The Lost Apostles (33 page)
“I confess my sins and ask for forgiveness,” she murmured. “I was the sister of Joseph Caiaphas and the wife of Judas Iscariot, the man whose mistress was Martha of Galilee, a female apostle of Jesus. I did terrible things.”
“The Savior forgives you,” Lori said.
Tears streamed down Dixie Lou’s face. “Blinded by jealousy, I stabbed Martha to death, in front of my brother and Judas. The following evening, after the Passover meal, I brought Roman soldiers to the Garden of Gethsemane, where they arrested Jesus and nine she-apostles who were with him. Only the hand of God prevented all of the male apostles from being arrested as well, and two she-apostles—Mary Magdalene and Veronica. But they were not there.”
Lori had never beheld such anguish as she saw now on the face of this woman whom she loathed for causing so much grief, not only to her personally, but to the entire world.
“From my brother I obtained the key to the women’s cell, and with the blood of Martha still on my blade I stabbed nine she-apostles as they slept. It was
katilta
—slaughter. Afterward, I saw Jesus in the courtyard of the prison. Somehow he’d gotten out of his own cell. Unarmed and completely unafraid of the knife I waved at him, he approached me. In shame, I dropped it and ran away.”
Lori didn’t know what to say. The immensity of the story seemed to weigh Dixie Lou down, causing her entire body to sag. “After everything I’ve done, it’s too late for me,” she said. “I am eternally damned.”
“It’s never too late to seek forgiveness,” Lori said. She wanted to reach out and comfort the pathetic woman, but held the sword steady, remaining wary of this mortal enemy.
Two she-apostles survived the slaughter
, Lori thought.
Mary Magdalene and Veronica.
Thoughts rushed upon her. Lori’s mind sped up, and puzzle pieces snicked into place, based upon what she had learned from Martha of Galilee, Dixie Lou Jackson, and other sources: Two days after his crucifixion, Jesus rose from the dead, and was first seen by the only surviving she-apostles Mary Magdalene and Veronica, along with other women. Some of the others were undoubtedly disciples of Jesus, among a large group of his followers. It struck Lori how important women must have been to Jesus, if he appeared to them first. Perhaps it was a signal of what was to come. . . .
Her cheeks wet with tears, Dixie Lou raised her face to the heavens. “Forgive me, Lord,” she wailed, in the most pitiful of tones.
The door burst open, and NATO soldiers rushed in.
With a sudden movement, Dixie Lou lunged forward into the sharp tip of the sword. It pierced her chest.
Startled and horrified, Lori pulled the weapon back, but the hilt had slammed against her shoulder, giving support to the blade when Dixie Lou rammed into it. She slumped to the floor, bleeding.
She looked dead, but Lori didn’t take any chances. Dropping the weapon, she gathered up the baby and ran with her into the corridor, then sent a soldier back to check on the mother, who was groaning and beginning to move.
* * *
As blood flowed from her body, Dixie Lou thought back, questioning the poor decisions she had made in this lifetime. If the Pope had been where he was supposed to be, she could have taken control of him and used him as a bargaining chip, to gain an advantage over her enemies. But she had placed Deborah Marvel in charge of him, even after suspecting Deborah’s motivations and loyalties.
I set a trap for myself, and walked right into it. I did it on purpose.
Deep in her soul, Dixie Lou knew she had to atone for the misdeeds of a prior life, and for the misdeeds of this one. Her Judgment Day could not be avoided; the time of reckoning had arrived.
The guilt of two thousand years. I need to be free of it!
With her last bit of strength, she realized that she was not Dixie Lou Jackson or even Salome, the sister of an ancient High Priest. Instead, she was a wandering, tormented soul, longing to be free of her accursed existence.
These were her final thoughts . . . in this incarnation.
* * *
Peering through peepholes from concealed passageways and rooms, Deborah Marvel looked out on every floor and corridor of the palace, and finally satisfied herself that the fighting was over. On the third floor, she saw NATO soldiers carry the bleeding, lifeless body of Dixie Lou Jackson on a stretcher. She heard them say how she had died. Female fighters either lay dead or were surrendering.
A tear ran down Deborah’s cheek. Not so much for Dixie Lou Jackson, but more for what had happened to United Women of the World. The sisterhood had begun with such promise, and it seemed a terrible tragedy for it to fall into complete disgrace, on an immense, global scale with billions of eyes watching.
Under Dixie Lou’s command, the UWW had committed suicide with her.
Sadly, Deborah returned to the room where Pope Rodrigo waited. “You’re free,” she told him. “The Vatican is liberated.”
As he rose to his feet, stooping under the low ceiling, he looked straight at her and vowed, “I will not forget this.”
At first, Deborah thought he intended to avenge himself on her and on the tattered remnants of her organization, but soon she would come to realize that he had something entirely different in mind.
Chapter 43
Some people claim that Dixie Lou Jackson made one of the greatest blunders of military history in not learning enough about the Castel Sant’Angelo tunnel system. But they are wrong. She could not have held out in the Vatican forever anyway, and eventually she would have been dispatched from her roost—either through force of arms or attrition.
—Paolo Jacobi,
Crisis Revisited
Four days passed. . . .
With the blessing of Pope Rodrigo, Deborah Marvel called a meeting of the Council of Cardinals, which consisted of eight women, all former UWW councilwomen who were now in charge of the Holy She. They held the session in the ancient fortress of Castel Sant’Angelo. At the urging of the pontiff, the owner had permitted them to lease part of the ancient fortress on favorable terms—turning former art galleries and apartments over to them. Fulfilling his promise, the Pope had not forgotten Deborah Marvel’s good deed in rescuing him.
As part of the agreement, the commandeered jewels in the hilt of the Sword of She God had been returned to the Vatican, and the legendary UWW weapon—fitted with only its original jewels now—had been locked away, to be brought out one day and restored as a museum piece.
On a wide, hardwood floor stage, the female cardinals sat in black leather chairs arranged in a half circle, facing an unoccupied red leather chair. Separate from them, but on the stage, sat Fujiko Harui, wearing a green-and-orange robe like the others. An audience of around fifty, mostly women, looked on, including Fujiko’s daughter Siana, Liz Torrence, and Rea Janeg.
Lori sat in a spectator chair at the front, and as she waited for the proceedings to begin, her father and Alex were brought in and given seats on either side of her. Alex’s curly black hair stuck out at the sides. Uncertain of why the three of them had been invited here, she exchanged troubled glances with her father, who wore his customary officer’s uniform. It occurred to her that she had never seen him wearing anything else, not in photos or in person. But she had not really known him very long.
From the center of the stage, Deborah Marvel called for a resolution. Rising to her feet, Nancy Winters said, “I call for the disbanding of the Holy She, and restoration of United Women of the World. I also call for reformation of the council, to consist of nine members, including Fujiko Harui—and for the council to eventually grow to the sixteen specified in the original charter, when qualified candidates can be located.”
The proposal passed unanimously, after which Deborah Marvel was selected by vote of the council to take Dixie Lou Jackson’s place.
Newly installed as Chairwoman, Deborah peered down to the front row of the audience, and spoke in a throaty voice. “Please rise, Lori Vale, Alex Jackson, and Zack Markwether.”
The three of them stood.
“We wish to commend all of you for your bravery in the liberation of the Vatican, and especially for saving the life of the last she-apostle.”
Deborah paused, tapping a pen on the armrest of her chair. “Is it true that you are with child?” she asked, looking at Lori.
“Yes,” Lori said, without shame.
“And the father is present?”
“I don’t want to say,” Lori answered. She glanced sidelong at Alex, then at her own father, smiling at both of them. She had explained everything to them, and they believed her. Or at least, they
said
they did. The truth seemed unbelievable, and she wasn’t sure when—or if—she would ever make it public. Maybe, despite what Mary Magdalene had told her, it hadn’t happened the way she thought. Maybe Dixie Lou Jackson did something to Lori when she was her prisoner, under some sort of sedation that the teenager didn’t realize had been administered.
“That’s understandable,” Deborah said. “Forgive us for prying, but you’re a very special person to us, and we just want to know you.”
Lori nodded.
“Tell us about Dixie Lou’s death,” Deborah said.
After taking a deep breath and gathering her composure, Lori summoned a memory of Martha of Galilee’s eerie words—and the confession of Dixie Lou Jackson—in which Lori learned things that no other apostles, male or female, had ever revealed before. Lori described the startling vision she had experienced upon touching the child Martha, and how Judas Iscariot had lied to Martha about Jesus, calling him a false prophet and tricking her into joining the betrayal plot.
Then Lori related the stunning additional information that Dixie Lou had told her, the terrible crimes she—as Salome—had committed against the female apostles.
“She
murdered
ten of them?” Deborah exclaimed.
“In a prior life,” Lori said. “Mary Magdalene and Veronica later died natural deaths, after escaping persecution and journeying to distant lands. Now all of the she-apostles have returned to deliver an astounding message to the world, and after Martha appeared, Dixie Lou could no longer hide her ghastly secrets. I don’t think Dixie Lou had all the details until just before she took her own life. They were such frightful memories that her subconscious buried them in the deepest part of her soul.”
“That might explain her increasingly erratic behavior,” Tamara Himmel suggested, “since she was at war with herself.”
Lori went on to say that Martha of Galilee had been present when the Lord Jesus spoke to all twenty-four apostles in the Garden of Gethsemane a week before his arrest in that very place. Closing her eyes, she brought forth the exact words of Jesus, as related to her by Martha: “‘The cosmic pendulum will swing, and a time will come when destructive male energy is replaced by nurturing female energy. For five thousand years thereafter, women will rule the earth, but they must do so without acrimony or retribution against men. Women must forgive, and rule with the abundant love in their hearts. They must be compassionate, nurturing, and non-violent—distinctly feminine attributes. During the new reign, a holy book will be compiled with all the teachings of our cherished God, a book that honors women and men equally, since both genders are in God’s image.’”
Lori paused and said, “Shortly after I heard that, Martha shouted a warning and I saw Dixie Lou coming at me with the sword. I told you the rest.”
Looking at her fellow councilwomen, Deborah said to them, “Think about what Lori said: God is
both
male and female!”
It was indeed an awe-inspiring thought.
“But what about the She-God spoken of by some of the she-apostles?” Tamara wanted to know.
Lori spoke with clarity, and absolute certainty. “That’s the feminine side of God, the cosmic change that’s bringing in more passionate female energy, balancing the overly aggressive male side, keeping it under control.”
“‘The She-God is coming,’” one of the women in the audience intoned. And others around Lori picked up the mantra, repeating it over and over. “‘The She-God is coming’ . . . ‘The She-God is coming. . . .’” Finally, the voices died down.
With her blue eyes misting over with sadness, Deborah gazed at Lori, and said, “Some of us are afraid Dixie Lou may have been an instrument of Satan, and—” She looked down at Lori’s stomach. “There have been rumors.”
“Something about my baby?” Lori asked.
“Of course the theory is preposterous and unworthy of consideration,” Deborah said. “I shouldn’t even bring it up.”
For the briefest of instants, a thought flashed in Lori’s mind of the paired entities that had swooped down on her as she lay in bed—the brilliant light and its dark companion. But the thought barely touched her consciousness.
And Lori asked, in a tremulous voice, “You’re thinking my child may be an instrument of Satan? Impossible! If that were true, Dixie Lou wouldn’t have tried to kill me!”
The councilwomen concurred with this assessment, and went on to say many things about Lori’s great virtue and courage—attributes that could not possibly have anything to do with Satan. Presently, they gathered around the pretty, lavender-eyed girl to congratulate her for putting a stop to the insanity of Dixie Lou Jackson.
The women also invited Lori to work with them, and promised her she would not be mistreated in the future. “We need your assistance with a big project,” Deborah said. “Now that all of the she-apostles are together, and we have the blessing of their families and the authorities to work with them, you’re needed more than ever. You have a special bond with the children, an ability to bring out their incredible stories.”
Pursing her lips, Lori said, “Martha won’t talk to you without me, will she?”
“No,” Deborah admitted.
Lori glanced at her father, and he nodded. Before coming here, they had discussed the possibility that the UWW might want to negotiate something with her. “I’ll work with you,” Lori said to the council, “but it has to be on my terms.”
“Agreed,” Deborah said.
In her left hand, Lori squeezed Alex’s hand, and in her right, her father’s.
* * *
To the UWW staff it was announced that Lori was to be accorded special status. Under her father’s supervision, bodyguards were assigned to her. And, in order to further the new project involving her, modifications would be undertaken to the Sala Paolina, an exhibition hall on the third floor of the huge castle fortress, setting up a new Scriptorium there.
