Palace of Darkness

by Tracy L. Higley

  In the evenings Zeta and Talya would often disappear to meet with the church. Zeta was mysterious about it, and it troubled Cassia. But those evenings alone were her chance to escape to the amphitheatre, round up Yehosef from his dark chambers underneath, and have him teach her more of what he knew. She kept this from the women, and especially from Julian, sensing he would not approve. He was a man who liked things done his way, and he had a plan.

  Indeed, as the days passed she had to admit that his plan progressed. Almost daily she heard reports of those friends who had found work in the palace, their names unknown to her.

  At the end of one such day, she returned from the work site, climbed to the rock home, and waved a small good-bye to Julian in the street below. She ducked beneath the blanket-wall of the home, into the sheltered front room.

  Talya gave a squeal of delight at her entrance, clapped her hands together, and jumped from where she had been sitting on the floor, mending palace robes.

  Cassia laughed. “I hope you are not wanting me to finish that.” She pointed to the strip of cloth cast to the floor. “I am no good with a needle.”

  Talya shook her head and bounded forward to wrap Cassia in an embrace. “I am to help take care of him!”

  Cassia pulled back from the girl’s enthusiasm. “Take care—”

  “Of Alexander!”

  Cassia’s legs suddenly felt weak, and she grabbed at Talya’s arms. “You have seen him?”

  Talya grinned and bobbed her dark head. “More than seen him, Cassia. I have spent the afternoon with him, and will do so again tomorrow!”

  Zeta appeared, all smiles, and led Cassia to a low chair. Her heart felt near to exploding. “Tell me.” Her hands trembled. “Tell me everything.”

  Talya sat at Cassia’s feet, her head against Cassia’s knee, and spoke of the day, of walking the palace corridors with Alexander, of watching him play with two carved camels with ruby eyes. And Cassia begged for the smallest details, from what he ate to whether he ever laughed. When she had extracted every particular from Talya, she leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes and wept. To hear of him was not the same as seeing him, but it was a blessing all the same.

  Talya slipped away and returned a moment later. “I told him I was a friend of his mother.”

  Cassia opened her eyes and lifted her head. Talya extended her hand, with something clasped in it.

  “We made this together today.” She dropped a beaded bracelet into Cassia’s hand. “For you. And Alexander said to tell you he loves you very much, and he misses you.”

  Cassia took the bracelet of black-and-white stones, glanced at Zeta, whose eyes were bright with unshed tears, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Young as she was, Talya seemed to sense Cassia needed to be alone, and she went back to her silent weaving at the back of the room. Zeta, too, busied herself at the table.

  Cassia had come to love these women, this home with its colorstriped rock walls and even brighter fabrics. The way Zeta hummed while she worked. Each time Cassia entered the cave-like dwelling, she felt at home.

  But they were too good to her, Zeta and Talya. And even their unknown, unseen friends. Who were they? Why would they help her? What did they want from her? She had nothing to give.

  What would happen when they realized this? Would they resent her? See she was not worth helping? And what would happen to Alexander then? For all her training with Yehosef, she needed them. What could she do in return to earn the help they still seemed willing to give? The questions dampened her joy at the news of Alex and left her fearful.

  Several nights later, when Zeta and Talya had gone to meet their friends and she had spent the evening training with Yehosef, Cassia hurried back to their home, sweaty and grimy from her encounters with the gladiator. She hoped to reach the ledge in time to clean up before the women returned.

  But Talya met her in the street below, her expression desperate.

  Cassia’s heartbeat raced.

  “What is it?” She gripped Talya’s arms. “What has happened to Alexander?”

  “Not Alexander.” Talya’s breath came as though she had run to meet Cassia. “Julian.”

  “Take me.”

  Talya led Cassia toward the heart of the city, where the wealthier villas lined up against each other. Her words dashed over one another as they rushed through the street. “He was followed to our meeting. Guards from the palace, we think. They came in and . . . and started shouting and shoving people.” Her voice shook and she swiped at her eyes. “We were all terrified. But then they singled out Julian and dragged him from the room, out to the street.”

  Cassia’s heart went cold. “How severely is he hurt?”

  “I do not know. Some of the others took him to Malik’s home. I came to find you. I . . . I knew you would want to know.”

  Cassia nodded. “Thank you, Talya.”

  They wove through alleys and streets in the crowded housing district until Talya stopped at the entrance to a home, called out, and was greeted by a servant. He waved her in as though he knew her well, and Cassia followed, her eyes wide.

  She had never dreamed Malik was a rich man. Respected, even revered, as a wise man, certainly. But his unassuming humility, his quiet service to everyone, spoke nothing of the wealth she saw here. “This is Malik’s home?”

  “Yes. How is Julian, Shamir?” Talya asked the servant.

  “Beaten badly, but nothing appears to be broken, and there is not much blood.” The servant spoke as though a friend of Talya’s, and Cassia pushed the strange thought aside to dwell on later.

  Julian will survive. She repeated the thought in her mind and heart, holding on to its comfort.

  Shamir led them through the spacious courtyard, lit with torches and tended by several slaves who dusted and sprayed the vines.

  When she and Talya reached the back room, Julian was pushing away the damp cloth a lovely young woman was trying to use on his bruised face.

  His gaze went to the doorway and he smiled weakly at Cassia. “Not my finest hour.”

  Cassia exhaled, realizing she’d been barely breathing since Talya found her in the street. “You don’t look so pretty either.” She crossed the room to the bed.

  The woman with the rag yielded her place, and Cassia read a wisp of resentment from her. She responded with her own flare of unreasonable jealousy. Julian has me. He doesn’t need more friends. She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand.

  “Why?” She felt her anger building. “Why did they do this to you?”

  Malik’s voice answered from a shadowy corner of the room. “We must begin to expect this. The queen is becoming less tolerant of our presence. And after Julian’s actions in the palace, it is not surprising he should be a target.”

  Cassia studied the old man, then looked back to Julian’s bruised face. “Why you? You have done nothing!” Would the queen go after everyone important in her life?

  Julian looked down, studied her hand on his, then covered it with his own, cradling her cold fingers in his warm grasp. When his eyes found hers and lingered on her face, something passed between them that shallowed Cassia’s breathing. She tried to pull her hand away, but he would not allow it.

  From the corner Malik said, “Because she senses what I have also been told. That Julian will be a mighty man for God in Petra.”

  Julian still held her hand, as though she were the one needing reassurance.

  “But this happened because you were with me in the palace?” She broke free of Julian’s hold on her, refusing to think about the way it had made her heart blaze. “It is my fault, all of this.”

  Malik appeared beside them and put his hand on her shoulder. “As brothers and sisters we have made a choice to stand with you, and to stand against the evil that pervades our city. This makes us a target, it is true. But it is our choice and not the fault of anyone.”

  Cassia wiggled away from his hand on her shoulder and stood. Her hands went to her hips
and she felt her blood rising. “It is enough. All of this talk of your friend”—at this she looked at Talya—“your brothers and sisters.” She turned to Malik. “I do not understand who you are or why you stand against anything or would help me.”

  Malik smiled, clearly amused at her outburst, and that infuriated her. “I want to know!”

  He reached for her hand and took it between his own wrinkled ones. “Then you shall. You shall indeed.” He turned to the others. “We must find a new place to meet, now that we have been noticed there. Tomorrow we will meet as usual and determine where we should go. Spread the word to the rest of the brothers and sisters.” There were nods around the room, and Cassia realized she would get nothing further from them until the next night.

  And when the next day’s work was done and she had insisted on walking home alone, Zeta met her in the street with a covered basket of hot bread. “Tonight you will be our guest. Come.”

  Zeta and Talya led her back to the empty tomb where Julian had first taken her, this time filled with many more people than she had first encountered. They pushed their way into the colorful, rock-hewn chamber, through the myriad faces—young and old, rich and poor, even slave and free, to Cassia’s amazement. No matter the status, gender, or age, the faces shared one thing. There was a peaceful yet intense joy upon each. Cassia searched their eyes, tried to read some of them, looking for the reason. But it was a mystery to her. She could feel it strongly, but she could not understand it.

  The chamber was not well lit, perhaps because all around the room they talked of “discovery” and “persecution.” Only a few small lamps tucked into niches flickered through the chamber, leaving most in shadows, with their white tunics standing out below darker head coverings.

  The crowd was not a shoving, pressing crowd. It was an embracing one, with people drawn into kisses of greeting and robust hugs. Cassia could not help but smile as several people wrapped their arms around her as well.

  Already I love it here, whoever these people are!

  She spotted Julian at the back of the chamber, near the burial slots, and he waved her over. She threaded through the press of people until she was at his side, then reached up with her fingertips to touch his bruised cheekbone with gentle fingers. It seemed to have purpled even more since she had last seen him.

  He grasped her fingers and smiled. “It is nothing. Come, let’s sit.”

  He led her to a corner near the front of the chamber, close to the central place where Malik stood, speaking softly to another older man. Cassia sensed immediately that Malik was the leader of the group, and it did not surprise her. But what did they gather to do? Did they plot the overthrow of the royal house? At the idea, her heart thudded against her chest.

  But then there was singing. A low but joyous flow of words she did not recognize that began with Malik and spread through the chamber like a warm oil being poured out. She had heard nothing like it in all her life.

  These songs, this room of people loving each other intensely—it was no military uprising. It was some kind of group dedicated to the gods. But it had nothing in common with the cold chants of Zerika, the temple priest back in Damascus. She closed her eyes as the music carried her on silky wings, and she began to sway with it. Inside her, a long-held tension began to unwind and relax. She could hear Malik’s voice, deep and lovely, above the others. Beside her, Julian was part of it all.

  And then Malik’s voice melted from singing to speaking, a prayer over all of them. He prayed for the evil in Petra to be restrained and for the queen to be released from it to see the truth. All of these prayers he offered up in the name of someone named Jesus. Jesus?

  They are Christians!

  Cassia ran her gaze over the crowd once more, searching for any of the signs she would expect, things she had been told in Syria of the Christians. Atheists, all of them, it was said, because they would not worship the gods. They opposed those in power and withheld their money from many of the industries that supported the government, so most suspected they had some hidden plans of revolt.

  Her mind spun. None of it seemed true. She looked to Julian, in prayer with the rest of them.

  Julian too?

  Malik was extending his hand toward her now and speaking her name.

  “We have brought her to us this night because it is in her defense that we have begun to seek access to the palace, and she needs to know us.” He bowed slightly in her direction. “Cassia, we have shown you trust by bringing you into our circle.”

  She dipped her head in response, still unsure of what all of this meant.

  Malik seemed to sense her confusion, for he spoke only to her, though loud enough for the group to hear. “We are those of Petra who have become children of the One True God through faith in His Son, Jesus Christ, faith in His sacrifice that was the final payment for our sin. Many of the people of God, the Israelites, did not recognize their Messiah when He walked among them nearly one hundred years ago, but He was a Messiah for all nations, and God has graciously invited us into the family.”

  Malik seemed to want some response, so Cassia nodded. He turned to address the entire group. “But things are changing for the church in Petra, my friends. We have experienced many years of peace, but I fear such times are coming to an end.”

  Because of me? Cassia chewed her lip, waiting for the looks of condemnation. None came.

  “We must not forget who we are.” Malik smiled over the group. “Even if there is harsh persecution to come. Love each other well, and care for the hearts of your brothers and sisters. Fight for each other, fight against evil. Perhaps we have been complacent here in our safety. But we must not forget that we are in the midst of a perverse culture, and we must stand firm yet remain loving. Remember it is by our love they shall know we are His disciples. Love one another, and love them”—he extended a hand outward to the city—“pray for them and love them until they ask you why.”

  Cassia watched the joyful faces upturned to Malik. Only yesterday the ones he now asked them to love had been here with them and had beaten Julian. It made no sense to her. Beatings did not produce love. This she knew from experience.

  “Tonight must be the last night that we meet here.” Many of the faces lowered. “It is time to move on. Who can suggest a better place for our flock?”

  Voices called out and various homes were offered, but each was turned down as too small. Indeed, they had clearly outgrown even their present location.

  Cassia cleared her throat. “What about the tomb still being constructed? Where Julian and I work each day?”

  Silence met her suggestion, and she feared she had been presumptuous but pressed on. “The inside is vast, with many chambers. You would be unheard. And no one goes near it once the sun is down.”

  Malik’s lined face broke into a grin. “You will be one of us before long, my dear Cassia.” He clapped his hands together and faced the group. “What do you say?”

  There was general agreement around the chamber, and Cassia felt the warm glow of having been helpful, however slight her help. Julian leaned into her shoulder briefly and smiled.

  Malik read to the group for a while, a letter from a friend of his, a Jewish Paul, whom Cassia gathered was no longer living. But the words seemed alive still, and Cassia drank them in, like water for a parched heart.

  “ ‘What if God did this to make the riches of his glory known to those destined for destruction, now the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory? We are those whom he called, not only from the Jews but also from the nations. As he says in Hosea, “I will call them my people who are not my people, and she who is not my Beloved, I will call Beloved.” ’ ”

  The words went on, but Cassia only heard that one word, beloved, echoing through her heart. To be loved by such a God . . . She blinked away the sudden swell of emotion.

  When Malik finished, she glanced at Julian and found him struggling with his own emotions. She tilted her head and studied him.

>   “That was a letter to my church in Rome,” he whispered, “written not long before I was born. I heard it many times while growing up. It makes me long for home.”

  Cassia nodded as if the explanation satisfied, but in truth it only raised more questions.

  After the reading of the letter, Malik spoke awhile, encouraging them again, then extended his hands. “We must pray in earnest, my family.”

  Around the room, hands were joined until they were each connected, and Cassia, too, was a part of their circle. Julian clasped her fingers in his own, and she shyly gave her hand to the girl beside her.

  Many prayed to their One God then. She listened in wonder as they spoke to Him as though to a loving father. When they prayed for the Jews living among them and elsewhere and then, more shockingly, for Hagiru, Cassia studied their faces, searching for betrayal, for loyalty to the queen. But no, they prayed against the evil she sought to control but in truth controlled her, prayed for her to be released from its mighty hold.

  But it was the hand of Julian on hers that most drew her attention. The gentle pressure, the way their hands seemed to fit together as though molded as one. And when the prayer was over and Julian met her eyes, she found herself a bit breathless. The girl beside her released Cassia’s hand. Julian did not.

  All too soon the meeting ended, out of fear of another attack, and they arranged to meet again in their new location two nights hence. Cassia hoped to be invited again, but she did not dare ask. Not yet.

  Malik came to her as the group dispersed. “You have questions still, daughter?”

  She frowned, not desiring to offend. “I have heard tales of the Christians.” She glanced at those climbing down from the chamber. “But this—these people—”

  Malik patted her arm. “Not as you expected?”