Liberation of Lystra (Annals of Lystra)

by Robin Hardy

  The group dispersed, and soon the busy sounds of search were heard from every corner. Deirdre stayed in the front room of the shop with Roman. He was not searching yet, but looking, surveying—taking in the walls, the ceiling, the floor—and as Deirdre knew, inwardly praying. But then he gave a brief, befuddled shake of the head and began stamping the floor, listening for hollow sounds.

  Deirdre busied herself picking at the wooden planks of the walls. She could see no place to hide a large book, unless it was within the structure of the house itself. She pried off a plank to expose the mud brick of the wall. Curious, she chipped at it with her knife until she had dug through to another piece of wood.

  This find excited her, so she dug earnestly at it until suddenly it fell off and she saw daylight through the hole. Embarrassed, Deirdre glanced around, hoping no one had seen her demonstrate her ignorance of how houses are built.

  She moved on to other planks, knocking and poking. Everyone searched most diligently. But after half an hour, Orvis reluctantly approached Roman to say, “Surchatain, I don’t believe it’s here. We have looked everywhere.”

  Roman responded, “All right, then. Where else did you think it might be?”

  Orvis lowered his brows. “Well, Galen and the innkeeper were friends. It might be hidden at the inn.”

  “To the inn, then,” Roman said simply.

  Deirdre heard mumbled, “Are we going to search the whole inn?”

  Someone else shrugged in reply, but Titan turned on the complainer and said scathingly, “Tuss, you’re so blasted lazy, it’s a marvel I could ever get you to work.” Tuss reddened and glanced toward Roman in front, but the Surchatain just smiled ahead slightly.

  They arrived at the inn, finding it vacant as well. Roman directed them, “Titan, you take several to the south wing. Nihl, you take a few to the north. Deirdre, you and the women search the kitchen and dining areas. Kam, you and the rest go through the courtyard and stables. Except Colin—you’ll come with me to the storerooms.” Each went as instructed and began to search again.

  Roman and Colin went through the storerooms one by one, rummaging through feed sacks and plunging their arms into barrels of grain. They poked sticks into wine vats and dug through crates of spoiling fruit. Finally, they resorted to overturning every large container in sight to expose its contents. This method dislodged numerous little creatures but nothing like a book.

  By the time Roman and Colin had finished digging through all the storerooms, the others were beginning to return from their assignments. They met in the dining hall. “We did everything but tear down the walls,” said Kam. “It’s just not here, Surchatain.”

  Roman stood thinking. “Or not where we can get to it.”

  “Roman, I’m hungry,” pleaded Deirdre, and the others shifted restlessly. They were all tiring of this unprofitable effort.

  He nodded in resignation. “We’ll continue later. Back to the palace.” He turned to go and the rest followed, relieved.

  On their way back through the entryway of the inn, they passed a large, beveled looking glass which hung on the wall. Deirdre glanced in it to smooth a blond lock, then gasped and grabbed Roman’s arm. “There it is! Sitting out on the table!”

  They whirled to a small table across from the looking glass. There was nothing on it. Roman glanced quizzically at Deirdre. “But—” she protested, turning back to the mirror, “there it is!”

  They looked. Sure enough, the looking glass showed the table holding a large, worn leather volume. But the table itself held nothing. In unison, they looked back and forth from the mirror to the table. Roman passed his hand all over the table top and felt nothing but wood.

  He took the mirror off the wall, which was plain and smooth behind it. “Tear up that wall,” Roman directed Kam, who in turn sent Lew to a tool bin so they wouldn’t dull their swords unnecessarily.

  Roman held the mirror and looked down into it. It reflected him and the others around him truly. It reflected the walls and a view of the dining room without error. But whenever it was pointed toward that table, it showed the book.

  Lew, meanwhile, returned with an axe and knocked a man-sized hole in the clay-and-wattle wall. A rat scurried out, drawing shrieks from a few of the maids, but that was all.

  Roman held the glass facing the table and told Deirdre, “Put your hand on the table again.” She did, and the looking glass showed her placing her hand on the book. “Try to pick it up,” he instructed. She did, but of course, came up with empty air. She tried again and again, watching in the mirror. It reflected her somehow missing each time she tried to grasp it.

  Orvis muttered, “That figures. It’s a sorcerer’s book. It’s bound in the looking glass by a spell.”

  “Is it in the glass or on the table?” asked Roman.

  “In the glass, to be sure. I should’ve remembered—that’s a favorite spell, to put things in mirrors, making them look as if they’re in the room.”

  “Do you know how to get it out of the mirror?” Roman asked him.

  “No. Only a sorcerer could do that.”

  “Well then, if we destroy the mirror, will we destroy the book? Or make it inaccessible?” posed Roman.

  Orvis looked at him and there was a breathless silence. “I don’t know, but it’s bound to bring evil on the one who tries it,” he finally whispered.

  Roman cocked his head as he looked down into the mirror. “You think so? What will happen if I try it?”

  “I—do—not—know,” Orvis repeated, fear causing every word to come out staccato.

  Roman held the mirror a moment longer, but his mind was already set. “Very well, then.”

  He set the looking glass to rest against the wall, and firmly took up the axe Lew had brought from the tool bin. As Roman planted himself in front of the mirror, the others dropped back. Then he lifted the axe.

  At once the mirror clouded, sparks and flashes dancing across its surface. An inhuman voice issued from it: Touch this glass, and you will see hell.

  Roman did not even blink. He brought the axe head down upon the glass with a mighty crash.

  Chapter 14

  At first the mirror did not break. But it began to shudder, slowly at first, then with a force that seemed to make the entryway walls heave. Roman stepped back, bracing to strike it again if necessary.

  But suddenly the mirror imploded. Roman was sucked forward. And then he was gone. His companions stood dumbfounded, staring at the broken glass. Deirdre came to life and screamed, “Roman!” Falling on her knees before the frame hung with mirror shards, she groped all around the floor and wall. He had simply vanished.

  “Roman, oh, Roman,” she moaned. Nihl put a shaking hand on her shoulder and knelt before the looking glass. His fingers tightened. “Look,” he whispered. The others pressed around to see.

  Reflected in the jagged pieces of glass was Roman lying prostrate in a dark pit. They saw him and all that was around him.

  As he came to, groggy and shaken, Roman raised up on his elbow and opened his eyes. At first he could see nothing, it being so dark, but gradually a weak red light illumined his surroundings so that he saw—nothing.

  All was a gloomy, nether region of shapeless, empty land. He was lying in the bottom of a shallow pit that reminded him of a trap for stupid animals.

  He brought himself to his knees, struggling to breathe, for the air was noxious and stinking. The deeper he inhaled, the more he felt the need for air in his stinging lungs.

  Then a sound reached his ears—tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp—faint at first, it quickly grew loud. His heart faltered and he could not rise further, listening as the ominous sound grew and filled his ears. Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp—the relentless approach of a massive army.

  Run! Escape! his thoughts urged. But he had no power to run. Only with great effort could he stand and look out of the pit. He was a helpless, stupid animal, trapped and waiting for destruction to come.

  Suddenly the marching stopped. And then
the ridge of the pit filled with forms which looked down on their quarry—immense, black forms with faces so twisted and deformed as to sicken him. But he did not even have the power to look away.

  They descended en masse into the pit. The first to reach him threw a sticky rope which wrapped itself around his neck to drag him along. They just absorbed him into their march as they continued through the pit and up the other ridge toward their destination.

  Roman stumbled along in the midst of them because he was powerless not to. He was utterly overwhelmed by the force they exerted, sucking up everything in their path. The terror of their presence should have made him faint away mercifully by now, but at this moment, he was strangely numb. Escape was meaningless. Destruction was certain. He plodded on, blind and unthinking . . . lost.

  Then one of the black forms turned its hideous face toward him and opened its mouth, exhaling a cloud that engulfed Roman’s head, stinging him fiercely. As he raised his arms to try to sweep it away, he saw that it was actually a swarm of tiny winged creatures with human faces. They stung him with streams of cursing, accusations, and mocking laughter, and no matter how he wrenched and swatted, they tenaciously clung about him.

  Suddenly he realized that he was able to see them because the red glow had become stronger. And he was sweating profusely. He peered ahead to see the source of the light—a huge lake that burned intensely from shore to shore, emitting black smoke. It was a lake of leaping flames. He dropped his arms from fending off the swarm when he comprehended with fresh horror that the army was marching straight to the lake—into the lake. And he was inextricably caught up with them.

  The heat became unbearable, and still they marched forward, determined nothing would stop them. Roman’s mouth and eyes dried to crustiness, and he felt his hair singe. The vanguard before him reached the shores and plunged into the waves of fire, screaming in agony, but pressing on.

  Roman was dragged gasping to the edge. As he looked down at the fire with no hope or breath to rescue himself, he whimpered, “Lord Jesus. . . .”

  His foot went forward to take him into the lake but landed on rock instead. His other foot came to rest on the rock as well, and there he stopped. The rope fell from his neck. The swarm of tiny creatures about him dropped crackling and sizzling, and the hordes passed by him in their blind plunge into the abyss of fire. He startled to see Captain Berk go by him, clawing and screaming, to be consumed in the flames. But Roman, standing on the safety of the rock, no longer even felt the heat of the blaze. Gazing about, he saw several other captives also standing on the rock.

  He felt compelled to look up, and saw a gorgeous sky of purple and mother-of-pearl. Across it, in a wide panorama, he saw presented to his eyes a scene of a man hanging on a cross, being taunted and stabbed. Black forms resembling those in the marching army were flocking around the man like vultures. As Roman watched the scene, he perceived a terrible battle taking place between the apparently helpless victim and the black forms—a battle that shook the earth and darkened the skies above it.

  Then the man on the cross hung his head and died. But his death indicated something other than defeat, for the black forms plummeted a great, immeasurable distance into the lake of fire below.

  The man was taken down from the cross and sealed into a rock tomb. Roman witnessed the sun setting, rising, setting, rising, and then the man bursting from the tomb in brilliant splendor and power.

  Roman wept as he watched, recognizing the spectacle. The Man who had been crucified now filled the sky, wielding might and compassion like weapons of war. After winning the great battle, He was now able to extend His strong arm downward to the captives suspended in the fire and say, “Come up from there.”

  Roman felt himself drawn skyward from the rock. The others on rock were drawn upward also. Upward and upward, higher and higher—the red heat and noxious fumes faded, overcome by shimmering light and clean, pure air.

  Catching his breath with giddiness, Roman felt drenched in life and wild, unrestrained joy as the Victor drew him closer to Himself. There were other things surrounding Roman as he ascended—lush green landscapes and fertile fields; crystal rivers and gardens blazing in colored glory; and a city, a great city, with walls and gates of precious gems.

  All these he only quickly glimpsed, for there was another impression which overwhelmed him as he soared heavenward—the gratitude for a rescue so spectacular; the indebtedness to a Rescuer so powerful; the determination to cast himself at the feet of the Crucified once he ever stopped ascending. One thought seared through the surging tide of adoration: So this is what it means to be saved.

  At once he was stopped. Or rather, held at a pause. He did not know on what he stood or where he was, but around him were many others, standing as he was. They were surrounded by such a complexity of sights and sounds that Roman was unable to perceive it all. The impression he received was one of purposeful, exuberant activity.

  There was music and singing which made his chest swell with emotion. There were colored lights dancing all about him, too. Iridescent, shimmering, and elusive, they were impossible to focus on but impossible to ignore. As Roman watched them with the wonder of a child, trying to discern meaning in their movement, he realized with a start that they were alive, and dancing with what could only be spontaneous joy.

  He was distracted by someone nearby exclaiming, “Adele!” He turned to see a ragged old man embrace an indescribably beautiful woman in fulfillment of what must have been years of longing and patient hope. Roman pondered how much love could make her take the dirty old fellow so passionately into her spotless white arms. Then he saw others being greeted by more of these white-clad, shining people whom they seemed to know intimately. He began to wonder if, perhaps, there was someone here he knew.

  He saw her at a distance and gasped, “Mother!” She looked so very young and glowing, with raven-black hair, and in spite of the distance between them he could clearly see the expression on her face. She was smiling at him the way she used to when he brought a frog or a bunch of wildflowers home for her approval. But she would come no closer, as if it were understood that she could not, and he did not know how to cross over to her.

  Then, as if silently summoned, all eyes turned in one direction to see thick dark clouds. It seemed that they had been brought up close to a brewing thunderstorm. The dancing lights held themselves to an excited vibration; the singing paused on a low, sustained note.

  Roman stared spellbound at the clouds, his heart palpitating with anticipation. There was something—Someone—hidden in the covering of cloud, and the yearning to be allowed to see beyond it was excruciating.

  As if in answer, the clouds began to break, and white light flashed out at the parting seams. Roman sank to his knees under the weight of expectation.

  The clouds burst apart, showering light. Roman raised his hands to cover his eyes, but found the light did not blind him. It throbbed lifelike around him, emanating from a Man standing in prominence, surrounded by a great number of superior beings who were prostrate before Him.

  Weakly, timidly, Roman peered through the light, which to his horror revealed him naked and dirty before the shining beings around him. Burning with shame, Roman reached down to cover himself, but saw that his hands were dripping with blood. Moreover, he was not just dirty, but stained with filth. He rubbed his skin anxiously, desperate to be clean, but what soil came off revealed foul, oozing sores and scars of disease.

  Then the Man, Purity Himself, stretched out His hands to him—to Roman, who though cringing, allowed himself to be touched. The hands that touched him were the only feature of the Man he could see clearly. They were scarred, front and back, with puncture wounds and torn flesh—the price of Roman’s rescue. But as he stared at those hands, he heard the Man say, “Welcome, Roman.”

  Welcome? I? Filthy and diseased? He gestured despairingly at his wretched condition. But in looking down, he saw that his skin was now clean and healthy. He was no longer naked, either,
but clothed in a gleaming white tunic, as were others of this crowd. This he recognized has having been accomplished merely by the Man’s touch.

  A moment before—or was it an eternity ago?—Roman had thought the horror of hell unbearable. But the transport of the Redeemer’s welcome exceeded it on the opposite end of the spectrum to an infinite degree. Roman fell on his face in speechless worship.

  The Man caused Roman to stand and told him, “This is not your hour, Roman. That will come soon enough. The others need you now.” The thick clouds merged again to separate Roman from the beauty of His presence, and Roman began to descend.

  “No!” he cried, struggling. “No! No! Let me stay!” He screamed in disappointment as the dancing lights vanished.

  But there was a hand on his shoulder, and his beloved Commander Galapos said with twinkling eyes, “Get past your stubbornness and obey your Sovereign, my boy.” Roman hazily saw his father Eudymon somewhere near Galapos and also, standing close by, someone he felt he had known a long time—someone supernatural who had protected his life countless times. . . . Then there was nothing.

  “Roman . . . oh, Roman. . . .” He heard a sweet, soft voice from a great distance. Then he felt himself being rocked in tender, feminine arms. A delicate hand stroked his hair from his face, and soft lips were pressed repeatedly to his forehead.

  He felt all this as consciousness returned to him. Before opening his eyes, he heard himself say clearly, “I understand.”

  There was quick movement around him. He looked up into Deirdre’s beautiful, anxious face, and she whispered, “What, Roman? What do you understand?” Nihl, Kam, Colin and the others pressed close around.

  Roman gathered his brows, raising himself weakly. “Someone was telling me I was not ever in danger from the lake of fire, because I had already confessed Jesus. All that happened was just a demonstration of what had already been accomplished.”

  Realizing that would need explaining, he twisted in her arms to tell her rapidly, “Deirdre—I woke in a barren, dark land, where I couldn’t see or breathe—” but she was already nodding.