Fire and Sword

by D. Brian Shafer

  “Yes—and they grow easier to watch. I have not seen this sort of showing since that day at Pentecost when …”

  A surge of panic hit when he remembered that Kara would soon be coming to witness his triumph. His eyes focused on an angel speeding toward him.

  “What has taken you so long? Report!”

  “I’m sorry, lord. I had to break through the enemy.”

  “That strong?” asked the captain, who looked around nervously.

  “We followed the young one—Seth—as you instructed,” the angel continued. “But he was not fleeing—he was gathering.”

  “What do you mean?” Necros demanded.

  “He told some of Peter’s followers.”

  “Well?”

  “Forgive me, lord. But instead of running as we presumed, they are calling out to the Lord. They are praying still.”

  Necros looked at the gathering holy angels who were beginning to surround the prison like a milky white veil. A murmur among the angels spread as the word prayer was spoken, sending a surge of fear throughout the ranks. Through the blanket of gathering host, Necros saw Michael and Gabriel enjoying the proceedings. He looked at his own troops. They were looking about apprehensively. Necros swarmed around them, rallying them, and encouraging them that the enemy would give way as soon as the humans tired. He reminded them of other occasions when human prayer was bested by a steady assault, wearing down their energy to continue praying.

  “That explains it,” he said to his aide. “Even Kara will understand that we cannot stand long against humans who are praying. Can’t we do something?”

  “Our scouts can’t even get near the house where they are gathered,” the aide answered. “It’s impossible.”

  “Impossible?” a voice sounded.

  Necros looked at the silhouette of an angel against the shimmering necklace that now completely surrounded the prison. It was Kara.

  “Necros, what sort of security is this?” Kara demanded.

  “Peter is still in custody, lord,” Necros offered.

  “Not for long, you fool.”

  Kara looked at the prison below.

  “Perhaps we can’t affect what is happening out here,” he said. “But we still have time. See to Peter personally!”

  “Yes, lord,” said Necros.

  “And if he comes out, you may as well stay in there. That prison will be your new domain.” He laughed. “Instead of an angel with authority you’ll become a ghost in a prison, haunting prisoners and wardens!”

  “I will see to it,” Necros said.

  “Kara? Here?” mused Michael.

  “Evidently Peter represents more of a threat to them than we realized,” said Crispin. “He has inflamed Herod against the whole Church.”

  “And the Church has responded,” Michael said, indicating the many angels that had gathered on the strength of the prayers being lifted.

  “True,” Crispin noted. “Prayer is an amazing tool in the hands of believers. I only hope that these don’t drift as all humans have—and allow the weapon of prayer to become just another holy relic like so many things humans attach themselves to.”

  “Surely not, Crispin. The Most High’s response to a praying people is convincing enough to keep any follower praying.”

  “Is it?” Crispin answered. “I hope you’re right, Michael. But my experience with humans is that they begin strong and wear down easily. They are great starters—but often don’t bring something to conclusion. Prayer must be apprehended. It must be forceful. Above all, it must be done with perseverance—and persevering is something humans have never mastered.”

  “Well, tonight they have mastered it,” Michael said. “As Necros will discover.”

  “Where is Gabriel?” Crispin asked, looking around.

  “About to be discovered!” Michael answered, grinning.

  Necros looked at Peter, sleeping between the two guards. He was securely shackled. The other two guards were at their post outside the cell. For now, all seemed well. He thought about trying to influence one of the guards to kill Peter, but the opposition from outside the prison made it difficult to focus on anything that was harmful toward Peter. He looked around for other possibilities.

  “Not much hope, Necros,” an angel said.

  Necros turned to see Gabriel standing.

  “Archangel! How did you get through my wall?”

  “You mean those angels of yours? Very easily.”

  “Still, you’re too late,” Necros said. “Peter will die tomorrow.”

  Gabriel walked over to the cell. He looked down at Peter and smiled.

  “You know, for all the terror that Lucifer has inflicted on humans, it’s refreshing to see a man sleeping so peacefully. A shame to awaken him.”

  “Wait! What are you…” was all that Necros managed before Gabriel ordered him out of the way with such force that Necros fell backward, paralyzed. He pleaded with Gabriel. “Please! I don’t want this prison to become my home.”

  “Might as well get used to prison, Necros,” Gabriel answered. “All of you.”

  “A prince of my stature—relegated to haunting a prison!”

  “Peter. Peter!”

  Peter was snoring.

  Gabriel kicked him on his side. Peter stirred and looked around.

  “Peter. Get up quickly.”

  Peter rubbed his eyes. He saw what appeared to be the figure of a man in front of him. His cell door stood wide open. The shackles binding his wrists fell open. He was just realizing what was happening. He looked at the guards on either side—still sleeping.

  “Get up. Get dressed.”

  Peter looked around and found his cloak and sandals and put them on. He gingerly stepped around the sleeping guards and out of the cell. He looked at the man who was leading him.

  “Follow me,” the stranger said.

  “Am I dreaming? Or is this happening?”

  “Quiet. Follow me.”

  Peter walked past the first set of guards. They were in conversation, but they didn’t even notice—it was as if Peter was invisible to them. They came to the second set of guards, and the same thing happened. Peter even stopped and stood directly in front of the guard. He made a face at him.

  “Stop it. Come on!”

  “Just had to,” he said.

  Gabriel smiled.

  They stepped out into the courtyard that led to the city street. As they did, cheers went up from the holy angels. The angels who had been with Necros, seeing that the battle was over, scattered, cursing and howling as they went. Peter came to an iron gate in the wall. The door opened by itself! They walked together to the end of the street. Peter turned to the stranger to thank him—and he was gone.

  “Necros, you have failed.”

  “Lord Kara, I could not contend with such a force. And if I may be so bold, neither could you.”

  Kara struck the angel, who fell to his knees. He looked around the empty cell. The guards were nervously awaiting Herod’s arrival. The open cell door and the shackles on the floor gave evidence of the enemy’s intrusion. Kara looked around, admiring the dingy prison.

  “I hope you’ll be happy here, Necros. This is your station from now on.”

  “Please…”

  “Those fools are in for it as well,” he said, pointing to the guards. “There will be blood spilled for this one. Good-bye, Necros!”

  Kara vanished.

  “Majesty! Welcome!” came a voice from the outer cell.

  The guards stood to attention as Herod came in. Herod looked at the guards, then examined the empty cell. Claerus was with him, along with some palace guards. Herod stepped into the empty cell.

  “Claerus, I’m not sure, but wasn’t this cell occupied just a few hours ago?”

  “I saw to it myself, Majesty.”

  “And these were used?” Herod continued, picking up the shackles.

  “They were.”

  Herod threw them down and approached the guards.

  �
��You were not only assigned to this man. You were shackled to him, were you not?”

  “Yes, sire, but…”

  “And the key was in the other room?”

  “Yes, but …”

  Herod looked at the guards, lined up.

  “So you were all in it together. What are you? Followers of this cult? You allowed this man to escape his execution?”

  “The swordsman has already been paid, Majesty,” Claerus said.

  The guards looked at each other. One lowered his head.

  “Pity to waste money,” said Herod. “See to it that he earns his pay today.”

  “I’ll see to it personally,” Claerus said, looking at the guards.

  One of the guards called out as Herod left: “Your day is coming, King Herod!”

  Chapter Nine

  FIRST MISSION

  Chronicles of the Host

  Continuance

  The guard’s words proved prophetic, for shortly after this Herod was himself struck down by an angel, on the Most High’s orders, for his pride. But the Church continued to flourish. Saul, along with Barnabas, returned to Antioch, taking with them a young man named John Mark. As the Church sought the Lord’s will, they were instructed that Saul and Barnabas had been set apart for a great mission. They set off for Cyprus, the land of Barnabas’ birth, to proclaim there the word of God. They took with them John Mark, and after a time the Holy Spirit led them to Paphos, where they awaited His leading…

  Paphos, on Cyprus, A.D. 45

  “Saul. Saul!”

  “It’s Paul now, John Mark,” said Paul. “Saul is dead to me. I am a new man. Besides, the name Paul plays better among these Gentiles.”

  John Mark smiled. He was a young man of mid-twenties. He was a friend of Barnabas and was able to come along only with Barnabas’ sponsorship. He was grateful for the opportunity to serve with these men of God.

  Paul looked behind John Mark and saw Barnabas in conversation with an official-looking man. John Mark pointed him out eagerly.

  “Paul, that man is from the proconsul. He is sending for you!”

  “I knew the Spirit would lead us,” he said. “Let’s meet him.”

  Paul walked up and was introduced to Elymas, an attendant of the Roman governor of Cyprus, Sergius Paulus. Barnabas stood aside as the man spoke.

  “My master, Sergius Paulus, proconsul of Rome, welcomes you to Cyprus and would have an audience with you.”

  “I’m honored,” said Paul, in Greek. “When shall we meet him?”

  “Today,” said Elymas. “But he isn’t feeling well so it should be a brief audience.”

  “I see you look out for your master,” Paul said.

  “I do.”

  As they walked off together, Paul whispered to Barnabas. “Yes, but which master does he serve?”

  Barnabas laughed. But Paul was serious.

  “My lord, Saul is landed in Cyprus.”

  Lucifer looked up at Kara. “I’m surprised at you, Kara. It’s Paul now, haven’t you heard?”

  Some of the council snickered.

  “Yes. Seems he has taken to a Gentile name in order to be more amiable,” said Pellecus. “But no worries, Cyprus is under my authority. All is well.”

  Kara sat down at the table with the others. They had met to discuss the recent intrusions of the Church—the latest being Paul’s mission to Cyprus. Lucifer waved a hand, and a map of the region of the eastern Mediterranean appeared—like a wall hanging suspended in air.

  “No worries?” Lucifer commented, as he made his way to the map. “First we couldn’t stop the Seed from coming. Then we couldn’t stop Him from coming back. Then we were to hold the line in Jerusalem …”

  “Pentecost put a damper on that one,” Pellecus said.

  The others laughed.

  “Not a laughing matter,” said Lucifer. “With the Spirit of the Most High involved they became more bold.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then Berenius spoke up.

  “We hit them hard, my lord. We were killing many of them in the name of religion. The Pharisees…”

  “Yes, Berenius. We made a mistake. We thought to kill the monster. Instead we encouraged it. They not only fled Jerusalem, they took the Church with them. And we created an even bigger problem with Saul.”

  “Paul, my lord,” Kara corrected.

  Lucifer grinned. He pointed out the progress of the Church on the map.

  “From a dozen weak, meager humans, this movement has become a critical obstacle to our efforts. They began here, in Jerusalem, and have now created havens throughout—they even have a second authority in Antioch.”

  “How did the prophecy go,” Pellecus began. “Jerusalem, Samaria, Judea…”

  “And the outermost parts,” Lucifer finished. “Now, Pellecus, Paul is in Cyprus—your authority as you pointed out. And he is at the home of Sergius Paulus. How are you handling it?”

  Kara looked at his rival, Pellecus, anticipating a scolding by Lucifer. Instead, Pellecus stood up proudly.

  “It’s handled, lord,” he said. “While it is true that Sergius Paulus has an interest in religion, I have made certain of one Elymas—who is invested with a spirit of sorcery—to influence the proconsul and keep Paul at bay. We’ll have no trouble in Cyprus!”

  The home of the proconsul was a fine villa on a hill overlooking the sea. Paul had seen such opulence before, but Barnabas and John Mark were astonished at such splendor. Paul noticed how the servants seemed to shy away from Elymas as he led them to the balcony area overlooking the water. A gentle breeze blew the sheer curtains draped from a colonnaded archway. Seated in a simple chair, in simpler tunic, was Sergius Paulus, proconsul of Rome. He stood to greet Paul.

  “Saul of Tarsus! Greetings!”

  Paul looked back at John Mark and winked. “Thank you, Proconsul. And it’s Paul now.”

  “Ah, good. A Greek move with a Roman strategy!”

  The two men embraced, and Paul introduced his companions. Sergius was a man who seemed quite at home in his villa. Well connected in Rome, he had been appointed proconsul when Claudius became emperor a few years earlier. A studious man, he was more at home with philosophers than diplomats.

  Elymas whispered something to an attendant, who disappeared. The men sat down. Paul had a bad feeling about Elymas, and even as Sergius talked about his appointment to Cyprus, Paul discerned that there was something amiss about the man. Something false. What was it?

  “Tell me something of this new teaching, Paul,” Sergius said, picking up a drink.

  “It is called the Good News, Proconsul,” Paul said. “It is God’s message to all men and women who would believe on His name.”

  “And you are one of its shining stars, Paul.”

  “Proconsul, you honor me. And I am most honored among men to speak for my Lord Jesus Christ,” Paul answered. “I am forever in His debt. We are not unlike each other. Like you, I am an educated man, a citizen of Rome. Like you, I too was appointed by my God.”

  Sergius laughed heartily at this as Paul continued speaking.

  Theron, the spirit of sorcery that Pellecus had picked to guide Elymas, couldn’t abide Paul. Why had he come? Pellecus had never mentioned anything about Paul. Theron had been assigned to an ambitious man who called himself Bar-Jesus, or Elymas. “Guide the affairs of Cyprus through Elymas,” Pellecus had told him.

  Up until now it had been easy to keep Sergius Paulus distracted. Always dabbling in other cultures and other religions, Sergius Paulus was an intelligent man on a meaningless journey for truth. Then he heard of Paul and wanted to hear of this new teaching. Theron thought about it for a moment and decided that his best use of Elymas would be to confound Sergius and dispel Paul as a trickster. Perhaps even have him flogged and thrown off the island.

  Theron moved behind Elymas and laid a hand on him. Paul had finished speaking to Sergius about the life and work of Jesus, and how the Scriptures had foretold His coming. Then Elymas stood and began speaking
to the group.

  “Wonderful story, Paul,” he began. “But isn’t it true that Jesus was an enemy of the state? A rabble-rouser? Was He not crucified under Roman law?”

  “Forgive me, Elymas, but He was crucified under His own law.”

  “What?”

  “Christ would never have been crucified had He not freely given His life—whether or not Rome was the instrument the Lord used. His life was given—not taken.”

  “Spoken like a true devotee,” Elymas said. “And yet you yourself once sent the followers of this man to prison—even death. And now you expect a man like Sergius Paulus to believe the words of a murderer? A persecutor of the very people you now claim brotherhood with? You are a child of the Jews!”

  Paul stood and stared into Elymas’ black eyes.

  “And you are a child of the devil!” he said, pointing his finger. “You are an enemy of all that is right and pure.”

  “I am attendant to the proconsul of Cyprus!”

  “You are a fraud. You are filled with deceit and have not served this man well. And you have twisted the Lord’s words and tried to trick this man. When will you stop perverting the ways of the Lord?”

  Elymas stepped back and shuddered. Theron fell back from him stunned. Paul prayed for a moment and then announced: “And now the hand of the Lord is against you.” Paul shielded his eyes from the brilliant sun. “Because you believed that you could see, the Lord will blind your eyes for a while—so that even the brightness of the sun will not be seen by you!”

  Elymas backed away from them, and a strange black mist enveloped him. Sergius stood, knocking over a table. Paul merely watched as Elymas grabbed his eyes and began screaming, “Please. Not my eyes.” He then fell down, blinded. Theron shrieked and vanished, blinded also by the mist.

  Paul ordered John Mark to help Elymas up. The blind man was sobbing, reaching out to someone to help him walk. John Mark escorted him to a servant, who took him by the arm.

  “Don’t worry, Elymas,” the servant whispered. “We’ll take good care of you.”

  Elymas shuddered as they walked away.

  The proconsul turned to Paul after Elymas had left. He tried to pour himself some wine but was shaking so badly that he could not do it. Paul took the container and poured the proconsul’s wine for him. He thanked Paul and sat down.