Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy (26 page)

The remaining
chariots soon rolled gloomily over the finish line. I stepped off
my chariot and hugged Mosi and Oni. They were exceptional horses.
How many shekels had I won?

Cynisca ran up to me and gave me a hug.
“Congratulations on your first win.” Tears streamed down her
face.

I leaned into
her. “Thank you.”

Dominus joined
the rest of us and the whole stadium erupted when I stood in the
spina to receive my crown. I waved to the fans. I was a star—the
center of attention. I felt a strange surge of power pass through
me. Is this how powerful people felt, movie stars and politicians
and sports icons? I knew God had allowed me to win, but I didn’t
feel close to him. I didn’t know why, although I didn’t care
either.

When I walked out of the arena, the older Naser
brother, Nidal, walked up to me. He reached out his hand.
“Congratulations.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I had feared something
else. When I looked at his arm, I saw a tattoo. Did people have
tattoos in first century Palestine? Nidal’s hand was extended. I
clasped it. “Thank you.”

Then he walked
away. If I had access to the Internet I’d do a Google search. I had
seen that image before, but I didn’t know where.

Seven Weeks Later

I won every race I entered. Cynisca encouraged me to
begin training with four horses.

“You’ll make
more money if you win,” she said.

I had grown attached to Mosi and Oni. I hated
thinking about the emotional energy required to bond with two more
horses. Besides, even racing with just two, my money had grown
faster than I could have imagined.

“People want to see you race with four,” she
insisted. “They have never seen anyone race like you.”

“What do you mean?”

Cynsica thought
for a moment. “Magic takes over when you step on the chariot. The
fans see it. They want more.”

I couldn’t deny
it. I loved the spotlight. Being recognized by strangers on the
streets was sweet. I had become a hero to many kids. More than
that, I loved racing with Mosi and Oni. I didn’t think I would have
as much success with four horses. The dangers of getting injured or
killed quadrupled.

“Give me
another month,” I said. “You already have great teams in place
racing four. I would upset them if they thought I wanted their
position.”

“But they aren’t winning, Daniel,” Cyncisa insisted.
“And Dominus is antsy. He wants you to take one of those
spots.”

“Tell him I
will in a month.”

Cynisca sighed. “Come close,” she said.

We had lots of
extra time since my race was later in the day. I walked over and
sat beside her on the bench. She stood behind me and rubbed my back
and shoulders.

My muscles had ached for weeks. “I didn’t know you
knew how to give back massages.”

Cynsica laughed. “I didn’t think you would let
me.”

I wanted to melt under her expert fingers. “So why
now?”

“You seem tense. I know your muscles must be sore. I
was once a gladiator, too, you know.”

I couldn’t argue with her.

“There are
places in Caesarea you can go for a full rubdown,” she
remarked.

I had seen those rooms, but I didn’t think a Jewish
man would be welcomed. More than body massages took place behind
those pagan walls. Despite my wanderings, I was still pure and
intended to remain so until I married.

As I reflected
on recent conversations with Cynisca, I sensed she wanted more in
our relationship. My thoughts always returned to Shale. I liked
Cynisca, though. If only I knew whether Shale had married Judd.
Maybe she had returned to her time. Cynisca had a charm all her own
that infatuated me. A woman who had such wits in a man’s world
earned my admiration.

My thoughts
turned to more practical matters. How much money had I won? I
didn’t know how to equate it to American dollars in 2015, but I
hoped my college tuition would be covered. Would a hundred thousand
dollars pay for the cost of a U.S. school like Stanford? Of course,
if I went to a state school it would be much less.

Was there a
medical school near Atlanta? I loved being rich.

I left the
hippodrome to get a bite to eat, feeling more confident than ever.
Passersby waved at me.

“Look, Daniel, the charioteer,” a young lad said to
his mom in Greek.

“Yes, you are quite right. It is.” They waved and I
waved back. I had not seen the Jewish family since that first
night.

The races
started as usual early in the morning, but my race was later. I
found it draining to sit all day inside the hippodrome, so I made a
couple of visits to the food court. After eating, I headed
back.

The roar of the
crowds cheering on their favorite racer was deafening. The slaves
were still prepping my horses.

I spoke kindly
to Mosi and Oni and gave them each a sweet treat. Perhaps more out
of superstition than anything else, the slaves pearled the mane of
the horses in the same way as when I had won my first
race.

“How are you doing?” I asked the slaves. They worked
hard and rarely received the recognition they deserved.

“We are doing
fine,” the young Egyptian said. He was about my age. “We are
praying you have a good race today.”

“Thank you.”
Who was their god? I was afraid to ask.

Soon the
announcer called my race. I went to the starting gate where I held
the pole position. Sometimes the crowds thinned as the day wore on,
but today the stadium overflowed with patrons, some forced to stand
and watch from the aisles.

Many had stayed
only to see me. My fame had spread beyond Caesarea—as the Jew who
raced with horses and a chariot of the one true God.

People chanted my name and the fans even invented
their own form of a human wave machine. They would start at one end
and travel to the other. The visual effect was stunning.

When the
flowers that had been thrown on the track were removed, all eyes
turned to Pontius Pilate. He dropped the handkerchief and the gates
flew open. The track became a sea of horses and
chariots.

Mosi and Oni
nosed out the other horses as they galloped across the stadium. I
had not laid the whip on them in weeks. The race went by quickly
with the usual casualties, the usual carnage, the usual dolphins,
the usual crown. The races were no longer exciting to
me.

I had grown
accustomed to the usual ho-hum and pretended it didn’t bother me,
even though it did. I had to compromise on some things, but I
wasn’t proud of it.

On this day,
despite my win, I didn’t feel the usual high. Perhaps I was tired.
I stood and waved at the fans from the spina. They had come to see
a good show and I had delivered. When I turned to leave, I heard a
familiar voice, but I couldn’t place it. The words were in
Aramaic.

“Daniel, it’s Simon.”

I searched for
the man in the twilight. No, it couldn’t be. The only Simon I knew
was a leper from years ago. I vaguely remembered Dr. Luke telling
me the rabbi had healed him.

The man
approached waving his arms and smiling. He thrust his hand out for
me to shake it. I stared into his eyes with disbelief.

“Don’t you
remember me?” he asked. “I’m Simon, the leper.”

I shook my
head. “No. I mean yes.”

We laughed and hugged each other. I stepped backed
to examine him. I saw no lesions on his face or his body.

“I’m healed,” said Simon.

“How?”

“You’ll never believe it, but Yeshua, the rabbi from
Nazareth, healed me.”

I hadn’t heard that name since I had arrived in
Caesarea. My mind reflected back to meeting the rabbi—and Nathan’s
healing. I was caught off-guard and didn’t know what to say.

Simon leaned over and looked into my face in the
approaching darkness. “You do know who that is?” he asked.

“Yes, I do. We
just don’t hear much about rabbis in Caesarea and I’d forgotten
about him.”

Simon shook his head. “I don’t like what this place
is doing to you, Daniel. You are becoming one of them.”

“What do you mean by one of them?”

“A pagan,” Simon said.

Anger welled up. What right did he have to judge me?
I remained silent and started walking.

“Come on,
Daniel. You know this isn’t right for you. You are a Jew and living
a lie.”

I stopped and
faced him. “If you came all the way here to tell me that, you’re
wasting your time.” Then I started walking again, kicking a rock
with my sandal in frustration. It skidded across the ground and hit
a statue in the heart. “What are you doing here in Caesarea
anyway?”

Simon seized me
from behind and stood close, invading my personal space. I backed
away.

“Are you afraid
of me or something? I don’t have leprosy anymore.”

“No.”

Most of the
people had left the hippodrome and slaves were cleaning up the
trash. I saw a table and motioned for him to join me. We could talk
undisturbed. The thirty seconds walking over gave me time to cool
down. What right did he have to judge me for earning a respectable
living?

I plopped down on the bench and changed the subject.
“How is your family?”

He scooted in
front of me on the other side. “Much has happened since I last saw
you.”

I reached back
in my thoughts to those first days after I arrived in Dothan. How
innocent and young I was. “It’s been over three years, hasn’t
it?”

Simon nodded. He cleared his throat. “Yeshua is the
Messiah.”

“Oh!” I replied.

“He is.”

“You came all the way here to tell me that?”

Simon leaned forward undeterred. “Daniel, God sent
me to tell you. You’ve become quite famous in the last couple of
months. Once I realized the Daniel people were talking about was
you, the Jewish charioteer, I had to come see you. My, but you’ve
changed.”

What was that supposed to mean. “How?”

Simon shrugged. “Will you be attending the
Passover?”

“You didn’t answer my question. How have I
changed?”

“When is the
last time you cared about someone besides yourself? Are you ever
going to earn enough money? You’ve become self-serving, consumed by
worldly passions, reveling in the pagan idol worship that God
forbids.”

“That’s
enough.” I glared at the man. I stood and paced, seething with
anger. “I’m making a living, saving money for college. What’s wrong
with that?”

“Come back with
me,” said Simon. “You need to meet the Messiah. He will set you
free—from all of this.” Simon waved his hand—in a stadium filled
with pagan gods and goddesses.

“No,” I said flatly.

“Will you at least come to Jerusalem for Passover?
When is the last time you offered a sacrifice?”

I didn’t respond.

Simon stood to leave. “God sent me to you and I have
done as he asked. I go in peace, my friend.” He reached out to
shake my hand.

I reluctantly
shook it but refused to look him in the eyes. I didn’t want to
admit he was right. I had grown comfortable in my lifestyle and
wanted to keep racing.

“I’d love to serve you dinner in Bethany if you come
for Passover next month. Ask anybody around the area. They can
direct you to my house.”

“Thank you,”
was all I could say.

Simon left,
leaving me standing alone. A dolphin fell. The sky had darkened, as
had my heart. What had I become?

A misty wind cut through me as I trudged back home.
A heavy fog made it difficult to see. The cold raindrops felt like
ice pellets and the waves pounding the rocky cliffs of the
Mediterranean portended an approaching storm.

The strange
weather reflected my distorted reality. Why was I here? Uneasiness
swept over me. What did God want from me? How could I have strayed
so far from my faith? I wasn’t even sure if I believed in God
anymore, but he had brought me here. I pointed my finger at the
heavens. “You hear that, God? You brought me here.”

I couldn’t see
through the misty fog, but something or someone was nearby. I heard
heavy breathing and mocking laughter.

A door slammed and a foul odor turned my stomach.
The darkened sky opened and heavy raindrops mercilessly bore down
on me. I sloshed through the storm as occasional lightning pierced
the darkness.

The temporary
light revealed the building straight ahead. The darkness that
followed, though, was even blacker.

I counted my
steps—one, two three, four, five—and strained forward as thunder
shook the ground. I came to the portico and stumbled at the rise.
The attendant had already locked the entrance. I pounded on the
wooden door.

Someone opened it. I fell through the entryway and
collapsed on a chair, dripping. When I looked up to see who had let
me in, the room was empty.

The door
creaked back and forth and a gush of wind-driven rain pelted me in
the face. I ran over and shut the door.

I looked
around. Did I lock someone out? I couldn’t leave some poor soul
outside in this miserable weather. Who let me in?

Another lightning bolt lit up the room followed by
violent thunder. The room rattled. Guilt got the best of me. I
unlocked and cracked the door. “Anyone there?”