Piercing the Darkness

by Frank Peretti

  “Well, anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is that Bernice, back in Ashton, was right, at least as far as Sally Roe is concerned. I have a moral problem. I’ve read some of the Bible. Uh . . . it’s a good book . . . it’s a fine piece of work—and I’ve come to see that You are a God of morals, of ethics, of absolutes. I guess that’s what ‘holy’ means. And actually I’m glad for that, because then we can know where our boundaries are; we can know where we stand . . .

  “I’m beating around the bush, I know.”

  Sally stopped to think. How should she say it? Just what was it she wanted from God?

  “I guess . . .” Oh-oh. Emotion. Maybe this is why I can’t get around to it. “I guess I need to ask You about Your love. I do know it’s there; Mrs. Gunderson always talked about it, and so did my Aunt Barbara, and now I’ve had a brief glimpse of it again in my talks with Bernice and that pastor, Hank the Plumber. I need to know that You’ll . . .”

  She stopped. Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away and took some deep breaths. This was supposed to be business, not some emotional, subjective experience she might later doubt.

  “Excuse me. This is difficult. There are a lot of years involved, a lot of emotion.” Another deep breath. “Anyway, I was trying to say that . . . I would like very much for You to accept me.” She stopped and let the tightness in her throat ease. “Because . . . I’ve been told that You love me, and that You’ve arranged for all my wrongs, my moral trespasses, to be paid for and forgiven. I’ve come to understand that Jesus died to pay my penalty, to satisfy Your holy justice. Um . . . I appreciate that. Thank You for that kind of love.

  “But I . . . I want to enter into that kind of relationship with You. Somehow. I have wronged You, and I have ignored You, and I have tried to be a god myself, as strange as that may sound to You. I have served other spirits, and I have killed my own offspring, and I’ve worked so hard to lead so many astray . . .”

  The tears were coming again. Oh, well. Considering the subject matter, a few tears would not be inappropriate.

  “But if You will have me . . . if You will only accept me, I would be more than willing to hand over to You all that I am, and all that I have, whatever it may be worth.” Words from thirty years ago came to her mind, and they captured her feelings perfectly. “Jesus . . .”

  She couldn’t stop the emotions this time. Her face flushed, her eyes filled, and she was afraid to go on.

  But she did go on, even as her voice broke, as tears ran down her cheeks, as her body began to quake. “Jesus . . . I want You to come into my heart. I want You to forgive me. Please forgive me.”

  She was crying and she couldn’t stop. She had to get out of there. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this.

  She grabbed her duffel bag and hurried away from the pond, turning off the walkway into the nearby trees. Under their sheltering, spring-fresh leaves, she found a small clearing and sank to her knees on the cool, dry ground. With a new freedom that seclusion brought, the heart of stone became a heart of flesh, the deepest cries of that heart became a fountain, and she and the Lord God began to talk about things as the minutes slipped by unnoticed and the world around her became unimportant.

  ABOVE, AS IF another sun had just risen, the darkness opened, and pure, white rays broke through the treetops, flooding Sally Beth Roe with a heavenly light, shining through to her heart, her innermost spirit, obscuring her form with a blinding fire of holiness. Slowly, without sensation, without sound, she settled forward, her face to the ground, her spirit awash with the presence of God.

  All around her, like spokes of a wondrous wheel, like beams of light emanating from a sun, angelic blades lay flat upon the ground, their tips turned toward her, their handles extending outward, held in the strong fists of hundreds of noble warriors who knelt in perfect, concentric circles of glory, light, and worship, their heads to the ground, their wings stretching skyward like a flourishing, animated garden of flames. They were silent, their hearts filled with a holy dread.

  As in countless times past, in countless places, with marvelous, inscrutable wonder, the Lamb of God stood among them, the Word of God, and more: the final Word, the end of all discussion and challenge, the Creator and the Truth that holds all creation together—most wondrous of all, and most inscrutable of all, the Savior, a title the angels would always behold and marvel about, but which only mankind could know and understand.

  He had come to be the Savior of this woman. He knew her by name; and speaking her name, He touched her.

  And her sins were gone.

  A rustling began in the first row of angels, then in the next, and then, like a wave rushing outward, the silken wings from row upon row of warriors caught the air, raising a roar, and lifted the angels to their feet. The warriors held their swords Heavenward, a forest of fiery blades, and began to shout in tumultuous joy, their voices rumbling and shaking the whole spiritual realm.

  Guilo, as brilliantly glorified as ever he was, took his place above them all, and swept his sword about in burning arcs as he shouted, “Worthy is the Lamb!”

  “Worthy is the Lamb!” the warriors thundered.

  “Worthy is the Lamb!” Guilo shouted more loudly.

  “Worthy is the Lamb!” they all answered.

  “For He was slain!”

  “For He was slain!”

  Guilo pointed his sword at Sally Beth Roe, prostrate, her face to the ground, still communing with her newfound Savior. “And with His blood He has purchased for God the woman, Sally Beth Roe!”

  The swords waved, and their light pierced the darkness as lightning pierces the night. “He has purchased Sally Beth Roe!”

  “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain,” Guilo began, and then they all sang the words together with voices that shook the earth, “to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!”

  Then came another roar, from voices and from wings, and another flashing of hundreds of swords. The wings took hold, and the skies filled with warriors, swirling, shouting, cheering, worshiping, their light washing over the earth for miles around.

  MILES AWAY, SOME of Destroyer’s demons covered their eyes against the blinding light.

  “Oh no!” said one. “Another soul redeemed!”

  “One of our prisoners set free!” wailed another.

  A quick, sharp-eyed spy returned from taking a closer look.

  “Who is it this time?” they asked.

  The spirit answered, “You will not like the news!”

  TAL AND GUILO embraced, jumping, spinning, laughing. “Saved! Sally Beth Roe is saved! Our God has her at last!”

  They remained, along with their warriors, keeping the hedge about her strong and brilliant, making sure her conference with the Lord would proceed undisturbed.

  Time passed, of course, but no one seemed to notice or care.

  Later—she didn’t know how much later—Sally pressed her palms against the earth and slowly lifted herself to a sitting position, brushing dry leaves and humus from her clothes and using a handkerchief to wipe her face. She had been through an uncanny, perfectly marvelous experience, and the effect still lingered. A change, a deep, personal, moral restoration had taken place, not just in her subjective perceptions, but in fact. This was something new, something truly extraordinary.

  “So this must be what they mean by ‘getting saved,’” she said aloud.

  Things were different. The Sally Roe who first ducked into these woods was not the same Sally Roe that now sat in the leaves, a trembling, awestruck, tear-stained, happy mess.

  Before, she had felt lost and aimless. Now she felt secure, safe in God’s hands.

  Before, her life had no meaning. Now it did, with even more purpose and meaning yet to be discovered.

  Before, she had been oppressed and laden with guilt. Now she was cleansed. She was free. She was forgiven.

  Before, she was so alone. Now she had a Friend closer than any other.
>
  AS FOR HER old friends, her tormentors . . .

  Outside that hedge, thrown there like garbage into a dumpster, Despair, Death, Insanity, Suicide, and Fear sulked in the bushes, unable to return. They looked at each other, ready to squabble should any one of them dare to say the first word.

  They were out. Vanquished. Through. Just like that. Somehow, she’d no sooner become a child of God than she began to assert her rights and authority as such. She didn’t say a lot, she didn’t make it flowery. She simply ordered them out of her life.

  “She learns fast,” said Despair.

  The others spit at him just for saying it.

  “THIS IS MARVELOUS,” she said to herself, chuckling in amazement and ecstasy. “Just marvelous!”

  Tal and Guilo were watching, enjoying every moment.

  “‘The word of her testimony and the blood of the Lamb,’” said Tal.

  Guilo nodded. “That’s two.”

  “Captain Tal!” came a shout. A courier dropped from the sky like a meteor, snapping his wings open just in time to alight directly in front of Tal. “Mota sends word from Bacon’s Corner! The prayers have brought a breakthrough! They’ve opened the breach, sir! They’re ready to expose Broken Birch!”

  Tal laughed with excitement. “Well enough! The kindling is stacked, and”—he looked at Sally—“we now have the match to start the brushfire! Nathan and Armoth!”

  “Captain!” they replied.

  “Sally’s ready. Follow her from here on, and be sure Krioni and Triskal are warned to secure Ashton from invasion. When she lights the brushfire, sound the signal for Mota and Signa in Bacon’s Corner.”

  “Done!”

  “Cree and Si, establish your armies at the Omega Center. When the fire reaches there, send it on to Bentmore.”

  They were gone immediately.

  “Chimon and Scion, prepare armies at Bentmore; be ready to send the fire on to Summit.”

  They soared away.

  Tal turned to the courier. “Tell Mota and Signa that they have the prayer cover and can proceed closing the trap. After that, have them wait for the signal from Nathan and Armoth.”

  The courier flew off with the message.

  Tal put a brotherly hand on Guilo’s shoulder. “Guilo, the Strength of Many, it’s time to position the armies at the Summit Institute!”

  “YAHAAA!” Guilo roared, raising his sword for the other warriors to see. “Done!”

  Tal unfurled his wings with the sound of a crashing ocean wave. He raised his sword high, and they all did the same so that Lakeland Park was flooded with the flickering light. “For the saints of God and for the Lamb!”

  “For the saints of God and for the Lamb!”

  MOTA GOT THE word from Tal, and not too soon. He and Signa were just then hiding in the ventilation ducts at the Bergen Door Factory, looking for an opportunity to throw a wrench into Destroyer’s clever, unseen assault on the saints of Bacon’s Corner.

  Signa was pointing out supervisor Abby Grayson, moving among the router tables with her ever-present clipboard in hand, just keeping things running smoothly as she had done for the last twenty years. “They’ve never brought their intrigues and manipulations into this place, at least not so much as to be seen. Abby has no idea what’s been happening.”

  Just then, a pimple-faced youth came down the main aisle through the plant, catching a few stares from some of the workers and looking very uncomfortable.

  “All right,” said Mota, “here we go. Hopefully Abby’s going to have her eyes opened.”

  “Come on, Abby. Pay attention.”

  The kid walked up to Abby looking hesitant, embarrassed, but determined to have an audience with her. No voices could be heard above the roar of the machinery, but Abby’s lips weren’t too hard to read: “So what can I do for you, Kyle?”

  Come on, said Signa. Tell her.

  Two angels immediately stood by Kyle Krantz’s side, dressed like factory workers—the people couldn’t see them, but any demons might. Kyle—wayward, oft-busted, former pot-smoking Kyle—needed all the encouragement he could get. He was just plain scared.

  Come on . . . Mota urged.

  Kyle leaned close to Abby’s ear and said what he had to say before he lost his nerve completely. Abby seemed a little puzzled, maybe even shocked at his words.

  “Let’s get inside my office,” she said.

  The two angels looked up toward the ventilation ducts and gave strong, affirmative nods.

  “Done!” said Mota.

  “Better surround that office. Those two need to talk!” Signa added.

  ONLY AN HOUR later, Abby Grayson gave Ben Cole a call from her little office cubicle. Ben could still hear the muffled noise of the factory in the background.

  “Well hi, Abby! This is a pleasant surprise.”

  “Oh, this crazy world’s full of surprises. I heard you were fired. Is that true?”

  The question seemed rather blunt, but very much like Abby. “Well, yes, it is. It’s a long story . . .”

  “I’m going to make it longer. I’ve just heard some information you ought to know.”

  Ben sat down on the sofa. “Go ahead.”

  “I just had a long talk with Kyle Krantz—remember him? You’ve busted him a few times for carrying pot.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “He was working here and doing all right until he got fired yesterday. The word among the supervisors was that he was peddling drugs around the plant, and we have strict rules about any of that stuff, so out the door he went. But he got brave and came to see me today, and . . . Well, normally I wouldn’t believe him, but considering everything else that’s happened, maybe this time I do.” She hesitated.

  Ben figured he’d better make it easier for her. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m with you so far.”

  “Well, Ben . . .” She had to build up the nerve to ask it. “What would you say if I told you that we have some witches in town, and some even working here in this plant?”

  Ben sat up straight, his whole body full of attention. “I would be very interested to know about that.”

  “So you don’t think it’s crazy? I did say witches.”

  Ben’s memory still carried vivid scenes of a goat dismembered and its two front legs crossed and bloody on the front steps of the church. “No, Abby. We’ve seen quite a few strange things lately. I don’t think it’s crazy at all.”

  “Then maybe you’d better hear what Kyle has to say. Will you be free after four o’clock?”

  Does a duck swim? “You just name the place.”

  CHAPTER 35

  IT WAS ABOUT four-thirty, and there was a cold wind blowing across the long-neglected, weed-infested fields of the old Benson farm. The white paint on the farmhouse was turning a gritty gray and beginning to peel like a sunburn; the windows were broken out, the shakes on the roof were beginning to splinter away in the wind; the apple and pear trees in the front yard were blossoming, but now reached skyward in a wild profusion of unpruned trunks and unsightly suckers. The Benson farm had been deserted too long and was simply not surviving, but fading steadily into decay and ruin with every passing season.

  A heavy chain blocked the driveway, and Marshall could drive the Buick no further. A NO TRESPASSING sign hung from the chain and swung forward and backward in the wind, right above the Buick’s grille.

  “Is this the place?” he asked.

  Kyle Krantz, the young delinquent who couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble, sat in the seat beside him, nodding his head and looking scared. In the backseat, Abby Grayson and Ben Cole looked at the dismal scene before them, and found it easy to believe what Kyle had told them about it.

  Kyle pointed. “That’s the barn right back there. That’s where it was.”

  “I take it they were trespassing, just like you were?” asked Marshall.

  Kyle had grown dull toward such loaded statements. “They were here, man.”

  Marshall looked at the others. “So, I guess we’
ll have to trespass too.”

  They got out of the car and took a moment to look the place over. As near as they could tell, they were the only living beings here. There were no sounds except for the wind and the occasional cheep of the swallows nesting under the eaves of the farmhouse.

  Marshall ducked under the chain, and the others followed. The driveway wound around the farmhouse, went past a garage and toolshed, then opened into a wide, graveled area in back—a turnaround and access for farm machinery, supplies, and livestock that were no longer there. On the far side of this open area stood the old gray barn, weathered but intact, the main doors shut.

  “Just what were you doing here anyway?” Marshall asked the boy.

  “Billy and I were looking for a good place to have a kegger. We always do that ’cause we find good spots no one knows about.”

  “So this barn must have looked pretty inviting.”

  “Yeah, back then it did. Now it doesn’t.”

  “How did you manage to get this close without anyone seeing you?”

  “It was dark, and we snuck in around the other side of the house. They weren’t watching for us anyway; they were too busy doing all their weird stuff.”

  They reached the doors.

  “Have you ever gone inside?”

  “No way. Billy and I just wanted to get out of here, and that’s all.”

  The big door swung open with a long, aged creak. The inside of the barn was cool, dim, and expansive. No one entered. Marshall was waiting for his eyes to grow accustomed to the low light.

  Finally they could all make out the dirt floor. It seemed plain enough—just smooth dirt. They saw nothing out of the ordinary. They looked at Kyle. He was immediately uneasy and defensive.

  “I saw it, man. They were here.”

  “Okay,” said Marshall, “show us what you saw.”

  Kyle went into the center of the floor and turned in a circle, his finger extended out and toward the floor. “They had a big circle carved in the dirt right here, and a big pentagram in the middle of it.” Then he pointed to a spot toward the back wall. “There was a big bench there, like an altar, and there was blood on it, and there were about twenty people standing all around the circle with robes on and hoods over their heads, and they were all chanting and shouting, and there were candles around the circle. They had candles at all the points of the pentagram.”