by Ted Dekker
For a moment she was only Phasa, my dear friend now desperate for help. Compassion swept me away.
But then I remembered that she was my test. Talya would live or die by what happened here in the next hour.
I didn’t know what to do. For several long minutes, I just stared at her, afraid to begin what might not work. I had no incantations or incense or special potions or words of magic. Yeshua had used mud to heal eyes, I’d heard, but mostly he used only words. Sometimes not even those.
I didn’t know what to do except to pray. I spoke beneath my breath for fear they were listening at the door.
“Father, hear your daughter, who has no life except through you,” I whispered. “Heal this daughter who lies ill. Raise her from her illness and rescue my son through her health.”
Her chest continued to rise and fall. Nothing else happened.
So I prayed again. Using new words, claiming what he had promised Saba and me on the path to Jerusalem.
“Spirit of Yeshua, who lives in me and who will do whatever I ask, heal Phasa, whom you love as yourself. Show your power to me and to her and to the world by raising your daughter.”
The room was deathly quiet save that faint rattle in Phasa’s lungs.
Again I prayed, repeating what I’d said and using new words. Again and again, thinking it would take time for the Spirit so far away to hear. But no, Yeshua had said that Spirit was within me.
Still Phasa slept on, oblivious to the world.
Then I remembered Yeshua’s words. Say to this mountain “be removed,” and it will be removed. So then perhaps I must speak to the illness itself.
I stood by her pillow and extended my hand and I spoke to the illness, commanding it to be gone. I did this several times, but nothing happened.
For many minutes I prayed all manner of prayers as best I knew how. I begged God to save her; I cast out the demons that afflicted her; I invoked the Spirit of Yeshua to fill me and come to her aid.
But nothing happened. Nothing.
I remembered Arim, standing upon the table in Martha’s courtyard, proclaiming with such boldness that by following Yeshua we would be like him, full of his power and known for it, the sons and daughters of God walking the earth.
His words, which reflected Yeshua’s, now seemed to mock me. But of course they did.
Yeshua was dead.
And I knew then that nothing would happen.
I knew, without any doubt, that the power I’d felt in the arena, spawned by Yeshua in life, would not come to me now. He said that I would live because he lived. But he no longer lived, so his power could no longer live in me.
I felt the last of my sanity fall away. Gripped with panic, I lunged at the bed and I tore the cover off Phasa’s dormant body and I yelled at her.
“Get up!”
My body trembled.
“Get up! Be healed! In the name of Yeshua, be healed!”
Phasa lay as though dead but for the rise and fall of her chest.
I beat the bed with both fists, sobbing with desperation. “Be healed! Be healed. Get up!” I grabbed her arm and shook it violently. “Get up! Get up!”
Her body lolled like a cloth doll’s, dead to me.
I fell to my knees and threw my arms over her, weeping into the mattress now.
“My son…my son, Phasa! You have to wake, please. Please, Phasa…please…”
I heard a muffled voice through the door. They were coming!
Panicked, I jumped to my feet and pounded on her leg with both fists, full of rage. “Get up! Get up!”
“Back!” Shaquilath’s voice shrilled from my left. “In the name of the gods, what are you doing?” she snapped, rushing toward me.
But my eyes were on Phasa, begging movement from her even in this last moment. I grabbed her leg and shook her again.
“Get up!”
Shaquilath gripped my tunic to pull me away. And I, mindless in defeat, flung my arm to deflect her. “No!”
The back of my hand struck her cheek. She staggered back, horrified.
Only then, stunned by what I had done, did I fully realize how firmly I had sealed Talya’s fate. Only then did I surrender any notion of being a queen before Shaquilath, the most powerful queen in all of the world.
I fell to my knees and clasped my hands as if in prayer, weeping.
“Forgive me,” I breathed. “Forgive me, my queen…”
Her guards were already grabbing my arms to pull me up. Her priest crossed to the far side of the bed and was checking Phasa.
“I beg you…”
They hauled me up, but I kept my eyes on Shaquilath, pleading in the face of her outrage.
“I beg you, have mercy.” The words I then spoke came unbidden, spewing from my deepest place, where thought knows nothing. “I deceived you for fear of my son. I thought I could move heaven and earth to raise your daughter, but my heart died when Kahil took Talya. I found the power with Yeshua, but then they took his life, and with it, my own.”
The words tumbled out of me.
“Now who is there to save Phasa?” I sobbed. “I can’t! I cannot raise your daughter. Neither can your priests. Then who? Who will now save Talya, my son? We are mothers who face only death.”
The guards started to drag me away, but Shaquilath held up her hand. Her glare softened.
“But the power is real,” I cried. “You saw that power in the arena with your own eyes. I, who was blind, showed you a power far greater than any you have seen.”
“She has cursed her!” the priest cried, straightening from Phasa’s form. “Her condition worsens!”
Shaquilath hurried to her stepdaughter, touched her neck, then laid her finger under her nostrils. “She seems the same to me,” she said to the priest. “Don’t overstep your place here.”
“You cannot deny that power, my queen,” I said. “It is alive and well, I assure you. But there’s only one who now has this power. One untouched by all of this death and these lies.”
The queen watched Phasa’s chest rise and fall.
“Yesterday you assured me that you would raise her. Why should I now believe a lying serpent like you?”
“Because it may be your daughter’s only hope. And if I’m wrong, you lose nothing.”
“You think Saba can work the magic that fails you…”
“Not magic. And no, not Saba.”
“Then who?”
“The one who is still innocent, like a lamb. My son, Talya.”
Her brow arched. “Your son? The boy in Dumah? This is your ploy to save him? Do you think I’m also a child?”
I jerked out of the guards’ grasp, fell to my knees before Shaquilath, and grasped the hem of her gown.
“He sees visions of perfection and knows the Way of Yeshua! Send for him. Bring him to Petra. He will show you this power. You have nothing to lose. I beg you.”
“Do not listen to her,” the priest protested. “She lies like this god of hers. Only Al-Uzza can—”
“Silence, you old goat,” the queen snapped. To me: “Get up!”
I rose, trembling.
“Saman will not be pleased to release his leverage on such a preposterous notion. His son gave you two moons, which will soon pass.”
I was frantic to make her understand. “Saman came into power only because Nasha fell ill and died under my father’s care, infuriating Aretas. Only remind him that if he now stands in the way of your daughter being cured, Aretas will deal with him the same.”
She watched me curiously, calculating.
“If Talya fails,” I said, “then do what you will. But if you see this power, release us with all of the orphans to live in peace. It is all I wish.”
Shaquilath slowly paced, considering this new thought, which had only just come to me.
“Be careful what you wish for,” she finally said. “But I will grant you this last request. If he fails, your son will not be the only one to die.”
Saba and I as well, I thought.
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“My queen,” the priest said. “Your daughter will not require their magic.”
“Either way, I would see this power that I once saw.”
“There is no power greater than—”
“Do not test me,” she bit off, glaring at him.
He bowed.
I placed my hands together. “My queen, please send Saba with your men.”
“Never. He, like you, will be thrown in the dungeon.” Her jaw was set.
“I can’t risk you escaping to save your son en route, now can I? It will take three weeks in the least to get him.”
“Then send your men to the oasis south of Dumah first. Find my servant Arim. My son must be with someone he knows, I beg you.”
“So be it.” She looked me over one last time. “Pray that your god isn’t dead, Queen. Or should I call you slave now that you have no power?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
TALYA DIDN’T know how much time he’d passed alone in the dungeon. He could no longer remember how many times the dream had come and gone, and that’s how he’d been keeping track of time. Always the same dream, every night—at least he thought it came at night.
Each time, he dreamed he was back in the garden with the light and the beautiful trees and the flowers. Each time with the lamb. Each time with the song of Eden that flooded him with warmth and joy and peace until he became part of that song.
When he was in the dream with the lamb, all his memories of the snake were gone. Nothing could disturb that peace. Kahil didn’t exist. In fact, nothing bad existed, because he had no knowledge of good and evil, only good. So good that he couldn’t help but to sing and dance and jump with joy. The dreams seemed to last forever.
But then, every night while he was still lost in the wonder of that realm, suddenly and for no reason he knew, the black serpent with beautiful colors came out of the brush, slithering through the grass.
Every time, as if experiencing it for the first time, he would jump back. And just when he would think, I can crush its head, the serpent would dart toward the lamb. Before Talya could move, it spread its jaws wide, sank its long fangs deep into the lamb’s flesh, unlatched itself, then sped away, hissing loudly.
Again, the song, so pure and beautiful, became a scream.
Again he dropped to his knees and grabbed his ears.
Again and again he watched in horror as the lamb bleated, faltered, then stumbled to the ground where its eyes closed and it lay still. Dead.
Then Eden would sputter and wink out, leaving him back in the dark cell, panting.
Even so, all through the day when he was awake, he only wanted to dream again so he could be with the lamb, even though he knew it would end badly.
The cell was cold and the food was only bread and a thin broth. He had no idea what had happened to the other children—he’d called out to them several times when his loneliness was at its worst but heard no reply. He was shivering and alone, but the dream kept him alive, reminding him that what he saw with his eyes in that cell wasn’t as real as the first part of his dream, even though that didn’t really make much sense.
Each time he awoke from the dream, he focused on the light and the lamb. The serpent would come again, yes, but until then his memory of Eden could be his reality as much as possible.
This is what Saba had taught him of Yeshua’s Way: he could decide what to put his mind on—the pure and beautiful, or the darkness. The eye is the lamp of the body, Saba said. If his perception was clear, he could see the sovereign realm that was here, in his cell, even now. If not, then he saw darkness and how deep was that darkness.
Faith in Yeshua, who was the light, allowed him to see in the dark. So all he had to do was to learn to see in the dark. That’s what faith meant—learning to see in the dark. To trust that Eden was as real as the cell and it was his choice which to see.
That’s what would keep him alive until his mother and Saba came for him, and they would come, because they wouldn’t leave him here forever any more than the dark ending to the dream could be forever.
These were the thoughts that circled through his mind, over and over.
Father, please give me eyes to see what you see. Help your son see the light instead of this dark cell. Help me remember the forgotten Way of Yeshua.
And each day, he did remember. Just a little bit more would come back to him, until he could fall asleep and dream again and see the light—even if the darkness came again. He knew that darkness would one day be gone. It had to.
No one came to the cell except the guards, and then only to bring him food and take his pots. They were never mean to him. In fact, they seemed to pity him. But they never offered him any kind words either.
Weeks had passed—maybe three or four. Maybe even more.
Then, one day, soon after they’d brought him food and Talya was still squatting in the corner, wiping the bottom of the broth bowl with his last piece of crusty bread, the gate clanked. He snapped his head up and watched as a guard unlocked the door and stepped back.
“Kahil calls for you.”
Kahil? No…No, he couldn’t go to the serpent now. He stayed where he was, staring through the open door.
The guard motioned him. “Don’t just sit there. He waits for you.”
“No, I…” He meant to say I can’t go to Kahil, but nothing else came out.
The guard looked at him for a long moment, then he came in, stepped around the puddle in the middle of the cell, and reached out his hand.
“They won’t hurt you, I promise. One of your own has come for you.”
Talya didn’t know what to do, because he wasn’t sure he could trust the guard. And a part of him didn’t want to leave the cell—he would sleep soon and dream of Eden.
The guard squatted on one heel and rested a hand on Talya’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for all your suffering, little one. This isn’t the Bedu way.” He shook his head. “I’m only a warrior, you understand? Under command. But I assure you, you’ll be set free today.”
Talya’s heart was pounding.
“Do you know Arim?” the man asked.
“Arim?”
“He’s come with the Nabataeans to take you to Petra. So we can’t keep them waiting.”
“Where is my mother?”
“In Petra,” the kind guard said, standing, hand outstretched.
Talya set the bowl down, took the man’s hand, and stood, staring up at him.
“I’ll keep you safe, I promise you,” the man said. “Come.”
Talya hesitated, then nodded. But when they got to the cell door, he stopped and looked back into the darkness. He was learning to see in the dark, he thought. What if he forgot?
“Come.” The guard tugged on his hand.
Together they walked down the passage, up the stairs—slowly because his legs were weak—and through a door that led into the palace.
Bright daylight blinded him, and he held his hand up to block it. The stone floor was white. His bare feet were muddy. If he tracked dirt on Kahil’s floor…
“Don’t be afraid,” the guard said when he stopped. “We will go out the back, down to the pool.”
The pool. Where he’d last seen his mother and Saba.
“I’m sorry for this, but I’ve been ordered to cover your head.” The man had a black bag in his hand.
Talya nodded and the guard put the bag over his head. The darkness was oddly comforting to him now. Maybe because he was so used to it.
Other guards joined them. They helped him onto a horse behind the friendly guard and led him down the hill. The horses snorted. He could hear children laughing and mothers scolding. How he longed to be with his mother. How good would it be to be with Saba again, walking in his shadow over the sand, learning of great mysteries.
The horse finally stopped.
“Bring him! Take that bag off his head! Is this the way you treat a queen’s child?”
Talya immediately recognized the rasping voice of the old sheikh F
ahak, and his heart soared. And then Arim’s voice, higher and even louder.
“Maviah will surely cut your tongue from your mouth and feed it to the dogs. No one may treat the desert’s greatest treasure like this and expect to live!”
“Remember your place, boy.” Fahak again, scolding Arim as he always did. Talya had never heard such sweet voices.
The bag was yanked off his head and the kind guard quickly swung him to the ground.
“Be brave,” the man whispered, then nudged him forward.
They stood by the platform—Kahil, the serpent, dressed in black with his hands clasped behind his back. Fahak seated high on his camel. Arim on the ground. Eight Nabataean warriors on camels were with them, clearly marked by the green and yellow banners they flew on the end of their spears.
Talya looked back at Kahil, who watched him with dark, empty eyes.
Arim, seeing him standing still, walked quickly toward him.
“He is skin and bones!” Fahak rasped, glaring at Kahil and extending a crooked finger in Talya’s direction. “We could have taken him many days ago if not for your defiance of Aretas! You wasted many days in sending your men to Petra to verify his orders—now look at our prince!”
“You are mistaken to think I take orders from any king or queen,” Kahil said, eyes still on Talya. “I do only what suits me. You take the boy to his death. This suits me.”
Arim dropped to one knee, hands immediately checking Talya’s head, his neck, his ears—looking to see that he wasn’t harmed. Fahak went on, demanding to see the other children, threatening great trouble if even one hair on their heads was harmed. Kahil said nothing to any of it.
“Do not listen to Kahil,” Arim said to Talya. “He is a vile creature, furious because his hand was forced by Aretas. We have waited outside the city for three weeks while his men journeyed to Petra. He risked a great deal in going to Aretas, only because he knows you are the greatest treasure in all the sands.”
Arim quickly checked his arms, pulling on them to see if they were broken. “You are well?”
“My mother is in Petra with Saba?”
“Yes. Yes, Talya, I delivered her there myself after Yeshua was killed. Don’t worry, I have protected her. She waits for you there, over a month now. In only ten more days you will see her.”
