Hadassah's Watchman Trilogy, Evangheline Farcas [red scrolls of magic .txt] 📗

at all times, God-forbid that we should need it, but we must be prepared.”
“Where will I wait?”
“Right there,” I pointed, “remember that Jilava was built as a fortress first, not a prison. It was built as a place of defense, not torture. What most don’t know is that Fort Jilava has kept some secrets very well.”
She didn’t respond, she just listened.
I continued, “Most forts have many ways of escape, you see there?” I said pointing to what looked like a hill, but below that were the prison cells. She nodded slowly, “There is where we will come out from, there is a passageway that will bring us out here, beyond the fence and the barbed wire. You will wait here.” I said firmly and she resigned.
Bogdan, Manuela and Liviu joined us then, we each entered the car in solemn silence. Hadassah drove to the front of the penitentiary where we got out, dressed as the securitate, we were new officers coming to interrogate the vermin of this society.
We walked briskly to the entrance with our documents in our hands, I glanced back once as Hadassah drove away to the place of our rendezvous, she would be alright, I thought.


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The dark night enveloped her, she didn’t want it. She wanted day, when all things looked safe. Nothing looked safe now, everything looked as if it would explode. But she was ready, she had to be ready for such a time as this.

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Riots began again, in Timisoara, in Cugir, in Alba, in Bucharest, everywhere. But none knew what they were fighting for. None seemed to know that their souls would be demanded of them if this night would end in defeat.


CHAPTER TWENTY THREE


Isaiah 1:16-18 “Wash yourselves, make yourselves clean; Remove the evil of your deeds from My sight. Cease to do evil,
Learn to do good; Seek justice, Reprove the ruthless, Defend the orpahn, Plead for the widow.
Come now, and let us reason together,” says the LORD, Though your sins are as scarlet, They will be as white as snow; Though they are red like crimson, They will be like wool.
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Pray often, for prayer is a shield to the soul, a sacrifice to God. and a scourge for Satan

--John Bunyan

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The thud echoed in his mind, reverberating for what seemed like an eternity. He kept moving through the motions. It was done now, yet as he studied the spatters of blood that had landed on and stained his hands an astonishing revelation was birthed. It travailed, and as with any birth pangs he tried to surpass it, he had to, there was no turning back.
He had steered the securitate to the so called faithful through Pastor Lucas. He fed his doubts, but also he subtly suggested he wasn’t doing anything wrong by agreeing with his reasoning. Damian saw the his Dark accomplice whispering in his ear for a time before moving on to others to try to lure them away. How Lucas each whispered word Damian couldn’t fathom, but somehow he did. He ranted about how a good Christian was to be submissive to their government. So he was submitting very well, thought Damian, by sending his sheep to the slaughter, as good as any wolf clothed in sheep’s clothing. It was laughable really that Pastor Lucas even believed himself a lamb.
But what did that make him? He was a Watchman once, most still believed him to be. His soul was given to the Dark Ones, or so they thought, but always there was a still small voice wooing him, calling him, pursuing him. Why not just let him be? There was no desire within to serve either side. He was tired of this ageless battle that had no end. Often he’d failed both sides miserably.
Now a child was being torn from his father’s arms, the mother had already been taken. Damian faintly saw a familiar form or shape. It looked like that of a flaming sword being swiped across the securitate officer’s chest. Instantly the officer let go of the father, grasping at his own chest, his face displaying agonizing pain.
A longing filled Damian in that moment, so deep that it hurt. A thought flickered within, something remembered but buried by regret, pain and helpless anger. Even as these feelings gripped him they were fleeting, hard to grasp. He knew there was no way back, the cost was too high, forgiveness couldn’t be offered to him now, there had been too many deadly choices. The past couldn’t be changed.
Passer-by’s began to stop and stare at the horrific scene taking place in broad daylight on the well known street. The father saw his opportunity as the chaos broke out. There were friends seeing their friends lead away. A holy rage filled them that would not be abated. Taking hold of his son they lunged away from their captors. Damian saw guns being raised, one of which was aimed at the child.
Something snapped within him, the speed with which he ran was faster then a hurricane. Thoughts flashed through his mind with the same forceful speed. Who cared if the Dark Ones would destroy him? And even if he couldn’t be redeemed, did that mean a child had to die? Memories of his own father, so long ago gone, filled his mind. During a battle many centuries ago in Jerusalem his father died to save them from the captivity of Persia. Pain, so much pain. No more!
A bullet grazed him, but he would live, he always lived. He was cursed with endurance, fast healing, strength and a long life. He whisked them away, both father and son, as the officers scratched their heads in confusion. It looked like something you would see in an episode of Tom and Jerry, thought Damian ironically.
He carried them into the farthest, darkest alley he could find away from the chaos.
Gunshots still echoed in the distance as they came to an abrupt stop.
Both father and son looked at him with mouths agape, with a mixture of both relief and horror.
“What are you? Who are you?” asked the father in a trembling voice. His arms protectively surrounding his son, as if he could protect him from Damian if need be.
Before Damian could answer, the child spoke, “Tata nu sti?” he asked.
“No son, I don’t know, what?”
“El este pazitorul, he is our guardian.” exclaimed the boy as if this was common knowledge, his voice was dripping with wonder.
“No, no I’m not, I’m not that.” Damian quickly insisted.
The father was silent for a moment.
“But what are you then?”
“I was a Watchman.” relied Damian.
“Was? Then what are you now?”
Damian did not reply right away, when he did, it was in a low broken voice, “I’m a fallen sinner, a Watchman who did not watch but fell asleep.”

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Zipphorah could feel it, all of it. She prayed for Raphael and his companions, that they would be on guard every second, for she felt the enemy was on the prowl.
Even here in this grand auditorium, filled with zealous youths and the angels walking in their midst. Even here the enemy was on the prowl.
The Dark Ones tried to roam through the crowd to whisper doubts, she heard each of their lies clearly as if spoken in her own ear. She knew each of these lies for each of them she had had to conquer.
“This is not real.” They hissed.
“This is nothing more then hallucinations produced by your brain.”
“Do you think you’re worth redeeming, do you think you have the right to approach Jesus? After your immoral life that you ssssstill fall into?”
“Keep praying so that girl over there can see what a faithful believer you are.”
“You’re nothing, you fail at everything, you can’t even hold a job.”
Lies and distractions were whispered, some were screamed. Each time the hands that were lifted would falter, the person’s prayer began lessening. But just as Aaron and Hur held up the hands of Moses in the heat of battle so did the prayer warrior on each side of the tested one. So their hands never fell, because the one holding their hand on either side would lifted back up, supporting and giving the needed strength.
There were those among the crowd who were more sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s prompts, these saw or felt the struggle and their doubts, their prayers became more specific. Their supplications began targeting the specific whispers of the Dark Ones.
“Blessed is he who believes yet has not seen, Lord strengthen Otilia, give her faith in this moment to intercede.” prayed a young man holding the girl’s shaking hand.
“You know this is real Vlad, I see the battle too, you’re not hallucinating, Lord open his eyes so he sees the legions of angels with us now.” the one next to Vlad prayed passionately.
“Resist the devil and he will flee. There is no sin too great so that it cannot be forgiven, when you fall He lifts you back up Catalin, when you are weak then He is strong for you. Your sins are cast as far away as the east is from the west.” this one prayed so passionately, he displayed the Savior’s heart so vividly that it brought tears to Zipphorah’s eyes.
“Keep your eyes on Jesus David, look neither to the right nor to the left so you don’t falter. Focus on Him.” And so David’s hands shot up, his chin lifted up in humble triumph continuing the intercession.
“You can do all things through Christ who strengthens you Miriam, don’t give up, He’s not giving up on you, finish the good race, run towards the prize.” encouraged her faithful friend.
Zipphorah’s heart leapt with joy at what she saw next. The gold chains binding them together tightened their hold, keeping them from faltering or falling. Each person was the next person’s strength. But what brought her tears of joy was when the Dark Ones fled. It happened so suddenly when He came, the King was among them. Every single one of them He touched. For some He wiped the tears of sorrow away, for others He lifted dark and heavy burdens that had been carried way too long. As He passed by each person, audible sighs of relief was heard. He was imparting peace beyond all understanding, peace in the midst of the storm, for indeed the storm still raged.
Though this battle was directly linked to the violent one now taking place in their home country, both battles needed to be won, both there and here.
With her whole heart she prayed that both would be won. Yes, her Lord would intercede, but choices would still have to be made and each choice made could either win or loose this war.
Finally He stopped in front of her, she smiled and so did He. It was so beautiful, so intimate, He was not only her Savior and King, He was her long time, constant friend. How could she put this friendship into mare mortal words? It had taken so many