The Quest for the Holy City

By Rachel Vanderwood

When her mother has a vision of the world and their family's purpose upon Christ's return to earth, Mariella is suddenly sent to live on the island for seven years to train. Although her mother didn't reveal all that she saw, Mariella knew her family will have a purpose in his holy place, and she is eager to prove her worthiness. In preparation for the day he will call her and her family to serve him in his sacred home, Mariella eagerly awaits her first assignment on the earth she knows--to protect and fight for his people until he calls them to him--but when she herself is awoken from a dream and sets out to investigate a mysterious darkness, Mariella is pulled away from her family when they are taken to serve their destiny. Desperate to find them and the holy place she knew they would be, Mariella ventures out into a changed new world. Through chance circumstance, new allies, and a mysterious new enemy who threatens the lives of God's chosen, Mariella finds that perhaps her true destiny was right before her eyes all along.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887518916

Book preview

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The Quest for the Holy City

Rachel Vanderwood

ISBN 979-8-88751-890-9 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88751-892-3 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88751-891-6 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Rachel Vanderwood

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

It had only been a few days into our journey on the road to the council when I thought I started to notice hills and valleys in the distance, and although the earth had been left with an uneven terrain, what set the sights apart from what I had been used to seeing was the colorful display of plants and trees that in the distance from where we traveled appeared as a beautifully woven blanket over the otherwise barren dry earth; and yes, there had been sections of the earth by then that had given way to small waterways and a select variety of plant life, but there were none so brilliantly colored or widespread as what I thought to be seeing now. I must admit I wondered if it was merely a mirage, but as we drew nearer toward two hills on either side of the road we traveled, I knew what my eyes were perceiving was true.

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About the Author

Chapter 1

My mother once told me she had a vision that I was destined to find a great love—a love that God himself designed long before I was ever born. My mother was gifted. Her soul was opened to receive premonitions, messages from a higher power—a gift only a rare few on earth were blessed to know. Sure, many have claimed to see into the future, but my mother's visions were sent directly to her by heaven's messengers—angels, God's spiritual leaders, sent to protect humanity from not only the dangers of heaven's enemy below but most often from itself. My mother was never wrong in her predictions, but I always thought telling me what she claimed to have seen was her way of making sure that I remained innocent and pure for as long as possible—at least until I was married and ready to start a family of my own—that is if the earth as we knew it then still existed when I was of age. If that was her intention, it worked—at least for most of my life until now, but we will get to that part of my story later.

There was a time when I was a little girl that I dreamed of finding my soul mate. To my family, a soul mate meant that God himself had guided the journeys of two people or spiritual beings to come together, creating one journey for his purpose. If you knew my parents, you would know that if any two people could be the ideal representation of what soul mates truly are, then it would be them. They knew each other's thoughts without speaking, and neither would ever question sacrificing themselves for the other given the circumstance.

When I was young, it was exciting to imagine who my partner would be, what he would look like, and conversations we might have. I even remember sending examples of my preferences to God when I said my nightly prayers, and yes, I know you are not supposed to tell God how to work his miracles, but I figured I was an adorably sweet and well-behaved child—for the most part anyway—he just might make an exception here or there. But as I grew older, my sole focus remained on my training in preparation for the holy war and the day that Christ returned to earth to secure his reign for the Millennium before the final judgment came at the end when God's own holy place, heaven, was brought to earth.

Even though my mother had always known that my spirit was designed to be more reflective of my father's, I know there was a part of my mother that wished I would have been more like her. My mother had a special soul. She was delicate and pure. Not that I was ever tainted by the chaotic world around us—I was too busy being caught up in my desire to fight our enemies that tortured humanity in one last ditch effort to spite God before the day Christ returned to end the threat they posed against us—but my mother, she was different. She was gentle, almost childlike in her love and compassion for others; and although she knew my destiny was to be like the rest of my family, she happily took advantage of the time she had to keep me by her side and present me as her ideal little girl. I think what held her back from allowing me the chance I had always prayed for was her worry over the future battles I would face, and just as she would have to allow herself to let go of my father when he left on assignment, the day would inevitably come that she would have to do the same for me. I had been born with my father's spirit. I was fearless and hungry to learn how to fight like my cousins who trained on the island.

While my cousins, the trio of nontranquility (as I called them mostly because of how obnoxious they could be when they taunted and teased me for being the only girl in the family in our generation) were sent to the island at a young age to prepare themselves to fight and protect God's people on earth, my father and my uncle fought to keep Satan's army under control throughout the world—at least for as long as they could before another higher ranking and more powerful leader in the devil's court surfaced—and while the male members of my family got to be the protectors and experience firsthand what it was like to slay a demon and end their influence on society, I was left to be influenced and raised by my mother, grandmother, and aunt. The closest I was allowed to be involved in actual combat was sitting patiently still while the other members of my family shared their epic adventure stories, leaving me even more eager to join in the fight with them.

When I was little, my mother held on to every chance she had to dress me as you would expect a precious little girl of means would be. She taught me social etiquette and discipline. Every day she styled my hair and dressed me in pinks, light purples—basically any color found on a pastel palette—and whenever my father returned from an assignment, she would choose the daintiest, most feminine dress to have me welcome him home in. I was clever enough once to convince her to instead allow me to wear a crimson-red dress with a black velvet tie around the waist and a matching ribbon for my hair—a compromise for allowing me to choose the dress.

I never considered myself as beautiful. I never cared to compare myself to other girls my age—not that I had many friends, having been schooled at home by my family—but every day when my mother brushed my long waist-length soft chocolate-colored brown hair, she would smile and tell me how beautiful I was. But even at a young age, when I stared at my reflection in the mirror, all I could see was a girl trapped in a role she didn't belong in. I wanted to be a warrior. I wanted to feel the glory in what it was like to fight in the mortal extension of heaven's army, and even though the world had claimed most of who had remained to fight, leaving just my immediate family members to assume the weight of the battle upon themselves, I knew that's where I belonged. I knew that's what God was calling me to do.

Although my cousins had no problem taking my mother's side on the potential of my involvement, there were members of my family that understood how I felt. My grandmother, Eliza, at one time had been considered one of the fiercest female warriors that had ever joined in the fight. At the time she trained on the island when she was young, she was the only female strong enough to have remained to fight alongside the young men who had joined, including my grandfather, Pax. She, like my mother, had been gifted to have the eyes to see the hidden dangers in the world that surrounded humanity as well as those spirits sent to protect and fight against them, and she saw in me something that my mother wasn't ready to admit—at least not out loud.

When I was eight, my grandmother caught me sneaking into my grandfather's study. I wasn't a child that disobeyed my family's directions, but I couldn't resist the curiosity that was compelling me to investigate my grandfather's secret room. I knew what he kept in that room. I had followed him and my uncle Nico one time when my mother thought I was alone playing quietly in my room. I knew that behind the solid oak door on the opposite side of the room was his weapon's collection—a collection that had begun as a childhood interest of his many years ago and one that had developed into a necessity for protection in battles my family had already fought and those they prepared to pursue.

I knew exactly where the key was. I had watched my grandfather pull it out of his top right desk drawer. Carefully and quietly, I snuck inside the room; and just as I wrapped my fingers around the wooden latch of his desk to pull toward me to open it, I heard my grandmother's voice say my name.

Mariella, if you're looking for an answer, all you must do is ask.

I froze when I heard my grandmother speak. My family was strict on obedience—and for good reason. They knew the dangers of the world, and they knew the protection their faith could offer if they remained humble and true to their promise to uphold God's will. I knew I would be punished—at least I expected to be. After I closed the desk drawer, I slowly turned to face my grandmother. I don't know if I expected a lesser punishment if I took my time in receiving it, but I couldn't force myself to move any faster than I did. When I found myself facing my grandmother directly, she had already entered the room and was standing just two feet in front of me. When I looked up into her emerald-green eyes, I knew I had to be truthful. I had always been truthful. My grandmother and my mother left my cousins and I no other choice but to be. If we lied or stretched what the actual truth was, they would know, and a stern reprimand would follow. I never had the misfortune of having to face punishment until then mostly because my cousins had a knack for being mischievous. Trouble found them even when they weren't looking—not because they were bad; simply because they were hyperactive, inquisitive, and, like me, fearless. But now it was my turn to face a lecture the triplets had faced many times before me, and I knew I needed to decide on a reasonable response and fast.

I just wanted to look at them, Grandma. I wouldn't touch them. I promise.

As I waited for my grandmother's response, she hesitated as she looked down into my curious brown eyes. Before she replied, she walked behind me then opened the drawer I had just recently closed and retrieved the key.

Follow me, Mariella. She led me toward the weapons room.

As she had instructed me, I followed her toward my grandfather's weapons room and watched as she opened it. But as eager as I was to enter, I stopped before moving forward and looked up at my grandmother for her approval. I didn't know if she was testing me as a part of the lesson she wanted me to learn or she was genuinely fulfilling my curiosity.

Go on…now. Go inside, she encouraged me when she took notice of my hesitance.

As excited as I was to enter the room, I forced myself to pace my walk and act like the proper young lady my mother had raised me to be. But my efforts to control my reactions were quickly tested when my eyes widened to see the weapons secured safely behind the casings on the walls surrounding me—some weapons that had once seen battles several hundred years before the time we were currently in—and although I had been told that the metal on each piece had known the bloodshed of many adversaries, my grandfather took care to clean, sharpen, and preserve his prized collection.

Finding amusement to see me standing in awe, my grandmother offered, Would you like to hold one?

Hold one? How could I refuse? Yes, please, I begged with an expression that beamed with excitement.

My grandmother smiled when she saw my reaction. She was apparently amused by my enthusiasm and to my benefit as she then next turned to unlock the treasure I desperately wanted to hold. I stood patiently as she took the key and opened a casing directly across from where I stood. I knew what the weapons in the casing meant to my grandfather. His preference, his love was of swords—mostly medieval long swords. He believed much could be learned from history, and in using similar weapons to defend himself against his enemies, it would stand as a reminder of the lessons learned in battles lost and won from ages ago.

After carefully releasing the sword from its proper casing on the wall, my grandmother kept her hold on the weapon as she placed it in my hands that had remained open, with palms facing up to receive it; and even though my grandmother kept both hands strategically placed on the weapon to keep me from harm's way, I could feel the heaviness of the high-carbon steel as it lay resting against my soft unblemished skin. I was captivated by my imaginative thoughts in that moment as I envisioned myself using a weapon similar in form against an enemy had I ever been called to battle.

As I began to study each one of the weapon's details, my grandmother asked as she took notice of my focus on the tightly bound leather of the hilt, Would you like to take a hold of it? Go on. I'll keep hold for you.

With the weight of the weapon carefully held in the palms of my grandmother's hands, I wrapped mine around the hilt. I knew I wasn't strong enough to lift it, and I didn't dare. I had already been given an opportunity I hadn't expected, and I was satisfied in my grandmother's trust in me to keep myself in line with her instructions. I wanted to be trusted. I wanted to have another opportunity to learn, and she was happy to give me the chances I asked for. When she felt my curiosity was satiated for the moment, she returned the sword back into its proper casing and opened one on the opposite wall, this time exposing her preference to me as she took ahold of three knives, each of different length but each just as dangerously deadly as the other if the opportunity presented itself. One at a time, my grandmother allowed me to hold each one. Just as with my grandfather's prized sword, she waited patiently as I studied the details of the metal, design, and structure of the blade and handle.

Do you have a favorite? she asked as my eyes remained fixed on the piece I currently held in my hands.

Still awestruck, I simply shook my head to say that I didn't. How could I? Every piece that hung behind the casings on the wall had an individual story behind its history and use, and I was yearning to learn them all.

You must be careful, Mariella. You must not touch any of these unless you are told to do so, my grandmother warned as she took back the knives and returned them to their proper places.

I know. I promise I won't, I reassured her.

That's a good girl, Mariella. Now you run along before your mother finds you here. I'll have a talk with her, and if her permission is granted, I'll bring you back again.

I knew my mother wouldn't approve, but I didn't allow that to lessen my excitement. I raced back to my room to journal the experience I just had with my grandmother. I wasn't going to tell my mother. I was going to leave that detail to my grandmother. My mind in that moment was fixed on figuring out what my preference was.

Everyone in my family had their preferences for weapons except for my father, who had a fondness for blessing and using whatever he found available to him at the time including wooden boards, farming tools, household utensils, and on occasion, a sharpened letter opener my mother had given him. Unlike my father, my uncle Nico mirrored my grandfather in almost every way including his love of swords. However, his preference seemed to favor the more rounded-edged blades. Even the triplets had voiced their preferences by then although they weren't allowed to practice with what they had chosen for another few years. After all, they were only eight like me—maybe a couple of months older, but eight nonetheless.

Dom was the archer of the family. If one skill was allowed to be taught and practiced during that time of our lives, it was archery under the direct supervision of my grandparents, uncle, and father, of course, when he and my uncle were available to teach and not out on assignment. Out of all of us, Dom excelled the most. His aim was even more precise than our older family members' who taught us. Miguel, or Mikki, as we called him, loved throwing things, particularly spears and hatchet axes when he came of age to be allowed to; and Damon—Damon liked throwing things too. Unlike Mikki, however, Damon enjoyed throwing explosives at targets. When he was finally allowed to test his preference, he missed and almost hit the front end of our house. Fortunately, the homemade explosive he constructed himself only ended up leaving a large gaping hole in our front yard and one very frightened neighbor who had walked the mile to our estate to pay the balance of a debt he owed to my grandparents for the loan they gave him when he had fallen on hard times.

And then there was I, Mariella, the only member of my family who hadn't yet been able to choose just one weapon that suited her best. I had narrowed it down to two choices—the two original choices my grandmother Eliza had presented to me the day she first brought me into my grandfather's weapons room. I loved the idea of the long sword. I often imagined myself in the heat of battle against an enemy, defending myself and those I was sent to protect using that very sword I had been handed. But I couldn't dismiss my growing desire to also master skills with my grandmother's knife collection. I knew it would be a long time before I was allowed to practice with the weapons. My mother stayed faithful in her refusal to allow me to advance despite the efforts of both of my grandmother and grandfather, Pax, who my grandmother had enlisted to help plead her case on my behalf. I wasn't discouraged though. I settled myself in knowing I had time to make my choice even if that meant it would be when I was of age to make the decision to act myself without my mother's permission. But as fate would have it, I didn't have to wait long before my mother was guided by a higher power to allow me to train.

Just after I had turned twelve, my mother suddenly awoke from a vision—a vision so significant to her she didn't speak of it until all my family members could be gathered to listen. By then, the triplets had been sent to live full time on the island with my grandfather Peter and their grandfather Miguel. I was the only child that remained in the house, and although my mother hesitated to allow me to sit in on the discussion, she knew I needed to be present with my family. She called me to sit by her side on the sofa in our main family room.

I don't think any of us were prepared or could have ever predicted what my mother shared with us that night, and when my mother knew she commanded the attention of everyone in the room, she began to explain what it was that the angel who had appeared to her allowed her to see. In the retelling of her vision, she described a pure luminously white-walled city, a castle fortress set high atop a barren mountain. Although seemingly inaccessible to the rest of the world below it, the residence allowed for worthy travelers to rest and find refuge midway up from the mountain's base, but the true wonder of what she had envisioned lay behind its heavily guarded walls.

Aligning the outdoor perimeters, she described two lavish courtyards, and within each were several gardens teeming with brilliantly colored fruits for nourishment and plants for healing. Inside of the fortress, each of the rooms were adorned with the rarest of linens, fabrics, and window dressings, and the floors were made of white-and-gold marble so pristinely kept that one could view his or her own reflection if the attention were paid. Much like the floors, the pillars scattered throughout the corridors and entryways were constructed of the same-colored marbles and were built to withstand the thousand years of their intended use, and although the beauty in the design structure of the multilevel layers in the fortress were a sight to behold, the true treasure kept within the castle's walls remained in the inhabitants who called it their home. In the throne room, she saw Christ sitting upon a golden throne and beside him two of heaven's most trusted archangels. His guardian angels were also present among him in his home and were meant to be sent out to his people on earth to teach and protect them against any who threatened the changes he wanted them to make.

And in my mother's vision, she was informed of a council Christ designed himself formed of a select group of mortals who had survived to endure the fight on earth in defense of his name—mortals whom he intended to take with him on the day of his return and who would be allowed a transition into advanced spiritual bodies to live among him and his angels while he reigned over earth. He had chosen my family for this great honor. Each one of us had a place to live among him, and each one of us had a role to play in guiding and teaching the remains of humanity before the end of the Millennium when their final judgment would come.

The angel told my mother that each of our family members had to be marked while we remained on earth. The symbol she described to us was to be placed at the base of our necks. It was a simple design, but one that would make us stand out from the rest of the world. The mark was characterized by a golden circle to remind us of God's promise for everlasting life in him, and in the center of the golden circle was a simple wooden cross to be placed—a reminder of the sacrifice made for us as well as a symbol of our humble devotion to our faith in him.

I don't know what else my mother saw the night she had her vision, but I know she held back from sharing it from the rest of us. I knew there was more—especially when the day came that I was allowed to train on the island and receive my mark. I knew in the way my mother looked at me she kept a secret from me, how she ran her hand across the back of my head to feel the soft texture and thickness of my hair. She held my hands in hers and kissed each one before wrapping her arms around me and holding me as closely as she could to her. I felt her tears moisten the hair on the top of my head, and when she finally released me from her embrace, I looked at her; and with a tone of confidence in my voice, I said, Don't worry, Mom. I'll be all right. I promise. I love you.

And I did—I always had. Even though my mother and I had two very different spirits, two very different points of view and callings in our lives, I loved her. I admired her. I knew her intentions were only to keep me safe, and she had, but now it was my turn to train to be a protector just like the rest of my family, to prepare myself for the day my family would be called to ascend to the highest honor Christ could have ever called upon us to accept. I knew that day was fast approaching—we all did—and I wanted to be ready. I wanted to be worthy of the calling he had chosen for us. I was excited, eager, and my heart and spirit were open and ready for learning.

Chapter 2

I waited almost seven long years before my family agreed I was ready to take on my first assignment. In that time, I listened intently to my grandfather Peter as he read to me and discussed the lessons found throughout the Bible. One thing in common I had with my mother was my love of angels. Their stories were my favorite. I dreamed of one day fighting beside them. My physical training was grueling, however, but I was disciplined. I didn't give up. The only breaks I took from my studies and training were on holidays and birthdays when I was sent back to the mainland to celebrate with my family, and tonight, I was preparing to celebrate the eve of my nineteenth birthday. It was a special evening not just because my birthday was the following day but because I would learn where my first assignment would take me. It was the gift I had waited for my entire life. By that time, my cousins, the triplets, had been sent out at least a half dozen times over a two-year time span, and now it was my turn to follow in my family's footsteps. I wasn't going to fail. I was going to prove my worth as a Christian warrior.

To celebrate, my family had all gathered in my grandparents' home—my birthplace and place I called home until I took up my residence on the island. Miguel and my grandfather Peter had gone with me to the mainland to join the rest of my family. It was a rare occasion that Miguel was allowed to leave, but my mother insisted on us all being together. As a rule, when my mother suggested something, we listened. There was always a valid reason behind her concerns.

I was grateful to see her and my father again, to see all my family in one place. My father and my uncle Nico made a point to return from their assignment long enough to celebrate with me. The night was perfect. The skies were clear. My aunt Rosie, my grandmother, and my mother spent the day cooking all my favorite foods, and my father and uncle picked up a three-tiered caramel-apple-glazed cake—my favorite. It seemed as if God had given my family a perfect night to gather with one another—no talks of the natural disasters, diseases, wars, and violence that had been plaguing the world at an accelerating rate for the past several years, only talks of our appreciation for one another and sharing of our fondest memories.

A part of me dreaded going to bed that night even though my mother had kept my room just as I left it, with the exception that it had been recently cleaned and my belongings had been put away. I didn't want the night to end, but there was another part of me that was excited to wake to a new start in my life—a new chapter, a new beginning. I wasn't afraid to face whatever evils awaited me in protection of God's people. I was eager—as eager as I had always been to fight.

After washing and preparing in anticipation of a restful night's sleep, I crawled underneath my covers; and no sooner did my head rest against my goose down pillow than my eyes closed, and I was fast asleep.

* * * * *

That night I dreamed that an army of angels had been sent to surround me. I was alone until they found me without my family. I couldn't understand the whispers they shared among one another, only that they had been sent to direct my course in my dream. Where they were leading me, I couldn't tell at first; but just as I began to awaken, I saw a desolate land, arid and dry, devoid of the technological advances and high-rise building structures society had been afforded through centuries of time and research. I didn't understand my dream, and even though I was convinced that's all it was, I still felt a sense that something was about to happen. Something was coming—something on an unimaginable scale.

When I found myself fully awake and sitting upright in my bed, I looked around my room to discover that it was still dark. I tried to fall back to sleep, but I was unsuccessful. I got up. I got dressed and made my way toward the kitchen for another piece of cake. Much to my surprise, my entire family was awake and had gathered in our family room. What were they all doing up in the middle of the night?

Mariella, come sit with us, my grandmother called out to me.

Did something happen? Is everyone all right? I asked.

We're all fine, Mariella, my father insisted in an even tone as he sat beside my mother with his arm wrapped around her, much like my uncle Nico, who was at that moment sitting beside my aunt Rosie and his sons.

Why is everyone still up? I questioned.

We all went to sleep when you did, Mariella. It's now day, my grandmother explained.

I laughed. I thought she had to be kidding, but when I noticed that no one else found the humor in her statement, including the triplets, my flippant attitude about it quickly changed.

Day? But it's darker now than when I went to bed.

That may be the case, Mariella, but look at your watch and the clocks on the walls, my father directed me.

When I looked down to examine the time on my watch, it suggested that it was 8:00 a.m. What's happening?

We don't know, my grandmother answered me as my entire family looked toward my mother to explain, but my mother sat quietly beside my father, offering no resolution to our concerns, only giving the recommendation that we stay together.

Has anyone gone outside to see if we can figure out what's going on? I asked as I walked toward the front door and opened it, finding, as I expected, more darkness. Intent on investigating, I quickly grabbed my jacket and prepared to leave.

Mariella! Where are you going? my mother anxiously called out to me before I could make my way back outside.

Give me ten minutes, Mom, twenty tops. I just want to check on our neighbors.

Should we go with her? Dom asked.

No, you're to stay here with us. Mariella, come back! my grandfather Pax demanded, but I was fascinated by the phenomenon. I wanted to find out more. Maybe this was part of my assignment. I didn't know.

Please, Mom. It's my birthday. Let me go long enough to walk into town and make sure everyone is all right. I'll be back just as soon as I can. I promise.

After I pleaded my case, I stood, waiting for her response. The decisions had always been left up to her whenever I was concerned. She knew what none of us knew, including what each of our destinies were and what duties followed. I should have known she had seen something in her recent visions that included me. She sat silent for several moments before she got up from her seated position beside my father and walked over toward me. She placed her hands gently on each of my shoulders and looked directly into my eyes. You may go, Mariella, so that you may return to us.

Something in the tone of her voice made me question when it was expected for me to return. I should have thought more about the senses I had compelling me to question the underlying motivation of her overall demeanor when she approached me. Before I left, she embraced me as she always had. She kissed my forehead and said, I love you, Mariella.

Although those words were simple and sweet and I had heard them thousands of times before, I never knew how much I would miss her saying them to me. As I ran out the door, I dismissed my intuition urging me to be prepared. Soon I found myself walking through town. Although the population was less than 1,400 in the surrounding area, it seemed much larger in that moment when I saw the majority of the coastal town's inhabitants filling the streets in search of the same answers I hoped to find.

Nothing made any sense. Had I still been lost in my dreams? Or had my dream been sent as a warning? The more I searched to find a resolution, the more confused I became, so I made my way to the one place that I had always found solace in my most troubled times—on the shoreline by the sea. Most often I would go and sit for hours under the daylight sun, close my eyes, and listen to the sounds of the waves as they ebbed and flowed. I never remembered a day when the sounds were anything but peaceful and hypnotic. I used to imagine that God had sent his angels to keep the waters calm so my family would be safe in their travels to and from the island. In my daydreams, I imagined the angels playing a melody only the waters could hear. It would be soft, tranquil, alluring.

When I was a child, as I listened to the sounds the waters made, I pretended the sea was mimicking the melody the angels played for it. Those moments were the most peaceful I remembered. But tonight, as I made my way toward the shoreline, it was different. In times past, I had never ventured out at night. My way was always guided by the sun's light, but I didn't let that deter me from sitting on the sands, close enough to feel the cool air across my face as I listened to the sounds of the waves but far enough back that I would remain untouched by the waters as they gently pushed themselves on dry land before retreating toward the sea.

I closed my eyes and listened. There was a noticeable change in what I heard this morning. I focused my attention on the crashing sounds the waves made as they neared the shoreline—sounds that were more intense than what I ever remembered them to be. Then suddenly, as the sounds drew closer and louder, I felt the cold wetness of the water as it had reached itself out far enough to touch me. I opened my eyes and looked out as far as I could see. The waters had never pushed themselves as far back on land as they had in that moment. In the distance, I noticed the rising height of the waves; and as they drew nearer, their size and forceful nature as they violently crashed down upon themselves before rising again amplified.

I shot back up to a standing position. I knew I had to return to my family and fast. I didn't know what sounds the waters heard to make them appear as agitated as they seemed. What melody had been composed to cause such rapid changes in the once-calm waters? As I raced toward the path leading up the cliffs to return to the coastal town on my way home, I turned back only once to see a fifteen-foot wave as it crashed down in the spot I just left. As I neared the top of the path and began to catch sight of the townspeople, who also had taken notice of the changes in the elements surrounding them from a distance, I noticed a rumbling in the ground beneath my feet. I brushed it off at first as being vibrations from the waves that had now made their way to be pounding against the cliffs and rock formations that guarded the coastal town, but it wasn't long before I found myself unable to deny the constant quaking of the earth as everyone else took notice surrounding me.

As curious as I had been to hear the melody that controlled the movements of the waters, I would soon come to hear and understand what the earth itself did. At first, the sound that broke through the unusually darkened sky was almost deafening to the mortal ear. I fell to my knees and covered my ears as did everyone else around me. I looked up and around. Panic