David: Americans don’t talk about kingdoms all that much, but Jesus did. His primary message was about what he called the kingdom of God or the kingdom of heaven. Could you, my friend, explain to someone what Jesus had in mind with his kingdom emphasis?

Speaker 2: Or could you make that message understandable and interesting to children? Well, that’s what we attempted to do with the Tales of the Kingdom Trilogy of books. And you will hear one of those tales told this visit.

Intro: Welcome to the Before We Go Podcast featuring Dr. David Mains and his wife, noted author, Karen Mains. Here’s David and Karen Mains.

David: Karen, people will kind of hear my voice dominating this visit, and that’s because I’m going to be reading story one in the first of the three books in the Kingdom Tales series. So, let me balance things out by asking you a couple of questions as we get started, okay? What was our bottom line in writing these stories?

Karen: Oh, the bottom line was to take the concept of the kingdom of God, a theological concept, and make it intriguing and inviting and understandable to the reader.

David: And to specifically children of all ages.

Karen: Classic children’s literature is loved by all ages.

David: So we’re not talking infants. We’re not talking two, three years, but we’re talking young children, and then all the way up through adults into their late years, which is where we are now, okay? With those words and then our previous Kingdom podcasts as a background, here is story one and book one of the Kingdom trilogy. It’s called The Enchanted City. When it’s done, we’re going to talk about it and what we were hoping to get across.

Once upon a time, not long ago and not far away, there was a boy, no longer a child and not yet a man who lived in the Enchanted City. The boy, Scarboy and his younger brother, little child, were not like the other children in the city. Yesterday their mother had died and they had immediately been taken into custody by the Enchanter’s men. Rumors said the enchanter kept orphans to stoke the huge fires that burned deep in the hold of the Degoda, the temple where the Enchanter lived and ruled.

A burner, one of the secret police who carried out the Enchanter’s bidding, had brought the boys to Burning Place, a vast square of ashes. There they would watch the funeral ceremonies for their mother, whose body rested on an ornate beer in the middle of the field. The thought of his mother choked the older boy. She had been so beautiful, as beautiful as the daughter of a King. “There is a King,” his mother had always insisted, “a real King.” She believed the ancient tales, even though signs were posted all over Enchanted City. “There is no such thing as a King, death to pretenders!”

But his mother had become ill, as so many did in the foul air of Enchanted City. In the last days before she died, she slipped in and out of the fever. Often telling Scarboy the ancient tales from her childhood. “Once a great King ruled our city, she had said, all the people thought him beautiful and served him willingly. But the Enchanter came and deceived the people and put a spell on the city. The King was exiled. Those who would find him must hunt for him in the place where trees grow. Ooompapa, Ooompapa, Ooompapa din!, the death drums interrupted the boys’ memories. Now he heard the ceremonial bells soared to the hems of the fire priest robes. He heard the mourners’ chants, then a swish, an explosion. The funeral flames had been ignited, as the swirling swords of fire leaped toward the sky. A long line of shining cars, low and shadowy and quiet, moved toward the field and parked on the edge of burning place.”

The boys’ heart pounded. The Enchanter had come to the funeral ceremony. Scarboy watched the tall man step out into the field of ashes. The boy saw the amber hair that curled and caught the light of the blazing fire. A handsome man most thought, but Scarboy’s mother had said that the look in his eyes was cruel.

The boy took little child’s hand and held him close. The Enchanter was wearing the robe of fire, a mastery of woven color. Red and yellow patterns interwoven with orange and white and blue. Burners, each holding a glowing poker in their hands, climbed from the other cars. Soon the tall, proud man was surrounded by these guards. The Enchanter ruled Enchanted City with fire. He loved fire, loved its power. He called it to himself and used it to cast spells. Long ago he had decreed night to be day and day to be night because he was so jealous of the light of the sun.

Now the people of Enchanted City rose from their beds to work and play and eat when the moon, a lesser light, came up. They went to sleep at dawn. Mothers tucked their children beneath the covers and said, “Morning, morning, see you in the night.”

The Enchanter turned and looked across the ash field at the two boys as the drums beat out his personal rhythm. Din, din, diridin. “Are these the orphans, he called,” pointing at them. A burner nodded. With quick, long strides the tall man covered the field between them. Burners marched behind the Enchanter in formation, each held high a poker which was now smoldering with hot power. Scarboy covered his cheek with his hand. The Enchanter faced the boys. The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Suddenly the Enchanter reached down and removed Scarboy’s hand from his cheek. Then the ruler lifted the boys’ chin.

“What is that on your face? Why were you not outcast from the city?” The boy squirmed. He wanted to scream for fear. He wanted to kick and run. The man’s touch was hot. He struggled to keep calm. “It’s not a disease, Sir. There was I born with defect, an accident, an accident at branding. It was the truth.

Long ago, as was the custom when a child turned five, burners had taken all the children of Enchanted City, who were his age, to brand their hands with a hot poker. “Your signed with the mark of the Enchanter,” the men had cried, “never forget you belong to the keep of the great burner.” The boy had screamed, bitten and kicked. In the struggle, the cruel brand had fallen, either by accident or by purpose, on his cheek.

He would bear the scar the rest of his life. People always looked at him and gasped. They turned their eyes away. Children pointed and shouted, “Scarboy, hey you, Scarboy!” Soon he learned to cover his face with his hand. Now, Scarboy remembered his mother’s final words. “Take Little Child and escape, escape before branding time, before Little Child turns five, escape before the Enchanter comes.” But it was too late.

The Enchanter held the boy’s chin with a vice-like grip. The man bent close and the boy shuddered at the waves of heat. “Your mother foolishly believed in Kings,” the Enchanter whispered. “How did he know that?”, Scarboy wondered. He noticed that the burner’s pokers flashed a sudden hot red at the words. The Enchanter’s lips smiled kindly, but his eyes were all malice.

“And what does her son, her orphan son, believe?” The boy pulled his chin out of the man’s clutch. He covered his cheek again with his hand. He cast his eyes to the ground. “I have never seen a King sire own me an Enchanter.” The cruel eyes narrowed even more. “Seeing is believing. See that you keep it so orphan, keep it so.”

With that, the great burner turned on his heel. The guard marched beside and the drums paced, din, din, thredin, and they were gone. Scarboy’s lungs screamed for cool air. His heart timed. “Escape, escape, escape.” He would rather die than be a slave of the Enchanter.

But it was too late for such thoughts. Scarboy felt a strong hand on his elbow. The butt end of an iron poker was shoved into his side by the burner, whose eyes were hollows of darkness, empty even of the dancing light of reflected flames. “Come,” he said, “to the orphan keeper with you.” The three moved away from burning place, down little streets, past narrow buildings. Night lights stood on poles and lit the way. Day was far off. When they came to the market, Scarboy could see the jumble of bins and awnings. He could hear haggling and barter.

The burner had released his hold, but it did not matter. His heart poker still jabbed Scarboy’s side, and the boy knew he could never outrun his captor. Little Child whimpered, and Scarboy lifted him up. Suddenly the power failed. “Lights out! Lights out!”

People cried. Power outs were frequent, but at this precise moment it seemed like a miracle. The Enchanted City needed man-made power to live by and to light the night. Everything ran on energy from furnaces beneath the city, which were stoked with fuel. Buses and cars and buildings were attached to underground cables, but the fuel supply was always running low.

The man-made power was always failing. In power outs, traffic stopped. Homes and places of business became dark. The clocks ran off time, on time, in between time, even played and worked. Sometimes the lights failed right in the middle of the night, thinning just when they were needed most.

But Scarboy knew this power-out was his chance to escape. He bolted away from the burner, carrying Little Child safely in his arms. “Run away! Run away!” The burner shouted, but no one heard him in the confusion. Horns blared, push carts banged against each other, vendors yelled, “Hey, get that thief! Hands off my stuff!” As vagrants took advantage of the power of failure to acquire food, everyone screamed, “Lights! Lights!”

And amid all this din, Scarboy made a successful getaway. He ran with his little brother in his arms, ran until his heart felt like bursting. When the power came back on Scarboy stopped his frantic running. He had lost his way, and he knew that soon the burners would come looking for them. The Enchanter would not be cheated out of what he owned. Fortunately, dawn was coming. All would obey the edict, sleep in the light, except the burners who would keep hunting even though the bright light hurt their eyes. If only Scarboy could stay awake and hide until he found the way out. But what was the way out? Could it be that there was a King, as his mother had said? Would it even be possible to find the place where the King lived?

Scarboy crept into a hole beneath the porch steps of a nearby house so he could buy time to think. It’s not dark in the place where the trees grow, his mother had said. But there were no trees in the city, because all had been chopped for a fuel. Scarboy knew trees grew in forest. He had heard there was a forest somewhere outside the city. If only he knew the way.

A time-man walked by calling the hour. Two more hours before day. Suddenly Scarboy heard the drums. They beat loud and angry. The boy knew they were drumming about him. There was no safety now. No hiding place. Every shadow could hold a burner. The boy found a little money in his pocket. He had heard that taxi drivers could get you where you needed to go if anyone could. But would a taxi be safe?

Surely the drivers knew the message of the drumbeats. Scarboy had to take a chance. He grabbed his brother’s hand, carefully looked up and down the street, then hailed a cab. “Can you get us to the end of the city where the forest is?”, he asked the cabbie as he pulled up to the curb. The driver looked the two boys over with shrewd eyes. “Sure. Sure, he said, but hurry, curfew’s coming. Pay in advance. Refund only in case of power failure.” Scarboy took a deep breath and the boys climbed in. The taxi driver set his meter and connected the power. Screeching through little travel streets, he made his way quickly to a huge garbage dump on the edge of the city.

Scarboy had never been there. “End of the line,” the man said urgently, “passengers out.” Scarboy felt hesitant. “Is this near where the trees grow?” The driver leaned over the seat and opened the back door. “The line only goes this far. This here’s the dump.” Then he winked an eye and said, “if you look hard enough, you’ll find where the trees grow.” The boys climbed out and as the cabs sped away Scarboy thought he heard the man shout, “to the King.” “To the King,” the phrase echoed through Scarboy’s mind. But he had little time to wonder about the cab driver’s strange farewell for the familiar sounded the drums. He interrupted his thoughts and forced him to look around for a safe hiding place. Or better yet, the beginning of a forest. Little Child began to cough and whine. The two boys sat on the cinder road. A gray line of light split the sky above the world. Little child fell asleep, but Scarboy couldn’t. He took his brother’s arms and began to walk. The sound of the distant drums motivating him, hoping for daylight to come. He forced himself to continue one step at a time for what seemed like hours. “Something is wrong here,” Scarboy thought. In the dim light he realized that certain shadows were moving. Scarboy was sure he saw a distant form creeping his way. “That one there and that one.” The gray in the sky spread. He could see better by its light over the moving his way.

“Burners,” thought Scarboy. Without a word they crept silently closer. One there, another there. Scarboy’s knees were weak with fear. He was surrounded on three sides by an advancing menace. He could see them more clearly as the sky began to brighten. The message drums were sounding far off from within the city, but they were beating faster and faster and faster. Quickly Scarboy stood erect and faced the shadows. He had not come this far to give up now.

He balanced Little Child in one arm and waved the blade at his pocket knife, defiantly with the other. “No,” he shouted, “I will not be your man. If there is a king I will find him. If there is a way I will hunt it out, I will not be silent. I will fight you to the last.” Then silence.

Scarboy heard a strange and musical humming which seemed to come from the other side of an old gate he had not noticed. At that same moment they broke behind him. The sky flushed pale pink and warm to rose. The burners paused. Their eyes could not bear the bright light. They stopped, shielding their eyes and tried not to look up at the ever-brightening sun.

In that moment of advantage Scarboy turned and ran. He raced with Little Child in his arms toward the closed gate away from the Enchanter’s stunned henchman. While weeds grew around the stone gate post, the wrought iron latch was rusted. Breathless the boy stopped and rattled the gate. Just then the sun blazed, rating above them and the gate began to creak slowly open. Waiting impatiently for entrance the boy glanced up at the arch. Words were chiseled in the old moss-covered stones: “Welcome all who hunt.”

Scarboy squeezed himself and his brother into the ever-widening entrance. He was breathless. Little Child was heavy. How could he close the gate and where could he hide next? “You called?” asked a voice behind him. The boy whirled to face the funniest looking man he had ever seen. The character was tall and wore a small tree on his head for a hat. His clothes were a color between green and brown and gray. A giant set of keys dangled from a vine which circled his waist. He had long white hair and a long white beard and both of them were tucked into his belt. His coat had pockets, and his vest had pockets, and his pants had pockets, all filled with pruning shears and scissors and crows. The man was holding a hatchet carved with strange markings in front of his face. Slowly he lifted it with both hands above his head and Scarboy noticed that the musical hum was coming from the hatchet. The gate slammed shut. The drums outside stopped beating. All was quiet.

Scarboy was aware of only one sound. Chirp. Chirp. What was that? A bird singing? The sound fit his mother’s description but he had never heard this melody before since there were no wild things in Enchanted City. He looked down at his brother in his arms. Little child was as quiet as if he were in a deep coma. “Welcome, hunter!” the strange man said and chuckled. He hung the hatchet on his belt. Every move he made sounded with jingling. Tools bumping against tools bumping against still other tools. “Are you the King?” Scarboy wondered aloud. “No,” said the man laughing. He walked close and lifted the heavy child from Scarboy’s arms. “I am one of the King’s men. I am caretaker and you are hero. Welcome to Great Park.”

“That’s not my name,” the boy protested. His empty hand moved by habit to cover his scar. The man chuckled again. That’s for your name that you know. He said then turned and walked down the path. Scarboy watched him. Every now and then caretaker took a little hop. When he did, every inch of him jingled and chimed. The boy was astonished at this silly creature. A king’s man, he thought, his wonder increased. Caretaker stopped and looked back at him. “Come,” he called. “We will go to mercy.” Scarboy watched the man dance down the path. Then he noticed that full day had come. The boy looked around at the trees and bushes and glorious spreads of green grass, all growing things.

He took a deep breath and filled his lungs with cool air. Hero, he would wait and see if such a name were his. A King’s man? But where then was the King? He would keep watch for a king. After all, seeing as believing as the Enchanter had sent, one thing he did know, his mother had been right. It was not dark in this place where trees grew. There was hardly any darkness at all.

The boy hurried to follow after caretaker, feeling in his heart as though he had discovered something he had been hunting after all of his life. And so, the boy escaped from the perilous Enchanted City because he was a hunter at heart and hunters always find more than they know.

David: Well you hear it and it’s always little fresh parts that you didn’t realize were there that you had written and we had talked together about.

Karen: You know most of children’s literature, at least in the past, talks about orphan children or someone who has lost a child being raised by their aunt. It’s very much part of the classic children’s literature of the past and I think what that does is it evokes responsiveness because most of us, even when we’re adults, have sort of an orphan feeling somewhere in ourselves. I think that’s why classic literature begins that way so frequently.

David: As these tales begin, we were trying to say that two radically different kingdoms are in constant conflict vying for people’s allegiance. The Bible talks about the kingdom of light and the kingdom of darkness. We talked about the Enchanted City and the Great Park. Are these real or make-believe, Karen?

Karen: Well, the stories are make-believe but they’re built on reality and if you don’t think we have a kingdom of darkness that’s real and threatening and trying to engulf us and swallow us then you’re not reading your newspapers or listening to the media because it is very real.

David: Next visit I will read another story. This will be number two in book one. There are 12 stories in each of the books and that story is called the Orphan Keeper’s Assistance. Okay it’s just kind of fun to hear them again. I’m not going to read all of them. That’ll be all for a while but we’ll continue to talk about the kingdom of God in future visits as well.

Karen: That’s great.

Outgo: You’ve been listening to the Before We Go podcast and if you would like to write to us please send us an email at the following address hosts@beforewego.show that’s all lower case letters hosts@beforewego.show. If you’ve enjoyed this podcast please remember to rate, review and share on whatever platform you listen. This podcast is copyright 2025 by Mainstay Ministries, Post Office Box 30, Wheaton, Illinois 60187.