by Aiden James
He patted me on the shoulder, and I caught Cedric looking back at us from the front passenger seat. Surely he was aware that another dreaded half-talk/half-thought conversation was going on between Roderick and me. But this time he merely smiled, as surely his gratefulness to still be among the living overrode all pettiness.
“How are the cuts on your arms coming along?” I asked him, motioning to where he held one of my son’s crystals against the deepest one. It already looked significantly better in the short time that had passed since we exited the castle. I had a better mental picture now of how he had recovered from the injuries he sustained from Kaslow in Ethiopia. “It looks like the crystals are working wonders for you.”
“They are,” he said. “But, man-n-n-n, what I wouldn’t do to spend an hour with that giant sucker that came out of Kaslow’s chest.”
Rachel gave him a scornful look. “It’s probably best that we find a place to bury it, since no doubt it has been tainted by Kaslow’s wickedness.” She glanced to the rear of the vehicle, where the larger shard’s glow illuminated the area behind the back seats.
“Speaking of which, you never finished telling me what happened back there,” I said to her. “You left off at the point of waking up in your blood. And, even though you felt a sudden surge of powerful energy, you didn’t immediately come to save my ass. You really cut it close.”
I smiled to let her know I was teasing, although she had yet to finish telling us what happened. I thought Cedric and Roderick could share what they had witnessed, but as Kaslow sought to strangle the life out of me, the demons were preparing to dine on their bodies as well, moving them away from being able to see what was happening to Rachel and me on the foyer floor below.
“I wasn’t sure if I would be allowed to save you, Judas,” she confessed, casting a sorrowful glance my way through the rearview mirror as we began our trek back to the city. “I saw what was about to happen to Cedric and Rod, and when I moved to grab a spearhead to throw at the demons, five swooped down toward me. For a moment I feared they would attack, until I saw they were keeping a safe distance from me. It was a major change from how they had reacted to me before, and I became brave enough to snatch the weapon from the wall.
“The mere waving of it caused them to retreat, and when I pointed the weapon’s tip at the guys, Rod and Cedric were suddenly moved to the front, as if Bochicha’s demons were offering them to me as peace tokens. Just to make sure they weren’t going to be harmed or used as human shields, I threatened to throw the blade, and that’s when the demons dropped them both on the floor.”
“I believe the timing of what happened is what saved Cedric and me from being filleted,” added Roderick. “It was as if they were waiting on your death, Judas, which I worried would happen at any time. I’ll take a thirty foot drop anytime over that alternative.”
“And, that’s what gave me the courage to approach Kaslow, who had almost succeeded in strangling the life out of you.” Rachel regarded me via the mirror again. “I intended to hit him hard on the neck or head, and irritate him enough to release you and come after me instead.”
I had a hard time picturing this description, since the images of Kaslow’s dead stare and his rotted heart resting on my chest didn’t speak to head or neck trauma.
“I doubt you will believe what happened next.” She shook her head, smiling weakly.
“Try me, please,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like an ass.
“All right... I’m a pretty good aim, as you know from the past,” she said. “But not that time. I aimed for Kaslow’s head, and it was almost as if an unseen hand pushed the spearhead down to where it not only struck him between his shoulder blades, it cut through the flesh, as if his powerful muscles had been weakened or tenderized. As you know, Kaslow had been impossible to hurt since gaining his immortal status. So, I was stunned to see the luminescent green glow from the crystal as it exited his chest along with his unholy heart.”
“It definitely smelled unholy,” I deadpanned.
“Did any of your blood touch the spearhead before it pierced him?” asked Roderick.
“Yes, my blood had to have touched the spearhead, since I was completely covered in it,” she said. “You saw me—I was drenched. I would still be drenched in blood if not for the towelettes and a change of clothes I brought with me tonight.”
“Do you always travel like that—ready for the inevitable mess?” I teased, encouraged that my sharp tongue seemed to have survived.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” she replied, her widening smile telling me she liked my outer mood. Hell they were all smiling and I did feel a little better—mainly because I wasn’t thinking about my fate. However, I knew it and the pain it generated would be waiting for me once the clowns packed up the circus and went home.
“I think your blood is the reason Kaslow is dead and we’re all alive,” said Roderick. “I would wager that’s why the demons backed away, too.”
“How so?” asked Cedric. “Are you suggesting Rachel’s blood is special, like it’s holy or some shit?”
“Only when she bleeds from the wounds of Jesus Christ,” said Roderick. “Otherwise, she’s just a common bleeder like the rest of us sots.”
We needed a good laugh... but there was also plenty of seriousness to this. I took the opportunity to pepper Rachel with a few questions pertaining to her condition.
“Do you still stretch the truth conveniently like you used to do?” I asked her, ignoring possible consequences for throwing a wet blanket upon the flames of our improving camaraderie. Fortunately, she must’ve sensed where I was going with this. After her initial surprise, she nodded and smiled again.
“Do you mean like what happened between you and me on that Dutch ship, and everything else we went through back then?”
“Yes,” I said, pleased I wouldn’t have to spell it out for Cedric and Roderick. “That, and also the story about how you became immortal. I confess, the tale you spun five hundred years ago never made sense to me. I mean, you were seriously executed for stealing clay figurines in Judea and selling them as your own? You might’ve been maimed for that crime, but since you are a woman, you would’ve been forced into a slavery arrangement or had your hands cut off.... But strapping you down and letting you boil in the sun until death? That’s Roman barbarianism—not the laws of Judea.”
Again, she could’ve become angry—especially since Roderick eyed me as if I had just struck a blow to his previous image of her. I suppose he can’t always deduce the truth from a person’s thoughts.
“It’s always tough with another immortal,” he said, a covert attempt to answer my question without alerting Cedric that we were at it again.
“Tell you what, Rachel. If you’ll come clean on how you became an immortal, and also tell us when your bleeding problem started, I will spare you ridicule and questions forevermore in regard to what happened during our ill-fated sixteenth-century misadventure,” I said. “What do you say?”
“It was my sister’s fault,” she said, after readily accepting my offer.
“What sister?” asked Roderick, eyeing her with suspicion. “I thought you had five brothers?”
“I did have five brothers,” she said. “I told you I came from a very big family, Rod... does five brothers sound enormous to you, given the era we were born in?”
He shrugged his shoulders and offered an amused grin. “I guess not.”
“For the record, I had eight sisters, too,” she said. “Fourteen children, counting me, qualifies as a very big family, no?”
“That’s a lot of kids,” I agreed. “I had two brothers and a sister....” Not sure why, but I started to choke up. I hadn’t thought of anyone other than one brother, Joseph, and my mother and father in many centuries. We might even be talking a millennium at least. But I pictured Mara and Matthew, my youngest siblings, who were twins, as if I had just spoken to them yesterday. I had loved them more than anyone growing up, other than my mother, who di
ed when I was fairly young.
“I had two brothers,” said Cedric, nodding thoughtfully. “They’re all dead now.”
“Perhaps we should talk about something else,” Roderick suggested, deftly avoiding his own upbringing. Since I was certain he wouldn’t divulge anything in the Yukon, I will state here that he has spoken of a sister he was quite fond of, and a brother who was much older than him that died in the war against Roman occupation of ancient Britain. He rarely spoke of his parents, and I suspected his childhood and teenage years were not happy for him. “Like whether or not we wanted to return to Rome before heading back to the United States.”
“Maybe that’s a good idea,” I agreed. “But first, I have one last question for you, Rachel.... Since you weren’t executed in the manner you had long purported to be true, how did you become one of us?”
She paused to study me through the rearview mirror—long enough for Cedric to reach over and steady the steering wheel when the Yukon began to veer off the road.
“I was cursed for not believing in the divinity of Jesus Christ,” she said, finally, to which Roderick sat up, his towering torso leaning toward her to learn more. Cedric’s response was similar, while I relaxed and waited for the truth I had once been highly curious about. “My youngest sister, Mary, was a free spirit that my brothers and father worried would someday shame our family. In truth, she was born two thousand years too early, as she would have fit in well with the hippie culture of Haight-Ashbury in the 1960s.... But back in our time, it wasn’t acceptable.... Was it, Judas?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head while a niggling hunch told my heart I might soon regret insisting she retract her ruse.
“You don’t remember me, I know,” she continued. “But I remember you. I remember all of you, the Disciples and followers of Jesus of Nazareth. Mary left us for a time to join up with you, and your nomadic band. My father cut her off, since he was part of the Sanhedrin. He hated Jesus, as he despised all those who might destroy our delicate peaceful coexistence with Rome. He saw Jesus as a subversive troublemaker... but that didn’t stop Mary’s attraction to Jesus and this ‘new’ movement that was gaining popularity throughout Israel, as you know.”
“So, what does your sister, Mary, have to do with your immortality?” I asked, hoping my subdued tone would convey sensitivity. Rachel studied me again in the mirror for nearly a minute before answering.
“My sister was the one who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and hair,” she said. “You should remember the scorn that swept through the crowd which by then was following Him everywhere... don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, my friend... following the arrest and crucifixion of Jesus, my father would not protect my sister from a local mob demanding her death,” she said. “Mary was stoned.”
“I’m so sorry to hear this,” I said, to which Roderick and Cedric also added their sincere condolences. “However, I still don’t understand how her tragedy led to you being cursed to walk the earth like Rod and me.”
She didn’t reply, her frigid expression fixed upon the road ahead. But when I persisted with a query to see if she was all right, the façade fell and Rachel began to cry.
“I went with her to hear Jesus speak—more than once,” she said between sobs. “I was touched by His message, and it brought joy to Mary’s heart that someone in her family—the big sister whom she looked up to—also believed in Jesus as our long awaited Messiah.... But, when He was arrested and crucified, I thought He was a fraud, and I quit believing that He was anything other than a very good, but foolish, man desperate enough to inspire the overthrow of the Romans....”
We waited patiently for her to finish, and after collecting herself, Rachel concluded the story that answered my very regrettable question.
“I was at home when Mary was dragged out by the Sanhedrin guards into the street before our house,” she continued, after collecting her thoughts. “No one from my family would come to her aid—which surely she expected. When she saw me appear, she looked at me with hope, crying and desperately begging for me to come save her, since by then she was so terrified. I don’t believe she understood she was going to die until two-dozen men surrounded her, each carrying large stones with the intent to stone her to death.
“I should have died with her—there was no way to protect her, but I should have not left her alone! ...I stood motionless and emotionless, watching the men beat her until we could not recognize her anymore.... Afterward, my father and brothers carried her body to where the refuse was dumped and buried her there.”
We were about to join the main highway that would take us back to the heart of Istanbul, and she stopped the SUV. She turned to face me with glistening, reddened eyes, while her mouth quivered. But she was determined to finish.
“Within a week, I had my first experience,” she said.
“Bleeding from the wounds of Jesus?” Roderick asked, to which she nodded.
“I had no idea what it was, since I had missed the crucifixion,” she said. “But after it happened again, and my father and mother thought I was possessed by an evil spirit, I learned of what had happened to Jesus on the cross. By then, wild rumors were going around about Him coming back from the dead—which none of us believed. We had seen many so-called Messiahs rise and fall during the past ten years. Having another one propped up by fantastic tales was nothing new.
“But when I couldn’t be cured of this strange affliction, I became so distraught that I drank poison—several different kinds, and each time I vomited horribly, but lived.... Then I finally succeeded in hanging myself—much like you were rumored to have done, Judas. But unlike you, I came back into the same body that had started to rot, and it was another stigmatic attack that restored me to full health.”
She put the Yukon back into gear and merged onto the mostly deserted highway.
“By then I was almost thirty-one years old, and the only one besides my youngest sister who wasn’t married,” she resumed. I could tell she was ready to finish her long answer to the query I sincerely wished I had left unasked. “We had primitive mirrors compared to what has been common in the more modern world for centuries now. But I could tell that my age had changed, and so did my appearance.... I looked like Mary, who was fifteen years younger than me.”
“So, that’s how you kind of gain the gray spots and wrinkles every so often and then look like a sweet young thing two days later?” Cedric asked.
“You sure know how to make a girl feel sexy, asshole,” she replied, to which they both laughed. “Does that answer your question, Judas?”
Obviously, it more than answered it. I felt like a king-sized jerk for dismissing her worthiness to accompany Roderick and me across Europe three centuries ago, and of course I wasn’t exactly a peach to her before that time or here recently. Her anger and sorrow concerning her birth into immortality mimicked my own, and her sense of loss about her sister awakened my own forgotten bitter losses, and intensified the latest ones.
I wanted to scream at The Almighty for what I perceived as injustices to me and to Rachel—and to Roderick, too. But thinking this way only made things worse, and I worried that if I thought any longer about it all, I would soon succumb to the powerful reality that I was now forever without Beatrice and Alistair. Gaze too deeply into that painful hole in my soul, and I might fall in and never be able to crawl out. Missing them, likely until Judgment Day, was my assured fate. To make any semblance of an existence workable I would have to find a way to forget them until we could reasonably be reunited. Only God knew when that would be....
I’m not sure why it happened, but as I considered the unfairness of life, I thought I heard the faint call of my final coin. Barely detectable, my attention was pulled to the south of where we were.
“I feel it, too,” Roderick advised.
This time, Cedric did react, huffing while shaking his head. For the moment he refused to look back at either of us.
“How ironic tha
t Judas’ last remaining coin should call to him after discussing what had cursed me to my existence as an immortal, eh?” Rachel said to Cedric.
“You’re joking, right?” he asked, guardedly.
“Maybe it’s nothing,” I replied. “It could just be a phantom call... it’s happened before.” But I knew in my heart this was real. Whether it ended up lasting all the way until we uncovered the latest hiding place for the Damascus Coin was another matter entirely. For now, though, it made sense to pursue it... at least it made sense to my heart.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” said Roderick, to which Rachel nodded. “We will have to get on to the main southern thoroughfare from Istanbul. If the sensation continues, we will follow it until it dies. Agreed?”
I waited for Cedric to give his consent and for Rachel to reaffirm hers before I gave mine. Then we set out to follow the signal. I almost called it off when it disappeared, but waited until we were on the main highway to Ankara. The signal became much stronger, and yet grew weaker as we reached the city limits just before dawn. Fjar was starting, and we waited for it to end before continuing south.
“How much farther south should we go if your damned intuition can’t get it together, William?” asked Cedric, when the signal failed to reappear.
“We can turn around in a moment, I guess—holy shit!” A sudden surge of pain embraced my left side, and I knew beyond all doubt it was the coin calling to me...more like yelling for me to come find it! In waves like a pulse, it meant that the signal was radiating toward me from far, far away. But why? Why like this?! “Maybe we should go back and take the jet.”
“To where?” Rachel asked. “If the coin is near Kayseri, or some other town farther south, we will arrive quicker by car since we would lose five hours to get to the airport alone.”