Elusive Hope

by Marylu Tyndall

  The impact of his ominous declaration was lost on Hayden. Just the preacher being a preacher, he supposed. But the news seemed to distress Blake. He planted a boot on a stool and leaned forward, his jaw stiff, his eyes intent.

  “What powerful beings?” Hayden asked.

  James gave Hayden a look as if he’d asked if the sun rose in the east. An event Hayden hoped he’d miss before he returned to his bed. “Ah, yes. Sorry,” James said. “Remember those alcoves in the tunnels beneath the temples, the ones with the poles and broken chains?”

  “Go on.”

  “This book tells how they got there. There was a battle. Probably on that scorched field we saw behind the temple.” His eyes lit up as if he suddenly realized the connection. “Anyway, those powerful evil beings were subdued and locked below. Four of them.”

  Hayden had heard some rattlebrained tales before—had told a few himself—but this one could get a man locked in an asylum. “But there was nothing there.”

  “Two were gone. Yes.” James scratched his thick hair. “I know how they escaped.” He exchanged a look with Blake. “Remember the writing on top of each alcove?”

  “Yes. Latin and something else written in another language.” Hayden pointed toward the book. “Words that looked like this.”

  James nodded and shifted his gaze between them. “All someone needs to do to free the beings is say the Latin phrase out loud. Here, let me read this section. When the man of darkness in whom there is no light”—he slid his finger across the characters from right to left—“speaks the key to the four winds, the chains are broken.”

  Blake nodded as if James had just read facts from a scientific treatise. “But who released the first two?”

  “Indians, pirates, cannibals. I don’t know. The person merely has to say the phrase, not understand it. And he or she must be evil. A bad person in whom there is no light.”

  Hayden rubbed the back of his neck. “So who locked them up there in the first place?”

  “I don’t know. God…good angels.”

  Hayden snorted. “And you think these beings might be bad angels?”

  James huffed his displeasure at Hayden’s skepticism. “I know it sounds farfetched, but yes, I believe these beings could be angels who followed Satan in the fall.”

  Farfetched? Hayden shook his head. More like pure madness. “So, why would whoever conquered them make a way for them to be released?”

  James flipped back a few pages. “It’s hard to explain, but it says here that because the earth was given to mankind, fallen as he is, there had to be a way for man to release these beings. It had to be man’s choice of good over evil…free will”—he looked up at Blake—“like we talked about before. God does not want puppets. If we choose evil, He allows us.”

  The excited way he spoke, the fear lacing his tone, brought Hayden’s own fears to the surface. Were His two friends becoming as mad as Graves? Perhaps if Hayden simply excused himself and returned to bed, he’d wake up tomorrow to find their senses recovered. “Fascinating, gentlemen, but I have a new bride waiting for me.” He turned to go.

  “Graves is close to releasing The next being.” James’s forceful tone spun Hayden around and caused Blake to squeeze the bridge of his nose with a groan.“That’s what he’s been digging for,”James continued. “Two of them were locked in the chamber we saw. Another two were locked below them. The worst two. More evil than you could possibly imagine.” He gripped the edge of the table. “If what Graves said about sabotaging our journey was true, we know he was evil to start out with. But now, you’ve seen him. He’s not only evil, but he’s gone mad as well. If he knows any Latin at all, all he has to do is say the phrase above the open sepulcher out loud and the third being will be free.”

  Graves raised the lantern over the alcove he’d just uncovered. Finally. After weeks of digging, he’d finally removed enough rocks and dirt to clearly see the curved trench that ran from the muddy floor to the craggy roof of the cave. Water dripped and hissed all around him as steam rose from cracks. Sweat streamed down every aching muscle in his body and burned over cuts and abrasions. But he didn’t care. Excitement set his hair on end. the chains were intact, suspended in midair as if still restraining something…or someone, yet now as he flooded the area with light, he could see no one there.

  “I did what you said.” He wiped sweat from his face, leaving a streak of mud on his sleeve. “I did what you said.” He took a step closer.

  Ah…there they were, the voices again. his friends, his companions for The last two months. Happy voices, praising him for his faithfulness, his hard work, his dedication, promising him rewards beyond his wildest dreams. Graves smiled. Finally all his work would pay off. Finally he would have immeasurable power.

  Say the words. Open the chains.

  Water dripped on his face from above—steaming water that smelled of sulfur and stung his skin. He leapt on a boulder and raised the lantern higher, illuminating the Latin above the sepulcher. Squinting, he tried to make out the letters, tried to remember their pronunciation from his lessons as a child.

  The words sounded foreign on his cracked lips, but he shouted them aloud with glee. Their echo magnified and bounced off the walls with a power he would soon possess. A low rumble resounded from below. Louder and louder it grew until it thundered in the chamber. The walls shook. Dirt showered over him. Stalactites speared down from above. One struck Graves’s shoulder, piercing his flesh. Crying out, he tumbled from the rock and landed in the mud. Another pierced his leg. He screamed in agony and raised a pleading hand to the sepulcher. Chains rattled. Iron split apart, and the dark outline of an immense being took form. Eyes as hot as coals stared down at Graves.

  “Help me,” Graves cried, reaching toward the creature.

  The being pulled a sword with a blade as long as a man from his scabbard, stepped from his prison, and raised it over Graves’s head.

  Before he completely vanished.

  Graves released a heavy breath. He never felt the blade on his throat until it was too late.

  A loud boom like the roar of a cannon drew all men’s gazes to the jungle. The ground trembled. The lantern wobbled on the table and slivers of thatch filtered down from above.

  The three men exchanged wary glances. The shaking stopped. Night birds and crickets returned to their song, and a mighty gust of wind sent the lantern flame sputtering patches of light and dark over the prophetic Hebrew book.

  “So what is the name of this third being?” Hayden asked, suddenly rethinking his position.

  James pointed to a word in the book then eyed them both. “Destruction.”

  AUTHOR’S HISTORICAL NOTE

  For purposes of the story, I chose the location for the colony of New Hope to be roughly one hundred miles south of Rio de Janeiro, near a wide river that flows from the mountains down to the sea. The river and the colony are fictitious and are not actual landmarks in Brazil. There was, however, a colony named El Dorado, led by Frank McMullan, that settled south of Rio de Janeiro in the São Paulo province, near the São Lourenço River. Shortly after the colonists’ arrival, Frank McMullan took sick and died, leaving his partner, William Bowen, a gruff, greedy man more interested in finding gold than planting crops, in charge. (Many legends abounded of a lake of gold near the area!) The resultant power struggle caused great dissention among the group. That division, along with sickness, lack of food supplies, money, and no way to get their crops to market caused the demise of the colony in 1870, three years after it began.

  The fairy tale Magnolia recites to Hayden during their trek in the jungle comes from James Orchard Halliwell-Phillipps: Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales. London 1849. I copied it here for your enjoyment.

  The Maiden and the Frog

  Many years ago there lived on the brow of a mountain, in the north of England, an old woman and her daughter. They were very poor and obliged to work very hard for their living, and the old woman’s temper was not very good, so that the
maiden, who was very beautiful, led but an ill life with her.

  The girl, indeed, was compelled to do the hardest work, for her mother got their principal means of subsistence by traveling to places in the neighborhood with small articles for sale, and when she came home in the afternoon she was not able to do much more work. Nearly the whole domestic labor of the cottage devolved therefore on the daughter, the most wearisome part of which consisted in the necessity of fetching all the water they required from a well on the other side of the hill, there being no river or spring near their own cottage.

  It happened one morning that the daughter had the misfortune, in going to the well, to break the only pitcher they possessed, and having no other utensil she could use for the purpose, she was obliged to go home without bringing any water. When her mother returned, she was unfortunately troubled with excessive thirst, and the girl, though trembling for the consequences of her misfortune, told her exactly the circumstance that had occurred.

  The old woman was furiously angry, and so far from making any allowances for her daughter, pointed to a sieve which happened to be on the table, and told her to go at once to the well and bring her some water in that, or never venture to appear again in her sight.

  The young maiden, frightened almost out of her wits by her mother’s fury, speedily took the sieve, and though she considered the task a hopeless one to accomplish, almost unconsciously hastened to the well. When she arrived there, beginning to reflect on the painful situation in which she was placed and the utter impossibility of her obtaining a living by herself, she threw herself down on the brink of the well in an agony of despair.

  Whilst she was in this condition, a large frog came up to the top of the water and asked her for what she was crying so bitterly. She was somewhat surprised at this, but not being the least frightened, told him the whole story, and that she was crying because she could not carry away water in the sieve.

  “Is that all?” said the frog. “Cheer up, my hinny! For if you will only let me sleep with you for two nights, and then chop off my head, I will tell you how to do it.”

  The maiden thought the frog could not be in earnest, but she was too impatient to consider much about it and at once made the required promise. The frog then instructed her in the following words:

  Stop with fog,

  And daub with clay;

  And that will carry

  The water away.

  Having said this, he dived immediately under the water, and the girl, having followed his advice, got the sieve full of water, and returned home with it, not thinking much of her promise to the frog. By the time she reached home the old woman’s wrath was appeased, but as they were eating their frugal supper very quietly, what should they hear but the splashing and croaking of a frog near the door, and shortly afterwards the daughter recognized the voice of the frog of the well saying:

  Open the door, my hinny, my heart,

  Open the door, my own darling;

  Remember the word you spoke to me

  In the meadow by the well-spring.

  She was now dreadfully frightened and hurriedly explained the matter to her mother, who was also so much alarmed at the circumstance that she dared not refuse admittance to the frog, who, when the door was opened, leapt into the room, exclaiming:

  Go wi’ me to bed, my hinny, my heart,

  Go wi’ me to bed, my own darling;

  Remember the words you spoke to me,

  In the meadow by the well-spring.

  This command was also obeyed, although as may be readily supposed, she did not much relish such a bedfellow. The next day, the frog was very quiet and evidently enjoyed the fare they placed before him, the purest milk and the finest bread they could procure. In fact, neither the old woman nor her daughter spared any pains to render the frog comfortable. That night, immediately supper was finished, the frog again exclaimed:

  Go wi’ me to bed, my hinny, my heart,

  Go wi’ me to bed, my own darling;

  Remember the words you spoke to me,

  In the meadow by the well-spring.

  She again allowed the frog to share her couch, and in the morning, as soon as she was dressed, he jumped towards her, saying:

  Chop off my head, my hinny, my heart,

  Chop off my head, my own darling;

  Remember the words you spoke to me,

  In the meadow by the well-spring.

  The maiden had no sooner accomplished this last request, than in the stead of the frog there stood by her side the handsomest prince in the world, who had long been transformed by a magician, and who could never have recovered his natural shape until a beautiful virgin had consented, of her own accord, to make him her bedfellow for two nights. The joy of all parties was complete; the girl and the prince were shortly afterward married and lived for many years in the enjoyment of every happiness.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MaryLu Tyndall, a Christy Award finalist and bestselling author of the Legacy of the King’s Pirates series, is known for her adventurous historical romances filled with deep spiritual themes. She holds a degree in math and worked as a software engineer for fifteen years before testing the waters as a writer. MaryLu currently writes full time and makes her home on the California coast with her husband, six kids, and four cats. Her passion is to write page-turning, romantic adventures that not only entertain but open people’s eyes to their God-given potential. MaryLu is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Romance Writers of America.