“Thank you, my little friend,” he said and took a bite from the apple.
“You are welcome, sir,” the little girl replied. “Consider it a small gift for surviving the Shadow of the Soul.”
Priya smiled, turned around and ran away to play with the other children. Yeshua smiled, shook his head, stood up and continued his casual stroll into the beautiful, sunny day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: DEATH BY GUILT
Shi’mon blended with the crowd as they followed the criminal. Yeshua had just been arrested while he was in the Garden of Gethsemane with eleven of his apprentices. Miryam had not gone with them to the garden. Yehuda had shown up with Roman soldiers and had given his master a kiss on the cheek. That was when the Roman soldiers had seized Yeshua. Now, standing in front of the Sanhedrin with his hands and feet fastened in chains like a common criminal, Yeshua was charged with treason and blasphemy against Yahweh. With each passing moment of humiliation, Shi’mon’s resolve to end Yehuda for his betrayal grew even stronger.
But Shi’mon would not admit to himself that he had been a coward. Granted, he had made a bold move to strike one of the soldiers making the arrest, cutting off the soldier’s ear. Of all the soldiers who had come to arrest Yeshua, Shi’mon struck this soldier for a reason. As such, his motivation for taking off the soldier’s ear was more out of anger than fighting for his master. But Yeshua had ordered him to stay his hand, and he had complied. Yeshua had reattached the soldier’s ear and had willingly surrendered himself over to be arrested.
Shi’mon had been angry at the master for showing this Roman soldier such kindness. But then, he remembered what he had witnessed a few months ago and he was even angrier at his master now. Moreover, Shi’mon felt betrayed by his master and his disappointment in his master burned deep into his psyche. It was as if he had wasted three years of his life with a fraud! What a fool he had been! As the soldier with the reattached ear was fastening Yeshua’s hands and feet, the commanding officer of the arresting crew issued the order for the apprentices to be arrested. That was when the apprentices had all fled for their lives and abandoned their master.
“Why do I feel like I know you from somewhere?” asked a fair maiden next to him.
“I do not think we have met, young lady,” Shi’mon replied harshly.
“I think I know you though,” she insisted and moved closer to Shi’mon for a better look.
“I am sure I would remember if we ever met before,” he replied condescendingly as he tried to move past her. But she blocked his way.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, “I remember now! You are one of his followers, are you not?”
She jumped with excitement and turned around to share her discovery with some bystanders.
“You are mistaken!” he replied as panic ensued. “I do not know this man!”
And as she was talking to some bystanders and pointing in his direction, he dropped to a knee as if to tie his sandals and melted in the crowd. He emerged closer to the gate where the accused man, his master, was about to be chained to a pole for some lashing. Shi’mon cursed out loud! He was unsure why he was even still tailing this fraud. The man was trouble in capital letters. Damn everything! He would go home. Let the Romans do with his fraud of a master whatever it was they liked!
“Are you not one this blasphemer’s apprentices?” a young lad asked Shi’mon.
“No, I am not!” Shi’mon lied again. “This is the closest I have ever come to this man!”
“And you are a horrible liar, sir!” the young lad retorted. “Hey, everyone!” the young lad called. “Behold! One of the criminal’s followers.”
But Shi’mon pulled a disappearing act, just like the first time he had been associated with the criminal. Yes, Yeshua was a criminal! He appeared behind a tree just outside of the south wall of the Sanhedrin. Perhaps being away from the crowd was best for him. He was panting, not only out of exhaustion but out of fear of being arrested.
“So, is this where you hide like a coward while your master is tortured?” an elderly lady asked from the shadows.
Shi’mon was so startled that he almost leaped out of his skin. He thought he was alone.
“Look at you, acting like a caged rabbit!” the lady said, stepping out of the shadows and advancing towards Shi’mon. “Where is your loyalty, Shi’mon?”
“You mistake me for someone else, woman!” he lied.
“Liar!” she insisted. “Your name is Shi’mon and you are one of his followers!”
“I do not know what you mean, woman!” he insisted. “I do not know this criminal!”
As soon as he said those words, a rooster crowed, and Shi’mon remembered the master’s words; that one day he, Shi’mon, would deny him, the master, three times before the rooster crowed. The shame, anger at himself, and the guilt were too much for him to bear. He never should have borne such vile thoughts against the master. Whatever it was he saw, or thought he saw, must have had a valid reason. He should have spoken to the master and hear the master’s side of the story, instead of drawing such conclusions. Was it not the master who taught him that there was a reason for everything and that everything had a purpose? And now, in his master’s darkest hour, he had done the one thing he never should have done. He had denied his own master.
Shi’mon was torn on the inside. There was no going back now. What was done was done! His act was final, etched indelibly on the walls of history and Akasha for all eternity. As such, Shi’mon became his own judge, his own jury, and his own executioner. He rent his outer garments in twain, clawed at the earth, and wept. He wished he could rewind time and change everything. If he could, he would trade all his training, all that he knew and all that he could do, for the ability to travel back in time. But, alas, he could not.
He declared that his betrayal was unforgivable. He declared that he deserved eternal damnation and his psyche accepted this declaration as truth! In this acceptance, he also accepted death as his only suitable reality. But neither was his body ready to be abandoned nor was it his time to die. And thus, in this state of ethereal confusion, the barrier between his body and his spirit, his soul, was consumed into nothingness. In that moment, Shi’mon’s eyes became brighter than a thousand full moons. In that moment, Shi’mon became aware of his new status; he was now a soulless creature and in his soullessness, he found a new purpose.
“Yehuda, you are a dead man walking!” he promised himself as he vanished from sight.
A smile crept on the elderly lady’s face, who, a few moments ago had also been a young lad and a young maiden; three different forms from one person. Priya decided she would take the form of a Roman soldier as she made her way through the crowd. She was now fully dressed in the outfit of a Roman soldier. She had a spiked whip reserved for punishing the worst criminals in her right hand. The whip left tiny trails in the earth behind her as she continued her march towards the accused criminal that was Yeshua. She could sense the mixed emotions from the crowd; from those who just wanted to see the public thrashing of a criminal, to those who wished for a miraculous rescue of an innocent Jew from unjust punishment. When Priya was close to Yeshua, she learned forward and brought her lips close to his ear.
“You are a big boy!” she whispered. “You can handle this. I am just mad at you for surviving the Shadow of the Soul, again. No one, in all of Creation, has ever achieved that!”
She then stood up, lifted the whip high up in the air and crashed it on Yeshua’s bare back. And, with every lash, the crowd went wild with ecstasy.
***
Crucifixions were not uncommon to Roman-occupied Israel. But in the case of the ‘Miracle Worker from Nazareth,’ as Yeshua had come to be described by many over the years, it was more than just a spectacle. For three years, he walked amongst them, teaching them, healing their sick and even raising their dead. Yet, a day after the Passover, Yeshua was nailed to a cross like a common criminal and most of the record-setting crowd cheered on. But when Yeshua had spoken his last words ri
ght before his life expired, there had been an earthquake and the veil in the temple that sealed off the Holy of Holies from the rest of the temple had been torn down the middle. Cheers for his crucifixion had turned to fear of the wrath of Yahweh, support for Yeshua had turned to worship because after all, Yeshua truly was the ‘Son of Yahweh’, and Caleb, a goodly merchant from Arimathea, had asked for the honor to bury Yeshua’s body.
“You do whatever you want with that body!” High Priest Nefiki had exclaimed. “We want no part of this anymore. Who now know that we have visited a curse upon ourselves and our children for this sin against the Most High!”
Caleb had then offered his sincere condolences to the crucified and dead Yeshua’s grieving, pregnant wife, as well as to Yeshua’s mother, for their loss. Caleb then asked Miryam for the honor to bury her husband, since the Sabbath was fast approaching, and it would not be wise to leave Yeshua’s corpse out in the open on a holy day. Miryam had given Caleb her permission and had expressed her most sincere gratitude for his kindness. Caleb had been unbelievably efficient. Within an hour, he had obtained a piece of land in the hills, arranged for the master’s body to be properly cleaned and prepped for burial. Caleb had personally overseen that Yeshua’s body was laid on a flat slab of rock in a cave that was large enough to hold six fully grown adults with enough room between each adult. After that, the cave had been sealed.
Caleb returned to the inn where he was staying. He paid the servants and all those who helped him bury Yeshua a more-than-fair wage and everyone was truly grateful for his generosity. The wooden piece on which the master’s hands were nailed was still in his carriage. So, when he went to retrieve it from the carriage to take it up to his room, one of the workers offered to help him. But Caleb refused.
“Are you sure you do not want my help, sir?” the young lad asked.
“You are a good person, young man,” Caleb replied paternally, as he heaved the wooden piece over his left shoulder. “I may be more than half a century old, but I think I can handle a little bit of exercise,” he added with a laugh.
“As you wish, sir,” the young said. “Be well and thank you once again.”
“You are welcome and thank you too,” Caleb replied and went into the inn as the young lad went on his way.
When Caleb was in his room, he set the wooden piece by the door and, at a time when glass had not yet been invented, he retrieved a test tube from his leather bag. He held the test tube over the bloody portions of the wooden piece and uttered a few words. The master’s blood, still uncoagulated, migrated from the wooden piece and into the test tube. He corked the test tube and held it up in the air. Satisfied, he walked away from the bloodless wooden piece.
“I will be paying you a visit very soon, Yeshua,” The Scientist said, “and when I am done with you, I will also pay a visit to your wife and unborn child.”
***
Yehuda half-walked and half-ran to the outer city. He was unsure why he chose not to teleport. The master had been right; nothing could have prepared him for this. His guilt was more than he could bear and he regretted not walking away while he had the chance. The midday sun reminded him that there was, after all, something called time, even though Yehuda had completely lost track of it. He saw a sycamore tree in the distance and ran towards it. He may not be able to rewind time, but he sure could walk out of everything. There were so many other ways he could choose to end it all, but Yehuda preferred to stay old-fashioned. He made a rope manifest and he swung it over a branch. Maybe it was the dark poetry of a rope around one’s neck that appealed to him, or maybe he chose this method just because! He fastened the end of the rope into a hangman’s noose, placed it around his neck, climbed the tree to a high branch, closed his eyes and jumped.
His neck snapped as his body dangled limply from the tree branch. But as soon as his neck snapped, it healed again. Yehuda was furious at his stupidity but decided to try again. This time, the branch broke and he landed on the ground. He looked at the broken branch on the ground and then at the branch stump on the tree. It was a perfect cut as if someone or something had sliced off the branch with a very sharp object. He punched the ground in desperation, knowing Creation would not let him kill himself. In his frustration, Yehuda had what he considered to be a bright idea. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the thirty silver pieces he had received as payment from the high priest for betraying Yeshua, his master.
“Perhaps the object of my betrayal will be the object of my death!” he said to himself.
Yehuda focused on the thirty pieces of silver in his right hand and a light engulfed the silver pieces. When the light faded, a silver dagger with a six-inch blade rested in his right palm. He closed his right fist around the hilt dagger and cupped his left hand over his right hand. He then closed his eyes and thrust the dagger, with both hands, into his heart. Yehuda felt a sharp pain as the blade sliced through his flesh and dug into his heart. He felt his life slowly expire and relaxed to embrace his death. But, unlike peoples’ claims, Yehuda’s entire life did not flash before his eyes. He felt neither serenity nor peace. Instead, there was a flash and burning feeling; but the burning was not of the flesh. He screamed. The pain was indescribable! His heart spat out the dagger, and the dagger landed several feet away from him.
Even though Yehuda wanted out, his guilt would not let go. Even though Yehuda wanted to atone for the unatonable, his purpose would not let go. His master’s death had sealed his fate and there was no turning back. Yehuda screamed once again and crawled into a fetal position on the ground. His guilt finally consumed his psyche to the point that there was nothing but emptiness and an alien void tarried in its stead. He rose to his knees, turned his face towards the midday sun and opened his eyes. Yet, as the sun burned deep into his retinas with a fury of the heavens, Yehuda was not blinded. He closed his eyes and bowed his head as the pain vanished. Yes, he had died, but not in the flesh. The burn he felt was the loss of his soul and he felt more alive than he had ever felt. And in that moment, in that instance of realization and total surrender, he opened his eyes, bright as they were, to a new life of soullessness.
He stood up, walked over to the dagger and picked it up. The dagger glowed with a brightness that dwarfed even the brightness of the midday sun. He sighed and made the dagger disappear. Suddenly, something struck him in the solar plexus with enough force to slam him violently into the sycamore tree. If he were human, he would have been dead on the spot.
“No one kills you but me, traitor!” Shi’mon hissed through clenched teeth and zipped towards Yehuda, catching Yehuda in the face with his left foot. “Not even you!”
Yehuda landed about twenty feet away as he absorbed the pain that shot through him.
“What an irony that you of all people should call me a traitor,” Yehuda spat.
Shi’mon glared at Yehuda and charged towards him, fueled by unimaginable rage and fury. How did he know? Shi’mon wondered. Yehuda saw Shi’mon was distracted and seized the moment. He took a side step and caught Shi’mon by the neck. Using the momentum of Shi’mon zip, he spun around and threw Shi’mon’s body into the sycamore tree. Bones snapped, there was a shriek of pain, but bones healed as soon as they snapped and there was a roar of anger. Shi’mon shook his head and tried to catch his breath, and that was all Yehuda needed.
Yehuda zipped towards Shi’mon, dropped low to the ground and shot himself upwards, unleashing an uppercut into Shi’mon’s gut. Shi’mon was thrust about thirty feet in the air and as he was making his way back down, Yehuda zipped towards him and crashed a knee into Shi’mon’s ribs. But before Shi’mon could be tossed away from the impact, Yehuda grabbed him by the right ankle and slammed his body into the ground like one would swing down an axe to chop some wood. Upon impact, the area around Shi’mon cracked in spider-web patterns around his body. Yehuda then jumped thirty feet into the air and zipped downwards towards Shi’mon exposed spine.
But Shi’mon was ready and rolled over as Yehuda’s right fo
ot sank about six inches into the hard ground. Shi’mon spun around and drove his right heel on the outer part of Yehuda’s left knee. Yehuda’s knee was shattered. He screamed in pain and collapsed to the ground, but his knee healed up as fast as it had been broken. That was all the distraction Shi’mon needed as he zipped towards Yehuda. Shi’mon picked Yehuda up by the neck, lifted him in an arc above his head and slammed his body into the ground. The ground cracked around Yehuda’s body but Yehuda shot his right leg up towards Shi’mon’s groin, sending him sprawling about ten feet away. Shi’mon regrew his crushed testicles before he landed on his feet.
Both men instinctively zipped away from each other as light coalesced in the hands. The master had indeed taught them well. They moved the same and could adequately predict the other’s moves. Double-edged swords with razor-sharp, four-feet-long blades formed in each man’s right hand. They zipped towards each other but something crashed between both men, sending them flying away from each other. Both men resumed fighting stance immediately but as the dust settled, they saw Yochanan standing there with his arms folded and shaking his head in amusement.
“If you two have not realized by now that you cannot kill each other like that,” Yoch said derisively, “then you two are even bigger fools than I imagined.”
“Step aside, Yoch!” Shi’mon glared, teeth clenched. “I have a death to avenge.”
“In time, brother,” Yoch said, “you will learn more about the master’s death than you are willing and ready to know and admit. But right now, there will be no killing; not today at least and certainly not like this!”
He smiled at the newfound mortal enemies.
“Someone seems to be intelligent enough to validate my opinion,” Yehuda said.
Shi’mon was about to charge at Yehuda but Yoch raised a finger at him.
The Bright Eyes (The Soulless Ones Book 1) Page 24