Retribution, page 33
part #3 of City of God Series
She had crossed beyond the veil at last. She was going to the Throne.
* * *
Berenike
Florus gave Berenike an appraising smile. “You look young and healthy, Your Highness. I will give you a start and count to fifty. Run swiftly! If you arrive at your own palace safely, then you are free. If my men catch you, they will return you to me for your ... reward.”
Berenike shivered.
Florus turned to the three soldiers. “You will leave all your weapons here. She is not to be harmed. This is a sporting event. When I give the signal, you will pursue her.”
Berenike felt a surge of hope. The men would be unarmed. They did not know about her dagger.
Florus was still talking. “If you bring her back to me, then you will enjoy her charms when I am finished.”
The soldiers gawked at Berenike.
Her heart pounded. She would cut their throats out before she let any of them touch her.
“Are we ready then?” Florus rubbed his hands together. “Even Caesar will see no better sport today.” He stepped closer to Berenike, and his yellow teeth gleamed in the sun. “There is only one other thing, Your Highness.”
She returned his gaze without flinching.
His hand snaked out and seized her left wrist. Before she could react, he twisted hard, bending her arm behind her back.
Berenike cried out in pain. She heard the sound of her small dagger sliding out of its sheath.
Florus guffawed. “I am so very sorry, but surely you agree that it would be most unsporting to allow you a weapon when my men have none.” His free hand ran over her body, checking for other weapons, lingering on the choicest areas.
Berenike recoiled at his vile touch. Now she would have no recourse if the men caught her. She could not fight even one man without a weapon.
Florus released her wrist from his sweaty grip and stepped away from her. “Now, I believe we are really ready. Berenike, you may begin running whenever you like and I will begin counting.”
Berenike’s heart was racing now. She tried to think, to map out strategy. The quickest way home was to cut diagonally across the market square. When she reached the streets, she would veer north, then east, and straight down the hill on the only avenue that would take her to her palace. It would be a race of perhaps half a Roman mile. The men would be wearing clumsy iron-soled sandals, whereas she was barefoot and lightly clad. If Florus gave her an honest count to fifty, then she had a chance.
She turned to look at Florus. He was still smiling. What did he know that she did not?
Berenike realized that there was only one way to find out. She would have to run, and if she failed, then she failed. Please, HaShem, bring me home safe.
She turned and fled.
Behind her, Florus began counting out loud in Greek. “One.” A slight pause. “Two.”
Berenike could not hear more, but her heart leaped. Florus was making a fair count. She had a chance.
She raced past the soldiers who still surrounded her Germans. They jeered at her, and several made obscene gestures. Berenike threaded her way through the crosses and broke free into the open square. After fifty paces, she dared to look back, and her heart shivered.
Florus had released her pursuers.
Berenike was already gasping. She tried to run faster. Then she saw the evil trick that the fates had played on her. She could not run across the diagonal of the market, on account of the stones and shards. Her feet would not bear it. She would have to run down the center lane, filled with soft dust. Berenike ran. When she had nearly reached the edge of the square, she risked a look back.
Her pursuers had cut diagonally across the market, their thick sandals making a mockery of the rough surface. She would reach the street first, but then she would have to turn left and she could not get past them before they gained the street. They would cut her off and ...
Berenike ran faster. When she reached the street, instead of turning left toward home, she turned right.
Far behind her, she heard the men shout in dismay. She ran south, into the heart of the upper city. Here in the maze of streets, she would find a place to hide. Or she would pound on a door until somebody let her in. Or ...
Or she might reach the Essene Gate and get out of the city.
Berenike darted left at the first corner. At the next, she turned right again. Her only hope was to lose her pursuers in the narrow twisting streets.
Now her heart was slamming in her chest, and she knew she must soon slow down. Berenike staggered along. Her right heel ached where she had stepped on a rock and her left calf felt like it would cramp soon.
A shout behind her.
Berenike looked back and saw one of the soldiers racing toward her. She turned and fled. If only she had the luxury of pounding on a door, any door, she could beg for a hiding place. But the soldier would see and force a way in and she would be trapped.
She passed the palace of Mattityahu the priest and turned left. Sweat stung her eyes, and then she tripped and fell.
Another bellow of triumph behind her. She scrambled to her feet and ran, throwing a glance over her shoulder. Terror seized her.
The soldier she had seen was much closer and gaining fast.
Berenike heard his heavy breathing behind her. Despair filled her soul. She could not escape now. The man would run her down in the next twenty paces. She veered right at the next corner and saw a naked man crouched in the street, waiting. She stopped and stared.
The soldier came racing around the corner. Ari the Kazan rose up like a lion and hit the man very hard in the face. He staggered backward. Ari the Kazan hit him again.
The soldier turned and fled.
Ari the Kazan raced toward Berenike.
She gaped at him. “You should have gone home.”
“I watched to see what would happen to you.” Ari the Kazan grabbed her hand. “This way. We must lose him again.”
Berenike ran.
A shrill, piercing whistle soared up to heaven.
Ari the Kazan looked back, and said something harsh in a language Berenike did not know. At the next corner, he yanked her to the right. “He is signaling the others. Hurry!”
They ran down the narrow alley between two large palaces. Behind these walls, on either side, Berenike knew, chief priests huddled in safety. Cowards. They were not the tenth part of such men as Baruch the tsaddik or Ari the Kazan. At the end of the alley, Ari the Kazan stopped and peered out into the long avenue that ran north and south.
Berenike looked also. Not far to the south, a soldier stood in indecision, his back to Ari and Berenike. He was standing at an intersection, looking down two streets.
Ari the Kazan looked at her. “If he leaves the street, we will go north,” he whispered. “They will not expect us to double back.”
Berenike nodded, waiting for the soldier to choose either east or west.
A shout behind them.
Berenike spun around and saw a soldier coming down the alley. He shouted again, and now the man out in the street turned, his eyes probing.
“Run!” Ari the Kazan took her hand and pulled her out into the street, turning north toward the heart of the city.
Two shouts behind them. Berenike’s heart flogged her chest.
A whistle pierced the street. The third soldier dashed around the corner in front of them. He shouted in triumph.
Ari the Kazan and Berenike skidded to a stop. They were trapped, with two men behind and one ahead. They could not hope to fight three men.
Berenike clutched the arm of Ari the Kazan and pulled him to the side of the street. There was a great iron gate there, and beside it, a stout wooden door. She could not see a gatekeeper inside. She pounded on the door. “Help us!”
“Stop your useless shouting,” Ari the Kazan said. “We will fight them and trust in HaShem.” He stepped out into the middle of the street and waited, his head twisting first left and then right, watching the three soldiers approaching.
One of the soldiers laughed out loud and shouted a lewd remark in street Greek.
Berenike pressed her back against the wooden door. Terror squeezed her insides so tight she could not breathe. A roaring sound filled her ears.
Ari the Kazan stooped in the street and began scooping up small stones. Berenike knelt down too, scrabbling frantically in the dirt for any stone she could find. She stood up to throw.
A hairy arm wrapped around her neck and pulled her backward.
Berenike screamed.
Chapter 41
Rivka
RIVKA SOARED HIGHER, BEYOND THOUGHT or fear. Cold welled up inside her, infinite cold. Her eyes were clammed shut. She fought to open them, fought to breathe, fought to feel. And then ... she was there.
Slowly, her eyes opened to a world she had never imagined. Cold mists swirled through her, chilling her heart. Rivka looked all around and saw nothing. An infinite sea of cold gray. She looked down and gasped.
She was naked. More than naked. Rivka held up her arms in wonder. They were nearly transparent. She stared in awe, watching the blood flow in her arteries, the muscles contract as she squeezed her hands. She peered into her belly and saw her baby. It floated upside down. She jiggled her tummy slightly and saw that it was a boy. Ari would be so proud if—
Greetings, Visitor! A cold, vacant voice echoed inside her head.
Rivka spun around and saw a man gliding toward her. From the voice, she knew it had to be a man. He was faceless, featureless, like an abstract sculpture in a white block of marble. His eyes were deep holes in his head, and he stared at her body hungrily, as if it were long since he had seen flesh, bones, blood, muscles, organs.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
I am your Guide.
“Guide?” She glared at him. “Where am I and why did you bring me here?”
His empty eyeholes glittered with something like mirth. This place is called Outer Darkness, and you were brought here, but not by me.
Rivka felt a crushing feeling in her gut. This was not the Throne. This was the other place. What was she doing here? “What ... what do you want with me?”
The Guide’s formless face twisted into what might have been a smile. He took her hand in his cold, slimy mitt.
Rivka tried to yank her hand away. “Don’t touch me!”
The Guide’s hand held hers in a viselike grip. Come with me. There is a thing He wishes you to see. It will amount to nothing, but He insists.
Rivka was freaking out now. Please, HaShem, get me out of here.
The Guide gave her a horrible grinlike leer. It will do no good to appeal to Him, since it was He who sent you here. Come with me.
Rivka went, stumbling on wooden feet. HaShem had sent her here? For what purpose? Had she died or something? But no, that made no sense. She was alive. She could see her heart beating in her chest. This horrible thing, this Guide, was dead, or worse than dead, but she was not.
Yet.
They went in through a gate into the most wretched city Rivka could imagine. Gray stone buildings without windows lined both sides of a long avenue. The place was icy cold. Murky darkness hung over all. Along the sides of the street, dead souls squatted against the walls, gray shriveled beings, wailing in formless torment. As she passed by, they reached out to her like beggars, their hungry eyeholes taking in her fleshy reality. Help us!
The Guide squeezed her hand in clammy reassurance. You can give them no help and they can give you no hurt.
“I want out of here right now. I want to go home.”
The Guide did his horrible mockery of a smile and said nothing.
They walked.
After many minutes, the Guide turned left down another avenue. Rivka felt dread clamp a fist over her heart. It felt like she had been here for years. She could not remember what light and hope were.
At last the Guide stopped in front of a building. We have arrived.
Rivka stared. There was an open doorway, but no door. Terror welled up inside her. “What ... what do I do now?”
Go inside. There is a thing you must see.
Rivka breathed in deeply. The air hurt her lungs. She stepped though the doorway into a long room. At the far end, a shriveled old man huddled in the corner. An equally shriveled old woman was pacing back and forth in front of him, shaking her fist at him and shrieking in a language Rivka did not know. A long iron chain connected their ankles.
Rivka moved slowly toward them. What was this supposed to be?
Go closer. They cannot harm you.
As Rivka strode closer, the old woman turned. Red fear blazed in her eyeholes and she backed away from Rivka, nattering angrily and shaking her fist. The old man looked up at her and Rivka read hate in his formless face.
Rivka’s eyes moved from one to the other. None of this made any sense. She turned to her Guide. “Okay, I’ve seen this thing you wanted me to see. Now can we go home?”
Her Guide released his grip and rubbed his hands together in slimy glee. You may leave whenever you wish.
Suspicious, Rivka stared at him. He wanted her to go. Why? She looked back at the old man, then at the raging old woman. Their blank and empty faces told her nothing. “Why are they here? What have they done?”
If you wish to know, examine their hearts. They are open to you.
Rivka knelt in front of the old man. He shrank away from her. She peered at his chest and saw that by concentrating, she could look inside him, could see his chest muscles, his ribs, his lungs, his ...
Rivka gasped. “He hasn’t got a heart.” She stood up and went to look at the old woman. The woman cowered away, refusing to look at her.
“I won’t hurt you.” Rivka reached out to her. The woman shrank against the wall.
Rivka looked inside her and saw that she also had no heart. She stood up and turned back to her Guide. “Why don’t they have hearts?”
Another shapeless smile. They have no need of them here.
“If they had hearts, could they leave this horrible place?”
No. The Guide was not looking at her. He rubbed his hands together again. You are ready to leave now?
Rivka did not trust him. There was a mystery here, and something told her that she had to solve it before she left. “I want you to give them a heart.”
A smug silence. I cannot.
“Then why did you bring me here?” Rivka put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “What kind of game are you playing?”
I did not bring you here. It was at His insistence. You are free to go now. You will be taken back home, now that you have seen. Will you leave now? The Guide reached for her hand.
Rivka pulled away from his slimy presence, her heart thumping beneath her ribs. She put her hand on her chest as if to still its pounding.
A terrible idea formed in her head. She pressed hard with her fingers and her hand went inside her chest. Her ribs parted and she grasped her own hot, beating heart in her fingers. “Can I ... could I give one of them my heart? Would it get them out of here?”
The Guide shook his faceless head. Of course not. What foolishness. It is not possible.
Rivka did not believe him. HaShem had sent her here, against the wishes of this Guide. If HaShem had sent her here, it had to be for a reason. But why? She had been minding her own business, praying to HaShem, when she ended up here. From very far away, she felt the faint echo of Rachel’s voice and Hana’s, repeating the same words over and over. “Please, HaShem, show mercy to Hanan ben Hanan.”
Rivka said the words too. She felt a little heat in her hand. She said it again. More heat. Again. More.
Rivka repeated the words again and again, and as she did, compassion welled up in her soul. She gripped her throbbing heart and began pulling.
Pain shot through her chest. The Guide laughed an evil laugh. Rivka grimaced and pulled harder, ripping, tearing, severing. She sank to her knees, crying with the pain of it, and tore it out of her chest. She laid it down in front of the withered old man. “Here, take it.”
He turned away from it. Rivka stared at her offering. Inside her chest, the heart had seemed a huge thing. Now it looked small and gray and stony. Horror filled her. What had she done? What crazy, stupid thing had she done?
Strong and gentle hands took her from behind and lifted her to her feet. Hands of flesh. “It was well meant, Little One, but your heart will do him no good. As you see, yours is as stony as his once was.”
Shaking, sobbing, Rivka tried to turn.
The strong hands held her tight. “It was a gift well given, Little One. Now, perhaps you will have room for another. See what I give you.” The hands gently turned her around.
Rivka was crying so hard, she could see nothing. Light filled all the room. She wiped her eyes and saw a strong hand holding a red, throbbing heart. A heart of flesh.
The hand entered her chest and put the heart in place. Swiftly, the hand repaired arteries, veins, muscles, tissues, ribs, skin. Rivka raised her eyes, but the brightness of the Man of Light’s face was too much. She clamped her eyes shut. “Can’t you ... do anything for the old man?”
“Not unless he is willing to accept it, Little One.”
Rivka did not know what to say to that. She wished she could make the old man take a new heart, a heart of flesh.
“Is there something you would give the man, Little One?”
Rivka could hardly think. She had meant to give her heart, but it was a little thing, stony and worthless and cold. What else could she give? She was nothing anyway. She was a phony, a fraud, a seer woman who couldn’t see.
Rivka gasped.
“Yes, Little One?”
“Could I ... could I give him my eyes?”
“If you wish. It will be painful.”
“Would he take them? Then maybe he could see what a fool he is and take the heart you offer.”
“Perhaps. He has a will of his own. But even a well-meant sacrifice may be refused.”
