laugh, sending water all over the room. “but I will help you. I am called Neriea and am a Rain Nymph.”

Now calm, the boy sat up and said proudly, “I am Riviv and am the son of a very important man. My brother is important too, but he locked me in here and threatened to tell Nurse that I was the one who put mustard in her lotion if I complained to her.”

“Then we had best get away before your brother returns,” Neriea replied, laughing. Taking the child’s hand, she led him through the hole in the wall, and then bade him close the door behind them. “I have oft been in this passageway, and can take you to the guest chambers where stay your parents, I suspect.” Smoothly she glided forward and Riviv trotted contentedly beside her, holding tightly to the cool, wet hand.

After several minutes Neriea halted, and gazed forward in surprise. Riviv heard the sound of ragged breathing and he shrank towards the Nymph. She let go of his hand and moved forward quickly a few steps, then stopped and picked something up.

“You need to see this,” she said quietly, as she thrust a candle into his hand and turned back to search for something else. Riviv felt a tinderbox pushed into his other hand as his companion said, “Light the candle. I cannot for I would put it out as soon as light it.”

With trembling fingers, the boy lit the candle and then gasped with surprise as it lit up the entire passageway, glistening off the Nymph who had stepped away to not drip on the flame. Before them was a heap of wood and rubble and from there came the sound of moaning in a voice he recognized. Tightly gripping the candle in his left hand, Riviv ran forward into the rubble and pulled a board off of his brother’s body. The boy burst into tears upon seeing Faranzo’s white, drawn face, and the blood which had spattered on his body. In a moment, Neriea was on the other side of the injured boy and had assessed the situation.

“Your brother fell and broke his leg,” she explained to Riviv, her eyes no longer dancing. “He needs a human doctor because the bone has broken through the skin which is why he is bleeding. He may have other injuries as well that I cannot see. He is unconscious from loss of blood or pain.” Biting his lip, Riviv had stopped crying and was listening carefully to the Nymph’s words. She looked earnestly at him. “You need to be very brave. I cannot get help, so I must stay here to help him hold on to life until help comes. You need to climb up to the floor he fell through and follow my instructions so that you can fetch your father or someone. Will you do it?”

The boy’s heart quailed at the thought of traveling in the passageway alone, perhaps getting lost in there forever, but his brotherly love swelled up and he nodded firmly. Neriea smiled and kissed his forehead before giving him the instructions and watching him clamber up the jutting rocks in the wall to the floor above. He would do it, he would do anything to save his brother.



***



Pain still gnawed at the boy, barely kept at bay from destroying him. Helplessly the boy flailed about with his arm, longing for someone to help him bear the pain, someone to help him hold on to life. His hand hit something, not hard but firm. It was a hand that gripped his tightly. He felt a warm, wet kiss on his forehead, and both his hands were filled with those of a person. A soft voice was murmuring something, he did not care what because someone was with him. As the pain increased those hands held tighter and he knew they would not let him go. Someone was with him.

Drops of water flowed down Neriea’s face as she removed the splinters and rubbish from the boy’s leg as much as she dared. He cried out and lifted his arm. In a moment she had grasped his hand in her own and he gripped it tightly. She sought out his other hand and held that one also, gently, for they were bruised and bloody, but firmly. “Oh Creator,” she inwardly cried, “help him hold on!” She kissed the child’s forehead, praying that some of her peace would enter him. His eyes were screwed shut and his lips compressed as he writhed, seemingly fighting an inward battle. As time passed he would sometimes moan or cry out, and then would she hold his hands tighter, knowing he needed her presence. Drops of sweat beaded on the boy’s face and she began to feel drained as she fought the battle with him, but still no one came. “Oh You who made the rivers and rain and wood and stars,” she silently pleaded, “give him strength! Do not let Riviv have lost his way but make him bring help!” At last she saw lights far down the passageway and knew that Riviv had done his job to save his brother.

It seemed a thousand lifetimes passed with the pain, the person, and Faranzo the only things in the world. Then, through the roar of pain, he heard voices and felt the wet lips brush his forehead again, a drop of water falling onto his face. His fingers were empty and for a moment he cried out, abandoned, but then there were lights and voices and the small hand of his brother stroking his face, such a soothing feeling. A moment later someone tried to move him and that hurt so much that he fainted again.

When Riviv had at last gotten back into the castle after getting lost several times and had made his mother understand his story, she had instantly called her guards and they had torn up the wall to get through to the secret passageway. Waiting only to fetch something to use as a stretcher, the party followed the little boy down the hall while Nurse went to seek out the castle physician in great haste. The mother thought she saw someone with Faranzo a moment before they reached him, but it disappeared and she paid no heed as the sight of her oldest son’s torn body and pain-ridden face made her faint with horror. Riviv ran immediately up to his brother and stroked his face, holding tightly to his hand. For a moment, the older boy’s eyes flickered open and he tried to smile, but then fainted as the guards tried to gently ease him onto the stretcher. Riviv refused to let go of Faranzo’s hand so he walked beside the stretcher, whispering encouragement to hold on in his brother’s ears, as they traveled slowly and carefully back up the passageway. The remaining men followed, one of them carrying their master’s wife unceremoniously over his shoulder.

Once back in the bedroom, the men laid their charge on the floor and left him in the care of the physician while a maid rain in to help with the lady. Laying down beside Faranzo, Reviv closed his eyes to avoid watching the physician work on his brother’s leg. He cried as the older boy screamed in pain. He held on to his hand no matter how hard the other squeezed it in his pain. “Thank You, whoever You are who rules the world,” he whispered, “for helping Faranzo hold on until I got back.”



***



“. . . because of the severe concussion,” the physician ended his report to Faranzo’s parents on the boy’s injuries and subsequent needed treatment. He then looked at them gravely and said, “Your son should not be alive. Though his injuries are not of mortal nature, how he held on for hours alone with no attention is beyond comprehension and has never happened before in my experience.”

“Please,” the lady held up her hand, looking white. “Please, do not speak of it. I cannot bear the thought of my poor boy--” she broke off with a sob.

“You will take the boy to your quarters so you can look after him, will you not?” the father asked.

“Oh yes,” his wife exclaimed, “I don’t think I could handle seeing him look like that again. It near broke my heart.” She wiped her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief.

The physician flushed, then bowed and replied, “Certainly if that is what you would desire. He needs competent care for the next few days at least, so it is well to have him near me. I fear I will have to keep your other son as well, as he refuses to leave his brother’s side. It may be that holding on to him has been the saving of my patient.”

“Yes, yes,” the man waved his hand for the physician to leave. “It will be better for them both to be gone so just go and stop dripping Faranzo’s blood on the carpet; it is disturbing to my wife’s nerves.”

It was late in the evening when Faranzo opened his eyes, the pain having been eased by the physician’s medicine.

“Well now, look who is awake,” the physician exclaimed softly. Patting the boy’s hand, he added, “Thanks to your brother’s speedy work in getting you help, you are going to be all right.”

Turning his head slightly, even that small motion giving him a stab of pain, Faranzo saw his brother sitting beside him, still holding his hand. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he smiled at the little boy, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” he whispered. In the window above him, a watery face looked down upon the little group and smiled, before melting away into the raindrops. He had held on.

Darkest Hour

#2

Darkest Hour





“Rally! Soldiers of Raedor rally! Rally to the gate! Maiar soldiers have broken through the gate!”

The alarm call! Grasping his sword tightly in one hand and his battered shield in the other, Jon turned away from the wild chaos of the battle on the wall tops and raced towards the main gate, followed by a score of Raedorite soldiers. Quickly! Defend the city! His heart hammered a drum beat which lent wings to his flying feet as he ran. Arrows whistled past his head, some skipping across the stone floor of the courtyard, others landing with deadly effect among his followers. He heard his own ragged breathing echoed at his side, and turning, caught a glimpse of Seth running next to him. Seth grinned, his usual lopsided grin, and clapped him on the back. Jon forced a smile to his own face, and then quickly returned to the task at hand, for there at last was the gate, a mere hundred yards away!

Jon’s momentary relief at reaching the gate, chilled suddenly and he skidded to an astonished stop. The gate lay mangled and crushed upon the ground, and the gateway itself was choked with the bodies of the fallen, both Raedorirte and Maiaran. And there, looming in the now gaping hole lay the hideous head and neck of a monstrous beast. Its cat-like eyes stared unblinking at him for a moment, pale and golden but lit with a vengeful fire within. Then it raised its craggy mountainous head up on its long armored neck, snaking upwards higher and higher. Jon stood still; sword slightly uplifted, his limbs feeling strangely frozen in horror.

“Jon,” He heard Seth’s voice speaking close beside him, but it sounded far away, as though an echo from a dream. “It is one of the Morfaulk!”

Jon nodded slowly; the realization bringing with it an even deeper sense of horror and fear. No man could hope to do battle with one of the Morfaulk worms of ancient legend and live. Still unmoving, Jon gazed upon the beast. Its scales gleamed black as coal; difficult to distinguish from the smoke and ruin of battle which hung over the city of Seradeth like a pall. Tall cruelly edged wings stretched out above the beast’s head on the far side of the narrow gateway. The hideous mouth opened suddenly, and a tremendous roar sounded out, bringing with it a wave of incredible heat and the scent of death. The sound awoke Jon to his own peril, and he felt movement returned to his frozen limbs. Ducking down, he thrust his shield up to guard his face from the blast. Wails of agony rang out behind him, and he felt the body of one of his companions fall against him as the man collapsed under the heat, slain.

Jon swallowed hard, and tightened his grip upon the long hilt of his broadsword. Muttering a quick prayer to the Almighty, he moved forward. “Courage men,” he heard his own voice speaking to the soldiers behind; its steadiness surprised him. “The Morfaulk may be a mighty beast, but the Almighty is mightier still!”

The worm thrust more of its huge body through the narrow gateway as the soldiers raced forward to attack. Rocks split off from the walls as battlements began to sag beneath the weight and force of the Morfaulk. As Jon neared, the worm again opened its ghastly jaws. Jon immediately flung up his shield, bracing himself for the impact. Scarcely had he done so when a river of flame spewed forth from the beast’s mouth. He staggered back before the force of the blow, orange fire licking around his boots and legs. His shield felt burning hot against his arm, as though he grasped a live coal in his hand, but he stood fast. At last the flames died away and Jon cautiously lowered his shield as he raced forward again. He wondered absently if any of his soldiers still remained or if he charged alone, but there was no time to dwell upon it.

The monstrous head turned and the beast flung out an arm towards him. Wicked yellow claws gleamed dully at the end of each curved finger. Jon sprang aside and then ducked as the missed stroke crashed into the wall above and rubble tumbled down around his head. He dodged a second slash and leaped in to wield his blade. Gathering his strength, he aimed for a spot behind the beast’s shoulder and swung with all his might. Clanngggg. His arms aching from the blow, and his fingers still tingling with the vibration, Jon quickly jumped backwards. A loud screech sounded above him, and he knew that at the very least, he had succeeded in maddening the beast.

He raced forward, staggered beneath the lash of the worm’s wing, and slashed out at an enormous leg which bared his way. He felt again the tremendous vibrations along his arms as his blade bounced harmlessly off of the hard scales just above the claws. Without pausing a moment, Jon leaped, his sword thrust aimed at the base of the worm’s neck. This time, the point struck and bit deeply, releasing a stream of boiling black blood. The Morfaulk’s scream of agony was deafening, and Jon staggered backwards, his head throbbing at the sound.

Suddenly, something hit him full in the chest, with a weight like that of an enormous log. He lost his footing and flew backwards, crashing heavily against the wall. Dully, he caught a glimpse of the thick spiked tail of the Morfaulk swinging back away from him. Darkness seemed to be closing in about him, narrowing his line of vision but one thing he saw very clearly: the pale eyes of the worm burned into his memory as the cruel head hovered over him. He groped vainly with his hand for the hilt of his sword, but it had slipped from his grasp when he fell, and lay out of his reach. The head moved closer, blotting all else out, then darkness came.

*

Darkness. It was so dark. Jon opened his eyes with an effort and then closed them again. It made no difference either way, for there was no light. He started to sit up but pain raced across him and he lay still instead, wondering where he was and what had happened. The Morfaulk! Memory flooded across him, though understanding was more difficult to achieve. He had battled one of the Morfaulk, yet he was alive! That in itself was difficult to comprehend. He opened his eyes again, and gradually found his vision returning, though everything seemed lit in a strange orange glow. He glanced down at his arms and hands and the reason for some of the pain he felt became clear. Fiery red burns covered his hands and arms, and thick ropes were wrapped tightly about his wrists, the fibers agony against the raw skin. So, he was a prisoner. Despair washed over him. Yes, it was purely by Almighty’s grace that he had survived the fight with the Morfaulk, but for what? So that he might live the rest of his life a prisoner, a captive, an exile in the Maiar Empire?

He glanced around him then, and realized that he was not alone but lying in the midst of a long line of men - some huddled on the ground, others lying on the burnt grass, all bound by their hands to the same length of rope. Many were wounded, some were weeping bitterly, while still others stared blankly ahead, an expression of horror glued to their faces, as soldiers, clad in the dragon crested helms of the Maiar Empire marched past. So, the battle was lost then. Seradeth had fallen. Jon’s heart sank at the thought, and ignoring the pain that the action caused, he turned quickly to gaze in the direction of the fair city.

Black clouds of broiling smoke rose upwards in thick columns from the many fires which raged throughout the city of Seradeth. The city itself, as well as everything around it as far as Jon could see, was lit with a hideous orange glow from the flames. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes as the fires spread and the stones of those mighty walls – walls he had once thought almost invincible – cracked and shattered under the incredible heat.

Jon shook his head bitterly, and his gaze wandered to the high hill in the center of the city. At once, his heart gave a leap of joy, for there, unravaged as yet by either fire or battle, the Abed Noreth, the temple of the Almighty still stood, an island in a sea of destruction. In the midst of the sorrow and the horror and the death, the sight of that ancient place of worship with its tall white columns and gold plated doors, was a reminder of the Almighty’s presence even when He seemed farthest away.

Yet, even as Jon watched, the raging flames approached the center of the city, their hunger not yet sated. Sparks flew into the buildings surrounding Abed Noreth and fires sprang up, until the white temple was surrounded in a ring of flame. Then, a cry of horror and anguish burst from Jon’s aching heart as a thin trail of black smoke began to rise from the thatched roof of the temple. It turned blacker and grew larger, and flames began licking against the white stones. Jon did not know how long he stood there, watching as the mighty walls of Abed Noreth were consumed and reduced to piles of blackened rock and dust. He only knew that the temple was no more.

“It’s gone.” A dazed voice spoke suddenly at his side. Jon turned in surprise and beheld Seth, pale and wounded, bound hand and foot on the line next to him.

“Seth!” The sight of his friend, even in such circumstances, could not fail to lift his spirits, however slightly. “You are alive! I am so glad to see you well.”

Seth face was grim, “Well? I do not know. The Abed Noreth has fallen. Seradeth is destroyed. Better to have fallen with the others, then live to see the Almighty forsake us.”

“The Almighty has not forsaken us,” Jon replied; again he was surprised by the assurance in his own voice.

“How can you say that?” Seth demanded, “The temple has fallen. We have been captured! The Almighty has done nothing!”

“It’s not true.” Jon shook his head.

“Then tell me why this happened?” Seth demanded.

“I do not know.” Jon answered slowly. “But I know that no matter what - though Seradeth is lost and the temple fallen, the Almighty has not and never will forsake us.”

*

The Almighty has not forsaken us. Jon slowly nodded his head, the words he had spoken five years before echoing once more through his mind. Although he had no more answers now than he had had then, he still believed firmly that they had not been abandoned. He turned and gazed through the arched window in his room high in the west tower of the palace. The city of Jorek spread out below him like an artist’s model; its details indistinguishable in the predawn light. Yet even from such a height and despite the dim light, the vastness of the capitol of the Maiar Empire was evident. He followed the undulating course of the city wall until his gaze fell upon the battlemented north gate through which he had entered five years ago, a captive. So much had changed in those five years. Jon shook his head slowly and sat down beside the window. In those five years, he had progressed from a slave in the palace to the high position of one of Emperor Naedok’s chief counselors. Simply thinking about it always amazed him. That first night of his capture, after his fight with the Morfaulk, he had envisioned a life of sorrow and suffering, a slave’s lot. Never had he imagined anything like this. Upon his first arrival at the palace, he had immediately won his overseers’ favor and respect. Gradually and unintentionally, he had begun working his way upwards, progressing from a privileged slave to an upper house servant, then to the emperor’s body guard, a palace official, and now finally, to his present position as one of Naedok’s trusted advisers.

And Jon knew that throughout all those years, the Almighty had stood beside him at every turning of the road. He had never been forsaken, and he would not be forsaken now, even in the midst of the trial which he was sure would come soon. Jon sighed, glancing back out the window. A faint glimmer of red shone in the east – dawn was coming. It was time. Jon knelt down before the window, gazing off in the direction of the ruined city of Seradeth, and closed his eyes to pray. Almighty Father, give me strength for that which is to come…

“Jon!” The door to his room burst open, and Jon started in surprise as Seth raced into the room.

“Seth? What is it?”

Seth’s face was strangely white, and he panted for breath a moment before answering, “Trouble! Haven’t you heard?”

Jon sighed and arose from his knees, “Heard what?”

“About what Smurdyk, Fulton, and Bredger have done?”

“Oh that. Yes, I have heard.” Jon replied calmly.

Seth collapsed onto a chair, disbelief written clearly on his face. “Are you mad? Do you want to be killed?”

Jon shook his head, “No, of course not.”

“Then what are you doing?” Seth demanded, “Kneeling out there to pray in front of your window like you always do! Why, that’s mad! You know Smurdyk, Fulton, and Bredger hate you because Naedok likes you. They wrote this new law simply to get you!”

“I know.” Jon replied,

“You know?” Seth’s mouth dropped open, “Maybe you should hear what I overheard on my way here. Perhaps it will change your stubborn mind! I saw Smurdyk, Fulton, and Bredger sneaking over here and heard them talking. Apparently, they’ve been spying on you for some time, trying to find a way to discredit you with the king. But they couldn’t; you’re too honest. So, they came up with a plan to write a decree which forbade worship to any “god” save Naedok himself. And Naedok was conceited enough to be taken in and sign it into the official law of the Maiar Empire… effective immediately!”

“Yes, I know.” Jon repeated, “That is why I was praying for strength.”

“But praying out in the open!” Seth shook his head, “That’s folly. Pray indeed. I have prayed, but do it somewhere you will not be seen!”

“I cannot.” Jon said simply, “To do so would be dishonoring the Almighty…”

“But, but” Seth stuttered for a moment, “Do you know what the punishment for disobedience is? Anyone caught breaking the law is to be thrown into the Morfaulk Cave.” His voice trailed off. “You don’t care, do you?”

Jon stood slowly from the seat he had taken beside Seth, “Of course I care.” He said slowly, “I have no desire to face a Morfaulk again, nor do I wish to die. But there are things that are more important than living, Seth. Honoring the Almighty and obeying His commands are among them.”

“Yes, but…”

“I will not back down on this.” Jon turned to his friend and smiled sadly, “My mind’s made up. And you know what it’s like trying to change my mind.”

“Yes, I know.” Seth grumbled, standing to his feet, “It’s impossible. Well then, I am staying here with you. I do not wish to face the Morfaulk either, but if you must, we shall do it together.”

“No, friend,” Jon stepped over and gently placed his hand upon Seth’s shoulder. “You should leave. As you said, this is about me, not you.”

“Regardless, I can’t leave you.” Seth set his jaw defiantly.

“You must.” Jon replied, “There is no reason for you to stay – we do not even know that I am in any danger at the present. And in any case, your duty requires you to leave now. The Emperor will be waiting.”

Seth hesitated a moment, evidently torn, and then held out his hand. Jon clasped it tightly. “I will be back.” Seth said, then turned and exited. The door closed behind him with a hollow thud, a lonely sound.

Jon turned back to the window. Already the sun had risen above the eastern horizon and was spreading the warm light of its golden rays upon the city of Jorek. Jon closed his eyes and knelt again. He knew that Seth’s visit had been well meant, but it had done nothing to assuage the worries within his own heart. Only time spent with the Almighty could do that. And so he prayed; long and hard as the sun rose higher into the sky, silhouetting his figure against the window frame.

*

“Oh, most wondrous Emperor Naedok, Master of the Morfaulk, and ruler of the Maiar Empire, sapient tongue of wisdom, lend ear to our words.”

Smurdyk’s obsequious drone echoed throughout the large throne room. Jon watched beneath the shadow of his hood as Naedok turned towards them. “Yes, what is it?” Naedok’s deep voice made Smurdyk’s fawning tone sound shrill and ridiculous.

“We have come sire, to ask you a question.” Bredger spoke up.

“Has not your most wondrous highness recently signed a new decree?” Smurdyk prompted. The Emperor nodded and Smurdyk continued, “May I remind your highness of the wording of that decree? It states that, henceforth, it is illegal to bow down to, pray to, or mention any other god beside yourself, for it is your right as the divine Master of the Morfaulk to be worshiped.” Smurdyk gazed up at the Emperor, and Jon could sense the triumph in his voice as he spoke. “May I also remind your most majestic Majesty, that the punishment for disobedience requires that the offender be thrown into the Morfaulk Cave!”

Emperor Naedok nodded, “Yes, all this I know. What is it you have to say, Smurdyk?”

“Sire,” Smurdyk’s voice took on an aggrieved tone, “Most illustrious Lord, I have come to you to report a breach of that law!”

Naedok showed interest for the first time since Smurdyk had begun to speak. He leaned forward, and his eyes took on a terrible aspect. “Whoever has done it shall be punished!”

“My lord,” Smurdyk bowed low, “I have brought that infamous villain here before you today to hear your judgment. Shall I show him to your highness?” Without waiting for an answer, Smurdyk stepped back and yanked the hood away from Jon’s head.

Jon stood unveiled before Naedok, his hands bound behind his back. He saw the look of shock which spread across the Emperor’s face, followed in swift succession by anger and then sorrow.

“Jon?” Naedok asked, turning to face Smurdyk. “You accuse my chief advisor? Are you sure of the charge which you bring against this man? You would be wise to be certain, for he is my most trusted counselor.”

“Indeed, Emperor, we are.” Fulton spoke up hastily, “We have seen him with our own eyes. Three witnesses stand before you – that is more than enough according to the laws of the land!”

“Do not speak to me of my own laws.” Naedok growled.

“Of course not, sire,” Smurdyk said soothingly, “Yet, he himself will not deny it. Ask him yourself!”

Naedok hesitated, and Jon saw the fear in his eyes. At last the Emperor spoke. “Jon?”

Jon looked steadily at Naedok as he replied. “It is true. I worship the Almighty and none other.”

Naedok turned swiftly away, and Smurdyk looked at Jon with an expression of mocking triumph on his face. Jon watched the Emperor’s broad back as he paced back and forth before him. Strangely enough, he did not feel afraid.

Naedok halted suddenly and spoke without turning, “He has admitted his guilt. The law must be carried out.”

“At once, sire!” Smurdyk motioned for Fulton and Bredger to bring Jon and moved off towards the large door which led from the throne room. As the two started to lead Jon from the room, Naedok stepped forward and grasped his arm. “I am sorry. It is the law. There is nothing I can do.”

Jon nodded as Fulton and Bredger pulled him away. Before the large iron plated door grated to behind them, Jon caught Naedok’s words of farewell. “May the god you serve rescue you from the Morfaulk…” The door closed.

*

Jon stared down at the black hole which gaped before his feet; a dizzying drop into unknown darkness below.

Smurdyk victoriously spoke into his ear. “How does it feel, slave, to stand here knowing that your death is near? A long slow death.” He chuckled, “At last, my time has come!”

Jon felt himself shoved forward suddenly, and he tumbled over the edge of the hole. Smurdyk’s voice echoed above, a single chilling word: “Farewell.”

Blackness swirled past him as he fell; farther and longer than he would have thought possible. Then he landed with a sickening crunch on a pile of something hard and brittle. Gasping for breath and at the same time not wanting to breathe for the pain, Jon slowly sat up. A horrible smell filled the air, strangely sweet and at the same time repulsive. Jon glanced down at the ground where he had fallen and scrambled to his feet in horror, sweat beading on his forehead and his breath coming in short gasps. He had landed on a pile of crushed bones. Skeletons of men, animals, and others which he could not identify, spread out around him in all directions; a massive graveyard.

Jon turned his gaze from the scene of horror and death, and looked upwards to the land of the living beyond the dark roof of the cave. Far away and high above him, he could make out a round circle of light – the cave mouth. A grating sound echoed down into the cavern where he sat, and something large and black slowly rolled across the circle of light, blotting it out and covering all in darkness.

Jon shivered in the chillness and then froze. Something had moved.

There was a rustling sound. Then a dull scraping and the rasping of many sharp claws on dry stones. Jon caught his breath. The sounds grew louder and spread all around him. Then, in the darkness, hundreds of pale pinpoints of light appeared; oval shaped, and slanted, the cat-like eyes of the Morfaulk. Suddenly, very close, a tremendous roar split the silence. The pile of bones shook beneath Jon’s feet at the sound and he stumbled to his knees.

Closing his eyes, Jon prayed.

*

Emperor Naedok paced anxiously before the throne. His weary steps and tousled appearance testified to the sleepless night which Seth, as captain of the bodyguards, knew that he had spent. Seth rubbed a hand along his forehead in a vain attempt to relieve the pounding. If only I had been with Jon… I should not have left him alone. At the very least I could have fallen at his side!

The Emperor spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “What time is it, Captain?”

Seth glanced at the sand glass beside the throne. It was nearly empty; the sixth time he had flipped it since midnight. “Dawn is approaching sire.”

“Good,” Naedok sighed. “Then it is morning. We will go to the cave.”

The three mile stretch from the palace to the large rocky hillside which housed the Morfaulk cave seemed a hundred miles long that morning. Emperor Naedok, followed by two of his bodyguards, set a fast pace. Seth followed, conflicted, longing to get to the cave quickly and at the same time, dreading what he would see. Yet, hope did not allow him to believe that Jon was dead. He hoped and prayed each long step of the way.

As they climbed the hillside, movement near the mouth of the cave drew Seth’s attention. Smurdyk, Fulton, and Bredger were gathered around the hole, apparently trying to move the large stone door. Seth shook his head bitterly at the sight of the conspirators.

Smurdyk looked up as they approached. “Ah, good morning my liege, we were about to open the doorway to see what is left of the criminal.” He laughed then; a cackling laugh that reminded Seth of a hyena.

Emperor Naedok’s eyebrows drew together and his mouth set in a firm hard line. “Silence. I take no pleasure in this morning. Remove the stone.”

Smurdyk, Bredger, and Fulton hastened to comply. A moment’s grunting and straining sent the large stone door rolling backwards to reveal the mouth of the cave. Seth gagged at the horrible stench which arose to mar the freshness of the morning air. Though Naedok at once strode to the gaping cavern mouth and peered downwards, Seth hung back, his head bowed.

“Jon?” Naedok shouted down into the black hole, “Jon, are you there?”

Seth waited breathlessly, but there was no response. Smurdyk grinned at Bredger, and Seth felt his heart burst with anguish. Then suddenly, out of the depths of the cavern, a voice spoke, hollow and echoing.

“Emperor Naedok? Yes, I am here.”

Smurdyk and the other two started back in obvious alarm, their faces pale. “But… but…” Smurdyk began to stutter; Naedok interrupted him.

“Jon, are you well?”

The voice spoke again, “Yes, I am fine. Throw down a rope and pull me up.”

Seth leaped forward hastily, joy filling his heart. He knew that voice only too well! Spying a rope nearby, he quickly flung one end down the hole, anchoring the other around a finger of rock which arose out of the hillside. The rope grew taut and swayed for several moments, and then a pale dirty figure slowly materialized out of the darkness.

*

Jon emerged into the clear light of day, blinking owlishly. He immediately found himself smothered in a giant bear hug from Seth.

“Jon!” Seth cried, “How in the world are you still alive?”

Jon stepped back and surveyed the group eagerly awaiting his explanation, yet he scarcely knew what to say. How could he tell of the wondrous peace which had swept over him as he knelt praying and the monsters closed around? How could he explain the words which he heard, whispered softly in his ear: Do not be afraid, for you stand not alone. Even in your darkest hour, I am at your side. You have nothing to fear in the darkness for I am with you. How could he explain the sudden transformation of the Morfaulk from dreadful monsters into creatures as gentle as kittens and frolicsome as puppies? No, he could not explain it, for he was not entirely sure that he understood it himself. There was only one explanation that he could give, and so he spoke at last. “By the grace of the Almighty! He closed the mouths of the Morfaulk and quenched their flames so that they did me no harm. I stand before you today, simply by His mercy.”

“Praise be to the Almighty!” Seth burst out.

Naedok stepped forward. His face wore an awed expression - the first time that Jon had ever known Naedok to be impressed by anything other than himself. “If what you say is true,” the Emperor intoned, “Then there is no god like the one you serve, for I know of none other who could do this. Your God has seen fit to spare your life, so I shall do likewise. As for the others…” The Emperor turned slowly towards the three conspirators with a face like thunder.

Smurdyk shrank back, terror clouding his eyes. “Sire… no…” he stammered.

“Silence, worm.” Naedok roared; then faced Jon again. “From henceforth Jon, you shall sit at my right hand. And no man shall worship any God but yours, for He has proven Himself today. And as for you three,” Smurdyk and the other trembled, “your crime demands the punishment of death. The fate which you chose for Jon shall be yours!”

A wail of terror burst from Smurdyk’s lips, echoed by Bredger and Fulton.

Jon could not remain silent, “Sire,” he said, “Please, spare their lives. Do not kill them on my account.”

“They have lied to and deceived me,” Naedok’s face hardened, “and for that their lives are forfeit. Cast them into the pit!”

Two of Naedok’s bodyguards stepped forward and grasped the three conspirators. Shrieking in terror, and struggling in vain, they were brought one by one to the edge of the hole and flung in. Instantly, a loud roar echoed from below, shaking the very rocks of the hillside. Jon leapt to the edge and looked down. Flames flared up, illuminating the scene; a sickening sight. Hundreds of Morfaulk worms were crowded below the open hole with hideous heads upraised and mouths gaping open. Smurdyk, Bredger, and Fulton were caught in the air and devoured ere they touched the ground. Their frightened wails trailed off in a single scream of death. At once the cavern erupted into a wild frenzy as the monsters feasted and fought amongst themselves. The sound was deafening and Naedok motioned for the two bodyguards to close the large stone door.

Naedok turned to Jon and Seth, “Come, I would hear more of this God of yours who is so mighty to save His followers.”

Jon nodded, “Indeed sire, you shall!” The Emperor walked off and Seth followed. Jon turned to face the ruins of Seradeth and raised his arms to heaven. Almighty Father, I thank you this day! Truly, you are mighty to save. You stood by my side in the darkness! In my darkest hour I was not forsaken. You are with me.



The End

The Heartsmith

 (#1)




The Heartsmith


Far away, in a land across the sea, lies the Heartsmith’s country. Every child born in that land is given a necklace with a heart-shaped charm. Each of these Hearts, as they are known, is unique, bearing the hopes, fears, and longings of one’s soul.

Ronen shoved Tova to the ground. “Leave me alone,” he lisped. “No girlth allowed here.”

Tova’s brown eyes blinked back tears. “But I thought we were friends.”

“’Course not.” Ronen crossed his arms. “I’m a big boy now.”

“Ronen, it’s time for dinner,” a voice called. Ronen scowled, but stormed off towards his house.

Tova fingered the amethyst Heart dangling in the hollow of her neck. The smooth gem was marred by a tiny rough patch. She tried to sniff back tears.

“Tova, what’s wrong?” Her older sister Amaris knelt in the dirt. “What is it?”

Tova’s lip quivered. “Ronen pushed me down.”

“I have an idea.” Amaris smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t you come and visit Shaddai with me?”

“The Hearthsmith?” Tova whispered.

“Want a piggy-back ride?” Amaris suggested.

Tova nodded and scrambled onto her sister’s back. Amaris strolled down the path to a small cottage. She knocked on the door. “Shaddai, it’s me.”

The Heartsmith opened the door. Brown eyes peered out beneath thinning eyebrows, above a sharp-edged nose and soft mouth. “Amaris, welcome. And who’s this?” Shaddai peered at Tova.

“My sister, Tova.”

“Well, welcome, Tova, I’m glad to meet you.”

Tova slid off Amari’s back and held out her Heart. “Can you fix it?”

“Of course Shaddai can fix it,” Amaris laughed. “He made it, after all.”

“He did?” Tova stared at him. “Really?”

“I make every Heart,” The Heartsmith sighed. “Even the ones that never come back to me. Even the ones that walk around broken because they’re too proud to admit they need help.”

Tova blinked in confusion. “How do you fix it?”

“Give it to me.”

Amaris carefully unhooked the chain from Tova’s neck and handed it to Shaddai. He ran his fingers over the rough patch. “What happened?”

“Ronen knocked me down. He said I wasn’t his friend anymore?”

“And what hurt more? Getting knocked down or his words?”

Tova thought for a moment. “Both.”

“What do you want to do to Ronen?”

“Push him down too.”

“In the end, that won’t help.” Shaddai knelt by Tova. “You need to forgive him.”

“What!”

“If you hold on to anger, it will ruin you.” Shaddai pointed to her Heart. Tiny lines ran from the rough patch. “You have to decide to let it go.”

Tova swallowed hard. “How do I do that?”

“You need to go to Ronen and say, ‘I forgive you for knocking me down. I’m not going to be mad at you anymore.’”

Tova licked her lips. Silence hung in the air. “If that’s what you want…”

“It’s also what is right.”

“Then…I’ll do it.” Tova answered.

Shaddai handed back Tova’s Heart. The rough patch had been polished out, and the dust was wiped clean.

Amaris fastened it around her sister’s neck. “We should go home for supper now. I’ll come back tomorrow, Shaddai.”

“And you?” The Heartsmith asks Tova.

“Me too.”



***



The summer sun beat down on a crying woman. Tova knelt on the ground, as quiet and confused as the child she had once been, plucking the amethyst shards of her Heart from the dust. Tears dripped down her face, disappearing in the heat. She staggered to her feet, cradling the pieces in her hands. Unable to see her way, Tova sank to the ground against a wall.

A door swung open behind her. “Tova?”

She had run to Shaddai.

Tova opened her hand and showed Shaddai her Heart.

He clasped her hand and helped her inside. Pieces of Heart spilled onto an oak table. Shaddai caressed each shard.

Tova winced. “Stop it, stop, please, it hurts too much.”

Shaddai wrapped his arms around Tova. “Shh, my daughter, shhh..” He hummed an old lullaby as Tova wept. Slowly her tears broke into quiet sobs, and eventually turned to hiccups. “What happened, Tova?”

“Hershel.” Tova shook like a dying beetle. “I loved him.”

“But he didn’t love you,” Shaddai replied.

“How could he do that to me? I loved him. Maybe if I’d done something more…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Shaddai’s voice was quiet but firm. “It’s not your fault.”

Tova stared at the table. “I don’t think even you can fix my Heart this time.” She gingerly touched a shard.

“I made it,” he reminded her.

“Then make me a new one,” Tova closed her eyes. “I don’t want to remember.”

“Listen to me, Tova.” Shaddai placed his hands on her shoulders. “I made your Heart the way I did for a reason. I gave it to you for a reason.”

“But it’s broken.”

“I knew it would break.”

Tova blinked. Had she heard correctly?

“I knew it would break, because they all break eventually, Tova. Some people try to stop it by closing up their Hearts, but that only makes them dull and brittle. Some people don’t come to me and try to fix it on their own.” The Heartsmith closed his eyes. “That only makes it worse. You have to give me all of the pieces.”

‘Will it be as beautiful as before?”

“It will still be beautiful, but not in the same way. And it will still be fragile for a time. If it breaks again, bring it back to me.”

Tova opened her eyes, which now sparkled. “I’ll come back often. But I’ll leave my Heart with you. I know you’ll give it back when the time comes.”



***



The bell over the Heartsmith’s door tingled, its ringing mixing with the cooing of a mother to her baby. Shaddai rose from his workbench, a new Heart dangling from a silver chain. “Tova! How good to see you. And this must be Niriel.”

The girl sucked on her mother’s heart, the amethyst wrapped in a band of her father’s ruby. Tova grinned. “She keeps me up all night, but I love her anyway.”

“It’s amazing how much love a Heart can hold.” Shaddai glanced at the long-healed, nearly invisible cracks.

“I thought my Heart would burst with love when I married Eli, but it just keeps on growing.” Tova laughed. “How do you do it, Shaddai?”

Shaddai smiled and fastened the chain around Niriel’s neck. “Here you are, my daughter.”

The Heart was made of pearl, gleaming in the afternoon light streaming through the windows. Niriel peered up at his smiling face, and reached up to touch his chin.

“Niriel, meet the Heartsmith,” Tova sang. “Meet Shaddai.”



The End