Fire and Sword (13 page)

“That should just about do it,” sneered Kara, who was watching his angels moving in and out of the council, infuriating the men.

“You mean that should just about
un
do it,” replied Lucifer.

He looked at Rugio. “Prepare the legions. This persecution should become widespread now. But a subtle campaign is warranted here, Rugio.”

“Subtle?” asked Kara, astonished at such a notion. “Bleed them now, my prince, while we have them at a disadvantage.”

“Much as I like to disagree with Kara on principle, I also believe that a swift response is best,” said Pellecus. “The Sanhedrin is hot for blood.”

Lucifer watched the venomous chaos below.

“Very well,” he agreed. “Prepare the warriors; hit them hard.”

“As you command,” replied Rugio, who vanished.

“Crispin, they shall murder him,” said Serus, who watched as Stephen’s angel fended off attacks from demons.

“Perhaps,” said Crispin solemnly. “But his angel stands ready to escort him to the King.”

He watched as Lucifer conferred with his leading angels.

“I would expect many angels shall be escorting many of their charges soon.”

Just as the men in the council began to calm down, someone began hushing everyone. “Look, he is going to speak again!”

Stephen seemed completely unaware of the tension around him. He was at perfect peace, gazing into the ceiling of the room. Some stared upward too, as if trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that Stephen saw. He was teary-eyed and beaming.

“Behold, I see the heaven opening and the Son of Man standing on the right side of God.”

“Blasphemy!”

The crowd roared in an enormous rage and rushed Stephen. His angel, Darias, looked for an order to act, but none came. He walked along with Stephen, prepared to do whatever the Lord might order. But he was also prepared to receive his spirit for the Lord and carry him to Heaven.

The angry crowd took Stephen to the outside of the city and threw him down on the ground. Those who would take part in the stoning removed their outer garments so as not to get blood on them and defile themselves. They handed their garments to the young man named Saul.

The rocks began pummeling Stephen. He took one in the chin from a younger man. Then another hit him in the back. He fell to his side. Stones were flying everywhere now, some connecting, some missing. Spatters of blood showered up as the deadly missiles hit their mark.

Stephen was still alive, bleeding from the gashes in his head. He looked up at his killers and began to pray. Before he died, those closest to him heard him say, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” And as he knelt down, he called out in a loud voice and said, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” Saying this, he died.

“Now the real war begins,” said Lucifer, as the angels watched the men scatter, calling for the blood of the rest of the blasphemers. “It is just as I predicted. The leaders will be hunted down and killed, and the rest of them will scatter—just as they did the night their Prince was killed.”

“How shall we continue to orchestrate this, my prince?” asked Kara. “They are well-organized. But do they have the stomach for extermination?”

Lucifer indicated a young man who was handing the garments back to people. He congratulated the executioners as they took their clothes. He then made his way to the higher-ranking priests and began speaking to them. Lucifer smiled.

“One never knows with humans, Kara,” said Lucifer. “Whether or not they all have the stomach for complete extermination I cannot tell. But there is one who has both the heart and the capacity to see it through. I suggest you follow Saul of Tarsus!”

“You have your assignment, Serus,” said Gabriel. “You are to watch over Saul until further instruction.”

“The man who held their garments?” asked Serus, annoyed. “He has innocent blood on his hands!”

“And much more innocent blood before this thing is over, I’m sure,” said Crispin. “But the Most High knows what He is doing in this. That is all you need to know.”

Serus looked at Gabriel and Crispin as some men carried Stephen’s bloody body away. He still didn’t understand.

“Crispin, do
you
understand all this?” he asked.

“Me?” said Crispin. “Of course not. I am only an angel!”

Paul’s Cell, Rome, A.D. 67

“The witnesses laid their clothing at the feet of a young man named Saul.”

Paul looked down at his hands as Luke finished his review of the death of Stephen. There was a moment of silence, and then Luke looked up at Paul.

“That was many years ago,” he offered.

Paul smiled. “Not so many,” he said, standing up.

Pulling the cloak around his shoulders to shield him from the ever-present dankness, Paul looked vacantly toward the dark wall above his little writing area. The cell seemed more fitting, somehow.

“He was such a decent fellow, really,” Paul said, speaking of Stephen. “At the time I remember respecting him, even as we were killing him. I respected his courage and his conviction.” He smiled and added, “But not his Christ.”

“Of course, you were in darkness,” said Luke, pouring his friend some more broth. “You thought you were doing the right thing at the time.”

Paul took the broth and sipped it. He sat back down on the bench next to Luke.

“I want you to tell it completely,” he said. “I want whoever reads this to know that I was a consenting party to this. I want them to know this so they can see the extent of God’s grace.”

“You didn’t actually throw a stone at him,” Luke said.

Paul held up his hands.

“No, Luke, these hands did not throw a stone. But they are just as bloody as the others. Maybe more so.” He looked at his friend. “The people who stoned Stephen lusted for the blood of one man. I lusted for the blood of the Church…”

Chronicles of the Host