The Knights of J'shua Book 1

Updated 11/16/24

Chapter 1

Rebekah

Flapping linens signaled a change in the wind. Rebekah Otual was trapped in the flurry of nearly-dry sheets. Their chaotic dance restricted her view. She caught only glimpses of the modest thatched cottage that was her home, the rich green woods surrounding the yard on three sides, the meandering forest trail—and three men on a wagon.

Pushing free with rapid breaths, Rebekah raised a hand in hesitant acknowledgment. Her gaze fixed on the approaching trio, three distinctive silhouettes in a military wagon. She straightened her linen apron and her light pale-yellow shift. The tranquility of her mundane laundering shattered by uncertainty.  

The haunting melody of the wind and the creaking wheels gripped her heart as a wayward gust chilled her.

Panic flickered in her eyes, as she searched for her young daughter.

Where is she?

The wooden wagon rattled to a stop only twenty paces away. It was empty except for two soldiers seated on each side of the bed wearing royal red brigandines and steel helmets. A thin, fair-haired official stepped down from the cushioned front seat. His gold tunic bore Melazera’s green dragon crest.

Rebekah kept her taut fists under her apron as she searched for her daughter with furtive glances in every direction. A visit from an earl’s man was no good thing.

The official walked toward her, smug and self-assured. Every button was polished. Neither a scuff on his cordovan boots, nor did a single hair escape its ribbon. He carried a thick book, while an elegant club, engraved with intricate designs hung from his belt. “I am George Rosewud, undersecretary to Gaelib Melazera, the ninth Earl of Lorness. I must speak with Rojer Dowling. Call your father, woman.”

“Yes, sir.” She stiffened, still peering about for her daughter, pushing a twist of blonde hair out of her eyes.

Where are you, Sarah?

Rebekah relaxed a bit as her aging father appeared, coming in from the fields holding gloves and hoe.

Her parents were well over fifty years but still hale and hearty. Father rose early every morning for devotions and often recited the Writings from memory. He worked his own fields. She only remembered one harvest when dark clouds threatened, when they had hired help to get the grain in while it remained dry.

Rebekah bit her lip as her father came closer, sweat dripping from his graying hairline. He leaned on the hoe with a sigh. “What do you want, clerk? We’ve made this moon’s payment.”

“That was recorded,” the undersecretary said. With a mirthless smile, he continued, “However, the earl demands all outstanding loans be finalized.” His thick ledger creaked open. “The amount is…four thousand baden.”

“We have a contract.” Her father removed his wide-brimmed hat, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “He can’t demand it all at once.”

The lifeless brown eyes of Lord Melazera’s undersecretary locked onto him.

She wished her husband, Jonathan, were here. His mission into the Republic of Esthlanis should have ended a moon ago. But it would be his last. From then on he would be here. He’d been a new Knight of J’shua when she met him, eighteen winters old. Now eleven years later, She was twenty-eight and he almost thirty. Once he returned, he would be qualified to become a daikon and lead his own circle.

One soldier, a towering, dark-haired youth with a face as smooth as a peach, jumped off the wagon. His tail of raven black hair hung below a silver helmet, both vivid accents to his well-fitted, ruby-red brigandine. The older one climbed down, straightening his well-worn uniform. He scratched at an old scar trailing across his cheek. Both soldiers stood at attention, statues of disciplined obedience. Each wore a gleaming sword, an ominous reminder of the violence offered.

Rebekah wrung her hands. Her eyes scanned the yard for her daughter.

Was she in the house? She was here only a moment ago.

Rebekah bit her lip, still searching.

Then Sarah jumped out from the hanging laundry and stomped her brother’s brown, hand-me-down boots, mimicking the soldiers’ stances.

Her plain muslin shift ruffled in the breeze like a flag of truce. Five seashell buttons her da brought home after a mission to Tarinland decorated its front. She’d inherited Rebekah’s blue eyes and golden blonde hair. Rebekah sighed in relief. Although quiet and observant like her father, Jonathan, most days, sometimes Sarah’s daydreams spurred surprising animation.

Standing straight and tall, as tall as a six-year-old could, her sweet voice rose, singing a familiar melody she’d learned from him.

“Like a little brave soldier, you will stand,

Like a little brave soldier, you will fight.

Like a little brave soldier, you will pray,

Like a little brave soldier with J’shua’s might.”

Rebekah froze as a slight smile cracked the young soldier’s stoic face.

She turned to her daughter. “Sarah. Go help Oma with the folding,” she said, her tone clear—obey or get a whack. Then Rebekah turned her eyes back on the boy.

The young soldier’s eyes tracked Sarah as she slouched and blew out a loud breath, then turned and disappeared through the door.

Rebekah looked again at her father.

The undersecretary’s expression darkened. “The Earl of Lorness demands payment. Now.”

“We have a contract.” Her father said as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Circumstances have changed.” Rosewud continued with a menacing glare, “Of course, you could fight to confirm your rights. Although an old law, trial by combat is not unknown. How do you think you’d fare against my sergeant?”

“But…” her father stammered.

The old soldier grinned, laying a hand on his hilt.

Rebekah’s scowl deepened.

The old sergeant leaned toward the boy soldier while eyeing her up and down. “Be pretty if she smiled.”

“Heh. Since when do you care if they’re pretty?” The young soldier replied.

Undersecretary Rosewud pursed his lips and silenced his men with a glance. “If you don’t have four thousand baden, Mister Dowling, we’ll take your daughter and granddaughter instead. Both look healthy. How old is the girl?”

“Take back the land,” her father said.

Rosewud raised an eyebrow. “Your lord has taxes to pay. I can sell the females in days. The land would take moons. How old is the child?”

“Six,” was her father’s sullen reply.

Rebekah touched her father’s shoulder as it sank. It would be impossible to reason with this clerk. The sergeant would not hesitate to cut him down.

“We’ll fight another day, Da,” she whispered.

He nodded but he continued begging the undersecretary for more time.

Rosewud pointed. “Get in the wagon, woman.”

“I’ll fetch my daughter,” Rebekah said, head downcast. Her heart pounded as she trudged toward the cottage. Smoothing her muslin apron, she quieted her racing thoughts.

Please J’shua, don’t let anyone follow me.

Attention remained on her father who pleaded for alternatives.

In the cramped confines of the cottage, Rebekah’s bounding pulse echoed her fear of imminent discovery as she noticed her mother, Oma, crouched behind the open door, clutching Sarah.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, squinting, her brows furrowed.

Closing the distance with a quick stride, Rebekah enfolded Sarah in a fierce embrace as Oma released her with a knowing look. The muted light darkened the lines of concern etched into Rebekah’s face. Her fingers brushed away Sarah’s tears. “Listen to me. Run to the woods, to the blackberries. Be invisible, like your da showed you. Hide there until I come find you. It is an important mission.”

Sarah, wiping away tears with a small hand, met her mother’s gaze. “But Ma—”

In those keen eyes, Rebekah glimpsed the fleeting remnants of childhood innocence, now entwined with the gritty realities of a world that demanded resilience. She spoke with a mixture of gentleness and urgency, “Don’t be afraid, Little Knight, just do as I say. Hide.” she whispered, her words a delicate promise against the looming threat.

Rebekah held her daughter out the rear window, an arm’s length above the ground, and dropped her like a fragile baby bird thrown from the nest. “Stay low. Run!”

Sarah landed in a squat and vanished into the undulating sea of grass.

Rebekah bit her lip as her girl disappeared into the green sorghum. “Lord J’shua, what should I do?”

Rebekah’s hands trembled with her desperate hope that J’shua might shield Sarah from the tempest gathering on the horizon.

Oma met Rebekah’s eyes with unwavering resolve. “Now I must save you.”

“Mama—” Rebekah’s lip quivered, gazing into her mother’s piercing blue eyes. She couldn’t leave.

“Your father and I will stall as long as we can. Run in the opposite direction through the east fields; the crop is taller. From there, you can reach Sarah through the woods. May J’shua’s guardians guide you.”

Her mother offered a weak smile and pulled her close. “It will be well. Your father and I have had a full, blessed life. We will sleep. When we wake, we will all be together with J’shua Ha Mashiach and the Father. Take your dagger and these coins. Go!”

The moment bore down on Rebekah, an insurmountable burden. Her parent’ sacrifice, the uncertainty of her choices, and this cruel circumstance twisted within her. She clutched the blade and coins in trembling hands, the tangible remnants of a life she was forced to leave behind.

With a final, tearful glance at her mother, Rebekah turned away, sprinting towards the east fields. The crop rose like a bulwark. As she crashed through the tall plants that blocked her view, they smacked her face and arms, swishing, loud in her ears. The crickets and the pounding of her heart were deafening. Each step distanced her from those she held most dear. The echo of her mother’s words fueled her desperate flight.

Chapter 2

Owakar

Owakar sat on a cracked stone bench in the ruins of an ancient garden above the barrier, trying not to fidget. Overgrown plants towered above the broken walls, and vines covered toppled statues, reminding him of all of the consequences of rebellion. He sighed, running his fingers around the toothy edge of a leaf, waiting as the overseer of messengers had instructed him.

How beautiful the Garden of God had been, a testament to the God of Truth’s grand design. During the rebellion, the Garden was destroyed, all became without form and void. So, God created the realms of heaven and earth and placed a barrier between the ethereal and the material domains, between those in the celestial sea and those in the atmosphere below. Owakar had heard this from the Singers of Words in the Book of Life.

[When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.]

[And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.]

He fluttered his blue silk robe so it lay smoothly over his legs again, concealing his sword. Somehow it always wrinkled. Others managed to look so fine all the time—such a self-centered concern. Even after five millennia, vain thoughts still percolated, the curse of free will.

Up until today, Owakar was only a low-level messenger. As a faithful angel, made long before the creation of Adam, Owakar rushed to watchers or guardians with important information. Hundreds of messages, every day.

“Hello, Owakar,” an angel said as he approached the lone bench arrayed in elegant green robes. He was tall, with straight brown hair tied back in a warrior’s tail, revealing golden brown eyes and a chiseled face.

Owakar shot to his feet; then he gave a deep bow and did not look up, but stared at the angel’s matching green slippers.

“I am Alocrin, Master Watcher. You are now my apprentice.”

“Thank you, Sir. I am very honored to have you as my preceptor.”

“Enough of that, look up.”

Owakar’s head rose, blinking, his forehead wrinkled. “Yes, sir.”

Alocrin smiled. “I am equal to you, except in experience. You shall learn from me, and I am happy to help you.”

“Thank you.” Owakar bowed again.

“As the population of the Density grows so does the need for more watchers. You are observant and a good writer, so J’shua has appointed you as watcher to the Province of Lorness in Freislicht.”

Owakar smiled. He couldn’t stop grinning. He was an apprentice watcher. His chest swelled with uncontainable joy. Not that the rank brought power, or benefits, or anything like that. Any employment of his time was a blessing. To help the God of Truth’s human family had always been a desire of his. Now he could see people of the Density all the time.

“Tell me of your experience in the Density.”

“A few times I appeared in the flesh on the earth before a real human. I was taught to appear dressed like the person I was to meet. That turned out to be a tattered blue robe and a faded red headscarf. I’d been trained not to copy exactly. That would be weird. I spoke the message and walked away before vanishing.”

 Owakar relaxed a bit when Alocrin bobbed his head in approval.

“A different time, long ago, I arrived unseen and whispered to some men in prison. I suggested they sing, not my idea, but the message I’d been given. Even though their situation was dire and the heathens vicious, they sang. Next, there was an earthquake and the prison doors flew open, but the prisoners didn’t run.”

“I remember that,” Alocrin said. “They stayed and were witnesses of J’shua to their prison guards.”

“I shouldn’t have been surprised. People are very interesting, don’t you think?”

 “Yes, they are, Owakar.” Alocrin smiled and held out the tablet. “This is your luach. Have you seen one before?”

“Yes, sir. But I’ve never held one.”

“Just call me Alocrin, please. Take it.”

In his hands, the small disk of light ebbed and flowed in brightness and color.

He read the words aloud, “The luach joins us to the Book of Life, which is vast, multidimensional, and always refreshed with the current knowledge of God. Every word leads to streams of thought and intent, individuals and events. Every occurrence a Watcher sees is added to it every day. Only the God of Truth, the Ancient of Days, can perceive and comprehend all of it, all at once. But we are shown what we need, when we need it.”

The luach glowed brighter and Owakar saw words materialize on the face of it.

[For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.]

Owakar’s face glowed with the reflected light as he read.

Alocrin grinned. “Play with it, explore.”

Balancing the luach on his knees, Owakar, touched the device. Colors and words appeared, reshaped, and altered, like waves. He touched it again. Tap, swipe, tap, tap. More words and images appeared.

“Now, ask something.”

“Tell me of heaven,” Owakar said.

The luach responded. “The atmosphere that surrounds mankind is the first heaven, filled with strange and magnificent flying creatures, large and very small. The God of Truth resides in his castle in the highest heaven, the third heaven. This is where his holy council meets.”

He swiped at the last line and read on.

“In between these heavens is the second heaven, called the Celestial Sea. It harbors the first of God’s children, both the faithful and the corrupted. The sea is tumultuous and filled with conflict, the very definition of chaos.”

“I see you’ve got the hang of it, Owakar.” Alocrin said, drawing his attention.

“The barrier separates the chaos here from the earth below.” Alocrin continued, “Though it fails to shield the earth from all attacks, it allows us to monitor its borders. Having been a messenger, you may not be aware that in the chaos of the Celestial Sea, the faithful do much of their work. The tasks of maintaining the realms must be overseen. When the Serpent exposed the concept of self-interest many chose to follow him. None of the sons of God can be trusted completely. Yet the God of Truth continues to let all of us participate in his creation as he always had.”

Owakar nodded, paying attention to his new mentor.

Alocrin continued, “Some angels choose to interfere with the God of Truth. They block important messages and impair the functioning of his creation. They go wherever they will, or wherever the Serpent bids them go, but you and I, and the faithful, walk in the light. We traverse the three heavens serving our father, the God of Truth. The faithful prefer to be above with the council or on the earth with humanity, rather than deal with the annoying chaos. I certainly do.”

Owakar’s face lit up. “So, I can walk in the Density whenever I want?”

“Yes, you can change location with a thought.” Alocrin snapped his fingers, disappearing from Owakar’s sight. Then he returned. “You can float like a cloud or walk on the ground. To the people of the earth, you will be invisible, thin as the atmosphere. Unless you wish to be seen by them.”

“When can I start? Are there specific people I should visit?”

“All in good time,” Alocrin responded. “When you materialize, you become subject to the physical laws of their world so you must be careful not to stay solid too long. Owakar, you cannot die, but you can suffer.”

Suffering looked terrible. When he’d delivered messages in the Density, he’d seen angels suffering at the hands of people and other angels. He’d felt cold and hunger before as well, but he’d never suffered.

The humans had to eat and sleep and shelter from the elements. Angels had none of these concerns. So what they did most of the time was talk. Despite the detailed information in the Book of Life, endless arguments continued.

The luach glowed.

[Neither give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which minister questions, rather than godly edifying which is in faith.]

Yes, he supposed that applied.

“I must go for a time. But I will return soon. Study the luach. It has much to show you.”

Owakar had many questions.

Chapter 3

Blackhawk

After giving report to Earl Gaelib Melazera, bent over one knee, Blackhawk was detained for several hours to amuse his lord. Once Melazera fell asleep from various intoxicants, Blackhawk slipped away. He left Lorness Castle, gloomy and gritting his teeth, avoiding anyone that might recognize him. It had been four years since he was last summoned to the earl’s chamber.

“Don’t think about it. It does no good,” he muttered to himself, attempting to quell the surge of emotions that threatened to surface. The echoes of the past were shadows clinging to Blackhawk as he navigated the labyrinth of Lorness Castle, each step a deliberate march away from his haunting memories of the earl. He was again a cold stone by the time he entered the cheap, dingy tavern that soldiers frequented, and he ordered. The ale helped.

 Its shadowy corners hummed with whispered secrets. Retreating there from the delicate dance of duty and survival, Blackhawk burrowed deep in the warm, dark, safety, knowing it wasn’t a place any nobility would visit. To be noticed by anyone connected to the Melazeras brought no good.

The sergeant sitting beside him annoyed him with his inane chatter, but Blackhawk remained pleasant, nodding and answering the man’s attempts at conversation politely. Melazera had trained him in every artifice, one way or the other. He ordered another ale.

Melazera sent him away four years ago to become a soldier. His lord made it clear that no one should know that Melazera had raised Blackhawk. North Fort was two weeks east of Lorness. Yet, even while there, he knew deep into his flesh that he must always please his lord to stay alive. His lord was all powerful, his reach boundless. Every morning, he suppressed a shiver; the earl’s presence never left him.

The sergeant clapped him on the shoulder. “You seem a goodly lad, a hard worker to make the rank of lieutenant at your age. What are you? Fourteen winters?”

“Fifteen.” Blackhawk braced himself for the teasing that often followed. But it didn’t. Instead, the sergeant offered him a temporary assignment.

“It’s a plum post, following the undersecretary about. My patron pays well. But I am short a man. You interested?”

He explained the requirements and Blackhawk accepted with a shrug. By the next new moon, he’d present himself to his new billet at High Keep. It would only take two weeks to get there—that gave him two weeks to spare. Broke and with no better opportunity before reporting, he’d followed Sergeant Jonsun out the door. What else would he do with his time, except waste his small pouch of baden?

***

A lively blast of wind revived him from the recollection and Blackhawk scanned the surroundings again. “This is the last one, then your off to High Keep,” the sergeant beside him whispered. “You lookin’ forward to it?”

Blackhawk gave a nod as his eyes flicked to Undersecretary Rosewud. He wished the sergeant would stop talking.

This team had ranged all about Lorness, collecting women and children where the debtors could not answer with coin. None had had that much baden.

The work was tolerable, though he did do all the heavy lifting—the sergeant motivating the farmers with his surly glares and threatening behavior. And it was an opportunity to wear his new brigandine, a tangible symbol of his rising status. It was well-made, a sign of his bright future. Before, he only had a gambeson. Even with many quilted layers of wool, it could only blunt a blow. And it wouldn’t stop an arrow. Lined with small steel plates, brigandine provided much better protection. Not that he had needed it for this assignment.

The purpose of a military presence, even a small one, was to project the threat of force. Force made things run with efficiency.

As Blackhawk waited for a command from this Rosewud fop, another woman came out of the small house toting a woven basket—an older version of the old man’s daughter.

Must be his wife.

“Rojer, do we have guests?” she said, beaming a cheery smile. Then she set her eyes on Blackhawk, and limped toward him. “I have honey cakes. Would you like some, son? You’re still growing and must be hungry.”

Blackhawk’s gaze softened as he observed her slow shuffle towards him, the embodiment of matronly charm. Before he could respond, however, she stumbled and fell, scattering the contents.

Blackhawk stepped forward with a soldier’s instinct and offered his hand. “Let me help you, ma’am.”

Taking it, she wobbled and groaned as she found her balance and rose. “Thank you. You’re such a dear. Oh, my, I’ve broken some cakes.”

She fussed with the contents of her basket, then offered it to Blackhawk, who’d returned to his place. “This one didn’t break.” Her smile was genuine, a touch of kindness that seemed incongruent with the imposing military presence.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” Blackhawk replied with a nod. As she began to turn away, he whispered to the sergeant, “Seems a little touched.”

“Perhaps,” the woman replied, her smile persisting.

Had she heard him? A frisson of curiosity awakened with her response.

She continued, “You prefer plain oat cakes. That’s well enough. Honey cake isn’t for everyone. My uncle hated honey cake. Wouldn’t touch it.” Next, the woman staggered toward the undersecretary, offering him the basket.

Rosewud’s glare cut through the pleasant atmosphere like a blade. “I am the undersecretary of Lord Gaelib Melazera, the ninth Earl of Lorness, we’re here to collect monies he’s owed, not nibble on cakes.”

Blackhawk kept his face blank. It wasn’t his place to correct him, but his lord had eight other undersecretaries. Then again, Rosewud was the type of man Lord Melazera wanted in such a role.

The woman turned, ignoring the undersecretary, and hobbled toward her husband. “Here, take one, dear husband. I know you love my honey cakes.” She poked through the basket and he picked one. On tiptoes she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Rojer took a bite out of the cake. “Mmm. You sure you don’t want one, sir? My wife’s cakes are the best in all Lorness.”

The old woman smiled, offering the basket again.

The woman blinked. “Rojer, don’t we still have some silver?

“Oh, maybe,” the burly old man said as he took her hand and squeezed. “How much do we have?”

Blackhawk wondered if they, indeed, had the money, and would Rosewud take it and leave them alone?

“Well, last year it was quite a sum, but then you had to buy seed….”

“Yes, the seed was expensive. But I harvested a good early crop. I almost opened an account with the money changer,” he chuckled weakly.

“Oh yes, you brought several wagon loads to market. I saved much of the profit. How much does the man want?”

“The undersecretary says four thousand baden, Sweetie.”

“I’ll go look under the loose stone in the fireplace?” the old woman said as she turned to leave.”

“Stay,” Rosewud said as he readjusted the ledger with an air of detachment. He threw a glance over his shoulder and huffed. “Lieutenant, fetch the girl and her mother.” The undersecretary trailed a finger down the page until he came to the Dowling account, making a mark.

***

Lieutenant Blackhawk’s eyes adjusted to the dim cottage, lit only by one high window; a single room divided by a sheet strung over a line—Were they behind it? 

He tore it aside.

Blackhawk flung open a wardrobe—Empty.

Even as he climbed the ladder to the loft, he knew they wouldn’t be there. He dropped back to the floor. Except for the clomp of his boots, silence.  “Blast!” Scratching the fine whiskers on his chin, he sighed. Perhaps not so touched.

Blackhawk shifted his gaze to the open window with a sigh, scanning the fields beyond in a systematic way. There was nothing before him but the hypnotic rhythm of the wind sweeping through the waving sorghum, thick woods beyond. Moments slipped away. Then he saw her. A tiny blonde head bobbing now and then in the sea of grain.

In the span of ten days, the operation had unfolded with grim efficiency, no one had dared to flee before.

Turning, he could see the undersecretary through the open doorway. Unable to contain the urgency in his voice, he shouted, “Sir, they’ve run off!”

Rosewud frowned, slamming the book closed.

Hustling back to the wagon, Blackhawk reported, “I spotted the girl but not the mother.”

“Take a horse. We won’t wait,” Rosewud ordered, irritation palpable as he brushed yellow pollen from his sleeve. “Meet us at camp. The woman’s blonde hair and blue eyes will be exotic in Lorness, increasing her price. As will the girl’s. Don’t leave any bruises. Go.”

Then the undersecretary scowled at the conspiring couple. “Sergeant, set an example.”

While Blackhawk unhitched the lead horse, Sergeant Jonsun dashed forward, drawing his sword.

“No!” Mister Dowling pulled his wife behind him.

As the sergeant passed them with experienced precision, he sliced both cleanly across their necks, dropping them in a heap, their hands still entwined. Broken honey cakes tumbled from the basket, spattered in blood. After wiping his blade on the old man’s sleeve, he sheathed it.

Blackhawk didn’t flinch as he continued untying the horse. He had to retrieve the girl and her mother or the fop might not pay him.

“Impressive, Sergeant,” Rosewud said as the grizzly old soldier turned. Then, after a side glance toward the young lieutenant, he whispered, “Check for silver. If there’s any there, we’ll split it.”

The horse was eager and flew through the sorghum and into the dark woods.

There, forced to a walk, Blackhawk called, “Girl, your grandma is worried about you.” His easy lie sounded hollow in his ears, but necessary.

Less and less light filtered through the shadows and shifting leaves the deeper he went. Blackhawk nudged the horse forward, navigating the labyrinth of spring greenery. He ducked under skeletal branches, searching for his prey. “Come out. I’ll take you to her.”

No sign of her. Even the birds were silent.

“She has a honey cake for ya.”

He surveyed the woods surrounding him. A rabbit perked, dashing one way, then another. A squirrel scampered up a tree. His horse’s hooves crunched through dead leaves until the mare came to an abrupt halt and pulled at a clump of sedge, munching.

Blackhawk tugged the reins, but meeting resistance, he spied over the mare’s shoulder, not only the tasty treat, but could it be? Lying still on the ground, hidden by a camouflage of leaves, eyes wide with fear, he saw her.

A quiet revelation dawned–he’d never have seen her had the horse continued its stride. Dismounting, he lingered, curious to see how long she could maintain her motionless concealment.

When he was her age, he wouldn’t have lasted a wink. He cringed, remembering many painful pinches, the mildest of his lord’s rebukes. Always, he’d stood beside the earl, a measured two feet away and half a step behind. Even when his lord sat, he stood, expressionless. He pushed the thought away. Now he was a soldier and Melazera was far away.

Even knowing where she hid, he couldn’t see or hear her. She didn’t move or make a peep. He finally accepted she wouldn’t give herself away. Needing to return to camp, he crouched down and peered into the girl’s unblinking eyes. He’d seen terror in many eyes.

Blackhawk picked her up under the arms, staring into her frightened blue eyes. “Let’s go.” Then she covered her face with her arms. He was entranced by this little fair-haired doll who didn’t kick or cry. Placing her on the horse, he jumped up behind her, and urged the horse into a walk.

“Who taught you to hide like that?”

“My da,” she whispered.

“You did better than any soldier I know. Your da would be proud.”

He left the trees with the small girl in front of him. Smoke rose from the cottage so Blackhawk turned back into the forest because he didn’t want to deal with a bawling child. They followed a winding trail through the woods until the cottage was well behind them. On the road again, he hurried back to camp.

Chapter 4

Owakar

Owakar was still sitting on the stone bench trying to make the luach show him what he wanted. “Argh. No. That’s not right.” A sudden flashing across the device warned him of the Warrior’s approach. Dominion over Freislicht was delegated to this lawless angel by the Serpent who owned the whole earth.

Where was Alocrin? He needed his mentor’s advice.

The luach thrummed again.

Alocrin had been detained to give his deposition.

The Serpent persisted with schemes to win his case. He brought counter-allegations against the God of Truth again and again. Already the trial spanned five millennia. Would it ever end?

Depositions took a long time. Alocrin had been a watcher for many, many years. Deposing him could take days and days. He wondered if he himself would be deposed someday.

The Serpent was wily, but the God of Truth was just—and thorough.

[Out of thine own mouth will I judge thee, thou wicked servant.]

The Warrior sauntered into the ruins; his eyes gleaming with cunning. Owakar, fidgeted with his robe, glancing at people he watched in Lorness below.

“Owakar, my dear friend, how are you?” the Warrior purred, sidling closer. “What a splendid day, wouldn't you agree? His gaze flicked to Owakar's robe, searching for the telltale outline of the luach.

Owakar flinched, shoving the luach deeper into his garment. “I-I am well enough, Warrior,” he stammered. “Have you—have you come to repent?”

The Warrior's lips curled into a sly smile. “Repent? Oh, Owakar. You misunderstand. I am a great prince and a champion of the God of this Age, the Serpent. While we may be accused and shunned for our—exercise of choice, I assure you, the virtue of our cause will soon become apparent to all.”

“Y-yes, so you keep saying,” Owakar muttered, his eyes darting about, seeking Alocrin's reassuring presence.

The Warrior's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a silky whisper. “We will continue to accuse these humans before our creator. We will proclaim our own righteousness and expose the futility of our father's gambits. Mark my words, Owakar—we shall prevail. Surely, even you can see the inevitability of our triumph?”

Owakar swallowed hard, his voice just above a whisper. “N-no, Warrior. I—I trust our father. It is written—” His trembling fingers retrieved the luach, which sparkled as he read aloud, “[Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.]”

The Warrior's eyes narrowed, a patronizing smile playing on his lips. “How quaint, indeed. Your blind faith is—touching, Owakar. But remember, faith can be a fragile thing.” He leaned in, his voice a menacing purr. “I do hope yours doesn't shatter when reality comes crashing down.”

Straightening up, the Warrior's demeanor shifted to false cheer. “Well, I must be off. So many people to—entertain. Do take care, Owakar. And keep that precious faith of yours close—you may need it in the days to come.”

As the Warrior vanished, Owakar released a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. He clutched the luach to his chest, murmuring a quiet prayer for strength and guidance in the face of the Warrior's unsettling presence.

Owakar sighed with relief as he saw Alocrin striding toward him. Perhaps the Warrior left because he saw him coming.

“Sir, you just missed the Warrior.” Owakar said, alarm tinged his words.

“Not sir, call me Alocrin, remember? The Warrior takes pleasure in asserting his authority. He’ll pester you often. Try to ignore him.”

“But why does he have authority?”

Alocrin looked on him with sad eyes. “You remember when the first man disobeyed our father?”

Owakar nodded, “Yes, the upheaval across the realm was very tumultuous. I felt it leagues away.”

“The God of Truth had entrusted him with the authority over all the earth, but in that moment when he disobeyed, he transferred it to the Serpent.”

“It is prophesied in the Book of Life. When will it end?”

“Only God knows. But we know that humans will return to our realm. He and his wife lost the essence of holy spirit and were banished from the Garden of God by slowing his body, which had been quickened with light. They became so condensed; they lost all sense of their former home. All they could perceive was the earth, the place we call the Density.”

Both their luachs chimed with the words, “Only watch.”

[Each is a chosen vessel unto me.]

“Look.” Alocrin pointed to a tiny spec of land below them which rushed into focus as an old woman prayed. It was awful not to intervene, but they had their orders.

Then a younger woman also petitioned J’shua with the words of her language and spiritual prayer.

A little girl ran through the field.

Then Owakar caught the movement of an old soldier from the corner of his eye as he killed the old couple. Owakar groaned, “J’shua, how can this be?”

The luach responded, “The choices of mankind have led to oppression by evil men. It was the natural order. Evil things happen to good people.”

Why do they have to suffer?

More elements of the Book bubbled up:

[To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.]

[But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that you sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.]

[For man also knows not his time: as the fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare; so are the sons of men snared in an evil time, when it falls suddenly upon them.]

Then it revealed his first assignment as a watcher. Owakar placed the fading luach back in his robes. He could not believe the directive. “Alocrin?”

Alocrin placed his hand on Owakar’s shoulder. “Keep to your task.”

Owakar sighed. “She is so young to be called to a mission.”

[…for such a time as this.]

In the moment, Alocrin quoted the same reference, “But for such a time as this, Owakar. Compared to eternity all the human lives are short. Even so, each one contributes what they wish in the struggle with the Serpent for dominion. In those moments, they are most noble and virtuous.”

“I see,” Owakar said, his eyes wide like an owl’s. Sarah was significant to some plan direct from the holy council, and he must keep her alive. Yet not reveal her importance to the Warrior.

He inhaled a deep breath, letting it out in a huff. What was a long time to humans, especially young humans, was a blink of an eye to a watcher.

Owakar called for two guardians using the luach and sent them to be with her. They would ensure she was safe.

Then he turned his attention to Rebekah and began his chronicle in the luach. It was the waxing crescent moon of Spring in the twenty-ninth year in the reign of King Edal…

Chapter 5- 1199

Rebekah

Rebekah’s breathing came in ragged gasps as she raced through the field, a sweet fragrance filling her lungs, as the golden-brown fronds of the ripe sorghum, tall and darkening, brushed their full heads against her cheeks.

Once in the woods, Rebekah hopped over fallen branches, zig-zagging along the deer trails, leaping over downed trunks, checking the field beside her for soldiers.

Then she saw the young soldier thundering across the sorghum field on horseback.

Did he see Sarah enter the woods?

In panic, Rebekah skirted the field in the shadow of trees, sprinting after the boy and his horse a hundred yards ahead, the distance growing, her heart pounding in pace with her boots.

Her stomach lurched, as she watched him fly through the field, getting closer to Sarah.

She ran, head turning, eyes darting, expecting another soldier to appear at any time.

She gripped her mother’s knife in her hand.

The young soldier disappeared into the woods.

Still running, careful to avoid dry leaves and twigs that would give her away, she closed the distance to the blackberry patch.

Did Sarah hide well enough?

As she trotted on the path through the woods, she was attentive to any sounds the soldier might make. Before she reached the spot where he’d entered the trees, the young soldier emerged with Sarah seated before him, an arm holding her close.

Rebekah moaned and ducked her head. “No, no, no,” she whispered.

Her daughter captured by that drecksa cut deep. A sensation that worsened when he smiled, as if it were a game.

Everything inside of her screamed to run, to rip her daughter out of his arms and plunge her dagger into his gut.

To end his life—slowly—so he’d know the suffering he’d inflicted.

Not even his youth will stay my blade.

Crouching in the trees, she hid and waited, worrying a strand of her golden hair, counting her breaths until they she couldn’t see them.

She groaned within.

What am I going to do?

Her neighbors, could not, or would not, help her, not while they were fearing for their own. And as soon as the boy returned to the path, he’d gallop. There was no way Rebekah could catch them on foot. But—she could track them and then make a plan. They would have a camp nearby.

She ran back home.

Smoke cut into the fragrance of sweet sorghum, drawing her eye to the haze rising in the distance. Near home, near family—the grip on her mother’s dagger tightened. As she emerged from a field of plenty, she crumbled at the sight before her. Fire danced on the roof and waved from the window taunting her with the promise of pain.

She ran forward, panting, tongues of flame licked the air through the open door in greeting. She dodged its touch.

“Ma!—Da!”

A curtain of fire roared, as her prayers rose to J’shua, but even the Lord of Light could not quell the darkness of such men. Two blackened heads, arms bent unnaturally across their bodies appeared ahead of her.

She covered her ears, howling at the deafening blaze, railing against this evil.

“God, why?”

Sobs suffocated her, tears poured down her face. Her throat burned, her hands shook, numbness poured over her. Maybe they’d had bodies in the wagon, and my parents were taken alive.

On the large table, the Writings still lay open to the Songs she’d read during their morning devotions. One by one, the pages curled up in flame, before crumbling into ash. Beside the door was Sarah’s burnt practice sword.

The grasping fire surged, forcing her to stumbled back, shielding her face. With one final wail, Rebekah turned toward the woods and ran, wiping her face.

Follow Sarah.

Terrible things had happened to other followers of J’shua. She had questioned her teachers, “What they had done to cause it.” The best answer had been, “The Serpent’s chaos can touch us. Our lives no matter how short, are never in vain if we walk in J’shua’s light. We are in the world but not of the world. We will overcome the world.”

[Ye shall be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into joy.]

Now it was happening to her. She bit her lip. “Serpent, you will get what you deserve.”

J’shua’s still, small voice spoke in her mind again and wrapped her heart with his peace. She will be safe.

“I will get her back.”

Rebekah ran toward the forest to pick up Sarah’s trail.

Owakar

Owakar watched Rebekah's heart fracture and reform like heated metal, her grief and rage burning hot enough that even he could feel their heat. He sent threads of divine peace to wrap around her storm of emotions, uncertain how best to help.

“You seem troubled,” Alocrin's presence shimmered beside him, warm and steady as sunlight.

“Her pain runs so deep,” Owakar confessed. “And her daughter's captors are so close. How do I help her without interfering with their missions?”

“Ah,” Alocrin's gentle voice reassured him. “Remind her of the Writings and encourage her with J'shua's loving presence, touch her and give her his peace.”

Rebekah was frozen before the blazing fire, so Owakar reminded her of a passage in the Writings.

[And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through J'shua Ha Mashiach.]

“She wants justice.”

“Justice and vengeance are different waters from the same well,” Alocrin observed. “One brings life, the other poison.”

Dispatching two guardians ahead to the soldiers' camp, Owakar turned his attention back to Rebekah. She'd found her parents' bodies, and run to follow her daughter. She found their tracks, her trained eyes reading the story they told.

“Show her,” Owakar prayed to the God of Truth, “reveal the path that leads to life, not death.”

As if in answer, Rebekah stopped, her hand falling from her dagger. She closed her eyes, breathing deep. “J'shua, give me wisdom,” she whispered. “Not vengeance.”

“Watch,” Alocrin directed. “See how the God of Truth works in a willing heart?”

Through his guardians' eyes, Owakar saw the soldiers making camp, their overconfidence making them sloppy. Sarah sat in a cage, unharmed, her mother's teachings evident in her quiet observation of her captors' routines.

“The child is remarkable,” Owakar mused. “I see why she was chosen.”

“She is young, but she is willing.” Alocrin's tone was gentle but firm. “Our task is to guide them toward light, not solve their problems.”

“Give her strength,” Owakar prayed, watching Rebekah move like a shadow through the woods. “Give her wisdom.”

“You're learning,” Alocrin said with approval. “See how she rises above her pain? This moment will echo far beyond this forest.”

“Well done,” Owakar murmured, as Rebekah settled in to wait. “Now, I'll make sure the soldiers cannot see her.”

The luach buzzed against his side. Alocrin brightened. “Write it well, Owakar. This is how darkness is overcome-not through greater darkness, but through choosing light even in their deepest pain.”

Owakar began to write, his joy growing with each word. The God of Truth would turn mourning into dancing, and he had a front-row seat to the miracle. With Alocrin's quiet approval warming him, he settled in to watch hope unfold.