Apostasy Rising Episode 3: End Times Chronicles, #3

By J. A. Bouma

The Church's future is history.

 

The third book in a four-episode, binge-worthy story season released the first of the month, told through full-length, complete novels with cliff-hangers that make you hunger for more!

 

The year is 2123. The citizens of the world have united. Peace, prosperity, and progress reign supreme. Rising apostasy threatens to consume Ichthus, the last remnant of Christianity. And the Church's most chaotic hour since the Protestant Reformation has dawned with the dissolution of the faith and creation of a one-world religious assembly, Panligo.

 

Standing at the center is the remnant of Christianity, which has just uncovered a lost religious order with the power to help the Church under siege. Only an ancient enemy of Ichthus has risen from the shadows to thwart the Ministerium at every turn. What's more: the Republic has taken dramatic moves that changes everything and threatens to undo all that they have been working toward—ratcheting the stakes even higher for the future Church and sending the Ministerium back in time once again to retrieve from the past vital inspiration for the future.

 

Will the future Church survive forces threatening her from inside and out? Will Ichthus retrieve from history what it needs to survive the future? And will ordinary believers rise to do the impossible when the Church needs them most?

 

End Times Chronicles is an explosively inventive series that recasts the Christian struggle in a future world rife with social and religious challenges combined with technological and political change that feels close to home—inviting readers to experience the sacrifices and struggles to persevere unto victory in the face of hostile forces, both in the future and the past.

 

Not since the blockbuster Left Behind series has a story captured the heart of the Church's mission in these last days—offering a unique, page-turning adventure that not only entertains through thrilling action and mysterious suspense, but captures the urgency of our own day and inspires for the journey of faith.

 

Continue the epic series by bestselling author J. A. Bouma about the future Church under siege.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EmmausWay Press
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781948545303

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

EDESSA, ARABIA-PERSIA. AD 2123.

Alexander Zarruq’s head rang with a thousand tuning forks. All sound had been drowned by the chaos of the explosion up above; his head had been whacked against the stone stairs after somersaulting downward.

He was lying flat on his back, the last stair jamming hard into his spine while at the bottom on the stone floor. He flitted his eyes open, his head screaming in protest from the effort and the ash and debris from the blast choking off all light and life inside the chamber.

He lay still, afraid to move and completely disoriented.

Where was he? Why was every bone in his body screaming for relief? What the heck had happened?

Taking cautious breaths, he tried working it all out in his head, wincing from a shooting pain in his ribcage as shadows played wicked games above his head amongst an orange glow of firelight. It was as if he had descended into hell itself, the flames—

Flames!

The fire that had caught John Mark Ford’s attention. Christ the Giver of Life, the large religious icon that had been moved aside by Theophilus, the remnant Master of the Order of Thaddeus, to reveal the stairwell leading to the chamber below.

The fire set by the operative of the archenemy of the Church, stretching back to its earliest years.

Nous.

The operative who had rendered Master Theo unconscious before tussling with Ford.

The operative he had shot and killed before a set of explosives brought down the Order chapel.

But not before Ford had saved their lives, casting them down the stairwell before it caved in.

Trapping him and the Order Master down below and rendering Ford nowhere to be found.

A groan struggled for a hearing near his feet.

Master Theo! Alexander yelled, wincing as he strained forward off from the stairs, his body livid for ignoring its pleas for rest.

He sucked in a stabilizing breath and sat, the taste of copper falling on his lips.

He chanced touching them, feeling wetness and seeing crimson. He followed a wet trail up to his forehead, his thick, wavy hair matted to a gash still damp with blood but beginning to dry into a hardened shell.

The moan again.

His head would have to wait. If he was in this bad of shape, he couldn’t imagine how the old man was faring.

Master Theo, Alexander said again with a moan, easing himself off from the floor and onto his knees.

In the orange glow of the candlelight, he caught sight of a rumpled pile of linen and bones and stringy grey hair sitting at his feet, chunks of the ceiling having fallen on the man.

Theophilus.

Alexander scrambled over to the frail Order Master. He removed the rubble and gently turned him over onto his back. He did not look good.

One side of his collarbone had sliced through his skin, all jagged and bloody. The other shoulder was wrenched at an ungodly angle. He feared the other bone was broken as well, but jutting inside. He was bleeding from his head as well, a trickle still winding down its side.

Panic began to well up within him at the sight of the elder, lying broken as a baby bird after having fallen from his nest. He feared more broken bones, his ribcage looking as though it had collapsed beneath his robe. He didn’t know what to do, and he wasn’t at all equipped to do anything about it.

He closed his eyes and heaved a stabilizing breath, his own ribs screaming in pain.

Get it together, Zarruq!

He cursed himself again, his mouth watering for the minty ribbons of synthetic narcotic relief nestled in his pockets somewhere.

No. Not now. The power of the Holy Spirit would be the only thing carrying him through this nightmare from—

The man stirred at his feet and moaned again, sucking in a wet breath and coughing in response.

Master Theo! Alexander said, bending low at the man.

The Order Master opened his eyes, big and darting, his pupils looking like his soul was barely holding on to its frail human husk.

Where… he said drifting off, his eyes closing and chest growing still.

The seconds ticked by with the weight of eternity, the man remaining still and unmoving.

Panic welled within Alexander again, the coppery taste returning but from adrenaline assaulting him with anxious fear.

He gave the man a shake. Master Theo? Another shake. Dear Lord, please let him still be—

The elder stirred and mumbled something, trailed by another moan before he opened his eyes and attempted to sit.

His body quickly rejected the idea; the man collapsed back to the stone floor.

Where am I… Master Theo said, his head lolled to one side and eyes closed again. What happened?

You’re in the chamber beneath the Order chapel, Master Theo. There’s been a— Alexander stopped to take a breath and take in the truth of the matter. A series of explosions brought down the chapel above. My partner, John Mark Ford, he tossed us through the stairwell before…

He couldn’t finish the sentence. He knew what it meant, what Ford had sacrificed to save them.

The Shroud! the man gasped, head rolling back straight and eyes shooting open with panic. The Holy Image!

That’s right! The Order Master had showed him and Ford the linen burial cloth bearing the imprinted image of Christ the world thought had been lost to history but instead had been kept safe by the Order of Thaddeus.

Alexander looked frantically around the chamber for the Holy Shroud.

It was empty. Nothing in the modest room but a long stone altar where it had sat in its golden frame, surrounded by golden candelabras struggling for oxygen.

Then he remembered.

The Nousati had ordered him and Ford to carry it up top before it all went to hell.

Master Theo tried to sit again, struggling to make his body work before giving up in pained exhaustion.

The man coughed, his chest heaving a hacking breath. It all lies in ruin! He lolled his head toward Alexander, then added, And you must rebuild.

I must rebuild?

Alexander shook his head. What do you mean, Master Theo?

The man opened his eyes and homed in on Alexander’s, his face opening up into a smile of hopeful recognition. Beloved, he whispered, you who have been called by God the Father and kept safe in Jesus Christ: may mercy be yours and peace and love in abundance!

What is he talking about?

Remember our charge, Master Zarruq, the Order Master continued. I urge you with passionate plea to struggle and contend for the once-for-all faith delivered, committed, entrusted to the saints.

Alexander’s head swam with confusion. Master Zarruq? And why is he quoting what sounds like the Epistle of Jude?

For certain people, the elder continued, have secretly slipped in amongst the brethren, whose condemnation was long ago written about. Ungodly, vile people who pervert the grace of our God into a license to engage in outrageous, debauched behavior and deny our only Sovereign and Lord, Jesus Christ.

The man paused, a hacking cough overtaking him, his frail body shaking violently from the ordeal.

Woe to them! Master Theo suddenly exclaimed, recovering and continuing his homily but staring into the dimming shadows continuing their dance upon the stone ceiling above. For they have gone the way of Cain, they have rushed for profit into Balaam’s error, they have been destroyed in Korah’s rebellion. Stains on the Eucharistic Feast they are, eating of the Lord’s flesh and drinking of the Lord’s blood without a care and stuffing themselves silly. Waterless clouds swept along by winds they are. Fruitless autumn trees, twice dead and uprooted they are. Wild waves of the sea foaming up their own shame they are. Wandering stars for whom the gloom of darkness has been forever eternally reserved they are!

Another violent cough overtook Master Theo. Alexander thought he would keel over then and there.

But he continued, exclaiming, Behold! As Enoch, seventh from Adam prophesied against these ones, the Lord is coming with thousands of his holy ones to execute judgment against everyone, to convict their soul concerning the ungodly deeds they have committed in such ungodly ways, and concerning the defiant words that ungodly sinners have spoken against him.

Then his head snapped to Alexander. "But you, beloved, remember the predictions foretold by the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ. For they said to you, ‘In the end times there will be mockers, scoffers who will pursue their own ungodly, lustful desires.’ These are those people who cause divisions, unspiritual ones, who do not have the Spirit.

"But you, beloved, building yourself up in your most holy faith and praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourself in the love of God, waiting for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ leading to eternal life.

On the one hand, be merciful to those who are doubting. On the other, save others by snatching them out of the fire, and to others show mercy with fear—hating even the garments defiled and stained by the sinful flesh.

Master Theo suddenly gasped, eyes going wide and face growing still.

Alexander’s heart seized in his chest, his stomach dropping to the dirty stone floor beneath.

Now, the man whispered toward the ceiling again, miraculously recovering, his loins being surely girded by the Holy Spirit himself, to him who is able to keep you free from stumbling and present you before his glorious presence spotless, blameless, and with exceeding joy—to the only God our Savior through Jesus Christ our Lord be glory, majesty, power and authority, before all time, now and forevermore!

Alexander went to say Amen, finishing the Epistle of Jude as the original author had penned the closing refrain, when the Order Master turned to him again, his face going bright, the light in his eyes beginning to fade.

And now, Alexander Zarruq, undershepherd to the Great Shepherd, a royal priest over Christ’s Church…

What is he doing?

"To you I bequeath, young man, the mantle taking charge over the Sepioti, carried forth by generations before it dies with me."

Alexander’s breath caught in his chest. No...

What are you saying, Master Theo? he said, afraid to seek a clarifying word and mortified by its implications.

The man coughed violently once again. Then he took a wheezing breath and said with urgency, You must continue the work begun by the apostle Jude Thaddeus and that stalled a century ago…

The man grasped Alexander’s hand and wrenched it open with his last remaining ounce of strength, placing a cold, round object of surprising weight inside. Master Theo sucked in a quick breath, then whispered, I lied…

He lied? What on earth is he talking about?

There are others, the Order Master wheezed. And they need a new Master. It is our only hope…

He coughed again, raspy and laced with blood, his lips now wet with his life force. He gripped Alexander’s hand with surprising strength, then said, Magister Ordinis de Thaddeum I make you. Protect, instruct, fight for, watch over, and heed the once-for-all faith given to the Church by Christ himself. That is your charge. Guard the Shroud with your life. Images for Ichthus, it bears. And remember: Follow the fiery one, the God-bearer who—

With weakening fingers, he closed Alexander’s hand around the gift, then let his hand slide to the floor, his eyes drifting along with it as he passed from this life to the next.

Master? Alexander called as his heart strummed with wicked emotion against his chest, patting the man’s cheek but knowing the truth of it.

He closed Master Theo’s eyelids, crossing himself and saying a prayer for the man’s departed soul.

Saying "Amen," he stood, still grasping with closed hand the object he had been gifted, head ringing with the man’s dying breath.

‘To you I bequeath, young man, the mantle of Sepioti, carried forth by generations before it dies with me...You must continue the work begun by the apostle Jude Thaddeus and that stalled a century ago…There are others, and they need a new Master. It is our only hope…Master of the Order of Thaddeus I make you.’

Surely not...

Alexander lifted his hand and went to open it for a closer look, but hesitated. He swallowed hard and took a shaky breath, then finished what he had started, revealing a round object of faded gold, etched with foreign markings.

It was a medallion.

He brought it closer to his face and squinted to inspect it, the flickering, fading candlelight dancing off its dazzling surface.

In the light of the flickering flames he could see an anchor of sorts etched onto its face in thin lines, as well as Greek letters etched around the perimeter across the surface, faint but there:

EPAGONIZESTHAITN’APAXPARADOTHEISNTOIS’ AGIOISPISTE

Alexander’s face fell. It was the same string he had glimpsed on the parchment from the Archives. The one that was the original letter Jude Thaddeus wrote to the church, reminding Christians of their sacred calling:

Contend for the once-for-all faith delivered, committed, entrusted to the saints.

The seal of Jude Thaddeus, he whispered.

Giving him the power and authority of Master Theophilus, stretching back to the original founding Master.

Jude Thaddeus himself, apostle of Jesus Christ.

Making him Magister Ordinis de Thaddeum.

Master of the Order of Thaddeus.

CHAPTER 2

Alexander sat shivering on the cold stone floor in the waning, flickering candlelight next to the now-still body of Master Theophilus growing cold with death.

Still cradling the medallion of Jude Thaddeus in his open palm, he shook his head, disbelieving what had just transpired—the weight of the mantel that had been passed to him sending his soul into dizzying heights of freighted anxiety.

Magister Ordinis de Thaddeum I make you...

He jolted from his trance by the sound of his own scoff. He closed his eyes and took a stabilizing breath, his mind spewing a torrent of hard-knocks truths.

Master of the Order of Thaddeus I make you? I’m no Order Master. I’m barely keeping it together as a parish priest! Or, rather, former parish priest…And I went and ruined that too. Plus the nagging doubts about the faith in the first place. Whether it has run its course. Whether it still offers the hope it professes to a world that is one foot in Hades. Whether it will survive the assaults from false teachings inside the Church and the persecution from Solterra outside Ichthus.

Alexander sighed. And I’m supposed to lead a remnant from a forgotten, lost Order that’s been scattered to the wind for nearly the life cycle of a generation?

With whom? How? With what? And where?

The remaining hub for the Order had just collapsed in a phantasmic show of fire and fury. And while Master Theo suggested there were other members of the Order of Thaddeus somewhere in the world, he gave no word of who they were or where they were.

And what was that whole, ‘follow the fiery one, the God-bearer’ business? Had no idea what the man was speaking of. Could jolly well have been the synapses of the dying man’s brain misfiring for all he knew.

Then there was Panligo, the greatest threat to Ichthus in centuries. Not to mention Nous, a resurgent enemy of the Church clawing its way back out from the shadows. Surely neither would let the work of the Order of Thaddeus resume.

And then there was Solterra to consider, whose designs in all of the recent actions taken against Ichthus remained a mystery.

His mind kept spinning out doubts and disbelief without mercy.

What am I going to do?

The ribbons of narcotic relief throbbed in his pocket as he continued staring at the medallion, the weight of its significance growing by the second and causing his chest to constrict in on itself.

The sound of falling rubble broke his stare.

Alexander snapped his head toward the ceiling, throwing his hands up on instinct to shield himself from what sounded like the whole blasted chamber falling in on itself.

The sound returned, but from the stairwell, a chunk of mortar and stone skipping down the stairs and tumbling to a halt a meter from Master Theo’s feet.

More falling rubble boomed through the stairwell, and more debris tumbled toward him.

Then a familiar voice echoed a blessedly hopeful call in the recognizable Noramericana twang of his partner: You still alive down there, homefry?

Alexander flashed a grin towards the heavens, eyes filling with thankful emotion that Ford was still alive. Relieved for the offer of rescue just as the candles breathed their last sighing breath before snuffing out, his own lungs beginning to burn from lack of oxygen.

I’m here! he said, scrambling from the floor with a painful wince. He moaned and growled but plodded forward, moving up the stairs on all fours toward a head poking through a hole haloed by the dawn’s first light

Ford’s face was covered with beige powder, rivulets of dried blood caked from his hairline down toward his chin. His nose carried the beating he took earlier from the Nousati hostile, and both his bottom lip and left eye looked swollen.

You’re a sight to behold, Alexander said.

Speak for yourself. Come on, let’s get you out of there.

Took some time and effort, both men running on empty and with tattered bodies, but they were able to clear an opening in the cave-in from the explosives set by the dead Nousati.

Alexander crawled through the makeshift opening and into a maw of wickedness reminiscent of the scenes of death and destruction from endless wars that had played out across the world before the Reckoning and the peace Solterra had brought.

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