Nightbringer (17 page)

Gina didn't like it but knew it would do no good to dispute it with him. This was beyond her—all of it. Besides that, she didn't want to leave the children alone any more than necessary. She nodded.

"Keep the MP-5 and let Melanchthon have the other. If it gets past me—"

"It won't." Gina smiled tightly.

"You bet."

With that he turned into the tunnel with the .45 in hand and the sheath of the sword pushed through his belt.

Only at the very end, when he was within the very shadow of darkness, did he stop. He stared into the gaping black as if it were the jaws of a dragon and racked the slide of the .45. Then, without looking back,
he vanished into the corridor.

It was an hour before he
returned, his face glistened with sweat, his form possessed a great aura of fatigue, and Gina restrained herself from asking what horror he had beheld.

In the aftermath of what Gina could only classify as something beyond, everyone worked with a far steadier calm, a far greater courage. Gina saw it in the way they spoke concisely and businesslike, securing the entrance
s, assisting the monsignor, tending to the wounded.

And if
Gina had never before witnessed genuine hero worship she saw it personified in the eyes of Josh and Rachel as they shadowed Cassius' every move. Even now Josh sat upon the table that had been so avoided earlier asking Cassius question after question which he continued to answer patiently, more often than not finding humor in the endless dialogue. Rachel, attempting to be more mature, asked Josh to "cease and desist," but the nine-year-old boy didn't seem to respect the god-like authority of his sister anymore.

Worried that Cassius might eventually become annoyed, Gina continued to search his face but
Cassius’ smile was easy and unforced. Nor did he seem imperious, as she knew he could be. He was almost like an uncle—someone who dropped in to tell fascinating stories and promised to return. She didn't know what Cassius was speaking of now, but she heard plenty of "oohs" and "ahhs" to judge the entertainment value.

Gina knew he was simply taking their minds from the situation and she was more grateful than she could communicate. So she continued to check progress on the radio—less than three hours, the monsignor reported—and
insure that the monks were safe.

As she exited the kitchen the Hall seemed to glow with an atmosphere not created by the lamps. She saw easy smiles and friendship and encouragement flowing like light. Where some had been crippled with despair, they worked strongly
and confidently. Others, previously terrified beyond encouragement, were encouraging others.

Gina enjoyed her smile.

It was amazing the difference a hero could make. But she was tired, deathly tired, and she knew it was because she could finally relax. She didn't want to sleep, but to rest her eyes, and lay down on a blanket spread across the dais. So, laying down the MP-5, she closed her eyes for just ... a little rest ...

She took heavy, comforting breaths
...

***

She saw the people, all wrapped in gray against a black sky and low black clouds. But she was not dressed as they were. No, she still wore the clothes she had worn in the abbey. Nor could she feel the sheets of ice that washed across the sky casting light only because of the torches raised from the hundreds and hundreds who wept and moaned as if they had lost a father.

Old men, holding torches aloft, were white with fear and did not move, as if they did not trust their legs not to collapse, and yet they could not turn their eyes from the low hill before them.

Gina looked to the hill and saw Roman soldiers working quickly over a man who lay upon a crucifix. The man seemed no different from any other, but not an inch of His body was unstained by the blood ever deeper than the royal red robes of the Roman soldiers. She could not clearly see the man's face but noticed a black ring of thorns crowning His head.

Thunder emerged from the core of the earth, and sprawling
spider webs of lightning flashed across the sky as if innumerable angels slashed in rage to tear through the clouds.

Never had Gina seen such an awesome display of fire so far beyond anything man could conjure. For if all the cities in the world had been set aflame at once they would have paled against it. She looked back at the haunting, surreal scene on the mound.

The soldiers had finished, and one of them—a man who seemed stronger than the rest—made an angry gesture to the others. Though Gina could not discern the Latin words she recognized harsh anger in his voice and knew that, for some reason, he was terrified and wanted to be done with this.

Without patience he struck the soldiers, ordering them to raise the crucifix quickly as lightning cascaded from heaven to earth and the air solidified with thunder. And the soldiers complied, immediately lifting the crucifix with ropes so that it stood between two more crucifixes where two men already hung in agony.

As it was lifted, hundreds fell to their knees in the mud, crying aloud, praying for death. Gina looked back toward the old man who had held the torch. He, too, was upon his knees, and then he sat back, the torch held so that no light shone.

Across the field itself a thousand more were spread headlong, blind to anything but the black water and the stench of this graveyard. Even children who surely could not have known this man were motionless, hands clasped tightly before them.

Gina looked back at the mound as the centurion whirled with a bolt of lightning that flashed from sky to earth so close that the sound struck with the light. And in the blazing, blinding instant Gina thought she herself had been struck and was dully amazed how she did not feel the wind that lifted shawl and cloak, the ice-rain that beat people to the ground or the mud that enclosed her feet. Yet she felt their fear—a fear so complete she could not move.

Upon the hill that resembled the white of a skull, the centurion continued to pace, unable to remain still. Nor did he speak as the three Roman soldiers about him finally fled the hill in fear, leaving their spears behind. They brutally knocked aside those who stood at the base and in moments were lost in the throng.

Gina knew ...

She looked directly into the face of the man who hung upon the center crucifix. His entire body was black now with blood, streaked with red only from fresh wounds and the crown of thorns had not been dislodged. It was amazing that He was still alive, but He was alive because His eyes, so completely unreadable, stared over the crowd.

Gina tried hard to read a single thought in those eyes. But she didn't want Him to look upon her—no, certainly not her. And there was no reason why He should. She was only one among a thousand here, and she did not even belong.

And then He looked upon her.

It was strange—His gaze. His eyes were dark beneath, like a man weary with suffering. But there was no pain as Gina recognized pain. No, His gaze was pure, somehow, with a knowledge and compassion beyond understanding. Even now, she thought, it was as if He held the end of all things in His power – as if He knew everything and feared nothing but felt the pain of those surrounding Him so deeply that no expression upon the earth was sufficient for His thoughts. And yet it was an expression so far different from those who felt nothing. No, it was the expression of one who so well knew the heart and mind and suffering of everyone before Him that His very substance was suffering.

Gina had wondered what it would be like to stare into the eyes of God...and now she knew. Just as she knew that if the man had wished, that crucifix would have instantly sprouted leafy green branches, and roots would have instantly stretched far into the earth. But what He was doing could not be done with life. So He was here to endure this as He endured every-thing else—for a purpose only He knew.

She almost stepped forward to scream at Him—to tell Him to change all this because He had the power! But His dark eyes only narrowed as the thought crossed her mind, and He smiled.

He would do as He would do.

Anger, rage, and then despair were all Gina felt as the crowd continued to writhe upon the ground. But she did not care or notice them any longer. This was the Hour of Darkness, and if they could not at least stand on their feet for His last hour, they deserved what they received. But Gina knew with all her soul to the death that she would never leave him …

She would stay with Him until
His hour had passed.

Imperial shouts parted the crowd as dozens of soldiers wearing purple and yellow sh
ouldered their way to the crucifix. And Gina saw the man nod faintly—a nod not of approval, but satisfaction. Then Jesus raised His face to the sky and roared—a roar that struck the place where thunder began and thunder returned from the cosmos in response, tearing apart the clouds to separate them as though God had blown a breath that could have laid the earth open to the marrow.

The centurion turned to gaze upon the gigantic display of strength that mocked the crucifix, the nails, the blood, and the power of
Man at once. It was such a display that hundreds fell back and even the centurion fell to a knee, staring up and uttering words that could not be heard. Then the thunder rolling through cloud and space faded quickly into the distance and Gina was aware of nothing but a dead man hanging upon the crucifix and rain falling gently, tears of the earth.

Never had she heard a silence as the silence of that moment. In all creation—as far as she could see—all eyes were upon the man, and no one spoke. Nor, as she faintly anticipated, did anyone move. It was as if they had been struck eternally immobile and would never, for the rest of their lives, leave this moment.

Movement
...

S
he turned her face to see huge soldiers mounted the base of the Hill of the Skull. Armed with spear and sword, they assumed control of the mound despite the centurion who stood alone at the base of the crucifix, staring angrily.

Gina heard the words clearly.

"We have come to break the legs of the one called Messiah!" the captain of the temple guard proclaimed. "Caiaphas insists that we insure He is dead!"

The centurion gazed over them.

"You cannot pass," he said.

The captain stepped forward. "Think not to defy us, Cassius! If He is dead, then your duty here is done! And, according to law, you have no further authority!"

"Yes," the centurion answered and drew his sword, "that is the law. But we have broken the greatest law today, so no other laws matter."

"You are a Roman. You have no right to protect His body, Cassius."

"You had no right to crucify Him, and yet you did." Cassius' eyes were saddened, and he shook his head. "I say again—you cannot pass."

At that, the captain looked over the mound. "Have you noticed, Cassius, that you are alone? Your men were not so stout of heart!"

Cassius said nothing.

"No more talk!" The captain made a rushing gesture to the thirty soldiers behind him. "Take him!"

With a long leap and the flashing hum of his sword, Cassius split the breastplate of the captain who dropped his spear and plummeted into the men behind him. And, as if the temple guards had been confronted by a legion, they quickly backed in a wide semicircle, half ascended upon the mound, half ringing this side of the hill.

Cassius stood where he had stood, sword raised. His voice was filled with a rage Gina would have expected to have come from the man who hung upon the crucifix
... had He been just a man.

"Touch Him and die!" he
rasped, lowering the sword for another blow. He stared savagely over them, face twisted.

Gina was still unable to see his eyes, but she knew that his voice was pure and without doubt.

"The first and last man to touch His body will go with Him to wherever He has gone!"

The guards hesitated and looked to one another.

"You exceed your authority!" The captain was tightly holding a hand against his chest. "I say it again! It is forbidden for anyone to interfere with our rituals! For even a centurion!"

"From this hour I am no longer a centurion!" Cassius shouted in a voice that swelled and fell over surrounding hills. "From this hour I am a servant of the Son of God who hangs
upon this crucifix!" He held their hostile gaze. "Will you die for Him?"

"Yes
," whispered Gina.

Even from where she stood, Gina felt the rage like invisible fire spreading from the mound, sweeping out with the speed of lightning to wash over everyone who watched or heard.

"Take him!" the captain commanded.

Thirty men were instantly clawing and scrambling up the mound to battle the centurion and the centurion descended to meet them. His slashing brand sent three of them reeling at once, sliding into the rain-soaked field, and Gina heard screams and howls of men grievously wounded. She knew that the centurion and the temple guards would die now because neither would retreat.

Then the centurion cast his sword aside and snatched up a spear—his or the captain's, Gina didn't know—and thrust it into the side of the man who hung upon the crucifix.

From a distance, it appeared that water and blood erupted from the wound, drenching the centurion. And at the impact the centurion cried out and staggered back. Then he fell heavily to a knee before struggling to gain his feet, roaring with shock and pain as he stood. He whirled instantly into the captain of the temple guard, spear held tightly in both hands.