Thorns of Glory, page 36
That’s when it first crossed my mind: This is not Hamira. Of course, it was just a whim. A fleeting notion. I didn’t take it seriously. In truth, I pitied her. I’d walked in her shoes. I’d experienced the same symptoms of insanity with the Sword of Akish. I knew firsthand how these ungodly articles could twist and torture a person’s mind. Warp their whole personality. So that’s how I interpreted her venomous tone. I attributed it to the oracle.
“That thing is evil,” Sabrina hissed.
The muscles of Hamira’s body suddenly softened. Her countenance changed. Humility penetrated. She was fighting it. Thanks to God, I thought. She’s not completely gone. She’s fighting it!
“I’m sorry.” She sobbed almost as loudly as Baby Gid. “It was a mistake. I won’t use it again. I know you don’t believe in it. I don’t believe in it either! I’ll never use it again!”
“No,” I said. “You should believe in it. Don’t ever doubt it. The power is real. Just. Never. Use it. Again.”
She cocked her head as if trying to make up her mind. As if it were a true brainteaser. “I was only keeping it for my brother. To bargain with. Just in case.”
“Who is he?” asked Sabrina. My aunt was referring to me. She had tried to ask Melody discreetly, even as she tried to bounce and calm her son. Might’ve worked if Hamira had kept jabbering. She’d paused, so I heard her clearly. Aunt Sabrina didn’t recognize me. Of course not. Why should she?
“Mom,” said Melody, “that’s—”
“Explain it later,” I interrupted.
“He’s right,” said Hamira. “We must leave! Quickly!”
She led us toward an alternate fork in the tunnel. She’d snatched my hand again, as if . . . well, as if it were some kind of obligation. We hadn’t really established a habit of holding hands. Ours wasn’t exactly that kind of relationship. Was it? Maybe my touch comforted her. Gave her confidence. Or she just wanted to keep at least one other person in our group from veering off course.
Sabrina made repeated shushing sounds. Gid’s sobs could result in the death of us all.
“How can we soothe him?” asked Melody.
As if on cue, Gid’s sobs quieted. The dancing lamp fires had somehow entranced him. Sabrina continued to whisper gentle words.
“Why did you take the baby from his mother?” I asked Hamira.
“For my brother. Please,” Hamira implored. “I’m sorry for all of it. I’m trying to make amends. Trust me!”
We hardly had a choice. She was the only one who knew her way around this subterranean maze. We arrived at a set of stairs leading up to iron-plated double doors.
Hamira brought us to a halt. “These lead to the western terrace. The guest gardens. No one should be on duty except for a pair of sentries at the gate.”
“Gate to what?” I asked.
“Into the streets of the Upper City. A gate to freedom.”
“How do you know all this?”
She looked demure. “I just know.”
“How do we get past the sentries?” asked Melody.
“Leave that to me,” said Hamira.
“To you?” asked Sabrina skeptically.
Hamira’s eyes were pleading. “You must all wait in the vestibule at the top of these stairs. Keep the baby quiet.”
“What will you do?” I demanded.
She replied impatiently, “I will take care of the sentries.”
“How?” asked Sabrina.
“Trust me,” she pleaded once more.
“Trust you,” said Sabrina icily. “After what you did?”
Melody touched her stepmother’s shoulder reassuringly.
“What my brother did,” Hamira tried to clarify. “Don’t you understand? If I hadn’t taken Gid, if I’d refused to do what Nimrah said, he’d have killed me.”
“Go,” I said urgently. “Do what you have to do.”
She gave further instructions. “After I leave, wait two or three minutes. Then follow.”
“Right or left?” asked Melody.
“The gate is to the left,” said Hamira, “beyond the fountain. Keep to the shadows between the hedge and the west wall. Pass beneath the aqueduct. You’ll see the southwest gate clearly. I’ll await you in the street. The Upper City should be vacant. Every shop is closed. Every house is celebrating the pre-seder.”
“So you’ll just whack both of the sentries over the head?” I asked.
She sent me a fierce look.
I turned out my palms. “Just askin’.”
“What next?” asked Sabrina. “Where will we go?”
Hamira looked at her quizzically. “To your Master, of course.”
I pondered this. “Our Mas—You mean Jesus of Nazareth?”
“Where else would we go but to His protection?” said Hamira.
“Go to Bethany?” asked Melody.
Hamira gasped excitedly. “Bet Ani! Is that where He is?”
I crinkled my brow. “You saw Him just hours ago, before you stole the Liahona and my weapons.”
“It is rumored . . . I mean, it is my observation,” said Hamira, “that He does not long stay in one place.”
This was weird. “What’s going on? Just hours ago you said Jesus was a fraud.”
“Don’t judge me.” Her tone was scolding. “I have seen the light of faith. I know . . . that Yeshua of Nazareth is the true Messiah.”
We gaped at her. Did she even comprehend what that phrase meant?
Melody spoke quickly. “She’s right about His movements being unpredictable. I heard them talking. They were planning to enter the city tonight. Jesus and His disciples, I mean.”
“Where?” Hamira asked urgently.
Melody shrugged. “The home of a nobleman, I think.”
“A priest?”
My cousin shook her head. “I . . . I don’t know.”
Sabrina said uncertainly, “But . . . tomorrow is The Day, right? Everything starts tomorrow?”
Tears formed in her eyes. We knew what she meant. According to everyone’s calculations, tonight was His last night of relative peace. Melody, however, appeared certain of no such thing. She answered with a minute shake of the head.
Hamira drew a breath. “We’ll go to Bet Ani. Someone will know where He is. They’ll tell us. Won’t they?”
Melody thought about this. “Yes. His family will know.”
“Why go to Him?” I challenged. “Why bother Him? Give Him a night’s peace.”
“No!” said Hamira, her tone surprisingly terse. “We must—I must . . . I must see Him.”
We studied her face. Huge tears pooled in her eyes. It wasn’t an incomprehensible demand, I supposed, if she’d really “seen the light of faith” . . . Something about this whole thing was just . . . off.
Hamira looked toward the doors. “Three minutes, then follow.”
She ascended five broad stairs into the vestibule, glanced back once, then slipped through the iron doors and disappeared. We climbed the steps ourselves to peer through the thin metal grating that served as windows on either door. It was getting late. The sun had nearly set. Hamira wasn’t wholly concealed by darkness. What exactly was her plan? How did she expect to bypass these so-called sentries?
“Something isn’t right,” I said absently.
“What?” asked Sabrina.
I concentrated. I felt like a blind man threading a needle. “I don’t know. Something.”
“With Hamira?” Melody asked.
I appraised my cousin’s expression. “What do you think?”
“I think . . . she’s still using the Oracle.”
I scrunched my eyes. That wasn’t quite it. Well, maybe. It would’ve explained part of it. I nearly said, “No. Something else,” but I held my tongue. No point arousing more suspicion till I learned more.
Sabrina speculated. “She’s still serving her brother.”
“By setting us free?” asked Melody skeptically.
Melody was right. It didn’t add up. How would freeing us benefit Nimrah?
I peered through the window a moment more; then I made a decision. “I’m going.”
Melody widened her eyes. “Without us?”
“Wait two more minutes,” I said. “Then find me. I want to see.”
I pulled open the heavy door.
“See . . . what?” asked Melody.
I pretended I didn’t hear the question and slipped onto the western terrace. As the door fell shut, I heard Sabrina ask Melody again, “Who is that man?”
I felt relieved. The next time I saw Aunt Sabrina, she’d know the truth. I was glad I wouldn’t have to sit through another tense, flabbergasted moment where another relative had to soak it all in.
The sun had settled just below the horizon. A sliver of sunlight might have still peeked behind the palace’s west wall. According to the Jews, today had just become tomorrow. In twenty minutes, the stars would blink on; the thickening shadows would officially turn into night.
Like Hamira’d said, not a living soul wandered about. A fountain gurgled, fed by a pipe from the aqueduct. Birds fluttered in and out of the rafters; otherwise, Jerusalem was startlingly quiet. Weren’t there a million pilgrims in this city? If so, every single one of them was indoors or hunkered inside tents.
As Hamira had instructed, I moved stealthily but swiftly to the left, where a neatly concealed path ran between the hedge and the wall. I passed under the aqueduct. A gate appeared just ahead. It wasn’t the main gate where we’d initially entered. It was crisscrossed with vines, so I presumed it was infrequently used. Still, it was used often enough that sentries were posted. It leads into an alley, I thought. The gateway was too narrow for carriages or soldiers marching two by two. By the odor I guessed there was a nearby gutter for human waste and other refuse. Once a week water was probably released from a royal cistern to rinse it clean, whether it—ahem—needed rinsing or not.
The gate was ajar. How kind, I thought, for Hamira to leave it unlatched. I couldn’t see through the vines to confirm that any sentries were present. Normally, I’d have paused every other step to survey the area. I abandoned all caution, aimed for the gate, and stepped out into the street.
Hamira was poised thirty feet away, her back to me. Beyond her, another hundred feet or so, stood an additional figure wearing the uniform of a Temple soldier. He strode away hastily, gripping something in both hands. A vacant space on Hamira’s belt made it obvious what the object was.
The soldier glanced back, noticed me, then scurried around the corner and vanished. I didn’t have a perfect sense of bearings; I presumed he’d entered the main thoroughfare south of the palace, near the main gate.
Hamira turned and gasped, clutching at her chest in fright. As she recognized me, she exhaled in relief. Or in pretended relief.
“I said three minutes!” she chided. “You almost ruined everything!”
I drew closer. “Where are the sentries?”
“Gone, as I promised. That was one of them.”
“Was it?”
“Yes! We’re free!”
“Free?” I edged closer.
“You don’t sound excited. Or grateful. I’ve set us all free!”
“I didn’t know you were ever a prisoner.”
Her eyes flashed resentment. “I was as much a prisoner as you and the others. They just weren’t expecting me to try to escape. I convinced them I was on their side. I’ve long planned to free Sabrina and the babe. When I heard they’d imprisoned you and Melody, it altered my plan. Moved it up. Doesn’t matter anymore. Where are they?”
That flash of resentment. That’s what revealed it. Thank heaven there was enough light. Hamira, great-granddaughter of Omer, possessed the most lustrous, milk-chocolate eyes. The eyes I peered into now had that familiar almond shape, but there was nothing milky about them. Just brown.
“What happened to it?” I asked dispassionately.
Her hand went to the empty spot on her belt. That nervous edge, like when she’d first pried open our door, returned to her voice. “I-I did as everyone asked. I got rid of it.”
I was close enough now that I could’ve bitten off her nose. “Who did you give it to?”
She glanced down the street, where the Temple soldier had disappeared. Her lips opened and closed uncertainly.
I sprang like a viper. My fingers clasped her neck. Those almond eyes shot wide in terror. And something else. Exhilaration? Excitement? Her spine impacted the ancient stone.
“Who are you?” I seethed. “What’s going on?”
In less time than it takes to snap one’s fingers, I felt a blade against my jugular. Not a jagged blade like uneven volcanic obsidian. Not like the knife Hamira had stolen with the Liahona. A blade of cold curved steel set against my raw hangman’s scar. Those eyes morphed into those of a creature as lethal as any I’d encountered. Her teeth clenched so tightly that her molars might’ve shattered. Her painted lips curled into a demonic smile.
“Nice neat line for cutting.”
Mistake. If you’re gonna kill someone, resist cutesy remarks. A thousand times I’d been trained on how to react in this situation. A quarter second later I jammed her wrist against the wall. She screeched and released the knife. My opposite hand released her neck and caught the knife’s hilt. Then I rotated my forearm and pinned it against her Adam’s apple. Would’ve been so easy—so routine—to crush her windpipe. Instead, I watched her flail and gasp.
“Joshua!”
Melody’s voice. She, Sabrina, and the baby had entered the alley. How much had they seen? After several beats, I let my prisoner go and backed away. She struggled for breath, clutching her throat, face as red as a pomegranate. Oh, whatever! It was a performance. I hadn’t choked her that hard. Drama queen.
“What are you doing?” Melody demanded, unsure whether to ask in reproach or approval.
“She pulled this on me.” I displayed the sleek, curved blade. It had a bone handle—ivory?—gold bands, and a massive ruby set into the butt. Fine dagger. One of the finest I’d laid eyes on. Small, easy to conceal under her skirt. Yet that edge could’ve separated my head from my spine.
“He lunged!” she exclaimed, still eking out choking noises. “He attacked me!”
I glared into her brown eyes. “She’s not who she says.”
Sabrina was confused. “Not—What?”
“She’s not Hamira.”
Melody stuttered. “Not Hamir—? Josh, what are you saying?”
“Not the great-granddaughter of Omer. Not the girl I knew from that basin of sagebrush or the cavern. Not even a Jaredite.” My gullet was aflame. I wasn’t sure if my haggard voice was convincing.
Befuddled, Melody said, “She’s wearing Hamira’s clothes. She’s—”
“I don’t care what she’s wearing! Her eyes. Her face. Her hair—”
Hamira—or rather the girl who was not Hamira—acted no less perplexed. “Joshua, have you lost your mind? It’s me! They made me wear this lipstick and paint.” Her sleeve began wiping violently at the rouge on her cheeks, as if removing her make-up would restore my confidence. “Is that it? These atrocious cosmetics? Is that why—?”
“NO!” I grabbed her collar, my opposite hand still quivering with the ivory-handled knife. “Tell us who you are!”
Baby Gid started crying again. Sabrina embraced him tightly and moved back, looking about to see if I’d attracted unwanted attention.
Melody artfully wrapped her fingers around my wrist that held the dagger. “Calm down, Josh. You’re not behaving rationally.”
I faced Melody so ferociously that she might’ve feared I’d use the blade on her. If so, she didn’t show it. A rock of self-restraint.
Not-Hamira burst into sobs, her back sliding down the wall until her knees pressed against her chest, face in her hands. Milking it. Vying for an Academy Award!
“I know why he’s done this!” she blubbered. “It’s the Finder! But I got rid of it. I did it! I’ve never—never done anything so difficult. So tormenting. It’s still with me. I can’t shake it. It’s calling to me.” She looked up, eyes darting from Melody to me and then back again. “It possessed me. It still possesses me!”
“You gave it to your brother,” I sneered. “That was Nimrah. Wasn’t it?”
What was I saying? Even I was flummoxed! Not her brother. Hamira’s brother. And she was not Hamira!
“Yes!” she confessed. “I gave it to my brother. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted me to get rid of it!”
Sabrina stepped closer. Even Melody looked sympathetic. I felt nauseous. Were they buying this? Why not?! The alternative was insane!
“We wanted you to destroy it,” said Sabrina curtly. “Drop it into a well—Anything!—not give it to the very person who will use it to capture us again!”
“He won’t,” she insisted. “He doesn’t care about us anymore. Not even me. He has greater ambitions. He seeks my father’s sword. He yearns for power. To undermine the might of Rome. To put my fath—” She broke off awkwardly.
“What?” asked Melody. “To put what?”
She looked at her feet, obviously—at least to me—gathering her thoughts. Getting her story straight. It occurred to me to inform her that her father’s precious sword was little more than dust in the wind. Not yet, I thought. Somehow, I felt this wasn’t the time to gloat. Not the time to share unnecessary information.
“He wants to help the people of Jerusalem,” she continued. “He wants to free the Jews.”
She let this announcement resonate and linger, refusing to look up. Sabrina and Melody traded glances. I’d heard enough.
“Horse manure,” I said. “To put your father where? Who even is your father?”
Sabrina touched my arm. “Joshua.” She drew back her hand as if she’d touched a ghost. I think it was the first time it’d really sunk in who I was. Melody must’ve explained as much as she could in the last few minutes. My identity was just another bizarre reality. The idea that Hamira wasn’t Hamira must’ve been too much. One bridge too far.
