"He knew I wasn't bluffing. He'll be happy never to see my face again."
"I think you're right about that, but I'll keep an eye on him nonetheless." Jude spits and says, "Now listen. This is important. Does Maria know about the gun?"
"Yes."
"OK," he says softly, the wheels in his head spinning fast. "I'll talk with her about it. Not everyone is on board with our method. This group..." Jude waves his hand at the men in front of us. "These men are a mixed bag. Some aren't convinced yet about the war."
"Why not?"
"They believe there's another way to freedom."
"Maria mentioned this ridiculous notion. She isn't too keen on the idea herself."
Jude rolls his eyes. "Tell me about it. Just keep the gun to yourself, OK? Mention it to no one else."
"Fine. What's this supposed other way?"
"It's the Teacher," Jude says dismissively. "He puts all these ideas in everyone's heads. Has them thinking all sorts of things, getting people confused about the war."
"But he's a Southerner?"
"Yes, and he wants freedom for his people, but he goes about it in the strangest ways. Some days I'm convinced he'll lead the battle charge himself. Other times I feel he detests the very notion of war. It's a mess, and it's incredibly distracting." Jude spits again. "Whatever. What's important is that you're here now. The men are buzzing to meet you."
"The men? I thought I just met them."
Jude shakes his head. "You met the students. Now it's time to meet the men." He arches an eyebrow. "Or...I should say, your men."
We find the group lounging near a small lake, passing a bottle of wine and a basket of rye bread. My stomach rumbles at the sight of food, reminding me I haven't eaten since long before sunrise.
Maria is on the ground next to Miles, and she waves me over when she sees me. The brothers take notice, and I swell with pride.
Yes, you may have known her longer, but I'm the one she just kissed. I'm the one she wants at her side. An elementary level of pride consumes me. She wants me. Which means she doesn't want you.
Jude says, "Wait. We need to discuss the money."
"What about it?"
"Your little stunt will make a large transfer significantly more challenging. You're a marked man—no more flying under the radar."
"Tell me something I don't know. I'm beginning to think I was marked long before I arrived in the South."
"Not like this. I'll be shocked if there's not an audit requested on you in the morning. The red flags are everywhere."
"But it's my money," I say. "I can do with it what I want."
Jude laughs as one of the men passes him the wine. He tips the bottle to his lips and says, "And King Charles has me over for tea on Sundays." He takes a long pull on the bottle and passes it to me. I take a sip and pass the bottle to the guy standing closest, a tall man with tree-trunk arms and curly blond hair. He snatches the bottle and drains the rest of it, drawing groans from the others. The curly-haired man laughs and promises to find more. He promptly hops up to make good on the offer.
"What's his story?" I ask Jude.
Through a yawn he says, "They call him 'Petra.'"
"Rock?"
Jude nods. "A nickname the Teacher gave him. The guy's a real beating. but he's on our side, which is good. Petra's the kind of man who can make life difficult when you don't see eye to eye with him. But as long as he's with us, he'll do more than carry his weight. He's as fearless as they come, a natural-born leader."
"We'll need men like that." I lower my voice and add, "So what do we do about the money?"
"I'm not sure, but whatever we do must happen sooner than later. We can't sit on this. If we wait too long, the money will be gone."
"Come on. The Kingdom can't just steal my money."
"How'd that work out for your parents?"
Jude's words hit me like a shot to the gut.
"I'm sorry," he says, exasperated. "But they took your parents, OK? They can do whatever they want, Deacon. You need to get that through your skull. These people don't mess around. They make people disappear. Money is a total no-brainer for them."
I think for a long moment before saying, "I'll come back to the bank tomorrow and withdraw all of it. There's got to be somewhere else we can stash it."
"Out of the question. You can never step foot in the bank again. Those guards may not be members of the Centurion Guard, but that doesn't make them teddy bears. You got the jump on them once. It won't happen again."
"Then how can I get the money if I can't go to the bank?"
"By proxy," Jude says. "You can authorize someone else to access your account."
"How would I do that?"
"Not easily. You'll have to return to the Office of Record and make the request with your supervisor."
"That's out of the question."
"Why?"
"Because my supervisor is a psycho."
"You can't be serious."
"As a heart attack. She nearly choked me to death."
A few of the students have noticed our conference and are now craning their heads to get a better look at us.
"Calm down," Jude says. "None of this will be easy, but you'll have to keep your emotions in check. Otherwise you're already dead."
"Fine," I say. "But don't be surprised if I don't make it out of that building."
"I have faith in you."
Maria calls out to me. "Deacon! Stop acting so serious, and come sit with me."
"Go tomorrow," Jude orders. "First thing in the morning, and tell her to add my name to the account."
"You? But won't that be suspicious? I was thinking Maria ought to be the one."
"No. It has to be me. Maria won't understand. And I'm not sure I trust her."
"You can trust Maria," I say defensively. "If there's one thing I know, it's that she can be trusted."
Jude glares at Maria then me. "Not the time to go falling in love, kid."
"That's not your concern."
"In the morning." Jude says, eyeing Maria. Then he looks at me. "...make the request. My last name is Iscariot. I'll secure the funds, and we'll rally the men and make the necessary procurements."
"When can I meet them?"
"Tomorrow night."
"How many are there?"
Jude smiles. "Many. I'll let the precise number be a surprise, but rest assured that we have enough to make a serious assault."
The mere thought of this enthralls me—Southerners willing and armed to do battle with the Kingdom. "I can't wait to join their ranks," I say. "I just hope I'm ready to play my role—whatever it may be."
Jude issues an anxious breath of air. "You'll play your role; trust me. Now go to her." He flicks his chin toward Maria. "While you still can."
settle down next to Maria and replay the conversation with Jude in my head. The man knows more than he's letting on, but he's guided me well so far, which leads me to believe he can be trusted. After all, my father trusted him.
My father's wealth remains the most unfathomable of mysteries to me. Where did this money come from? He and my mother barely had enough to send me away to school. It doesn't make sense.
But Jude is the one with the answers.
The bread comes around, and Maria and I both take large slices that have been soaked in almond butter. I inhale the first slice and immediately ask Miles for another. He hands the basket to me and says, "Be careful with that one."
"Who? Jude?"
"He's a hawk," Miles says, his trademark smile gone.
Through a mouthful of bread, I say, "Aren't we all?"
"Yes, but we can also be diplomatic. There are many paths for the revolution. We can't rush anything."
"He's not," I say. "As far as I can tell, he's the only one with a plan—at least one he's willing to share."
"Just be careful. Keep your mind open. He isn't the only voice worth listening to."
I shove another piece of bread in my mouth and say, "I'll listen
to anyone, as long as they're willing to fight."
Maria pokes her head between us. "No more scheming today," she says. "It's all so exhausting. The sun is down, and it is time for peace. So...let us have peace."
Miles laughs in agreement. "Yes...and look! Petra has found the Teacher."
"And more wine!" Maria says.
I look up to find two men walking slowly toward us. The curly-haired Petra marches proudly, holding gigantic bottles of red wine in each hand. He raises them like trophies above his head, and the group cheers in reply. More wine!
Beside Petra is a slightly built man with dark skin and short-cropped black hair. He's dressed simply, in dark trousers and a black T-shirt. Petra walks with such exuberance that the smaller man is practically absorbed into his energy. If I weren't intentionally looking for the Teacher, I don't think I would have noticed him at all. As they approach I regard the Teacher further and discover his face to be completely unremarkable. He's neither handsome nor unattractive. For a man of such fame, I expected more.
"Where has he been?" I ask Miles.
"He left early this morning, before the sunrise. He went to a quiet place for prayer."
"He does that often," Maria adds. "He wanders into the desert alone to find his energy, to pray for guidance."
Miles nods. "He needs the time to himself. He gets mobbed wherever he goes. It never ends."
"I don't understand how a man can get so famous," I say. "He's not even ordained in the True Religion, is he?"
Maria shakes her head. "No, he's never sought academic or religious credentials. But he doesn't need them."
"That's ridiculous. Why not?"
"Because," Miles says, "he is religion." He shakes his head. "There's simply no other way to describe him. He is, simply, the way."
"Yes," Maria says. "That's it exactly. He is the way—our way home"
I don't understand how any person can be religion, so I decide to drop it. "Whatever you two say." I reach for another piece of bread. I could eat all night.
Petra arrives and says, "Look who I found wandering the streets alone!" He gives the Teacher a rowdy shove and tousles his short, messy hair. The Teacher gives it right back to him, stealing a bottle of wine and tossing it to one of the students on the ground. "I told him," Petra continues, "that everyone's been looking for him! And you know what this guy says?"
The Teacher grins and says, "Then let's leave."
The group roars with laughter.
"I'm serious!" the Teacher says, laughing at his own joke. "It's time to move on. We have work elsewhere."
"Where?" Petra asks.
"Neighboring towns," the Teacher says. "I must proclaim the message there as well. It's why I came."
Miles asks, "When do we leave?"
The Teacher looks our direction; his eyes fall on me. "Who's our guest?"
"This is Deacon," Maria says happily.
I stand and discover the Teacher is even smaller than I realized. I tower over the man. I offer him my hand, and he takes it. "It's an honor to meet you," I tell him. "I've heard much about you."
"Don't trust a word of it," he says.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah. I mean, look at this crew. Have you ever seen a more awkward group of misfits in your life?"
I laugh. "Well...now that I've met their leader, it all makes sense."
Miles chokes on a piece of bread.
But the Teacher laughs. "Deacon, right?"
"That's right."
"Welcome, my friend. What brings you to this place? You look far too refined to have been in the South for long."
Maria says, "That's actually what we need to discuss with you, Teacher. Perhaps Deacon and I can speak to you in private?"
"Of course." He reaches for some wine. "But Deacon should know, straight away, that there's no need for secrets. We're all one in this place; one concern is all concern. No burden is borne in isolation."
"That's very kind of you," I say. "I couldn't agree more. It'll take all of us sacrificing to achieve freedom. We must put the good of the country before personal ambition."
"Yes," the Teacher agrees. "There will be no drum majors in this war, only servants."
Thus far the Teacher isn't what I imagined him to be. From what Maria said, I pictured a weak-bodied intellectual who didn't understand what this fight would demand. But I sense a fierce spirit in this man. He may be small physically, but his eyes burn with the passion of a warrior.
"I'm in trouble," I say. "Maria too."
"Aren't we all?" The Teacher motions to the group. "Everyone here has left the safety of home to follow this path."
"I struck a bank guard," I say. "I broke his nose badly."
"Yeah, you did!" Petra cheers, nodding his approval.
The men laugh but not the Teacher, who says, "Go on."
"It's all been taken care of," Jude interrupts. "I smoothed things over at the bank. There's no warrant for Deacon's arrest, and I highly doubt the Kingdom is searching for Maria. She's of no real consequence."
"Thanks, Jude," Maria says.
"You know what I mean," Jude says.
"But still," the Teacher says, "we can't be too careful. The Centurion Guard doesn't need much of an excuse to take us all away."
"That's right," Miles interjects. "There's already a rumor the Baptist's days are numbered. The Kingdom is growing impatient with anyone who speaks against its rule."
"Who's the Baptist?" I ask.
"My mentor," the Teacher says. "He's my closest friend and confidante—a great man."
"I look forward to meeting him."
"You won't."
"Why not?"
"He's in prison," the Teacher says. A hush falls across the group. "You must be peaceful, Deacon. Violence is not the answer right now."
"That's what I've been trying to tell him," Jude tells the Teacher. "But this kid's got a thick head." The Teacher nods at Jude.
"Violence isn't the answer?" I say. "You mean, like, for the moment?"
The Teacher takes a long look at me before speaking. "What do you hope to accomplish by way of the sword?"
I huff. "Well, first off I don't plan on using a sword. I prefer to bring guns to a firefight."
The Teacher turns away from me and addresses the group. "All of you! What do you see happening if you go to war against the Kingdom? What would success look like? Tell me. I want to know."
Petra rises to his feet. "With them dead. With our people liberated. With the Centurion Guard driven out of our land!" He makes a fist and strikes his own breast. "With victory!"
Petra's answer is met with impassioned "hurrays." Others hiss their dissent.
"Each of you must decide his or her own way," the Teacher says. "All I ask is that you consider the consequences of your actions. Ask yourself what you expect from challenging the military might of the Kingdom. Be reasonable and measure the weight of its cost."
"The weight will be heavy," I tell him. "No doubt about that. But it's worth it. Freedom is worth any price."
The Teacher furrows his dark eyebrows. "Is it?"
"Yes!" I say.
"And what will you do, Deacon, with your invaluable freedom?"
I start to tell him I won't be around to enjoy my freedom, that I have no illusions of still breathing when this war is over. But with Maria standing at my side, I can't bring myself to utter such depressing truths. "Nothing special," I say. "Just...to live in peace." I reach for Maria's hand and squeeze it tightly. My palms are laden with sweat.
The Teacher says, "I've dedicated what's left of my life to a single mission, Deacon."
"Me too."
"The time is fulfilled," he says slowly, "and the kingdom of God has come near. Repent, and believe in the good news."
"Teacher?" Petra interrupts. "There's a man here to see you."
he Teacher turns away from me and moves toward Petra, who gives a wide berth to the man asking for the Teacher. The stranger wears an oversize robe that covers his bo
dy from head to toe. There's a veil across his face. Not an inch of his skin is exposed to the air. The only signs of humanity are his eyes, and they're horribly bloodshot.
"So," I say to Maria, "I've met the famous Teacher."
She grins. "Isn't he wonderful?"
"If you say so."
"Give him time," Miles says. "I wasn't an immediate convert either. He's enigmatic, to put it mildly. Give him a chance."
"He speaks of God's kingdom," I say. "What does he mean by that?"
"The boys argue a lot about it," Maria says. "Some think he's speaking of the afterlife."
"And the others?"
"It's his vision," Miles says, "of what could be now, of what life might look like if we choose this other way to live."
"Which nobody actually understands," I say. Miles and Maria share a look, wordlessly communicating a message to which I'm not privy. "I'm right, aren't I? None of you gets it, but you're pretending because you want to understand."
"Like I said," Miles says gently, "it takes time."
"Well, time is what I most definitely don't have."
Petra's voice breaks urgently into our conversation. "Teacher! No! You mustn't! It's not safe."
We drop our bread and rush to find the Teacher pulling the hood off the stranger. His face is grotesque. It's covered in sores; puss oozes from his eyes, nose, and ears. Open wounds litter his skin, the pockmarks stinking so badly that we have no choice but to pinch our noses. One of the men vomits. I nearly do the same. I've never seen anything so disgusting. The man looks ancient, as if he were exhumed from a thousand-year-old grave and brought back to pungent life.
"What is that?" I say, turning away, unable to look any longer.
"That is a man, Deacon," Maria says. "That is a human being."
I turn around slowly, the putrid odor wafting over me like a plague. It takes all of my composure to remain standing, to keep my focus on the baffling scene playing out before me.
"What's wrong with him?" I ask.
"He's a leper," Miles says.
Of course I, of all people, should have recognized it. Eradicated years ago, the disease returned to the South when foreigners came to this region from the Far East.
"What's he doing here? Lepers aren't permitted within city limits. He could infect us all. There are no medications left in the South to treat leprosy. He needs to be in a colony; he needs to be isolated."
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