by Leo Ndelle
Shi’mon then proceeded to explain to a very surprised and shocked Antonio that the twelve apostles of the Christian bible were still alive and that the most wanted man in the underworld’s name was Yehuda, popularly known as Judas Iscariot. Shi’mon was pleased to see Antonio relax more as he continued with narrating a compendium of his history and those of his teammates. It was as fascinating as it was mind-blowing for Fr. Antonio. Shi’mon leaned back in his chair seventeen minutes later, after he finished his narration.
“Any questions?” Shi’mon asked.
The storm of questions rolled in as was expected. Shi’mon smiled at Antonio’s childlike curiosity. He answered Antonio’s questions as succinctly as possible. After all, Antonio merited to be privy to such information. If Antonio was going to be the next leader of the organization, he ought to be prepared to entertain a lot more than what the organization was used to handling. Now that Patrick was a guardian, the game was about to change for the better. Out with the old and in with the new. The transition was one forged in fire though, with global attacks from outer-dimensional beings and all the like. Still, it was a transition.
Shi’mon had to put a pause on the barrage of questions for the moment because there was bigger fish to fry.
“The recent meteor shower,” Shi’mon said. “That was actually demons from Hell realm heading for us. But Patrick stopped them.”
“What?!” Antonio exclaimed. “Demons…? Patrick…? How, sir?”
“Patrick is now a guardian of Earth Realm,” Shi’mon explained. “So our, well YOUR, job just got a lot easier. You have a guardian on your side.”
“Patrick… a guardian of Earth?” Antonio spoke to himself.
“In due time, you will understand everything, Antonio,” Shi’mon smiled.
“I should ask Patrick himself then,” Antonio said. “If I can get a hold of him.”
“He will reach out to you, Antonio,” Shi’mon added. “Rest assured.”
Shi’mon then leaned forward and Antonio did the same. There was nothing but conviction and a sense of duty in Antonio’s eyes. Gone was the fear. The new leader of the O.R. was ready for business. Shi’mon was more than pleased.
“Regarding the recent wave of attacks across the realm,” Shi’mon said. “That was The Beast, as in The Beast you’ve read about.”
Antonio was stunned speechless. Shi’mon explained everything regarding the situation. Antonio merely nodded his understanding.
“The danger is far from over, Antonio,” Shi’mon said.
“I agree, sir,” Antonio concurred.
“I’m no longer your boss, Antonio,” Shi’mon offered.
“To me you always will be, sir,” Antonio replied with nothing but the utmost respect and reverence for Shi’mon.
Shi’mon nodded.
“To be honest, Sir,” Antonio continued, “I used to be jealous sometimes at how much attention you placed on Patrick and how you assigned certain missions to him, while keeping those missions hidden from me.”
He blushed with embarrassment at his confession.
“But now I understand and I thank you,” Antonio added. “And Patrick.”
“You’re quite welcome, Father Antonio,” Patrick’s voice startled Fr. Antonio, while Shi’mon suppressed a laugh.
Patrick’s form slowly appeared in the seat next to Father Antonio.
“Mama mia!” Antonio exclaimed and placed his hand on his chest.
Patrick shook his head and Shi’mon laughed a little. It was the first time Antonio had ever seen Shi’mon laugh.
“That will be all for now, Antonio,” Shi’mon said, dismissing Fr. Antonio.
Father Antonio nodded, rose from his seat and turned to face Patrick.
“I’m not sure how to address you now,” he said respectfully to Patrick.
“Me neither,” Patrick replied and smiled.
Antonio smiled back before turning and leaving Shi’mon’s office.
Patrick then turned his attention towards Shi’mon.
“So, when were you going to tell me about your retirement?” he asked.
“When I actually retire,” Shi’mon replied flatly.
Patrick shook his head as he heaved a heavy sigh. Father Supreme was not going to make this easy for him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MARCUS, 30 C.E.
THE STREETS WERE busy with merchants earning coin, scribes and pharisees strutting around looking fancy and arrogant, lay people either minding their own business or not, and Roman soldiers feeding off the animosity directed towards them by the Jews. It was just another day in the busy streets of Jerusalem. Caesar ruled supreme over the land and Herod was his puppet. There were rumors that the Messiah foretold in the book of the law had come; rumors that the were scorned at by most of the Jews and welcome by few. How could the son of a carpenter be the one to save them from Roman occupation? The Romans were aware of the prophecy of a Messiah, a prophecy they classified as fairy tales because the evidence, their occupation of the people of Israel, validated the thoughts of the Jews.
Marcus shared this notion about the Israelites and their hope for a Messiah. He was a Roman citizen and legionnaire. His uniform was his pride and his greatest wish was to become a centurion one day, because he never saw himself making it to general. Too much politics involved with that rank and one had to know the right kind of people before one could be promoted to general. Marcus was neither good at kissing butts nor did he know Romans in high places. But a centurion… Marcus heaved a sigh as he continued to scan the busy streets of Jerusalem. He would command a hundred men and they would follow his orders to the letter. The women would come a lot easier. He had difficulties bedding women, given his five-foot-five stature.
“Marcus!” his commanding officer’s voice startled him back to reality.
Marcus staggered a little before resuming an erect posture.
“Yes, sir!” Marcus answered, facing forward.
“The girl to your left, what is the color of her robe?” his commanding officer asked. “If you turn that fat head of yours to look, I will pin it on your spear!”
“Blue?” Marcus replied timidly.
It was a wild guess and he was less than sure that he had the color right.
“There is no lady to your left!” his commanding officer growled.
His commanding officer inched closer towards Marcus. Marcus could easily pass for a smaller version of the man’s skeleton. He held his breath. It was either that or barf on his commanding officer’s face. Marcus was unsure if such putrid odor from his commanding officer was natural or the result of the utter lack of personal hygiene. It could be a combination of both, Marcus thought.
“Look around you soldier,” his commanding officer hissed.
Marcus darted his eyes to the left and to the right and wondered for how much longer he could hold his breath.
“What do you see?” his commanding officer asked.
“Jews,” Marcus replied.
“Wrong answer!” the commanding officer hissed again and inched closer.
Marcus thought he was going to die from poison breath. He knew what his commanding officer wanted to hear, but he chose to give a different answer. Big mistake! His commanding officer was still looming over him, face barely inches from his. Marcus could feel his eyes starting to roll to the back of his head.
“A possible rebellion,” Marcus replied.
Marcus slowly let out the breath he was holding as his commanding officer stood up straight. He kept his eyes forward as he breathed in slowly and fought against the smothering, intimidating aura of his commanding officer.
“That is right, soldier!” the commanding officer barked. “And it is our duty to maintain order in this brewing chaos!”
But there is no chaos, Marcus wanted to object but knew better.
“But when soldiers like you do not act like Roman soldiers, then you put then entire Roman Empire at risk!”
Marcus was not paying any more a
ttention to his commanding officer’s spiel. He had heard it to many times to know it by heart. There were so many things he did not agree with regarding the spiel. However, he was a legionnaire and he had sworn to perform his duties as one.
“Is that clear, soldier?!” the commanding officer demanded, spraying spittle on Marcus’ face and helmet.
“Sir, yes sir!” Marcus replied.
Marcus waited until his commanding officer and the five legionnaires with him disappeared into the crowd before he relaxed his shoulders and took in a lungful of clean air. The military had taught him strength, discipline and had given him a sense of purpose. Marcus did not mind taking orders from his superiors, but sometimes, he questioned some of the orders. He kept his opinions to himself and never shared them with anyone, which was the best way to ascertain secrecy. Sometimes, he had his doubts about being a legionnaire, though his doubts never dented his patriotism to the Roman Empire.
Marcus did believe joining the military was a calling. He was grateful for what the military had done for him. He followed orders but he refused to sacrifice his conscience over certain actions taken by the empire based on certain religious and political beliefs. As an example, Marcus did not support the invasion of Israel, though he believed he would have been a part of the invasion, given the chance. Later, Marcus realized that being a soldier was honorable, but being a pawn in the political games of the rich and the wealthy was not his loaf of bread.
“You look tired, soldier,” a stranger spoke from behind him in a kind voice.
Marcus turned slightly to see who was talking to him. The man stepped closer but a little distant from Marcus. This Jew knew what he was doing.
“You speak Latin?” Marcus tried hard to hide his surprise.
“Yes, sir,” the man replied. “Today must be tiring for you already.”
“I am not supposed to talk to you,” Marcus spoke dismissively.
“I know, and I mean you no trouble,” the man continued. “Do not worry. No one can tell we are having this conversation.”
Marcus’ eyes darted around, as if to find out if anyone could notice him talking to a Jew. No one seemed to notice and he thought it was odd. Still, he appreciated the fact that he had some company, be it an Israelite or not.
“What is your name?” Marcus asked.
“Yeshua, sir,” was the reply. “Pleased to meet you, Legionnaire Marcus.”
“How did you know my name?” Marcus asked, unable to conceal his surprise.
“I will tell you later,” Yeshua replied. “Meet me in the garden by the eastern fountain tonight at one hour before midnight. I am looking forward to seeing you there, Marcus.”
“Wait, what did you say?” Marcus asked but there was no reply.
He turned around but the stranger was gone. Marcus pondered on his next line of action. Logic warranted that he forget what had just happened, but instinct dictated otherwise. He was unsure why but there was something about this stranger that was… different? Or off-center, but in a good way. Something like a level of authority, of seductive power. Marcus shrugged. Was it a coincidence that an Israelite would show up out of nowhere, who knew his name and ask him, Marcus, for a meeting at one hour before midnight? Nice one, sir! Marcus thought, as he concluded his commanding officer was putting him to the test.
“I came on my own accord and I am not Roman, Marcus,” Yeshua said via telepathy, startling Marcus into leaping and uttering some expletives.
Marcus glanced around frantically, searching for the source of the voice.
“I will see you at the garden tonight,” Yeshua added.
Marcus made up his mind. He arrived at the garden on time and was greeted by Yeshua and another person, who was introduced as Yochanan. Yochanan was one of Yeshua’s apprentices. They sat on the ground in a triangle and Marcus listened as Yeshua shared his life’s history with Marcus. Marcus was intrigued by Yeshua’s story.
“What you experienced earlier today is called ‘telepathy’,” Yeshua explained. “But tonight, with your permission, I will unlock so much that is hidden within you, just as I have done with my apprentices.”
“How so?” Marcus asked.
“By psychic surgery,” Yeshua replied. “You are not aware of it but you have a special purpose that goes beyond this present lifetime. Our meeting earlier today was not by chance. But the path ahead of you involves saving humanity and this path you must take willingly.”
Marcus pondered briefly on Yeshua’s words.
“You mentioned that my purpose goes beyond this present lifetime,” Marcus said. “What do you mean by this, sir?”
“Good question,” Yeshua replied with a kind smile. “I mean that you will live well beyond the normal human lifespan until such a time when your purpose is complete. Only then will you depart from this life unto the next.”
“You mean you can give me immortality?” Marcus asked, unable to believe what this Jew stranger was telling him.
“There are very few things that Master cannot do, Marcus,” Yochanan replied.
Marcus’ mind raced in several directions. What in the name of Pluto was this man talking about? Immortality? Not even Jupiter lived forever and this man is certainly no god. He was but a human being, albeit one unlike any other he had ever encountered. However, there was something that radiated from this Jew sitting in front of him. It was as intoxicating as it was seductive. Even the air seemed to be charged with this Jew’s power. Marcus had even noticed the owls of the night, the grass on the ground and the insects and other small animals gather around this man as if in… reverence?
Yes! That was the word he had been looking for: reverence! Marcus felt a natural inclination to prostrate himself in front of this Jew. But why did he feel like that? Who really was this Jew? The Jew had shared his story with him, but there was only so much words could convey. Maybe this Jew was a god, or a deity of some kind; a good one at that. This god, or deity, had chosen to live among men and better yet, this god, or deity, in the flesh had chosen him, Marcus, for a ‘special purpose’; one that had to do with ‘saving humanity’. Suddenly, the notion of being granted ‘immortality’ did not sound so ludicrous after all. Marcus made up his mind.
“I will stay and I accept this path, Great One,” Marcus replied reverently. “Whatever this ‘path’ entails, I choose it of my own free will.”
“You are a man of faith, Marcus,” Yeshua said with a smile. “And your faith will see you through.”
Yeshua signaled to Yochanan, who retrieved a thin linen cloth from his satchel and gave it to Marcus.
“Strip and wrap this around your body,” Yeshua ordered.
Marcus did as was told, without any hesitation.
Yeshua and Yochanan led Marcus into a nearby cave.
“Lie down on the slab of rock,” Yeshua said and Marcus did as he was told.
Marcus relaxed and closed his eyes as Yeshua placed an index finger in between his eyebrows. He felt the surge of something course through his body. Was it energy or power? Marcus was unsure; but whatever that… something was, it made him feel far more alive than when he smoked those special herbs obtained from one of those tribes south of the Nile River. The aliveness was in every inch of his body, even the air he breathed was supercharged by that aliveness. Marcus’ essence was thrust into another realm of existence he had never ever experienced or even conceived of before. He lost track of space and time. Finally, he opened his eyes and slowly propped himself upright.
Marcus looked at the cloth he had wrapped around his body and realized that most of it had been burned off. He now understood why he was given the cloth. It would have been hard to explain to his peers why his clothes had been burned off but he was unscathed by the flames. Marcus looked around as if it he was born blind and this was the first time he had ever had his sight. Everything was more vivid, more colorful, more alive and far more beautiful of what he was accustomed to seeing with is previous naked eyes. Innately, he was aware that he was now able to pe
rceive a lot more than what he could before now. Marcus nodded and turned his attention at the two bodies of light that stood next to him.
“Thank you, Great One and Yochanan Sir,” Marcus said telepathically.
“You’re welcome, Marcus,” Yeshua replied via telepathy. “Just remember to speak normally to everyone else.”
“Right,” Marcus said in a hoarse voice.
Marcus cleared his throat and smiled. He slid off the slab of rock that was his operating table and brought his garments towards him using telekinesis. He then slid into his garments, nodded once at Yeshua and Yochanan before teleporting to base. He knew he had to come up with a story of where he had been all night. Easy. Anything concerning spending the night in a brothel always was a default and acceptable excuse for being away from camp the previous night.
After Marcus teleported away, Yeshua and Yochanan were about to head back home when Yochanan head a sound in the bushes.
“I think someone is watching us, Master,” Yochanan said.
“It’s Shi’mon, brother,” Yeshua replied with a kind smile. “He was watching us all night. But you must never tell him we were aware he was watching.”
***
Yeshua was dead, nailed to a cross. Upon his death, a massive earthquake had followed and veils were torn down at the temple. Marcus had witnessed it all, from the capture, the inquisition, torture, sentencing, crucifixion and death. He rubbed on his left ear, the ear the Great One had reattached after an apprentice of the Great One’s had chopped it off with a sword. Marcus was happy he was not assigned the dishonor of nailing the Great One to the cross. He rubbed at his itching eye, the eye robbers had poked out two weeks prior when he was returning to base from a local tavern. He had fought them off, but one of them had gotten to him. He had chosen not to teleport away or use telekinesis because he wanted to avoid any unnecessary attention. Marcus looked towards the pitch-black sky and offered many silent thanks for the rain that hid his tears of sorrow for the death of the Great One.
A criminal was crucified on either side of the Great One and they were taking much longer to die. Marcus’ peers, like everyone else, were afraid of what might come next, given the spectacle the just observed after the death of The Nazarene, as the Great One was referred to by the Romans. He watched his peers head for the crucified criminals and start breaking the legs of these crucified criminals, for the fun of it. Marcus was not going to let his peers do the same to the Great One. He thought it was sickening and besides, his peers were not worthy to do anything else to the Great One’s body. As such, Marcus decided to do something about it. He marched towards Yeshua’s body with is spear.
