Palace of Darkness

by Tracy L. Higley

  Julian pulled her to face him. “Look at me, Cassia.”

  She turned her tear-streaked face upward, wanting him to tell her otherwise.

  “I do not know who it was that convinced you of this, but you are not nothing. Look at what you have done in these few weeks.” He still held her arms and anger flickered in his eyes. “You have survived Aretas’s death, brought your son across the desert to a new city, weathered the attack of that trader, stood before royalty and endured their abuse, and then won the hearts of everyone you have met.” He shook her slightly, as though to drive his words home. “You are the strongest woman I have ever known!”

  She searched his face for a moment, drinking in the strength. “Then what am I to do for my son?”

  Julian pulled her to his chest in a rough embrace. She felt him look upward at his work, as though making a decision.

  “We will find a way, Cassia. I promise you, we will find a way.”

  SIXTEEN

  THE SUN SLIPPED LOW ENOUGH OVER THE DESERT TO send its warmth into the large rock-cut tomb where the church met. Malik arrived early and alone, content to start the fire and wait for the others to arrive.

  They trickled in as they finished their work for the day, bringing parts of the meal and greeting Malik with honor and affection.

  The triclinium’s three stone tables, laid as a square with one open end toward the rock ledge, had only been used for their shared meals. Never a funerary banquet, for which the tables had been built. The large tomb belonged to one of their own, but none of the slots in the back had yet been used to house remains for the customary year before the bones were gathered into a stone ossuary and placed in a smaller niche. Until it was needed for family burials, it served as a meeting place for the Petran church.

  Malik watched the tables fill with food, both rich cakes and poor breads, and the chamber with those he loved best. His heart expanded with the joy of it. This was his flock, his family. As the Elder of Petra for these many years, he had watched the community increase in number and in love for each other, and the growth of his church pleased him far more than the material wealth he had also accumulated over those same years.

  Eventually, he took the central place on the middle couch. Not because he considered himself the guest of honor, but because he would teach tonight, and this was the best place to be heard and seen by all. The other places on the couches quickly filled with the eldest of their group, and the younger ones sat cross-legged with their plates on the floor or leaned against the walls. A child or two even sat behind him in the holes carved for burials.

  When the crowded chamber had filled to capacity, Malik lifted a hand over the group and they silenced at once.

  “Father in heaven, Maker of all that is, we are Your poor children, and all that we have is given by You. We lay our hearts before You, ask You to move among us and speak to us this night. We give You thanks for the meal You have given us to share, but even more for giving us each other. And above all, we thank You for Jesus the Redeemer, and we pray for His soon return and His kingdom to be established.”

  A murmured “amen” came from the group, and when Malik opened his eyes and lifted his head, a new figure was among them, standing at the end of the table to his left.

  “Julian!” Malik’s heart swelled to see the young man, to know he had sought them out. The Holy One had already given Malik a love for this boy, even in the short time he had known him.

  All heads turned to the new arrival, and Julian seemed to shrink back. Malik waved him forward.

  “Children, Julian was with us a few nights ago, but he was not yet ready to identify with us. Perhaps he is ready this night?” Malik waited, giving the boy his chance. He watched Julian’s chest expand, his shoulders flex, watched him survey the room, his expression a mixture of fear and longing. The chamber stilled and waited for his response. Malik breathed a silent prayer.

  Finally Julian nodded as though in agreement with each heart present. “Yes.” He broke into a shy smile. “Grace to you and peace from God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ. It is good to be among those who also claim the blood of the Jewish Messiah as their atonement.”

  Malik watched his flock respond, pride filling his heart once again. Men jumped to their feet and gripped Julian’s arms, women smiled and brought him food. Malik knew they would be cautious still. It would be some time before Julian would be fully accepted into the body, but he would be welcome until then.

  The meal commenced, and the believers did what they did best—listened to each other’s hearts, shared the struggle to remain true to the teachings, prayed over each other in love. Several served, not because they were servants, but because it was their joy and their gift to do so. Zeta herself brought Malik his bowl of wine, watered and warmed in just the way he enjoyed. He smiled up at her, then savored the simple meal of flat bread and brown beans, with creamy white yoghurt and figs afterward, and enjoyed his community. Near the front of the room, Julian held court with a group of boys and young men, entertaining them with some story that had them all laughing.

  Before the meal ended, however, Julian broke away from his audience and approached Malik. Malik shifted on his couch to make room for the boy to set down a knee beside him and speak in his ear.

  “May I speak to the community, Elder?” The boy’s tone seemed strangely reverent.

  Malik raised an eyebrow. “You wish to teach?”

  “No, no, not teach! I . . . I want to request their help on behalf of Alexander, Cassia’s son.”

  “You mean the son of Prince Aretas.”

  Julian’s hand formed a fist at his side. “He belongs with his mother.”

  Malik swept his hand over the flock. “And what can they do?”

  “I have a plan. But I need assistance.”

  Malik smiled. The young always had plans. They had not yet learned that life does not always yield the fruit one seeks to harvest. He dipped his head. “You may speak to them.”

  He had thought to introduce Julian again, to call the attention of the people, but with the impetuosity of youth, Julian jumped to his feet and clapped his hands to quiet them.

  Within minutes he reminded them of Cassia, whom they had served here several nights earlier, and who even now was being housed by Zeta and her daughter, Talya. He explained the revelation Cassia had received on arriving in Petra, and then with the skill of a stage dramatist, he related the snatching of Alexander until tears were in the eyes of more than a few.

  “I believe we must help her,” Julian finished. “The boy is being treated roughly in the palace, and no one is there to love him. I fear for him. He should be with his mother. I have a plan.”

  He had their attention, Malik had to admit. But still, it was with the skill of a performer. Malik did not doubt the young man’s sincerity or his passion, only his maturity. But the Spirit spoke into his heart, telling him to hold his tongue.

  Julian’s plan to rescue Alexander called for as many as were willing to pursue employment in the palace, in whatever role they could find. He believed if enough of them were positioned inside the royal house, an event could be staged that would pull the attention of the king and queen to one place, while those inside could secretly slip the boy away and whisk him from the palace to his mother.

  “And then what?” one young man asked. “The entire Nabataean army will descend upon her.”

  “She will leave Petra. I will see to it. There are places she can go, where she would not be found.”

  Malik did not speak when Julian had finished. He would allow his flock to make this decision, to respond in whatever way the Holy One led them. Julian appeared patient as well. He asked whoever was willing to join him to speak to him after the meeting, and he yielded the floor to Malik.

  Malik rose to teach them then. Nahor brought him one of their precious copies of the apostle’s letter to the church in Thessalonica, and then a part of a letter Paul had written to Malik himself, several years after Malik had lef
t him in Rome.

  They wanted to hear more of Malik’s years in Rome, as they always did. Those had been both the best and the worst years, as the older apostle had trained Malik in truth while the persecution grew fiercer with each passing month. Finally Paul had sent Malik back to Petra, to lead the church he had begun there himself when he sojourned in Arabia years earlier. Three months later, Paul was dead. Martyred at the hand of Nero.

  But Malik did not speak of this tonight.

  When he finished his teaching, he pulled yet another papyrus from his belt, a letter he had received today and saved to read to the community.

  He held it aloft. “News from the province of Syria. From Ignatius, Elder of Antioch.”

  Faces lit with joy at the name. Ignatius wrote encouraging letters, filling them with hope at the rapid growth of the Way in Syria, despite the opposition.

  “ ‘To the church at Petra,’ ” Malik read. “ ‘Grace and peace to you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. I write this letter with my own hand, with the knowledge it is likely my last.’ ” Malik stumbled over the words and paused. A collective gasp went up from the chamber.

  “ ‘The days of peaceful existence for the followers of Jesus are ending, my friends. The occasional disturbances have become more frequent, and the arena again cries out for the blood of Christians. I have not been silent as our emperor allows this evil. While he has not yet sent out his soldiers to round up believers, he has taken the policy that any who gain his attention are to be put to death.’ ”

  Malik scanned forward a few lines, and when he spoke again, his voice thickened. “ ‘Trajan has commanded that I come to Rome, to await trial for apostasy as I have denied his divinity and refused to bow to the gods of Rome. I go willingly, knowing that our God is using the deaths of His beloved to grow His church.’ ”

  The letter went on, full of encouragement for the flock in Petra, and Malik read it, but his heart was near to bursting with grief. It was too soon, too soon to lose his friend and to see his leadership passed to another. Malik prayed there was one there in Antioch worthy to accept the mantle of authority.

  It is your time as well, Malik.

  The Voice burned through him, a fire in his veins. His heart pounded in response. He finished the letter, set it aside, then rose and went to the rock ledge to look out on the city. The others left him to his thoughts, no doubt believing his grief kept him isolated. But it was not the grief alone. It was the Voice. One he had come to know well.

  “They have need of me still, Lord,” he whispered into the night. He thought about the faces around the table, at the edges of the room. Which of them was ready to lead? “Not yet.” He shook his head in the darkness. “No one is prepared.”

  Then you must help him.

  A chill shook Malik’s thin frame, and the knowing came upon him, falling like dew on his head, turning him back to his flock, who already watched him carefully.

  “The word of the Lord,” he began, and felt the tears flow as they often did when the Holy One gave him a prophecy to speak out to the people. He knew not what it would be yet, but he suspected. And even as the words poured forth, he felt a resistance to them, a fear for the future of his church.

  “Ignatius will soon go to his fathers, and my time is coming as well.” His tears fell unchecked, matched by the emotion of others in the room. “But God is faithful and will not leave His people bereft. Even now there is one among you who will be raised to lead.”

  They waited, he knew. Waited for him to speak a name. But though the name was given to him, it was not for him to speak it yet, the Spirit said.

  The knowing, the word of prophecy, was finished. The room buzzed, but Malik turned back to the ledge, back to the star-flecked sky, and shivered.

  He is so young, Lord. So foolish and lacking in maturity. Surely not. Surely not.

  But the Lord had spoken. And so Malik bowed his head, though filled with fear.

  Yes, Malik. Julian will lead My church.

  SEVENTEEN

  MEN AND THEIR PLANS.

  Cassia brushed a pile of pebbles together, scooped them with her hands, and dropped them into a chipped pot. She perched on the narrow ledge where Julian worked, three stories above the street level. In the past few days, Julian had been assigned a particular area to hack away, and when it was discovered Cassia had no fear of the great height, she was given the task of cleaning up his debris.

  “Good progress today.” Julian wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

  Cassia grunted. Her mind was full of Julian’s plan to engage Malik’s friends to find jobs in the palace and help get Alexander out.

  It all reminded her of Aretas’s elaborate plots. And more than that, it left nothing for her to do. Am I to go on clearing rocks, taking no action to save my son?

  The notion galled her. She had relied on men to rescue and take care of her for too many years. But that time had ended, and she would be strong on her own behalf. Who were these friends of Malik’s that they would help her?

  “Your admirer is staring again.” Julian interrupted her reverie. She looked up at him, confused.

  “There.” Julian jutted his chin toward a ledge farther down where Og, a younger mason, chipped at the rock wall but with his eyes trained upward.

  Cassia snorted and returned to her cleanup.

  “You are not flattered?” Julian’s voice was teasing. “He is very handsome. At least that’s what I hear.”

  “Flattered, perhaps. Interested, no.” She dropped a few rock chips and chased them before they fell from the ledge.

  “Not what you are looking for?”

  After a strong exhale, Cassia stared Julian down. He was clearly baiting her. Fine. She would tell him what she thought. “I am not looking at all, Julian. I have found men in general to be disastrous for me.”

  Julian whistled through his teeth and kept working. “All of us, swept aside like so many rock chips?”

  “You don’t know me, Julian. I am finished with men.”

  He stopped long enough to stare down at her. She shook her head and hoped he understood the message: Do not ask.

  The midday call came up from the ground, and Cassia picked her way down the rough-cut steps for the brief meal and respite from the sun. Julian followed, but she ignored him. He was in a bantering mood today, and it made her feel unbalanced.

  The workers ducked into the lower level of the tomb, under one of the massive arches that had already been carved, and found places on the dirty floor. Three servants circulated, handing bowls of bread and chunked meat in a thick gravy. Cassia downed the food hungrily, sitting with the other women she had befriended over the days of work. Julian sat nearby.

  The servants brought beer, made from strongly leavened bread crumbled into water and warmed over a slow fire. Bits of bread still lingered in the cup. Cassia passed her bowl back to the servant unfinished in the customary way. It was the only food they would receive.

  The talk at the meal was all of the day’s religious ceremonies. Cassia asked Adva, a new friend, about the significance.

  “You’d think they would give us a holiday,” Adva muttered between bites of thick bread. “But only the royals are important enough to take time away from all their hard, hard work.”

  Cassia gave her a smile of agreement, as she felt the same hostility for the royal family, albeit for different reasons. “What does the royal family do on the day of the full moon?” She finished her meal and accepted the jug of lukewarm water being passed from hand to hand.

  Her friend shrugged. “It’s the queen more than anyone.” She pointed across the open space outside the tomb to the precipice of the massive rocky cliff. “She is carried to the High Place to make sacrifices, and then there is a feast in the palace tonight.”

  Cassia squinted at the top of the cliff, but the plateau was so far above, she could see no activity. The thought of that windswept exposure made her shudder.

  “It must take half th
e day for the queen to get up there and back.”

  Adva brushed crumbs from her coarse white tunic and stood. “Never bothered to try it.”

  Cassia turned to search out Julian, wanting his opinion. He had been close enough to hear and now raised his eyebrows at her. “I know that look. What are you planning?”

  She jumped to her feet. “The queen is occupied throughout the day. Gone from the palace!”

  “The king is still there. And enough slaves and servants to stop an army, no doubt.”

  Cassia rubbed her hands against her thighs and looked out toward the palace. “If I can get in there to see the king, I know he will listen to me. It is only that woman—” She left her thought unfinished and hurried out of the tomb without waiting for Julian’s response.

  “Stay a moment!”

  She was already in the street when he caught up, and she saw Malik walking toward them. The afternoon sun had driven most indoors, and the street was quiet.

  “What has happened?” the old man asked.

  “Nothing yet.” Cassia clapped her hands together. “That is the problem. But I am going to change that.”

  Julian informed Malik of her plan while she shielded her eyes from the sun and studied the palace in the distance. She was anxious to be off. I don’t need the permission of these two.

  Malik’s attention was all on Julian, however. “Go with her.”

  Cassia kicked at the dirt with her heel. “I do not need—”

  But Malik still spoke only to Julian. “The forces there, they are strong. The queen’s role as high priestess affords her much power, and it is centered there in the palace. A dark place indeed.” He gripped Julian’s arm. “Pray against it, my boy. Encircle her with prayer and protection.”

  Cassia understood none of it. “I am going.” She left the two behind her. Julian was at her side a moment later. She spoke without turning. “Do not tell me I am not strong enough to face the king.”

  “There are forces that are stronger than even you, Cassia.”