And Then the End Shall Come

The young woman clutched the screaming infant to her chest. She was dressed in the style of her people, a skirt and tunic top; but the quality of the clothes told their own story, and the current condition of them, torn and stained, told another.

She was battered and bruised from struggling through the tangled vegetation, afraid to go down the many trails that led to the river for fear of being caught. She was no more than a child herself. Childbearing started young in these remote tribal villages. A woman’s worth was judged by the number of living children she had, living being the definitive word. Infant mortality was extremely high; the main reason being disease and poor diet; the other reason was the situation that was presently occurring.

It was the time of year when a distant, barbarous tribe living deep in the jungle, came scavenging across the lush landscape, seeking the infant children of smaller, peaceful tribes that inhabited this area to sacrifice to their bloodthirsty gods. The last time her village had been attacked, she had been a young girl, but she remembered the death and destruction that had been perpetrated. She remembered the heat of the roaring fire and the screams of the infants as they were thrown into it to appease gods of this warlike tribe. She remembered the sobs of her parents as the warriors ripped her small baby brother from her mother’s arms, and she still heard his screams as they carried him away. Some things are never forgotten. She prayed she would never be one of those parents; but if she and her son did not get to the river quickly, circumstances suggested otherwise.

This warlike tribe was led by an evil witchdoctor who believed in human sacrifice. He believed it not only empowered the tribe, but also empowered him, strengthening his powers with each child that was sacrificed. It was said that voices spoke to him, encouraging his blood thirsty savagery and his continual need for sacrifices. Every spring, the men of this tribe were ignited by the witchdoctor’s urgings and frenzy. They had been on this rampage for many years, and so far, it seemed to be working. No one had been able to stop their carnage. They kept getting stronger and stronger.

Before her son was born, the young woman had a dream that told her an attack was imminent, and to begin to prepare a way of escape. She did not know who the dream had come from, but some instinct told her that it was from one of the unknown gods her tribe worshipped. This unknown god said he would answer her prayer and spare her child. She carried his talisman with her which she had stolen from her shaman’s collection hanging near the temple in her village. She had always had an affinity for this particular god. She enjoyed hearing the stories, no more than legends now, of how he came to save his people. She only hoped he would be true to his promise and save her son. In obedience to the dream, she had fashioned a basket of reeds to take the child downriver.

She could not pray for her village. The sights and sounds she had seen and heard robbed her of any faith she might have had. Someone had to oppose this barbaric tribe, but she knew it would not be her. She had neither the weapons nor the strength. What was needed was a savior. Her breath was becoming louder and harsher as she continued to run. The acrid smell of smoke burned her throat, and the yelling and screaming of the distant village haunted her thoughts. She ran as though the devil himself was chasing her. The forces of darkness were converging and gathering strength for the fight that was coming to them. Satan had his army on earth, and he was whipping them into a raging fury. His evil and viciousness were being expressed not only in this small village, but throughout the earth. He knew his time was near, and was garnering his forces for a final offence.

Several of the attacking tribesmen had broken off to pursue the fleeing girl. They cared nothing for her, but her child was the prize. Whoever presented the sacrifice of a living baby to the witchdoctor had the promise of his strength and prosperity being increased tenfold. Their progress was inhibited because they were not only chasing her, but fighting each other; each one was striving to reach her first. It was this distraction that bought her the time she needed to reach the river.

She slowly continued on, her strength depleted by the initial run to escape. She looked down at the small infant she was carrying, his crying now a soft whimper. Her heart ached, knowing that she would not be there to see him grow, but she would not grieve over what could not be.

She came to the river and reached the pile of rocks where the basket was hidden. In desperation, she tugged it from its hiding place, knowing time was running out, and that her life was forfeit. She fought bravely for the life of her son. With no time for even a last hug, she placed the baby in the basket and laid the talisman next to him. She lowered the basket and launched it into the river. The swift current drew it quickly out of reach.

At that moment a small dart pierced her shoulder. She fell slowly to the ground and breathed her last, knowing her son had a chance at life. She was at peace.

It was the time of the year the river flowed swiftly, swelled by the seasonal rains. The basket traveled uninhibited for many miles with its small bundle. The hand of God rested upon the infant , and came to rest in a tangle of reeds. He began to cry.