Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 42

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 42

© 2021 by Amber Wright

WEEP NOT

“Weep not.”

John raised his face and heart from the ground.

“Behold!” The elder pointed for him to look. “The lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has prevailed to open the Book and to loose the seals thereof.”

John beheld the throne before him and hope rose inside him. In the midst of the throne, four beasts and elders, stood a Lamb as it had been slain. It had seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven Spirits of God sent forth into all the earth. He felt like shouting. Their hope was not lost!

The Lamb with nail-scarred hands took the Book.

The weeping turned to joy as the people watched the Lamb Who held the Book. The cries of mourning turned to happy cries. The four beasts and twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb with harps and golden vials full of odors, the prayer of saints.

A new song broke forth into the air. “Thou art worthy to take the Book, and to open the seals thereof. For Thou was slain and have redeemed us to God by Your blood out of every kindred, tongue, people and nation. And hast made us unto our God kings and priests. And we shall reign on the earth.”

John's lips trembled by the impact of the voices he heard, coming from the angels, the beasts and elders of which the number was ten thousand times ten thousands. All cried with loud voices. “Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to redeem power, riches, wisdom, strength, honor, glory and blessing.”

Every creature from heaven, earth and under the earth heard John’s voice raise loud and strong. “Blessing, honor, glory and power be unto Him that sits on the throne! And unto the Lamb for ever and ever!”

The four beasts added, “Amen.”

The twenty-four elders fell down again and worshiped the One Who Lives Forever.

As John lay on his face, he felt his face grow wet with tears of joy—of knowing there was One Who was worthy to take the Book and to open Its’ seven seals. There was One Who redeemed them to God. One Who had taken their sins away. One Who had conquered. With eyes shut tight, he murmured. “Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to redeem. Blessing, honor, glory and power…”

The smell of dirt filled his nostrils, and he raised his head. The brilliant light was gone and darkness filled the little cave but for a flickering candle. He took the hand that helped him to his feet again, “Demetrius?”

“Yes, Elder John?”

“Are you ready?”

After the ruffling of papyrus, the reply came. “Yes, I am ready.”

John wiped a hand across his face, trying to bring feeling to his numb forehead. “And I saw in the right hand of Him that sat on the throne…”

~

The candle flickered in the little cave near the old prisoner called John who sat on a rock, speaking in mumbled tones. The prisoner Demetrius bent over a piece of papyrus, writing with the quill and ink he had given him. Strange, Dyonysius stared. Why do they sacrifice their sleep over a piece of papyrus? Unless…they are the leaders of insurrection. Ah-ha! He squared his shoulders, on the verge of reporting them to his commander.

Dyonysius guarded this old prisoner when he visited the poor people who lived outside of the mine’s walls. Already that John had the qualities of a leader, someone who could easily lead a revolt. The people listened to him, trusted him, obeyed his words. But he would wait…until he was for sure. Besides, he would not become the laughingstock of the guard. He would take the old prisoner on another visit to the poor people, and watch him closely.

Curiosity gnawed into him, wanting to know for certain. Who is this John and what is his purpose here? Who is Demetrius? What is he writing? Footsteps. He ducked deeper into the shadows of the brush. The prisoner Marcus entered the little cave quickly, glancing behind him before stepping inside. Ah, the spy! Proof. He felt his stomach flip over comfortably. If these prisoners were indeed leaders of anti-Roman insurrection, he would get a nice reward for reporting them. He turned from the crack in the cave wall, ready to report them immediately as a smile spread across his face. Perhaps he would even be rewarded with a post in Ephesus—or, Rome.

Swiftly, he felt his smile drop. But if I am wrong, they will laugh at me—and maybe I would be demoted. I think, he gulped, I change my mind. I’m not a gambling man. At least, I’m never won any wagers. He turned back to his old position: peering through the crack in the cave wall. He would watch them very carefully, these three prisoners, until he had proof. But until Dyonysius had proof, John’s power with words, the writing, the secret cave—all of it—would remain a mystery.

~

Junia watched rain drizzle from the summer sky as she sat on a fur rug with the girls. She let out a sigh, tired, her shoulders aching. Tarsus was teaching them how to make blankets with strands of wool, and the dripping rain grated on her nerves.

Beside her, Tiria huffed out a sigh. “The rain is loosening my head! Drip, drip, drip—a pause. Drip, another pause. Drip, drip! When will it stop? It's grating on what little nerves I have left!”

“Mine, too.” Junia managed to fake a smile for Tarsus' sake. “But together we’ll get these blankets made. Won’t we Tarsus, Tiria?”

“We might as well drench ourselves out there,” Tiria suggested in a grumbling tone, pointing outside where wisps of rain blew into the large opening of the cave in misty sheets. “That way, we won’t have to wash our clothes so much.”

“Perfect,” Junia agreed, wiping her sticky fingers another time on her damp robe. Her hands tingled with pain. Now she knew how Demetrius would feel, using his hands intricately all day. “We should just stick with these, too.” She patted the thick brown fur under her, which was soft and dry—and would be warm for hard mountain winters.

“Buffalo blankets are not so pretty to sell.” Tarsus smiled and fingered the dyed blue strands of wool she was intertwining with the original cream-colored wool. “Or so pretty to look at. I like these ones better!”

“I do, too.” Tiria made a face. “But do they like us, is the question.”

Tiria raised her hands close to her eyes to examine them. Wispy strands of sticky wool clung to her palms, giving her hands a certain furry appearance in the bluish lighting from the natural light of cloudy day. Junia giggled along with the girls, at Tiria’s odd yet true statement. The wool blanket seemed to have liked Tiria, sticking to her like that. But as if wool blankets could really choose who to like and not to like!

Tiria broke into an embarrassed smile, picking off the fuzz from her hands.

“Drinks, girls?” Nicolas broke into their circle with a big smile and a big tray of cups and a pitcher. “Crushed bananas in milk, compliments from Polycarp.”

It tasted delicious.

After Tiria had taken her first sip, she declared dramatically. “If I was a man and if Polycarp was a woman, I’d propose this very minute. What an angel—this is sublime!”

Nicolas laughed, “Actually, it’s banana, not lime. And you happen to be a girl, Tiria.”

“I happen to know that!” Tiria pulled her head up from her cup to reply flatly. “I don’t think Polycarp intends to poison us with limestone powder.”

“It would be a good way to clean your insides out though.” Nicolas teased as he walked away with the empty tray.

Tiria only drove her head into her cup again. Junia chuckled inside. Between Tiria, Nicolas, Lucius and Paul there was always some kind of minor uproar going on. She looked up to find Nika flailing her arms as Andronika struggled to hold her, the baby's back arched sharply and mumbling made-up words. And Nika, I can’t forget her uproars as well, the little pup!

“Can you watch this little tiger, Junia?”

Nika dropped onto her lap from Andronika’s hands without the slightest trace of remorse for her unruly behavior. She kicked her legs out and cooed out more inaudible words, trying to make Junia understand what she was saying by pointing to things.

“I’m trying to grind wheat,” Andronika flexed her back and dusted her floury hands on her robe, “and she’s trying to grind my patience. She’s getting into everything. Can you please hold her and not let her crawl around?”

“Of course,” Junia placed her half-empty cup beside her and looked at the ten-month-old baby who had a habit of crawling into everything, even into cave passages that led into nowhere. “I shall make her behave. Won’t I, Nika?”

“Dwink.” Nika pointed to the cup, bouncing in her lap, her black eyes dancing.

Junia let Nika sip her milk-and-banana drink and set the cup down again. “Now, not too much, Nika. You don’t want a stomachache.” She looked opposite her and found Julia suddenly staring up at somebody.

“Tomorrow we go to Sardis to trade,” Lucius announced.

Junia bit down her smile. So that was why Julia jerked her eyes up so quickly. Hmm…what have we here? Lucius did need something to distract him from thinking about his dead mother, and Julia was sweet. She would not tease but let time take its course—as it should be. God had a Perfect Plan for each of them. They would find out, each one for his own.

“I’m glad to hear,” Tarsus said brightly. “I have been working for so long—”

“And breaking your break in the process.” Philippi smiled at her sister. “Well done, Adher’fi! Tomorrow is your reward.”

“Thank you.”

Tomorrow we go to Sardis! Junia felt her heart trip lightly. I wonder what will happen. A little unpleasant feeling grabbed into her, Or do I want to know?

~

Dyonysius smiled to himself in his dark hiding place deep inside the little cave. Now he would hear them clearly when the prisoners would arrive. He huddled into the dark blue hooded robe, leaving off his bright red militia uniform for the night. He leaned his head against the rock separating him and the main part of the cave, so he could hear better.

In such a closed space, he grew too relaxed and his eyes drooped.

Noises startled him awake, and he tensely straightened so he would not miss a word. Would he find proof tonight? The proof of their insurrection and learn who the men were who were disrupting the Roman empire? The proof that he needed so badly to give him his promotion? Tonight would be the night, he smirked.

His smirk died away, Dyonsius, don't make a fool out of yourself—don't! These prisoners aren't worth your demotion. But, he glared into the wisp of light from the inside of the cave, what am I doing here then? Making a fool out of myself. He hoped he could slip back into the barracks later without having to explain why he was wearing a dead prisoner's blue robe instead of his red uniform. Hastily, he cleared his thoughts. The prisoners were speaking clearly now, just on the other side of the rock.

The prisoner Demetrius would be sitting on the rock, writing; the old man John either sat or stood, speaking; and the prisoner Marcus would be standing guard at the entrance of the tiny cave. Little did they know he was hiding in there, waiting to report them to the commander and get his reward. He wanted to leave this place, perhaps go to Ephesus or Smyrna—anywhere but Patmos. The crinkle of papyrus followed. It was time to listen closely.

“And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals…”

The words made him blink fiercely. He had to stay awake—to prove these prisoners were leading revolt. He had to have this promotion. He had to.

More words drifted from the interior of the cave. Strange words. Words he had no inkling of what they meant or if they had meaning. “And I heard as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see…”

His heart slammed to a halt. Why do these words make my heart faint? I am not superstitious. I’ve never been. I will never be. I am a Roman soldier, a conqueror! His throat strangled oddly; slowly, he felt breath slide into his windpipes, his left nostril tingling. How do these words have power over me? Why! His mind shot to the times he had brought the prisoner John to speak to the poor people outside the mines. John had told the people about being free, about life after death, about peace. Free—from what? His frown deepened. Those poor people aren’t the prisoners. John is. Demetrius is. Marcus is. He forced his thoughts back. Now was the time to listen, not think. Afterwards, he would report and gain reward for his uncanny intelligence. They would all congratulate him—the poor guard. They would all look up to him, praise him—Dyonysius, the nameless Roman soldier of Patmos.

“Come and see,” John spoke from the other side of the rock.

The words chilled his mind as he struggled to breathe. What did these words mean? Why was this John speaking them? Panic rose to his throat so he squeezed his eyes shut until the tremor had faded. Breath returned and he scolded himself. Why had he let three little words terrify him?

“And the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled together,” John spoke and the scratching of the quill followed, “and every mountain and island were moved out of their places.”

A new panic filled him. Was he trembling or was the ground beneath him shaking? His knees buckled together, clacking against each other. Really Dyonysius, he scorned himself, you’re acting like an old woman getting scared of her own shadow. It’s only an old man’s words. He tried to pull his emotions together but the trembling beneath him would not stop.

The prisoner John’s voice rose slightly, “For the great day of His wrath is come, and who shall be able to stand?”

Dyonysius scowled into nowhere. Both his ankles and thighs had grown numb so he shifted positions, standing upon his knees. The trembling beneath him trembled yet more as little rocks and dirt began crumbling onto him. It was no illusion now.

Patmos was having an earthquake.

Dyonysius flailed his arms, scratching at rock and dirt, trying to stand to get out of the passage but a sharp rock fell onto his forehead instead. His knees buckled beneath him; he face sank forward onto the ground, dirt pouring onto him from all sides.

A muffled silence.

Blackness.

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother