Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear
The Betrayal (42 page)
As he lurched through the opening, Cyrus shoved Barnabas to the floor, scrambled to his feet, and charged Meridias before the bishop could react. Driving with all the power in his legs, he collided with Meridias, slamming him into the gray-haired guard. The impact toppled both men to the floor.
“It's Atinius! Kill him, you fool!” Meridias shouted and madly crawled away.
Cyrus leaped for the man, grabbed his sword hand, and bashed it into the floor. The man's grip relaxed, and Cyrus wrenched the sword away, rolled, and came up swinging for Pappas Meridias. The bishop managed to leap back just in time, and careened out into the other chamber.
Cyrus lunged after him.
As Cyrus' sword arced toward him, Meridias threw up an arm to protect himself and screamed, “No! Don't!”
The blade gleamed with an edge of pure blue fire as it sliced through Meridias' forearm, hacking off his hand above the wrist; it thudded on the floor, a dead lump of meat.
In shock, Meridias bellowed, “Iesous Christos, save me! Save me!” He grabbed the gushing stump and staggered backward toward the sunlit doorway that led outside, crying, “You'll be damned for eternity for killing me!”
Cyrus hesitated for less than a heartbeat, but it was too long. He felt the keen bite of the dagger piercing his back, and heard a low laugh behind
him. Stumbling forward, he lifted the sword and spun in an old military maneuver, but his movements were awkward, off-balance. The sicarii easily stepped inside, and plunged the dagger into Cyrus' chest. Stunned by the fire, Cyrus froze in disbelief.
him. Stumbling forward, he lifted the sword and spun in an old military maneuver, but his movements were awkward, off-balance. The sicarii easily stepped inside, and plunged the dagger into Cyrus' chest. Stunned by the fire, Cyrus froze in disbelief.
The hole in his chest sucked air and spewed blood with each breath he took, telling him it had punctured his right lung. Past the sicarii's head, he saw Barnabas pull Kalay from the hidden doorway, and glimpsed her expression as she charged into the room. Roaring like a lion, she leaped on the killer's back just as he drove the dagger into Cyrus again.
“Get off me!” the man shouted, and whirled around, trying to throw her off.
“Cyrus, run!” Kalay clawed her fingers into the killer's eyes. The man shrieked as blood spurted over his face.
In panic, the dagger man whipped his knife wildly, trying to strike her in the face. Cyrus mustered his last ounce of strength to bull forward, slamming into the sicarii and knocking both him and Kalay to the floor.
“Kalay, get out of the way!”
Cyrus jumped on the man and wrestled him for the dagger. He was growing weak. Blood sprayed in a fine mist from his mouth. His body was failing him.
The sicarii ripped the dagger from Cyrus' grip, rolled to his knees, and plunged it once more into Cyrus' chest. The pain was like a bolt of lightning cutting through him. His back arched and he writhed like a fish out of water.
A shadow crossed the chamber outside, and Cyrus glimpsed Zarathan. The boy was shaking so badly he could barely lift the heavy sword in his hands. An incoherent cry ripped from Zarathan's throat as he charged into the chamber.
The stunned guard jerked around and threw up his arm, as though to stop the sharp blade. Zarathan brought it down with all the insane strength in his terrified arms. The keen edge drove through the bone, severing the lower arm, then it cleft the man's skull, and lodged midway through his face. Zarathan wrenched the sword loose and the body flopped on the floor, spasmed violently, and gradually went still.
“Cyrus?” Kalay ran to him. She used her hands in a vain effort to stop the blood spurting from his chest.
“Oh, dear God, dear God,” Barnabas sobbed. Macarios took the old monk in his arms.
Blood frothed at Cyrus' lips as he looked up at Zarathan, and whispered, “Good ⦠good ⦠brother.”
Zarathan fixed on his stab wounds. “Oh, forgive me, Cyrus! IâI was afraid to enter the tomb. I rode for the monastery to get help, but turned back. Just ⦠not soon enough.”
Kalay said, “Where's Meridias? Did you kill him?”
Zarathan wildly shook his head. “No, heâhe fled. I killed another man who was standing guard outside. Meridias darted past me and blindly ran for the city.”
Cyrus coughed up gouts of blood, steadied himself by bracing one hand on the floor, and whispered, “Thank you ⦠brother.”
“Cyrus, don't try to speak!” Kalay ordered, but Cyrus wrapped one arm around her and crushed her against him, holding her close, his bloody lips pressed against her red hair. “I love you. I ⦠I needed to tell ⦠you.”
Through the gray haze that was filling the chamber he saw Barnabas and Macarios on their knees, praying ⦠Zarathan weeping.
His heart started fluttering as fast as a bird's, pattering against his ribs, and he couldn't seem onto get air into his lungs. He slumped to the floor and rolled onto his back.
His last glimpse was of Kalay. Damp curls of red hair streamed around her beautiful face as she leaned over him. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had a soft, luminous love in her eyes. He kept his gaze on her, fixing on the love ⦠if he could just see her ⦠her love would keep him safe ⦠warm ⦠he wouldn't â¦
The sound of the waves brushing the shore filled the cave.
Barnabas toyed with his chipped wine cup, aimlessly moving it around the table. In the candlelight, the crimson liquid appeared to be alive with golden sparks. His gaze drifted over the codices, scrolls, and papyri in the wall niches, then came back to Libni's face. Graying brown hair straggled around his dark, tear-filled eyes.
Libni whispered, “Was it the
essen
?”
essen
?”
Barnabas heaved a sigh and nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
Libni closed his eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the table where they shone like perfect diamonds. “Are you sure it was him?”
Barnabas sighed. “Many things are possible. I only know that it
felt
like him.”
felt
like him.”
Libni nodded and opened his eyes. As he wiped his face on his sleeve, he said, “It's far more likely that it was a former high priest of the Council, orâ”
“Yes, it is.”
But as they gazed at each other, Barnabas knew that neither one of them believed that.
Libni leaned forward, his eyes aglow. “Barnabas, do you think that heâ”
Voices rose from the tunnel.
Barnabas looked up when Kalay ducked into the chamber. She'd left
her long red hair loose; it fell about her shoulders in lustrous waves, highlighting her high cheekbones and full lips. He would always remember her as a blue glowing angel standing beside the long-dead body.
her long red hair loose; it fell about her shoulders in lustrous waves, highlighting her high cheekbones and full lips. He would always remember her as a blue glowing angel standing beside the long-dead body.
“What is it, Kalay?”
“I just wanted you to know that Zarathan's finally sleeping. Tiras is with him.”
Barnabas exhaled a relieved breath. “Thank you.”
After they'd fled Jerusalem, Zarathan had taken over Cyrus' role, riding out front, scouting the roads, making certain every place they stopped was safe before they dismounted. He hadn't slept in two days. It was a strange, eerie transformation that Barnabas did not yet understand.
And Kalay ⦠she had barely spoken since Cyrus' death. She, too, had changed. As if the sacred feminine had somehow filled her with its power. She was stronger, more a fortress than any man he had ever known.
“Kalay,” Barnabas said, “come and sit down with us. Have a cup of wine.”
She ran a hand through her hair, glanced back down the tunnel, then came over and sat at the table.
Libni poured and handed her a cup of wine. “Are you hungry, my dear? I can have Tiras bring food.”
She shook her head. “I'm not hungry.”
Libni studied her for a long moment with kind eyes, then returned his gaze to Barnabas. “I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard the story from your own lips. I still can't imagine how you had the courage.”
Barnabas swirled the wine in his cup, watching the candlelit reflections. “I didn't have any courage. It was Cyrus, Zarathan, and Kalay who were heroic. I just followed the path God set before me.”
“Did you hear his voice, as Kalay and Cyrus did?”
He gazed into Libni's wet eyes. “No. If you'd been there, I'm sure you would have heard it. But I did not.”
Kalay took a long drink of wine and said, “
If
it was his voice.”
If
it was his voice.”
Libni smiled his love at her, indulging her disbelief. “What will you do now? Where will you go?”
Barnabas inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Back to Egypt. There are many rare books there that I buried twenty years ago. It's time I made copies of them and buried them in a variety of places to make sure they survive.”
After a time, Libni asked, “And what of Meridias?”
“I assume he lived and returned to Rome, though I have no way of knowing for certain.”
“Then Pappas Silvester may know about the Pearl. I assume you took precautions?”
Barnabas wiped his damp palm on his dirty robe. It seemed as though it had been an eternity since he'd bathed or changed clothes. “Meridias never looked into the lower chamber. I don't think he had the slightest idea what was causing the unearthly glow.”
Libni stared at Barnabas. “But you know, as well as I, that he'll be back. He'll see it, realize what it is, and destroyâ”
“No, he won't,” Kalay said. “Nor will he find the books we were carrying with us.”
Libni's bushy gray brows drew together. “Then you
did
take precautions? You know what the existence of his body means to Constantine's church?”
did
take precautions? You know what the existence of his body means to Constantine's church?”
“I do. They murdered the monks of my monastery to keep the Truth hidden.” Barnabas finished his wine and set his empty cup on the table with a thud. The chips around the rim were sharp and ugly. “Libni ⦠at the Last Supper he told his disciples he would go before them into the Galilaian.”
122
122
Libni frowned. “Yes, in Markos. I remember.”
For a long while, they just gazed into each other's eyes, and a silent communication passed between them, as powerful as it had been in the old days at the library in Caesarea.
Barnabas tapped the side of his cup with a hard fingernail. “Unlike the Church, I respected his wishes.”
Libni smiled. Then he chuckled. “Don't tell me,” he said as he wiped his tears on his sleeve. “I don't want to know where it is.”
Kalay drew her feet up into her chair and propped her wine cup atop her knees. In a soft voice, she asked, “Did you tell Libni about the scroll?”
Libni's head jerked around. “What scroll?”
Barnabas gave Kalay a sour look, and hesitated. “Are you sure you want to become involved?”
Ignoring Barnabas' stern expression, Kalay said, “I found it in the hand of the skeleton, as though he'd been clutching it when he died.”
“More likely,” Barnabas corrected, “it had been tucked into his dead hand after his body had been prepared.”
Libni blinked and straightened in his chair. In a breathless voice, he said,
“You found a scroll in his hand?”
“You found a scroll in his hand?”
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