A.D. 33 (8 page)

A BITTER wind swept in from the deep desert, and yet Judah accepted the cold as a gift. All of his senses were on edge as he pushed Zahwah to her limit over the sands, guided by the moon and a thousand bright stars.

Riding now with blade in hand and retribution in mind was as much life to him as water was to the sands. This was the Bedu way.

This was the way of God, who demanded blood on the altar in payment for every sin. Saba was wrong to suggest God would lay down the sword and turn his cheek.

Judge not lest you be judged, Yeshua had taught—and now Kahil would learn the truth of those words.

The glory of Judah's people would be restored by this single blow. The head of the serpent—Saman the eyes, Kahil the fangs—would be crushed by the very warrior Kahil had shackled in darkness. All would then know.

Maviah, the mother and queen. Judah, the sword and her right arm.

Eden would be restored in the desert. Then they would return to Israel and join with the chosen one to find liberation from those who oppressed and crucified God's children.

Maliku would hold his tongue for fear of falling out of Maviah's grace. And if Maviah objected to the deaths of Saman and Kahil, the tribal sheikhs would rejoice. All would soon be forgiven and more, celebrated.

These were the thoughts that nourished him as he crossed the sands.

And his desperate need for justice fired his bones as he cut through the wind.

He came to the base of the high point before the first light had grayed the eastern sky, and there he couched Zahwah. The dark towers of rock stood tall four hundred paces ahead, silhouetted against the starry sky.

Studying the terrain for any sign of movement, he stripped off his white tunic, leaving only his dark pants, which he quickly bound to his calves so they would not catch. Taking up the sword and dagger, one in each hand, he faced the wind, chest rising and falling with each breath.

It only took him minutes to reach the first sign of Bedu—their camels, couched in a shallow depression east of the rock formation. Beyond the beasts, black tents bore red-and-yellow Thamud banners that rose lazily on a breeze. Seven tents. The fires were out and unattended. The camp was asleep.

Crouched low behind the crest of a dune, he scanned the encampment, searching for the largest tent, which would be occupied by Saman and Kahil. There, beyond the seven, were three more tents against the rocks. Wider and taller with five posts.

Unease crept along his spine. They would have posted guards at the least, but he saw none. For a long time, Judah kept his eyes on the terrain, seeking any sign of defenses. But there were only the couched camels and, beyond, the tents.

The faintest hint of gray edged into the eastern horizon. Dawn would come within the half hour.

He decided to skirt the wadi and come upon Saman's tent from the rock formation behind. Speed was now his closest ally.

Shoving the dagger into his belt, Judah quickly picked his way around the dune. The night was cold, but his chest and arms were slick with sweat by the time he reached the boulders jutting from the sand.

Still no sign of any guards.

The tent might be occupied only by priests or other sheikhs from Saman's court, less concerned with security than those they served. He rounded the nearest boulder and pulled up sharply.

There, only five paces away, stood a single guard leaning on the rock with his back to Judah. Before the man could turn—in movement born of a thousand raids—Judah slipped forward, breath drawn.

Sword in one hand, dagger in the other, Judah reached the Thamud in three long strides. He dropped the sword and, before the blade struck the ground, grabbed the warrior's hair while bringing his dagger across the man's throat, intent on severing vocal cords first.

Judah's sword landed with a thud.

Voiceless, the man flailed as Judah dragged him back and down onto the ground, as if bringing a camel to its knees. There, with eyes wide, the man quickly bled out on the sand.

Judah retrieved the sword he had dropped. Already, his eyes were on the other rocks. Where there was one guard, there would be more.

He leaped over the slain body and skirted the boulder, edging closer to the tents, expecting another warrior, perhaps two.

Instead, there were four. All with swords drawn. All facing him across a ten-foot clearing of sand. All confident and poised.

They'd expected him?

But they did not know Judah.

It did not matter if Kahil bared his fangs with weapons drawn—Judah could not be defeated in single combat. But if Kahil made an escape, all would be lost.

Judah surged forward, then spun, crouching low, swinging his sword waist high. The two closest guards leaped back, stunned by his swift strike. But he'd anticipated the evasion; the reach and speed of his sword was sufficient.

The tip of his blade sliced cleanly into their guts.

Using his momentum, Judah veered to his right, spinning to one knee, bringing his sword up for the head of the third guard.

He felt the jarring force of blade striking bone, but he didn't wait to see the man fall. He was already turning back toward the fourth guard.

And yet three more appeared, dropping down from the rocks above. All had found their voices. Their alarm cut through the night air.

In the space of a single breath, Judah calculated what must now happen. Kahil would flee from the sound of warning. Engaging these warriors would only delay him. He had to reach the tent quickly and cut off Kahil's escape.

Judah spun back the way he'd come, leaped over first slain guard, and sprinted into open desert, intent on rounding the rock formations at full speed to reach Kahil's tent from the side. But where the desert had been vacant only a minute earlier, a long arc of warriors mounted on stallions now blocked his path.

He pulled up, stunned by the sight. Seventy, at least.

And then he knew the truth. They'd expected him. Here, at the high place.

Maliku had betrayed him.

Why? They could have killed him instead of returning him to Maviah.

The blow from behind struck his shoulder blades, cutting deep into his flesh. Dropping his dagger, Judah spun, sword fully extended in both hands.

The blade separated the nearest warrior's head from his shoulders. But already four more were upon him.

He took off an arm and drove his sword into another's thigh before a heavy blow slammed into his head.

The night swallowed him.

LIGHT.

Judah's eyes fluttered, then opened. He was lying on his back, facing a blue sky. Memories flooded his mind. He'd been freed days ago. Maviah comforted him in the desert and he'd remembered his destiny.

Maliku had come. The events of the previous night, like mocking jinn, whispered through Judah. He'd abandoned Maviah and chased after those jinn, lured by his own rage.

“He wakes.”

The voice that spoke those two words pulled Judah back into an abyss of the deepest darkness.

Kahil, his tormentor.

Judah attempted to push himself up but found that his arms were bound to his waist at the elbows. A warrior grabbed his hair and jerked him up to a seated position.

He was in their camp, a few paces from a fire that warmed a teapot. Several dozen loitering warriors looked his way as if he were only a stray dog found upon the sand.

Before him stood Kahil, one brow raised, lips twisted. He was dressed in black without a headdress, so his long dark hair, unbound, gave him the appearance of a raven.

The rage Judah courted was swept away by Kahil's confidence, because in that moment, Judah knew that his enemy was not afraid. Judah was only the wounded jackal at his feet.

Fear rushed in to take the place of Judah's anger. And then more fear with the realization that he was succumbing to them now after retaining his dignity for so long in their dungeon.

He slowly turned his head toward the sound of feet upon the sand.

Saman approached holding a half-eaten leg of lamb. He bit into the meat, wiped his chin with his forearm, then motioned at Judah with his meal.

“Five men. That's what this absurdity of yours has cost me.” Saman made no attempt to hide his disgust. “Do you think me a fool?”

Judah's thoughts plowed through a fog. He'd failed Maviah's trust. So then, what was he now?

“He's a Jew,” Kahil said. “A Jew who is Kalb makes only for a mad fool. Did I not tell you?”

“Silence!” Saman cast Kahil a harsh stare. He reacquired Judah's eyes. “Answer me! Why do you think me so stupid?”

But Judah couldn't form thoughts.

Kahil struck his face with an open palm, then grabbed his hair and jerked his head back so that Judah was forced to see his disgust face-to-face.

“Showing only mercy, my father set you free into the arms of the whore you would take to your bed. This is how you repay his kindness?”

“Release him,” Saman snapped. “You are no better than he!”

Kahil gave Judah's head a shove and turned away. “We should have killed him with Rami.”

Saman took another bite of his meat and spoke around the food.

“My son and Maliku conspired to test you. Without my knowledge, I might add. Had I known, I wouldn't have expected you to fall prey to their plot so easily. And yet here you are.”

Their play was now obvious to him: Maliku had thrown himself on Maviah's mercy to gain access, and to suggest to Judah that Saman could be taken here, at the high place.

Why?

“I only want peace,” Saman was saying, waving the lamb about. “But it seems the slaves of the desert cannot accept defeat when it is handed to them. Stubborn as oxen, the lot of you!”

Judah had to understand reason for their actions. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him.

“Tell me that you've learned the foolishness of your ways,” Saman said. “Or if I release you, will you return to me again like a rabid dog?”

“He will not return.” The voice came from behind Judah.

Maliku approached them, still dusty from a night of travel.

“Never mistake shrewdness for kindness, my friend,” he said to Judah, then spat to one side. “You deserve death. But the sheikh offers mercy yet again. Accept your defeat in the same way all Jews have accepted theirs in your motherland. It is the fate of your people.”

Saman took one last bite from the mostly eaten leg, tossed the rest on the ground, and pulled on his beard to clean his greasy hand.

“Return to your whore and all those who follow her with a clear message. Saman cannot be defeated. Though you violated his terms, he will allow the queen to take her outcasts away in peace.”

“
With
assurance,” Kahil said.

“Bring them,” Saman ordered, motioning toward the tent to his left.

A warrior emerged, leading several bound and gagged children into the sunlight. Judah's heart faltered.

“Maliku has delivered these to us so we could demonstrate both our strength and our mercy,” Saman was saying. “If you have not peacefully vacated the springs in three days' time, they will die.”

Seven children. Judah recognized only the boy at the end, who stared at him.

Talya.

Maliku had taken Maviah's son.

WHAT CAN BE said of the worry a mother feels for her lost child? As in the storm on the Sea of Galilee, the dunes that surrounded us rose up to crush me. Yeshua's words, spoken before those frightening waves, haunted my memory.

Why are you afraid, Daughter?

“My son is missing…”

Do you still have so little faith?

“This is Talya!”

What do you see, Maviah? The darkness in these waves, or the light of peace in your own heart?

I tried to see light, but my vision was clouded by a terrible anxiety. Maliku had sent word through my maidservant, Nudia, that he and Judah had taken Talya into the desert to teach him the way of a man.

How could Judah leave with my son in the dead of night, knowing that I would worry?

“Find them!” I'd commanded Saba.

But it was dark and there was wind on the sand—Saba needed more light to track their camels. He assured me that Talya was in good hands with Judah. I spent the night trying to believe him, praying for their hasty return.

When morning came there was still no sign of them. Worse, the wind had swept away their tracks. And rumors came that several other children had gone missing.

I prayed that Judah would appear with my smiling lamb atop the camel at any moment.

But he did not appear. And as the hours passed, my fear deepened.

I was pacing alone when Saba broke into my tent with news.

“Judah has come. He rides a black horse.”

A horse?

The ululating cries of first a dozen and then a hundred drifted into the tent from beyond. News of Judah's return had spread.

“Hurry.”

I was already moving, sprinting past Saba into the open, where I pulled up.

Hundreds were pouring from their black tents in response to the commotion, peering at a single rider on a dark horse, who stood tall in the saddle as he raced toward us, sword held high over his head.

“He calls for war!” Saba said. He ran for a camel and flung himself on the roaring beast's bare back. “Hurry!”

I sprinted for another, leaped into the saddle from behind, and tugged the languid she-camel to her feet. We galloped, Saba just ahead of me, trying to catch the surge of Bedu flooding into the valley at the camp's center, which was kept clear for gatherings.

Thousands had been swept up into the commotion. Above the din, Judah's faint cry was too distant for me to hear clearly.

My camel thundered past dozens of children racing through the sand, squealing with delight, oblivious to the crisis at hand. Only as the gap closed could I make out Judah's cry.

“I have sinned before you all!” he cried, weeping with his words. “For this I would pay with my very life. In my hatred of Kahil and Saman I went alone to crush them. But I was betrayed by Maliku, who came among us like as a wolf.”

I feared the worst.

“I, Judah, who would die for Maviah, have sinned, and my sin cannot be undone. It can only be paid for in my own blood.”

Just ahead of me, Saba crested the rise above the camp's center and sharply pulled up his camel. I came to a jarring halt beside him and gazed at the chaos. Other voices were crying out, urging silence so that Judah could be heard.

Bedu men of all ages had already filled the shallow valley. Women and children joined them, fixated on Judah. Why had he subverted me to whip up such passion?

“Talya, our queen's very son, has foretold our victory! Hear me, my Bedu brothers! Hear the voice of your own gods and my own. Hear Judah, protector of the outcasts and all who would honor the fallen Rami, whom I served with sword and blood!”

My eyes searched for any sign of Talya. There was none.

“Hear me when I tell you that I was with our prince in the desert.” Anguish laced Judah's voice. “There Talya, son of Maviah, spoke of a garden called Eden, which is well known to my people, the Jews, who, like all of you, are oppressed by tyrants. In this garden there was also a woman who had dominion in peace.”

He paused for breath, turning his rearing stallion back harshly. Eden…He was speaking of Talya's song. My heart stuttered.

“But into this same garden called Eden, there came a serpent to deceive the mind and to steal the heart and to kill the body. The head of this serpent is Saman and his son is Kahil! They would crush our queen in Eden and enslave all Bedu!”

Judah had told me this ancient story about the garden Eden and only now did I connect it with Talya's song. I wanted to call out then, demanding to know where my son was, but his words had immobilized my tongue.

Stillness was upon us all.

“But it was foretold that the seed of the woman would rise and crush the head of that very serpent. Can there be any doubt that this woman is Maviah, our queen? And her seed, the beloved son, Talya? Would you not, every one of you, rise with your queen and lay down your very life to save the innocent children from the fangs of the serpent?”

Judah hurled his words out. The horse pranced back and forth. A chorus of agreement rose, for the Bedu passion for children could not be questioned. All of life depended on the preservation of innocent blood.

“Saman cannot crush the spirit of the Bedu! He cannot steal our children and rape our women! He cannot rob us of our land and poison our hearts with cowardice!”

As one the people raised their fists in support of Judah's bravery, which they took as their own.

Judah thrust his sword high in the air, reining in the rearing stallion.

“I went to crush the head of the serpent alone, and I will go again. And again. And again. And again!”

They stilled, eager to hear of the news he was to share, for only the bravest warrior would dare undertake such a raid alone. But I knew the worst was to come, and I felt ill.

“I will go again because the serpent has come like a thief in the night. Maliku has delivered seven of our children to Kahil, who will kill them in three days' time if we do not run like dogs into the sands.”

Not a voice save Judah's could be heard now. It was morning, but in my heart night was already falling. I could stop the darkness sweeping into my heart no more than I could hush the words that next came from Judah's mouth.

“Saman has taken Talya, our prince, son of Maviah, who is our queen.”

I felt faint. Judah cried out, but I heard the words that followed as if in a dream, muted by a terrible rage that swallowed my mind and my eyes and my ears. My heart was beating like a hammer in my chest, pumping outrage.

“He has taken him because I went to crush the head of the serpent, and for this I will die.”

He was seeking their understanding for his offense, but I no longer cared for understanding. I could only see my precious lamb thrown into the same hole where Judah had lived for two years.

For a moment, I hated Judah. But I could not hate the one who had gone to save me. I hated instead the one who had deceived him and taken my son. In my heart I saw my Talya, and I was already screaming and swinging my blade to sever the head of the serpent coiled about him.

Judah's voice rang out.

“At my queen's word, I will go this very day to the high place where Saman and Kahil sacrifice to their unholy gods. I will slay the beasts who have stolen our children! If I must, I will go alone, and I will shed my blood in the service of Maviah, my queen!”

His sword flashed in the sunlight and he thrust the blade toward me. For the first time, Judah had acknowledged my presence from his mount on the far slope.

At least ten thousand had found their way to the camp's clearing by now, and to a man, woman, and child, they turned to stare at me, seated upon my camel next to Saba, overlooking them all. But all I saw was Judah, standing as one with all Jews under Roman tyranny.

Judah, who would die for the boy he had unwittingly betrayed.

Judah, whose hatred I now embraced, even as it blackened my sight.

I had heard Yeshua's teaching on enemies. I had seen the storm calmed as he opened my eyes. I had embraced his teaching in the arena at Petra without regard for my own fate. Not once since then had I lifted a blade against any man for any reason.

And yet now Talya, not I, was in a storm, and it rose to crush his head even as my first son had been crushed.

Talya, my innocent lamb. Talya, my only son.

My horizon was dark. I could not see how any light or peace would come without a sword.

Slowly, I turned to Saba, because I knew my mind was already lost. He had always guided me.

But Saba did not guide me now. He stared at Judah across the wadi, jaw fixed, muscles taut, knuckles white on the camel's lead rope. Talya was as much his son as mine. The father in him offered no words of wisdom. His refusal to return my stare emboldened me to do what only I could do.

I looked down at Fahak, then Habib and Jashim and the other elders—all awaited my word. Judah lowered his sword and sat still, eyes on me.

Tears seeped from my eyes and trailed down my cheeks. I could not contain the fury raging through my bones, for I had been betrayed and yet would now betray. But I could not contend with these abstractions. I was a mother, and my son was to be slaughtered like the lamb that he was.

My voice and my intent were clear.

“Today we will save our sons and our daughters,” I said in a voice that trembled but left no room for doubt.

I let all restraint in my voice go and lifted my fist for all to see.

“Today we will crush the serpent's head with the sword!” I cried.

My heart sought to tear itself free from my chest and I drew in air, breathless. Still they waited, wanting more.

“Today we will kill Kahil, or we will die!”

My last word echoed over their heads, chased by silence.

Then ten thousand voices erupted as one, joining in a roar that shook the Garden of Peace.

And Saba did not protest.