Susan Downs - Ekaterina

This was God’s glory. The defeat of death. Forever. A man who walked in the light would never know eternal defeat, despite the darkness around him. A man who walked in light radiated joy.

Like Kat. She knew what it meant to trust in God. Perhaps it made her foolish, but above all, Kat radiated joy. Vadeem winced, seeing for the first time indeed, that God had sent Kat to remind him of the Almighty’s constant love. A friend who never forsakes.

Maybe now was the time to walk in the light. He needed God now more than ever before. And a wise man considers his options.

Faith is a choice. Pyotr’s words resonated in the recesses of his mind.

Vadeem dropped to his knees, trembling. “God, Please, I’m begging you. Give me faith. Help me look to you for hope, for strength. I know I’ve failed you. I know I’ve forsaken the healing and the comfort I could find, to embrace despair. Please forgive me.”

The book dropped onto the floor with a thud as Vadeem sunk his face in his hands. “I don’t know what to do? Help me find Kat. Please.”

The echo of his own desperate words in the conclave made him shudder. But in that moment, he drew breath, and it was not his own that filled his lungs. Supernatural, ethereal, and thick with hope. Vadeem gasped and put a hand to his chest. Tears glazed his eyes. Yes, this is what he’d missed. The presence of God, holding him up, helping him take one step at a time.

He sucked in ragged breaths, the tight band of despair that had encircled his chest breaking, tearing, ripping to shreds. Vadeem’s chest expanded to breathe in grace. The lightness of forgiveness swept through him and he tingled down to his toes. Tears pushed into his eyes and his throat thickened at the immensity of the emotions swelling within. “Thank you,” he whispered, looking at the statue of his Savior. “Thank you for weeping, for sacrificing, for setting me free.”

He leaned forward, climbing to his feet and his hands fell on the book. Anton’s words whooshed through his mind. His light has illuminated my dark paths. He has set me free. Peace can be had for those who have faith. Yes, he understood those words. Vadeem’s heart thundered as he scanned through the pages for the passage, written by another, voicing Vadeem’s own joy.

July 1918

Banya with Timofea. I cleared my soul as we sat as brothers in the Lord. He understands. He is a good friend, and will help carry my burdens. He says God will find a way to keep His promise. I know it now to be true. I tucked my past into the darkness, then turned toward the light. I even found a verse to cling to. John 11:9 His light has illuminated my dark paths. He has set me free. Now, my prayer is that Timofea will keep his promise, in due time. Only God knows the future, and I am trusting in His word. Peace can be had for those who have faith.

He has set me free. Vadeem breathed deeply, feeling like he intimately knew this man, this ancestor of the woman he loved.

Kat. Wild, impulsive Kat, who could run like the wind and had an iron will to match his own. Quick-witted Kat, who could spot escape and nab it, like a rabbit. Kat, a woman who had come to Russia, armed only with a key and a picture, in search of her brave, quick-witted ancestor—an ancestor that knew what it was like to bear burdens, to be imprisoned in despair.

An ancestor who had been set free. John 11:9 . Vadeem suddenly longed for a Bible. It only took a moment to find an ancient monastery text sitting on a shelf beside the altar. Vadeem flipped through the pages until he found the verse.

‘Jesus answered, Are there not twelve hours in the day? If any man walk in the day, he stumbleth not, because he seeth the light of this world’.

But Anton had a light. A light in the darkness.

Vadeem slowly stood, and turned. Banya with Timofea. Fulfill the promise. Whose promise? God’s or Anton’s? What light would Anton have seen in the darkness?

Vadeem stumbled out of the cave, into the moon-bathed cemetery, and knew.

“Don’t touch me.” Kat pushed her back into the seat, yanking her hair out of Grazovich’s slimy grip. She spit at him.

His face darkened.

She’d learned in basic self-defense training that a woman in danger should be as disgusting as possible in order to repulse her attacker.

She was ready to do just about anything, and the first thing wouldn’t be too difficult. Her stomach was already rolling.

She smiled, just barely.

Grazovich’s eyes narrowed.

Then, she saw him, exiting the chapel. Kat’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest with hope, delight, and not a little panic when Vadeem stepped out into the moonlight, the wind skimming his hair, his face to the heavens.

She gasped. Oh no.

At the sound, Grazovich turned. And saw her hero.

Her breath clogged in her chest when the terrorist said, “Let’s go for a little walk.”

Vadeem stumbled along the perimeter of the monastery walls, digging through his brain files for his research on the Pskov monastery. What had the monk said? It had been built in the fifth century, the cliffs and caves used as the first chapels. Timofea had loved the grottos, and spent much time here, preferring it to the monastery grounds. Vadeem scanned the ring of caves, dark mouths open without words. Anton had known Timofea well enough to take a banya with him. Shed his secrets. Vadeem closed the book, the passage already memorized. Banya was a place where men talked in low tones, under the cover of steam and a cathartic layer of sweat. In the early 1900s, where would the monks have built the banya ? Somewhere outside the grounds, perhaps. Or in a cave? Vadeem scanned the grounds, the array of grottos that looped in a semi-circle along a jagged shoreline. A banya , in a cave would have ventilation, or a pipe of some sort.

Long since removed…

And a path that wound down to the river, perhaps. He started for the caves, then realized his mistake.

Timofea had helped carry Anton’s burdens. Could one of those burdens be the crest? Timofea had to be the key to the entire puzzle. He not only had the real key… but the crest as well.

Where would Timofea hide Anton’s most precious treasure?

Vadeem blew out a breath. He knew where he’d keep his treasure. Close. Close enough to keep his eyes on it. Where he should have kept Kat. Vadeem forced the thought away. Okay, Timofea, where would you hide a religious icon from the Communists?

His cell? Vadeem scanned the dark caves. Yes, Timofea had relished the caves… could he have been checking on the crest, keeping it tucked away all these years? But which cave?

I tucked my past into the darkness, then turned toward the light.

The light. The moon, the bright crest of the wee morning hours, blazed a glorious path from behind him, alighting the row of caves, like a spotlight. I have seen the light. It has illuminated my path…

Vadeem tucked the journal into his pocket, turned, took a guess, and strode toward a darkened cave, carrying a candle from the chapel. Please, Oh God.

The dark grotto mocked his assumptions as he stood in the lip of darkness, firelight pitifully striping the cave wall. Shallow and wide, the cave’s gloom left him cold and discouraged. Vadeem took a quick tour around and moved to the next one. Again, pitch darkness filled the well made by the spoon of God ages past.

He’d been hoping to find a swatch of light in the dark folds of the sandstone. Somewhere. Anywhere.

He searched each cave, praying he might find some clue to Anton’s cryptic words. He dragged his hands along the rough walls until they were dirty, nicked, and sore—searching for a crack, a hole where a monk might hide a priceless gem.