Anatolia
Jurian stared at her. “Mari…” he began, but his voice faltered. “Are you all right?”
She pushed away from him, studying Blasios with some curiosity. “Hello,” she murmured. “I feel like I’ve met you before.”
Blasios smiled enigmatically. “You have, in a way.”
“What is going on here?” Jurian asked. He glanced at Menas, whose anger had vanished behind a visible respect. “Am I the only one here who doesn’t understand what’s happening?”
Mari turned to him. He expected her to tease him, or rebuke him for overreacting, but instead she leaned over and embraced him. She didn’t say a word.
“Do you…feel any different?” he asked her, feeling foolish for asking it.
Her forehead puckered and she stared at him, frowning in confusion. “I…oh, saints.” She twisted around and faced Blasios, eyes wide. Then suddenly she laughed and said, “Yes, different. I’m starving.”
Jurian began to laugh, and he held Mari tightly until she pushed him away.
“But the illness?” Menas asked. “You still feel that?”
“No. I feel…fine?” She clapped a hand over her mouth, then dropped it to reveal the biggest smile Jurian had seen in ages. “Jurian! I’m all right.”
Jurian stared at her, then at Blasios and Menas, a wave of confusion washing over him. Everything was spinning out of control around him, and he couldn’t even figure out where he was.
He pushed himself to his feet and strode out of the cave.
Out in the silence and the chill of the night, he leaned against the cliff face to stare at the stars and pray for something to make sense. Deep in his thoughts, he felt the simmer of anger and resentment, and that made less sense than any of it.
Some time later—minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure—a shadow moved in the cave, and then Menas stood beside him.
“Now that I think of it,” Menas said presently, leaning against the rock beside him, “I have heard of this hermit Blasios. I may have even escorted a few people over a river who were searching for him.”
“What just happened in there?” Jurian asked. “She was…it was just like with my mother. She was dying.”
Menas lifted his shoulders. “Blasios is powerful with God.”
“What does that even mean? Surely you don’t think that God bends on a whim to do whatever some hermit asks?”
“Why not? He is God, after all. Don’t you remember the Roman centurion?”
“I remember altogether too many Roman centurions,” Jurian muttered. “Which one did you have in mind?” When Menas didn’t answer, he said, “Is this another story? Like the boy and the rock that brought down an empire?”
“This is better,” Menas said, unmoved by Jurian’s tone. “A centurion went to the Christ and asked Him to heal his slave who was sick. The Lord said He would go with him and heal the man, but the centurion protested, saying that the Lord could simply say a word, and it would be done. The Lord marveled at his great faith and did as he asked. The servant was cured from that hour.”
“Well…if we believe the Christ is God, of course He could do such a thing,” Jurian said. “What could He not do?”
“So, what do you suppose just happened with Mari? We don’t have a centurion, just a little old hermit. But his faith is as great as that soldier’s…and God honored his request.”
“But the soldier and Christ…that was centuries ago, during His life. Things like that don’t happen anymore, do they?”
“I know what I have seen,” Menas said simply. “And I believe my own eyes. Don’t you? Or do you doubt even more than Thomas?”
Jurian waved a hand. “I’m going to assume that’s another reference to a story I don’t know.”
Menas’ face creased in a puzzled smile. “How does your sister know all these stories, and you don’t?”
“She and my mother would go listen to the priest Eugenius, and he would tell these stories. I was busy training with Leptis, trying to keep us alive.” He took a breath and studied the stars. “My father was the Legate, you know. I’ve always meant to join the Legion too. That’s part of the reason we’re going to Rome.”
“Hmm,” Menas said. For a few moments he said nothing else, but joined Jurian in contemplating the stars. “Most people who don’t share our faith will not understand what we believe, or why. The world is a turbulent place right now. We’ve been left in peace for a time, but things are happening that people don’t understand and can’t explain. When that happens, people look for someone to mock and ridicule, for someone to blame. Even people in positions of great power find it convenient to have someone they can accuse for their own failings.”
Jurian flinched. He’d never told Menas about his father and Caesar Galerius, but that seemed to be exactly what the giant was talking about. Galerius had lost the battle, and his father…his father had been a Christian. He had probably refused to participate in the sacrifices before the battle, to invoke the aid of Jupiter the Victorious, to burn incense to the emperor Diocletian. And then the battle turned against them.
It was just like Eugenius had said. His father had been killed by his own Legion and his reputation had been destroyed after his death when no one would dare to defend him.
“Galerius?” he whispered.
“He’s one of the worst. And he has more power over Diocletian than I think the Augustus would willingly admit. Not political power, but force of character.” He tugged a bit of rock loose from the cliff face and crumbled it between his fingers. “What happened with Nero will happen again. The great storm of persecution is already starting. They think we Christians are an easy target, because we don’t fight back.”
“We don’t?” Jurian asked.
Menas smiled. It looked almost wolfish in the moonlight. “They don’t understand real power.” He jerked his thumb toward the cave. “That kind of power.”
Jurian frowned. And before he understood why, he said, “Is it wrong that I’m angry?”
“About what?”
Jurian gestured behind them. “All this. What just happened.”
Menas’ brows shot up in surprise. “But why would that make you angry?”
Jurian stared out at the deep of the forest, as if he could find the answer there to the darkness he felt in his own heart.
Finally he said, “I keep wondering why he couldn’t have been there for my mother, too. If he could save Mari, he could have saved her. But…it’s more than that.” He hesitated, then added, “I think I’m angry at myself most of all, because I should have saved her from those soldiers. But I didn’t. I didn’t do anything. She needed me, and I just stayed on that hill and I watched it happen. If I’d done something, maybe we all could have come to Blasios and he could have cured them both.” He knotted his hands, closing his eyes as he struggled to control his breathing. “It’s my fault she’s dead, Menas. Their blood is on my hands…hers and Eugenius’ both.”
It sounded so much worse than he’d imagined, admitting his guilt out loud to Menas, but Menas didn’t turn away from him. He just stood quietly beside Jurian, his huge frame blocking the light from the cave, his arms folded over his chest.
“We’ve all done things we’re ashamed of, Jurian. Things that could paralyze us with horror if we let ourselves think too much about them. We can’t stare too long into that darkness. It makes us forget what the light looks like.”
Jurian glanced at him, curious. “You?” he asked. “But you seem so sure of yourself. So…good.” He grimaced. It sounded childish, but it was the best word he could think of.
Menas laughed, low and long. “The fiercest battles are fought within. And they are fought daily, sometimes. I told you that I was making up for my ancestors’ failing by bending my knee to David’s heir. But I followed their path for a long time before I followed His.”
He fell silent, and Jurian waited, breathless, for him to continue. After a moment, Menas said, “I was mocked as a child, you know? Because of my size, my twelve toes. Even though I was twice as big as all the other children, they thought I wouldn’t retaliate. They would group together…little packs of hatred. They believed I was slow-witted. Too stupid to know or care what they were saying.” He lowered his gaze, studying his hands. “I wanted to prove them wrong. I wanted to be strong and powerful. I vowed I would make them all quail in fear. I wanted to be a defiant king like Goliath, and watch my enemies run from my sight.”
Jurian swallowed hard. “What did you do?”
There was a long, terrible silence.
“I discovered I was strong,” Menas finally said with a sigh. “And I used it. Oh, God forgive me, I used it. Even when I wasn’t much older than you, my life would have horrified the most hardened criminals in the Empire. If I’d met you and your sister in the woods then, I might have robbed you and killed you for the fun of it, and enjoyed every minute of it. And I was so, so proud. I thought I was the mightiest man on earth and needed to bow to no one. I fought my way out of arrest countless times, and finally I swore that I would never serve anyone, until I could find someone stronger and more powerful than me. I could rule the world, I thought, and no one would be able to stand up to me.”
He sank down to sit against the rock wall, and after a moment Jurian slid down to join him, sifting his fingers through brittle pine needles as Menas continued his story.
“My life had carried me into the deepest pits of darkness. I didn’t think there was anything wicked that I hadn’t dared to do. After all, what were laws to me? Who could enforce them? So I went on living as I pleased, and I began to gather followers, wicked men who were attracted to my impudence.”
Menas grew suddenly quiet, shuffling stones between his fingers. Jurian thought he caught the whisper of a prayer on Menas’ lips, and then the giant continued, his voice low.
“One day, as I was traveling in the hills, I met a certain…creature. At first I thought it was a man, because he stood tall as an ordinary man, and dressed rather like a Roman cavalry officer. Only he wore a black embossed breastplate and black-plumed helmet, and the faceplate was the most hideous thing I’d ever seen. If the face of the creature matched that mask, I never wanted to see it. But I could see his eyes, and they were black from lid to lid, swallowing the light like slate.”
Menas paused, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. Inside the cave, Jurian could hear Mari’s laughter mixed with a quiet stream of chatter as the smell of cooking grew steadily more fragrant.
“I asked him who he was,” Menas said at last. “He wouldn’t answer. Instead, he picked up a rock and, staring me straight in the eyes, he crushed it in his hand, turning it to gravel. I took it as a challenge, so I picked up a rock of my own and crumbled it to dust. He turned and leapt from the peak of the hill we were standing on, landing on his feet some twenty feet below without the slightest bruise. Impressive, I thought, but not that impressive, so I showed that I could do as much. Then he beckoned me and I followed him to the top of another hill.
“Below stood two armies arrayed against each other, preparing for battle. I realized my companion had left me, so I went down to get a closer look. No one paid me any regard. When I got to the front line, I saw the black-helmed man standing between the two forces. I approached him to ask what it all meant, but he didn’t need to speak to explain. He raised his arms and the armies crashed together, and the screams of the dying and the silence of the dead swallowed me. And as I watched the carnage, something rumbled over the lines. A sound…like dark laughter. He was laughing, my companion. Laughing.”
Jurian shuddered and stared at the stars, and said nothing.
“When he clenched his fists, we stood alone in the valley, and I bent my knee to offer my service. This at last was something I couldn’t do. I couldn’t reach into the hearts of men and turn them against each other, to raise up wars for no purpose but to laugh at the slaughter. I heard his voice in my head, promising me strength and power beyond my wildest imaginings, and then he dissolved in smoke and shadow, and was lost in the wind. From that moment on, I had his voice always in my head. Driving me to worse and more savage crimes.”
“What happened?” Jurian asked.
Menas smiled, enigmatic. “The cross. One day I came to a small wooden cross by the roadside. The voice in my head screamed and screamed. I’ve never felt such terrible pain, like my skull would split open. I was sure I was going to die. My knees gave way, and as soon as they hit the ground before that cross, the voice left me. I could swear it manifested in the dirt, a miserable little snake, writhing as if poisoned by its own venom. That was enough for me. Obviously my former master hadn’t been the most powerful being, if a simple piece of wood could make it squirm in the dirt like a worm with a crushed head. So I vowed to find the meaning of the cross, and serve whatever power was behind it. But He found me first. And even though I’d carried that demon within me for so long, still, He found me and He let me carry Him…”
His voice broke on the last words, and Jurian darted a glance at him. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, his hand hiding his eyes, but Jurian could see his shoulders shaking. Feeling suddenly like an intruder, he got to his feet, clasped the giant’s shoulder briefly, and slipped back into the cave.
Mari smiled at Jurian as he came into the firelight, her cheeks rosy with the bright glow of life. A rush of relief washed over him that almost brought him to his knees. He crossed over to Blasios and bowed his head.
“Thank you, domine, for saving my sister,” he murmured.
Blasios laughed. “I’m no lord, frater, but you are very welcome. Now, where did that big friend of yours go? There’s soup cooking. Should be nearly done, if you’re willing to share a poor man’s supper.”
“We’d be grateful,” Jurian said. He eyed the pot. “If you like, I could hunt for some game.”
Blasios waved a hand. “Eh,” he said, “if you need meat, please help yourself to the forest. I don’t eat it anymore, but I won’t stop you from cooking it on my fire.”
Jurian smiled and exchanged a skeptical look with Mari. Without another word he strung his bow and set off into the night.