*

“You, oh king, are the king of kings…”

The statue erupted from the earth this time without a trace of iron or bronze, its gilt surface scattering rainbows across the dreamscape. The proud head reared itself above the plain of Dura like an image of the hero-king Marduk.

“You have dominion and power and might and glory, oh king…”

The voice rumbled from the statue’s golden lips, growling, hungry. Something boiled up in Nebuchadnezzar’s belly, a fierce fire that had simmered for months, gnawing on those words and turning them over and over until they were hot coals in the king’s mind. He shivered, and the hungry flames roared.

“YOU, OH KING, ARE THE KING OF KINGS…”

These were the same words spoken by the Hebrew youth. The boy with the eyes of a god, eyes that saw all things hidden and secret. He had spoken of power, of the greatness of Babylon and its king. Shivering, shivering, Nebuchadnezzar stared up at the statue – the image of himself casted in gold.

We are the greatest kingdom, the kingdom of gold. The voice whispered on the breeze like an echo of the statue, sibilant and seductive. We are the ruler of the beasts of the field and the birds of the air…This is our future. This is our truth.

The fire blazed, gnawing the king’s lungs and heart. His mouth gaped, sucking air to fill his burning lungs.

We are the kingdom of gold…

The vision began to fade, blurring into ambivalent gray. One last command whispered on the false wind before the dreamscape disappeared.

Don’t tell Daniel.

Nebuchadnezzar leaped out of his bed, his dagger clenched in a white fist. The dozing guards snapped to attention in seconds. “Oh King, live forever,” they barked in unison, eyes wide and panicked like a pair of gazelles.

The king shivered and waved them away, staring at the dagger in his shaking hand.

You, oh king, are the king of kings…

Behind his eyes the image of a golden statue danced in the sun.

*

Mishael paced in his chamber, his eyes shut and his hands buried in black curls. Daniel watched his friend, worry flickering between his brows. Dark, ocean-deep eyes skimmed the young Hebrew’s agonized face. “My friend,” Daniel said softly, “please, what’s bothering you?”

“I don’t know,” Mishael whispered. “Something…something…” He struggled for words, shying away from the ones that too often surfaced in his mind: I am afraid. But Daniel knew. Daniel always knew.

“Yahweh is greater than your fears and doubts,” the young man said.

Mishael shook his head violently. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Daniel smiled. “King’s orders. The ambassador of Assyria wants to meet with us concerning a treaty. I’ll be back in three weeks.”

Mishael gnawed his lip, biting back the protest. Something dark was slithering from Babylon’s walls and streets; he could feel it like a rising storm. “Do you sense it? Ever since the king issued the building project…”

Daniel frowned. News of the building project had disturbed him as well, especially since nobody seemed to know what it meant. The king had posted guards around the plain of Dura, charged with keeping trespassers from the building site for the two years. “I trust your judgment, my friend,” the young man said quietly, “but I cannot deny the king. I will uphold you in prayer throughout my travels…I can do no more.”

Mishael exhaled loudly. “I need nothing else. Your prayers shake the very Gate of the Gods.”

Daniel chuckled. “No more than yours, Mishael.”

“My prayers are weak.”

“Yahweh can do much with a weak prayer,” Daniel replied gently.

The door opened and a eunuch entered the chamber, bowing. “My Lord Belteshazzar, the caravan is about to depart,” he intoned.

Daniel flashed Mishael a broad grin. “I must leave you now, Meshach,” he said, using his Chaldean name in the servant’s presence. “But I will daily lift you up before the Most High. The Lord bless you.”

“And you,” Mishael said miserably, watching as Daniel donned his cloak and left the room.

The boy began to pray.

*

“I don’t see the purpose of all this secrecy,” Azariah grumbled, jogging to catch up with his two friends. “What is the king hiding in Dura?”

“Not even Daniel knew,” Hananiah said, barely bottling his enthusiasm. “But all of Babylon has been speculating for two years now. Some say that it’s another garden for the king’s wife.”

“How many gardens does one woman need?”

Mishael shivered.

“Well, we’ll learn soon enough.” Hananiah craned his neck, trying to see over the marble walls of the city. A glint of metal flashed on the horizon, the only hint of what now dwelled in Dura.

Three litters waited for the Hebrews outside the apartments. Mishael climbed underneath the silk canopy, smiling shyly at the slaves who stood silently at attention. “The plain of Dura, please.”

Summer heat hung heavy and still under a washed-out sky. The musky scent of perfumed nobles soaked the air as the king’s personal friends and servants surged toward the building site for the unveiling of Babylon’s best-kept secret.

Something dark…

The tall pillar of gold materialized from the heat haze. Eyes of fire flashed in a strong, proud face – a face Mishael knew well because he had served it for three years.

...slithering from the walls and streets…

Azariah looked back at Mishael and grinned wryly. “Yet another subtle reminder of the king’s glory. I told Hananiah it wasn’t a garden.”

Mishael’s blood pounded like thunder through his skull. Oh God Most High…Yahweh, Adonai, Jehovah-Jireh…

Something dark, like a rising storm…

“Music!” Hananiah’s laughter floated back from the front of the procession as he slid from the litter. “Mishael, Azariah, there’s going to be music! Do you see the flute players? The harps?”

But Mishael could only see the statue and the furnace that blazed behind it.

...Elohim, El Elyon, Lord Roi…

“I wish Daniel could be here.” Azariah barked a laugh. “He would appreciate this opulent display of –” His back stiffened as his voice ground into silence.

Darkness…

“What is it?” Azariah whispered. “What…Hananiah, Mishael, do you…? Am I going mad? What is it?”

“Darkness,” Mishael croaked. “The darkness rising…like a storm…”

The trumpet thundered across the plain, drawing thousands of eyes to the base of the statue.

Cloaked in purple and gold, the king stood at the feet of the golden image next to the roaring furnace where it was forged, and he smiled. The three boys shivered.

El Shaddai, Redeemer, Creator…

Gracefully, Nebuchadnezzar gestured to the herald, who unrolled the thick, creamy parchment and began to read.

“This is what you are commanded to do, O peoples, nations and men of every language…”

The darkness giggled, shrieked, tore through Mishael’s mind, as tangible as the summer breeze. He shut his eyes. “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one…”

“As soon as you hear the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp, pipes…”

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength…” he murmured.

“…you must fall down…”

“Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one…”

“…and worship the image of gold. Whoever does not fall down and worship will immediately be thrown…”

The darkness roared.

“…into the blazing furnace.”

Demon-laughter screeched. The darkness growled. Furnace flames flickered against gold.

Mishael could not breathe. His lungs had withered in his chest.

“Worship…the statue?” Hananiah croaked. “But…we can’t.”

The first commandment, taught to tiny Hebrew boys and girls, recited at the synagogue, rehearsed each night before bed. “I am the Lord your God…You shall have no other gods before me.” It was burned into their minds, branded onto their hearts. It was more than blood and marrow. It was everything.

“We can’t.” Azariah was pale, tight-lipped.

“Then we will die,” Hananiah whispered.

“We will not die as cowards,” Azariah said softly. “We will die as men. Men of God.”

Something swelled in Mishael’s mind, silencing the demons for a moment. “My God is able to deliver us,” he said quietly.

Azariah’s stone-strong eyes softened with tears as they fell across his youngest friend’s face. “Mishael…please…you must be prepared…this will probably not end in a miracle.”

“My God is able!” he screamed, drowning out the darkness.

The music began to play, and the Plain of Dura flattened.

Within the sea of prostrate bodies, the silhouettes stood stiff and unshakable against the sun. Fire ripped through Nebuchadnezzar’s belly, blazing like acid. The statue’s golden eyes flashed.

“Bring them to me,” he hissed.

Mishael felt their iron fingers clamp onto his shoulder, felt their spitting words in his ears, felt their darkness and their demon-laughter. But he could not hear them.

You are the Most High, Yahweh, Adonai, El Roi, Elohim…

Nervous eyes skittered towards the Hebrews as they were led to Nebuchadnezzar. A snarling, inhumanly angry Nebuchadnezzar.

“Is it true, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego,” he growled, pointedly using their Chaldean names, “that you do not serve my gods or worship this image of gold I set up?”

You are Redeemer, Elyon, Jehovah-Jireh, the God Who Saves…

“Now, when you hear the sound of the music, if you are ready to fall down and worship the image I made, very good.” He leaned back on his throne, eyebrows raised mockingly. “But if you do not worship it, then you will be thrown immediately into the furnace. And then what god will rescue you from my hand?” A grin twitched at the edges of his mouth. The reflected flames flashed in his black eyes.

For a long moment there were no words to speak in the mocking face of fear. But the words were pounding in Mishael’s mind, insistent, defiant, desperate. Fear needed to hear those words.

“O Nebuchadnezzar,” Mishael said, his voice carrying across the prostrate plain, “we do not need to defend ourselves before you. If we our thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us, and He will rescue us from your hand.”

The darkness was silent. Fear was silent. Nothing moved or breathed but Mishael’s words – moving, whispering, raging across Dura.

“But even if He does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship that image of gold.”

And the fire exploded.

The king’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. “Burn them!” Nebuchadnezzar hissed. The guards, obeyed instantly, trembling and terrified dragging bellows toward the towering furnace. The extra oxygen pumped into the blazing oven, feeding the king’s hatred and the fire’s hunger.

You are the great I AM, the Shepherd, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob…

Heat licked their hair and clothes like jackals in the desert, starving for scraps of decayed meat.

"I am able to save you..."

There were plenty of words now. The boys’ voices poured into the heavens like incense, spilling psalms and prayers into the skies along with the smoke.

“Shut them up!” the king screamed.

A rough shove, heat, light – and the fiery furnace swallowed them.

But there were words even within the fire. There were songs that rose from the death sentence and prayers born from the fear. All of Babylon could hear them, seeping from the light and the heat and washing Dura in worship. Not screams. Not sobbing. Worship.

“You are Jehovah-Jireh, Elohim, the God Who Saves!”

Nebuchadnezzar stared into the furnace, his face bleached of color. The heat and the light scorched his skin, but there was another Light within the light, a hotter Fire than the flames. “How many…?” he said hoarsely. “How many men…?”

When they stepped from the flames, unscathed and unhurt, the Babylonians assembled on the Plain of Dura were on their feet and the king was prostrate before the fourth Man in the fire.

And Mishael was laughing.