Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 51

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 51

© 2021 by Amber Wright

FEAR NOT

“Our brethren from the mountains are in trouble,” Elder John told him and Marcus. “The Lord has told me. Let us pray.”

The sun was setting and the air was thick with dew as they bowed their heads. Insects bit into him as Demetrius silently prayed while Elder John prayed aloud. Inside, his words tumbled over each other as he clamped his jaws together to control the tremor shaking him. No, God, please? Let me die instead of her! Let me die—not her, not them. When the prayer ended, he opened his swimming eyes with a sniff.

“Dry your tears,” Elder John told him with a kind smile lining the old man's blue eyes. “They will be alright.”

“How do you know for certain?”

“The Lord has told me. Do not fear.”

The words of the Exodus Scroll stole through his mind, Fear ye not, stand still and see the salvation of the Lord. The words stirred him deeply. The Egyptians whom ye have seen today, ye shall see them no more. Demetrius glanced up at the fading sun that was slipping below the horizon. Would these words shortly come to pass? The Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace. His mind jarred. Fear had never been his weakness but a wave of it shot through him just now, piercing him, shattering his insides into a thousand pieces. My God, his mind screamed, raced, why does this fear strike me if they are alright? Oh God, help! He waited for an answer, for another Scripture to conquer his doubts fully.

After a disappointed minute, the words came branding into him calmly, directly. Why do you cry? Speak. His breath caught somewhere in the middle of his throat. So this was his answer, a command. He felt his Adam's apple bob; then, he spoke quietly into the fading sunset, as if to himself. He never knew the words he spoke. He only knew that they had been spoken. He turned to the others.

Elder John and Marcus had gone, so he moved his feet to go to the hut for the night. Mornings always came early in the mines of Patmos. As he walked, he reflected. He would not fear now. God was God. The earth was His. The heavens were His. And they were His. God would not leave His scattered seed for the vultures to prey upon. Tomorrow would come and, with it, the crops of yesterday. Today was the day to live, not die. Calm filled him as his eyes centered onto the uneven ground before him. He stubbed his bare toes against a sharp rock, winced, then ignored the pain it brought.

Demetrius.

Demetrius glanced upwards, knowing God was wanting him to listen.

I lead you in ways that must hurt—as I do the rest. But be of good cheer, it is I Who goes before you. Follow Me.

Blurs of color crossed his vision. “Demetrius?”

Demetrius focused onto Marcus who was hailing him over. He stretched his lips into a flat smile. Yes, sleep was needed for a fresh start tomorrow. With a flex of his aching back, he slowly stepped over more sharp rocks and dirty sand. By the time he would leave the mines—someday, he prayed—he would have the muscles of a lion. Just don't let me roar like one, he cast his eyes heavenward. That would never do. I'd spoil my chance with Junia for sure. He gave himself a mental slap, Not that I'm counting on chances... Panic rose to his throat. And Lord, I'm still ready to die—if need be. He stared into his open palms and closed them. But please, not until I know for sure.

“Demetrius?” Marcus' voice had an edge to it.

Demetrius focused his eyes again in that shadowy twilight. A long piece of red cloth stretched over a mound by their hut door. He gasped and gripped his jaws to keep from spewing out vomit, images such as this reeling through his mind—bringing him back to the time when he was Captain of the Band. Back when...

“No, God!” He covered his face with his palms, a groan coiling inside him. “Don't remind me. Don't—”

“Our rations have been shortened,” Marcus informed him in a low, self-assured voice that hinted sadness. “He was only eighteen, straight from Athens, the guard that replaced Dyonysius.”

Demetrius nodded but his mind still screamed, melting into numbness. He rushed past the mound at the doorway and stumbled into the hut. A man had been killed today. Another man had killed that man. And he—he who longed for complete redemption of soul and spirit—was reminded of the times of killing.

~

Jason felt the twilight cover their movement and smiled with a satisfied sneer. He had been humiliated—by a girl—and they would all pay the consequence. The Romans would grab their captors and he would grab his fair prize, Chloe. Would she like it or not, was not the question. She doesn't have a choice, he snapped a reply to himself, getting irritated at how the Romans lagged. Lazy pigs! Mountain climbing is too strenuous on them. He sniffed the air, suddenly wondering what that funny little sweet smell was. Nothing, he supposed. He glanced behind him yet another time. Even the Roman horses looked lazy. Useless beasts, he wanted to hiss. They were almost there. Soon, he would claim his prize and the money the Romans had promised him. The road from Sardis neared its ends, twilight deepening.

Jason began to urge his horse into trot when that funny little sweet smell grew stronger, thicker—materialized, became a noise, a hiss. Head tilted back, he watched as a little something blew down from the trees, landing on the ground beside him. His horse reared dangerously and he clenched down on the reins, anger filling his chest to the bursting point. They were almost there. Why could not his crazy beast know that? He was digging his heels into his horse's sides when a whirring knocked the breath from him. He knew that sound too well—the smell, the hiss. He twisted around to the Romans lagging behind. “Fire!”

But it was too late.

Flames blocked their rear so they could not retreat. Jason shouted at his horse to move forward but it would not budge. He glanced around him wildly. The fire crackled all around him, creeping closer to him. He could hear it, the embers of flames falling from the trees on each side as he twisted and turned in his saddle, searching for a way of escape. But there was none.

Smoke began to choke him. “Move on!” He kicked deep into the horse's sides but it did not budge.

Jason felt the heat increase behind him so he slid from the saddle and turned back. In horror, he watched the flames engulf the lagging Romans one by one—a hundred paces away—and panic leaped up his neck, paralyzing him. His legs numbed, tingled with pain, and his body jarred from nerves; then, his choking started.

He strangled to breathe, mere moments seeming like hours.

He shuffled his wooden feet in the only direction where there was no fire. Towards the cave. But after a few brief seconds, the evil flames licked onto the path before him, trapping him with no escape. At that, the muscles in his feet loosened and he whirled back around, like a madman. Fear raged inside him. Anger hurtled his soul into nothingness. He groped around, trying to find a path of escape. But there was none. He clamped both hands over his mouth in an effort to gasp some air. His throat felt like powder now, choking as he was, and he watched the flaming scene as a deaf man, hearing nothing.

Suddenly, his numbed brain opened like a shock of cold water. Screams of the Romans filled his ears and pierced his conscience. If he hadn't brought them here, none of this would have happened. He watched a Roman jump from his horse, lit up like a giant torch. Jason clenched his eyes shut, rushing in the direction of the cave. Flames or no flames, he must get through!

Sizzling whistled into his pounding ears, coming from his own flesh. He strangled a scream as he felt a sea of heat and brightness surround him completely. The whirring deafened him, made his legs feel hollow and shortened his breath into little gasps. His heart tumbled recklessly, screaming with pain. One word burned into his mind as his vision blackened and his hearing wafted into a blur of chaotic noises, his scream melting into the flames. “God!”

~

Junia glanced in the direction where they had come from and froze when she saw smoke pouring into the twilight's purply skies. Then she realized that between them and the fire was a large stream they had crossed more than an hour ago. Fire could not cross over a body of water, she was thankful.

Walking on with the others, Junia kept glancing back out of curiosity. She hoped nobody she knew was inside its evil grip. The smoke stopped pouring into the purply skies as a dark grayish cloud hovered over the fire.

Rain.

The heavy baskets on her shoulders reminded her of the night they had first fled, in the rain. And that rain had made her baskets even heavier. Please God, keep the rain away. It will weigh us down. Please? She looked back a couple minutes later. The rain cloud was gone and had disappeared into nothing but a soft haze settling over the horizon. Strange occurrence, she bit on the side of her mouth. She would not try to solve that mystery. She still had her hurting hand to worry over. She rolled her eyes, Worry! That word seemed to cling to her everywhere she went. She eased out a mouthful of breath as pain grated her. But she succumbed to brighter thoughts—thoughts of the future. What will tomorrow hold? she asked herself lightly, feeling quite cheerful now—even at such a time. She felt a Tiria smile emerge, and she smiled wider.

~

Lord, I suppose You don't want us to get too comfortable here on this earth. But what about the children and the expecting mothers like Judith? Tiria did a Junia sigh. She was worried. Junia's hand looked worse and redder this morning. And her back was aching, having to sleep on the bare, hard ground with only a thin blanket beneath her. She glanced up into the tall trees towering over her, sunlight sparkling through its branches. But Lord, I suppose You know what You're doing. You know best. I don't. She felt Nika stir on her shoulder where she slept. Yes, I shall have twice the backache by nightfall. No matter, I'm tough—or am I? She made a face. She had promised—volunteered, actually—to hold Nika all day so Andronika could carry Junia's things. She bit in a groan. But at least she hangs on tight, even in her sleep. Nika's arms clung around her neck, which held up most of her weight.

The smell of moist earth sang up into her nostrils, and Tiria was glad she was alive. Even with a backache, she believed life to be fearfully wonderful.

~

Junia's feet felt like blocks of wood by the end of the day. Her left hand, encased in a soft sling, tingled with pain and needles. Each step brought her no relief and she was at the point of screaming, moaning and clenching her jaws until they broke. But she calmly took another step and moved on with the others. Everyone was silent, except the bleating sheep at the rear.

Yes, it's all our fault that the shepherds have no homes. The Romans had surely burnt the huts and the rest of their belongings that they could not carry. Now they silently marched away into the unknown. Would there be more Romans at the end of their road, ready to imprison them? She prayed not. But she could only hope. The red-cloaked devils now roamed everywhere—wherever the Roman Empire breathed, lived, dominated.

Evening turned into twilight; then, dusk fell.

Hours later, Junia pierced the night sky with one thought, one prayer, one voice groaning inside her. To where would they go?

~

Demetrius raised his eyes to the blinding sun in the perfectly blue morning skies. At least today was cooler, much cooler. October would soon arrive and, with it, cool weather—every day—not hot, not cold. This would be his first winter in Patmos. I only wish it was my last winter here and then I go free. But only God knows. He gritted his jaws in resolve not to complain about his lot in life, and walked towards the dimness of the mine shaft where he worked that day.

The young guard had been buried at sea. Now, his stomach growled with complaint over having less food than before the guard had been murdered. Less rations, Marcus had told him that night, and less rations they had had since. Maybe I won't have those lion muscles, after all, when I do get out of here. With less food, I'll have less energy...and less muscles. I'll be thankful if I end up looking like a measly cat. He frowned, remembering that Junia had told him she had always been afraid of cats. Please, God, then maybe a rabbit? He thought he heard God chuckle with amusement. Did the human that He created have to be so senseless sometimes?

~

“Doesn't that look,” Tiria gulped, “nice?”

Junia bit her tongue, literally. Tiria was staring at her hand as her mother unbound the bandage. After one quick glance at her hand, she looked away. Her hand was red and purply and a little puss oozed from it, making her stomach pit with sickness. Tiria stepped back as Martha walked over to cleanse her hand and put fresh poultice onto it. As Martha pushed the rag firmly onto the puss, a yellow fluid bubbled out. Tiria jerked backwards another step, gulping again, looking sick herself.

“I don't have leprosy, Tiria!” Junia scowled, fighting the pain.

“Sorry,” Tiria gave her a thin smile, not looking a bit sorry.

Back to her old high and mighty ways. Heaven preserve my tongue! But Tiria is still...Tiria, Junia made a clumsy gulp and tried to camouflage her pain-twisting face. Life is never fair. It never has been and never will be. How did I ever get so blinded? She heard a sizzle when her hand was lowered into a bowl of warm, salty water, and she felt the infection slowly drawing out. I suppose my hand is like my heart. It takes a lot of salt water to drain the pain. No, she clamped her teeth together, don't even think about crying! She glanced up at the concerned faces watching her and plastered a smile on her face to ease their worries.

“What a pretty day to enjoy, isn't it?” Junia felt the rock below her say in an accusing voice, Lying never helps. Everyone knows me for honesty—I'm just a hard, old rock who never pretends to be cheerful and comfortable when I'm not.

Junia wanted to growl back, I'm not lying! I'm only steering my mind in the right direction—positiveness—and that includes smiling whether I feel like it or not. She sat up straighter and realized the rock beneath her did feel rather hard. She lost half of her smile.

“It looks like most of the infection has drained.” Martha examined her hand, looking closely at it. “It's pinker now instead of red.”

Junia felt the muscles in her arm strain as it was stretched, but she also felt relief slip into her worried mind. I'm glad I don't need to cut it off. At least, not this time, she added dryly. She hoped there would be no next time. But you never know until it happens. That was just how life was—unpredictable. She mustered some courage into her. The noonday stop was over and it was time to move on. There had been no Romans on their path as yet, and Junia prayed there would never be. Or God help them!

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother