“Be not afraid…”

An elderly man, frail and dishevelled, awoke from the tender voice that whispered in his ear. Was it a dream? He couldn’t tell. He was lying in a grim and gritty dungeon, his only bed made of few clumps of straw and scraps of cloth. This isolated tomb-like environment was damp, moss-laden and a detriment to his failing health. He gasped desperately for air as the cold nipped at his body and continually drew in the moisture into his damaged lungs.

In his right hand, he held a small object, a small carved stone, something he had been toiling away at for many years. It was a horse. The detail was crude, but, done well enough that the figure was near enough to the intended shape. He eyed the object with a smile. He was pleased with his work. But, then another cough ensued, and he dropped it out of his hand to stifle his laboured cough.

Death was upon him. He could feel it drawing near. He forced his eyes to stare up at the single spot of light shinning through the dark, cold grey stone wall. As his cough diminished, he reached up to it his weakened condition, hoping the light would set him free from this dank prison.

“Hieratic! Heathen! Fowl dog, on your knees!” A voice screamed out in Arabic.

This was not like the other voice he heard earlier. Not soft and comforting, but harsh and belittling; where it was coming from, he couldn’t be sure, but loud bangs of shackles stirred his ears once more. The sound of pain stricken voices echoed about, along with whips cracking and chains slightly rattling in the distance. Was this hell? It had to be. There could be no other place for such a man of divinity.

“Heavenly Father!” He spoke in his Greek tongue. The dry crackling in his voice revealed the parched nature of his throat. The wince of pain caused him to cough up blood and tried to pray again. “Mercy to those who persecuted me, I want nothing of you or the holy son, Oh lord. Only to keep the innocent protected of such injustice and witness to such cruelty.”

The sound of whips snapping again could be heard beyond the thick wooden door that blocked his cell. Each time it happened, the frail man closed his eyes and whispered, “ Evlogíste tous, Kýrie” (“Bless them, O Lord”).

“That’s right, keep praying, old cleric!” The Arabic voice shouted from beyond the door. The cruelty in it almost shattered the frail man’s quiet prayer. “You will die soon like the rest.”

“I shall pray for you as well, my tormentor,” The old dying man replied. His voice did not carry enough to be heard by the guard, but he continued to speak as if he did. “I-I-I shall… I shall pray for your soul. Jesus, Oh, Lord… forgive him, let me take his sins as my own…”

The guard, again, banged on the door with a fist and laughed.

“Where is your cherished false prophet? Eh, priest? Bah! I spit on your faith. I know you understand my words. You dare to come here, to our lands, and spread that false poison to our people?” The man continued to bang on the door, and laughed heartily. “Hey! You are alone now. All those bastard infidels, they handed you over like the cowardly dogs they are! They betrayed you and sent you here to our mercy. But there is no mercy, not from us. So go on… pray some more. Ha! Yes! Pray as much as you dare! My whip will find you soon enough. Just like this one I have here… isn’t that right, infidel! Huh? Right?”

The sound of a whip lashing another outside his door caused the old man to wince. The poor victim was crying out in pain with each deadly strike. The guard’s taunting laughter echoed about the room as the old man continued to pray quietly. It was hard to remain focused on forgiving when all he could hear were others beyond his cell walls being flogged, beaten and screaming in agonizing torment.

The sickly old man fell off his stone-slab of a bed, summoned the strength to get on his knees, and wallowed in desperate prayer. No matter how much he tried to take solace in it, there was of no comfort as the screams other men rang out. His voice grew tired, parched and strained, it subsided to a faint whisper, as he felt a wealth of pity for those poor unfortunate souls. He collapsed to the ground, twitching violently as the sickly coughs rang out of him again.

He looked to his hands afterwords, taking note of the blood that had come out, it had coagulated and became a deeper shade of crimson red. He managed to wipe it away, and arched his body towards the small light shining above. The crack in the ceiling, where the light shone before, seemed slightly larger, and bled more of its gracious light onto him. It shone down on his face and highlighted it in the prison cell’s darkness.

“My life was dedicated to you.” He stammered with an outreached hand to it. “I knew nothing of the flesh, spread your message of peace and love, and gave all that I was in your name, Oh Lord. I offer it to you again, take me as I am—a life for another’s, let it be your will.”

The pain slowly started to dim. His heart beat growing faint and spaced out. The last cough had been severe as he lowered his hand. This was it. He could feel the death embracing him. The coughing was over, there was no more blood to release, and he felt the final breath exiting as he offered his last words.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Save the children, Oh Lord. Keep them innocent in dark times. I wish I could have done more for them, in my life, to give them hope and bring joy in to their hearts. Mercy unto to them, innocent and free.”

He watched the light fade from the ceiling, and closed his eyes in the knowledge that his time was done. The world had darkened around him. He was ready for the end. He accepted it. But as he lay there in the shadows, the door suddenly flew wide open, and a blinding white light flooded the room, drenched it and him in its magnificence. It was piercing enough to startle him awake, looking up in a fearful surprise.

Perhaps it was his jailer coming for one last beating. To make him confess of his sins; the worshiping of the Catholic faith and not of the Babylonian demigod his captures believed in. He should have never tried to convert them on their own soil. The hubris and abuse of power had humbled him. Perhaps it was only right he was to be treated as such. But looking to the bright doorway, he noted there was no jailer standing before it, no blood thirsty tormentor brandishing a lash, only a light and a soft voice speaking from it. The same voice he had heard before. The one that was like a kiss that awakened him.

“Nicholas…”

“W—w-who speaks?” The man asked shielding his face. “What do you want of me?”

“Nicholas, blessed onto you, saviour of children, light of the innocence; Rise and walk with me…”

“Let me die in peace.” Nicholas wept. “Torment me no longer. Please, please, in the name of God! Shall I be tortured always by you? Why do this to me any further?”

“Your torment is over.” The whispered voice answered back. “I have seen the goodness in your heart, a purity in spirit, and a great love for all. Walk with me, Nicholas, rise and begin again.”

Nicholas rose to his feet, he was humbled by the presence of this great divinity, and slowly entered the doorway of light.

“Is that you, oh Lord? Forgive me, but, where are we going? Am I to join with you in the kingdom of heaven?”

“Heaven will always be here for you, dear Nicholas, but I have something else in mind for you.”

“I-I-I am your servant, oh Lord,” Nicholas grinned while still averting his eyes. “What do you ask of me?”

“You are to be the Shepard of the innocent, to bring about joy, guiding all those seeking love in their hearts. Follow me, and bring peace to the world in my name.”

Nicholas lowered his arms, gawking at the light, and was in awe of the divine presence. He wanted to kneel, but the compulsion to walk ahead took hold instead.

“Follow me… and begin a new journey.” The voice beckoned. “Follow me… follow me…”

With raised hands in offering, the emaciated man slowly walked through the doorway. He nodded with thanks and shuffled in with a whispered chant.

“Nai, Kýrie. Eímai dikós sas tóra kai gia pánta (Yes, Oh Lord. I am yours now and forever).”

* * *

Bathed in the light, Nicholas stood in wonderment and an overwhelming feeling of pure joy. Memories of the past, present and future, flooded in like a wave before very his eyes. From his birth, watching his mother’s death as she gave him life, to his childhood, working with his father as they crafted wooden toys and furniture. He remembered being happy building them together, delivering the creations to grateful customers and as gifts to the children at festival of Kronia. And then, into adulthood, as he chose to devote his life to God as a young cleric.

It all spilled from one overlapping scene to another, it was confusing and wonderful to witness. He was disembodied, floating through the many memories like a ghost and observing it from a distance. He glanced about, speaking without moving his lips.

“What does it mean? Where are we going?”

His voice echoed in the visions. But was it his voice? He sounded different, youthful and more like the whispered voice that spoke to him.

“You have fulfilled the promise and kept your heart pure.” The divine one answered. “You were kind to many, giving love where it was needed, and to the many children who needed the most.”

The memories now changed, focusing on him as a Bishop, blessing the poor, and giving children items needed for their warmth and hunger. It showed his kindness to all that knew him. But it also showed the injustice that fell upon his living days. From angry individuals who questioned his gifts, to his own frustrations against those that preyed on the weak and innocent.

Children being forced into unspeakable acts, subjugated to violence and evil of a carnal nature. It infuriated him, causing him to lash out by scolding the church and state for not acting on their behalf. It was a mistake that would cost him dearly. The church and Rome were merging together, the clergy rising in power, and creating a new doctrine as they embraced christianity.

He bore witness to the day the Roman Emperor defrocked him for slapping a member of council. The lack of sympathy for the innocent from these senators was vile. His own bishops turning on him and imprisoned him. The final humiliation of his days came when he was traded to the babylonians, a sacrifice to allow them passage to spread the word of God. There he was forgotten and left to die.

“You have endured much.” The gentle voice said to him.

“I have, but all for you, Oh Lord…” He said with humility.

“Then it is time for you to have a new beginning, where you have the power to bring joy and love to all who need it.”

“I am at your mercy, as always.”

“Nicolas, champion of innocence, I send you back to be the light for all mankind. You shall embody hope and joy, to bring joy and love to all the children of the world. To be herald of kindness in the hearts of humanity everywhere.”

“But… but, I want to be with you.” Nicolas stated with sadness. “To be praising you in heavens, forever and ever.”

“Dear Nicolas,” The voice replied back with a delighted snicker. “You are always with me. Go and be the symbol of all children’s love.”

Nicholas felt heavy, he was dropping out of the light, the memories vanished, and he found himself in darkness once more. He could feel something again, something cold and icy to the touch. He shivered from it, causing him to breathe out, and was surprised by the visible misty cloud it produced.

“Look for the star, Nicholas,” the heavenly voice said to him. “It will guide the way.”