The Treasure Discovered: Forever Man—Book 4

By Ed Booth

As Christian listened, he was again taken aback by Michaels response to the man who, for more than twenty-five years, had tried having him destroyed. Livid with anger, Christian shouted out, Kill him! Why spare one who is a minion of Satan? Send him into the abyss to join with his companions!

With a look of irritation, Michael replied, For one, I did not send the beasts into the abyss. I do not have the power to do so. And two, who are you or I to pass judgment upon a man? And yes, he is a man, a deceived man. The Word of God has a plan for Damon Weirguld, and his plan for him must play itself out!

Christian shrunk back after Michaels rebuke, though in his heart, he was not sure he was satisfied with Michaels answer. Christians thoughts went back, and he rehashed all the evil that Damon had perpetrated upon him for the last twenty-five years. Even now, the mans hatred for Christian was evidenced by his attack.

Knowing what Christian was thinking, Michael responded, Yes, he has, but Damon was created to do just as he has done. If not for his actions, the Word of God would not be where it is today. It is just as the religious leaders during the time of Jesus. They performed just as the Word of God knew they would. They demanded that Jesus be sent to the cross. What appears to be evil in your eyes does not mean that God needs your approval to carry out his plans. Sometimes, it is the very things we strive against that God uses to advance his Word!

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512764437

Ed Booth

Ed Booth is a mechanical engineer living in Central Florida with his wife, Sherry. Ed has worked in the mining and mineral processes industry as an operator, manager, and engineer for thirty-plus years. Writing is a way to express his faith in Christ. The Forever Man series is his first endeavor into the fictional writing field.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

[In the Dungeon]

"I am Christian."

I keep telling myself who I am for there is no one to speak to. If I don’t say my name aloud, I am afraid I will forget who I am.

I do not know how long I have been trapped here in the darkness. I am restrained within the four walls that surround me. A barred door in front and three walls surround me. I walk three steps across and six steps back. The floor is my bed and I sleep when I grow weary of remembrance.

Remembrance … it is part of the curse. Those who do not have a relationship with my Lord Jesus will die and for all eternity remember the opportunities they had to make Him their own.

Food and drink, I do not remember the taste or sensation of water pouring down my throat. Yet I do not hunger or thirst.

I cannot discern time here in the darkness. I cannot count the number of times the sun has risen as no light penetrates into my prison. Even if I could it would not matter, for my Lord has taken away the sensation of time from me. I await His return, a witness to Mankind, trapped inside this cell. How can I witness when I am all alone? So I wait here, alone in the dark and silence.

I am Christian.

I am Christian and I remember …

I look down from my vantage point upon a rise. Below me an old man leans upon his staff as he finishes preparing the evening meal. A fair sized rabbit sizzles upon the spit while the glowing embers of the cooking fire lights the area beneath a canopy of trees. The sound of Asahel walking through the forest catches the old man’s attention. Unafraid, he looks to see our shadow approaching. Suddenly, my black and white dog runs up to the old man, his tail wagging in anticipation.

The old man speaks, Hello Jack, old friend, and he reaches down to pet the dog.

While the old man’s focus is upon my dog, Asahel and I ride into camp. I smile watching the familiar figure talking to the excited dog.

Dismounting, I clear my throat speaking, …I see you haven’t lost your cooking skill … that’s good I am hungry … How are you Michael, it has been a long time.

Michael turns to face me, a welcoming smile spreading across his face as he answers, Spoken by a man who has no concept of what time is.

The next several hours we sat near the burning fire and exchanged pleasantries. I watched the old Sage’s face as he talked. The campfire reflected off his white hair and beard as he remarked how magnificent Asahel and Jack appeared. I smiled watching my companions at the edge of the firelight. Asahel was grazing upon the lush grass while nearby Jack chased an unseen insect.

I spoke to Michael of the Caretakers and how amazed I was the way the Word of God worked concerning them. Since their modest beginnings a thousand years earlier, the Lord selected common men and women to compose His written Word … and written in a way that all men could understand.

Then, in the last one hundred years the development and use of a printing machine had made mass production of God’s Word a reality.

With all the good news, I had a concern. With the number of written copies of God’s Word growing, a problem had arisen. The established, man-made church started persecuting those caught with a copy of the Word of God or Holy Bible as it was called. If a person was not a member of the established church, it was death for them.

Michael listened intently, a look of sadness upon his face as he listened to the church’s persecution against believers.

Seeing the sadness in Michael’s eyes, I paused from my narrative and remarked, It seems you are pained by what I have said?

Michael answered, It is the way with man. During the time our Lord Jesus walked the earth and preached what we call the Good News, it was the established, man-made church who sought his death. Over the ages it has been those who were chosen to be God’s people who have rebelled against Him.

Then in a distant voice Michael continued, Even beautiful angels have opposed a loving and caring God. It was Lucifer who led a rebellion against I Am. In their error they have been cast down to the earth and await final judgment.

The next several minutes Michael and I sat quietly around the fire. We kept our thoughts to ourselves.

Finally, I broke the silence between us, realizing the purpose for our meeting, We have met for a reason … you have a message for me.

Michael looked intently into my eyes and said, Dark days lie ahead for you, Christian.

What is going to happen?

I cannot say …

Again silence fell between us as I sat contemplating Michael’s message.

Michael watched me. He appeared distant as he chewed upon the rabbit meat. Coming out of his reverie he added, Christian … I will not be able to come to you to offer help or hope. The trial ahead … you must endure alone.

You can tell me no more?

You will come through the approaching trial … a better man … and prepared for the adventure afterwards that will send forth God’s written Word into the world.

I sat quietly peering into the old man’s eyes.

Michael then tried to offer me more encouragement saying, "The Master has His reason and we are but instruments to His will. Remember:

"‘And we know that all things work together

for good to them that love God, Roman 8:28 [KJV]

to them who are the called according to His purpose.’"

Before we parted, he reminded me, After your trial has run its course, we will meet again.

I am Christian.

I am Christian.

The darkness is complete. I wave my hand before my eyes, but I cannot see it. I remember a time, almost fifteen hundred years ago, the passage through the mountains between Havens Home and Trolls Bane. Any moment now I await one of my companions to stir the coals and the flame will re-ignite bringing light within the darkness.

Time passes and I realize that no one is there. My companions from another age have passed the dark divide into Paradise and only I am left.

Blindness … is this what blindness feels like. I remember those who I have met who were blind. They functioned as the Lord heightened their other senses. If it wasn’t for my voice I would know what it was to be deaf and mute.

I am Christian.

I am Christian and I remember …

The Thames flows lazily along its course as I follow the rutted road next to it. It is a cold and rainy evening in London. I remember the first time I came here a thousand years earlier. I came in search of Calvin, to encourage him at the end of his journey.

Upon coming to London, the messenger that Calvin was tasked to search for happened to be the new king of the land. It was the same king who sent Sir Medlin to Darby O’Herlihy’s castle with a fragment of parchment that had been discovered by the Royal Navy. Sir Medlin came searching for the interpretation of the Words written upon it.

The king employed Calvin and men he called the Caretakers. The Caretakers’ responsibility was to gather, interpret, and assemble God’s Word into what was now called the Bible. From then on the Word of God began filtering in slowly. I felt the pocket of my jerkin and felt the square lump that was my copy.

I pass through the streets and observe the changes that have occurred over the last thousand years. The city of London has grown, buildings are grander in size, and the streets are paved in brick. I listen to the clip clop sound of Asahel’s hooves upon the pavement. Over the course of a thousand years I witnessed the numbers of people had increased greatly. With the increase in population, the numbers of poor and unfortunate also burgeoned, filling the streets. As I pass along the roadway, their cries for alms fill the air. Pity for them fills me, what can one man do to ease their lack?

Leaving the beggars behind, I enter a familiar section of the city and come to a halt before a grand estate. A gated wall surrounds the large buildings and courtyard. A venerable university, where science, economics and social mores are taught. I wonder if the Word of God is a primary concern to the scholars within.

While sitting there remembering the past, the rain begins to fall. I pull the hood of my cloak over my head. I feel a heartfelt tugging upon my spirit and am compelled to move away from the university and ride further down the street. After passing several alleyways, the enthralling feeling grows stronger. Then without warning Asahel stops in the middle of an intersection. Looking down at the black and white dog, I say, Find what we are looking for Jack!

With that said the dog runs down the alleyway and disappears around a corner. A horse drawn carriage approaches and Asahel moves closer to the walkway to let it pass. I sit listening and after several minutes I hear the faint sounds of a dog’s bark.

Without prompting, Asahel begins to walk down the dark street. The buildings are close together and the pavement is pocked with many rain-filled holes. Turning down another alleyway, the sound of Jack’s barking grows louder. Then at the end of a muddy street, I see Jack as he stands barking at a dilapidated building. As I ride up, I look through the soot-stained glass. A barely glowing light shines through. A young boy looks through a window at me and calls to someone within.

I am Christian.

I am Christian.

I can hear the sound of my breathing. If I listen closely, the sound of it roars in my ears, proving that I am still alive. Though death has never taken me the darkness and silence remind me of a tomb. What happens when one closes their eyes for the final time? Can the dead … feel, can they see or hear? Is it the spirit within us that knows sensation or is it our body of clay?

But if the Spirit of Him that raised up Jesus

from the dead dwell in you,

He that raised up Christ from the dead Romans 8:11 [KJV]

shall also quicken your mortal bodies

by His Spirit that dwelleth in you.

My Lord told me that death is the beginning of a greater life. A life spent with Him for eternity. Eternity? … A measure of time? I have no concept of what eternity is.

I am Christian.

I am Christian and I remember …

I hear the familiar sound of someone tapping the floor with a cane, the tapping sound of a blind man as he feels his way. Through the dirty glass I watch the young boy guide a gnarled old man toward the door. I quickly move away from the window and wait at the door.

The door opens and the blind man faces me and asks, Who is there?

I am Christian and I have come in search of the Caretakers.

Mmm … the Caretakers are gone … they left here many years ago.

I met a man during my journey and he told me that the Caretakers had taken God’s Word and hidden it in a safe place.

The old blind man stood silently in the doorway, his facial expression telling me he is struggling within his mind about something, but is afraid to speak out. Finally, he welcomes me to step inside and then speaks to the boy, Mark, the man has a horse … take it to the stables.

With a quick glance at me, the boy then turns and runs off to do as he is told.

Come inside and sit by the fire with me. The old man says as he leads me to a spacious room with a fire burning in the hearth.

A black kettle hangs within the burning flames. Slowly the old man walks toward it, Find a chair and sit, he says waving his arms.

I run ahead to help the blind man as he continues walking toward the fire. As if knowing what I was about to do, the old man says, Sit … sit, I may be blind but I am not helpless, then he reaches for a glove upon the mantle and holding it in his hand grabs the kettle by the handle. I watch as he pours the boiling liquid into cups. Then taking both cups, he hands one to me.

It is tea … I always have a cup of tea at the end of the day, and he walks to another chair and sits down.

For several minutes the two of us say nothing, the blind man sitting quietly sipping his tea while I watch him.

So your name is Christian … he paused and then asked, …Are you a Christian?

I get asked that a lot … yes I am.

The outside door slams closed as Mark comes running in. Watching me the boy comes and stands next to the old man, then remarks, I have put the man’s magnificent horse in the stable along with his dog.

Good boy … now run off to bed, we have a busy day tomorrow and you will need your sleep, the old man says as he gently reaches up and pats the boys shoulder.

When the boy leaves us I ask, What is your name?

I am Barnabas … and yes I am a Christian too.

I look around the room interior and ask, What is this place? … it seems to be much larger than a typical home … and there seems to be familiarity to it, as if I have been here before.

Barnabas chuckles while answering, If you walk outside and look east, you can see the tall spires of the university several hundred yards away. Over the centuries it has moved from here, where we are, to there where it is located now.

Startled, I remember Koholeth and what occurred hundreds of years earlier, I reply, This is …?

…the original building where the Caretakers were located. Smiling, Barnabas finished my sentence.

Barnabas went on, It is here where the Caretakers originally resided. Their task … and only task, was to gather the Words of God and seek out the meaning of the Words. Hidden within the cellars much of their research still resides.

Curious, I ask, How did you come about obtaining this building?

Barnabas sat thoughtfully for a moment, and then replied, "I was a teacher at the university and for many years I taught about ancient antiquities … that is until I awoke one morning without my vision. Imagine my chagrin.

…Well the scholars there felt awful for my misfortune. Trying to do what is right and compassionate, they allowed me to take up residence here … hmm … a forgotten man in a forgotten place …

After several moments of contemplation, Barnabas added, "Well … for some time I felt sorry for myself … and to be honest a more than a little frightened … then a strange thing began to happen. Without invitation, orphans, children of the street and the handicapped began arriving at my door. I was apprehensive at first, still unsure and not knowing why or what to do with these unexpected guests.

"So I began teaching them … after all I was a teacher. I began finding fulfillment like I had never known at the university … it came to a point where I felt that I had thrown away years of my life prior to becoming blind. It was the blindness that brought me joy … joy I never felt with my eyesight intact. The children I have taught have gone on to bigger and greater things.

Now I lie awake at night praising God in Heaven for his great kindness and mercies.

I am Christian.

I am Christian.

I remember Barnabas. He called being struck with blindness a great kindness from God in Heaven. In the darkness of my prison cell, I too am blind. I need to search my heart and find the goodness of being locked away … away from Mankind. The only thought that comes to mind is I am relieved of the responsibility of my journey. I have not witnessed death, the loss of one who passes through my life … even if it follows the natural order of things.

A thought … a hope … someday I will be released from my prison and when I do what will the world be like then. How many will have forgotten who I am?

I am Christian.

I am Christian and I remember …

Barnabas welcomed me to stay and after several days I became a fixture at his school. I was treated as any who came seeking shelter, food and the desire to learn from Master Barnabas. I felt welcome and at peace there.

I was given access to the library and spent days reading the writings of those who had been the Caretakers. One day as I sat next to the burning fire perusing several old journals, by chance I found a ragged parchment with faint spidery script scrawled upon it. The letters were fading and what was written was barely visible. I recognized the handwriting, it was written by the hand of Ari. He had copied the writings from John’s original manuscript. I placed my hand upon it and felt the soft leather texture of it, while my thoughts ventured back to John’s Island.

My thoughts returned to the present when Barnabas entered the study with an older boy name Timothy. The boy was carrying a large journal in the crook of one arm and leading Barnabas by the other. They approached me as I sat near the burning fire.

Timothy guided Barnabas to a long bench and helped him to sit. Then the boy stepped back and watched the old man as if in waiting.

Barnabas then asked, Christian, I hear you have grown accustomed to our home … that is good. Another older man, other than me, is good for our young learners, he stated matter of factly.

Yes … I feel at peace here Barnabas and I thank you and the … younger ones. I stammered.

Barnabas then grabbed the young man Timothy by a sleeve and asked him, Timothy read to Christian the passage you discovered … and don’t forget to read the date.

The boy laid the bulky book upon the table between Barnabas and I, opened it to a marked page, and began reading, "In the year of Our Lord, 1098 AD, sixth month, day 23. Another discovery has come to us. Several documents were obtained during a Crusade to Jerusalem and were miraculously deposited upon our doorstep today. We believe them to be original documents, written during the reigns of the Kings of Israel.

When Christian returns we will set him to the task of interpreting … and the boy stopped reading when Barnabas signaled for him to stop, That is enough Timothy, he said.

The three of us sat there in silence. It appeared that Barnabas was gauging what was said and waiting for someone to make a remark. I sat there quietly, watching Timothy.

After several moments passed, Barnabas coyly commented, That was written by a Caretaker’s scribe almost five hundred years ago, and the old man paused for affect and waited again for a response.

I continued to sit quietly, not sure of what to say.

Barnabas began speaking again, "We have examined other journals, dating all the way back to when the Caretakers were originally established by the King of Britain over a thousand years ago. Strangely the name of Christian has been used several times over the last thousand years as one who aided them in interpreting God’s Word.

Then a few days ago you arrived … a man named Christian seeking the Caretakers. Again, Barnabas paused … waiting.

I knew that the blind man was fishing and was awaiting an answer, with nothing better to say, I answered, Tis a strange coincidence.

With a snort Barnabas replied, Coincidence! … there are other entries describing characteristics of the man … about his magnificent black horse, even a smart black and white dog named Jack that travels with him.

Pausing to let his last comment take root, Barnabas spoke again, Timothy.

With a fearful look upon his face Timothy answered, Yes sir … Master Barnabas.

Timothy … I am going to describe a man … a tall powerfully built man. His face is intelligent and ageless, framed with silver and gray hair upon beard and face. His hands are large and calloused, while his upper arms bulge like a blacksmith’s … there be scars of battle visible upon his arms … tell me boy, does our Christian fit that description?

Timothy could not speak. He was beyond fright as he looked into my impassive face. Everything that Barnabas described fit my description.

Not hearing an answer from Timothy, Barnabas knew that he had described me and that the boy was silent with fear. Barnabas finally spoke reassuringly to the boy, You can go Timothy … go and check on Master Christian’s magnificent black horse … Ohh, and don’t forget Jack.

Timothy looked apprehensively at Barnabas, then at me. He couldn’t move. He was unsure of what to do. When Barnabas didn’t get a response or hear any movement he said reassuringly, It is okay Timothy … I am in no danger.

After Timothy left us we sat silently, I was unsure of what to say and Barnabas absent mindedly tapped the end of his cane against the floor.

After several minutes, I broke the silence between us, I am just a man such as you are Barnabas. I will live out a lifetime and go the way as all men do … to the grave. How can it be that you think that I am this man Christian who has spanned the lifetimes of so many generations of men?

Barnabas sat quietly, thinking the same thing when he said, "Being a teacher and before becoming blind … I, at my own peril, continually read the Word of God … I read of the many wonderful things He performed … to men we called them miracles. Your long life could be a miracle.

Then, I thought you were one of His chosen messengers … an angel sent to interpret the languages that His Words were written in …

Barnabas paused to reflect. After a few minutes he questioned me, How can mere men, angels … creation comprehend His omnipotence … as a teacher I wondered how can we authenticate His Word.

Barnabas, like me, was puzzled. All I could answer him was, In our strength … we cannot.

Barnabas shook his head and answered, We cannot … therefore I conclude that in the beginning Jesus composed His Word and His Holy Spirit has given us His Word.

I remembered what was written and answered:

"‘In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God, John 1:1 [KJV]

and the Word was God.’"

I am Christian.

I am Christian.

As I sit in this dark prison cell, the Word of God floods my mind. Even brief snippets of information that, centuries earlier, briefly passed before my eyes are set, like stone, within my mind … or is it in my heart.

The Holy Spirit dwells within me, and I realize that my reading of the His Words is futile within my mind. It is not in me to understand the Mind and Heart of God, but it is He who dwells within me, who reads me with the very same Word. The Holy Spirit who knows of me through the reading of His mighty Word, His Words cut through flesh and bone revealing to me my need for a Savior. The Words of God are too marvelous for fallen man to comprehend and to put into action.

I am Christian

I am Christian and I remember …

A day arrives and at the door there comes the sound of knocking. I open the door and there upon the threshold stands a young girl of about fifteen.

Hello young lady … may I help you? I ask.

At the sound of my voice she turns and faces me. As she did I looked into her milky colored pupils and realize that she is blind.

Please sir I am hungry. She said pitifully.

Of course you are … come I will get you something to eat, and I called, Miss Tilley we have a hungry visitor!

It wasn’t long before a heavy set woman with a stained apron came bustling through the hallway. Miss Tilley was a kind woman who prepared meals for the children and those of us who made residence in the old school.

Upon seeing the young girl she called out, Well if it isn’t Eliza … where have you been lately deary?

Hearing Miss Tilley, the blind girl held out her arms seeking the woman, I have wandered the city.

Miss Tilley came and held the young girl and then guided her toward the kitchen. With a backward glance toward me the woman nodded her head to reassure me that all was well.

An hour or so later I sat with Barnabas and asked the old scholar about the girl Eliza and voiced my concern to him about the safety of those who passed in and out of the doors of the school, The girl is blind and yet she says she wandered about the city. Isn’t it dangerous for the younger children to do so?

Barnabas sat smoking a long reed pipe. Listening, he blew out smoke rings and occasionally nodded his head in agreement. After I asked, Barnabas replied, "It is dangerous … but you must remember Christian that most everyone that comes to our door are like Eliza. They were children of the street before they discovered this place. They come and go as they please.

What we try to do here is teach them something that will be useful to them out there … and he waved his hand signifying the city. Continuing, Barnabas added, …God has given them the ability to survive, even thrive upon the streets.

Then changing his tone from studious to grave he added, …and yes, there are those who leave here and never return … days … weeks later we hear of something tragic happening to one who has passed through our doors.

Why don’t you stop them? I asked him.

"Treat them like prisoners …! That doesn’t work, my friend … they have made their way these last twenty years that I have been blessed to share in their lives. We have taught them about Jesus and, for the most part, they have accepted Him into their lives. Once they leave here they travel throughout the city with His Holy Spirit in their hearts.

I take solace in knowing that whatever happens to them, I have done my part … many a time I have been face down upon the floor praying for those the Word of God has sent me.

I am Christian.

I am Christian.

Weeks later I would find out how dangerous the Word of God was and how ruthless and dangerous the city streets of London were. I also found that Satan was still lurking, seeking my demise. I found it in the most unexpected way. I was unprepared to find that Satan infiltrated the man-made church and those who I thought were to be trusted, were but pawns of the Dragon … Lucifer!

I am Christian.

CHAPTER 2

[I remember]

"I am Christian and I remember …"

It is an auspicious day, word has reached us that Eliza has become ill and is being cared for at the cathedral’s infirmary. Miss Tilley is clearly upset as she gathers what resources she and I can carry to aid the poor girl. As we hurriedly walk the streets to the infirmary, Til as we call her, tells me about the conditions we can expect at the church’s facility. She says the conditions are cold and dreary … and very untidy. She goes on to say, that many who find care there are oftentimes worse off when they leave than when they enter … if they leave at all.

I listen as we walk through an older quarter of the city. Through the gaps in the buildings we pass, I see the tall spires of the cathedral ahead. A cold wind is funneled down the muddy street and buffets us. I pull the collar of my coat tighter to ward off the chill.

We break through the last row of dwellings and before us is the Thames. On the other side of the river is the massive cathedral. Intimidating was the first thought that came to my mind upon seeing it. The massive stone structure reminded me of the Great Mountains in the south. The dark and foreboding edifice sprawls several hundred yards in each direction covering the entire riverfront, while its pinnacles reach high into the somber cloud-laden sky.

Following a pathway that parallels the river, we come to a stone bridge that traverses the river and brings us just west of the cathedral. Alongside the river, a low building extends out from beneath the main structure. It is there that the infirmary is located. Down a winding wooden staircase we go. Once inside the dark chamber a fetid odor greets us. I glance around and there before my eyes is a familiar foe … the green cloud of pestilence.

Til … do you see that? and I pointed toward the cloud of green.

I see nothing … but I hear the sobs and cries of those trapped here. I also smell death, Til replies, restraining a gag.

I am Christian.

Malevolent eyes look through a stone arched window from high atop one of the cathedral’s pinnacles. A sinister smile is playing upon the lips of the onlooker as Christian and Miss Tilley hurry along the riverside path toward the infirmary. Hidden away, within the shadows, a young priest awaits as his mentor watches them enter the building.

Come … come Christian. Come to the trap that has been set for you. The cloaked onlooker whispered hatefully.

The cloaked figure turned to face the handsome young man standing within the shadows and spoke to him, You know what to do … he will have the accursed book upon him. It will not be hard to find.

The young man spat out the words, I cannot believe that a man … with a name like Christian … would bring the heretical object here within these sacred walls!

From out of the dark cowl, a sinister voice uttered, We live in a time where men grow bolder in their heresy. Rebellion against all that is sacred is what this man Christian advocates. He will stop at nothing to destroy all that we believe.

The young priest’s hands clenched into fists as he stood listening to the cloaked man speak, growing angrier with every word he said.

Take several of the church guard with you for he is physically powerful and will put up a fight … the cloaked figure warned. Then after pausing for several moments to think, the shrouded one continued, …Deception may be the best way to overcome him Damon. Confront him to his face, but attack him from behind.

With an angry voice the young priest replied, We will kill him if he resists …! and maybe even if he doesn’t! With that said, the young cleric rushed from the room to carry out his orders, while the cloaked figure stepped away to blend into the dark shadows.

I am Christian and I remember …

We find Eliza. She is lying upon a cot against a plaster wall. Moisture clings to the walls, while small rivulets stream down and pool upon the dirt floor. The cloud of pestilence clears away as we approach Eliza’s sickbed. Miss Tilley begins administering salves while I hand Eliza a warm brew of herbal tea. I search the room for healers, but find no one administering care to the sick.

I venture, Who cares for the sick in this place Til?

While she tends to Eliza, Miss Tilley replies without taking her eyes off the girl, When the sick are found in the streets, they are brought here and left. If they are fortunate, someone brings word of their condition to a friend or relative. It is up to them to come and care for the unfortunate.

Then glancing around, Tilley continued sadly, Most of those that are brought here are forgotten and left to die.

I was appalled at her answer, Left to die? … what of the men of God … the healers, do they not come and care … or at least pray for them?

Looking at me as if I said something absurd, Miss Tilley answered, The men residing here do not seek after the God you serve … Their gods are named ‘Power’ and ‘Fortune’. Those trapped here bring them neither!

As Miss Tilley continues caring for Eliza, I notice armed men arriving and beginning to mingle amongst the sick. I do not say anything as I watch the pestilent cloud surround the men. I feel within my leather tunic, with chagrin I realize I did not bring my weapons. The only thing I feel is the square lump within my jerkin … a copy of the written Word of God. As my hand lingers upon the leather bound volume … my apprehension leaves.

A young man, maybe twenty-five years of age, approaches. He tries suppressing his look of anger, but the effort is wasted as his eyes show the malice harbored within.

Do you know this girl? he asks.

Her name is Eliza, Miss Tilley answers.

With malice in his eyes, the young man shouts, You know she is a witch!

She is not a witch … she is a child of God! I answer loudly.

I watch as the man begins to shake. Trying to maintain some semblance of control he growls through clenched teeth, She is a witch! If she was a child of God she would not be cursed with blindness!

I look at Tilley and I can see fear mirrored within her eyes while Eliza lay trembling beneath the threadbare sheet covering her. From behind the angry man I hear the loud coughing of one of the soldiers, and then a gasp, as the stricken man falls heavily to the floor.

As I arise from next to Eliza’s bed, and face the man, I hear Miss Tilley scream. Then a swooshing noise and a sudden sharp pain as something strikes the back of my head.

I am Christian.

I am Christian and I remember …

I awake within a dark cell. Heavy iron chains bind my hands and feet. I feel the back of my head as it throbs with pain. I feel the deep gash and dried blood matted within my hair. I am cold and realize that I have been stripped of clothing. If I could see in the dark I would see that my naked body is covered with my blood.

I think on the blow that was delivered. It was meant to kill, not to disable. My Master saved my life by not letting the evil one take it.

I hear the echoing sound of footsteps as several men approach my cell. Then I hear the sound of tumblers within the lock grinding and the creaking of the cell door as it opens. A dim light momentarily blinds me as rough hands throw me down upon the roughhewn stone floor. An iron bar is inserted between my arms and back. The bar is fastened to the lengths of chain binding me and my captors lift me roughly from the floor.

Time for your trial, witch! A coarse sounding voice threatens behind me.

Through a dark corridor the three men lead me. A whiplash upon my bare skin every few steps spur me forward. I hear the roar of a crowd coming from a doorway ahead. After passing through the doorway we begin to climb several flights of stairs into a spacious hall. I look around an arena filled with shouting denizens as I am bodily dragged to a hitching post at the center of the courtyard. My captors lift my chained hands above me and secure the links to an iron ring atop the post.

The crowd shouts curses towards me, calling me witch, devil spawn and pagan. Through it all I begin to wonder what happened to Miss Tilley and Eliza. What of Barnabas and the others? Looking at my feet I see my blood pooling there.

A loud voice shouts above the din of spectators calling for, Quiet!

After several more shouts, the noise begins to slowly abate until the arena is quiet. I strain against my bonds, but am too weak from blood loss. I hear a voice shout out my name, Christian … Christian do you know what you are being accused of!?

I struggle to lift my head and search for the voice. There sitting high above me is a man dressed in dark blue robes, his long gray hair tied back with a red band. I can see and hear the arrogance in his face and voice as he asks me again, Do you know what you are being accused of?

I lick my parched and bleeding lips, trying to answer when one of my captors lashes me with a whip and shouts, Answer the Magistrate!

I shout out hoarsely, No … No I do not know what my crime is!

Again my assailer strikes me with the whip. I collapse under my own weight and hang limp beneath my binding chains. I feel the sinews within my arms and shoulders stretching beyond relief. The pain is approaching unbearable. I cry out to my Master, Please, dear Jesus, deliver me!

I hear a collective gasp from the crowd … then shouts of, Blasphemer! echo around the arena.

Another lash strikes me and another. My assailant curses me as he strikes me again and again.

Enough! shouts out the judge above me and the whip lashes cease as the crowd again grows silent.

For several moments there is silence, and then the judge replies, Master Damon … come forward and speak the charges against the accused.

I look and there standing next to me is the young man who came to the infirmary. He appears to be ill as his face is pale and his entire left cheek is chafed with a festering wound. He coughs before saying, Honorable Magistrate … the man standing here is accused of witchcraft. He came to aid one of his witches in the cathedral’s infirmary. His presence was reported to me and I went and confronted him there. This wound upon my cheek was inflicted by him as he cast a spell upon me and my men. Unfortunately, two of the cathedral guards succumbed to his spells and have died.

I cannot believe what he is saying. None of it is true.

From above comes the booming voice of the judge, What have you to say, Christian?

It is not true …! I cry out. …I came to aid a poor blind girl … a poor waif, who believes in the goodness of our Lord Jesus! Surely you understand that!?

Again the whiplash and shouting begins amidst the cries of, Blasphemer! The call for order is shouted out. When silence is restored, and after another fit of coughing, my accuser calls out to the judge, You’re Honor …!

Yes … Master Damon.

Honorable Magistrate … we found this upon his person! and he held aloft my leather-bound copy of the Word of God.

What is it that you hold in your hand Master Damon? The judge called down.

It is the book of heresy. Only the Prophets of God are allowed to look upon the Holy Word … and my accuser paused to allow the effects of his words to sink into the mobs’ thoughts. Then slowly he continued, …yet this man carries this book of heresy and uses it to defy God’s church by teaching rebellion.

The denizens began stomping their feet and shouting, Burn him at the stake! throughout the entire courtyard. This time no one heeded the call for quiet. The building shook and I became afraid that it would collapse. I looked at my accuser and upon his face was a smirk of satisfaction.

With difficulty, the guards finally brought the assembly under control as I awaited the verdict of the judge.

The judge called down to me my sentence, Christian, you are found guilty of witchcraft and heresy against the church. We sentence you to be burned at the stake immediately!

I am Christian.

I am Christian and I remember …

I sit against the wall of the prison cell along with the others. We are awaiting our turns to be escorted outside the prison and burned at the stake. The spectacle outside my cell has taken on a festival-like atmosphere as thousands stand and watch, cheering loudly when those sentenced meet their horrific death. Outside the barred windows I hear the screams of those being burned mingling with the shouts of those who came to watch. I sit and wonder, will my Lord Jesus return today. He said I would live until He returned. I realize only He can rescue me now.

With the horrific sounds echoing inside our prison, I watch the reactions of those imprisoned with me. The tears flow freely as the fear of impending death approaches. Many being executed are vagrants, poor and unwanted … wrongly accused of witchcraft, the controlling powers using them as pawns, an example to those watching the spectacle, to not challenge their authority or doctrines.

I have spoken too many trying to comfort them, telling them that death is only the beginning of a greater journey with our Lord Jesus. It is no use. The majority of my fellow condemned have never heard of a loving and caring Savior who willingly went to the Cross to die and purchase them with His blood, then to rise again and defeat death and Satan. The Word of God, according to the condemned, is only heard through the clerics of the church. Common men are not allowed to look upon the Holy Scriptures. To be caught with a copy of the Word was … well illegal and punishable by death … as I am about to find out.

I am left alone as the last few prisoners are dragged kicking and screaming, begging for mercy, to the stakes. I look through the barred window for the first time as the condemned are lifted and bound to the fuel-laden pyre. Wooden faggots are stacked several feet high and surround the pole and the wriggling victim attached to it. As the torches are thrown into the pile of fuel, I close my eyes and turn away. I hear the screams