Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 11

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 11

© 2021 by Amber Wright

THROUGH THE DARK

A hollow ringing buzzed into Junia’s ears as she gripped the myrtle branch tighter. She would not faint, not in front of Lucius. A cluster of over-ripe myrtle berries squashed under her grip, and she felt its juice melting into her fingers. She stared at Lucius, unable to speak.

“Junia,” His tone softened into sickeningly sweet, “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Help me?” Junia’s voice began in a hollow squeak. “I’ll tell you how you can help me. Quit spreading rumors and leave me alone!”

“Only if you promise you’ll stay away from that thief.”

The juicy berries in her hand flung from her fingers and splat onto Lucius’ forehead. Junia gasped. Had she really thrown that rotten fruit? She watched the boy’s dark eyes narrow fiercely at her.

“You’ll be sorry!” And then Lucius spun around and stalked towards the villa.

Junia stared at the back of his brown head, regretting what she had done. Now Lucius would tell his father, and then the gossip would round the city about her fighting at fifteen like a child. She suddenly felt hollow inside. After all, she and Lucius had been friends since childhood. Only recently had she found him too sour to handle his dark moods. He disappeared into the villa, and then she gasped a second time. Why did his proudly set jaw remind her of Demetrius? And why did things have to change? They had been friends—and now?

Somehow, the simple life she used to know was getting more complicated as each day passed. She plucked off a few leaves of the myrtle trees and began chewing them, to ward off the beginning a headache.

~

“Andronika,” someone called in a whispery-like voice. “Look down and see the beautiful flowers below.”

Andronika found herself standing on a rocky ledge that overlooked a great valley filled with flowers of the prettiest shades of color. But between her and the beautiful field of flowers was a wide road covered in jagged rocks and mud. She sniffed the air, hoping to smell the sweet fragrance of flowers; instead, she tasted the bitter stench of mud.

“Andronika.” A different voice called to her.

Andronika froze, and waited for the next words.

“Where is your armor? There will be a fight here. Prepare yourself for battle.”

Andronika glanced down at her robe, confused. She was a girl, not a soldier. Why should she need an armor? She pushed the voice aside, and walked closer to the rocky ledge. She wanted a better look at the flowers below her. There were so many of them, wavering in the breeze, rarest of colors. Aside from the bitter smell of mud, the view was pleasant.

She heard yet another voice, taunting her. “Look at you, poor girl. You have no money. You stand in rags. You look like a beggar. Ha-ha!”

Andronika whirled around to face the person speaking, but she could see no one. Humiliated, she turned back to look down at the valley of beautiful flowers. Each flower looked unusual, glittering in the sunlight like a diamond. A gravity began to pull her downward, into the valley.

“Andronika.” The voice was softly spoken.

She slowly turned. There he was, temptingly handsome and temptingly sweet… “Alexander.”

The man in his mid-twenties began walking towards her with a smile, not exactly wicked but too sweet for comfort.

Slowly, he stepped closer to her. Andronika, spellbound, vaguely felt the rocks beneath her feet crumble. Seconds later, she was flying through the air and tumbling down the wide road made of sharp rocks and mud. Down, down…and still down she went. The space felt like eternity.

As she fell, Andronika grabbed onto rocks but they kept hitting against her face. “Alexander, help!”

Only the sound of crumbling rocks answered her cry of help. No use to scream again. She heard her body splat into mud and she lifted her face, mud clinging to her nostrils. She stared at what had been a valley of beautiful flowers. Its petals were withered and its stems were shriveled—dead blooms of yesterday’s beauty. Stagnant vapors filled the air. So this was the valley of beautiful flowers.

This mud pit.

This valley.

The sun felt like it was melting the skin on her neck as she grasped at the mud, trying to raise herself. But the mud that slowly sucked her downward felt like fingers of death itself. She cried out in panic, grabbing the air, trying to grasp something solid.

“Alexander, help me! Somebody. Help.” Her voice grew weaker by the second, mud squeezing the breath from her.

One glance around her and she read her fate written in the mud: she would soon be dead and forgotten. Her tears began as a choke, then blended into the moisture running down her cheeks. “God! Help me… Please?”

Her ribs quaked with each breath she took, grew sore, ached her through. She tried to breathe. Just as she gave in to a choke of despair, she heard a quiet tread of feet walking towards her from the solid ground. A whisper of wind blowing a robe. The squeak of leather.

A pair of sandaled feet stopped before her at eye-level, a simple scar on each foot. Instantly, her ragged breathing became even and she felt the mire below her harden into solid dirt. And instantly, she knew Who stood before her; she could feel His gentle presence. Gone were her fears and dread of tomorrow. Gone was the pain of the past, present, future; He would be there if she would only call for Him.

Andronika raised her eyes to behold Him. “Jesus!” His name came out in a gasp as her muddy hands clung onto His feet.

Inside, she felt so wretched. Her Master had come to her in this stinking mire. Why had He come? She was only a harlot, nothing more.

Her question was answered as He reached down to lift her up to her feet. His hands gripped her—the same hands that had touched the cripple, cleansed the leper, opened blinded eyes, gave new life to the dead—and she felt the wild seas of her heart grow calm as His voice spoke to her.

“I told you there was to be a fight. If you had listened, you would not be here. But even now, I forgive.”

“Lord, I didn’t know it was You.” Andronika felt rather than heard her voice say. “I’m sorry.”

She buried her face into her muddy hands in shame. If she had only listened. If only she had known.

“Go. Return to your people.”

Andronika felt an odd feeling pass through her.

“Tell them you want to return.”

Inside, she felt panic rise. But how can I? I don’t know how to. God, how? He was speaking again so she stilled her wandering questions.

“But you will pay a price for disobeying Me. I will try you, and you will come forth like gold.”

If only she had obeyed that voice. But now was too late. She must pay. It had been spoken.

“Fear not, My child. I am here—when you need Me.”

“But Jesus, I’m not strong.” Andronika began and then she opened her eyes. Jesus was gone but she was safe on solid ground. “Jesus, where are You?”

A great gust of wind blew against her face, shutting her eyes, and then she knew. Her test had begun. But where had her Master gone? Was He beside her? Or had He left her to pass this test alone? Could she pass this test alone? Or even at all? She felt so weak.

“Jesus!” she heard her voice scream into the wind.

The darkness met her like a cold shock of water. It had only been a dream. But her heart still pounded and her breath came out in short gasps. Alone in the dark, she could still feel His hands that had lifted her, still hear His voice that spoke so sweetly. His beautiful face of love would be engraved into her memory forever.

As she lay there, gasping, Andronika’s pulse began to relax and her breathing became even again. Then sleep covered her once again with a nightly peace.

~

“He said he saw him near the church,” the man spoke in an accusing tone.

Junia’s foot paused in the doorway of the empty market stall. Minutes ago, she had escaped a downpour of cold rain; now she was trapped inside a market stall for outside its thin walls she could hear familiar voices speaking.

“Did he see Demetrius carry anything from there?”

“It was too dark,” the voice of the first man belonged to Deacon Abner. “Demas said the darkness covered him.”

“This is a serious matter.”

Their voices sounded so close that Junia shrunk from the doorway and into the shadows. Shortly after, she heard them leave, their footsteps melting into the noise of the street. She felt the painful pulsating in her temples slow, beat by beat. They had not seen her, she was thankful, nor had they questioned her with questions she did not wish to answer. Inside, she knew—there was another question for this unpleasant situation.

Who wanted Demetrius to leave?

Junia walked into the darkly clouded afternoon once again, hoping the rain would pause long enough for her to get home. She strode along the slippery street and dodged the muddy water puddles; meanwhile, the rain decided to pour itself down again. When will I ever get home? I’ve lost fifteen minutes in the last stall. Now, how long will it be this time? A clap of thunder rattled the street below her and she dove into the nearest market stall, wiping rain from her eyelashes.

As Junia’s eyes adjusted to the dimness of the stall, she saw a hooded man on the other side of the doorway. She looked back into the rain, watching it splatter onto the uneven dirt street. A strong scent of fish wafted into her nostrils as she deeply inhaled to settle her rapid pulse. Thunderstorms made her nervous. She remembered as a child hearing frightful stories about people dying from being struck by the giant white-flashes that came from the sky. She concentrated on the storm again.

Dogs barked as they scurried with flapping tails, cats dove into dry cubbyholes, and loose pigs butted each other frantically next to their troughs. A trough across the street, filled with pig food and rainwater, began overflowing onto the cluster of pigs. They squealed in protest, and Junia found herself laughing. She had not known pigs to be such great sport to watch in the middle of a terrifying thunderstorm, but she was glad for the diversion.

“I’m glad I’m not a pig.” She pointed to the confusion of squealing pigs. “Look at them—all dripping wet madness!”

“I’m glad I’ll never be one either,” the man agreed.

Junia recognized the voice. “Demetrius?”

“Yes.” Demetrius turned to her. “It’s me.”

“Have you heard the outrageous things they’ve been saying about you?” Junia still could not fathom why.

“How could I not hear? I’m the talk of town.”

Junia recognized his bitter tone. “It’s disgraceful!” She pulled her wet hood up a little from sticking to her head.

“Who is?” Demetrius’ eyes flinched.

“You mean, what is. This whole rumor. It’s just a lie, and I don’t believe a word of it!”

“Thank you, Junia.” Demetrius brightened at her words and he gave her a warm smile. “You’ll never know much I appreciate and needed you to say that.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Demetrius.” Junia said softly, watching him swallow. “I only know what’s true.”

~

Demetrius stared down at Junia, touched by her kind words. A clap of thunder broke the silence; giant streaks of white flashed through the dusky sky; and the pigs squealed more pitifully and rolled about on the slippery street. He winced. Inside, he felt as confused and frightened as those senseless pigs.

“Don’t worry.” Junia was speaking again. “It will be alright. Things will come out fine. You’ll see.”

“I wish I had your faith.” Demetrius concentrated on his thumb digging into the saturated doorway post. The wood softened under the pressure. Would he do the same? “But sometimes, Junia, I think I lost my mind and really did steal the money.”

“Demetrius, don‘t say that!” She sounded horrified.

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother