Our God Reigns

© March 1989 by Andrew F. Harman, Albright College — Selected by Rutgers University/Camden Fiction Competition

“Yield, you worthless piece of slime!”
The bigger of the small men, grand master John, named after his
great ancient ancestor the baptizer, slugs the prisoner’s groin with
the staff of divine power. The captive, unable to move, grunts in
pain from his blood smeared mouth. His eyes closed, he says
nothing.
“Still thou do not yield, no? We’ll see about that! Peter, bring
the sacred broth… and make sure it is plenty hot with divine heat.
We’ll fill him up with our God’s goodness. Then this demon will
yield to our supreme God!”
Peter swiftly runs down the small hill to a shanty in the distance.
He soon returns with a copper pail of boiling liquid. Using extreme
caution not to spill the sacred mixture upon himself, Peter rejoins
the large group of small men gathered around two ancient, dead
trees. The massive prisoner hangs between the trees silently. His
limbs are spread wide, his torso is exposed and vulnerable.
“Heathen scum… do thou yield to our God?”
There is no reply.
“You will! Luke and Mark, fasten his tongue and hold his head
still… Peter, perform the ritual!”
The two smaller men do as they are told. The weakened prisoner
squirms in resistance, yet the men succeed in securing a metallic
clamp which fastens his tongue to the bottom of his mouth. They
firmly hold the prisoner’s head back and put a funnel into place.
Peter mumbles words and moves his hands over the steamy fluid.
The prisoner does not understand. The other men bow their heads.
The grand master smiles.
John signals with his divine staff for the ritual to begin. The
scorching liquid is poured down the muscular man’s tender red
throat, the excess splashes onto his noble face. The prisoner’s body
flexes and twists so powerfully that it appears as though the ropes
may break. A few of the smaller men in the group back away. The
prisoner’s wrists and ankles begin to bleed where the ropes cut into
his soft, dark skin. When done, the man hangs motionlessly.
“The holy mixture has conquered our enemy’s strength… soon he
will yield to our God! The men smile and anxiously await the grand
master’s next action. The clamp and funnel are removed, their
purpose completed.
The prisoner, after a short time, awakens and finds the group of
happily angry men starring at him.
“NOW do thou yield, demon?” shouts the grand master.
The prisoner still does not reply, but a tear drops from his eye
onto the sun-dried earth. Blisters are forming on his pale face. He
flinches in agony with each breath he forcibly takes.
“Remove his clothes! Our God will have his way. We will whip
him!”
Four of even smaller men use jagged knives to cut away the
prisoner’s slippery soft white clothes. A shiny object hangs by a
bright red string around the prisoner’s neck. The object, two lines
intersecting each other and surrounded by a ring, is the symbol of
the ememy’s god who is said to be in and of everything, good and
evil. The group knows that the god is only of evil and it is certainly
not in them. Besides, the grand master’s book, which was written by
wise men of the ancient past, does not mention this god from the
other side of the world.
The prisoner’s object shines like copper, but with a yellowish
tint. The bright light in the sky moves in the object with an
unfamiliar brilliance that amazes the group. Even the grand master
is offset by the powerful beauty of the symbol.
The men jump back as if stunned by an unseen force, but it is
only their own fear that speaks to them. The grand master, too, is
silent and puzzled, but when the men look to him, he resumes the
role of leader. The prisoner looks the grand master in his eyes,
saying nothing.
“So evil one, your god is with you now? We can all see how he
has defended you here. He is no match for our God, no? Our God is
powerful… he defeats all… destroys all… yields to nothing! Our God
Reigns! I have decided that there is no hope for you or your god.
Kill him!”
The group swarms onto the foreign prisoner, mutilating his
body. His symbol and the sack of teachings brought from the
distant brother land across the sea about the universe and the True
God are burnt and pounded into the earth, as are the remains of the
prisoner’s body. The men dance upon the ground so as to make
sure the evil one would not resurrect, ever.
Often, late at night, the men of the group, from the smallest of
the small, to the biggest of the small, wonder what it all meant.