by Ted Dekker
He gasped. He gasped because he saw who he really was. How greatly his Father loved him. He was the Father’s son, loved as no other son and all sons at once!
Streams of living light flowed into his body, shaking him from head to foot, not only here in the world of light, but here in the arena too.
Yeshua was laughing in that light, and Talya wanted to laugh with him. He wanted to run and leap and roll in the grass and jump up to touch the nearest star because he knew he could. He wanted to throw his arms around Yeshua and hug the lamb and dance with the woman who looked like his mother.
He wanted to do all of this because he’d never, not even in his dreams, felt such joy.
I DIDN’T know what Talya heard other than the note I sang—the same one he himself had once sung from the cliff. I was only loving him the same way that Yeshua had told us to—as myself.
But when I opened my eyes I saw that his body was trembling. A look of wonder had filled his face and I knew that he was enveloped in a realm as real as this one here.
Only a few moments had passed. The warriors had spread out and were just approaching Saba from behind. Saba, who knelt on one knee with his eyes closed and arms spread wide, at peace. The guards who’d held me released my arms and I extended one hand toward Talya.
Still I sang.
The lion was still approaching Talya, crouched low, preparing to launch itself onto its bloodied prey.
Sing, Talya, sing! I thought. Join me in the sovereign realm and sing to your Father!
He immediately opened his mouth and began to sing the same note with me. I could feel it more than hear it. But even more, I could see it. Because the moment Talya began to sing, everything in the arena changed.
Motion, once slowed, now returned to normal. Sound, once muted, swelled to a roar in my ears—the crowd, the lion, the screaming of Kahil, who was driving his horse toward Saba.
But when Talya issued that long, pure note from pursed lips, they all stopped.
The lion was first. Immediately he withdrew and lay down like a scolded cat. Then the crowd fell to a hush, then Kahil’s horse froze with ears perked. They were all gripped by this one single note filled with raw power.
My heart leaped in my breast and I smiled, delirious with joy. I wanted to hear Talya’s note more clearly, so I let my voice trail off and lowered my hand.
Now only this, a young boy’s song, held all of Petra in its love and peace. As one, thirty thousand Nabataeans and Bedu stood aghast. They couldn’t know what they heard, only that it called to a place deep within them that refused to be denied.
It was wonder to behold, and I thought, What wonders will they see in Jerusalem if Talya’s voice can still Petra? Could even Stephen’s shadow now heal what it touched? Surely!
Still Talya sang, only that one note, extending far longer than it should have.
AS TALYA sang he knew more…Much more. Far, far more than he had words to express or even a mind to understand. Truth came to him in pictures that he could not describe, and in words that had no meaning in his own language. It came to him as if he was experiencing it, not thinking about it.
Yeshua was the Way. He was the Truth. He was the Life. He was the innocent lamb who had overcome death, and the knowledge of good and evil and all that came with it.
All of this came to him and far more, in that language from something closer than his own breath and yet greater than all things combined. And he heard himself speak in his mind, but in a language known only to his mind.
“You are my Father?”
I am.
His bones trembled.
“I am your son?”
You are.
He could hardly breathe there in the stadium, but here he was breathing only power. Because a Father would show his son everything, so that he could do what the Father did!
Surrender who you think you are…
“To see who I really am,” he whispered.
Surrender what you think you need…
“To see what I already have.”
Surrender all that you think you know about…
“To know you.”
He could feel his Father’s pleasure like a kiss on his forehead.
Then Talya knew that he was glorious. Shining like a thousand suns because he—not his body, which was also beautiful—was now joined with Yeshua like one whole fruit, not two halves like the black-and-white one the woman had eaten in the garden. So he was the son of the Father, here and now and unafraid and more powerful than all of the lions in the world. Anything else was only a lie.
This was the knowing that thundered through him like a storm made from that one simple yet forever note. Like when Saba said eternal.
And suddenly he thought: Sing to your mother. Share this with her because you are one with her! Sing to your mother the wonder of the Father! And sing to Saba too…Sing to them both. Sing to the whole world.
So he did. And the truth in that song was far more than his mind could hold.
I WAS STUNNED by the beauty arising in my heart and mind and soul, quickened by Talya’s song—I could barely contain it all.
And even then, as I was thinking the beauty was too great for such frail vessels as mine and little Talya’s, he sang more, and now to me. And to Saba. And to all who had ears to hear.
My son was singing to us of our Father! Of Yeshua…Of himself, the truest part of him, and of me, the me that was now risen and complete, joined in Yeshua’s identity, like water in a bowl and the bowl in the water at once. He was the Way. The Truth. Life. No one could know the Father without this joining.
And the song said more, all at once, like the opening of eyes to see an entire landscape once darkened by blindness. The mystery Talya sang to me in that single note could fill a hundred scrolls.
I stood high in that arena and I trembled with wonder.
TALYA’S EYES were closed, but he was seeing and he was singing. And Talya was so filled with joy that he suddenly had to laugh. He had to use his mouth to laugh and so he had to stop singing. So he did.
He started to chuckle with delight even before his voice trailed off. The laughter bubbled up and spilled out of his mouth, and even in the middle of all the light he thought that laughter was wonderful too. What an incredible body I have that can laugh like this!
So he threw his arms in the air, eyes still closed and full of light, and started to jump up and down, giggling. What a wonderful, wonderful body he had!
And then he remembered that he was still in the arena, and he stopped in the middle of his laughter and opened his eyes.
The brilliant, colorful light was replaced by the sight of many thousands in that bowl-shaped arena, all staring at him. But half his mind was still aware of that light, so everything seemed to glow a little.
He was standing alone, three paces from the post, and there ahead of him was the lion, lying on its belly with its tongue hanging out of one side of its panting jaw. The beast watched Talya like a cat resting after chasing a mouse.
Talya was so taken by the magnificent creature that for a moment he forgot where he was. But then he remembered, and he looked up to see Saba on both knees, his arms spread wide and his face lifted to the sky, weeping softly. How wonderful was Saba!
And beyond Saba, Kahil, seated tall on his stallion, staring at him with black eyes, frozen in shock. Lost. How beautiful was this poor man, so wounded to hurt so many!
Still not a soul moved.
Talya looked past Kahil to the warriors, who seemed not to know what to do, and beyond them to the platform where the queen and the king stood, staring dumbly. Shaquilath has lost her daughter, Talya thought, and his heart broke with hers. The king has great kindness that’s been covered up by fear and greed.
How or why these things came to Talya, he didn’t know, because he wasn’t as much knowing them as experiencing them.
And more, he was experiencing the truth, which was this: here he was in a small body that could easily be torn in two
by the lion’s jaws or cut down the middle by Kahil’s sword, but this would lessen him no more than losing a finger, because he wasn’t his finger any more than he was his body.
Here he was, that small boy, but here he was also: the son of the Father, who was more powerful than a hundred thousand bodies.
A voice whispered to him from his memory of the light. In this world you will have trouble, it said, but take heart…I have overcome the world.
Talya looked at the lion again, then walked toward it. He could feel the dust under his bare feet, soft like clouds. The lion, seeing him come, flicked its ears, then continued its panting, looking about lazily.
Talya stopped in front of the beast, mesmerized by its golden fur.
Still no one spoke. The lion looked up at him, stretched its neck, and yawned before returning to its lazy distraction.
Talya, the lamb, was loved even by the lion. And then Saba’s words from Dumah came to him.
A child will lead them. Today, he was that child.
“What is this?” Kahil snarled.
But nobody was paying him any mind.
Talya walked up to Saba, who was watching him in wonder. They smiled at each other and Saba beamed with pride.
“What is this?” Kahil repeated, twisting back to glare at the platform. “I demand what I was promised!”
New voices rippled through the crowd, as if Kahil’s objection had broken their spell. But they were exclamations of wonder for Talya.
The king, Aretas, lifted his hand and they quieted. He stared at Talya curiously for a moment.
“My word is my word. You will have what was promised.” He paused. “But let the boy speak.”
Saba rose to his feet.
Talya stared at the king. They were going to kill him then? For a brief moment fear shot through his heart, but then he saw a young boy like himself, maybe only eight years old, smiling at him from the one of the nearest seats. The boy was dressed in rags and his face was dirty and Talya suddenly remembered the orphans still in Dumah and everywhere in the desert.
I will not leave you as orphans…
He looked along the crowd and saw many children. Whether orphans or not, he didn’t know, but weren’t they all lost, alone?
A child will lead them.
Suddenly this was all he could think about. His mother had gone to save them two years ago and assumed she’d failed, but she was wrong. This was a part of how she would save them, by saving him. All of what had happened was part of what had to happen for the sake of so many.
He turned to where his mother stood high in the arena. Tears wet her face but she stood tall, the greatest of all mothers in his eyes, so proud of him.
The king had told him to speak. So then he must speak.
“Mother…” For a moment he couldn’t say more because he was overwhelmed by love for her and his throat was knotted.
Her soft voice reached down to him, gripped by emotion.
“Speak to me, my son.”
He looked at the king, who seemed curious; at Kahil, scowling; at Saba, who had fresh tears on his cheeks. Then back at his mother.
“We have to take comfort to the others in Dumah. All of the orphans, everywhere…they wait for us. I see now. We must return to the desert and show all the motherless their Father.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then started to descend. The people parted before her.
“You are right, Talya,” she said, stepping slowly down the stone benches, eyes fixed upon him. “Do not be afraid.”
Talya looked at Kahil, only eight horse lengths away. The prince sat on his stallion, trembling with rage, eyes black and fierce, and Talya thought, The jinn are shaking his body. He’s afraid.
But Talya wasn’t afraid.
He turned to Aretas. “You must allow us to return to Dumah and to the desert.” His voice rang out for all to hear. “We have to tell the outcasts that they are loved! Maviah is the queen of those who need to hear, the mother of all the orphans who cry. She, not Kahil, is the one who will bring the kingdom of power to the desert.”
He knew, even as his voice carried to every ear in the great stadium, that he was speaking words their old minds could not understand, but he must speak them anyway.
He pointed at the viper, keeping his eyes on the king. “Kahil is blind and afraid, because his eyes have been scraped out by the hatred of his fathers and jinn, but he could learn to see. Then he too will love the outcasts as he loves—”
A terrible scream of rage cut him off. Motion blurred in the corner of his eye.
Turning slowly, he saw it all unfold, and he knew he must allow it to happen.
He saw Kahil screaming, standing in his saddle, leaning forward with his long, curved blade in his hand, pounding the white stallion’s flanks with his heels.
He’s coming for me. He’s going to cut my head off with his sword.
And he did come, flying past Saba, who was shoved back by the sudden onrush. Closing in on Talya, now only ten paces away.
Alarm flashed through his body, and with it realization. He was going to die. Still, it was only his body here that would die, now instead of later. Yet there was no now or later in the eternal realm.
Kahil drew his blade back, mouth wide like a viper that had learned how to roar.
He’s going to kill me!
But there was another roar. One to Talya’s left—low and rumbling at first, then rising to a snarl, then a sound of fury that shook the ground.
A rush of golden fur and sinew and rippling muscle streaked low to the ground to intercept Kahil.
Talya watched, stunned, as the lion launched itself to the air, claws extended, fangs wide. Kahil jerked his head toward the threat, but his awareness had come too late.
The lion took the dark prince from his saddle in full flight. His jaw crushed Kahil’s head while they were still in the air, before the man’s scream of rage could turn to fear.
They landed, lion on top, ten paces from the frightened stallion, who veered to miss Talya’s body.
Then there was only the lion hunched over his kill.
It had happened so fast and with such brutality that none could react.
The lion released his prey, gazed down at the fallen warrior for a moment, and looked around, growling softly. Satisfied, he turned and trotted toward Talya, tongue lolling out of its mouth, gently panting.
The lion stopped two paces from him and sat down on his haunches, looking about as if nothing had happened.
Talya blinked, realizing that he had forgotten to breathe. So he breathed now, drawing his fingers into loose fists because they were trembling.
Kahil was dead, and for this he felt only empathy.
The lion was his friend. Imagine that!
The lion and the lamb.
His mother was in the arena now, walking toward him, calm and queenly. She reached him and took his hand. Then gave it a gentle squeeze.
“What a beautiful boy you are,” she breathed.
Then she reached out for Saba, who’d approached from the side, and all three stood and faced the king and queen of Petra.
“You have seen and heard the power of Yeshua as promised,” his mother said, as a queen in this realm might say it. “Now we are needed in the desert.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
I HAD HEARD of kingdoms far beyond the oasis of Dumah that give birth to life where none should be, kingdoms beyond the vast, barren sands of the Arabian deserts.
Yet none of these kingdoms were real to me because I, Maviah, was born into shame without the hope of honor.
But there came into that world a man who spoke of a different kingdom in words that defied all other kingdoms.
His name was Yeshua.
One look into his eyes would surely bend the knee of the strongest warrior or exalt the heart of the lowest outcast. One whisper from his lips might hush the cries of a thousand men or dry the tears of a thousand women.
Some said that he was a prophe
t. Some said that he was a mystic. Some said that he was a fanatical Zealot, a heretic, a man who’d seen too many deaths and too much suffering to remain sane and so had given himself to be crucified.
But I came to know him as the anointed Son of the Father, from whom all life flows; a teacher of the Way into a realm that flows with far more power than all the armies of all the kingdoms upon the earth joined as one; the Son of Man, who undid what the first Adam had done.
Yeshua, the only Way to know the Father. The only Truth, the only Life.
It was Yeshua who told me that I’d been created with the breath of God in his image and then glorified his identity in me. Yeshua who’d shown me how the knowledge of good and evil had darkened my world, causing me to live in grievance and shame so that I could only stumble in darkness and death, lost to that glory.
It was Yeshua who showed me how the Father had raised me from my death with him, and breathed his life into me through him, and so glorified his identity in me once again. Yeshua who showed me how beautiful and powerful he is in that realm, and how beautiful and powerful I was as well—he in me and I in him. All else was only the lie of that serpent, who accused me.
It was Yeshua who showed me that my purpose was to be like him on earth, sharing my love with a world still enslaved by darkness.
To love them as myself.
In the wake of such a stunning display of power, Shaquilath released Arim and Fahak but remained distant upon reuniting us. Twice now, she’d seen Yeshua’s power, but her grievance over the loss of Phasa, her daughter and her idol, darkened her heart. She was fearful of what she could not comprehend.
Aretas again restored my right to find my way in the desert as queen without either his support or rejection. So long as he received his taxes, he would let me contend with the Thamud and Dumah, he said. Then he ordered that we be supplied with all we needed for our journey and sent us away.
We left within the hour.
Now we sat upon our camels three hours east of the city. Here, where Yeshua had appeared to Saba and me in the flesh and opened our eyes to the truth of who he was and who we now were.
