{"id":1127,"date":"2019-02-12T23:26:07","date_gmt":"2019-02-13T04:26:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1127"},"modified":"2020-06-01T09:07:08","modified_gmt":"2020-06-01T13:07:08","slug":"giver-of-wonders","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/giver-of-wonders\/","title":{"rendered":"Giver of Wonders"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Giver of Wonders<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Roseanna M. White<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A miracle once saved her life ~ will another give her a future?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cyprus was little more than a child when a fall left her paralyzed\u2026and when the boy known as the wonder-worker healed her. Ever since, she has wondered why the Lord spared her, what he has in store for her. But her pagan father thinks she was spared solely so she could be introduced to the wealthy wonder-worker, Nikolaos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nikolaos has never questioned that his call in life is to dedicate himself to the church and to God. Never, that is, until he and his cousin Petros meet the compelling Cyprus Visibullis. For years he struggles with the feelings she inspires\u2026and with the sure knowledge that Petros loves her too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Petros knows he will never be good enough for Cyprus\u2019s father to consider him as a match for his favorite daughter not as long as Nikolaos is there. But when tragedy strikes the Visibullis family<\/a>, he will do anything to save his beloved. Unfortunately, his beloved is determined to do anything to save her sisters ~ even at the cost of herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the festival of lights bathes their Greek city in beauty, Cyprus, Petros, and Nikolaos celebrate the miracle of their Savior s birth together one last time. And in remembrance of their Lord\u2019s greatest gift, one of them will make the ultimate sacrifice for the others\u2026and a centuries-long tradition will be born.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

Patara, Lycia<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

She would die today, one way or\nanother. Cyprus Visibullis risked one glance over her shoulder without slowing\nher feet. They still pursued, those lecherous sailors, shouting words at her\nthat would make Mater\u2019s face flush scarlet if she could hear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Abbas, though\u2014Abbas\u2019s flush would\nnot just be over the sailors chasing her. It would be over his youngest\ndaughter having ventured to the port to begin with. Never mind she had been\nwaiting for him<\/em>. He would see only\nthe disobedience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGet back here, girl! We only want\nto talk!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A shiver spurred her onward,\nfaster. Abbas would kill her if the sailors did not. Or worse, sit her down and\nlecture her about how fleeting was a woman\u2019s virtue. Threaten to keep her from\nworshipping with Mater and the twins, since it apparently did her no good. Ask\nfor the millionth time why she could not be more like her sisters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe intend you no harm!\u201d one of the\nsailors shouted, though it ended with a laugh that knotted her belly. \u201cCome, pretty\none, stop running! We will give you the life of a queen!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She darted around a corner and\nprayed to the Lord of heaven and earth that the sailors were not from Patara.\nThat they would not know the streets and alleys as she did. And that God\nhimself would strike her dead before he allowed those men to put hands on her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

How many times had her father\nwarned her never to venture to this part of town on her own? How many times had\nhe lifted a lock of her red hair and called it a curse? Strangers would steal\nher away, he had always warned her. Steal her and sell her into slavery at Rome\u2014because\nno one the empire over was worth more as a slave in Rome than a redhead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tears burned the backs of her eyes.\nShe would not cry, not now. But oh, when it was all over and she had escaped\nthem\u2014please, Lord God!\u2014<\/em>she may just\ncurl up in a corner of her bedchamber at home and give in to that urge. Let the\nshaking come. Even let Alexandria and Rhoda fuss and croon and call her their\nlittle honey pot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The thundering footsteps behind her\nheld up, and harsh whispers slicked over her. She could not make them out, but\nshe did not have to. The alley ahead forked, went around a building, joined\ntogether again. The sailors must know that, must be planning to split up and\nsurround her. They obviously did<\/em> know\nPatara as well as she.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her throat went tight with all the\nthings she could not afford to feel yet. She should bang on a door. Beg help\nfrom someone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But no one in this section of town\nwould help her. Everyone here knew her by sight, and none would give her aid\u2014not\nbeing Abbas\u2019s daughter as she was. Perhaps if he were here to invoke fear\u2026but\nalone? No. They would say it served the merchant right to lose a daughter when\nhe had shown no mercy to any of them in their times of need. That it was high\ntime the stone-hearted Dorus Visibullis lose something precious to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps, just perhaps there were a\nfew Christians among the poor in this neighborhood. They may help. But they did\nnot know her either and always viewed her family with suspicion. Because why,\nif they were believers as they claimed, did they not gather with the brethren\nin fellowship?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No, no help would lay behind any of\nthese doors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sniffed back the tears and\nlatched her gaze upon a stack of wooden crates just ahead. Her family would not\nlose her. Not today, not to a bunch of seafaring slavers. Perhaps their legs\nwere longer, their arms stronger, but she had youth and agility on her side.\nRhoda kept warning that when her womanly curves began to develop, she would\nslow. But not today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cyprus scrabbled up the crates,\nlatched hold of the roof, and kicked the stack over as she hauled herself up.\nIf the curse from behind her were any indication, the sailor was not so good at\nscaling walls. And restacking the crates would take time. Time she would use to\nspeed away. Pausing only long enough to stick out her tongue at him, she flew\nover the flat rooftop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At least the houses around here\nwere close together, their walls all but touching. At the edge of one roof she\ncould simply jump to the next. And the next, and the next. The fourth one was\nhigher than the others, but she managed that too. A crisscrossing alley loomed\nahead though. Narrow, but still. If she jumped, could she make it? Did she\ndare?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou think you can get away from us\nso easily?\u201d The second sailor had run alongside the houses, and a glance\ndownward showed a countenance dark with evil. \u201cHe will be behind you in a\nmoment, and what will you do? Grow wings and fly away?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Part of her wanted to stomp a foot\nand fold her arms over her chest, as she would have done a year ago. But she\nwas not a child of eleven anymore. She was twelve\u2014almost a woman. Beyond such\npetulance. And she had no time for it, regardless. She would not even pause to\nshout down, \u201cDo you not know who I am? I am Cyprus Visibullis, daughter of\nDorus Visibullis, wealthiest merchant in all Patara!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her father\u2019s name would not help\nher today. No, the only thing that could possibly help her was a miracle from\nAlmighty God.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps he would lend her those\nwings. \u201cPlease, Father. Please help me. I know I am not always a good girl, but\nI will be. I will be, I promise you. Please just save me.\u201d She jumped over one\nlast small division between the houses and sped over the final roof.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had no choice. It was risk a\njump or be caught by the men who would sell her so quickly into a life not\nworth living. Not daring to stop and think it through, she pumped her legs all\nthe harder. Sucked in a breath. Held it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And flew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For an eternal moment there was\nonly wind around her, beneath her. For a moment, she could imagine the earth\nfalling away and the sun growing close. Soaring over the sea, the hilltop, the\nwhole world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then her foot struck the top of the\nroof across the alley, her other followed, and she was safe. Her heart soared\non, though, so swiftly that she nearly laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Curses stained the air behind,\nbelow. But she dared not look back again. No, there was only onward now, and on\nstill more. Running, leaping, scarcely even noting when one roof gave way to\nanother, when the wider spaces loomed. She was a bird, a hart leaping over the\nhills, a dolphin cresting the waves. And she rode them until the rooftops\nbeneath her feet changed in structure, until the dome of the church loomed\nahead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The harbor and its cheap houses\nwere behind her now. Once she was past the church, the neighborhoods improved,\nand then she would have to come down. The houses would get farther apart. Then,\nhome. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her would-be captors were nowhere\nin sight. She had to stop. Find a way down. As soon as she crossed one more\nchasm, she would.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The air caught her again, and she\nspread her arms wide to embrace it. Tilted her face up to receive the kiss of\nthe sun on her cheeks. Arced up, up, stretched out her legs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No rooftop touched her extended\ntoes. Just air, and it rushed past her too fast. Gravity pulled too hard. She\nwas not\u2026she could not be\u2014falling<\/em>!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A scream tore from her throat, but\ntoo late. The ground struck, the sky wavered. Pain shafted through her, so fast\nand hot it would surely kill her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then nothing. The pain, yes, an\necho that made everything gray. But behind it, the strangest feeling of nothing. <\/em>Eyes open, she still stared at\nthe blue of the sky above her. The white clouds scuttled overhead. She tried to\nbreathe, but her chest felt too heavy. Tried to move, but her arms and legs\nwould not respond. She could blink, could cry, but could do nothing to wipe\naway the tears. \u201cFather God\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Did he hear her, up in his heaven?\nShe stared up at where he should be but saw nothing except the endless blue and\nwispy white. No loving face peering down at her. No gentle hand there to catch\nher. Nothing but emptiness, mocking and cruel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why had he given her wings only to\nlet her fall now, when home was within reach? Why deliver her from the sailors\nonly to kill her here?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her eyes slid shut. Perhaps death\nwas better than the life they would have given her. Perhaps this was the Lord\u2019s\nmercy. His kindness. Perhaps\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Footsteps, loud and hurried. Two\nsets of them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tears choked her, pain blazed\nagain. Get up, get up!<\/em> But she could\nnot. Could not move her arms, could not move her legs. They would come, they\nwould laugh, they would grab her and\u2026what? What would they do to her? See her\nbroken form and deem her not worth it? Or take her and break her still more?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere she is!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A sob tore out before she realized\nit was not the rough voice of one of the sailors. Masculine, yes, but younger.\nIts accents more familiar, more like this place that had been home for the last\nfew years. The footfalls grew louder, closer, shook the ground beneath her, and\nthen two faces blocked out the sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Did she know them? They looked\nfamiliar, almost. Maybe. Older than she, but by no means grown men. Were they\namong the boys who tripped and teased? Who stared with moon-eyes at Alexandria\nand Rhoda?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe is alive.\u201d Relief saturated\nthe tone of the boy on her right. He reached for something, lifted something.\nShe saw her own hand in his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But\u2026but she could not feel it. No\nwarm fingers gripping hers, no pressure, no gravity pulling on her arm.\nNothing, she felt nothing<\/em>. Her tears\ncame hotter, faster. \u201cI\u2026I cannot\u2026I cannot move! I cannot feel<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something shifted in the boy\u2019s\nface, moved from relief to pity. He glanced over her, to his companion. \u201cParalyzed?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paralyzed?<\/em>\nNo. No, she could not be paralyzed. She could not. What would she do? Burden\nher mother with such a child for the rest of her life?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it would be short. Abbas may dote\non her, may call her his little darling, but he would never suffer being the\nfather of a paralytic. He would toss her to the streets, leave her to die. Set\nher out on the hill to be killed by the weather\u2026or the hungry dogs. Ripped to\npieces, snarled over\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps\nit was a blessing that she could feel nothing beyond the tickle of her tears\ndown her neck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo.\u201d The second voice was so soft,\nso warm that her eyes came open again. She turned her head a degree to better\nlook at him. No pity in his eyes. No sorrow. They shone a deep brown, steady as\nthey locked on her face. \u201cWhat is your name, little girl?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her lips trembled, the tears still\nclogged her throat. But she managed a whispered, \u201cCyprus.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCyprus.\u201d He smiled, touched his\nfingertips to her forehead, and her pain peeled back. Still there, but somehow\nno longer a veil between her eyes and them. \u201cGet up and walk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He gripped her hand, tugged on it\u2026and\nshe was on her feet, the stones of the alley hot beneath her soles. The linen\nof her garment brushed her legs. The wind caressed her arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tears surged to her eyes, and she\nthrew her arms around the stranger. \u201cI can feel!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He chuckled in her ear and held her\ntight for a moment before setting her away. \u201cOf course you can. Yours is not to\nlive the life of an invalid, Cyprus, not today. Yours is to know the power of\nGod.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To\nknow the power of God<\/em>. She stared for a long moment at the stranger-boy and\nknew without asking who he must be. Not one of the adoring throng trying to win\nthe hearts of Alexandria and Rhoda. Not one of the gang of boys who delighted\nin taunts and jests as harmless as they were frustrating.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nay. She must be looking into the\neyes of\u2026of\u2026 \u201cWonder worker.\u201d The words came out in a whisper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy took a step back. \u201cJust\nNikolaos. Please. God is the wonder worker, not I.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The second boy bumped a\ncompanionable shoulder into Nikolaos and stole her attention with a grin. \u201cAnd\nhis greatest claim to fame is, of course, that he is my cousin. I am Petros.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPetros.\u201d Cyprus smiled up into his\neyes, as clear as a gem, and then looked over to Nikolaos. He was the better\ndressed of the two, his tunic simpler yet of higher quality linen. His eyes\nwere the same color as Petros\u2019s, but different. Absent the sparkle of good\nhumor. Filled instead with something she could not name. Something that at once\nmade her want to be better and despair of failing in that. She swallowed and\nlowered her gaze. \u201cI cannot thank you enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou need not thank us at all. Give\nyour gratitude to the Lord.\u201d Nikolaos angled away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Petros moved into her line of\nvision. \u201cMay we see you home, young Cyprus? The streets are not safe for a girl\non her own.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shivered, wrapped her arms\naround herself. That was a truth she knew now\u2014and one she would never forget. \u201cYes,\nplease.\u201d She fell in between the two boys, taking comfort in how tall they\ntowered, how confidently they strode. How normal they sounded as they jested\nand teased each other over her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They did not say how they found\nher. If they saw her running across the roofs or heard her scream. They did not\nask how she came to be doing so, or how she fell, if they had not seen it for\nthemselves. They did not ask what had brought her out on her own that day or\nwho her family was. They merely turned where she turned, their words a buzz in\nher head as they mentioned uncles and parents and bishops and something about\nEphesus and the sea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cyprus could not convince her hands\nto let go her opposite elbows. Her stomach hurt. Her eyes begged for the\nrelease of tears. She wanted to curl into her mother\u2019s side and let the twins\nfuss over her. And yet\u2026she also wanted to climb back onto that roof and shout\nto the world that God had healed her. That her nerves still sang with his\nglory. That her very blood felt charged with a song her ears had never heard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She would get in trouble with Abbas\nif she told what happened today\u2014but could she keep it to herself? Would that be\na sin?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Darting a glance up to her left, to\nher right, she nearly asked her saviors what to do. They would probably be\nhappy to tell her\u2014men always were, were they not? But she could no more speak\nthan she could let go of her arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Whatever consequences came, they\nwould be hers.<\/p>\n\n\n