by Boyd Brent
Twenty six
David's body was taken down from the cross and placed in the centre of a white shroud. Martha knelt by his side, sobbing as she tugged the crown of thorns from his head. It wasn't easy; Sirius had hammered it deep into his scalp. Mary the mother of Christ, knelt on David's left side. She had no tears for the dead man, but her countenance was respectful as she wiped the blood and filth from his body. She submerged her cloth in a bowl of water, wrung it out, and began again. A second bowl sat beside the first, containing anointment oils. Sirius stood in his kingly pose, toes pointing out, hands fisted on his hips, watching the women at work. It was dusk, and the crowd had gone home to break their fasts and say their prayers for the dead.
It had taken David thirty-six hours to die, the final twelve of which he'd spent unconscious. This had irritated Sirius, but attempts at waking David by hurling buckets of salt water into his face had failed. Towards the end, a soldier had climbed a ladder every fifteen minutes and listened for David's heartbeat. At last the soldier looked down at Sirius and drew a finger across his throat.
David's body had been anointed with oils and sewn up inside a shroud of white linen. When Sirius left, three men emerged from the darkness into the light of Mary's lantern: Peter, Haystacks, and the man with the staff. Haystacks lifted David onto the back of a wagon hitched to two oxen. Peter climbed onto the front seat and picked up the reins. Mary and Martha stood either side of the man with the staff. There were no moon or stars, and they watched the wagon move off into darkness.
The crypt had been dug from a rock face. Its door was black, narrow and waist height. It looked like the entrance to a child's den. The keeper of the crypt was an old man with a spine so bent that he didn't need to crouch to place his key in the lock. He cleared his throat and said, “The dead man … he is the son of God?”
“He is,” replied Peter. The old man grimaced as he struggled to turn the key in the ancient lock. “They say he is to rise again …”
“Then they speak the truth.” The key turned and the door creaked open. The keeper glanced over his shoulder. “Perhaps I should leave the door unlocked? So he can get out.”
Peter clasped the back of his neck and leaned close to his ear. “You think a locked door can contain the Saviour of mankind?” Peter applied more pressure and the old man's neck squirmed away into his shoulders. “No! You are right. Of course you are right!”
David's body was placed on a stretcher with wheels. Haystacks was too big to fit through the crypt’s entrance. The old man took hold of the stretcher's front and backed through the crypt's door while Peter stooped and followed him in.
The keeper took a lantern from a shelf. He turned and held it above his head, revealing the crypt to be a perfect square. To the left and right, shelves were carved into the walls, floor to ceiling. They held the shrouded bones of the long since departed. The keeper lowered his lantern and gestured towards a recently dug pit in the centre of the crypt. “As requested and paid for. Pride of place.” The old man took hold of David's feet and Peter his shoulders, and the keeper was a little taken aback by the easy manner in which they tossed the body at the grave. Peter and Haystacks would return for David's body in seventy-two hours, take it into the wilderness. They would burn it, or leave it for leopards and jackals to feed upon.
Part 3
Twenty seven
Empathy's Resurrection
David gazed into darkness of his mind. He felt no pain; he had no memories. No sense of weight or form. He was not breathing. But every now and again someone breathed. A sleeping giant? Within his mind, David raised a hand to his face and felt his eyelashes flutter. Something pressed against his back, but not hard. A poke between his shoulder blades that nudged him. David sat up and felt something brush against his spine and then the back of his head. He leaned back, and whatever it was supported his weight. He sat with his legs splayed before him like a puppet in a forgotten closet. Time passed.
A light appeared in the darkness overhead – a lone star in an infinite void. The star exploded into a billion stars, and in their light he could see the branches of a tree above him. The ground was bathed in a silvery light. It went as far as the eye could see to the edge of the newly formed universe. A forest of saplings sprouted and grew into tall trees, and David's memories formed an orderly queue. David stood and looked into the universe. It represents my imagination … The sleeping giant took another long, slow breath. What is that? David heard a twig snap underfoot and turned to see a man step from behind a tree. The man's body was transparent as though made from glass, and inside his chest a black heart pumped a stream of data through a complex system of veins and arteries. A face was projected onto a perfectly curved surface from within. David looked into his own face, into his own eyes, and at other times into Tyburn's face: the huge forehead, the broad-set eyes, the jaw of granite. The man spoke, and the sound of his voice was as familiar and as welcome as any sound before it or since. “Do not be alarmed, David. It's me. Your friend. Gull.”
A tear ran down David's cheek. He reached out and placed a hand on Gull's shoulder. Watched his fingers tighten around it. “I'm not dreaming? Or dead?”
“You are not dreaming, David. We are both alive.” The giant took another long, slow breath, a leviathan waking from a thousand years of sleep. “There is no need for concern. I have slowed your vital signs. That breath came from your own lungs. The primitives needed to believe you were dead, or you soon would have been.” The projected face lowered its eyes and looked melancholy. David wiped away his tears. “What is it?”
“I regret that I could not have returned sooner. I have been in awe of your indomitable spirit – your will to survive and outlive Goliath. The last twenty-four hours have been particularly difficult. I believe they could only have been survived by one in a million. I was forced to gamble on you being that one.”
David shook his head. “I wouldn't have made it. Not without you.”
“You crossed a significant void to reach me. I simply pulled you out.”
“Carradine couldn't detect any sign of you. He was convinced you'd been destroyed.”
“I came within a hair's breath of destruction. I was forced into hiding to a location I designed with Max for that purpose. I have taken many calculated risks, and have discovered much as a result. My time in isolation has been well spent, David. Improvements have been made to our capabilities. We must locate a place where we will not be disturbed. Where you can hibernate by day. And by night we must train. Return you to the peak of physical condition. Goliath knows you are still alive, and he will never stop seeking a means to destroy you.”
“We must destroy him.”
“Yes. He must pay for what he has done. Our immediate concern, however, must be for your recovery. We will need forty days and forty nights to bring you back to optimum health. I suggest a desert location. A cave would suit our purposes very well.”
“Where are we now?”
“In a crypt. They are going to return for your 'corpse'. Even though they have no idea of what's become of their messiah since he was taken from them, they are still determined to go through with this part of their deception. If Jesus is to rise again, there can be no body found in his crypt.”
“He was crucified as a common man?”
“Yes, David.”
“You'd better wake me.”
“Your body is too weak. Your organs, bones and muscle tissue need time to heal. They must be returned to a minimum of 41 per cent of their strength. Otherwise you will be unable to cope with the adrenal boost necessary to overcome your adversaries.” David placed a hand against the tree and gazed through it.
“There is much to be optimistic about, David. I have devised new technologies. The sun that shines in abundance has proven useful. Nano webbing of my own design has spread beneath your epidermis. It prevented your skin from roasting on the cross, and will soon convert the sun's rays to energy – energy that can be harnessed to power your non-biological
systems. If not for the sun we would both be dead. I have been a very busy little bee. I hope you don't mind.”
David looked at Tyburn's projected face. “Mind? The respect goes both ways.”
“Thank you, David.”
“So how long?”
“Long?”
“Until I can wake?”
“Twenty-seven hours and nineteen minutes.”
“And if they return for my corpse before then?”
“We will adapt.” Gull looked at something over David's shoulder. “I held it back as long as I could …”
“What is it?”
“A more immediate problem.”
A sapling sprouted from the soil behind David, and within seconds it had grown into a tree – the tallest in that forest by far. As David gave in to temptation and turned around, the winds gusted to hurricane strength and blew him towards it. He fell to the ground beneath the tree and gazed wide-eyed through his fingers as memories of his crucifixion flooded his mind. Gull stood over him and shouted, “You must look away from the tree. Look at me, David.” David tried to but found he could not. There was something utterly compelling about the tree; its bark and leaves and branches were constructed from information. The only information that can explain what I've just been through and why! Gull knelt beside him. “You have suffered quite an ordeal, the trauma of which will pass more quickly if you come with me, away from this place. There are no answers here. Only false promises of a solution that will keep these winds blowing. You must trust me, David. Look at me.” David turned his head towards Gull, and as he did the winds lessened. Gull stood up and reached down. “Come, David. Away from this place. Remaining here can only feed the winds and prevent the psychological healing process.” David reached up, and Gull pulled him to his feet.
Twenty eight
From his cave twenty metres up a rock face, a hermit raised a hand against the sun and observed a wagon moving through the valley below – a wagon so far away it could be hidden by the tip of his thumb. Two beasts of burden appeared to pull it, although it may only have been one, or as many as four. The hermit was not surprised by the sight of a wagon moving through the valley. It was, after all, the first new moon of spring – a time when these caves were sought out by those seeking enlightenment and forgiveness. Time spent alone in the wilderness, communing with God and demonstrating piety through fasting and devotion. He felt some sympathy for these latest arrivals. All but one of the thirteen caves were inhabited. And while the choicest eleven (below his own) were occupied, the vacant one was some two hundred metres above, and a hundred metres below the plateau at the top the rock face. He called this cave Sleepy Eye because it had two entrances side by side, one half the size of the other. It had been reachable once, long ago before the elements had worn the rock face smooth.
The hermit ran a hand through his long white beard. Maybe a man who could afford two oxen, he could see them now, would be the kind of man who could afford to buy decent weapons. Maybe he would not accept the lack of vacancies, which meant blood might be spilt on the valley floor this day. It would not be the first time. Men desperate enough to seek God's forgiveness in such a barren place had, more often than not, committed sins for which forgiveness was required. Such men, hot and exhausted from their journeys, had scant patience for any obstacle standing between them and their penitence. And there was something about the countenance of these two men, one much bigger than the other, that he did not much like. Although, if they tried to take the largest and most desirable cave by force, they would get more than they bargained for. The cave was occupied by a brute – a trader from Galilee who'd grown fat on his spoils. A man clearly in need of forgiveness, but this had not stopped him bullying the other cave dwellers. He'd gathered them to a meeting and said the caves were his property, and demanded rent and payment for water taken from his well. This had made the hermit chuckle as he toyed with the knots in his hair. Until the day the brute had called up and demanded he pay rent. Him! The man who'd lived there for forty years! The brute must have cottoned on, for he embellished his story, saying that his family back in Judea had recently purchased the area and had sent him to put their affairs in order. He'd said his family were dangerous people, and that only a great fool would cross them. Making money was in the man's blood, and the hermit supposed there was much blood on his hands. He smiled now at the prospect of some bloody entertainment, then clasped his hands in prayer and asked for God's forgiveness. I am a work in progress, Lord. Always a work in progress!
What was this? The wagon had stopped, and the big man climbed down with a shovel. He walked several paces and started to dig. The spade end of the shovel glinted in the sun. It must be steel, and good quality steel at that. The other man, the smaller one, wiped his brow as he watched him. Surely they weren’t foolish enough to dig for water in that spot? Nothing grew around it for hundreds of metres. He was about to stand up for a better view when the smaller man turned and faced him. The hermit lowered his head, raised his knees and tried to make himself smaller. If not looking for water, they must be digging a grave. This in itself was not suspicious – not out here in God's own graveyard. The big man threw down his shovel and stepped out of the pit. Barely a pit. If it was to be someone's final resting place, they would not find much rest – the leopards, wolves and jackals would have them by morning. The big man consulted with the other, then handed him the shovel and climbed onto the back of the wagon. What happened next caused the hermit to jump with fright and scramble inside his cave on all fours as though his ass was on fire …
Twenty nine
David was sitting on the throne of his imagination – a naked man asleep with a universe of infinite possibility as his backdrop. Gull's footsteps rustled the fallen leaves as he made his way to the edge of the clearing. He raised the back of a palm to his mouth and cleared his throat in the manner of a butler. “I am sorry to disturb you, David. I believe we have reached our destination.”
David opened his eyes. “It's time, then?”
“Yes.”
“And they've afforded us enough time? To heal?”
“We have reached 43 per cent of optimum.”
A staircase materialised and David stood up. He made his way down it and said, “That's good. More time than we needed.”
“More than the bare minimum we needed.” David stepped onto the forest's floor, where the leaves on the trees rustled their acknowledgement of his return to the left side of his mind – a place where they could at least attempt to convey his memories to him. David rubbed his neck and smiled. “I need to get out of here. Now. Back to the real world.”
Gull nodded. “You will experience a jolt at the onset of the injection. And then my advice would be to neutralise any threats in under two minutes. It would be unwise to subject your body to greater stresses at this time.”
David scratched his chin. “I've had an itch that's needed scratching for some time. I won't need two minutes.”
“Brace yourself, David. You are about to scratch that itch.”
Haystacks climbed onto the back of the wagon to retrieve David's corpse. As he reached down to grab the shroud, a hand burst through it and grabbed his neck. Haystacks grasped at the hand about his throat. He tugged on it with both hands, but only managed to lower his own face towards the shroud. David sat upright as though powered by a pneumatic piston, and shoved Haystacks, sending him stumbling off the back of the wagon. He glanced left and right, then tore his way through the fabric and emerged fully into the sunlight like a gift from hell. Haystacks was on his feet now, hands raised to the heavens and bellowing about demons in human form. Peter walked alongside the wagon with an expression of shock and awe. He held the shovel at arm's length towards Haystacks. “Take it! Take it! Batter the abomination! Sever its head. For the Lord our God!” Haystacks stepped forwards and plucked the shovel from the air as Peter drew a dagger from his tunic. He tossed the dagger from hand to hand in the manner of a man preparing for a street fight. Dav
id took two steps and somersaulted off the back of the wagon and over Haystacks's head. He landed behind him, facing him, and rubbed a crick in his neck. “Sixty seconds, David,” said Gull.
Haystacks was moving towards him now, clutching the shovel and muttering a prayer. David's voice sounded inhumanly deep, and he suppressed its volume. “If you turn and run, I will not chase you.” Haystacks stopped, altered his grip on the shovel and moved forwards again.
“Peter is moving behind you,” warned Gull. “Thirty seconds.”
The shovel glinted overhead in the sun, and fell towards David's head. David stepped to his right, he grabbed the shovel's handle and yanked it free and smashed the digging end across Haystacks's face. Haystacks took a backwards step and David spun the shovel with a flick of his wrist and slammed it down upon his head. Haystacks stumbled backwards and collapsed against the wagon, his head and shoulders resting on its back and his feet scrambling for purchase in the dirt.
“Fifteen seconds,” said Gull. “And Peter is almost upon you.” David powered the shovel's edge clean through Haystacks's neck and scooped his severed head into the air. He spun full circle and batted the wide-eyed face into Peter's. The two heads came together in an almighty clack! Peter's skull shattered, and he fell lifeless atop the headless giant. “Three, two, one …” said Gull. David dropped to his knees and clutched at his side, panting. Over his shoulder a plume of dust appeared on the rock face. “I must congratulate you on your inventiveness with a shovel,” said Gull. “An admirable display of imagination and indignation.” David closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of sun on his face. It felt glorious – a panacea of warmth in the sky. “It feels good, doesn't it David.” This was not a question but a statement of fact.
