The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (60 page)

Cowards once they met opposition, many of the
men fled, the others holding off on shooting new missiles and
stepping back as I growled and shook my “bat”. Glancing at Aliyah,
I saw that her robes had been torn open, and her skin was gashed
with multiple lacerations from the assault. John rushed to Aliyah’s
side, kneeling down to caress her abraded cheeks. Spud crouched
near Aliyah’s shoulder, and put two fingers on her neck.

“There’s a pulse,” Spud announced, his eyes
now monitoring her shallow breathing powered weakly by broken
ribs.

John gently lifted Aliyah’s head. Her long
brown hair was caked with blood and matted with dirt and clay, and
John cradled it in his arms. “Aliyah, please, please, stay with
me.”

Aliyah’s eyes flickered open, lost in a fog
of pain, and found John’s. For a second, life flared in her face.
Her lips struggled to smile, and as her eyes rested closed we heard
the faintest trace of a few words. “Al hubb jameel.”

“I love you, too,” John said, his tears
rinsing dried blood off Aliyah’s brow. “Don’t go.”

As Aliyah’s eyes grew dim, Spud’s fingers
palpated up and down Aliyah’s neck to no avail. He shook his head,
and looked away. “Ecchymoses on her chest and abdomen indicate the
possibility of massive internal hemorrhage, bleeding. I can begin
CPR…?” Spud intoned, not really asking a question.

Aliyah had passed on.

Chapter 27

The Palace of Eternity

Spud stood up slowly, his face scorched by
hate. He glared at the stragglers hovering a few yards away and
gripped his branch against his chest. I almost couldn’t hear, “To
do a great right, do a little wrong.”

“What?” I whispered, muddled.

John came up behind us, carrying Aliyah’s
sagging body firmly in his arms. His hands and robes were covered
in blood, and his face was streaked with sweat and tears. “We must
get her safe,” he croaked, “and then I swear I will come back and
tear these bastards limb from limb.”

“We’ll cover you,” I insisted. “Let’s
move.”

We had made it back over the hill and as far
as the stream when Spud’s sharp eyes observed a young woman
cowering behind a juniper bush. He gestured for us to stay alert as
we trudged along the banks. Our somber funeral procession would be
an easy target, and none of us wanted to have to abandon Aliyah’s
body in these barren hills.

Why in the world had Aliyah left the safety
of our cave in the first place, and trekked alone towards the
river, and the village, without our—or John’s—protection?

My roving eyes also spotted the frightened
girl trying to stay undercover as we moved past her haven of
juniper bushes. So focused on her task of hiding, she didn’t see
Spud veer off and circle around to approach her from behind.

“No farther,” Spud ordered in Aramaic. “Come
here.”

John laid Aliyah’s body gently down on the
path and stood next to me as Spud led the woman to us by the
elbow.

“Why have you been following us?” Spud
continued, all district attorney.

Under her headcovering, we could see her eyes
and nose were red. She looked no older than my sister Andi. Her
lips trembled as she struggled to speak. Unable to draw her gaze
from Aliyah’s lifeless body, the girl whispered, “It was supposed
to be me.”

“What!” John’s red hue returned as he moved
to within inches of her face. “What’re you saying?”

“I-I had been with Ya’akov.” She pointed
towards the field with the tall grass, her voice steeped in pain.
“But only for a few minutes. I thought I could return without
discovery. But the village elders saw us from the hilltop.” She
broke into a wave of sobs. “They would have stoned me, as I am
betrothed to Igal.”

“So instead you fingered Aliyah?” John
exploded. Spud and I both reached for an arm to hold him back.

The young woman shook her head, “No, no, I
tried to run. To hide.” She took a shaken breath. “But I am not
good at hiding.”

“Indeed,” was Spud’s only comment.

“Your friend, she-she was there, sitting
downstream by the water, washing her feet.” Looking up at me: “It
was
she
who decided to—to…”

“Pray continue,” Spud urged.

“She seemed to understand what the elders’
were threatening. She told me to run down a different path, towards
the Roman encampment, and to circle around into the village from
behind. She said she would handle the elders, and ensure that I
would not be caught and punished for my transgression.” More sobs.
“My father would only have beaten me, but I think she knew the aims
of the village elders—she said I was too young to die.”

“And you just left—you left her to be
murdered!”

The woman shook, “No, no. She told me it was
all right. She said I’d given her the answer she was seeking.
Please let me go. If they find I have escaped from my home again, I
shall end up like, like…” Her last words were drowned by her tears.
She fell to the ground and, slipping from Spud’s grasp, scurried
away among the grass.

We didn’t let go of John. I could feel his
rage pulsing through the muscles of his arm, and stroked it, hoping
to soothe his turmoil even the tiniest bit. After a few minutes,
his rapid breathing slowed, and the red in his face began to
fade.

“Professor Malamud’s sacrifice grants you
carte blanche
to make your choice,” Spud said softly. “She
must have reasoned that her presence would likely keep you from
completing your…mission. By leaving, she has given you your freedom
to do what you will.” Spud pursed his lips. “‘A stage where every
man must play a part. And mine a sad one.’”

John now stood stiff, unmoving, next to
Aliyah’s body. “Leave us alone. Go back to the cave, both of you,
and leave us alone.”

Spud nodded, and tugged me by the arm onward
down the path. A quarter mile forward, I turned back to take a
look. With Aliyah’s corpse resting by his feet, John was still
standing, motionless, staring out at the sea.

* * *.

It was nightfall before John returned to the
cave, his arms empty.

“I buried Aliyah by the giant date palm” were
his only words.

Our fire had long died, and John joined me at
the pit’s edge in staring at the black and gray ashes.

Spud nodded, and resumed scanning his Ergal
from his mat at the edge of the cave. I was grateful that he knew
when to keep his distance. It was going to be hard enough to talk
to John myself.

“I’m sorry,” I finally mustered, my eyes
glued to the pit.

“Maybe it was just written, Shiloh.” John
sighed, clasping his hands. “Maybe it was all meant to be.”

I choked back a sob. I had played with
matches and had melted my brother’s wings. “Please, John, I beg
you. Let me go instead.”

His arm enveloped my shoulders. “You’re not
responsible, Sis.” He squeezed me in a warm hug. “It’ll be all
right. I know what I have to do. It’s what I
want
to
do.”

I pulled away and looked up at him. “No! Just
no.”

John’s eyes shone with a warmth that silenced
my words and my pain. Softly, gently: “Yes.”

* * *

I couldn’t believe that I was pretending to
be so professional about my brother’s impending death. John and
Spud and I threw dirt on the ashes, covering our presence in the
chilled cave, as we plotted how we could aid and abet in John’s
self-proposed murder.

We finally agreed that, right after sunset,
John would grab one of the large branches we’d stashed by the fire
and use it to charge violently at an isolated Roman guard. A group
of guards standing together would be more likely to be able to
subdue John and beat him painfully into submission, whereas a lone
soldier would be more apt to unsheathe his sword against John in
self-defense. No point in making John’s transition more torturous
than it had to be.

John wrapped the Somalderis around his hips,
under an Ergaled clean toga. Spud and I costumed ourselves as
married villagers. When John would make his final run, we would be
watching from a discreet distance behind him, ready to come and
claim his, his body. Too soon, far too soon, we were ready.

John handed his black market Ergal to Spud. I
walked over to John and met his gaze. “Godspeed, bro.
Godspeed.”

“You’ll tell them all how much I love
them.”

I nodded, unable to speak. And then the dam
broke and I fell into his arms, sobbing.

John squeezed my shoulders tightly, and
leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Every soul is a story, Shiloh. Do
not mourn for me. A story told is never lost.”

It took all my strength of will to pull
myself away and watch John’s solitary walk out of the cave.

* * *

The crucifixion site—alternate two thousand
years ago

Spud and I trudged a hundred yards behind
John with weary steps. From afar, we could see the crucifixion site
had wasted no time in replenishing its victims, as two more
unfortunates were breathing their last to a chorus of tears. And
our honorable actions were about to repair the timeline and return
such human brutality to our modern world.

I blinked away the dust in my eyes. John had
passed a group of guards, rowdy and laughing as they indulged in
the local wine, and headed for an isolated soldier who stood off to
one side scanning the horizon.

When John had arrived within a few feet of
the lone guard, he turned to look back at us and, with his free
hand, give us a subtle wave. As we returned the gesture, he set off
towards the soldier with a roar, raising his stick with his
muscular arm to aim at the guard’s head.

The soldier’s training kicked in, and he
didn’t hesitate. Unsheathing his weapon, he aimed it straight at my
charging brother’s heart.

Alerted by my brother’s bellow and the cries
from female onlookers, the jubilant guards had abandoned their
chatter and were running to help their fellow trooper on the other
side of the glade. I looked away, unable to watch, as the solo
soldier struck his offensive pose. The sword would no doubt be
sliding in under John’s sternum, poised to lacerate cardiac muscle
and the aorta and bring rapid death. I did not need to witness the
final act.

The women’s screams heralded when the deed
was done. I turned my head to see John lying immobile on the
ground, his toga drenched in the spray of his own blood. I quickly
looked away again, and focused my eyes on a juniper bush hiding
raptors in ambuscade.

“It is time,” Spud nudged me with an
unwelcome elbow. “We can best stave off John’s decomposition in the
coolness of our cave.”

I was too shell-shocked to take offense. Spud
often retreated to science and logic when stressed; sometimes
science and logic were the better pool to swim in than guilt and
regrets.

Acting anxious and submissive, we shuffled
towards the murder site, our hands clearly visible as holding no
weapons. We were the man’s family, Spud explained to the guards in
his impeccable Latin. Yohanan had been mad since a febrile illness
last month, and had managed to escape and run amok during our
afternoon siesta.

“We apologize for his disrespectful actions,
and wish to take his body for burial with our thanks,” said Spud as
he bowed and knelt next to my brother, his fingers subtly feeling
for a pulse.

When he shook his head, I allowed myself to
sob; hoping my genuine tears would mollify the guards and ease
their adrenaline rushes. Our tactics worked, and Spud and I
together, our hands caked with dirt and blood, were soon able to
carry John away from this valley of death and out of the view of
its victims; soldiers and sinners. I didn’t stop crying until we’d
reached the cave.

We rested John on the mat where he and Aliyah
had slept in bliss not long before. Spud tore open John’s toga
beneath the gash above his abdomen and announced, “No Somalderis.
The Fleece--and your brother—are now in heaven.”

John’s sacrifice had not been in vain.

Chapter 28

Resurrection

We decided to bury John next to Aliyah near
the giant palm where he’d laid her to rest. Just before sunrise, we
made our way to the massive tree next to the flowing stream.
Aliyah’s grave was still marked by the white irises John had
planted into the soft dirt in the shape of a sunflower.

We lay John down next to Aliyah’s grave, and
pulled out our black market Ergals to Ergal us a pair of
shovels.

The cry came from a distance, on the other
side of the rocky hill where we were standing. As we strained to
make out the words, we heard more shouts, and a growing commotion.
We climbed up a few feet to the rim of the rocks and saw two women
gesturing towards a group of bearded men in village robes. “It is
empty, his tomb! Come!” one of the women clamored, pointing down a
dirt path leading south of the ancient city.

“Yeshua?” I asked, knowing the answer.

Spud nodded, and started back down towards my
brother, waving for me to follow. As we stood once again next to
John, Spud fished inside his robes and pulled out his Zygan Ergal,
entering an anamorphing command. “Let us see if our own timeline
has been restored.”

Two shovels M-fanned by Aliyah’s grave.
Success. “Operational” was Spud’s only comment. Our Ergals were
working once again.

Driven by an urge I couldn’t harness, I
grabbed a shovel and began digging into the soft dirt. Spud didn’t
stop me, but kindly collected John’s irises and held them in his
hands like a memorial bouquet as I dug.

I dug and dug and dug until I could dig no
more. Tossing the shovel aside, I lay down on the ground next to my
brother and let my tears and perspiration mingle. I could find no
body, no bones in the mound, no trace of Aliyah in the makeshift
grave. Now that our timeline was restored, Aliyah had never existed
at all.