The Huntress ✓

19. Release

Crashing waves filled the air and icy spray pelted Lucien's face as he was overcome with grief. It always affected him that way. Whenever a soul slipped from its earthly bonds without that promise of life in eternal glory, he agonized over his failure to convince them to accept his loving Savior, or to at least buy their body more time on this earth so someone else could.

His body trembled as he reached up to wipe the salty water from his face and a firm hand squeezed his shoulder. Johnstone. The man knew better than to try to talk to him when he was in this state and stood quietly by.

After the winds had breathed life into the sea again, they finally made it to their next scheduled port. Immediately Lucien set off to seek those in need of his services. He found a young woman on her deathbed.

The woman had been sick with fever for days. There was no doctor—not that they could afford one anyway. Lucien knew it was too late, that he could do nothing at first glance; she was already firmly held in death's grasp. When he pulled his new Bible from his bag and asked to pray with her she turned her face to the wall. Minutes later she was dead; gone into eternity.

The new widower knelt at his wife's bedside and bitterness etched the man's face. He slowly lifted it to meet Lucien's. Lucien shuddered as he remembered the man's haunted look, eyes swirling with virulence. He had looked at Lucien's Bible and vehemently spat out he and his wife had no use for Him. Tears formed in Lucien's eyes as the widower told how the couple had lost all four of their children. They had cried out to Jesus but He hadn't spared a single child. After the last died, they cursed His name. The tears slid down Lucien's face as he watched the tortured soul rise from the bedside and stumble out the door and into the streets. Raising his hands toward the heavens, he had let out a tortured cry and lurched toward the sea. Lucien followed, concerned for the man's obvious distress, breaking into a full run as he envisioned what the man intended. He had reached the shore in time to see the distraught husband give his life to the ocean, her icy arms reaching up with a cold embrace to receive her prize.

Hours had passed before Lucien finally stopped searching the craggy bay for the poor man. Finally conceding, he sat despondently at the water's edge, absently watching the waves roll in and out.

Helplessness was a feeling he knew all too well. The sky was drab and somber and the wind, sharp and harsh, picked callously at his damp hair. His wet clothes were chaffing and he was numb from sitting so long, but that seemed trivial compared to what was lost this day. Two souls.

At last Lucien stood tenuously to his feet. Johnstone was there to offer his arm.

"It wasn't your fault," Johnstone consoled.

"I know."

"Do you?"

He met Johnstone's gaze and knew he couldn't pretend what his friend clearly knew was a lie.

Sighing deeply he turned his face back toward the sea. "If I'd been here sooner...."

"Perhaps." Johnstone followed his gaze over the churning waves. "Perhaps you could say the word and stop the incessant noise from the crashing waves. It'd be nice if you could part those clouds as well and let in a little sunshine. I grow tired of this dreariness." He nodded to himself, a serious look on his face.

"You mock me."

"And you mock God."

Lucien turned abruptly to face the old man. "What?"

"Just because you weren't here doesn't mean He wasn't. You're being arrogant if you think He can't accomplish His will without you." His eyed burned into Lucien's. "Those people might have not accepted Christ under any circumstances. You don't know what's in a person's heart."