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The Chosen - ebook

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Data wydania:
Marzec 2011
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The Chosen - ebook

Jericho fell down but the physical liberation failed to give Rachabe the freedom of mind. The former queen, who had lost everything that was dear to her and who in her frenzy had become a promiscuous temple prostitute, now in the camp of Israel realizes she doesn’t deserve a place among the chosen people. God seems too strict and severe for a former prostitute to find grace and new life with Him. She isn’t able to forgive herself the mistakes she has made. She also struggles with the most important question, how could the Almighty let her baby daughter die in the mouth of the idol Molech? In the meantime, the alliance of Canaanite cities mobilises its forces and in the face of the threat from Israel it decides to once for all solve the problem of the rebellious Gibeon and its allies, who stubbornly keep refusing to join the coalition against the armies of the people of Yahweh. The diabolic and uncontrollable Murtekh – the avenger of his brother Hetammu, arrives with his detachment in the area of the conflict to find revenge. There comes the day when the sun will stop in the middle of heavens – the day when Canaan will fall dawn.

The final part of the trilogy of Rafał Kosowski is a story about the power of grace, which becomes the only light and rescue in the face of  immense evil. Despite the darkness all around it works beyond  human reasoning, as the One who knows people’s hearts sees the things differently from any other man.

Kategoria: Powieść
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ISBN: 978-83-7829-166-4
Rozmiar pliku: 1,7 MB

FRAGMENT KSIĄŻKI

All night long both groups didn’t get near each other even by a bit. The fugitives were fleeing helter-skelter, perfectly oblivious of the battle raging in the realm inaccessible to their senses, though just a step away from them. Yet, if only they could see the silhouettes of the defenders and assailants, their faces, the burning eyes and the fierceness with which they launched and fended off the consecutive attacks, the escape would have turned into complete chaos, which anyhow was likely to happen all the way. For heretofore, in the history of the planet there had been very few such situations where the Bearer of Light himself had to get involved personally. Despite the assurances of the generals that everything was under control, he decided to handle the command on his own and he congratulated himself on that decision. Without his intervention the pharaoh would still be in Thebes, mourning his dead beloved ones, while the priests would have already incited the desperate nation to rebel against the ruler, killed him with the mob’s hands, punished him for all the plagues that had befallen Egypt, especially for the last, most frightening one. By that time the damned fugitives would have made it to safety. But that hadn’t happened, for it was only him—the Angel of the Abyss, Abaddon—who knew the power of hatred, pure and mighty like himself, the hatred able to rise above the despair and awareness of defeat, moreover, able to turn the defeat not into a mere success, but into a spectacular triumph, one to be praised in songs and epics for the centuries to come. And only he knew what to do to make that hatred and power begin to flow in human veins, so that the proud pharaoh himself should become hatred and power.

But before the dawn two things happened, and they proved to be too much for the proud prince to handle. First he was faced by powerful Mikajehu, who up until that moment had been walking in the fore of the column and leading the escape, which the Son of the Dawn interpreted as the symptom of his fear and astonishment. But the messengers of the Almighty had never been surprised. True, they were often surprised by human decisions, they caused them grief and pain, but always were they ready. How could he have overlooked that again?!

And it was then, during the chase, when the prey was almost getting into their claws, that Mikajehu arrived and the memories came alive again. For long before it was the same: when the rebellion was raging in the Heavens and he was sure that nothing would possibly stop him from gaining control and power, his brother, Archangelo Mikajehu, instead of standing by his side defied him and spoke the words, after which the indecisive ones had no more illusions.

“Who is like Yahweh?” he asked then with the voice loud like a thunder. “Who is like Yahweh?” he repeated with same strength.

And when he barred his way now, he had the same question on his lips, and the Bearer of Light shuddered with anger; the hatred in his eyes exploded like a star being born. He darted at Mikajehu and fiercely attacked him like a hornet, and the dark squadrons followed their prince and charged at the Adversary. They beset the Guardian and his warriors with a tight semicircle, trying to break through the defense and take revenge on the enemy. But they prevailed not. Mikajehu’s sword effectively kept them away. For the human warriors rushing in the chase he was impenetrable darkness, for the legions of the dark he was an unassailable fortress. And behind his back, as far as the eye could see was brightness, which illuminated the way for the fugitives.

And so they were moving hurriedly, the hordes of hell blinded with hatred, bristled with fangs, claws and swords, ahead of them was the Guardian, whose name was Who-is-like-Yahweh, and his hosts, and in the fore were the ones he defended, still out of the enemy’s reach. And then the road was far behind them, and they saw that they were moving in the middle of the sea; the tight walls of the waters on both sides, threatening to tumble down in the gusts of strong eastern wind.

The Bearer of Light took it all in one glance and he trembled. For it was not just them in this place—the spiritual beings for whom there were no physical borders and obstacles, but they’d brought their mortal tools there. When again he looked into the eyes of Mikajehu, he saw in them the glimmer of triumph and he already knew that he’d been defeated. Once again he’d let himself be carried away by his ambition, leaving common sense aside. Again, like a fool he got himself into a dead-end corner and he knew what would happen in a moment, which had to happen, for the Speaking-One opened His mouth and spoke, and even a single word of His made galaxies come into being.

The organized chase turned into total chaos when thousands of combat chariots started to fall apart under the masses of water falling down on them. In just one moment the horses that drew them either stood upright on their rear legs when they encountered the unexpected resistance of the vehicles’ axels after the wheels fell off and the chariots started scraping the sandy sea floor, or—as they were suddenly freed of the burden—the swift animals broke the reins and rapidly gathered speed only to bump into the wrecks of the vehicles ahead, trampling over the infantrymen and upsetting the other horses. Those few moments were enough to cause the whole army to lose their main combat assets. But Tutmosis was again the same stone-hearted pharaoh, who—even if bending under pressure—remained humble just for a short moment, until the danger disappeared. Then he put on his usual implacable and derisive face, which he interpreted as the evidence of his own wisdom and courage. Now he kept proudly silent, despite the fact that around him panicky shouts were heard, which painfully reminded the pharaoh about what he had been struggling against for the past months.

“Their God is fighting for them, we’re doomed!” shouted both privates and officers.

The Angelos like agile hawks were drawing the enemy into combat, maneuvering among the damaged vehicles, increasing the chaos as they appeared out of nowhere and dodged the demons’ claws by only a hair’s breadth, which drove the devils mad.

“Leave them alone!” the Bearer of Light was in vain shouting his orders at the generals, trying to prevent the worse. “Command the retreat. Retreat! Make the Egyptians go back!”

But Tutmosis’ fury was like an avalanche—easy to start but impossible to stop.

“Get organized, you fools!” the pharaoh roared at his commanders, furious that he had to get off the chariot’s platform and wade in the wet sand. “Tell them to get off the chariots, take their bows and chase that herdsmen scum! It’s just a few miles, can you hear me? Are you afraid of the stinking shepherds?! Unharness and mount the horses!!!”

Eventually Angelos disappeared, leaving the demons in the state of boiling; now they resembled a swarm of hornets. Once set in motion evil either hit the target with tremendous momentum, or—once it encountered a strong barrier, it always turned against the ones who called it to being. The words of the ‘divine’ pharaoh were sinking in the clutter of terrified voices. Again everyone around the ruler saw what he couldn’t see himself. Yahweh had made bare His mighty arm and announced the judgment over the chasing soldiers. They knew they were doomed!

*

Captain Ahmotes was leading his small detachment at the end of the column. He realized perfectly the senselessness of Tutmosis’ decision about starting the chase in the first place. He wasn’t willing to pay for the ruler’s folly with his own life. At dusk, all of a sudden, darkness had fallen upon them, as dense as before, in Egypt, while strong wind was flogging them mercilessly, like all the nature was favoring the one, whom the blessed Hatshepsut had taken out of water and made him her son and wanted to make him an heir to the throne. Why was it only him, modest captain and his most trusted soldiers who could see that obvious truth? The others let themselves be carried away by Tutmosis’ madness, and the king had long been unworthy of being trusted for a long time.

Mosheh was a servant of God, the captain had always been aware of that, so he had marched with the army just to report on the defeat, which would be the best outcome anyway on the other side of the sea. But now he was certain that they wouldn’t make it to the other side—they were trapped, he could almost see the hands of the mighty shiny beings holding the onslaught of the sea back, thanks to which they were at all able to walk into this most amazing emerald tunnel. What would happen when their God decided the time had come to deal the blow and the mighty hands let go?

Right behind the wall of the tunnel the water grew dark rapidly—terrifying depth started there. Only that narrow scrap of shallows was fit for passing to the other side. Yahweh perfectly chose the way for His people across the gulf.

Ahmotes was making preparing action plan in his mind, while rebuking himself for his own folly which told him to obey Tutmosis’ commands. What to do now? Get back to safety on his own? No one would notice that, and even if they did, it was doubtful that they would start chasing him. But he couldn’t just leave his men alone. Yet, was he allowed to persuade them to desert? Still, something had to be decided, it was now or never.

As soon as he heard the noise and shouting from the head of the column, he knew it was the beginning of the end and nothing could possibly stop the chain of events from happening. With a sonorous voice he called his subordinates. Immediately they duly gathered around him. But before he managed to say something they heard the words fearfully repeated by almost everyone.

“Their God is fighting for them, we’re doomed! The chariots are shattered, we’re scattered!”

He beckoned his aide-de-camp.

“Do you remember our conversation?”

Nesmut nodded his head. The others must have been suspecting something. On the way to this place he’d heard them commenting the decisions of the commanders. He’d trained them well. Now they were looking around nervously, watching at the behavior of the other detachments, which instead of redeploying after losing the chariots they were tossing around pell-mell, increasing the already tremendous muddle. Ahmotes had an impression that hosts of mischievous genies took over the command the army of Egypt and were now driving the human pawns all over their chessboard, playing cat and mouse with them before dealing the final blow.

“It’s time for us. Tell them to follow me and no questions asked.”

He knew they’d obey. Patriotism cannot be mistaken with folly—he repeated in his thoughts. It was Mosheh who’d instilled it in him when the prince was still the commander of the army. This country would look different under his reign. And now they were chasing the foster son of Divine Hatshepsut and his people, breaking all the promises and agreements. Now it was hard to call it a chase at all. He’d always wanted a glorious death in a battle, while here all that could befall his detachment was a death of infamy: being drowned like cattle while chasing the unarmed!

His gaze swept over his men one by one and he spurred the horse. Nesmut shouted a command and they all moved like one man.

For a moment Ahmotes felt better. He’d found courage to make a difficult decision; he wasn’t walking like a sheep for slaughter and still had a chance. At the same time some obtrusive voice in his mind kept repeating that the time to make the right choice had long passed.

*

The demons of the Bearer of Light were still out of control and there was no power now that could restore order in the so-far invincible army. The veterans of the battles in Phoenicia and Nubia, the victors of the battle of Megiddo and in the Mitannian campaign, valiant and disciplined, glorifying the name of Re and Isis all over the region were now running aimlessly and without command like terrified children. Every now and then they tripped over the broken chariots’ wheels and the bodies of the ones trampled down by the panicky horses.

The clamor built up, soon joined by another terrifying sound. Ahmotes looked back just once and he knew he wouldn’t do that again. The sea was surging into the tunnel violently, shattering everything that still could move on its own. The captain urged the steed even harder, concentrating on just survival. The other soldiers did the same and a few dozen riders were darting across the wet sand towards the salutary shore, which was still over a mile away.

Too far to make it!

“Help me, gods!” The old habits still made him seek rescue with the powerless deities. A moment later he realized his own folly. What can you do? You’ve been humiliated and defeated—he thought bitterly, and the obtrusive voice kept repeating in his mind the grim augury: It’s too late, too late, too late You’re doomed… doomed… doomed…

He didn’t believe anything now. Only the self-preservation instinct urged him onward. The noise intensified, along with the wave of air driven by the masses of the water surging in, overturning the wrecks of the chariots and tossing the soldiers around like they were dry leaves. Ahmotes had never been so scared as he was now.

At one moment he felt their steeds accelerate as they found the rock under the slushy sand. He felt a shade of comfort, which grew pale anyway just a moment later. The sea floor was rising more and more steeply towards the western shore, forcing the horses to make even a greater effort.

We stand no chance—he thought and stopped the horse.

The bewildered soldiers stopped next to him, thinking that something had changed to their advantage, but the roar of the water behind their backs smashed those hopes.

“We are still soldiers of Egypt!” he roared at them. “Death must be looked straight in the eye. We shall not run since it is futile anyway. We have fought together, now we shall die together!”

Their faces showed determination mixed with despair. They arranged in a compact line, though the wind rushing in front of the wave was almost picking the horses up. Still, they kept looking ahead till the very end, before the whitewater surge shattered them.

*

On the opposite shore the stunned crowd of Israelites was swaying in a panicky manner, presenting a perfect example of the inconstancy of human feelings.

“They’re drowned! The Egyptians have been defeated! Lost in the depths!” the people standing right on the shore were shouting at the top of their lungs as they saw the bodies of soldiers and horses emerging in the surface together with the remnants of the oval shields and the red-and-white kerchiefs blown off the soldiers’ heads by the mighty surge of the element. “Yahweh has saved us! Praise be to the One-Who-Is!

“Woe to us, we’re lost! Mosheh has led us into a trap!” yelled the people crowded a mile from the water, still unaware of what had just happened. “Weren’t there enough graves in Egypt that the old fool has led us all the way here just to perish in the desert?! And why at all did we leave Goshen? Even then we should have pushed back into Mosheh’s throat all his empty assurances and promises!”

*

The surface of water was slowly calming, only here and there one were small busy whirlpools, while little waves coming from opposite directions were wrestling each other like in a play. And if it hadn’t been for the multitude of objects and bodies floating all along the distance they’d walked across the sea floor, one could say that the whole situation was nothing but an absurd illusion. But the people standing nearest the shore saw exactly that it had really happened.

Jehoshua standing next to the chief was watching not the water but the swaying human masses, shouting out all those groans and complaints, mixed with the wild shouts of joy and praise for the Almighty. He knew exactly that it wouldn’t be easy to control that wildest of elements—the nation of stiff necks and changeable hearts! The caterpillar had slowly crawled ashore and still didn’t know where it had come from and where it was headed. It wasn’t able to embrace the magnitude of God’s care, for the new creation within had only started to form.

“It will be a painful process, chief” he said as he turned his look at the people crowded densely ashore, covering dozens of acres of space. “We need a lot of support of El Elohe Israel before we get to our destination.”

Mosheh didn’t say anything, he just put his hand on his young aide-de-camp and squeezed hard, looking straight into his eyes. In his gaze Jehoshua read the confirmation of his own fears and predictions. They were about to start a very long walk.

*

Standing on the shore of the gulf, the Bearer of Light screwed up his eyes and slowly started to calm down. They got away from him, that was a fact; Egypt would never more find courage to attack them, so that asset had ceased to count. But people were still people. Those damned animals bestowed with spirit and mind went onto the shore the same as of their own choice they had been all through their history—weak and stupid. In a moment they would forget about that night and its horror. And he knew how to take advantage of that.

He looked at their faces one by one, he saw the radiance of their emotions and thoughts. He’d find many who would gladly listen to the strange voice. He called one of the princes.

“Find it at any cost. Find the weak link.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Only one is enough. And focus all your might on it. You may leave now.” He dismissed him without even looking at him once, then again he fixed his gaze in the human masses. “There always is a weak link and sooner or later it will break.”
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