2 The Judas Kiss (35 page)

             
“And you honestly think he’s just going to sit on his ass outside that building and wait for you to come back?” Stella challenged.

             
“No, which is why this whole kidnapping issue was so inconvenient,” Alex snapped at her.  “I was left with no choice.  I realize how important Ben is, even if I don’t quite understand why just yet.  I also understand that we need all the help we can get, and I’m pretty sure that despite who you are, you’re on our side.”

             
“You know,” she said with a resigned sigh.

             
“Hades made it pretty obvious, Persephone,” Alex said, shaking his head.  “And how long until Ben figures it out?”

             
“I don’t know,” she said miserably.  “I planned to tell him when I thought Nike had been defeated.  Then his sister was killed and I just couldn’t bring myself to say anything.”

             
“And now?” Alex pressed.  “Provided that he’s not dead before you get the chance.”

             
Stella pinked and looked out the window.  “When the time is right.”

             
“It’s always amazed me how human you Greeks are.  Never growing, never changing, doomed to repeat these mistakes over and over.  You never learn.  Well little girl, you’d better pray to the human god that someone out there is watching out for your beloved.  We’ve been gone a long time, and if he’s gone in on his own, I’m not sure there’s going to be anything left to rescue.”

Chapter Nineteen

              There was a subtle shift in the air, something was off and Mark paused in his scribbling.  His jaw was aching, but he could feel his body mending, stretching and repairing the bone where Nike had crushed it. 

             
He looked over at the god staring at the door, her arms tense at her side.  He knew she wouldn’t leave the room again, not for anything, and he could tell there were plenty of others upstairs ready to take on battle if need be. 

             
Still, something was stirring in the air, and it gave Mark a renewed sense of hope.  It was possible all wasn’t lost, that he hadn’t been forgotten or ignored.  It was possible that Stella, whoever she really was, had gotten to Ben and someone was on the way. 

             
Mark looked over at Jude who was still trembling on the floor.  Nike hadn’t bothered to move him this time, and Mark felt a sense of urgency to get whatever was starting, going at full force.  He was tired of sitting and feeling helpless.  He needed proper back up, he was useless on his own, but he knew with just the right amount of help, they would be able to overthrow her. 

             
He was finished being kidnapped, watching his friends tortured, possessed, or killed.  His powers had been nothing but a curse, he was no closer to finding out why he was the way he was, and he couldn’t hide anymore.  They were always going to find him now, in this modern world.  There were no more caves to run into, no more forests to disappear in.  No more monasteries that would cloak him from those who sought out his abilities.  Mark was exposed now, and there was no turning back.

             
“Get back to work!” Nike screeched, startling Mark out of his thoughts.  For good measure, she kicked Yehuda in the face.  Her stiletto made firm contact, and Mark heard a bone crack.  Yehuda didn’t move or react, but Mark was absolutely sure that Yehuda could feel that pain.

             
Wincing, he picked up his pen and turned back to the paper.  “You haven’t won yet,” he muttered through his clenched, aching jaw.

             
Nike crossed the room and put her hands on the side of his face, ripping his gaze away from the desk and squeezed his broken jaw until he cried out.  “I know,” she breathed at him.  “But if I go down, believe me Bible boy, I’m taking you with me.”

             
She shoved him away hard, and took a step back.  Mark took up the pen again, trying to ignore his agony and let out a breath.

             
“Get to work,” she hissed again, and slid down to the floor once more, eyes back on the door.  She was worried, and that was a good thing, because Mark was certain that it was about to come to an end.

~*~

Mark’s Story

              Yeshua healed, but at an agonizing pace.  The others, having watched him perform miracle after miracle, expected him to make such a recovery, and when it took him weeks just to stand on his own, they began to doubt whether or not he was ever going to fully recover.

             
Yehuda and I stayed on watch; quiet and careful, we kept to the outskirts of the group, listening to Yeshua speak to his men in low, hoarse tones.  Miriam stayed by his side, strong willed against the hard stares and constant questioning.  I admired her almost instantly, and I could see her succeeding her husband in leading men, if only they would let go of their fear of women in control.

             
All the while Yeshua was recovering, we would receive visitors from the surrounding villages, begging his assistance.  People were ill, dying, afflicted, and they wanted his healing.  They appealed with gifts, money, food and clothing, but Yeshua was far too incapacitated to be able to move and assist those in need.

             
I watched him grow more and more frustrated, his desire to help almost tearing at his flesh as he was forced to sit by the fire, drink broth and let his wife take care of his every need.  He clearly hated it, but there was nothing any of us could really do for him.

             
Nearly a month had passed when Yeshua woke from the dream.  Though no one else around us stirred, his gasping woke me, and I sat up, checking around to see if something was wrong.  He was sitting up, holding his knees up to his chest, his eyes wide but weary.

             
I crept around sleeping bodies to his side and stoked the fire until it flared up bright and warm, chasing away some of the damp chill from the cave’s dark corners.  “Are you okay?” I asked, once his breathing had evened out.

             
“These dreams,” he muttered, rubbing his face.  “They’re a plague, Makabi.  I don’t know what they mean.  These things, these creatures speak to me, and none of it makes any sense.”

             
“What do they look like?”

             
“They’re without form, just beings surrounding me, whispering things to me.  They’re frightened, hovering just beyond my reach and I can’t help them.  Sometimes I wonder if they are the souls of the afflicted waiting for me to heal them.”

             
I said nothing for a while, watching his face in the light of the fire.  He seemed healthier, his ruddy glow starting to return, and the dark circles under his eyes had receded some.  But he still looked tired, his eyes still haunted by the visions none of us could see, and I didn’t think there was anything I could say or do to help him.

             
“It’s worse, you know, when I heal them,” he said softly after some silence between us had passed.  “It feels like they’re pulling something out of me when I touch them, and the voices in my head become louder.  Sometimes it hurts, like I can feel their pain, their afflictions.  Afterwards I feel so weak, my body wants to lie on the ground for days, but there is no peace from the constant noise.  They want and want, and they take, but I get nothing back.  It’s driving me mad, Makabi.  I don’t know how to stop it.”

             
“I wish I could help shoulder your burden,” I said, and that was true.  No man deserved to carry a burden like that.  I wasn’t sure how much was true and how much was in his mind, but it was clear, Yeshua was suffering.  He was my brother, and I loved him, and watching him suffer like that was painful.

             
He said nothing else, and when the night passed into morning, he slept again.  A few days later was when it happened, when the most notorious moment of Yeshua’s life in recorded history took place.  The power shift.

             
Yeshua was sleeping, having been up again the previous night, and Cephas was worried about his brother.  Andrew had fallen ill, shivering and coughing up bits of blood.  None of us knew what to do, and Yeshua wasn’t waking up from the commotion.

             
Cephas, in a near panic, moved to Yeshua and took his bare arm, giving him a tug.  It was strange, the way it happened, and almost indescribable in words.  There was a sort of humming that rushed through the room, loud and encompassing, but the sound seemed to come from nowhere.  Yeshua gave a gasp then, his back arching, and Cephas flew backwards, landing on his backside, holding his hand as though he had been burned.

             
He stared up at the cave’s ceiling for some time as we all stood in shock, unable to move or speak.  Yeshua continued to lay on the ground, his body arched slightly, eyes closed, and Cephas seemed almost paralyzed.

             
Then, as we all stared, Cephas rose, his hand outstretched.  Approaching his brother, he knelt down, put his hand on Andrew’s forehead and closed his eyes.  A stillness passed over everyone, an unearthly quiet, like we’d all suddenly gone deaf, and then Andrew sat up, gasping, his skin dripping with sweat, and as Cephas fell backward, Andrew’s eyes blinked open and he looked around.

             
I took us only moments to realize that Andrew had been cured.  The fever was gone, he no longer coughed, and he seemed, if possible, stronger than he had been before the illness.  I was frightened, to tell the truth.  I’d heard of the things Yeshua could do, I’d been around him, touched his hand, and I knew he was different.

             
But this, seeing it first hand, the miracle of healing, something I couldn’t explain, it frightened me.  I had an inexplicable urge to run, to abandon everyone in the cave and disappear, never looking back.

             
I was brought back to myself when Yehuda approached me, grasping my forearm in a tight grip.  His face told me that he was just as frightened as I was, and he nodded toward the entrance of the cave.  We moved away from the men who grew increasingly louder with their exclamations of wonder and surprise, and the fresh air seemed to soothe my nerves as we stepped into the sun.

             
“What happened in there?” Yehuda demanded as we moved out of earshot.

             
“I don’t know,” I replied.  “You saw what I did.”

             
“I can’t take this, Makabi.  I can’t sit back and watch this madness any longer.  My brother has gotten something inside of him that I can’t explain and can’t understand, and it’s going to drive me mad if I stay here another day.”

             
He had a point, and the fear had gripped me enough to agree with him completely.  Enough was enough.  We were not part of this world, of Yeshua’s path, and this only brought us closer to madness.  We both agreed that it was time for us to go, and neither of us found ourselves surprised when no one, not even Yeshua, protested our departure.

             
The journey back home seemed to take far less time than the journey to find Yeshua, and when we arrived back in Galilee, we were welcomed happily.  I spent the entire first night awake, lying in Rachel’s arms, listening to the quiet of the evening, knowing I was safe in my home and that strange world couldn’t touch me again.

             
It took us some time to get back to work, back to our routine, to forget the things we’d seen, but it happened eventually.  More months passed, and though we heard rumors of Yeshua’s following, his teachings, and the increasing agitation by the Sadducee counsel, we felt safe and apart from it.

             
All of us in the family worried, of course, but there was little we could do.  It wasn’t until just before Pesach that everything fell apart, and by the time things got out of control, we were helpless to stop the events from unfolding.

             
It was Cephas who came for us, face weary and drawn.  He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his hands trembled as he lowered himself down into a chair at my home.  Rachel was over with her sister, the children were away, and it was only Yaakov, Yehuda and I in the room with Cephas as he told us of what happened.

             
“They rioted,” he said, pausing to gulp the wine Yehuda brought him.  “We were in Bethlehem, word had gotten around that a soldier’s daughter had died and Yeshua wanted to bring her back.  He’s been… out of sorts lately, like he was just before he disappeared on the mount.  The dreams have robbed him of sleep, and although he shares his powers with us, his own have been growing.  He brought that child back without touching her, without even nearing the home.  The crowds were closing in, and someone started shouting for his arrest.

             
“The crowd nearly trampled us to get to him, and we only barely made it to the safety of some caves in the hills nearby.  It took days for it to die down.  Some boys found us and started throwing rocks, screaming about Yeshua being a blasphemer.  Andrew had been in Jerusalem and when he returned, he told us that the High Priest has threatened Pilatus.  Arrest Yeshua or they’ll riot.  Pilatus is on warning from Caesar, one more riot and he’ll be stripped of everything and exiled.  He’s not talking sense anymore, your brother, and I’m not even sure he hears us when we’re speaking.  We’re all terrified for our lives.  We never thought it would end like this, Yehuda.  When we followed your brother, he promised us peace.  He promised the way of non-violence.  Now we face arrest and execution if we can’t stop him.”