THE HORSEMEN [ 1 ]

The following is based on events articulated in Revelations VI...

WHITE

The sea of glass was endless. Its undulating waves, stoked by the glory that radiated from the white throne, rocked the crystal bubbles that enveloped blue flames. The bubbles were embers from the ball of charged flame that enveloped the throne. About a hundred meters round the white throne, angels numbering tens of thousands bowed in worship, their lips muttering words too heavenly to be spoken by humans. They were arranged in rows; Seraphs, Cherubs, Archangels, Angels. 

This sea of glassy glory was Zion’s Throne Room. 

Fifty meters from the throne, the Council-of-Elders knelt face-flat on a golden ring bobbing on the sea of glass; they were twenty-three of them. A rainbow of colors sipped from every pore in their bodies as they showered reverence on the being that sat on the flaming throne – YHWH. 

 Above the worshiping angels, Zar, the chief of the council of elders, flew with light-splitting speed towards the blazing throne. His eyes were shut but the glory from the throne steered his course. He arrived at the golden ring and descended in a glide. Like the other elders, he was wrapped in a glowing grey frock. His silky white hair danced down to his waist and his beard whipped in response to the charges from the throne. He held a clutch of green-flamed parchments in his hands – hands with glassy skin. 

Head bowed, Zar stretched the parchments towards the white throne. The throne room went silent. The worshiping ceased. 

“Eternal One,” Zar said, “the parchments.” His voice was a whisper, yet heard by the ten-thousands in the throne room. The green-flamed parchments floated off Zar’s hands towards the flaming throne. When it entered the charged flames, the parchment burst into a flurry of colors that cannot be described in any human terms, and then it disappeared. Zar dropped to his knees and flattened his face. 

“Well done, Zar.” A voice like the oceans spoke. The sea of glass rippled as it echoed the voice, the flames leapt, and every angel felt the voice soothe their skin. This was the voice of YHWH. 

“The end has come,” YHWH continued. “Yehoshua will orchestrate the final prophecies concerning earth from Zion, until it is time for the Armageddon.”

“Glory, Hallelujah.” The entire throne room thundered as all the angels praised YHWH for his infinite wisdom. 

The flames around the throne parted and a huge man in golden apparel stepped out. His head was wrapped in hairs like white wool; his eyes were balls of flames; his legs and arms were fine brass purified in a smelting pot. In his right hand he held seven stars and in his left he held the green-flamed parchments. His countenance was too bright to be beheld with human eyes. 

“We adore you, Yehoshua.” The throne room thundered again.

*** 

After four years on death row, Akani Salvador had finally been brought to the firing squad. He stood on the field of elephant grass, bound to a steel pole alongside four other convicts. His pulse pulsated in his ears, threatening to tear his ear drums. His skin rippled with sweat from the midday sun of October 1st, 2016; Nigeria’s Independence Day. Akani faced execution on the day Nigeria broke the bonds of colonialism.

 He was convicted for murder during a bank robbery that went awry. After months of careful planning, someone had tipped off the police and a bloodbath had followed in the ensuing shootout. He lost his crew in the shootout. His trial had been short. 

When he first arrived in Kiri-kiri prisons, he had been despondent. His days were fraught with fear of his impending execution. Though a thug at heart, he couldn’t bring himself to accept death; no human fully embraced death. When he slept he had nightmares of his execution and in the daytime he heard the walls whisper tales of his death. 

Before Kiri-kiri, he had been hefty, but six months after, fear had gnawed away his confidence in life, eroding his desire for anything healthy. He had become a lanky mast, drinking daily from the fountain of death and wallowing in all shades of grief and regrets. 

A year after sentencing, Akani was transferred to the B-Wing where he met Somto, the prophet. Somto was the Pastor in B-wing. He led fellowship and gave false hopes to inmate about a mythical city called Zion, where the souls of the righteous went after death on earth. Even though Somto was on death-row, he was always joyous. His joy was a source of annoyance for Akani; Somto’s joy was hypocrisy. How could someone who had murdered his wife and two children, during a marijuana high, call himself righteous? 

In spite of the disgust he felt for Somto, Akani never confronted him. However, their paths crossed some weeks after Akani’s transfer, when Somto approached him and said he had a message from YHWH. Akani had dismissed but Somto persisted. What was the message? That Akani would be freed from prison. 

Akani was too miserable to laugh, so he had just walked away from Somto. This was before Akani’s execution was postponed – twice. After the second postponement, Akani sat with Somto to talk and joined the prison fellowship. The words from the scriptures gave Akani hope, and he grew in faith and zeal even though he struggled with guilt from his past. But Somto always reminded him that YHWH could make use of everything we’ve been through, if we let him. Seven months after Akani joined the fellowship, Somto was executed at the firing squad. Members of the prison fellowship elected Akani to take over. This was fifteen months ago. 

Akani sniffed the dirt from the rag that bound his eyes. It smelt like lavender. Strange that such a welcome smell would come from a dirt rag. He felt a calm overwhelm him as the sweat on his skin dried up. His pulse evened and the fear that had enveloped him fled. He had no idea what was happening but he knew he wasn’t going to die today. What gave him that confidence, he had no idea.

“Take your aim,” he heard the supervising captain scream.

To be continued...

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