Messiah: The First Judgement (Chronicles of Brothers) by Wendy Alec

Author:Wendy Alec [Alec, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Warboys Publishing (Ireland) Limited
Published: 2012-01-31T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-one

AD 27

Jotapa walked across gleaming black marbled floors through the palace corridors, crossing into the eastern wing, to the crown prince’s chambers. She pushed open the doors to the huge library. Hundreds of shelves were filled with scrolls from China, India, Persia, and other distant lands.

She continued on towards the immense gilded doors of the crown prince’s bedchamber. Two of the royal guard stopped her. The lower half of their faces were covered in thin gauze.

‘Duza!’ she cried. It was Zahi’s boyhood friend and one of her own childhood companions.

He shook his head gently.

Jotapa grasped him by the wrist so tightly that her nails dug into his flesh. He gently but firmly removed her hand. Then gave her a severe look.

‘You are certain this is your choice.’

‘He is my brother – my mother died in childbirth delivering him. He is crown prince of Arabia. He is my childhood friend, my joy, Zahi the tender.’ Jotapa’s eyes flashed. ‘I am certain this is my choice.’

Duza bowed his head. ‘He awaits you, princess. He knew you would come.’ Duza stepped aside, motioning to the second guard to do the same. They pushed the doors open.

Jotapa walked into the vast chamber, and the great doors swung closed behind her with a thud.

Far across the chamber, by the farthest window, stood a tall, frail figure.

‘Jotapa, my princess...’ He spoke softly. His voice was cultured, refined.

‘Beloved older sister, protector, and friend.’

He stood unmoving at the window, his back still towards her.

‘Zahi!’ Jotapa ran towards him.

Instantly he spun around. ‘No! Jotapa!’ he cried fiercely. ‘You may not touch me!’

Halfway across the room Jotapa faltered, staring at him in horror. His face was completely wreathed in a thin, gauzelike muslin material, as were both his hands. Only his eyes were visible, with holes for his nose and mouth. He was frail, his breathing shallow.

Jotapa reached out her hands to him imploringly. Zahi stared fiercely at her, then started to unravel the muslin from one of his hands. Jotapa stared down as the cloth dropped to the floor, then stepped back in distress and sank to her knees, her mind spinning with shock and revulsion.

Zahi’s hands were disfigured beyond recognition. The long, slim fingers that once penned beautiful Syriac and Aramaic letters on his library scrolls were covered with nodules and partially rotted away. Where his thumb had been, only a bloody stump remained.

Tears rolled down Jotapa’s cheeks. She stared up at Zahi with passion, watching as the gauze that covered his face grew wet with his hot fierce tears.

They exchanged a long intense glance; then Zahi unfastened the muslin. His lips and ears were distended, swollen three times beyond their natural size, his lashes and eyebrows gone from his staring eyes. She lowered her eyes from his hideous disfigurement.

There was a soft knock and Duza entered, followed by Aretas’ most prominent royal physician, accompanied by a swarthy stranger. Jotapa knew at once, by the immense height of his turban and the length of his sleeves, that he was a Babylonian physician or magician of great importance.

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