by Ken Hansen
Tomadus noticed the last ‘no’ had fallen off dramatically, like she had caught herself. Had she lost her remaining energy or had she finally resigned herself to this? A small black and white dog came from around one of the hedgerows and began barking at the intruders. Tomadus tipped his head at the dog. Wasn’t it the same dog in Parisius—the one like Huxley’s dog?
Tomadus walked quickly over to Isa and Jochi as they both rose from their knees. By now, the barking dog had awakened the Ten, and they walked over to join the group. The guards held their rifles up and yelled, “Close enough. Everyone keep their hands where we can see them.”
Before Tomadus could gesture to Isa, he opened his arms to welcome Tomadus. “Will you greet me properly, my friend?” Isa asked. When Tomadus came to him, they kissed cheeks. One of the guards seized Isa.
Adin tried to move in and get between the guard and Isa, but another guard hit Adin in the head with the butt of his rap rifle, knocking him to a knee. Another kicked him in the gut. Adin bent over but rose quickly and came toward the guard. Another guard struck him on the head with his rifle butt. Adin fell to the ground as a third guard pulled back the pin on his rap rifle and pointed it at him.
“Stop,” Tomadus yelled to the guards, “or you will face the wrath of the First Consul!”
“Shut up, Romanus,” replied the sergeant. “You have done your part. Now let us do ours.”
Isa dropped to a knee, touching Adin gently on the head and stomach as they all watched. Adin seemed to recover quickly and sat up in a slight daze. He looked into Tomadus’s eyes and a tear fell from his own. Adin shook his head slowly and frowned.
Simeon moved forward yelling, “You traitor, Tomadus!” Several of the other Ten joined in. Peregrine looked at him in disbelief and said only, “Why?”
Simeon yelled over to Isa, “We’ll gather your followers. We can contact Emperor Acamapichtli. He has the resources. We can save you.”
“No, Simeon,” Isa yelled back. “Did you not hear me at supper? Shall I not drink the cup that the Father gave me?” Simeon, Jochi and the Ten bowed their heads.
Torn by the entire scene, Tomadus frowned and said softly in Jochi’s direction, “I am sorry to you. I am sorry to you all. But this is the best thing for him, for everyone.” He turned and followed the arresting party as they led Isa away, keeping an eye on the guards so they would treat Isa well. As the group reached the gate, a gentle hand pulled on Tomadus’s shoulder, nearly spinning him around.
Jochi’s wet eyes nearly drowned Tomadus in her emotion. His face fell with his heart, and again he said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It will be alright.”
She forced out a few barely audible words among her tears. “No…it won’t… You are killing him… You are condemning the other world to a horrible end… You must stop… You must have faith… The only way.”
“What?” asked Tomadus.
“We—you and I—must save them. We must have faith to do what is right…” Her sobbing consumed her words as she dropped her chin.
He felt her pain in every extension of his body. How could he stay and comfort her? She probably still thought he was the source of her misery, the evil that had come in the night to kidnap her hero. And now she was talking crazy about the other world like Sonatina had overtaken her. She had lost her grip on reality. He nodded with a weak smile, trying to tell her it would be all right, but her eyes were wild and filled with tears. “I,” he said, “I am doing what is right. You will see.”
Not long after Isa was taken, Jochi found herself alone in the garden, still crying and trying to make sense of what Isa had said to her. Our Father works in mysterious ways. If each of you have faith, you shall do what is right. Have faith. You shall save yourself and so many others. Well, she had faith, but Isa had been taken anyway, just as he had said during their supper just hours ago. Isa had meant something more. Something about this world and the other. What was it? The images from the two horrible visions replayed in her brain and she shuddered. She could not grasp Isa’s meaning.
She shook her head. “Have faith,” she repeated, this time aloud. She nodded and began to pray. “Dear Father, I need your help so badly. Please. Isa has told me to have faith, and I do, but Tomadus? If we must both have faith, how can we ever save ourselves? How can we save this other world from its worst torment? Help me understand. Help us help them. Please let Tomadus find a way to protect Isa. If you must take Isa away as he says, then please help Isa save Tomadus. He does not understand. He needs you, Lord. I need you.”
Jochi began sobbing and could say no more. She lay down in the garden by the stately cypress, where Isa had last prayed with her. The black and white stray dog that had been hanging around the garden came over to her and nuzzled against her cheek. When she petted him, the dog lay down beside her. She put her arm around him and soon drifted off to sleep.
The same two visions began alternating in her dream, but this time she saw Huxley and Sonatina and Tomadus on the hill with her. Then the image of Huxley merged with Tomadus and the image of Sonatina merged with Jochi. She heard Isa’s voice repeating, “Have faith and do what is right.”
The man in the black hair and beard was laughing at Tomadus/Huxley, telling him to do something. Tomadus/Huxley looked utterly bewildered and confused. He turned toward Jochi/Sonatina. “What should I do?”
Jochi/Sonatina shook her head sadly. “I…I don’t know.”
Isa stood on the hill beside them and Jochi/Sonatina stared at him for a few seconds. Then she looked at Tomadus/Huxley and reached her hand, palm up, toward Isa. Tomadus/Huxley closed his eyes for a long time, but finally opened them and stared at Isa. “What shall I do?” he asked him.
Isa smiled and nodded to Jochi/Sonatina. Suddenly, she knew what to say. “You must do it, Chris. Sacrifice yourself and you will save billions.”
When Jochi awoke, she was shivering. The first rays of the sun were becoming visible over the horizon. The dream had been so real that it stayed with her. She knew what she must do. She looked up to the sky and smiled. “Thank you.” With all of the guards around, she may not be able to see him, but she could get him a note. She leapt to her feet and headed for Jerusalem.
Chapter 95
It was a lovely evening in the District, a perfect night to cruise the Potomac with his old roommate. Huxley had not yet seen this famed yacht, but he figured it would be a beauty since Kadir never did anything small. A glass of aged scotch, a fine cigar and a watery sunset…
He heard the GPS in his car warn him about the upcoming turns, “In one quarter mile, turn left onto Maine Avenue, then in two hundred feet turn right onto Seventh Street, and immediately turn left onto Water Street.” He ignored the slight tingle travelling down his spine.
Huxley pulled into the Southwest Wharf parking lot, saw the sign for slip C-10 to his left and walked over to it, deliberately looking away from the north end of the wharf. Was he still so weak? He looked back at the place where his father had strung himself up by the neck over a quarter century before. It seemed different though he had only seen a picture in the newspaper. Huxley smiled. Ghosts. We always act like we have buried them, but then we resurrect them again and again. He saw a sign for slip C-10. The object just beyond the sign opened his eyes wide: a huge, three or four story luxury yacht big enough to sail across the Atlantic. “Infernum” was written boldly at the bow of the beast. A slight shiver crawled down Huxley’s arms, but he shook it off and walked up the stairs to the gangplank, where he called out, “Permission to come aboard this ridiculously ostentatious vessel, Mr. Ambassador of Peace, sir?”
He expected Kadir to respond; instead, an Arab crewman emerged from the bridge. When they reached the open deck on the bow, Kadir was seated and smiling at him with his glowing set of beautiful white teeth. Kadir rose, bowed slightly, shook Huxley’s hand and gave him a hug. “Welcome, my friend, to the Ship of Fate.”
Huxley laughed and tilted his head at Kadir. “You always seem to have a flair for
overstatement, Ambassador. Good to see you again.”
The two old friends sat back while a steward in a white tuxedo brought them glasses of 30-year-old Royal Lochnagar. A few minutes later, the yacht pulled away from the wharf and reached the Potomac as the waiter brought out a box of Cuban cigars. Huxley smiled. Kadir lived the life and knew how to ensure his friends never forgot it. But it was nice to occasionally partake in the pleasures of real wealth when given the opportunity. “So this is how the rich people live,” joked Huxley.
“Those who deserve life’s riches the most find time to enjoy them,” responded Kadir with that deep melodic tone of his.
Huxley pulled his lips together. That was a bit arrogant, even for the Kad-man. “I’m sorry, I forgot to kneel before you when we met, Mr. Ambassador of Peace, sir.” That should do the trick.
Kadir did not laugh. “You know,” replied Kadir, “you have been joking about that title quite awhile, Hux, but I think I will really adopt it some day.”
“Why, because Prince of Peace is already taken?”
“I see you remain tethered to your Catholic upbringing.”
Huxley grimaced. “You okay? You seem a bit, uh, strident, tonight. You seem out of character.”
“I do? Perhaps, I am a bit anxious over a few coming events, or maybe I just don’t feel like acting the part.”
“Acting?”
Kadir sat back and rested his chin on his folded hands for a few seconds. He put his hands to his knees, leaned forward and said with a strange smile, “Please, ignore my oddities this evening. Tell me, how is your love life old friend? Have you progressed with that Italian beauty?”
That was more like it. “Enough that I won’t tell you her name.”
“Why not?”
“I’d be heartbroken if you stole her from me.”
“Ah, but I think you performed the only woman stealing in this friendship, no?”
“What? You mean Hannah? You had long passed her off like a piece of Jewish meat.”
“Yes, but she was a pretty fine cut, my friend.” They laughed, and then Kadir added, “Nevertheless, it is quite improper to topple your close friend’s former lover, even if she is a mere courtesan, would you not agree?”
“Courtesan? Not when it has been fifteen years.” What the hell is wrong with him? “I’m sorry, Kadir, did my relationship with her really bother you? You never said anything.”
“No, I was long over her. But friendship sometimes demands greater deference. You never asked for my permission, and that demonstrated a terrible lack of respect.”
Eyes narrowing, Huxley sat up straight, confusion wrinkling his brow. “Then I am truly sorry. I meant no disrespect. I just never thought about it.”
“Precisely. Anyway, forget it now. It is of no importance, and I should not have raised it. Here, Sa’id, bring us each another glass.” The waiter filled the order and Kadir raised his glass to Huxley. “Let us drink to friendship. You have done much for me, my friend, more than you can now imagine. I thank you.”
Huxley nodded in acknowledgment. What had he done to deserve that? He accepted the toast as one of the practiced diplomat’s common tools. Good time to change the subject. “Your cousin gave you this yacht, you said? It must have cost him a pretty penny.”
“I imagine so.”
“Why did he name it ‘Infernum’? That is Latin, isn’t it?”
“I named it. Yes. It is Latin for hell.”
That tingle ran down Huxley’s neck, spine, arms and legs. What was he missing? Had the scotch gone to his head?
Kadir raised his eyebrows. “Does that surprise you?”
“It’s a strange name for the ship of the Ambassador of Peace.”
“Is it now? It serves its purpose as a useful reminder of past failures.”
Huxley nodded slowly. Something was creeping to the periphery of the now hyper-extended tendrils of Huxley’s gray cells. Something about hell and something he had heard earlier this evening were linked.
“You seem spooked. What is the matter? I thought you had recovered from your childhood indoctrination of angels and demons. Do they haunt you still today? Did the wharf remind you of anything?”
Huxley’s muscles tensed as he held his breath. Was Kadir doing this intentionally? “You know my father died there. Why are you bringing this up?”
“You told me he killed himself there. By Catholic doctrine, that would send him to hell, would it not?”
“I don’t know. Why do you—” Huxley grabbed his head as a pain shot deep through its corridors. He realized he was having trouble thinking clearly. He looked at his drink, which appeared blurry. As he closed his eyes, he could almost hear his GPS tell him to turn left on Maine Avenue and nearly see the name “Infernum” on the stern of his friend’s ship. “No, that couldn’t be. My head hurts. Is there something funny in my drink?”
“Do you think so little of me, my friend? What a cliché!”
Huxley rubbed his temples. Need to get away. Need to think. Excuse. Excuse. “Sorry, I…I gotta…go to the head.”
“Certainly. Down the stairs and aft—you cannot miss it. Would you like Sa’id to assist you?”
“No, no, I’ll be alright. Just too much scotch, I think,” Huxley mumbled as he began to stumble to the stairs.
Kadir shook his head. “You never could hold your liquor.”
Huxley splashed water on his face. He must be delusional. The scotch, the cigar, the pressure of the case. Kadir had been his friend for nearly twenty years. They had traded a few words about a difficult part of the past and now Huxley was beginning to draw strange suspicions, just like he had with Sonatina. His emotions always messed things up. Just get it together, Hux. He shook his head and wiped his face, but the fog drifted further down and confused every thought now racing through his mind to God knows where. Calm down, Hux. There was Sonatina’s face saying over and over again, “Do you trust me?” The image transmogrified into an image of Anwari repeating over and over, “Now you must trust me,” and finally morphed into Kadir’s face. Now it was Huxley’s own voice that kept repeating, “I trust you, Kadir,” while Kadir laughed loudly in his face. Could he have been so wrong? He shook his head to dispel these images with limited success. Need to question him. Need her forgiveness. He pulled out his phone to text Sonatina. Fumbling over the keys, he managed to text:
Sorry abandon u. Sorry doubt u. Love you still. On Ship of Fate sailing away. Pardus lives. Where will Fate take me? Where will it take us all? My loud friend will give answers.
He hit send, took a few deep breaths and walked out of the bathroom. As he stumbled toward the bow of the yacht, he saw a door on the center side of the hall now slightly ajar. He heard a few strange beeps and saw a few flashes of colored light and could not resist ducking in for a look. Inside were cameras and enough monitors and electronics to run a war room. What the hell? He heard a noise behind him and turned quickly in the darkness. A light flickered on. In the periphery of his still muddled vision, he saw an Arab man dressed all in black. Dracoratio? How’d he get here? Why’s he raising his arm? Huxley’s instincts kicked in and he tried to move, but his motor skills were equally impaired. Darkness came quickly. Less than a second later, Huxley’s limp body slammed to the cabin floor.
Chapter 96
The late-morning sun filled Muhammad Square with bright rays sparkling on the temporary stage. Perhaps the glow presaged good things to come. How glorious it would all be after Isa convinced the authorities of his own convictions! But the scene in front of him dried his mouth and turned his stomach into knots.
Everything looked disturbingly similar to that day when Yohanan had been executed, except this time a triangulum penetrans device stood not outside the gates but on the stage itself. Another prop employed by the First Consul in his grand show. Tomadus stared at the horrible monster while the creature within him stirred.
A crowd had gathered and looked an unruly sort. Tomadus saw no Way members. Where were Simeon and At
uf, Diego and Anders? Adin surely would have come if he could. And certainly, Jochi… He shook his head. She probably hated him now. When this was all over, she might finally understand him, finally love him.
Tomadus searched the huge square for the First Consul without success, but also without any real disappointment. Khansensius was probably ensuring the success of the proceeding. One of the cameras for the visi-scan was already live. It would not be long before the First Consul would appear on stage to direct the spectacle.
Without warning, the ground began to shake, and many in the crowd screamed in fright. Tomadus had never encountered an earthquake in Jerusalem before, but they were not unheard of, and this was only a minor tremor. He regained his balance and waited for it to end. The rumbling ceased but was soon replaced by the sounds of the traditional procession entering the square on the right. Three ancient wagons rolled slowly by, their wooden wheels chattering on the cracks between the pavers in the square while the hoofs of the magnificent draft horses clattered out a dreadful beat he had never forgotten. They were the same wagons he had seen at Yohanan’s execution, except this time the final wagon held only one prisoner—Isa.
Tomadus looked around in astonishment as the crowd let out a collective cheer, which was followed by individual screams of derision at Isa, each person calling him yet another despicable name. These could not be the same people who had repeatedly proclaimed him “Savior” just a few days ago. Had Isa’s speech turned the people against him or was something else amiss?
Isa’s head was covered with blood, his face and forehead bruised and cut. While the First Consul desired a sense of reality, did he really need to denigrate Isa by forcing him to wear but a single strip of clothing around his private parts? Did he need to wear those terrible metallic bracelets and collar around his wrists, ankles and neck? The First Consul had gone too far.
