Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy (8 page)

The sun parked
overhead making me sweat. I lamented that I had to walk rather than
ride in a comfortable, air-conditioned car that would only require
a fraction of the time to get there. Maybe I could muster enough
strength to travel a little further before stopping to rest. As I
came to the plain of Megiddo, I was surprised at how little the
area had changed.

From my high
school history, I knew over two hundred battles had been fought
here. Struggle to control the area was legendary. An elaborate
mythology about Megiddo and stories of prophecy had survived
through the centuries. Many so-called prophets predicted a
cataclysmic battle to take place here in the future.

Israel had had
so many skirmishes recently that fatalists feared World War III was
imminent. Armageddon was never far from the minds of
many.

I stopped to
eat on the mountain of Megiddo. The panoramic view was spectacular.
I admired the lush green valley—the most productive agricultural
area in Israel. I dug into my bag and set out my water. I ate some
figs and nuts and soaked in the afternoon sun.

Then I heard a
noise and looked behind me. I suspected an animal had crept up,
looking for an easy meal from my scraps. I was surprised to see an
old woman.

She approached
me as if she knew me. The strange woman wore a green dress and
carried a brown bag over her shoulder. She was bald except for a
few wispy strands of hair. Her sunken cheeks, boney forehead, and
bulging eyes reminded me of someone you might see in a graveyard.
Her stringy fingers clasped her bag. I wanted to stand but my legs
felt as if they had turned to jelly.

“Can I have some of your food?” she asked. She moved
closer to me. Maybe she was a homeless beggar.

“Here.” I gave
her the rest of my meal hoping she would go away. I didn’t want to
share my water. I needed that. I scooted back so she wasn’t as
close. She had an unpleasant odor that was familiar to me, but I
couldn’t place it.

She gobbled up
the food as if she were famished. She didn’t say anything until she
finished it.

“How is your
journey?” she asked.

“Fine.” She
made me feel uneasy.

“Where are you headed?”

“To Capernaum,” I lied.

“Where are you from?”

I didn’t like being interrogated. This time I didn’t
answer.

She turned and looked across the plains.

I followed her eyes.

A red horse carrying a dark rider galloped across
the field. The rider wielded a sword and I perceived he was
slashing objects, though whatever he was striking was
invisible.

“You are that rider,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

She smiled and revealed several missing front teeth.
“I’m your benefactor.”

I shook my head. “No, you can’t be my
benefactor.”

“Danger lurks in Galilee,” she said.

I stared at her. I told her I was going to
Capernaum.

She quit smiling and pointed her bony finger at me.
“Things are not as they appear.”

I moved away
from the woman and glanced back at the horse but the rider was
gone. The horse galloped further and further away.

“Your fate,”
she said, “if you go to Galilee.” The strange woman-turned-diviner
walked away. When she was gone, I bent over the ledge and heaved up
my lunch. What little I ate.

I tried to calm myself. Was she the one who paid for
my motel room? How did she know I was going to Galilee and not
Capernaum?

“Shoot,” I
said, “it’d be just my luck to have her for a benefactor, an old
panhandler who looked like the devil.”

I picked up my
belongings and took off, no longer excited about going to Galilee.
Was I about to do something I would later regret? I looked back to
make sure she wasn’t following me—whoever or whatever she was. I
hoped I never saw her again.

I couldn’t put
the beggar woman out of my mind and kept thinking about her strange
words, “Things are not as they appear.” How could she pretend to
know my fate? Only God knows those things and I couldn’t imagine
him sharing my future with someone who appeared to be a freeloader.
I shook my head as if I could shake reality back the way it
belonged.

My mind
wandered. Maybe life at its simplest came down to nothing more than
choices—except I didn’t choose to come to first century
Palestine.

What if our
future wasn’t predetermined and we could choose? Suppose God put us
into situations we didn’t like to test us? Attempting to remove God
from my life had made me powerless. I thought it would be the
opposite—empower me. Without God, was life nothing more than a
series of random events? I couldn’t change the past, but what about
the future? Did God just program me like a robot or did he give me
free will? What was the point of living if we were no more than
robots?

Maybe more than
one reality existed at the same time and something caused them to
collide into one reality. What would happen if the two got mixed
up?

I kicked some
rocks in my path. Dr. Luke had provided a sense of security. Whom
would I rely on now? Would I listen to an old demented woman—who
claimed to know more about my future than I did?

I remembered Psalm 23 from the Tanakh. “Though I
walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”

The sheep did
not fear its enemies because the shepherd protected them, like the
young lad I had witnessed. The boy relied on a cane and his faith
in God to keep away the wolves.

Why hadn’t God
protected my father? Why did he bring me to this strange
fate?

I pressed
ahead. Speaking of choices—which road should I take? If I went
west, I’d drown in the ocean. If I went east, I’d venture into
enemy territory. If I went south, I’d be back at the inn. If I went
north, a young boy unable to speak for himself needed me to speak
for him. I clung to that. I swiped my forehead with my arm, as if I
could wipe away the fear.

Suddenly, a
crow out of nowhere sky-bombed me. I swatted at him, “Go away you
buzzard.” The black bird squawked and took off. That was too
deliberate—he meant to attack me.

I sped up, more
anxious than ever to get to Brutus’s house. Nervous energy
propelled me to run.

I soon arrived at the outskirts of Lower Galilee on
the northern ridge of the Jezreel Valley. I studied the map. My
destination was close.

I paused to
survey my surroundings. I was surprised at how desolate the town
was. Besides the olive groves, nothing else seemed familiar. In
2015, thousands of Arabs and Jewish residents pressed in on each
other, living in crowded communities side by side. In the first
century, the small community eked out a quiet existence. Its
notoriety was linked to a man Christians called Yeshua—or Jesus.
Culture shock at the difference between the first century and 2015
made me feel like I had traveled a long way from home. I had in a
strange sort of way—two thousand years into my past.

I remembered
Ami’s comments about the Immerser. I shuddered. Christians called
him John the Baptist. It wasn’t long after the Immerser’s clashes
with the Jewish authorities that the man from Nazareth came on the
scene. I sighed. Why did I have to come to the area where he lived?
Maybe that was why the old woman told me to go back.

Of course,
until the Immerser’s beheading, the rabbi wouldn’t have much
influence. I hoped that was years away. I wished I had read some of
that book Lilly had given me. I regretted my mocking attitude—I
could have learned something if I hadn’t been so
close-minded.

I walked a
couple more hours and reached the man’s house. The structure sat
nestled beneath a cliff surrounded by a lush green pasture. For a
Gentile, Brutus had done quite well. Rome paid administrators
nicely and didn’t tax the Gentiles as they did the Jews. Now that
the moment had arrived, I was excited. I walked up to the door and
knocked.

A few seconds
later, a burly man greeted me. He was fit and trim for his
advancing years. His aging eyes were gentle and his complexion
darker than I expected.

I introduced
myself. “I’m Daniel, son of Aviv, and I’m here to see Brutus, son
of Dirk.”

“Daniel, come
in, come in. I’m Brutus, son of Dirk—call me Brutus,
please—welcome. I’m so glad to meet you.”

After our initial introductions, he closed the door
and motioned me to sit. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

I did and
glanced around the exquisitely furnished room. Brutus had a broad
taste in cultures from his travels and exposure to many
languages.

Soon a woman
walked in half her husband’s age. I was surprised at the difference
in demeanor between the two. She eyed me with skepticism, without
warmth. Her eyes roamed my body, making me feel
uncomfortable.

“Let me
introduce you to my wonderful wife. This is Scylla.”

“I’m honored to
meet you,” I said.

“Welcome—”

“Daniel, son of
Aviv,” I said.

—“
Daniel, son
of Aviv,” she repeated.

Scylla reminded
me of an aging beauty queen. Her long face appeared drawn and her
pale eyes had lost the glimmer of yesteryear. Her husband deserved
better, but I chided myself for being so judgmental.

Soon a boy who
looked to be about twelve entered the room. His mannerisms reminded
me of an immature child. He avoided eye contact and walked
clumsily. He looked away without saying anything. I sensed anger
mixed with distrust. I would have to earn his
acceptance.

“Nathan,” said
Brutus, “meet Daniel, son of Aviv.”

The boy finally
made eye contact before turning away. I smiled hoping to crack
through his steel façade. He didn’t know I could reach beyond
it—yet.

A tense moment
followed when no one said anything. Suddenly the boy cried out,
followed by a full-blown tantrum. Smiles left everyone’s faces and
introductions were over. I sat and watched, not sure what to
do.

Nathan thrashed about, rubbing his feet across the
wooden floor and flailing his hands.

Brutus spoke
gently, “Stop. I’m here.” He grabbed the boy underneath his arms
and pulled him over into his lap. Brutus then held him until Nathan
quit struggling and became quiet, rocking him back and
forth.

I tried to read his thoughts. Confusion and fear
filled his mind.

“Tell Nathan
that I’m not going to take him away.”

Brutus did as I
instructed and the boy seemed to relax.

“Nathan needs
time. Tell him I’m his friend and I will live here for a little
while.”

The boy’s
father did again as I instructed, and calmness settled over
Nathan’s demeanor. He eyed me now with less
apprehension.

Brutus nodded.
“I think this will work.”

I smiled.

A young woman
carrying bags of food entered through the front door. She was tall
and slender, with long, dark brown hair. She brought to mind my
sister, Martha. The girl did not seem to notice me.

“Come over
here, Mari, and meet Daniel, son of Aviv.”

When Brutus
said my name, she turned white. For a moment, she looked as if she
would faint.

Brutus
perceived something was wrong and lifted Nathan from his lap to
catch her, but she instantly regained her composure. If she existed
in my own time, I would know her—pretty young women never escaped
my attention.

I stood. “Nice to meet you, Mari.”

A moment later
Scylla clapped her hands. “We’ve had too much drama. Let’s lighten
things up a bit. Mari, please prepare some food for our guest. I’ll
be in my quarters.”

The two women
ambled towards the back. I scooted closer to Nathan. I soon
realized nothing was ever as easy as it first appeared. The real
work had just begun. I would earn every shekel I made, especially
when I met Judd, the caretaker of the animals.

My first test
as a “big brother” occurred a couple of weeks after my arrival.
Brutus was on leave from his duties in Jerusalem to help with my
transition to the household, but Roman officials showed up early
one morning. They claimed Brutus must go with them to Jerusalem. It
was difficult for Brutus to conduct business from Nazareth. Because
he loved the Galilean countryside, he endured the long trips to
Jerusalem and Caesarea from Nazareth.

When I heard
Brutus was leaving, I wanted Judd to show me how to prepare
Brutus’s horse for travel. I went back to the cave and found
him.

Judd laughed. “Don’t you know anything about
horses?”

I shrugged. “I just want to see how Brutus likes his
horse saddled. That way, when you go on vacation, I can do it for
you. Or if you are busy with other duties.”

Judd became
less defensive. “Well, then. Grab that saddle with the
horns.”

“Horns?” I repeated.

“Yeah. Hanging on the wall.”

I looked for a horned saddle, whatever that was.
“This one?”

“No, that one,” Judd said impatiently.