Days of Fire: Battles for Freedom:

By Nancy Huber

A boy from the future. A Persian slave girl. One deadly secret.

Marius, a delinquent teenager, has more trouble than he can handle. He is sent back in time and finds himself facing yet another dilemma.

King Antiochus Epiphanes IV crushes Jerusalem, leaving the Jewish people in deep affliction. Their lives in jeopardy, the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Academy Elite
• Release date: Sep 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647462802

Nancy Huber

Nancy Huber is the author of Days of Fire, Escape Through Time, and Kingdom of Eternity. She studied Egyptology at the University of Manchester, England. She has four grown children and is the grandmother of two adorable grandsons. She and her husband reside in the beautiful mountains of British Columbia, where they share their home with numerous critters.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Random City, 1999

Running footsteps echoed in the dark alley. There was no light to see the path, but the youth knew this way well, and he ran without hesitation, his feet finding their way along the deep cracks and bumps of the old street. The streets looked desolate this time of night, the buildings looming eerily from the shadows.

The bleak evening, with its long shadows and darkness, drowned out all sounds. The youth continued running past deserted alleys and parking lots until he came around a corner, stopping in front of a rust-colored door, the paint peeling off at several places. He halted for a moment, bending over, catching his breath, before he hesitantly turned the knob with shaky fingers and let himself through the creaky, old door.

CHAPTER 2

Quietness filled the room. Staring at the wall ahead of him, Master Zhang sat cross-legged on a pillow. He had been in this position for quite some time—waiting. His old, wrinkled face seemed tranquil. Only his eyes betrayed what he was feeling. The foreshadows of a haunting prolepsis rose within them. His thin, pale lips were hidden by a silver beard with two long strands reaching past his chin on either side.

In front of the master sat an old wooden box—small enough to fit into a man’s palm—and beside it lay a long, narrow object wrapped in an ancient piece of linen.

There was no sound nor any movement inside the apartment. Yet the sounds one could not hear were overwhelming and powerful. Sounds of past and future surrounded the old man, embracing him with a knowledge not from this world. An almost invisible smile whispered across the master’s face, an old secret written in his eyes. Looking at the old wooden box, he gave a slight nod as if agreeing with an old friend. He was ready. He had been ready for a long time—waiting for this moment.

Tonight was the night! Tonight, everything would change! His life and someone else’s.

Like his, it was a road paved with tears, covered in blood.

There was no glory or mercy.

This path was filled with pain and suffering.

He knew, for he had been there. Now, it was time to give it up and hand it over to someone else.

And he knew just who that person would be.

CHAPTER 3

Persia, Mesopotamia–Land Between Two Rivers, 172 BC

The night was dark. An owl ascended without a sound, carrying a lifeless mouse in its talons.

The small village just outside of Susa had suffered under the hands of the bandits. Everyone who had stayed in the village, hoping to find sanctuary in their homes, had paid with their lives. Only a few had escaped and found refuge behind the safe walls of Susa.

Two young girls lay huddled against their mother. Two young hearts beated like hammers within their chests while they held their mother’s hand, which no longer was nourished by life-giving blood.

Fear choked them as they lay in the darkness, afraid to breathe. Would the bandits return? They did not know, so they lay still, waiting, unable to comprehend their loss. The sorrow and brutality were too huge.

Life had not been easy after their kind father had passed away only one year ago. The girls adored their mother. And life somehow continued for the young sisters. It had not been the same, but at least they had each other.

But now, their tender lives lay shattered in the dirt. The bandits had taken their light, their hope, their song.

Yasamin, three years younger than ten-year-old Shireen, let out an uncontrolled sob. She had tried to stay quiet, but she couldn’t keep the hot tears in any longer. Shireen closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, praying to Hashem, the God of Israel. With a sigh, her breathing came easier, and the fear of danger slowly receded.

First light found its way through the small window above their heads. Shireen could make out the contours of her sister’s face. Drops of tears shimmered on her long, thick eyelashes; the early morning sun reflected in the silver drops.

Just when Shireen thought it was safe to get up, both girls looked at each other horrified, their blood curdled within them. A creaking sound disturbed the silence.

The heavy hinges on the old door always groaned when opened or closed. Mother had always complained about the stiff, arthritic door hinge to their father. The creaky door had somehow always given the young girls a sense of hope and love. Not now!

The door was pushed open. Both girls stopped breathing, their eyes revealing the terror both felt.

Footsteps entered. Then, they stopped.

Light poured through the door, the huge figure of a man blocking it. Yasamin caught her breath.

The large man bent down, and to Shireen’s terror, he seized Yasamin by her arm. Her sister screamed. Pain and horror filled Shireen’s heart as she watched the scene in front of her. She was numb for one second, thoughts whirling through her head, yet none made any sense. Pictures of her mother and father dancing in front of their little hut, Yasamin picking flowers for their mother. Then, pictures of her father slipped into her mind, when he lay without breath before them. And now, her poor mother, also without any life in her, lying beside her.

Father gone; mother gone. Yasamin was the only one left. Shireen’s frozen blood thawed instantly, boiling with bitter rage and hate. She was the oldest of the two, and it was her responsibility to save her little sister. No one else was here, so it needed to be her.

Without thinking, Shireen jumped up. She had not even considered what she would do once she was on her feet. She was small, and he was big. He was armed, and she was not.

All these things did not matter at the moment. He had Yasamin.

As she jumped up, she shrieked a war-like scream—fearless like a lioness protecting her cub.

Caught by total surprise, the man dropped Yasamin. Whimpering, Yasamin shuffled to the corner, drawing her knees in tight.

Shireen vaulted forward, and with a force unknown to her, she kicked the man in the groin. A rather soft kick, but coming as a surprise, the man staggered backwards, losing his balance and his footing. He stumbled and fell against the door, hitting the edge of the frame with his head. Blood gushed forth immediately.

Shireen stood still, her heart thumping in her throat. The soft morning light cascaded on her ashen face as she stared at the limp body.

CHAPTER 4

Random City, 1999

The boy lingered in front of the door to Master Zhang’s training studio.

His name was Marius; he was seventeen.

Too young to understand the ground-breaking rules of life; and too impatient, too restless, too naïve. Kids like him thought they knew everything. They wanted to conquer the world with their impertinence and, in return, wondered why everything went wrong.

The blood still sticky on his hands, he disappeared through the door.

CHAPTER 5

Marius opened the door with too much force and fell through the entrance. He hung onto the doorknob, but his slippery fingers could not get a good grip. Hence, the knob slipped through his fingers, and he landed on the dirty cement floor. Picking himself up off the floor, Marius wiped his hands on his faded jeans. He gave the door a push and staggered toward the stairs.

Streetlight forced its way through the dusty little window above the door; the little bit of light got lost beyond the first steps. The entrance hall and stairway lay in silent darkness. Missing the first stair, Marius tripped, his right hand shooting upwards, taking a grip on the railing. His hand was shaking. Not only his hand, but his whole body began to tremble, forcing the boy to sit down.

Marius sat down on the dusty step. He looked around disoriented, as if waking up from a bad dream. Staring at his sticky hands, shock and horror gripped his heart. A sob escaped his lips. What have I done?

Nestling his head in his bloody hands, the youth broke down into tears.

Voices filled his head. Visions of a fight appeared. He remembered angry words; pictures of his mother danced in front of his eyes. What have I done?

Tires screeched. A siren howled in the distance.

Marius looked around, surprised he ended up here. He recognized this hallway. He knew where he was, but he wasn’t sure how he got here. Everything was a blur.

He had nowhere else to go.

Fear crawled down his spine. I am a fugitive now. An outlaw. What will become of me? The police will hunt me down sooner or later. I will be the first on their list. They will come looking for me.

He knew he couldn’t outwit the law, but he needed time. Just a little more time. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t ready to go to jail tonight. He knew he deserved it for what he had done. There was no question about it. He was no coward. But he needed one more day. Tomorrow, he would turn himself in. He had too much to deal with at that moment. And he needed to steady his nerves.

Turning his head, he glanced upwards. His only help and guidance came from there. His mind still in shock, the youth pulled himself up, crawling up the steps toward the only hope he had. Master Zhang would know what to do. Knowing this, Marius found the strength to tackle the last stairs until he stood in front of the door, which led to his deliverance.

CHAPTER 6

Susa, Mesopotamia—The Land Between Two Rivers, 172 BC

The streets were dark and lonely.

At first, people showed pity and compassion to the two sisters. Someone would drop a round sweet cake into their little hands or a fig or date here and there. It was never much and never enough to survive.

After the traumatic and life-changing incident in their village, Shireen and Yasamin had found refuge behind the sheltered walls of Susa. Having no relations or friends to turn to, Shireen had hoped the thick walls of Susa would gather them in like a mother would. They hoped for a blanket of comfort. They had been naïve to believe this.

Every day, they fought for survival. At first, they tried begging—hoping and relying on the goodwill of others. It had not provided enough. The few morsels had barely kept them alive. Shireen had watched her sister grow weaker; the brightness of her eyes grew dim. It had terrified her, icy fingers of fear taking hold of her heart. Something needed to improve, or they would both perish.

Shireen began watching the people at the bazaar more closely, especially those who partook in the lively activities and the gossiping of the merchants. Every day, she and her sister would sit close by on a rock while Shireen observed and studied the merchants at their stalls.

Susa’s bazaar was well known in all of the Persian kingdom. It was highly respected for its fine pottery. Merchants from far away came to obtain high-quality wool and woven textiles, but it was the gold and the silver craftsmanship that ultimately drew people into Susa.

The bazaar ran through the entire city, from one city gate to the next. No other bazaar was like it. It was spectacular—with its vaulted cupolas and bright, colorful awnings above many stalls.

It was bustling and noisy throughout the day; the bazaar filled with generous and conniving merchants, bankers, and craftsmen. Busy housewives mingled amongst the nobles while shopping for produce and catching the latest gossip.

Shireen could almost taste the succulent sweetness of the oranges, the bitter crunch of lemons, and the tart chalkiness of white cheese. Wooden carts filled with prickly pears, dates, and figs blocked her view for one short moment, but then the bazaar materialized again in front of her, an explosion of colors, scents, and sounds.

Early morning sunlight leaked down upon the shopkeepers and sellers. Shireen watched a big, fat merchant wearing a long robe dyed with Tyrian purple, who held his rounded belly each time he laughed. And he laughed a lot.

Then, there was the merchant across from him—a tall, skinny man with noble features, dressed in fine and colorful garments. In front of him was a display of the lion-headed eagle, Imdugud, who symbolized the god who protected domestic animals. His wings were of shining lapis lazuli, his head and tail of the purest gold. Many people stopped at his stall, admiring the beautiful craftsmanship.

Beside the skinny man was another merchant who was dressed in simple fashion. He liked to indulge in hearty conversations with the buyers. His stall overflowed with fresh figs, peaches, and pomegranates. As Shireen watched more closely, she could make out some fruit that had fallen underneath the table. With just a little bit of luck, one might be able to grab some, Shireen thought.

I’ll be right back, she said to Yasamin; Shireen slipped into the crowd and disappeared. A few minutes later, Shireen returned with a big smile, handing a fig and a peach to Yasamin.

From now on, we will no longer go hungry—a promise Shireen made to herself that day.

CHAPTER 7

Random City, 1999

Master Zhang opened his eyes. Reaching forward, he took the little box into his hands, making it disappear under his gown. With the easiness of a youth, the old master sprang up and walked over to the wall on his right—where a faded picture hung in a simple bronze frame.

A moist layer separated him from the image. Memories flooded his mind as he was drawn back into time. A single tear escaped out of the depth of his agony. His heart held a lot of pain, but this was not the place to reflect on it.

There was no time. Turning on his heel, he left the room. Tonight, everything would change.

Opening his door, the old master found the boy crumbled at his feet.

CHAPTER 8

Susa, Mesopotamia–The Land Between Two Rivers, 172 BC

One could see a slim opening revealing the bright twinkling of the stars. Shireen lay on her back, her sleeping sister nestled closely against her. Shireen could not sleep and, instead, stared up between the high mudbrick walls, straining for a sliver of hope—yet out of reach.

The ground was hard; the air was crisp. She shivered and longed for home. A home that no longer existed but had vanished into the mist. A tear slipped down her cheek as she thought of her mama and abba and the wonderful life they once had before it had been brutally demolished.

Where was Hashem? Mama had always told them that Hashem was the one and only true God, watching and protecting the children of Israel. His name was too holy to speak out loud, so His children began calling Him Hashem—or the Name. Her mother had explained that He looked after the widows and orphans. Her heart turned cold, for she had not seen him once. Yasamin had to sleep on the cold ground in a dark alley. Where was Hashem in all of this?

The days had so woven into each other that Shireen no longer knew how long they had been in Susa. One morning, the girls wandered by the remains of Ahasveros’ Palace. Its beauty had fallen into rubble, the foxes and mice living amongst the collapsed and decayed palace. Queen Esther once lived amongst those walls. Yasamin stopped walking. Pools of sadness filled her eyes as she looked at Shireen.

When can we go home? Yasamin asked. I want to go home! Tears welled from deep within and coursed down her cheeks.

Shireen’s throat throbbed as she choked back her tears. She could not let her little sister see her cry. She needed to be strong. But what could she say to her? There were no right words of comfort. No right promises for her sister. Instead, she hugged her sister close, and they stood in silence. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted toward them, reviving old memories of home. It awakened a deep, hollow pain in the pits of their stomachs.

At that moment, Shireen hated herself for what they had become—thieves and beggars, the lowest of the lowest. No wonder Hashem did not want anything to do with them. They were outcasts, sinking lower and lower. Shireen tried to remain hopeful for her little sister.

Please tell me the story of Esther once more, Yasamin pleaded, pearls of tears still clinging to her dark lashes.

Shireen grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her out of the sun toward the shade of a tree and a rock to sit on. Esther’s story was a favorite of Yasamin’s. And who could hold it against her? It was a fairy-tale story of an orphan girl who was kidnapped and thrown into the king’s harem.

Birds chirped happily in the tree above them as Shireen glanced over at the Achaemenid Palace. She sighed. Luscious, shady trees surrounded the old palace, the scent of lilacs heavy in the air.

Shireen closed her eyes, breathing in deeply the fragranced air. Opening her eyes, she smiled at Yasamin. Hmm, where should I begin?

With Uncle Mordechai! Yasamin spoke with intensity.

Yes, Uncle Mordecai. He raised the little orphan girl, Hadassah.

We are orphans, too, aren’t we? Yasamin asked.

Unquestionably so, my darling, we are also orphans. Shireen sighed deeply and then continued, Hadassah lost her parents, and bless his soul, Uncle Mordecai took the girl in and raised her as his own. Now, Uncle Mordecai had a very important position at the Palace of Susa.

Yasamin interrupted again, And we are in Susa. Her little eyes shone brightly.

Absolutely true, Yasamin, we are in Esther’s Susa.

And Esther was Jewish, just like us, Yasamin added with almost too much enthusiasm.

Shireen glanced around, hoping no one had heard. The Jewish people were not very popular amongst the Persians.

What does that mean? Yasamin continued with innocence.

That means we are the chosen ones from Hashem. Even though I don’t feel chosen at all, Shireen thought.

Yasamin tilted her head in deep thought. If we are the chosen ones, then why are we orphans? Why do we have to sleep in the streets and steal food?

Instead of answering, Shireen looked up into the branches, watching a butterfly as it fluttered from blossom to blossom. Hashem had long forgotten about them, His so-called children, but she could not tell this to Yasamin. She could not destroy the tiny spark of hope still left in her sister’s heart. Even though her spark had been distinguished.

Somehow, the flair for the story had vanished with the raw reality of the question. A butterfly gracefully landed on her hand and then flitted upwards, disappearing through the branches.

CHAPTER 9

Random City, 1999

Master Zhang looked down at the boy. A sad smile crossed his lips as he bent down, touching the boy’s head gently. Marius. Get up!

Marius lifted his head, looking at the master with shame and confusion.

It’s all right. You are safe. Don’t say anything … just yet. Pointing down the hall, he continued, Go wash yourself. I’ll go make us some tea.

Making tea was like a religious ceremony for Master Zhang. Marius knew, for he had watched him countless times in the past. He would always make the same tea for visitors. A fragile green tea called Maojian from the region of XinYang. This tea was made from the finest tip, its slender leaf rolled to resemble a needle.

The secret of its taste lay in the depth and knowledge of its preparation. Master Zhang would always soak the leaves with a little room temperature water to protect the leaves before pouring in the hot water. If one did not heed this important factor, the tea held a grassy taste, dishonoring the flavor.

Tea always seemed to solve all the problems in the world. Marius would roll his eyes on previous occasions of crisis when the master offered tea. But not tonight. Tonight, he did not roll his eyes. Obediently, he rolled over and stood up, making his way over to the bathroom, switching on the light, and disappearing into the small room.

He turned on the hot water, letting it run over his hands, feeling nothing. Marius looked into the mirror. He almost jumped at his reflection, not recognizing himself. He had aged overnight. His dark eyes stared back cold and empty, his charcoal, thick hair lay matted upon his head.

Marius stared down into the sink, watching the red mingle with the water—fascinated by the patterns the blood made. He stared at it as it disappeared down the drain. His mind completely emptied, as if all his thoughts swirled down that same hole, disappearing into nothingness.

He continued staring into the sink, frozen and hypnotized. He heard nothing except the beating of his own heart pounding strong within his chest. His mind was empty, no thoughts floating through the dimensions of his brain. A delusive peace born of shock wrapped around him.

A light knock on the door brought Marius back to life. His heart almost jumped out of his ribcage.

Marius, tea is ready.

Marius glanced in the mirror one last time before turning off the water. A stranger stared back at him.

A little while later, Marius found himself seated across from Master Zhang. The master stared into his teacup, patiently waiting for the boy to speak. Minutes ticked by. The tea turned cold. Neither had taken a sip of the pale liquid.

I’ve done a terrible thing, the boy finally broke the silence. … my mother. Tears rolled down his face. Still, the master stayed silent.

I have killed … Marius sobbed.

More time ticked by.

I have gone against everything you have taught me. I let anger take control of me. I took revenge … a life for a life … Marius looked into the master’s eyes, expecting to see disappointment or resentment. What he saw instead twisted his insides. I have let you down, Marius gulped. I will never be the same again.

Yes, my son, you are right about that, Master Zhang finally said. Nothing will ever be the same again. Marius, you will have to tell what happened, at least this once, to me—from the beginning to the end. After that, destiny is on its way. The die has been cast … but you need to tell me everything. Master Zhang slowly got up from his chair. I will warm up the tea. That should give you enough time to sort through your thoughts. When I come back, I will be ready to listen to your story.

While Master Zhang disappeared into the kitchen with the teapot, Marius was left sitting at the table, cradling his head between his hands. He was scared to live and scared to die. He had lost everything in a moment. He felt as if his life had been flushed down the drain.

CHAPTER 10

Susa, Mesopotamia–The Land Between Two Rivers, 172 BC

A dry breeze was blowing from the west. The city of Susa lay crushed under the blazing sun, the hot wind promising a desert storm.

People outside the walls were calling their livestock, merging them into cramped, secure spaces. Mothers called their children. Husbands checked on their families.

Inside the city gates, similar preparations were underway. The bazaar lay empty and deserted.

It was so very tempting!

The girls found themselves alone in the middle of the long street, some stalls abandoned, yet overflowing with scrumptious goods.