Beyond the Fire

by Dewayne A Jackson

  Seagood looked at Thomas. “My question exactly!” He and Thomas had had this same discussion many times in the last few hours.

  “Wart,” Thomas began, “it’s only fair that we ask Jabin to release the prisoners he has unlawfully taken from our kingdoms so we can return them to their families. We need to give God the opportunity to work on Jabin’s heart, and maybe he will do the right thing. If he refuses, then God will make the next move. Something is going to happen inside Endor that we cannot see, but something will move Jabin’s hand. As for the other prisoners, it’s not that we don’t want to free them, but we have no idea where to send them. We have no jurisdiction over them, and we have no authority to demand their release.”

  “But shouldn’t all who are held against their will be set free?” Wart asked.

  “It seems Jabin is as likely to free everyone as he is to free just Mandra or Stanley,” Seagood responded.

  Thomas was reminded of his conversations with James and how idealistic he had been. Decisions became much harder when you had to consider the practical consequences of your actions. It was easy to want to help the downtrodden, but only God knew how people would react to your efforts. Within moments, Thomas was lost in thought. How can I only ask for Mandra or Stanley? Are there others from the Gray Lands or Amity inside that I don’t know to ask for? But on the other hand, how can I ask for everyone? Most of the prisoners are from countries other than Amity or the Gray Lands. Jabin has conquered many countries that Seagood and I have no right to rule. What should I do?

  Wart mistook Thomas’s silence as a dismissal, and he fell back to join Rudy and Mathias. They were flanked by a sizable number of Watchers, of which his father was a part. Behind them followed countless numbers of barefoot people winding their way silently through the forest of Endor.

  Somewhere among the trees, a thrush warbled its throaty song, followed by the soft hoot of an owl nearby.

  “Imagine putting those birds in a cage,” Seagood said, gently shaking Thomas’s shoulder.

  Thomas stirred from his thoughts. “What?” he asked.

  “Think how any creature born free must feel when placed in a cage,” Seagood repeated.

  “You really think we should proclaim freedom for everyone under Jabin’s rule, don’t you?” Thomas asked.

  “Why should we stop with those from our own realms?” Seagood asked. “All men seek to be free.”

  “But to whom will they belong?” Thomas asked. “Who will govern them?”

  “Maybe you, maybe me, or maybe someone else,” Seagood said. “Give them their freedom and let them choose.”

  “I wish I had your confidence. I’m afraid that once they have their freedom they could become as bad as Jabin himself.”

  “They might,” Seagood said soberly. “Let’s open their cage and find out.”

  “Wart,” Thomas called, and the lad rode forward. “Between you and Seagood, I’ve changed my mind. Proclaim freedom to everyone.”

  “Are you serious?” Thomas could hear the enthusiasm in Wart’s voice.

  “Yes!” Thomas said.

  “What a terrible night,” Samoth groaned as he rolled over one last time.

  “Get up!” a guard yelled from the other side of a locked door.

  “Stuff it, buster,” Samoth growled under his breath.

  “Shh.” Maria poked him. “I want to get out of here. This may be our chance.”

  An old woman waddling by cackled, “Quit yer talking, dearies. There’s cold biscuits and water fer breakfast. Eat now, or wait til sundown. There’s nothing to eat while we’re outside.”

  Samoth and Maria nodded at each other with a knowing glance, and Maria nearly gasped. A deep shadow darkened Samoth’s elegant jawline. Normally she thought his beard at this stage looked manly, but this morning it frightened her.

  “Let’s get some grub,” Samoth grunted as he rolled off the cot.

  “You can’t go like that!” she whispered. “Your beard is showing!”

  Samoth rubbed his chin and looked at her. “What shall I do?”

  “Stay here,” she ordered. “I’ll get you something to eat. Now, cover your face.”

  “With what?” he asked.

  “Your cloak, silly.” She turned and strode to the table. A mixture of crumbs and cloudy water met her eyes. Her stomach churned at the sight of women wolfing down food that looked so unappealing.

  “What about yer friend?” an old woman asked, jerking a finger toward Samoth.

  “She’s not feeling well this morning,” Maria said. She would let Samoth have her portion; she certainly could never eat such fare.

  “Maybe I ought to take a look,” the old woman offered.

  “No,” Maria said quickly. “I mean, she’ll be all right after she gets some food.”

  “Well, suite yerself,” the old lady said. “I’m able to help a few.”

  I doubt it, Maria thought as she raked a few crumbs into her hand and filled a dirty cup with even dirtier looking water.

  “Sorry,” she said as she handed Samoth the cup and dumped the crumbs into his outstretched hand. “That’s all they had.”

  “Better than nothing,” he said with a shrug, wolfing the crumbs down in a single bite. She marveled at his attitude. Maybe he was tougher than she thought.

  “Let’s move it!” a guard shouted from outside.

  Maria carefully wrapped Samoth’s cloak further around him, and the two fell in line.

  It was nearly dawn when Thomas and his company entered the clearing below Endor. Doubts surged as they gathered at the edge of the forest. It seemed absurd for a mere handful of men to approach the impregnable walls of the fortress.

  As the vanguard prepared to ride to the very gates of Endor, Seagood opened a package he had been carrying and distributed twelve gray cloaks. “Our number is determined,” he said. “This is a gift from the Lady of Gray Haven.”

  Wart received his cloak gladly. It was light to the touch, but it felt warm and comfortable when he slipped it over his shoulders. He felt a surge of courage when he thought of the gracious woman who had bestowed such a gift upon him, insignificant as he was.

  “Our mission will be dangerous,” Seagood was saying. “We will be within bowshot of the walls.”

  Thomas pulled Wart aside. “The people inside those walls must hear the proclamation of freedom. Are you up to the task, Wart?”

  “I think so,” Wart said, though he felt little confidence. He was no hero, and he did not like danger, but he was glad to be on this mission if it meant those poor people inside this castle would never wear a leg chain again. He was haunted by man’s inhumanity toward man.

  Finally the group was ready. Eleven men and one boy mounted their horses and followed the pavement toward Endor. When they reached the steep incline leading to the gates, Thomas turned and spoke to the group. “This is the Lord’s mission. Trust and watch his hand at work.”

  Jabin was awakened by the sound of voices in the hallway. Yesterday’s drinking spree had left his head full of cobwebs.

  Someone was pounding on his door and shouting, “Wake up, sir! We have visitors.”

  “Who?” Jabin asked, his head clearing a little.

  “They have no banner or device, sir, but they all are wearing gray cloaks,” the messenger said.

  “Gray?” Jabin stroked his chin. “Where are they?”

  “On the flat, sir,” the messenger said. “We’ve kept the work crews inside.”

  Jabin leaped from his bed, all traces of yesterday’s binge gone. “Well, let’s see what they have to say.”

  Long columns of slaves stood restlessly inside the fortress walls. Maria grew disgusted listening to the constant whispers of these wretched people. Impatiently, she tapped an old woman in front of her and asked, “Why aren’t we going out?”

  “
The gates are still barred,” the old woman said.

  “Why?” Maria asked, casting a furtive glance at Samoth.

  “They say there is a company of soldiers in the flat,” the old woman responded.

  “Soldiers?” Maria asked. “To whom do they belong?”

  “No one knows,” the old woman said, “but they are all dressed in gray. I hereby dub them the Gray Company. May they keep us out of the fields forever.” The old woman cackled, proud of her originality.

  Gray? Maria’s face turned ashen. Echoing in her mind were her mother’s words: Disturb not the Gray Lands. In the day you do, you will lose all! Another thought disturbed her. Only two days earlier, a slave had stood before her and boldly proclaimed that Thomas of Amity was not dead but was alive and well in the Gray Lands.

  The group of slaves where she stood was near a lattice screening them from the immediate view of the catwalks high above. Maria peered through the lattice to the outer walls. They seemed so high from down here. She didn’t think she had ever seen them from this level. Suddenly her heart stood still. There, nearly one hundred feet above her, stood her father. One minute he was staring over the wall, and the next, he turned and looked directly at her.

  Seagood’s riders met no resistance as they crossed the clearing and climbed the ramp to Endor’s gates, but they were sure their presence was known.

  “Sound carries well here,” Seagood whispered to Wart. “Be sure to speak loudly, and everyone inside is sure to hear you.”

  The monstrous towers on either side of the gate frowned menacingly upon the visitors, making them feel most unwelcome. Seagood produced a white cloth from somewhere inside his cloak and waved the sign of parley. The party halted thirty paces from the gate.

  “All right, Wart,” Thomas said. “Speak up.”

  Wart urged his horse forward several paces and stood in the stirrups, shouting to the men on the wall in the language of Endor. “Listen, you servants of Jabin and all who are held captive against your will. The reign of Jabin is over! His power is broken! His day has come to an end!”

  Thomas looked at Seagood with a puzzled expression. He knew some of the language of Endor, and this was not the speech he’d expected Wart to give.

  Wart continued. “The God of heaven bought freedom for all mankind with His Son’s death and resurrection. He grants freedom for the captive, rest for the weary, food for the hungry, and heavenly water for all who thirst!” Wart’s voice grew in intensity. “Today is the day of your salvation. In the names of Jesus Christ and Thomas of Amity, we demand you open these gates and let our people go!”

  “Get back where we can see you!” Cracking his whip, a guard inside Endor’s walls shouted at the slaves milling about in the courtyard.

  Samoth pulled Maria into the crowd and asked, “What’s the matter? You’re trembling!”

  “It’s Daddy!” she whispered.

  “Where?” Samoth asked, looking about.

  “Up there.” Maria pointed toward the catwalks.

  “Did he see you?” Samoth asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It felt like he looked right at me, but I was behind the lattice, and there are lots of people. I hope he didn’t recognize me.”

  They fell silent, for a youthful voice was echoing across the plaza. It spoke of freedom and salvation. For a moment, hope kindled in every heart.

  “It’s too good to be true,” someone whispered.

  “The true king will bring freedom to the downtrodden,” another said.

  “The king has returned!” someone shouted.

  Maria could not believe her ears. She had heard that Thomas was alive and was king of the Gray Lands, but this was not possible. He had passed into the land of the lost, never to return.

  Several women began to laugh and sing.

  “Stop that!” a guard shouted, cracking his whip above their heads.

  Other women mocked the guard and jeered. One scooped up a handful of dust and hurled it into the air, shouting, “Long live the king!”

  A guard drew his sword, and several women rushed him.

  “There’s going to be a riot,” Maria whispered, trying to distance herself from the fray.

  “There may be freedom yet,” Samoth said, fierce defiance written on his brow. “If Melzar will just throw open the prisons, we stand a chance of deposing your father and placing you on the throne.”

  “No!” Maria screamed, but it was too late. In one swift movement, Samoth bowled over a nearby guard and grabbed his sword. “Rally to me!” he cried, felling another guard. “Up with the Lady! Down with the tyrant!”

  Shouts resounded across the square. Shackled men attacked their guards, found the keys, unlocked their chains, and poured into the square, spoiling for a fight. High above from a temple window, two men watched in horror. Mandra turned to Stanley and said, “It’s happening, just as Melzar feared.”

  “Shall we release the prisoners?” Stanley asked.

  “Yes!”

  Jabin grew angrier with every word. Who was this youth to proclaim the end of his reign and freedom to the slaves? He glanced over his shoulder at the empire beneath him. All was orderly and peaceful. He had nothing to fear. But wait! Who was that? He thought he recognized someone in the crowds—but that couldn’t be. These were common slaves. He had nothing to do with them.

  Turning back to the youth outside, he wondered if he had missed something. He heard the name Thomas of Amity. Outside? Never! He was in the oubliette!

  He heard the clash of steel beneath him. Turning, he could not believe his eyes. The peaceful scene of a moment before was now total chaos. Slaves overwhelmed their captors with little more than dust and rocks.

  Jabin turned to the sentinel beside him. “Silence that squeaking little rat outside. I have a riot to quell.” He ran across the catwalks, gathering reinforcements.

  No one saw the sentinel fit an arrow to his string or his muscles tense as he drew the bow. No one heard the twang as his fingers released the cord, for shouts of freedom raged in the courtyard below.

  Seagood grew uneasy as Wart continued to speak. He could see no danger, but he sensed a growing disaster. A slight movement overhead caught his eye. He leaped forward to grab Wart from danger, but the boy was gone. One moment Wart was standing in the stirrups of his saddle proclaiming freedom to the oppressed; the next he lay in a pool of his own blood on the ground.

  Seagood dropped the flag of parley he had been holding and leaped to the pavement. Within seconds, eleven men had gathered around Wart’s fallen body. An arrow had found Wart’s heart and ended his life immediately. He had not seen his doom or felt his fall.

  Not a word was spoken as Rudy, Mathias, Thomas, and Seagood shouldered their young companion and began their retreat from Endor’s gates. Others gathered the horses, but the white flag of parley lay abandoned, its fibers turning crimson where it touched the dark pool on the ground.

  Maria watched in disbelief as Samoth cut a swath across the courtyard. His skill with a sword appeared great, but few armed men opposed him. “Rally to me!” his voice thundered across the square. “Fight for the Lady! Fight for your queen!”

  To her dismay, the prison doors suddenly flew open, and half-starved prisoners poured into the courtyard. Behind them stepped the crimson-and-white-clad guard of the temple. These were her hand-chosen men, fully armed and prepared to place her on the throne. She should have been exultant, but she felt empty.

  “No,” she whispered. “It’s not supposed to happen this way.”

  “Come on, missy,” a voice cackled behind her. “Arm yourself or find a place to hide. Jabin ain’t going to take this lying down.”

  Maria turned to see an old woman carrying a large stick hobble into the square.

  “No,” Maria whispered to her. “You’ll be killed.” But her words were lost in the clamor and
confusion.

  Jabin’s guard, dressed in black, feigned retreat before Samoth and the temple guard. It even appeared for a brief moment that some of Jabin’s troops would join the insurrection.

  Suddenly a trumpet sounded from one tower and was answered on every side. Men in black poured from every quarter into the square. The short-lived freedom of the oppressed ended abruptly. Before most had voiced their joy, they began to howl with fear. Hemmed in between long spears and sharp swords, they found no escape.

  Only the temple guard gave battle. The remaining population ran in fear and confusion. Panic turned to bedlam as people jammed into a great human vise, crushing life and breath from those trapped in the middle or unlucky enough to fall beneath their feet.

  Maria felt herself pulled into the frantic human tangle, unable to flee and unwilling to stay.

  Wart was carried to the edge of the forest east of Endor. Rudy sat in silent vigil as mourners passed their fallen companion. Thomas, unable to bear his remorse, sat alone beneath a tree with his back to the scene. He was not aware that a man had drawn near.

  “Sir,” a voice spoke, startling Thomas from his reverie.

  “What?” Thomas managed to ask.

  A tall man stepped before Thomas. He was clad as one of the Watchers, and though Thomas did not recognize him, he rose to greet him. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “My lord,” the man began, “I am the lad’s father.”

  The color drained from Thomas face. He stepped forward, unsure how to proceed. “I … I’m so dreadfully sorry. I should never—”

  “Peace, my lord,” the man said, holding up his hand. “My son knew the danger. We spoke briefly as we journeyed from the river. He really wanted to proclaim freedom to the slaves. Thank you for giving him that opportunity.” The man shuffled his feet and looked away. “I understood my son’s motivation,” the man said. “But he said something else I did not understand. That is why I have come to you.”