A Warrior's Journey by Guy Stanton III Page B

Whether I live or die I’m His. So what is left to fear?”
    “How do I get more faith like you father?” I
asked needing the confidence that he radiated in the midst of the
torment of this place.
    His hand fell onto my shoulder, “This is how
Zevin. All of what is happening is causing you to gain experience
in the way that the Creator is at work in your life and others.
Through experience comes faith and a strong faith in the Creator
can move mountains son!”
    He gestured around us. “So what’s a few dark
spirits whimpering in the background matter? Instead of being
afraid of the noise they make think on this son, how afraid do you
think they are at seeing the presence of the living God, which
resides in you and me, come at them in the power of Divine purpose.
We are not down here to show how brave we are Zevin. We’re here to
do the Lord’s work and His Spirit is the authority by which we lift
our hand against all the power of darkness. You can trust the
Creator to deliver you even down here Zevin.”
    “You wanted me to experience this so my
faith would grow?”
    “Yes, but I would not have brought you if I
hadn’t thought you ready for the task or the lessons to be learned.
Be strong in your faith son, He will see you through. Now are we
good to go on?”
    “After you.”
    He smiled briefly and turned back around.
His hand reached back and I grabbed a hold of it grateful beyond
words for the confidence I felt through the touch. It was as
comforting as a child huddled within the safety of his mother’s
arms during a thunderstorm. I should know as I had often been that
child growing up.
    It was a little ridiculous being like that
now though. I dropped father’s hand, but I missed its comfort. Time
to be a man and be like father.
    Suddenly there was a pair of doors directly
in front of us. They had appeared out of nowhere. A dim light could
be seen radiating out from underneath them.
    The big doors swung open creaking as they
did so. This time they were pulled open by someone I could actually
see though. The dark prophets stood to either side and allowed us
to pass through. We walked past them into a scene that should have
been reserved for hell alone and not anywhere on this world or any
other.
    A large cavern like room opened up before us
lit partially by candle and torch light. The stench of despair was
heavy upon us, as we both looked upon the poor victims of this
cult’s unholy handiwork. People were lined all along the walls
fastened to it by iron chains.
    Some still strong enough called out to us,
while others were too far gone or already dead, rotting in place.
Still others were strapped atop table like altars in varying stages
of torture. This was where father’s spies had been tortured.
    Quarta had said that they had not broken to
the dark prophet’s requests of betrayal upon them, until after some
old potion had been used upon them. I was not sure that I could
ever be so strong as to resist the ways of such a horrible place
and not betray my own family.
    Dark prophets were standing all throughout
the room and watched our progression into the room quietly not
lifting a hand to stop us. I think I would have preferred to walk
through a scene of battle, with ten thousand dead upon the ground
then to pass through the tortured human wreckage of this place.
    It would have been cleaner somehow. All I
saw in this place was the work of wicked men consumed by darkness
and I hated it and its perpetrators with a stronger passion than I
had ever felt against anyone before in my life. I felt something
touch my hand and I looked down at what had once been a man.
    I couldn’t believe that life still remained
in the form of the creature that stared up at me, his eyes sunken
into a face gaunt with starvation and the memory of pain.
    Barely I heard his cracked lips whisper,
“Kill me, please!”
    Oh God!
    I thought to myself as I was overwhelmed
with the plight of so many being tortured within the room and