The Staff of Ramah

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  Emily was getting very frustrated with her present situation. She was a young vivacious girl and did not like being locked up. All of her life so far, she had been the kind of kid that would not sit still, other than for meal times. She remembered that her mother would say things like, “Come sit and talk with me a minute before you run off again.” She fought back the tears that were forming in her eyes at the thought of the women who now only existed in her memory; thanks to these wicked men. She had stopped trying to escape from her shackles because her wrists were beginning to bleed, but she could get no rest either. Every time she dozed off, the hideous slave trader that rode along beside the cart would poke her in the ribs just to be mean. If only she had not done so much growing over the last year, she would have been able to slip away quite easily. Becoming a woman was not really something she was looking forward too because she was trading in her athletic frame for a more shapely version of herself. Some of the comments from the boys at home had made her feel dirty and worthless and they were met with a swift kick to the shins or a punch on the arm. Growing up was a part of life, but she did not have to like it. Now that she was on her own, the fire in her spirit was all she had for comfort and she was determined to stay strong against whatever tried to douse that fire.

  Off in the distance she saw that the rolling caravan was approaching the small town of Marah; a place she had only visited a few times in her life. No one there would help her, she thought in frustration.

  As they rolled through the square, the residents of Marah turned their eyes away from the sight of the slave caravan. They cared very little for the people trapped inside the cage, or were choosing not to show any concern in fear they too would be taken away. All was quiet in the little town, save for one lone voice that cried out as the caravan turned a corner by a building that must have once been a quaint little church.

  “Woe to you servants of Belial,” the voice screamed out. “You have sold your soul to the one that destroys and you will meet your end when the Eternal Ya brings forth his servant to judge you!”

  Emily looked over to so see a ragged man, dressed in a dull brown robe, standing in front of the half burnt building with his boney finger pointing towards the slavers. His head was covered with a large hood that covered most of his face, but the long grey beard hanging from his chin gave evidence to the fact that he was elderly.

  “You’ll shut your mouth old man if you know what’s good for you,” one of the slavers responded with a growl.

  “I fear not the hand of Belial,” the strange man answered back with a toothless grin and laughed. “I have given myself to the Eternal One. Ya will protect me from you hapless fools!”

  The man’s cackling laughter cut through the air and it sent a shiver down Emily’s spine. She considered that this old man must either be crazy, or have a death wish, because the wicked men who held her captive were soon moving over to silence the man’s taunts with their weapons drawn. There was a menacing shout and the ugly slaver that had been taunting Emily for days rushed in with his sword held high above his head. To everyone’s amazement, the ugly brute bounced off what seemed like an invisible barrier surrounding the old man. All four of the traders tried their best to strike a blow and kill the heckling codger but none of them found their mark. The impervious man just stood there and laughed with his high pitched cackle and continued to mock them.

  “It would seem that Ya is still greater than Belial, you cursed servants of the Fallen One.”

  Emily could not help the smile that came to her face at the sight, but she quickly covered her mouth to hide her reaction.

  The traders were completely shaken by the miraculous barrier they faced, so they stumbled quickly back to the caravan and continued through the town. Emily could hear them muttering to each other something about continuing forward right through this cursed village rather than stopping and as they rolled along. She began to ponder about this Ya the old man spoke of. It was a name she had never heard while growing up, but what she had just seen was more than enough evidence for her to start forming a belief in this deity.

  She took one last glance back to the elder, and she could see a beaconing in eyes. It was as if he was trying to comfort her with that penetrating gaze. She quickly turned away and closed her eyes, but there was a small light of truth welling up in her soul. Maybe there is an Eternal Ya, a divine being that could save her from the certain death she faced. Her dry, cracked lips started to form pleading whispers, asking Ya to reach out and save her. It was worth a try, she thought, because no one else was here to be her saviour.

 

  ***