Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 32

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 32

© 2021 by Amber Wright

VALLEY OF DEATH

The baskets felt like millstones as Junia stood there, counting the stars. Why had she packed so much? Surely they would return to their house once the Romans had gone. But a prickle of anxiety told her otherwise. What had she left that she could not replace? It was too late now.

Too late.

Junia gazed up at the dark sky through the window of that dilapidated, dust-ridden building they were gathered in. Round clouds swept over the moon with the breeze, looking black against the moon's yellowy light. More clouds gathered, collecting in great clumps. A storm was approaching. She could smell the rain. Inside, her heart began to hammer away. She hoped everybody else would manage to meet there before the storm started—and before Demas and his men would come. They must leave by the way of the empty north gate soon. So far, only half of the Christians had arrived.

Junia almost smiled, realizing with a start. So I am here again! Only this time I am not the captive, but I am escaping captivity. How strange life is, throwing you into the past to direct you to your future. Her thoughts trailed, leaving her in silence to listen to the gathering breeze turn into a rustling wind.

Nobody spoke.

A few others tumbled into the building, their silhouettes multiplying against the backdrop of the pale moonlight streaming through the broken windows. In silence they waited, listening to the storm gathering outside.

Safely inside, perched on a crate now, Junia held her breath and blinked back sleep as a trickle of people came into the building. Where would they go? Her thoughts broke into a sea of endless possibilities and questions. She dared not worry for fear her fears would turn into reality. In her lifetime, too many of her fears had become events. She wished she'd never thought them. Only then she had no knowing that they would happen.

A clap of thunder shook the building, and she jerked her gaze back out the window. A streak of white flashed through the sky and broke jaggedly, then disappeared. A calm followed. More breeze. The air felt good against her clammy face as she balanced herself on the crate by gripping onto the dust-laden windowsill.

Junia felt her veil ruffle, and felt her thoughts drift like the clouds in the sky. Thoughts drifting to Ephesus. To kind, faithful Elder John and Demetrius. The Romans had taken them. It was too late for Marcus to help them, she knew this by instinct. Her heart lurched strangely. Had she just sent Marcus into the trap of death himself? There was no way out. The Romans were too powerful. Ah, the Romans. They would be drunk, cursing, killing, looting the conquered, and enslaving the young and beautiful. Her breath caught. They were coming soon, she could sense it.

As if in another nightmare, Junia heard the chaotic noise of screams split the air, trampling hooves, neighing horses and drunken shouting. The Romans had come. Whiffs of smoke reached her nose. Something was burning. Demas had been right. By fire, by sword, the dead must be left unburied if they were to escape alive. Paul whimpered in Rhoda's arms and Rhoda gently hushed him. But inside her, Junia's whimper was an inward scream, My God, help! Help before we become no more! The smoke grew thicker, the shouting louder, the screams more vivid. Death had struck the city.

The door opened and Junia's heart stopped. But it was not the Romans. More Christians stumbled into the dark, dusty room. Time was important. They must leave now. Why had the others not come yet? Were they too sleepy and too proud like Bishop Diotrephes and Deacon Abner had been? They would not wait to find out.

“The time has come,” Junia's father said calmly. “We must go now. The others will have to catch up with us. Epaphras?”

“Yes, we leave by little groups until we reach the mulberry thicket just before the mountains.” Epaphras repositioned Stephanas in his arms. “Mary?”

Mary followed him with sleeping Nicodemus. They silently left the building with a couple of others. Junia watched them go, exhaled a breath and said a short prayer for them. Please God, she added, lifting her eyes to the sky with hands gripping the windowsill as if squeezing the breath out of doubt itself, hide us under the shadow of Your wings. Protect us. Guide us. Give us strength in days to come. My God! The shouts and screams and horses neighing reeled her thoughts back to the past. Back when they had to endure to survive. Scenes scrolled down her mind, blinding her present thoughts, her silent words, her screaming prayer. It was the stillness of the past that drove her fears inside.

Dying Alexander, drawing his last breath.

Rejected Andronika, the harlot who knew little kindness.

Demetrius, the outcast who takes the blame.

Bleeding Marcus, about to die.

The deacon who calls himself Demas, treacherous, traitor.

Last of all—Elder John's parting words, The Way is never easy, my children, but continue in the Faith of Jesus Christ.

Junia pressed her forehead into her palms as the noises of death screamed in her ears. She would pray...until the moon would stop its shining. They must be covered by darkness if they would escape. She would pray until the lightning would strike the Romans' metal helmets to stop them from killing the Christians, until the thunder would hide their noise of escape, until her God would answer her prayer.

“Junia,” her mother shook her gently. “The others have gone. Only your father, you and I are last to leave. Come, Junia. Dry your tears.”

Junia pulled her tear-drenched face from the window, glancing out it one last time. The moon was still shining. The lightning had vanished. There was no thunder. God, why did You not answer my prayer? Her heart fell to the ground, in pain, in disappointment. Silently she followed her parents through the desolate streets, through the dark and towards the north gate to where her freedom lay. A thought nudged into her. It was not her place to question God. He could do without her but how could she possible live without Him? The God Who knew my name before I arose from the dust of the earth, knows my way. They reached the deserted north gate where a heap of rubbish had piled up.

More screams echoed across the city. Junia's heart stilled, her inner prayers stopped and her questions froze. As she faced the city, having finished her climb down from the rubbish, her eyes locked onto the scene before her. On the horizon, past the tumbled down buildings of the poor and deserted part of town, the southern sky was lit up with a strange orangey glow. Hazy smoke wafted towards her, thickly, hauntingly, its fiery scent more strong now. It smelled like death.

Flames licked upwards to the heavens from rooftops and two-story windows. It looked like death.

Screams rolled across the space between them and she. It sounded like death.

Their homes were destroyed and everything they ever owned was in those flames. She licked her dry, frozen lips, felt her shoulders shaking, as she stared at that horrific scene. It felt like death.

Where would they go? What would happen to them now? They were without home, without property and without possessions. But I am your portion, the still small voice told her gently as she stood there, frozen, tears silently dripping down her face. All the things she ever knew was in those flames. The garden she played in as a child. Their fruitful vineyard. Their beautiful villa. Her friends' homes. Her world as she had always known it.

I am your portion, the voice repeated. I am your refuge in time of trouble. Follow me. I have a perfect Plan for you to be fulfilled.

Junia blinked, Lord, but my home and my family's income is being destroyed! How can You let those Roman pigs destroy our inheritance? My father's house? Are we yet sheep scattered without shepherd? More flames burst on the horizon. Elder John has been taken. Our hope is being torn from us. Our life is on the abyss of death. Oh my God, don't say now that You've stopped loving me! Her shoulders sagged and she gulped in air to steady her singed nerves. She felt her parents take her by the shoulders and walk her away from that scene.

Nobody spoke. Nobody whispered. But Junia could feel their burning thoughts, singed with the sadness of the moment. Who had survived? They might never know.

Slowly, her feeling returned to her numbed tongue. Her heartbeat slowed, though still aching. Her mind focused. The vineyard, shooting new, green leaves, must be in flames by now. There would be no harvest this year. No grapes. No graves to bury the dead they had left behind. How had this happened? Why had this happened?

Junia knew she should not question but the pain was too hard to bear. But my God—why? Her eyes searched for the moon. Even the moon seemed dead. Clouds and darkness filled the entire sky. Thunder clapped and jarred the earth. White streaks shot across the sky. She began to fill with wonder. Their way of escape had come. Her prayer had finally been answered! Her sandals grew wet as the rain began. But my God, her inner voice was a little brisker, You have given. You take away. I will still praise Your Name. In God's time, her prayer had been answered. And in God's time, His Plan would be fulfilled in her. She felt her spirits rise even though her shoulders still sagged. As Job of old, she was slowly rising from the ashes. It was the breaking of a dawn of another day—a day in which she wished she had the courage to face.

~

Lucius stumbled through the dark as wind whipped hair into his eyes, coat flapping, sandals slipping over mud and rocks. The bag on his shoulder, carrying all of his earthly possessions, thumped against his side, reminding him of his journey. The reason why he fled. The reason of his quest.

He must find Elder John, find the truth, be set free.

His purse attached to his belt gave him a shred of hope. With both of his and his mother's small savings, he could travel far. He would use their money wisely although his thoughts were unwise now. Beside his path lay the Cayster River—a stone's throw away. He could jump, drown his miseries, find an easy escape.

But he must find Elder John. He must find the truth...and be set free. These words pounded into him every time he stepped closer towards the river.

If only his father had not come. If only his mother's cold image on the floor would disappear from his eyes. In the dark, he still saw her and still heard her whisper those last, broken words, “Lucius, listen to me—” What had she been trying to tell him? Now he would never know. He glared at the river so close to him. Why did it taunt him still?

Find Elder John. Find the truth. Be set free.

~

Rain stung Junia’s eyes as it came down in sheets, covering their tracks behind them. They were halfway to the mountains, climbing through rutted, unused roads in the forest. Questions burned in her mind, causing her heart to ache, to bleed with unanswered answers. They must be dead, those who did not come. Had anyone escaped? Were any of the young and beautiful left behind captives of the Romans now? She cringed at the thought of what would happen to the girls. Dorcus! Her breath trapped in her throat. She should have dragged her with them. But Deacon Abner had been so adamant, so proud, so wrong. She slowly swallowed the regret down her constricting throat. It was too late. Her eyes stung harder. Pain filled her like a millstone. It was too late. The ones who had stayed behind—who had not believed them—it was too late for them.

Let the dead bury the dead, the words fell deftly upon her bruised mind.

Images of burning faces, screaming people and neighing horses trampling whoever may be underfoot haunted her vision as she pushed her feet along. She nearly slipped several times but always managed to stay upright, clinging onto her baskets and to the hope of finding safety. But those faces—they terrified her. It would have happened to her.

A glimmer of light stopped her in her tracks, and her eyes finally focused onto her surroundings. A metal-topped torch blocked their path. The man holding the torch and the men with him were armed, looking as rough as the stormy winds felt. Panic clutched at her throat, leaving her wheezing, staring at the men before them. It was the band and Demetrius was no longer their captain. What will happen to us now, God? Fear drove her into a hundred panics. Would they be slain by the hand of their fellow-Lydians, having just escaped the Romans? There was no way out now. It was too late.

Rain continued to pour down in sheets, drenching her as she stood there trembling like a stalk of wheat. The men's daggers glinted threateningly in the soft glow of rain, their torch lighting a circle on the path. Death would soon follow. Packed down as they were, they could not escape. On this stormy night in the middle of nowhere, their bodies would rot, unburied, for the jackals to prey upon and they would melt into the dust from which they came. Her throat tightened even more. Was this God's perfect Plan for her? For them all? If so, my God, please give me the courage to face my death bravely. Give them the courage. A swallow, Please Jesus, be our strength in time of trouble. I am ready to die if You are finished with me here on earth. Please, for the children, let there be no pain. The pounding of her heart pierce her thoughts. Words broke into her numbed mind.

“The Romans have come to kill us,” Junius Gaius said calmly to the leader of the band. “We have nowhere else to go, besides these mountains. Please, let us pass.”

Junia filled with pride at her father's brave words in the face of death.

The man holding the torch let out a growl, “The Romans—we hate them worse!” To his men, he barked out a command.

The brown-garbed men melted back into the woods as silently as they had come, heading towards the city. As wretched as the Romans were, Junia felt a flicker of pity rise inside her for the unsuspecting Romans. Their fate would be far worse.

They walked on, each step wading through mud. Then there was grass.

Junia's ankles stung as the tall, wet grass slashed against them but it was a relief compared to the stinking, sinking mud. Her back ached, her burning thoughts returned, her heart sank again. So she squinted through the rain, raised her eyes. Oh God, please! She did not know what to ask, only she knew God knew what she needed. Help.

~

Tiria marched along, not a bit afraid. After all, who can know when we’re supposed to die? I certainly don't know! Not that I’m rushing the big event, her dry smile turned into a twisted frown. Why must she think about the oddest things in the oddest circumstances? But that was Tiria—the only kind that could possibly exist. Besides, say, maybe a… She could not place a suitable word to be compared with, so she stopped thinking.

A movement ahead of her caught her sharp eyes. She tensed. She was like a cat—she could see in the dark where others only heard noises, she summed herself up. However, the movement was not another band of killers blocking their way. It was only Judith trying to get Junia's attention as Junia seemed to be in her own little world this night, and no wonder. They probably all sported dazes and general looks of madness.

Junia jerked and grumbled out something. Tiria had to cock her head a little, straining her ears to listen past the trickling rain beat.

“How are you feeling, I asked?” Judith's voice sounded weary.

“Fine—just tired, wet, cold.”

Tiria watched Junia try to straighten her slumped shoulders.

“I didn't know that baskets could weigh so heavy!” Junia's shoulders sagged even lower.

Depends on what you put in it, Tiria bit her tongue, not wanting to further irritate Junia on this indeed tiring, wet, cold night of trudging through the dark in hopes of finding a safe place to lay their heads. She heard Junia sigh, and felt another patter of raindrops fell onto her nose. Wet indeed!

“But I shouldn't complain. I should be asking—how are you feeling?”

“Much better now.”

Four weeks straight Judith had vomited, the poor girl.

“Good,” Junia sounded like she was smiling now.

Yes, eight more months left to go and you shall hold your newborn, Judith. Tiria felt a smile split her face despite the rain drenching her even wetter, even colder. She felt warm now. Good news always made her feel that way. It seems like only yesterday since the grape harvest, the wedding and— Thunder broke her thoughts and the ground rumbled beneath her slick-feeling, wet sandals. Giant streaks of light zigzagged across the sky, frightening even her. Her breath even froze for a moment. No use to be afraid, she felt her heart hammer away. It would not do her any good or keep her alive any longer. Were those chest pains she felt?

“We need to find shelter,” Judith pulled the blanket over Nika's whimpering face where it peeped from Andronika's shoulder. “Or the children will catch cold.”

And it seems like only yesterday since Deacon Demas was exposed, a shiver ran through Tiria. The reason why we flee tonight. Why must things become so miserable? Why? If only Junia had kept her mouth shut. She bit that thought down. Demas had to be exposed. There was no other way. But the price they all suffered now!

God's ways are past finding out, Tiria reminded herself with a bitter sigh. Recently, she had discovered this truth although it had cost her all of her pride and hurt her for endless days. The future would happen, she could not stop it nor could she make it happen. Nicolas—why had she even bothered to like him for all those years? Then there was The Roman—why had she even had to meet him? Because she had been stupid, pathetic, another female weakling—not like strong, capable, brave Junia. That was probably why she had been so jealous of her. She admired her strength, bravery and strong mind. Why? Why did this all happen to her?

She had to become strong somehow, Tiria hated to admit it all those years. She had been so weak, scared of the truth that would set her free, afraid of what people would think of her, and too proud to admit that she needed help. God's help. God's protection. God's strength. God's will that would change her willful soul and perform a miracle that no one of this earth might ever see. It had to be The Roman, rejecting her in public, to open her eyes to the hurt God felt every time she rejected Him in private.

She had to become free.

Tiria had to free herself from the torments of her own fears and feelings of worthlessness so that she could value the life God had given her. This test had come. Now she could endure this moment—in the face of death or captivity—without the fears or pain of worthlessness. This great trial would take her to her destiny. Deep down, she knew. God's ways were past finding out.

Junia and Judith were speaking about how they needed to find shelter. Seeing Judith reminded her of Nicolas. Where was he?

“Judith, where is your brother, Nicolas?” Tiria's heart pounded, a spark of liking for him still no matter how rude or obnoxious he had been in the past.

Judith's face tensed. “He has gone to warn Polycarp and the others who were on their way to the wedding.”

“And he could die because of it!” Tiria heard her voice complain dully, but she heard pride in her silent voice, Silly, brave boy. “I told him not to go but he wouldn't listen to me.”

“We all could die tonight,” Judith reminded her, drawing a sharp breath. “But the Lord is with us and we will not fear.”

I suppose so, Tiria silently agreed with twisted feelings mixing inside her. They could all die tonight. Not that she was afraid. But the children? Did they deserve to die? Some things in life made no sense, but she could not know the future. Only God did. He was the Master musician. He knew the music the world must hear. He knew each note each person would have to sound. He made the music. Together, they would make a masterpiece the world would not forget.

The rain pattering against her nose and hood grew less, pattering down softly now instead of stinging her eyes; then, it faded altogether into a moist wind. She blinked with awe. It's stopped raining, thank heavens! She gave the cloudy sky a thankful glance—meant for God. Ahead of her, she saw Andronika struggling to walk so she grabbed her sleeve to stop her. The girl whirled around with frightened eyes.

“You look dreadfully tired, Andronika.” Tiria mustered up a smile, “Let me hold her.”

Surprised, Andronika handed her the baby. “Thank you.”

Tiria hugged Nika to her shoulder, her face stretching into a real smile. “At least she isn't screaming. Babies always do that when I try to hold them.”

Andronika gave her a feeble smile in reply.

Tiria noticed Junia blinking away, stumbling forward sleepily, so she held onto Nika tighter. She could not drop that baby, not matter how tired she got. To stay awake, she bugged her eyes out into a stare that would probably match a mad woman's. At least it was working. She was fully awake now. She felt pleased with herself...until a light blinked into her vision. It was the second torch of their journey that night. Who was holding it? Would they survive this time? Dear God, is this the final...big event?

“Lord, preserve us!” Junia was gasping as if she was having a panic attack.

Just what we need at a time like this, Tiria said a grumbling prayer for Junia. She felt a frown cover her previously happy face. “And just when I was feeling relaxed! Dear us.”

“You mean, dear God,” Judith corrected her.

“That's what I meant.” And said already, silently. Tiria squinted to get a better look at the man holding the torch. A smile replaced her frown. At least their slayer would be a nice-looking one. “How heroic.”

The girls looked at her oddly, and she only shrugged in reply. They would not understand her anyway. Sometimes it was better to keep one's mouth shut for it only further complicated things. A clap of thunder reminded her that the storm was not over yet, even if the rain had stopped and the man with the torch before had left them alive as of yet. She stared at this man holding the torch—staring as if she was looking death in the face—and hugged Nika closer to her, giving the sky a fierce glance in prayer. God, please, but the children—for their sakes?

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother