Palace of Darkness (39 page)

He shook his head. “It is a gift, you will see. A gift from the Father, to guide you in how to love others well.”

She caught his hands in her own, drew them up between them, and kissed the gnarled fingers, remembering the first time they had met and the way he had laid these hands on her injured shoulder. “Tell me why you are downcast.”

“I do not fear the queen.” He spoke as though confessing secrets.
“Nor do I fear that God’s power will be defeated tonight. But—” He sighed and dropped his head, then lifted it again and met her eyes. “I have told no one this. Not even Julian.” He smiled but his eyes watered. “The Lord has given me to know that my time here in Petra is coming to an end.”

Cassia frowned. “Where would you go?”

“To glory.”

Her breath caught in her chest and she dropped his hands.

“It is well, Cassia. The church here will thrive, the Lord tells me. Under capable leadership, as you must know.”

She pressed her hands to her chest, as though that could ease the heaviness in her heart.

“And I do not know when. Perhaps I will live to see many more years.”

Cassia could see he did not believe this, and in fact the heaviness of his own spirit came from the belief that tonight would be his last night. She did not know what to say.

Malik saved her from speaking by embracing her, suddenly and fiercely. “Go, Cassia. You must go. But know this”—his voice deepened, as though it came from a well within—“you will rise up to be a mighty woman for God, and many will call on His name because of you. Go in this strength, and go in the love of Christ your Savior.”

She dropped her head onto Malik’s shoulder. “You are the father I never had, Malik,” she whispered, and felt his gentle cry in response. “I love you.”

He pulled away, kissed both her cheeks, and released her.

Cassia crossed to the doorway but turned before leaving. “Malik.” She paused as he swept tears from his face. “Tell Julian—tell him to be careful. The Romans, they are coming. Not for him, but still”—she faltered and bit her lip—“tell him to be careful.”

Malik nodded once, smiled, then lifted his hand in farewell.

She had not expected the swell of people that glutted the streets and headed for the High Place. Somehow when she had allowed herself to imagine this night, to picture facing Hagiru on that cliff top, she had imagined it as desolate and lonely. The two of them, and Alexander, and the demon gods Hagiru served. But as she crossed the city and turned toward the amphitheatre, she realized the Festival of Grain must be a much-venerated holiday, for it seemed all of Petra pressed forward to the single, narrow steps that led upward to the overhanging plateau.

But as she wove through the crowd, trying to squeeze between tight family groups, it was not a holiday spirit that pervaded the people. Rather, a tense and even angry mood seemed to hold them captive. Cassia heard snatches of conversation as she pushed forward, talk of Rabbel’s death and of the coming Roman occupation. They feared the queen’s stubbornness would bring destruction on them all.

All of Petra sought the favor of the gods on the High Place, to protect them from the blade of the Roman army. The thought sent chills through her body and quickened her steps. She knew how they believed they would gain such favor.

She passed the amphitheatre at last and pressed forward into the single line that twisted upward into the night. There was barely enough light to see where to put one’s feet, though some carried torches, held aloft for safety.

Cassia avoided thoughts of the last time she had climbed this path, only to the first ledge where she sat under the moon with Julian.

It is too long.
She had not thought it would take such time to reach the top, not known there would be so many people.

Her foot missed a step and she went down on her shin, scraping the skin. She cried out but picked herself up quickly and pushed
upward. No one asked if she was hurt. The mood of the people had gone from tense to hostile, and angry shouts could be heard up and down the side of the cliff as they all moved upward, like an avalanche flowing the wrong direction.

In spite of the falling night and the coolness it brought, Cassia began to sweat and then to feel a chill over her skin. Her legs trembled with fear and with the effort of the climb, and the flow of people slowed as all of them tired of the steep incline. Cassia let her fingers trace a path behind her along the rock wall for balance but still felt the strangeness of the height. Her breathing grew rapid and shallow and her fingers numb.

At last, at last, there seemed to be no more rock above them. The wall at her side fell away and the plateau stretched out before her.

So large!
She had not expected that. People crawled over the surface of the mountain like a plague of locusts, and she paused to get her bearings, wondering how she would find Hagiru, and Alexander.

Torches had been thrust into the ground, dozens of them over the space of the plateau, and people wandered, talking in groups, or sat in clusters on the ground, spreading blankets with food they had brought up the mountain. The smell of cooked meat turned Cassia’s stomach.

A shove from behind nearly sent her to her knees. She moved forward on wooden legs, scanning the crowd for her son.

But there was no altar here. No place for a sacrifice. Only a wide outcropping for the crowd to congregate and a strange pair of obelisks, standing impossibly atop the bedrock as though dropped there from the heavens. Off to the right and in the distance she could see the plateau climbed even higher, and some of the crowd headed that direction.

She put her hands to her temples, where the blood pounded furiously. The sense of evil she had discerned in the city, in the palace, was nothing compared to what she felt here on the High Place. As
though all of Petra’s darkness was funneled out of the night onto this barren plateau.

If there was a higher place than this, the altar would be located there, as close to the gods as possible. She wove through the people of Petra, her gaze on the sloped path that bent and the higher plain above it, also lit with torches that edged it like fiery columns around a courtyard.

It took so long, too long, to reach the upward path. The dry desert was in her mouth, and her lungs burned with the effort of pushing through the people. But at last she reached the highest level of the mountaintop, still crowded with worshippers, and searched for a face she would know.

On a rise above her, the flat top of the cliff had been shaped into the proper function of a place of worship. No actual temple had been built here, but a squat, square enclosure had been cut into the rock floor, with gutters and slight platforms for various activities. She saw now that what she had thought were torches placed around the perimeter were actually bowl-shaped braziers on stone pillars no higher than her head and filled with burning oil.

Along the left edge of the squared open-air temple, where the High Place dropped off into space, stone steps led up to an altar. Cassia could see from where she stood that the altar was laid with dry wood and brush. At the side of the altar, the stone had been hollowed into a shallow bowl, and a channel ran downward from the bowl. The basin was for libations of both blood and wine. Cassia’s stomach rebelled at this sight, and she fought to keep from retching.

One hand on her mouth and one gripping her robes, she turned in a slow circle, head still pounding.
Where are you, Alexander? Where are you?

But it was not her son she saw first. The crowd that had gathered
on the stone platform parted as though a royal procession approached, and Cassia found herself at the end of the open path, looking up.

And then Hagiru was there, above her, her eyes flashing in the firelight, her hair pulled back from her face, and the dark downward peak of her hairline highlighted against the paleness of her skin.

As she had been the first time she saw the queen, Cassia was struck with the unearthly beauty Hagiru possessed, encased though it was in a shell of cold fury.

The queen’s eyes lowered to Cassia’s. Her mouth curled into a wicked smile.

Cassia’s hands went to her chest, fluttery and fearful, and she forced them to her sides and steeled her muscles.

“Cassia.” The queen drew out her name like the hiss of a snake.

Cassia felt as though her tongue had been cut out, so unable was she to speak a word.

And then the queen began to laugh.

FORTY-FIVE

R
ETURNING TO THE
H
IGH
P
LACE IN THE COMPANY OF
the believers carried none of the hopelessness that had plagued Julian the night before. Indeed, as the band of followers trekked up the mountainside with the rest of Petra’s worshippers, Julian studied their faces and admitted he felt something akin to excitement. The word of the Lord was strong on him tonight, assurances that a mighty display of power awaited, and he had hopes that many would turn to the power of Christ through what they witnessed.

And Alexander . . . Julian prayed the boy’s life would be spared and tried not to dwell on the idea that the Father at times chooses to bring some home for His good purposes.

The darkness grew as they climbed higher, and their progress slowed. The narrow steps gouged into the rock allowed a mere toehold in places and were wide enough for only one person. Only the most tenacious desert plants survived here, but they poked from crevices at unexpected moments and tore at sleeves and legs.

Julian’s excitement also tempered as they climbed, and he felt the oppressive weight of evil that roamed the High Place unhindered.

Not for long.

They cleared the cliff face at last, and when Julian pulled himself up the final step, he found the believers who had been ahead of him arranged in a half circle on the plateau a short distance away, waiting for instruction.

Julian paused, strengthened by their faces, each one filled with what seemed a holy light in this place, a serenity that belied the circumstance and stood in contrast to the fear that permeated the rest of the crowd.

He went to them, and they waited for the rest to straggle up the cliff. The plateau filled with citizens as they waited, and the multitude of yellow torches ringing this side of the mountaintop lit the crowd as though it were still midday.

When they were all assembled, Julian looked to Malik, who had been one of the last to arrive, aided in the climb by Nahor and Niv. Malik shook his head, still winded, and held out his hand toward Julian.

Julian nodded, and a trickle of sweat chased down the center of his back. He pointed to the flat area between the two obelisks that stood sentry near the ledge and called out instructions. “We will assemble there. Between the pillars.”

Some turned to the stone columns, then to other believers around them, their eyes large and fearful, and many shrank back.

“There is power there, yes. And we will break that power through the word of the Lord.” He pressed on, lifting his voice so they could each take strength from the truth. “Remember, we do not wage war as the world does, my friends. The weapons we yield are not the weapons of the world. No, they have divine power to demolish strongholds! And we will demolish everything that sets itself up against the knowledge of God. The prayer of the righteous is powerful, brothers and sisters!”

Heads lifted then, and Julian felt the strength return to them. People of the city pressed around their band of faithful, no doubt wondering what little sect had drawn apart in this way.

Julian turned, confident that each one would follow him, and strode through the crowd toward the flat place between the stones.

Talya caught up with him and tugged at his sleeve. “Where is Cassia?”

He scanned the plateau, but there were too many thousands and the night outside the torches too dark. “I do not know. We must trust that God has her in His hand as well as us, and we must do only what He calls us to do.”

She dropped back, and Julian knew his words sounded uncaring. In truth, his heart felt split in two pieces, and one of them was with Cassia.

He reached the pillars, searched out the spot, and found there was a rise in the ground, with a flat-topped rock about thirty cubits from the two pillars. He positioned himself on this rise and beckoned Malik to join him. The older man was at his side in a moment.

“Here is a good place from which to speak to the church,” he said to Malik. “You will be seen, but you may have to shout to be heard in this crowd.”

Malik patted his shoulder but did not look at him. “My shouting days are over, son.”

So Julian lifted his head to take in the flock, with their faces turned to him, but also all those beyond, who milled around in fearful groups, or shouted and laughed in a spirit of celebration, or pushed and shoved through the crowds to gain a better place from which to see the sacrifice.

He loved this church, Julian realized in that moment. Loved it in the way he had loved those in Rome, with an affection he had
not thought he would feel again. But above them and beyond them and around them were the people of Petra, and a wave of compassion washed over him for these souls as well.