Beyond the Fire Read online

  “We must tie ourselves together,” Gaff continued. “If anyone should fall, the others can pull them back to the trail.” The path they were following disappeared into a smooth, vertical plate of stone.

  “Tie a child between each adult, and when we run out of adults, substitute a larger child for an adult,” Gaff instructed.

  “We can’t cross this!” said a man’s voice. Several men had joined the expedition, hoping to settle a new land that was free from the worry of a corrupt court.

  “It can be done,” Gaff replied. “I have crossed it, and we can go back the same way.”

  “But I can’t see any handholds or footholds.”

  “They are only visible as you climb out upon the rock,” Gaff said. “Hurry! We must cross before night falls or a storm comes.”

  All eyes turned toward billowing clouds on the horizon. They had weathered one thunderstorm already, and they didn’t want to be on an open-faced rock during another.

  “Please hurry! Tie yourselves together with these ropes!”

  The pilgrims fumbled with the ropes. The rough climb had taken its toll upon the ill-clad travelers. Their bare feet were cut and swollen, and their fingers shone red in the late afternoon sun.

  Constant urging finally motivated the group into action. “Follow my moves exactly,” Gaff said. “There is no room for error. It is a long way down. Don’t look, just take my word for it. Place your hands and feet exactly where you see your neighbor leave his or hers. We will go slowly, but it will not take long. It is not far.”

  Gaff began with one hand, and then one foot. Hearts pounded as each pilgrim in turn, even very young children, swung out over the edge of the mountain.

  Heavy packs filled with food, clothing, seeds, and other necessities burdened each back. Lashed to the packs were hoes, shovels, axes, and other such tools as would be necessary in the days ahead.

  It would have been comical to see the packs bobbing along the face of the mountain had their plight not been so serious. Fingers and toes, numbed from the cold, sought tiny cracks and gouges in the sheer wall of stone. Clinging to the rock, these people were willing to risk their lives for a new beginning free from the terror of tyranny. Hope spurred them on.

  Gaff had reached the other side, and nearly half the people had made that first daring step into nothingness, when a cry echoed in the clear mountain air.

  “I can’t! I just can’t!” When it was her turn, one woman could not make herself step over the edge, though she had seen her little daughter do so only seconds before.

  The line stopped moving. Frightened eyes on the cliff peered back. Fervent prayers were offered for the woman. Some cajoled but most spoke words of sincere encouragement. No one could move without pulling or pushing the frightened woman over the edge.

  A small voice came from behind the terrified woman. “It will be all right. I’ll help you, Mother.” The lad’s quiet confidence calmed the woman’s heart. With a quick prayer, she fearfully reached out, grasped the first fingerhold in the rock, and swung over the edge.

  The group moved successfully beyond the towering cliffs, but soon they encountered the permanent snow line. Inadequate clothing and rations were taking their toll. Barely a night passed without someone freezing to death in the cold.

  The ground was always frozen, and though Gaff did his best to cover those who died, he could not risk delaying their journey. “We have to keep moving,” he insisted. “Our heavenly Father will care for them now.”

  Some people were angered by Gaff’s seeming insensitivity, but everyone turned back to the path leading over the snowcapped peaks. They paused only briefly as they passed the mounds in the snow. Most wondered if anyone would wake in the morning.

  But the snowcapped peaks claimed no more lives on that journey, and two days after they came to the forests on the other side, they held a feast. They spent some time gathering wild berries and firewood, and they tended the cuts and bruises they’d suffered along the trail. Everyone was thankful to be out of the mountains, and they knelt before the Lord and thanked Him for His mercy.

  The grass was green, and wild berries flourished on branches. Wild rice grew along the stream, and children gathered as much of it as they could.

  Everyone worked hard. Winter would come soon, and they had little to live on. The food they had carried with them was nearly gone, and they had few clothes and no shelter.

  Men who had come with them across the mountains felled trees and split the great trunks into lumber for housing. Women dug small patches of earth to plant beans, hoping winter would delay. Children collected nuts and berries and caught small rabbits in snares. Fish were abundant in the streams. Their small community felt its first real hope.

  Summer melded into fall, and fall into winter. Gaff’s small community had shelters for everyone and a large meeting house for group meetings. One of the best parts of that winter was when everyone gathered in the meeting house around a roaring fire to listen as the Holy Scriptures were read.

  The long winter nights gave the people time to think of the conditions they had fled in Shingmar—and about those still living there. There was freedom here without fear that soldiers would break in to drag people off to prison.

  The hunger for freedom was strong among believers in Shingmar, and Gaff recruited others of his community to return with him year after year to lead pilgrims over the mountains to settle in the new land. Every summer the little colony of Amity grew as more people escaped Shinar’s tyranny in Shingmar. After four years, the colony in Amity had grown so large around Orchard Creek that many were looking to expand into new areas.

  CHAPTER 2

  Trial by Fire

  Shinar paced the floor impatiently. “Can’t you get anything right?” he bellowed. “We have the best army in the world, and you can’t tell me where these people are going?”

  His chief aid, Grekko, fidgeted nervously. “No, sir! The northern borders are guarded very closely, and we have searched every house in Shingmar. No one can escape over the mountains, and our navy watches for vessels on the water constantly. It’s like they simply disappear!”

  “Don’t you realize our work farms are short of labor?” Shinar shouted. “We fear a lack of rain, but I tell you, we’ll be hungry for lack of labor if things don’t happen soon. This is the fourth year since these people began disappearing! Are there no more leaders in the rebellion of Stafford?”

  “The leaders and active followers were rounded up long ago, sire.”

  “Are there any sympathetic to their cause?”

  “Oh, yes. A great many are sympathetic to their cause, sire.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Round them up! Fill the prisons! Man the work farms! Shingmar must eat!”

  Gaff had just returned to Amity with another expedition over the mountains and was enjoying a time of quiet reading in his study when a young girl with curly blonde hair knocked on his door and entered the room. Timidly she asked, “May I bother you, sir?”

  Gaff looked up and gestured. “Come in.” He recognized her as one of the children who had recently come across the peaks. “What can I do for you?”

  “Sir, my heart is broken for my mother.”

  Gaff stood and motioned the child in. “Did she die upon the pass?” he asked softly as he motioned her to a wooden box that served as a chair.

  “I could bear that better. Oh, sir, she was taken to the Temple of the Moon!” The girl began to sob.

  Gaff had heard whispers of this fear among the women before, but he had never known exactly what it was all about. He was about to learn.

  Within two months, Gaff was back in Shingmar with some of his closest friends. He had learned about women who were forced to serve in the Temple of the Moon against their will, and he had developed a plan to facilitate their escape.

  Gaff had changed so much in appearance that
now as he stood before King Shinar he had no fear of recognition. “I have heard it said, O King, that you seek a copy of the Holy Scriptures.”

  Shinar studied the roughly clad man. “It is true. I have long sought the Book, but it has always been denied me.”

  “I think I can get you a copy—for a price.” Gaff smiled.

  Shinar studied the man suspiciously. “What is your price?”

  “I propose you establish a ritual of purification among those who serve in the worship of the Lady. You know we have suffered through several years of drought, and rain will only return to Shingmar if the goddess of the moon is pleased with our sacrifices.”

  Shinar had heard this argument before, and he nodded his head.

  “There are women serving the goddess who do not believe in her power or deity,” Gaff continued. “Do you think the goddess is pleased with their worship? I propose we sacrifice all these women to the goddess on the thirteenth of next month in a special worship service to cleanse the temple and purify the worship of the Lady. Then, and only then, will rain return to the great land of Shingmar.”

  Shinar pursed his lips. “I get the Holy Scriptures if we hold this special worship service?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Gaff replied.

  Shinar raised his eyebrows. “What do you get out of this?”

  “I will have done my part to purify temple worship.” Gaff smiled.

  This is too easy, Shinar thought to himself. The council will jump at the chance to have an extra worship service to please the goddess. “I will see what I can do,” he said with a smile.

  Gaff and his men hurried to prepare everything before the thirteenth of the following month. The house of Josiah Stafford was chosen to be the site of the sacrifice. The Stafford rebellion, as it was known in Shingmar, had begun in that house years earlier, and for some it seemed fitting that the house should be burned to signal the end of the rebellion. Though it was not known to many, one of the ladies scheduled to be sacrificed on the thirteenth was the wife of Josiah Stafford.

  Men attached chains to the benches that lined the walls of the Stafford house. These benches had once been used as people gathered to hear the Word of God, but now they would hold women firmly in place until fire consumed them. At least that was what many thought. However, the chains were actually designed to allow men to free the women quickly and without confusion once fire began to lick at the walls of the house. A tunnel had been dug underground from the house to a cluster of trees behind the house. While the worship service drew people’s attention away from the fire, the women would escape through the tunnel and gather in the trees outside. The thirteenth of the month had been chosen because it would be a new moon, and darkness would aid the flight of the prisoners.

  Gaff was reviewing the details of their labor several days before the scheduled sacrifice. One of his men asked, “Will this plan work?”

  “It has to work,” Gaff answered. “We have to rescue these women.”

  “How will you get away after you present the scriptures to Shinar?”

  “I’m willing to leave everything in the Almighty’s hands, but I will have a horse to ride.”

  “So will the king’s men.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Are all the preparations ready for the sacrifice?”

  “Yes, the tunnel is complete.”

  “Including the wall of dirt to dump after the last person is out?”

  “It is just as you ordered.”

  “Remember,” Gaff said, “don’t take one woman out of her chains until they set the house on fire. You’ll have to work fast, but people must think everyone died in the flames. Hopefully, I can draw them off while you make your escape.”

  “It’s too risky!”

  “We have to take a chance,” Gaff said. “We have to free those women!”

  “All right,” the man responded. “Peace to you, my friend.”

  Dusk began to settle around the Stafford house on the evening of the thirteenth. Gaff watched from a distance as nearly seventy women were herded into the building and fastened to the benches.

  “Is that the last one?” Gaff heard one guard ask.

  “Yes,” said another guard.

  “It seems a shame. These are some of the most beautiful women in the country.”

  “I know.”

  The first guard shook his head. “And we are going to burn this building down with them inside.”

  The second guard only nodded.

  “Wait!” said the first guard. “I hear trumpets. The Goddess must be arriving!”

  Near the road, an elaborate altar had been constructed for the worship service. The priestess and her retinue were to gather before Stafford’s house during the dark of the moon, and there before the roaring flames of their great sacrifice, they hoped to appease the gods, and bring happier times to Shingmar.

  It was nearly dark as the players began to assemble. The priestess arrived in a litter carried by men dressed in crimson and white. Incense for the fire was carried by two priests in white robes. The finest wines and goblets to serve it in came in covered wagons. Soft cushions covered beautifully woven carpets lying on the ground. Silks rustled and jewels glistened as courtiers and courtesans walked to pillowed seats occupying the best view of the ceremonies. This was the first time such worship had been performed away from the temple.

  Maybe it was the night, or maybe it was knowledge of the sacrifice, but very few people other than the king and his court came out for this service.

  It began as most services did, with incantations and erotic dances. Drums throbbed. Flutes and pipes moaned sensuously. Wisps of smoke from the incense added ghostly movement to the dancing of the firelight. King Shinar breathed deeply, warming to the services as the first flames began to flicker about the former home of Josiah Stafford.

  Frightful screams from inside the house seemed to intensify the lust running through Shinar’s veins. The thought of all those lovely women dying for the goddess aroused his warped mind. The priestess progressed slowly and seductively around the circle. Whom would she choose tonight? The woman drew near King Shinar.

  Suddenly, a voice called from the dark side of the clearing. “King Shinar!”

  The ritual stopped, and all eyes turned toward the voice. “Who goes there?” Shinar responded, irritated by the interruption.

  “I promised to give you the scriptures!” Gaff shouted. “They are here on this stump.”

  Shinar tore his attention away from the beautiful woman before him and looked toward the voice that was speaking. “You have the Book?” he asked.

  “Let me warn you, O King. This book is a dangerous possession. If you humble yourself to obey its teachings, you will find grace and mercy, but if you despise its teaching, it will turn upon you and destroy you like a two-edged sword. Beware, King Shinar, of how you handle the Book!”

  “Seize that man!” roared Shinar. “He has the scriptures. He’s clearly part of the rebellion!”

  Armed guards raced across the clearing.

  With a laugh, the lone man turned, mounted a horse that had been standing in the shadows, and shouted, “Catch me if you can! I’m Gaff, your disappearing man!” And with that, he raced north down the road toward Shingmariton.

  Anger filled the clearing. The army wanted Gaff for desertion. They would stop at nothing to catch this rebel and see him hang. Men swung up on their horses, and with a cry, they thundered into the night.

  Once the flames had begun to lick the sides of Josiah Stafford’s house, men inside leaped into action. Long chains were unlocked and pulled from the rings holding the women in place. One woman after another was led to a trapdoor and the escape tunnel. Even though the women were terrified, the plan worked, and in less than two minutes, every woman was rushing through the tunnel.

  “Is that the last of them?” a man asked an
xiously as another man emerged from the tunnel.

  “Yes! Gaff’s plan has worked so far.”

  “Good! Gaff has just interrupted the worship service. We’ll have to move quickly!”

  The women were each given a black cloak to wear and were encouraged to remain silent. “We will be heading south while Gaff leads the soldiers north,” the rescuers told the ladies. “You are going to be all right.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Walking by Faith

  Gaff ran his fingers through his thinning hair and surveyed the thriving community. Homes and fields dotted the verdant valley at the foot of Guardian Range. This was a picture of peace and prosperity. Every woman who had been forced to serve the goddess had been rescued, and they had escaped Shingmar to rejoin their friends and family in this new land.

  I’ve fulfilled my promise to Josiah Stafford, Gaff thought, but he knew that wasn’t quite true. Yes, he had rescued many women and children from the work camps of Shingmar, but he had not reunited those women with their husbands in the prison at Stonewall.

  Gaff knew how to reach Stonewall; that was not the problem. The survivors’ community was built around Orchard Creek, which flowed down the valley into the main river meandering through Amity. The Crescent River slowly churned its way through Amity until it flowed around the walls of Stonewall and drained into the sea. Gaff knew they could easily float the entire community downriver to the prison, but what would happen then? Would King Shinar send troops to recapture the women and ship them back to Shingmar? Would they be captured and put to work there to feed the men in prison?

  Though discussions had raged for months, Gaff still had no answers to these questions. It was finally decided that a small number of men and women would build rafts and float downriver to the prison. They did not know what they would do when they arrived there, but they would trust God to do for them what they could not do for themselves.