Temple of the Jaguar (12 page)

That got you, I’m sure.

It would make me older than dirt. Right? Well, if we ever cross paths you won’t even notice me if it’s some ancient Methuselah you’re seeking. I don’t look a day over thirty—haven’t looked a day past the ‘prime of life’ since I wrote my own chapter on the most famous stage in modern history.

Back then my Hebrew name was Yehuda. I guess if history had left me hanging from some tree or tripping into a garden to where my guts squirted out of my condemned body, the world would be no wiser. My role in the ultimate betrayal long forgotten, maybe I’d be just a small footnote, and not the most reviled human being ever to walk this earth.

You can thank the Greeks and Romans for that honor, unfortunately. Or, I guess I can...at least credit goes to them. Born in Kenoth in the region of Judea, and falsely accused of being a member of the ‘Sicari’. Yes, these are all clues.... Give up?

The Greek for Yehuda is Yudas, and that name in Roman is Judas.

So there...that’s me. I’m Judas Iscariot.

But before you simply close this book in disgust, let me explain a few things. Things that could change your mind about the above claim, and take on a little of my perspective. In truth, I could literally give a rat’s ass if you believe I’m Judas or not. It’s not even the reason I’ve decided to write down my story. After all, if I don’t gain the final nine silver pieces needed for my restitution during my current ‘lifetime ruse’ as William Barrow, I’ll still be working on this project while you and everyone you care about has died and passed away. Perhaps all of you will land in the eternal Holy Mecca I so badly long for.... To be forgiven at long last and reunited with the One I looked on as a mere prophet and wonderful teacher, instead of the Lord of Lords that He is.

How do I know the truth about Jesus now as compared to then? You’ll have to read on for that answer—and it comes in bits and pieces, really. No, it won’t be some pompous sermon. What I’ve learned these past two thousand years transcends anything and everything you’ve ever read in
any
book—including what is considered the standards for the Holy Scriptures—like the Bible, Koran, etc. You’d be surprised at the shenanigans I’ve witnessed that later became the accepted “truth from the very mouth of God Almighty.”

So much is rubbish, and yet hidden within it all is the truth. Or, at least a version of the
eternal
truth.

But I digress, again. Just know that I am supremely confident of this: everyone’s burning questions will be answered by the end of my story…the first installment of what remains of my earthly quest.

So, back to this place called Al-haroun. While there are many places in the world that suffer from a host of calamities, only a few originate from a small epicenter within a few square miles. And not every one of these places contains what I need. However, since at first glance it is impossible to know for sure, I must research them all.

As a town, Al-haroun is no stranger to the wrath of God, or if you will, the unfortunate reputation as a cursed place. That night, I viewed article after article, along with an endless stream of film images to support the stories—literally, an endless succession of earthquakes, floods, famines, wars, and plague. Even a rare tornado struck the town in 1942 that destroyed nine homes and killed three people. Not exactly catastrophic weather, unless you consider the fact this is Iran we’re talking about and not Topeka, Kansas.

But all in all, if one considers the previous millennium’s host of travesties visited upon this small area, I have to consider the likely source: a single coin. Buried somewhere, and likely hidden from the light of day for centuries. Meanwhile, hundreds, if not thousands of lives have been ruined—either killed, homeless, or both. The last article I looked at talked about a rare blizzard from thirty years ago. That event took place in May, when things begin to heat up near the Alborz Mountains. More than three feet of snow fell upon the town, and the temperatures plummeted deeply enough to destroy livestock and crops.

The people believe they’re cursed, that somehow they’ve offended Allah. If only they knew that something there—likely buried beneath the soil—was indeed offensive to God, they might burn everything to the ground and leave. Forever.

My gut instinct was telling me a single silver shekel was responsible. One that bears Caesar’s notorious beak of a nose on one side and a proud eagle upon the back. Just like twenty-nine others I once accepted as payment for my evil deed. A moment of folly, and to think it could’ve been forty pieces of silver if Caiaphas hadn’t tried to cheat me by offering half-shekels instead.

Anyway, I was certain my assumption was one hundred percent correct. As I studied the latest stories and pictures on the screen, my left hand began to tremble. This familiar sensation always confirms the truth of what my intuitions tell me.

Silver ‘blood-coin’ number twenty-two is within reach.

Satisfied, I turned off the viewer. I then returned the older film to the correct cabinets and the newer CDs and flash drives to their file drawers.

It was time to request some vacation days, and make arrangements for a little trip overseas.

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Also available:

Aladdin Relighted

by J.R. Rain and Piers Anthony

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Chapter One

She was a fine beauty with almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones and lips so full they could hardly close. She stepped into my tent and shook out her hair and slapped the trail dust from her overcoat.

I had been dozing lightly, one foot propped up on a heavy travel chest, when I heard a woman’s voice asking for me. With my foot still hanging over the ornately-engraved chest, I had turned my head with some interest and watched as a dark-haired woman had poked her head in my open tent. My tent was always open. After all, I was always open for business. Once confirming she had the right tent, she had strode in confidently.

And that’s when I sat up, blinking hard. It was not often that such a beauty entered my humble tent. Granted, there had been a time when I was surrounded by such beauties, but that seemed like a long, long time ago.

“
Do you always sleep during the day?” she asked. As she spoke, she scanned my simple tent, wrinkling her nose. She stepped over to a low table and looked down at a carving of mine. She nodded to herself, as if she approved of my handiwork. She looked around my tent some more, and when she was done, she looked at me directly, perhaps challengingly.

“
Only until the sun goes down.”

She had been looking at a pile of my dirty robes sitting in one corner of my tent. She snapped her head around. “I hope you’re joking.”

“
And why would you hope that?”

“
Because I will not hire a sluggard.”

She was a woman of considerable wealth, that much was for sure. She also did not act like any woman I had even seen, outside of the many courtyards and palaces I had once been accustomed to. She reminded me of all that was wrong with wealth and royalty and I immediately took a disliking to her, despite her great beauty.

Through my tent opening came the sounds of money being exchanged for any number of items. At the opening, swirling dust still hovered in the air from when she had entered. The dust caught some of the harsh sunlight, forming phantasmagorical shapes that looked vaguely familiar.

“
And why would my lady need to hire a lazy wretch like me?” I asked. As I spoke I lifted my sandled foot off the chest and sat back with my elbows on my knees.

“
Emir Farid said some satisfactory things about you. In particular, that you have proven to be somewhat reliable.”

“
Emir Farid has always greatly admired me.”

She studied me closely. Her almond-shaped eyes didn’t miss much. Her long fingers, I saw, were heavy with jewels.

“
Aren’t you going to offer me a seat?” she asked.

I motioned to the area in front of the chest. The area was covered in sand and didn’t look much different than the desert outside my tent.

I really ought to clean this place,
I thought.

“
Never mind,” she said. “I’ll stand.”

I shrugged and grinned. She fanned her face and looked around my tent some more. She didn’t seem pleased, but she also looked desperate. Desperate usually won out.

She said, “Despite your many flaws, according to Emir Farid, he says that you are particularly adept at...finding things.”

“
I’m also adept at losing things, my lady, but funny how no one seems to want to hire me for that.”

Outside, a few tents down, an animal shrieked, followed by sounds of splashing, and I knew a goat had been slaughtered. A dry, hot wind found its way into my tent, swirling the dirt at her feet, and lifting her robe around her ankles.

Nice ankles.

She caught me looking at them and leveled a withering stare at me. I grinned some more.

“
You make a lot of jokes,” she said. “This could be a problem.”

I moved to sit back in the position she had found me in. “Then I wish you luck in your quest to find whatever it is that’s missing. May I suggest you take a look around our grand market place. Perhaps this thing of which you seek is under your very nose.” I closed my eyes and folded my hands over my chest.

“
Are you always like this?” she demanded.

“
Lying down? Often.”

She made a small, frustrated noise. “Is there anyone else in this godforsaken outpost who can help me?”

“
There’s a shepherd who’s been known to be fairly adept at finding lost goats—although, come to think of it, he did lose one last week—”

“
Enough,” she snapped. “I don’t have much time and you will have to do, although you are older than I had hoped.”

“
My lady is full of compliments. I am not sure if I should blush or sleep.”

“
Neither, old man. Come, there’s much to do.”

I heard her step towards the open flap of my tent. I still hadn’t opened my eyes. I lifted my hand and rested it on the corner of the chest. I hunkered deeper on the padding that doubled as my bed. She stopped at the entrance.

“
Well?” she asked impatiently.

“
Well what?”

“
Aren’t you coming?”

I turned my head and looked at her. She was standing with her hands on her hips, silhouetted in the streaming sunlight. God, she was beautiful. And irritating.

I said, “Not until I know what you want me for and we have discussed my price.”

She turned and faced the bustling marketplace just outside my tent. She wanted to leave. She wanted to run. But she needed my help, that much was obvious. I waited, smiling contentedly to myself.

She said, “If I tell you on the trail, I will double your asking price.”

Double was good. I jumped to my feet and grabbed a satchel and my chest. The rest could stay.

At the tent entrance, I nodded at her. “You have yourself a deal.”

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About the Authors:

J.R. Rain
is an ex-private investigator who now writes full-time in the Pacific Northwest. He lives in a small house on a small island with his small dog, Sadie, who has more energy than Robin Williams. Please visit him at
www.jrrain.com
.