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.”