Beyond the Fire

by Dewayne A Jackson

  “Then you were a friend of his?” the prisoner asked.

  “Yes,” Melzar said. “The young prince of Amity brought life and hope to this dreary place. I still grieve his passing.”

  The Lord is everywhere, Mandra thought to himself. Thomas was right. Even here, the jailer of Endor is one of God’s own. Mandra crossed his thumb and forefinger in the shape of a cross, just as Stanley had shown him. If he could get Melzar’s attention, maybe they could speak as brothers, and Melzar could learn that Thomas was alive and well!

  The old jailer was too distressed in his memories of Thomas to notice anything for some time, but when he finally noticed the secret sign, his jaw fell open. Glancing about, though no one else was present, he silently crossed his thumb over his forefinger.

  The interview went much longer than expected. When Mandra explained that Thomas was alive and well in Gray Haven, Melzar had to learn every detail of his escape and rescue. Mandra shared everything he knew, and Melzar was beside himself with joy.

  “You are sure?” Melzar asked again. “Young Thomas is really alive?”

  “Yes.” Mandra smiled. “While he recuperated in my home, he told me of your kindness to him and said that you had become a brother. I can see God’s hand working great things in your life and in this place.”

  Melzar grew quiet. “I needed to hear that. I’m so glad you’ve come.”

  “I’m glad I’m here too,” Mandra said, hugging the wizened old man tightly.

  Certain aspects of life were predictable in Endor. Soon after Maria saw the new prisoners enter the compound, she wanted to interview them. Today it was even sooner than usual. “Bring them one at a time,” she ordered. She had not slept well last night, as she kept thinking about the arrogant slaves. Odd that she should do that.

  Samoth had not come to her when he’d brought the slaves, and Maria wondered why she didn’t feel neglected.

  “Your highness,” Melzar said as he brought the first prisoner.

  “Bow before me!” Maria demanded.

  Though the prisoner did bow, Melzar remained standing as straight and tall as his aging body would allow. “Would you like me to stay?” he asked.

  “No!” Maria considered Melzar. He no longer cringed before her, and she thought she liked his boldness, but she wasn’t sure.

  Melzar stepped quietly outside where the others stood waiting their turns to meet the princess. All were clean-shaven, bathed, and dressed in the garb of the temple. Melzar was usually given more time for preparation, but the Lady seemed unusually anxious to meet this group. He’d had less than twenty-four hours to get everyone groomed and somewhat ready for this interview. He was glad the prisoners were few in number and cooperative.

  The last in line was Mandra. Melzar had arranged him thus, hoping to have a few private words with him before his interview. But the interviews progressed rather quickly and without event. Finally, only two prisoners were left in the outer room.

  Mandra poked the aging man in front of him. “Take your time, Jonadab,” he said. “I need to have a few words with our brother.” Mandra nodded at Melzar.

  Jonadab’s eyebrows arched, but when the old jailer flashed him the secret signal, he smiled. “It is good,” he said. He knew he had been treated well, something he had not expected in this place, but now he knew why.

  A small bell rang, and Melzar left to attend to his duties. When he returned, he whispered to Jonadab, “I do not think it has been going well with the Ravenna today. Be careful what you say.”

  Jonadab smiled broadly, revealing several missing teeth. Melzar wondered if this tough old man was truly a shepherd as he claimed, or if he had really been a soldier all his life. He had all the markings of a man who knew how to fight.

  “Beware,” Melzar said again.

  The old man nodded, and the two parted company.

  Returning to Mandra, Melzar asked, “Do you remember what I told you about Thomas and how I warned him not to spurn the Lady?”

  “I remember, and I am glad he did not give in,” Mandra said.

  “Then you will not give in?” Melzar asked.

  “The Lord will help me,” Mandra said. “He will give me the strength and courage to say no.”

  Melzar shook his head. He was amazed at how these simple believers found such courage. “I pray the Lord will grant you mercy,” he whispered.

  Jonadab apparently had little to say, for the interview had come to an end. The bell rang, and Melzar left Mandra alone.

  Silently Mandra bowed his head. “Lord, give me wisdom,” he prayed. It was his turn.

  Maria was frustrated. She had yet to interview someone really interesting, and no one had even looked at her. She had not evoked one masculine response to her new lace gown, daring and risqué as it was. Was she losing her touch?

  “This is the last, Your Highness,” Melzar said from the door.

  “Bring him in,” Maria said.

  Mandra walked boldly into her presence, planted his feet, and looked directly into her eyes.

  “Will there be anything else?” Melzar asked from the door.

  “No,” Maria answered, a little annoyed that Melzar was still there. She shot him a warning glance when he lingered a moment longer.

  Maria then began to study the man before her. He appeared more open than the others, and he reminded her of someone, but she could not think of whom. His face was clean-shaven and his hair clipped short. Though he was older, Maria thought he looked very handsome in his white shirt and crimson breeches. There was an appeal here that had not been in the others. Melzar did know his business, the old goat! He had saved the best for last.

  “Where do you come from?” the Ravenna asked.

  “The wilderness,” Mandra answered.

  His answer amused her. The others had said they came from the Gray Lands. She was sure he was from the same place, but she liked the change. “The wilderness?” she asked. “I suppose that could mean almost anywhere, for every country has a wilderness.” She smiled. “Now, tell me where you come from.”

  “Across the river where the hand of Endor should not have reached,” Mandra said with passion.

  His answer stunned her. She was not in the habit of being rebuked by anyone, let alone a prisoner. Something about his manner intrigued her, though, so she continued. “What is your occupation?”

  “I am a shepherd, as is my Master. I care for my sheep as He cares for His,” Mandra stated.

  Maria frowned. “You have a master? Who is he, and are you his slave?”

  “Nay, lass,” Mandra said. “I speak of the creator of heaven and earth. He is the great shepherd of all mankind.”

  Maria grew quiet. She had heard this before. This man reminded her of someone, but whom?

  “Dear lady,” Mandra continued, “I would not care to be in your shoes just now.”

  His words startled her: not so much what he’d said but that he had spoken unbidden before her. “Why?” she managed to ask.

  “The ancient curse has been broken, and your kingdom is about to crumble,” Mandra replied.

  “What curse?” Maria asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Surely you have heard of the silence that lay upon the Gray Land?” Mandra asked.

  She had. Her own mother had pronounced that curse upon those people.

  “The curse has been broken,” Mandra announced. “The king has come, and people speak freely in the Gray Lands.”

  “No!” Maria gasped. “You’re lying.”

  “It’s true,” Mandra said. “And the old prophecy is about to be fulfilled.”

  “What prophecy?” Maria asked.

  Mandra closed his eyes and began to quote some rhyme from memory. In a singsong chant, he began: “When darkness reaches beyond its grasp, evil will come to an end at last.” Mandra spoke quietly now.
“The river was your boundary, and crossing it spells your doom. Surly you knew this, my lady?”

  There was silence for a moment before Mandra continued. “The overthrow of your empire will be swift and decisive.” Mandra looked Maria in the eye. “It was spoken by the seers long ago. Your time draws to an end.”

  The color drained from Maria’s face. “You mock me,” she said, but her features belied her bold words. Terror threatened to overcome her. Once, long ago, her mother had spoken from her deathbed. “Never return to the Gray Lands,” she had said. “On the day you do, you will lose all.”

  Maria had not understood those words that day, nor did she understand them today. How could she lose all? She regained her composure and asked, “What have I done to incur this judgment and doom?”

  “You have raised your hand against the king’s elect,” Mandra said.

  “Speak on,” Maria commanded.

  “You spurned the very one who sought to bring you out of bondage. He was beaten at your command and sent to the land of the lost. Now you seek to destroy those who have accepted his deliverance.” Mandra spoke as one who knew what had happened.

  Maria’s mind was whirling. Who was this man? Of whom did he speak? Narrowing her eyes to mere slits, she studied the prisoner intently. Finally she broke the silence. “Who is this man of whom you speak?”

  “Thomas Stafford, Prince of Amity,” Mandra said boldly.

  Thomas! Maria’s mind raced. Things had not been the same since that fateful day. He’d asked her to leave her kingdom, and she had refused. Everything had gone wrong since then. Oh, why had she ever met that man? That man! She suddenly realized that this man reminded her of Thomas. They both spoke with the same boldness about their Lord, and they spoke to her as if she were merely a person, not a princess or deity. Is it even possible to control people like this? she wondered.

  Anger began to build within her. Who did this man think he was? “You are a fool!” she shouted. “Thomas of Amity is no more. He was beaten and cast into the land of the lost, from whence there is no return. You speak of one who is alive, but if Thomas has come to the Gray Lands, he comes as a spirit and not a man.”

  “More spirit than man when he came,” Mandra said, “for he stood at death’s door. But he trampled death’s corridors and wrought a great deliverance. No, my lady, Thomas is not dead but very much alive. He is alive in body and alive in the hearts of his people.”

  “You lie!” Maria shouted. “He is dead, and his memory will be forgotten!”

  “Nay, lady. His kingdom will surely grow, but your kingdom will come to an end!” Mandra said.

  Her face grew livid with rage. “Guards!” she shrieked. Armed men leaped through a side door and grabbed Mandra roughly.

  “Beat this liar,” Maria stormed. “Throw him in the darkest cell where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Maybe he will learn that there is only one worthy of worship, and that is me!”

  Maria flung her robe across the bed. “Why did you cross the river to get those men?” she stormed.

  “Whoa,” Samoth soothed. “I brought those people for your pleasure. What does it matter where they came from?”

  “Couldn’t you have brought people from this side of the river?” Maria spat.

  “Well,” Samoth considered, “quite frankly, no. The war has taken every available man and boy on this side of the river.” He hadn’t expected a temper tantrum. Maria usually rewarded him royally when he brought her new slaves. He hadn’t looked her up last night, and now he supposed she was angry about that. “Look,” he stated flatly. “I’m sorry I didn’t come in last night.”

  “I don’t care if you ever come again, you fool!” Maria’s dark hair tossed angrily to match the fire in her eyes.

  “Now, wait just a minute …” Samoth began.

  “No, you wait. The old prophecy might be coming to pass because you had to cross the river.”

  “What are you talking about?” Samoth asked.

  “My mother told me on her deathbed that I should never reach across the river!” Maria shouted. “On the day I do, I will lose everything! I don’t want to lose everything.” She began to sob.

  Samoth had never seen Maria like this. She looked so fragile, so human. He crossed the room and wrapped her in his arms. “Something had to be done, my love. You might have lost the kingdom to the Gray Landers if we had done nothing.”

  “What? Why?” Maria looked up.

  “Several weeks ago there was a skirmish some miles downriver. The Gray Landers stole something, though we don’t know what it was. They fought like wildcats when your father’s men spotted them, and even though we burned the forest to the ground, the devils got away. We never caught a single one. Your father ordered raids into the borderlands to show those people they had better stay on their side of the river—or else!” Samoth felt very pleased to be the one to inform Maria of the past events.

  “Father ordered the raids?” Maria asked, brightening. “If it was my father who reached across the river, and not me, maybe my mother’s warning will not come to pass.”

  “I suppose,” Samoth said with a shrug, “but I went along, thinking you might like a few more toys.”

  “They aren’t much fun,” she pouted. “I couldn’t get a single one to look at me.”

  “Poor girl,” Samoth crooned in her ear. His fingers began to trace the delicate seams of her gown. “A whip and a cell can change their attitudes. I’ll work with them tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Samoth.” Maria began to wilt in his arms. “You are so good to me. Not only do you bring me new subjects but you know how to make them love me.”

  “Yes, I do.” His lips touched her long, graceful neck. “Forget the old prophecies. Let me be your prophet. I predict we will enjoy each other tonight and begin a long and sustained reign together tomorrow.”

  Maria melted, wrapping her body tightly against his. “Oh, Samoth,” she whispered, “maybe I’m not a deity at all. You make me feel so weak.”

  “You’re a goddess to me, and I worship you with all my heart.”

  Samoth woke to dim light filtering into the room. “Married?” he asked, wiping sleep from his eyes. “Who said anything about getting married?”

  “You did,” Maria said, brushing the wild tangles from her hair.

  Samoth stretched and rubbed his eyes again. It had been a wild night. Between the wine and the woman, he wasn’t sure what he might have said. “Well,” he said, hesitating, “what exactly did I say?”

  “Samoth,” she crooned seductively. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?” Maria turned toward him, her robe open nearly to the waist. She swayed seductively toward the bed.

  Samoth began to fantasize.

  “Remember,” she whispered. “You said we would begin a long reign together, starting today.”

  “Oh.” Had he really said that? “Well … sure!” he began. “But do we really need to change things?”

  “Don’t you think you ought to ask my father?” Maria sighed.

  “Ask him what?” Samoth ventured.

  “For my hand in marriage, silly.” Maria’s anger had begun to flare. Clearly she was tired of this game. “Enough is enough. You weren’t just toying with me, were you?”

  Samoth could see that she had cooled a great deal toward him. “I would never toy with you, dear lady. Come, let’s rekindle the fire.”

  “Not until you ask my father,” she said, whirling away and storming from the room.

  “Women,” Samoth said, sitting up and scratching his head.

  It was midmorning, and Jabin was bleary-eyed from another night of heavy drinking. He was in a dark humor and did not want to be bothered. The throne room seemed a safe place to escape interruptions. Suddenly the door opened and a messenger announced, “The young man, Samoth, is here to see you, sir.”

  “
Bring the sneaky rascal in,” Jabin ordered.

  Their difference in age clashed horribly. Samoth was young and handsome; Jabin was neither. In his youth, Jabin had been a dashing young man, full of ambition, drive, and energy. Though his ambition was no less now than it had been, war, hatred, and cruelty had taken their toll upon his appearance.

  Jabin sat on his throne, looking as large, old, and unbending as an oak tree. His features were carved in granite and distorted by bitterness. Heavy stubble covered his face, adding fierceness to his countenance, which wasn’t necessary to intimidate the stoutest of souls.

  “What do you want,” he snarled when Samoth entered the room.

  “Sir,” said Samoth, bowing low. He was dressed in his finest, was clean-shaven, and appeared to be on his way to a formal dinner. “I’ve come to ask about future plans, sir.”

  “Future plans?” Jabin roared. “If the war doesn’t turn around, we will all be hanging at the end of a rope.”

  “Is the war going badly?” Samoth asked from politeness. He didn’t really care about the war, but he could see that it was heavy on Jabin’s mind.

  “Rotten!” Jabin snapped. “Two months ago we were camped on the doorstep of the richest plum in the world. Amity was virtually unprotected, with only one tiny garrison standing in my way. Now our troops flee on every side.” He pounded his fist in his palm. “I’ve just come from heavy action with Gaff at Easterndown, and Stafford marches almost unopposed up the river road.”

  Samoth paled at the news. “I guess I haven’t kept track of what is going on,” he said feebly. “Have we any resistance for Stafford?”

  “That’s why I’m here!” Jabin shouted. “No one does anything around here but me. Then you prance in and ask about the war, without a care in the world.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Samoth began. “I’ve been rather busy.” He had been busy, directing raids almost every night into the Gray Lands. There had been heavy fighting as the Watchers repulsed almost every invasion. Many nights, Samoth had returned empty-handed.