Palace of Darkness (20 page)

Julian looked down, studied her hand on his, then covered it with his own, cradling her cold fingers in his warm grasp. When his eyes found hers and lingered on her face, something passed between them that shallowed Cassia’s breathing. She tried to pull her hand away, but he would not allow it.

From the corner Malik said, “Because she senses what I have also been told. That Julian will be a mighty man for God in Petra.”

Julian still held her hand, as though she were the one needing reassurance.

“But this happened because you were with me in the palace?” She broke free of Julian’s hold on her, refusing to think about the way it had made her heart blaze. “It is my fault, all of this.”

Malik appeared beside them and put his hand on her shoulder. “As brothers and sisters we have made a choice to stand with you, and to stand against the evil that pervades our city. This makes us a target, it is true. But it is our choice and not the fault of anyone.”

Cassia wiggled away from his hand on her shoulder and stood. Her hands went to her hips and she felt her blood rising. “It is enough. All of this talk of your
friend
”—at this she looked at Talya—“your
brothers and sisters
.” She turned to Malik. “I do not understand who you are or why you stand against anything or would help me.”

Malik smiled, clearly amused at her outburst, and that infuriated her. “I want to know!”

He reached for her hand and took it between his own wrinkled ones. “Then you shall. You shall indeed.” He turned to the others. “We must find a new place to meet, now that we have been noticed there. Tomorrow we will meet as usual and determine where we should go. Spread the word to the rest of the brothers and sisters.”
There were nods around the room, and Cassia realized she would get nothing further from them until the next night.

And when the next day’s work was done and she had insisted on walking home alone, Zeta met her in the street with a covered basket of hot bread. “Tonight you will be our guest. Come.”

Zeta and Talya led her back to the empty tomb where Julian had first taken her, this time filled with many more people than she had first encountered. They pushed their way into the colorful, rock-hewn chamber, through the myriad faces—young and old, rich and poor, even slave and free, to Cassia’s amazement. No matter the status, gender, or age, the faces shared one thing. There was a peaceful yet intense joy upon each. Cassia searched their eyes, tried to read some of them, looking for the reason. But it was a mystery to her. She could feel it strongly, but she could not understand it.

The chamber was not well lit, perhaps because all around the room they talked of “discovery” and “persecution.” Only a few small lamps tucked into niches flickered through the chamber, leaving most in shadows, with their white tunics standing out below darker head coverings.

The crowd was not a shoving, pressing crowd. It was an embracing one, with people drawn into kisses of greeting and robust hugs. Cassia could not help but smile as several people wrapped their arms around her as well.

Already I love it here, whoever these people are!

She spotted Julian at the back of the chamber, near the burial slots, and he waved her over. She threaded through the press of people until she was at his side, then reached up with her fingertips to touch his bruised cheekbone with gentle fingers. It seemed to have purpled even more since she had last seen him.

He grasped her fingers and smiled. “It is nothing. Come, let’s sit.”

He led her to a corner near the front of the chamber, close to the central place where Malik stood, speaking softly to another older man. Cassia sensed immediately that Malik was the leader of the group, and it did not surprise her. But what did they gather to do? Did they plot the overthrow of the royal house? At the idea, her heart thudded against her chest.

But then there was singing. A low but joyous flow of words she did not recognize that began with Malik and spread through the chamber like a warm oil being poured out. She had heard nothing like it in all her life.

These songs, this room of people loving each other intensely—it was no military uprising. It was some kind of group dedicated to the gods. But it had nothing in common with the cold chants of Zerika, the temple priest back in Damascus. She closed her eyes as the music carried her on silky wings, and she began to sway with it. Inside her, a long-held tension began to unwind and relax. She could hear Malik’s voice, deep and lovely, above the others. Beside her, Julian was part of it all.

And then Malik’s voice melted from singing to speaking, a prayer over all of them. He prayed for the evil in Petra to be restrained and for the queen to be released from it to see the truth. All of these prayers he offered up in the name of someone named Jesus.
Jesus?

They are Christians!

Cassia ran her gaze over the crowd once more, searching for any of the signs she would expect, things she had been told in Syria of the Christians. Atheists, all of them, it was said, because they would not worship the gods. They opposed those in power and withheld their money from many of the industries that supported the government, so most suspected they had some hidden plans of revolt.

Her mind spun. None of it seemed true. She looked to Julian, in prayer with the rest of them.

Julian too?

Malik was extending his hand toward her now and speaking her name.

“We have brought her to us this night because it is in her defense that we have begun to seek access to the palace, and she needs to know us.” He bowed slightly in her direction. “Cassia, we have shown you trust by bringing you into our circle.”

She dipped her head in response, still unsure of what all of this meant.

Malik seemed to sense her confusion, for he spoke only to her, though loud enough for the group to hear. “We are those of Petra who have become children of the One True God through faith in His Son, Jesus Christ, faith in His sacrifice that was the final payment for our sin. Many of the people of God, the Israelites, did not recognize their Messiah when He walked among them nearly one hundred years ago, but He was a Messiah for all nations, and God has graciously invited us into the family.”

Malik seemed to want some response, so Cassia nodded. He turned to address the entire group. “But things are changing for the church in Petra, my friends. We have experienced many years of peace, but I fear such times are coming to an end.”

Because of me?
Cassia chewed her lip, waiting for the looks of condemnation. None came.

“We must not forget who we are.” Malik smiled over the group. “Even if there is harsh persecution to come. Love each other well, and care for the hearts of your brothers and sisters. Fight for each other, fight against evil. Perhaps we have been complacent here in our safety. But we must not forget that we are in the midst of a perverse culture, and we must stand firm yet remain loving. Remember it is by our love they shall know we are His disciples. Love one another, and love
them”—he extended a hand outward to the city—“pray for them and love them until they ask you why.”

Cassia watched the joyful faces upturned to Malik. Only yesterday the ones he now asked them to love had been here with them and had beaten Julian. It made no sense to her. Beatings did not produce love. This she knew from experience.

“Tonight must be the last night that we meet here.” Many of the faces lowered. “It is time to move on. Who can suggest a better place for our flock?”

Voices called out and various homes were offered, but each was turned down as too small. Indeed, they had clearly outgrown even their present location.

Cassia cleared her throat. “What about the tomb still being constructed? Where Julian and I work each day?”

Silence met her suggestion, and she feared she had been presumptuous but pressed on. “The inside is vast, with many chambers. You would be unheard. And no one goes near it once the sun is down.”

Malik’s lined face broke into a grin. “You will be one of us before long, my dear Cassia.” He clapped his hands together and faced the group. “What do you say?”

There was general agreement around the chamber, and Cassia felt the warm glow of having been helpful, however slight her help. Julian leaned into her shoulder briefly and smiled.

Malik read to the group for a while, a letter from a friend of his, a Jewish Paul, whom Cassia gathered was no longer living. But the words seemed alive still, and Cassia drank them in, like water for a parched heart.

“ ‘What if God did this to make the riches of his glory known to those destined for destruction, now the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory? We are those whom he called, not only
from the Jews but also from the nations. As he says in Hosea, “I will call them
my people
who are not my people, and she who is not my Beloved, I will call Beloved.” ’ ”

The words went on, but Cassia only heard that one word,
beloved,
echoing through her heart. To be loved by such a God . . . She blinked away the sudden swell of emotion.

When Malik finished, she glanced at Julian and found him struggling with his own emotions. She tilted her head and studied him.

“That was a letter to my church in Rome,” he whispered, “written not long before I was born. I heard it many times while growing up. It makes me long for home.”

Cassia nodded as if the explanation satisfied, but in truth it only raised more questions.

After the reading of the letter, Malik spoke awhile, encouraging them again, then extended his hands. “We must pray in earnest, my family.”

Around the room, hands were joined until they were each connected, and Cassia, too, was a part of their circle. Julian clasped her fingers in his own, and she shyly gave her hand to the girl beside her.

Many prayed to their One God then. She listened in wonder as they spoke to Him as though to a loving father. When they prayed for the Jews living among them and elsewhere and then, more shockingly, for Hagiru, Cassia studied their faces, searching for betrayal, for loyalty to the queen. But no, they prayed against the evil she sought to control but in truth controlled her, prayed for her to be released from its mighty hold.

But it was the hand of Julian on hers that most drew her attention. The gentle pressure, the way their hands seemed to fit together as though molded as one. And when the prayer was over and Julian met her eyes, she found herself a bit breathless. The girl beside her released Cassia’s hand. Julian did not.

All too soon the meeting ended, out of fear of another attack, and they arranged to meet again in their new location two nights hence. Cassia hoped to be invited again, but she did not dare ask. Not yet.

Malik came to her as the group dispersed. “You have questions still, daughter?”

She frowned, not desiring to offend. “I have heard tales of the Christians.” She glanced at those climbing down from the chamber. “But this—these people—”

Malik patted her arm. “Not as you expected?”

“You drink blood and eat flesh, it is said.” She flushed. “You have no gods, no priests, no temples. You do not sacrifice. For all this, it is believed you are enemies of society, haters of mankind.”

“And is this what you believe?” Malik’s gaze on her was soft, full of love.

She spread her arms to the chamber. “How can I?”

Julian spoke beside her. “There is so much truth to share with you, Cassia. When you are ready.”

She nodded, unsure if she would ever be ready.

On the road back to Zeta’s home, she and Julian walked alone, leaving the rest of the church still talking with Malik.

Cassia moved slowly, still feeling the effects of the warm and joyous people, walking as though asleep and dreaming. Firelight at the edges of rock-wall homes winked at them as they walked, and somewhere in the distance an old woman chanted prayers to the goddess al-‘Uzza, a deity very different from Julian’s. The singsong chant rode on the breeze, and Cassia shivered.

Julian wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He did not speak, and Cassia was not yet ready to ask her questions, so they walked in silence past quiet homes with their hidden gardens spilling out the scent of white jasmine and warm fruit. She relaxed under his embrace.

If Alexander were waiting for her at home, she would have declared this the perfect night.

“I have a gift for you.” Julian reached for a pouch tied to his waist. He stopped in the street to pull something from it, no bigger than his palm. Pale moonlight caught on the tiny white sculpture, revealing intricate details.

“A white tiger!” She took it from him and turned it in his hands. “How beautiful.”

“I made it for Alexander. For you to give to him when he is returned to you.”

Cassia stroked the tiger. Julian had known of Alexander’s great love for animals from the stories he had drawn from her. She blinked back tears and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Julian. He will love it.”

Ahead, a stocky figure walked toward them out of the shadows. Cassia had the passing thought that perhaps she should feel fear, but her heart was too full.

Until she saw his face.

Yehosef, the old gladiator she’d paid to train her, showed relief at the sight of her, but Cassia’s stomach churned.

“Ah, I am glad to see you safe, my Cassia.” He extended his muscled arms. “When you did not come—”

“I am sorry. I was . . . detained.”

He glanced at Julian and winked. “Yes, I see. But I was worried.”

She smiled. “You are a good man, Yehosef. I thank you for your concern.”

He bowed. “Then I shall see you soon?”

Cassia swallowed, aware of Julian’s growing coldness. “Yes, soon. Thank you.”

Yehosef disappeared into the night, and Julian crossed his arms over his chest. “Who is your friend?” His voice was stony.

She tucked a stray end of hair beneath her head covering. “An old man I visit, nothing more.”

“He is a gladiator.”

Cassia glanced up at him, surprised by his insight. “An old man like that?”

“He once was, at least. Now I would guess he trains others gladiators.”