Light of the Holy

By F. John Hurr

Book Two of The Light Trilogy.

If Richard Benton thought he could hide from the dark forces of Satan, then he was wrong. After the spiritual battle for Penrhos Bay in North Wales, the young Reverend, Richard Benton seeks solitude and peace in the highlands of Scotland. Although Richard and his young wife, who is pregnant with their first child, are protected by Samuel, a warrior angel sent from heaven, they cannot escape the evil attention of Prince Rimmon and his devious demon, Ganymede. Every hour of every day, dark forces track their very movements and when evil finally strikes, even their guardian angel cannot save them. Disaster follows and the couple find themselves in dire circumstances that prove sometimes evil can win and causes the light of the holy to become dimmed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Aug 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514462263

F. John Hurr

F. John Hurr is a biblical scholar, philosopher and free-lance writer. Light of the Holy is his second book of fiction. Major influences include C.S. Lewis, Henning Mankell, Arthur Conan Doyle and M.R. James. He lives with his wife in the UK.

Book preview

PART ONE

ONE

Rimmon waited with much fear and trembling and more than a little resentment. He was sore afraid, having been summoned by his lord and master. To be commanded to appear before the mighty one was indeed a great honor—or a great disgrace. In light of his recent failure, the humiliating debacle at Penrhos Bay where his forces were so easily routed by Bezalel and his confounded angels, Rimmon knew why he had been summoned. His feelings of dread were well founded, for many were called to Satan’s private chambers, but only a lucky few emerged alive and well.

Rimmon knew the lord of Hell showed little or no interest in his subordinates, and no one demon ever had special access to Satan or was ever shown favor for long. The Dark Lord had no use for the bickering and infighting of his sycophantic horde. He was at all times, preoccupied with thoughts of vengeance. Ever since his ignominious expulsion from Heaven’s courts, Satan had busied himself plotting the down fall of his sworn enemy.

Elohim had found rebellion in the heart of Lucifer and had cast him down into the outermost regions of creation. Satan now was bent on one thing, and one thing only: to reap revenge on Christendom and usurp the throne of God. If evil had a face it was the countenance of Satan.

Where there was love, he would sow hate. Where there was faith, he would sow doubt and unbelief. Where there was hope, he would sow despair. Where there was light, he would bring darkness. And where there was life among God’s followers, Satan would gladly bring death. Havoc and disaster, torment and pain, lust and greed—these were the tools of his terrible trade. His one abiding aim was to corrupt and destroy all that God, had called good. To this end he plotted, labored day and night, age upon age, to set himself free from the yoke of God and assume lordship over all.

Prince Rimmon was fully aware he was nothing more than a pawn in Satan’s plans. He had long served as one of Satan’s commanders on the earth, but his future now appeared grim. Rimmon wracked his brain, struggling to understand why his foe had been so eager to protect that insignificant cesspit of a town. Penrhos Bay was a miserable dunghill with a scattering of only a few men and women loyal to God. Why? Why?

As Rimmon waited in the antechamber, he fumed, deploring the fact that his lieutenant Ganymede had not also been summoned. He should be here to stand alongside Rimmon and face the wrath of the Prince of Darkness. After all, losing the battle had been Ganymede’s fault entirely. Rimmon had trusted his friend to carry out the battle plans to the letter. If Ganymede had done as he had been instructed, victory would have been assured. It was Ganymede’s incompetence—and, of course, that oaf Gathan’s lack of cunning—that had led to their defeat. He sincerely hoped that Gathan was at this very moment immersed in the unquenchable fire of the deepest pit of hell suffering agonizing torture in that sulfurous place. Rimmon felt no pity for him whatsoever.

Now that Rimmon was to stand before his lord, should he attempt to place the blame on Ganymede and Gathan and mitigate his own part in the defeat? He pondered this strategy. Perhaps even now he could save his own skin by incriminating his lieutenants. This thought intrigued him momentarily… but was then quickly abandoned. Satan would see through that subterfuge straightaway. Rimmon sighed deeply. He knew he alone would bear the blame, for he was standing in Satan’s court and they were not.

Then another thought came to mind. Perhaps he could salvage the situation by simply accepting full responsibility for the failure at Penrhos Bay. What if he stood tall and took his punishment honorably? After all, he had served Satan well for many centuries. There was a possibility his master would be merciful. Yet as Rimmon thought this through, he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. His lord was called Satan, a name given him after the great schism. The very name meant the accuser.

Rimmon felt sick in the pit of his stomach. He had the urge to vomit but fought it back. He felt faint and steadied himself by leaning against the wall. These may well be his final minutes before annihilation.

Two huge ugly demons stood guard outside the throne room. They stared at Rimmon with pitiless eyes, clearly tasting his apprehension and smelling his fear. They were enjoying every moment. Each demon held a large curved scimitar raised high to bar entrance to the chamber. The massive doors to Satan’s inner apartment were crafted from precious metals mined from the depths of the Earth. Satan plundered freely, stealing indiscriminately from the world’s resources, always diminishing precious metals and jewels. He stripped the forests bare and laid the green places waste. He was strangling nature, slowly, inexorably extinguishing the very life of the planet. He would be quite happy to be Lord of a desolate planet.

Ostentatious gems studded the framework of the doorway in intricate designs cruelly crafted from diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and pearls. The sins of the flesh and symbols of evil were set intaglio into the hard fabric. These were sculpted and cut from ivory and bone, taken from animals long vanished from the earth. The door handles were gold and silver, fashioned as ripened fruit like that found in the Garden of Eden, site of Satan’s greatest victory. Torches burned bright on each side of the doors, illuminating the space about the guards while, just a few yards away, Rimmon stood disconsolate in the shadows.

Then from beyond the doors came a discordant melody, haunting music made by flute, pipe, and voice. Rimmon listened intently, straining his ears to hear the strange melody that emanated from within Satan’s inner sanctum. As the music played on, the doors slowly opened. The guards stepped aside and, lowering their swords, bade him enter. Stepping forward as the condemned to the scaffold, Rimmon halted for a moment upon the threshold and bowed low his head, his fear growing.

Rimmon, you may approach, the Dark Lord’s voice beckoned.

He took a few steps forward but dared not look up.

The doors behind Rimmon closed shut. There was no escape, for he was now alone with the terrible god of this age.

Strange music filled the vast room. Rimmon looked around but saw neither musicians nor singers. There was a fragrance in the air, an exquisite perfume, full of subtlety, dominating the atmosphere, intoxicating. The music floated like smoke blown on the air, dancing on a breeze. The sounds were capricious, feral, and completely spirituous, with a quality both beguiling and intimidating. Rimmon was oddly exhilarated by the scent and the sounds, yet his keen senses alerted him to something poisonous within. The effect was one of inebriation, and he began to hallucinate psychedelic visions, shapes and scenes he had never seen before nor witnessed in his dreams.

At the very center of the great room was a golden throne, and upon it sat his satanic majesty. The diabolical dais upon which the throne perched was made of rough-hewn rock of purple porphyry, and it appeared as an island rising out of a dark sea. The seat of power was fashioned from purest gold, unadorned by precious jewels, and its surface shone like mirrored glass. Satan sat upon the throne, regal, imperious. His whole demeanor spoke of arrogance, and his countenance was full of pride. Above the throne was a high domed ceiling made of pure crystal, imitating the heavens of the universe. In this private domain, it was always night and never day.

The design of this domed space suggested the verisimilitude of space and the universe. Brilliant stars shone and vibrated in the firmament above Satan’s head, while numerous suns and galaxies waxed and waned. Filling a quarter of this cosmic vault was Earth, God’s own favored creation. The planet turned on its axis slowly, its blue-green beauty marred by scars of brown and black, pockmarked places where Satan’s hand had blighted the landscape. Indeed, it was his desire to see this world totally blackened, barren and devoid of every living thing.

The floor of the chamber was made of transparent glass, and below its surface was a translucent sea of cobalt blue and emerald green. Beneath the floor a strange amorphous liquid moved as if it were a living thing. Rimmon’s eyes were drawn to its depths, and he watched spellbound as mysterious coagulations of bloodlike forms glowed with crimson light, moving through the mass and then dissolving into the fathomless blue, deeper, deeper to where the waters thickened into velvet, inky blackness. Strange and peculiar shapes unlike anything found in the oceans of the earth moved about in the depths—slithering, sickly pale things, boneless entities formed out of Satan’s thoughts.

Come, friend, enter my realm. You are welcome here.

Rimmon’s rapt attention was broken. He gazed at his master and saw that the music he heard and the perfume he breathed issued from Satan’s body. From pipes and flutes crafted in his flesh the sounds came forth. From open pores the fragrance came. Words from the accursed Scriptures came to mind:

‘Thou wast perfect in thy ways from the day that thou wast created, till iniquity was found in thee.’

Before him the solid surface at his feet melted away until only the sea remained. Rimmon drew back, fearing lest he fall into its frightening depths.

Have faith, my dear one, Satan said. Trust in me. Walk upon the waters.

The demon prince hesitated as Satan watched.

Come, come to me.

Rimmon stepped out onto the waters, and the surface held him. He took another step. And then another, quickening his pace until, striding forth, he made his way towards the throne.

Satan smiled at him. Place your faith in me and no one else, and you shall live.

My lord and my king, I… I worship you! Rimmon exclaimed.

Then the smile on Satan’s face changed.

The tranquil sea became troubled.

Small waves lapped against the rocky island where Satan sat serene.

Rimmon’s ankles dipped below the shifting waters, and he began to panic. Two fiery red eyes were rising up from the depths to meet him. The demon prince wanted to cry out, but he could not. He continued slipping slowly downward. His knees were now covered, and his eyes widened as the creature from the deep began circling him. Rimmon could now clearly see the colossal serpent gliding effortlessly through the depths of the turbulent sea. In one swift motion, the creature struck, coiling its sinuous body about the demon’s legs and then his abdomen and chest, constricting his breath. The monstrous head of the snake rocked to and fro before Rimmon’s face, gazing into his eyes.

He tried to scream, but no sound issued from his mouth. The serpent was mesmerizing him while slowly, slowly crushing him in its deadly embrace and drawing him down, ever down into the murky depths. The demon struggled for breath as he felt the waters spill over him. He could not resist. Terror filled his heart. Despite being fully submerged, Rimmon felt the foul breath of the beast upon his face and the stench of its entrails in his nostrils. He could feel his life ebbing away. He now understood this was his fate, to sink into the depths and join the other countless victims who had come to Satan’s lair. He would himself become one of the hideous forms he had glimpsed what seemed like hours ago, swimming about this pestilent lake for all eternity.

With one last desperate struggle, Rimmon fought to save himself, knowing even as he did it was useless to even try. Failing miserably, he finally acquiesced and submitted himself unto a slow annihilation.

Suddenly, the awful moment passed, and he found himself lying exhausted, utterly spent and prostrate before Satan’s throne. The Dark Lord looked down upon him, a sardonic smile on his face, at that moment he loved his lord and knew he was prepared to do anything—anything—for the Father of Lies.

TWO

Sarah was standing quite still in the living room of the rectory, a yellow dusting rag in one hand and a can of spray polish in the other. She was listening intently to the beautiful voice of Maria Callas singing ‘Ave Maria’ on a cd. It was as if every note struck a chord deep inside her. The soprano’s sweet angelic sound delighted her. She had never heard anything so wonderful. Her emotions were overwhelmed but she did not know why. Tears began to flow. It was a song of homage to the mother of God.

‘Hail Mary full of grace’

A voice that shone as bright as a diamond, as clear as a bell, as soft as a singing bird and as true as the sound of angels in heaven.

‘Blessed is the fruit of the womb’

The miraculous encounter told of in the gospel of Luke

‘The Lord is with thee’

Sarah’s head swam. She closed her eyes and she began to feel faint. The music held her as if supporting her body, not allowing her to fall. The voice, the words, the utter sweetness of the sounds so evocative. A powerful scent of new life and something else? Like a garden in summer the myriad fragrances combining elusively then parting, returning. Life in all its powerful paradoxes yet in the heart decay and death.

‘Blessed art thou among women’

‘Am I blessed?’ thought Sarah.

She opened her hand and the yellow duster floated to the carpet. She clasped her abdomen. She gasped at the thought that formed in her mind.

Her head swam. She opened her eyes in surprise. Her mouth ready to cry out…but no sound came from her lips.

‘Blessed art thou among women’

I am going to have a child!

The singer sang so beautifully, but there was pain hidden in the joy, weaving a dark thread in the tapestry.

Sarah began to weep. Her heart filled with joy. Tears fell off her cheeks and she could not stop.

‘In the hour of death, our death’

Suddenly a griping pain convulsed her and she bent over double. She cried out in agony as the pain coursed through her.

Richard heard her scream and bounded down the stairs taking two and three steps in one leap.

He saw her in the living room on her knees.

Sarah…what on earth is it?

He knelt beside her trembling body.

What’s happened?

There was anxiety in his voice.

She looked up at him and he saw in her eyes both fear and wonder.

I am going to have a baby.

A baby? But why did you scream out?

There was a pain…I had this overwhelming feeling about a baby and then a terrible pain gripped me…here inside.

She placed her hand on her abdomen.

Is it still there…the pain I mean?

Richard was worried about his wife.

No, it’s gone. Help me up Richard please.

Richard helped her stand and then sat her in a nearby armchair.

Sit there and I’ll get you some water. Do you want some painkillers?

No, truly it’s gone. It only lasted a second but it was like being stabbed with a knife.

Richard looked at his wife. She had a look of consternation on her face.

Oh Richard if I am going to have a baby does the sudden pain in my tummy mean that there is something wrong with child?

I don’t know…

THREE

The following day Bishop Nigel Jeffries sat alongside Richard in the town Magistrates court. The coroner was summing up. She had listened to all the evidence provided by the police and witnesses, including the Bishop himself, into the tragic death of Reverend Sydney Stannard.

The room was packed with people all interested to hear the verdict especially the reporters. The room was overheating. The new building was still experiencing teething problems with maintaining adequate climate levels. Outside it was bitterly cold, but inside the court it was like Kew Gardens Tropical plant house.

The Coroner read from her closing statement.

I am unable to say what the late Reverend Stannard had in his mind when he entered the churchyard that fateful night with a gun in his hand. His intention may have been to do some person or persons’ unknown serious injury; he may have indeed been contemplating murder. As Stannard did not communicate his intentions to anyone we may never know or come to understand what he planned to do and what his motives were. It would appear that he either slipped and tripped or simply stumbled backwards and striking his head upon the hard surface of the ground sustained a fatal injury as a result of his fall. Therefore based upon the evidence I have seen and heard I can only come to one conclusion, that the death of Reverend Sydney Stannard was an accident. The case is closed

Standing up, and not wanting to pull on his overcoat and scarf until he got outside in the winter cold the Bishop spoke to his companion.

A good end to a bad affair I think Richard.

But no mention by the Coroner of Jonas Silth’s part in the melodrama? enquired Richard Benton, newly appointed vicar of St. David’s.

Oh come now Richard this chamber is part of what most people call the real world. No record of questionable spiritual activities would ever be entered in this court’s books. They would judge such activities as totally spurious.

Of course you are right Nigel. But until the general public accept the fact that spirit beings exist…

He hesitated.

Well until then they will never know the truth.

You are wise to think so, but to say as much in public would, even as a priest would have you committed as a lunatic. There are those in our own church who scoff at such beliefs.

Outside the skies were leaden grey and menacing. A storm was brewing over the sea.

The bishop buttoned up his overcoat to ward off the cold wind and knotted a woollen scarf at this throat then gripped Richard’s arm tightly.

If anything extraordinary takes place in your ministry or even simply out of the ordinary for that matter, my advice is suspect that angels or demons are at work and act accordingly. Pray for guidance or protection and always remember this fact… our God is bigger than theirs.

Thank you Bishop, I shall.

But Richard my good friend the sky might be downcast and grey but we are in the business of bringing joy to the masses.

The pair set off down High Street with the wind at their backs and coming into the centre of town they glimpsed up ahead, what appeared to be a civil disturbance? A crowd of people had gathered on the pavement outside a book shop window. The assorted congregation of men, women and children were laughing loudly and reacting boisterously to something they saw.

I think we’d better investigate don’t you? said the Bishop striding off in the direction of the noisy assembly. Upon arrival at the edge of the throng the Bishop elbowed his way to the front of the vociferous group. Richard followed in his wake. As soon as the Bishop saw what was happening he burst into laughter unable to contain himself. Seated in the window of the book shop at a desk there was a bearded middle-aged man, in a bright red shirt, working on a laptop. He was engaging the crowd on the pavement by holding up signs and notices in between writing in order to have a ‘conversation’ with passers-by. Some of the signs had jokes on them and every time the crowd got the joke they roared with laughter. Above his head was another sign saying ‘Meet the Author – In Store Today.’

What do you think of that Richard? Bishop Nigel guffawed. It’s brilliant! And it gives me an idea. Richard looked at him quizzically.

The bishop leant forward and banged on the window. The writer looked up.

Well done Sir! Well done I say!

They walked on down High street towards St. David’s Church where Richard was now the minister. On the other side of the road two clergymen, recognisable by their dog-collars, were going in the opposite direction. The older of the two men doffed his hat to Nigel and Richard.

Do you know them? the bishop asked.

No…never seen them before. Should we cross-over and speak to them?

Not necessary Richard, another time. I am sure we shall bump into them again it’s a small place.

Not Anglicans. Methodists I should think?

Heading for St John’s probably?

Did the minister from St John’s attend the crusade? asked the bishop.

Jeremy? Yes he did, and many of his congregation were there too. Richard answered.

And those two? he pointed to the figures.

Don’t believe so…why.

Probably nothing…but I felt there was something odd about them.

Really, why on earth would you say that? said Richard.

Precisely my young friend. Just the point precisely, why on earth would I?

Richard waited for the forthcoming explanation but none came.

St David’s church came into view.

Walk me to my car Richard. It’s around the back.

I meant to ask you Nigel, how is it? The new job I mean, are you settling alright? enquired Richard of his senior.

Well, I think you have made the greater step-up. Going from curate to vicar in such a short time is harder than that from canon to bishop. I had years as an apprentice to the bishop so that when my time came I was more than ready.

Your wife and children though? Are they adapting to living in Wales?

Oh, yes they love it. The kids are doing well, learning a new language is hard, but they are adapting to their new schools. Julia is having fun refurbishing the bishop’s residence room by room.

They waited for a safe moment to cross the road.

What’s it like being a father to five children?

The Bishop laughed out loud.

Well it’s pretty much indescribable…most of the time its sheer bedlam but it’s pure joy too!

The reason I ask is…well, I think I am going to be a father.

The bishop turned abruptly and with a beaming smile on his face thumped Richard on the back several times, then grabbing Richard’s hand he shook it furiously and exclaimed in a loud voice.

Well done the pair of you, this is great news.

Those standing nearby on the pavement looked at them to see what all the commotion was about.

He’s going to be a father for the first time said the bishop addressing the shoppers.

The bishop put arm through Richard’s.

Come let’s cross-over.

Feeling a little embarrassed by Nigel’s outburst Richard changed the subject.

By the way Nigel I don’t know if you have heard but there is a romance developing between our good Police Inspector and the lady at forensics.

Really? Tell me more.

Well it seems Jonas saw them in the town last Saturday walking hand in hand like two lovebirds.

That is good news. There’s nothing amiss with Paul Stewart that a good woman can’t put right.

And a Christian woman too! said Richard.

How old is he do you think?

I would say late forties or thereabouts.

And Rosina?

Not sure, I always find it difficult to guess a woman’s age…

The bishop interrupted.

And you should never try to…not to her face anyway.

They shared a laugh over the bishop’s joke.

Probably in her mid-thirties? Richard guessed.

They arrived at the bishop’s car and at that moment his cell phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket he looked at the display.

It’s the Archbishop, I wonder what he wants. I’ll call him back later. There’s something important I want to say to you.

He placed a hand on Richard’s shoulder.

"Richard, my boy, because of recent events I think you and the parish are going to come in for some stick from the devil and his associates. I pray for you and Sarah daily. But whenever I do mention your name to the Lord I have