Brown - Storms Sanctuary

STORMS SANCTUARY

Donald Brown

Copyright Donald Brown. 2019

eBook Edition

Editor: Daniel de Kock

Cover designer: Donald Brown

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, without the prior written permission by the author.

This is a work of fiction. All events, characters and relationships are fictional. Any resemblance to real life is purely coincidental.

Prologue

Darkness.

Utter darkness.

The man in the black cloak was struggling to find his footing up the hill. He was lean and tall and the cloak was seemingly swallowing him.

When he finally reached the apex of the mound, a light breeze blew into his face and he could suddenly smell the distinctive scent of fresh fountain water up ahead.

Pulling back the cloaks hood, he took a deep breath and then peered down to the valley below with piercing black eyes, his pale skin glowing in the dark. The picture that came into view was that of a lively town with fairy lights decorating the streets, green lawns beautifying the yards of the pastel-colored houses, and song and laughter coming from the square in the center, where people were attending some kind of festival.

In fact, he knew it to be a wedding and an important wedding at that.

The cloaked man nodded his head and then his ears twitched when there was a rustle in the tall grass behind him.

Moments later, the dwarf-like shape of a person half his size was standing alongside him on the top of the hill. The newcomers face was completely disfigured and partly covered by a black neckerchief. All the preparations have been made, master.

Good, replied the cloaked man, without looking down. The strange breathing apparatus over his mouth and nose caused his frightening voice to sound like it was projected through a loudspeaker. Is she ready? he asked, turning his head ever so slightly.

Indeed she is, master, came the reply.

Nodding once again, the cloaked man said, Then give this to her.

His assistant took the vial with a small gasp, careful not to let it slip through his fingers.

The cloaked man ignored the surprise of his underling and continued. This town will be the perfect place for our latest recruit.

His cold eyes swiveled down to focus on a signboard announcing the towns name.

From the glow of two lanterns, on either side of the sign, he could discern the letters.

It read: ZION

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

1 Corinthians 15 verse 26... Father Dennis paused for a moment, allowing the words to hang in the air for maximum effect. His tall and slender stature was leaning forward over the pulpit, with his cold stare remaining fixed on the thick bible he was reading from.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally lifted his head and adjusted his glasses upwards with both hands, gently, so that it did not mess up his neatly combed hair. Then he cleared his throat and continued to address the congregation in slow, dragged-out sentences.

Here, Paul lays out our true and most forceful enemy. For the last one can only be the strongest one. The one that fights to the end. The one that will be the most difficult to destroy.

There was absolute silence in the church, which was located on top of the hill, looking out over the entire beautiful town of Zion. The sun was shining brightly on this cloudless day and the fresh smell of spring was in the air.

But, who exactly is this last enemy? The preacher now asked, raising his eyebrows in expectation and casting his soul-searching emerald eyes on his audience.

The question caught the congregation by surprise and some of the worshippers looked around furtively, like a bunch of school children being asked a complication question. One man started leafing ferociously through his bible, trying to find the answer.

When no one volunteered a reply, the preacher took matters into his own hands. Tom? he called out.

A young man with golden cropped hair hesitated slightly before standing up from his seat in the front row. The chair screeched on the hard cobblestone floor as he rose, which startled him and made him look back. When he noticed the noise was only brought on by his own clumsiness, he turned to face the preacher and then spoke.

Illn

He paused and then took a deep breath.

Illness father? he ultimately managed, still unable to suppress his nervousness.

No, Tom, the preacher said, smiling. It is one of the many agents of the enemy, but it does not represent death itself.

The pox? a peculiar woman shouted from one of the back rows. Some of the other congregants peered at her surreptitiously, perhaps fearing that her passion was rooted in the fact that she had attracted the pox once.

Father Dennis shook his head, somewhat dismissively. Im afraid not. Its still just an illness.

The weather? a farmer, still dressed in his overalls, called out.

Perhaps for you, James, the preacher remarked amusingly, which sent a ripple of laughter throughout the audience. He waited a few moments for the crowd to focus their undivided attention back on him before continuing. We are talking about a mighty force here, brothers and sisters. There is something else controlling this dark force, yet all of these things you have mentioned are mere agents in the employ of the enemy.

In a shady corner at the back of the church, a shabby woman, known as Bertha dressed in dishevelled clothes who had been slouching against the wall, leaned over to the doctor beside her. Its probably the devil, she said in a voice barely above a whisper, leaning on her blue cane.

He grinned at this. Let us wait and see. Dont spoil it.

The old and conservative miss Pennyweather caught his eye and motioned for him to be quiet with her index finger pressed to her lips. He nodded quickly and focussed his attention back to the congregation, which had now gone largely silent again. Nobody was voicing any more ideas as to who they thought this enemy was.

Finally, the preacher considered the couple standing in front of the pulpit. George? he said, raising his eyebrows. What do you think, son?

The soon-to-be-husband had been keeping eye contact with the preacher throughout the entire sermon and was now trying to hide his surprise that the emphasis had been placed on him.

George was dressed in a spectacular black-and-white suit, its tight fit accentuating his athletic body. His neatly combed raven-black hair shimmered in rays of sunlight streaming through the tall window above the pulpit. While his deep blue eyes considered the preacher for a moment, he still couldnt come up with an answer. Why is he asking me about this dark topic on my wedding day ? he thought. Isnt it supposed to be a day of joy and laughter ?

What do you think this enemy is, George? the preacher pressed on, almost in a hush, his focus now fully fixed on Georges face.

The dereliction of duty, George responded confidently.

The preacher considered this for a moment, rubbing his chin, then said, Certainly something that the enemy sows, but not the absolute representation of the force were dealing with.

George shook his head dismissively. I beg to differ, Father. Nothing could be worse than not doing ones duty.

Father Dennis nodded in defeat, but the small smile on his face showed that he still did not really agree. He turned his head slightly to face the bride, smiling fully once more. Dorothy? he asked gently.

Dorothy lifted her head and beheld the preacher from beneath a stunning satin veil. Even though she was mostly covered, it was clear to everyone that she had the beauty of a goddess. They could see her silky blonde hair, falling down to beneath her shoulders, and her soft skin that was glowing with energy, completely free from the pox. Furthermore, Dorothys kind brown eyes seemed to cast a spark of friendliness around her face and the pure white wedding dress she was wearing accentuated the subtle curves of her petite body. A smile began to form on her lips at the preachers encouragement, which caused two cute dimples to make an appearance on both sides of her tiny mouth. The absence of friends, family she said in a quiet voice, then trailed off and looked at her beloved George, who was also smiling brightly. Clasping her hands together, she added, and unconditional love.