Chapter 10 — Sparks in the Shadow
Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight."
The morning came slow, gray, and heavy, with clouds hanging like mourning veils over Mahogany village. The stream still shimmered faintly where Elena had faced Teuwa the day before, and whispers of the miracle had begun to spread through the village like a subtle current, touching hearts while fear held the tongue.
Inside the chief's house, Julia stirred a pot while cooking,its aroma curling through the kitchen. Ernest leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the village wake. The children, their cheeks flushed from sleep, chased each other around the courtyard, laughing softly—a sound that felt out of place in a village that had known only fear.
"We should have left," Ernest muttered, though his tone carried no real impatience. "We've been here long enough. The witches…" His voice trailed off.
Julia shook her head. "I saw it in the vision, Ernest. Yeshua said to stay. Something must be done before we leave. This village… it's waiting."
Elena stood at the table, her hands wrapped around a cup of water. Her eyes, bright and steady, carried the quiet fire that had begun to bloom within her. The villagers noticed it, though most would not speak of it openly yet. Only a few dared—her grandfather, her mother, Evelyn,her uncle Liron—those who had witnessed the subtle glow in her eyes, the calm in her step.
Outside, a small crowd had gathered, curiosity pulling them toward the chief's yard. Some whispered hope, some murmured disbelief, and others cast cautious, angry glances.
It was Teuwa who came first, dark and simmering. His robes clung to him as if even the cloth bore his tension. When he saw Elena at the doorway, standing tall despite the murmuring villagers, his lips curled into a sneer.
"So, the little girl thinks herself a prophet now," he spat, his voice carrying over the courtyard. "And these fools listen to her?"
Elena did not flinch. She stepped forward, her chin high. "I do not speak for myself," she said, her voice steady. "I speak for the One who gives life and light."
Teuwa laughed, sharp and hollow. "Light? You call fire that? Do you think your god will save you when the witches come again? When the darkness reaches our doors?"
"Then we will stand in the light," Elena replied. "Even if it is just a spark at first, it is enough to drive back the shadows."
A hush fell over the onlookers. Mothers pressed their children closer. Men shifted their weight on the dusty ground, unsure of what to say. Some eyes softened with pity; others narrowed with suspicion. A few braver souls whispered words of hope.
"Do not be deceived," Teuwa bellowed. "This fire is nothing but a lie! A trick! You are children to be led astray!"
Elena's hands clenched at her sides, the warmth of faith radiating through her like the first rays of dawn. "I am not deceived," she said. "And I am not alone. You may call me child, but I carry the truth that even you cannot touch. The Lord does not need your permission to act."
A murmur ran through the villagers. Some pressed closer, leaning on each other for courage. Some stepped back, hands covering mouths, thinking she had been possessed by spirits beyond their understanding. One older woman whispered, "Perhaps… perhaps the girl speaks truth."
Teuwa's face flushed with anger. "You think your words matter?" he snarled. "You speak of a god no one here has seen. You bring hope where none should exist. You dare challenge me—me, who has held this village's fear for years?"
"I challenge the fear, not you," Elena said, and the clarity in her voice silenced him. "Fear is a lie. Our hearts are made for more than trembling in shadows."
At her side, Julia stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Elena's shoulder. "She speaks truth," Julia said. "We have prayed together. We have read the Scriptures. The Spirit moves among us, unseen, but alive."
Ernest nodded, his arm looping around their children to keep them close. "And we will stay," he added. "Not because of fear, but because there is work to be done. The Lord's timing is not ours to dictate."
Teuwa's glare swept over the small group, pausing at the children, lingering on Julia and Ernest, and finally returning to Elena. "So you parade your faith in front of them," he hissed. "Do you think you can sway them with words? You will fail. Their hearts are hardened."
Elena lifted her chin, the warmth in her chest now steady and full. "He can soften hearts," she said. "And He has softened mine. I will not be afraid, even if I must stand alone."
Some villagers, emboldened by her courage, stepped forward. "Tell us more," one man whispered. "We want to know this God who takes no blood, only hearts."
Another muttered doubt. "She's dangerous… the girl has been touched by spirits we cannot name."
A few women crossed themselves, casting nervous looks at the stream. One youth laughed nervously, shaking his head. "Maybe she is possessed," he said, but even in his words, curiosity betrayed him.
Elena took a breath, feeling the steady pulse of her faith, the invisible fire that had come in visions at night. She remembered Julia's words, the Scripture they had read together: "For our God is a consuming fire." She saw the flames in her mind, not of destruction, but of cleansing and purpose, burning away fear and falsehood.
Her voice rang out again. "You do not need to fear what is coming. Stand with Him, and even the smallest flame can cast away the darkest shadow. I will not abandon you, and neither will He."
Teuwa's hand twitched at his chest, his fingers brushing over charms and amulets. The air seemed to press in on him, the murmurs and stares of villagers like a wave he could not control. He took a step back, muttering curses under his breath, then turned and stalked away, his robe catching on a root and dragging across the mud.
Elena exhaled, her heart steady. She felt no triumph, only the quiet strength that comes when the fear of men no longer commands the soul. Around her, villagers whispered, some in awe, some in suspicion, some in hope, others mocking—but all listening.
Julia touched her shoulder again, smiling softly. "You have begun," she said.
Ernest knelt beside them, the children pressing against him. "And we remain," he said. "Because the Lord's plan is not yet complete. His timing… is always perfect."
Elena looked back toward the stream, remembering the visions of fire that had come at night. They were not finished. They would not be finished until this village, and perhaps many others, learned that fear was not the master. The fire inside her was small, but it burned steady and true.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills, casting long shadows over Mahogany, the murmurs of the day echoed still. Some villagers began to speak in hushed tones about Yeshua. Some wondered if their hearts had been touched. Others laughed at what they called the girl's delusion.
But Elena, standing among them, knew something the mockers could not yet see: the fire would grow. And though the first steps were hard, the path of faith had begun, and nothing—not Teuwa, not fear, not doubt could put it out.
Somewhere beyond the mountains, the wind carried the scent of smoke. Elena shivered, not from cold, but from anticipation. The vision had promised work to do, hearts to reach, hope to restore and she had taken her first stand.
The flame had not died. It had only begun to burn.