RUBY HEART The Legend Begins

By Marian Webb Betts

The ruby is a gemstone naturally formed in the shape of a human heart. It has no special powers of its own. But for the one who possesses it, their innate powers are amplified - if used to help others. Or to bring them to a belief and trust in the Son of God

The Ruby heart is given to Basilikos, Basil at his coming of age.

 In

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lost Legends Publishing, llc
• Release date: Aug 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781733961790

Marian Webb Betts

Tall waving grass surrounded me, isolating me on the well-trodden path. In the distance I could hear the other kids still playing on the soccer field. I'd left them and headed home, only the chuff of a leopard froze my blood and my body. If I yelled would the others hear me? No.How far was the house? Could I run fast enough? No."Woof! Woof! Woof!" A black shape sailed past me into the long grass followed by the sound of a scuffle and a big cats scream.I leapt into action making a wild dash for the house. Pal, our Alsatian dog, caught up with me as I opened the screen door and collapsed inside."Good boy, Pal! Did you give it what for?" He flopped beside me, tongue lolling, a happy grin on his doggy face. Episodes like this were common where I grew up in the back of beyond - South Sudan, Africa. The critters were different, a loose bull, a lion, a snake, a crocodile, even a hippo once! My parents were British pioneer missionaries. Dad ran a school for the young men of the area including several different warring tribes. Mum ran a medical clinic and training center. We kids were pretty much on our own, the older ones supposed to be watching the younger.It was a primitive life with no running water, electricity, radios, or that many books, either. In the evenings Dad would entertain us with stories of his adventures in the early days or he'd make up stories about the animals we saw daily, or children like ourselves and adventures we might get into. We learned from him to do the same as our toys were few, but we learned from the native children how to make figures from mud, using found items like thorns for spears, tusks, and horns. And we taught them how to build roads in the dirt. Between us we made whole villages, cattle, sheep, and warriors who could fight each other.Mum home-schooled us for as long as she could, but eventually we all went to boarding school in Egypt, Ethiopia, and Congo. As another civil war broke out in Sudan, Dad decided we would immigrate to the United States. We arrived on July 3, 1963, just a couple months before President Kennedy was assassinated.Although writing was not my first love, I learned early how to tell a good story with a pen, a paintbrush or a camera. So, when Father God gave me, in a vision the full version of one of Dad's short children's stories, I started writing. The musical came first - children's version of the story. The Adult novel came next. As I finished it, I realized I had a potential series of books leading through history to present day, and so the Legend begins!

Book preview

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RUBY HEART

THE LEGEND BEGINS

By

Marian Webb Betts

Lost Legends Publishing, llc

[phone]

lostlegendspublishing.us

© 2021 by the Author, Marian Webb Betts

Second Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 or under the terms of any license permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version(NKJV) copyright 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN: (print) 978-1-7339617-8-3

ISBN: (digital) 978-1-7339617-9-0

RUBY HEART

THE LEGEND BEGINS

By

Marian Webb Betts

In loving memory of my parents,

Alan and Phyllis Webb,

Pioneer Missionaries in

The Sudan, Ethiopia, and Egypt.

They taught me the art of storytelling.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my sister, Jessie, who has done major studies in Biblical understanding, and her husband, Dr. Allen McCallum, a Presbyterian Pastor and Doctor of Divinity, who researched, edited and corrected where needed to keep events based around the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus as accurate as possible.

Also, thank you to my sister, Nellie, who had the utmost faith in me.

And last, and most, a great and hearty thank you to Caroli Wolfe, my Sister in Faith, without whom this book and those to follow would never have made it to publication.

The Prologue

500 B.C.

There was a time

There was a people

There was a land

Filled with light

There was a time when the people lived in that land filled with light. Light dancing and bouncing and tiptoeing across pristine snow-capped peaks, granite boulders, silver-tipped grasses, perpetually misty waters, feathery green trees.

In that time, the people spent their days in that land filled with sunshine and beauty in pleasant pursuits. Long, hot, summer afternoons playing under green-canopied fruit trees. Endless winter evenings snuggled deep in warm blankets with flames dancing in the brazier. Untold hours listening to stories of high adventure, mighty battles, fierce revenge, beautiful women and handsome men who conquered and survived and even thrived despite it all. There was such a time.

There was a time in that beautiful land when life was dark and terrifying. A time of betrayal from within, when brother betrayed brother and son his father, when friend and foe looked alike. A land, a time, a people filled with a black fear so deep that no light shone.

Smoke-thickened air

Meat sizzle on spit

Platter clatter

Clanking cups

Laughter

Voices - Men’s, women’s, children’s.

The Head man lounged at the table, watching his people rejoice and celebrate, for a child had been born. In this land of light and peace, he would follow his father as leader.

Leather slapping on cobblestones

Smashing wood doors

Clashing swords

Screaming

Blood

Fire.

A dark cloaked figure slipped through the shadows, clutching a bundle close to its chest. Bending, twisting, hiding. Running, hiding, it reached the edge of the lake and, now in the open, ran like the wind to the far shore. A wall and archway loomed out of the shadows – the temple! Safety!

Two sets of horses’ hooves thudded across the turf, clattering up the marble steps. A man leapt from his saddle, snatching the bundle held so tightly.

No! No! Not the child!

Second rider slashed down with his scimitar.

Body falling lifeless

Sinking into shadow

Gold chain settling

Red light flashing

Blood

Fire

Smoke-thickened air

Silence.

35 B.C.

There was a time

There was a people

There was a land

With no light

Madjid sat on his camel, alone on the rise. Behind him a caravan wended its way along the road from Bactres, that ancient city whose walls spread across the desert hills to the south of the Oxus River. Before him, rolling sand dunes gave way to the first cliffs that swept up into the Hindu Kush. The cliffs were deeply cut by two of the River’s tributaries. The clear mountain sunlight sparkled in the perpetual mist of the churning waters. High above, on a wedge of land that looked less substantial than the gossamer green fronds peeping over the walls of Bactres behind him, brooded the remains of a broken wall.

That’s it!

My Lord? Josias, Madjid’s servant had caught up with him.

There! Above the mist, just as they said.

Do you think the legends are true?

We will find out. I am going on ahead. Tell the others to follow on up this road until it forks. Take the eastern road and then watch for a break in that ridge. The break should lead down toward that bluff. He pointed at the wedge of land floating high above them.

Very well my Lord. But, should you go alone?

Father! Let me come with you! A camel came padding up beside the man. Its rider was a youth of about fourteen, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. Madjid smiled.

All right, Balthazar, why not! But first, find your mother and bring her to me. I’m going on ahead. He spurred his camel to an easy lope and disappeared over the rise. Balthazar turned his camel back to the caravan. The servant shrugged and sat back in the saddle to wait for the caravan.

Madjid went at an easy pace, waiting for Balthazar and his mother to catch up with him. They reached him just as he came to a fork in the road. Without a word, they turned east and began looking for the pass. They found it and the boy urged his camel forward, taking the lead.

No, Balthazar, let’s go this way up that ridge. Madjid points to a ridge to the east of the pass.

At the crest of the ridge, they pulled their camels to a stop. To the northwest the land fell away in tawny grasslands, barren of trees except for a few copses nestled in gullies made by perennial streams. Behind them, toward the southeast, the dry, stony slopes of the windswept Hindu Kush disappeared in clouds.

Without a word, the riders urged their camels forward, moving down the slope, the camels picking their way over the stony ground until they found the easier going of an old trail. The trail ran into a gully cooled by the shade of squat trees and the sound of trickling water.

Where did the trail go? Balthazar.

His mother, Issaca dismounted and stooped to scoop water from the stream. She tethered her camel so that it could drink its fill, then sat on a boulder and pulled her shawl from off her head. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun.

Madjid also dismounted, tethering his camel beside his wife’s. He crossed the stream and walked up the gully a way.

Balthazar shrugged, slid off his camel and began exploring the stream bed. His camel, unattended, moved away in search of grass.

Up the gully on this side. Issaca said without opening her eyes. Madjid abruptly re-crossed the stream and studied the ground.

You are right, Issaca. Let’s keep going.

My camel! Cried Balthazar.

Let that be a lesson, son! Go find him and catch up with us. Madjid.

How’d you do that, Mother? Balthazar asked when he had caught up with them.

You close your eyes and empty your mind of all thought. It will come to you.

You must learn the ways of your mother, Balthazar. If you prove to have the Sight it could be very helpful when you join the priesthood.

But, Father, I am your heir. Don’t you want me to produce heirs, also?

You have many brothers, Madjid glanced at his wife. We’ll discuss this at another time, Balthazar. We’re here!

They had worked their way out of the gully and had come to a plateau. The westering sun caught the scene in bold relief: derelict ruins, earthen walls gently crumbling back to their natural state; massive rampart – that stone wall seen from the valley below – degenerated and broken.

They tethered their camels and began to explore. Issaca followed the stream up the gentle incline to its source: a muddy pool fouled with debris. Light flashed, blood red.

Madjid!

I’m here, my sweet He was used to her visions. He put his arms around her, but she was trembling so convulsively that it alarmed him. What is it? What do you see?

With a cry, she turned and burrowed into his chest, pulling his robes over her face.

My love! What can it be?

The Vision!

The vision? She nodded against him. After a moment: You mean the dream that has haunted you all your life? She nodded. He tightened his arms around her. Here? She nodded again.

Balthazar was poking around among the ruins. He had not noticed the interchange between his parents.

Hey! Look at this! These walls were made of marble! This must have been the temple! His mother shuddered against her husband’s chest. Father, they were right. This place is fantastic! It won’t take much cleaning up . . . He stopped as he turned and saw his parents. What’s the matter?

Nothing, Issaca tried to pull away from Madjid, but he tightened his arms.

She’s seen the Vision again.

Here? You mean, it happened here? Wow! He looked around at the crumbling walls.

Suddenly the slap of sandaled feet echoed on the cobblestones. He spun, crouching, his dagger drawn as the clash of iron against iron sounded close behind him. Wooden doors splintered. Screaming and crying filled the air. Smoke swirled as darkness engulfed him. A man in a dark blue shroud brushed past him, heading for the temple. Two men on horseback clattered by. Dismounting on the run, they grabbed the man. He screamed, clutching something to him. They yanked the bundle away, slashed him with swords, and threw his lifeless body into the lake. A red flash caught Balthazar’s attention as the man’s body hit the water. The boy dropped to the ground and retched.

He’s seen it, said Madjid. Issaca raised her head. He nodded to where Balthazar lay. Issaca pushed away from him and ran to her son.

Balthazar! She knelt by him, but did not touch him.

I saw it, Mother! All of it! He turned to stare at the stagnant water. Who was he? And what was the bundle they took from him?

A child. Their eyes met and held for a moment.

The man?

A priest from the temple and head of his clan, so they say. Madjid sat on a boulder close by. His spirit still roams these hills. His wailing can still be heard in the winds from the Kush.

As if to give the myth credence, the wind moaned through the temple ruins. Both Balthazar and Issaca shuddered.

ab

It was the next morning. Madjid and his brothers stood a little distance from the fouled pool.

How long has the place been abandoned? Kasim, a brother of Madjid.

About five-hundred years, so the Bactrians say. Madjid.

Why has no one attempted to re-build before now? Hiram, another brother.

He will not allow it! A man dressed in flowing black robes with a blue cape draped over one shoulder joined them.

Magus Darius, you honor us by joining us this morning, Madjid bowed to the High Priest.

Who is this He? Hiram.

The High Priest who was murdered on the steps of the temple.

What god was this temple built to? Kasim.

It’s irrelevant. The Magus, dismissively. We will destroy what’s here, cleanse the grounds and build to our One God whose name is too sacred to say. Nothing can stand in our way.

No. Balthazar spoke from the edge of the pool. First we will empty the pool. Then we will cleanse the grounds and build our temple.

Who are you to speak against me! Demanded the Magus, whirling on the boy.

The young prophet has spoken, Issaca, clothed in her Prophetess robes, spoke from behind the men. Hear him.

He’s but a lad! Unproven. No learning in the arts!

Hear him! The Prophetess. The two faced each other. The Magus’ face was red with fury. His robes trembled with rage. The Prophetess stood calmly, her chin up, her eyes serene.

He proved himself last night. Madjid broke the tension. We will listen to him. Balthazar, how do you propose we empty the pool? The brothers gathered around Balthazar to discuss the project. Issaca moved to the pool’s edge where Balthazar had been standing the night before. Magus Darius joined her, bending close.

I don’t appreciate you attempting to usurp my authority! A harsh whisper.

I wasn’t. Issaca, without looking at him. You would do well to pay attention to young Balthazar. If you are smart, you will get him into the Priesthood as soon as possible. He will be the next Magus of the tribe of Madjid.

The Prophetess speaks? Sneered the Magus.

I know you do not approve of women, Magus Darius, but that cannot be helped. I have been given the Sight and that is all there is to it. She turned to leave him.

What’s this about the tribe of Madjid? Since when? This is still considered the tribe of Jenghiz, he shouted after her.

Jenghiz is dead, Issaca, over her shoulder. Madjid rules!

Pah! The Magus spat in the dust and strode down the hill, muttering to himself.

ab

They had drained the pool. A thick layer of silt and slime covered the debris on the bottom. Balthazar stood close to the spot where he had seen the vision and studied the mounds.

What next? Madjid stopped beside him.

We must clean this out. Balthazar. Madjid made a face.

You know how nasty that stuff is?

Uhuh. Balthazar answered absently. I’ll do this part right here. He began to pull his robes off.

Oh, no! Madjid grabbed his arm. The Prophet does not do this kind of work!

I must. Balthazar searched his father’s face, a puzzled look on his own. I must do it. It must be done very carefully. There’s something. . .

Very well. If you insist. What can I do to help? Madjid took his son’s robes and folded them, placing them on a boulder close by. Balthazar shook his head and stepped into the slime. Immediately he slipped and Madjid caught him.

I guess you can try and keep me on my feet! Grinned Balthazar.

Yah! Sure! Madjid gripped his arm. How far out are you going?

Not far. I think about here. All right, let me go. He squatted in the muck and began scooping up the stuff. Get me something to put this in. – Please, Father.

Madjid nodded. A few minutes later he brought Balthazar leather buckets. Madjid’s brothers gathered to watch the slow process. Balthazar passed Madjid the first full bucket.

Don’t throw that very far away, Balthazar. It will do wonders for our first crops. Madjid held his breath and passed it to a brother.

You heard him, grinning at his brother’s expression.

By the end of the day Balthazar had cleared much of the muck and slime from a three by five-foot area. He got to his feet gingerly and put his hand out to his father.

You expect me to touch that?

C’mon, Father! Or I’ll give you a nice big hug when I get out of here!

All right! All right! I was just teasing! He grasped Balthazar’s hand, pulling him out of the slime. His eyebrows rose as Balthazar gripped his hand.

When did you get so strong?

What did you find, Balthazar? It was Issaca.

Mother! I was coming to you. It’s him!

I know that. What else? Impatient.

Balthazar hesitated, looking around at his uncles.

I’m not sure. It needs to be cleaned up. He handed something to her. She cupped it in her hands and stared at it.

Get me some water.

A bucket of clean water was brought, and she gently submerged the item, rocking it back and forth. The slime and dirt from hundreds of years slipped away. She lifted the object into the light. From a heavy gold chain hung a cage of gold filigree. Inside it, moisture still dripping off it, was a faceted stone.

The setting sun caught in the facets of the gem, flashing red.

Red danced up the broken walls of the old temple.

Red flowed across the muck and slime of the empty pool.

Red filled the bucket.

Red flowed into her eyes, filling her.

Becoming her.

Issaca gasped and dropped the bucket, the water sloshing over Balthazar’s muddy feet.

Red flowed, spreading out in a fan, surrounding Balthazar and running up the muck on his legs.

She let go of the chain as she clapped her hands over her eyes with a cry of anguish.

Balthazar caught the golden cage and gathered its chain in his hands, raising it once more to the light.

Dear God in heaven! He breathed in awe.

Issaca dropped her hands and opened her eyes to look at what lay in Balthazar’s hand.

A large, intricately faceted, deep red ruby, its shape similar to that of a human heart.

ab

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Part One

The Early Years

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Chapter 1

11 B.C.

There was a time

There was a people

There was a land

Once more filled with light

You’re weak, Basilikos! Thales yelled. The girls could run faster than you. Oh! Oh! He mimicked a girl’s voice. I hurt my ankle. Oh, my! I think I’m going to faint! He put the back of his hand to his forehead and sank to the ground.

Fine! I yelled at him in frustration, rubbing my throbbing ankle. Just wait until you break your leg! See if I help you any, or bring you my grandmother’s salve to make it better!

Come on, Basilikos, Nicias put a hand out to help me up. Ignore them!

Yeah! Gaius agreed.

I’m all right! I said, ignoring the offered hand and getting up on my own. Even if it were broken I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you help me up!

Thales’ jeering laughter followed us as our small entourage left the stable yard and headed back up the street to the palace. But, two days later when Thales fell off his pony and broke his leg, he was not laughing.

ab

Basilikos! Grandmother called to me as she came through the door to her rooms. I am on the way over to set Thales’ leg. I want you to go with me. I hung my head and refused to move.

What’s the matter, Basil? She asked sharply.

He thinks I hexed him, I mumbled.

What! Mother exclaimed from behind Grandmother.

Aw! I threw up my hands and turned to leave, but Mother moved quickly to stop me.

What happened? Her voice held an edge.

They were teasing me again! I said, looking at my sandals. Thales called me a girl when I tripped and twisted my ankle. I told him he wouldn’t laugh when he broke his leg.

And so, he believes you put a curse on him!? Mother.

Did you? Grandmother.

NO! I cried, lifting my head to lend credence to my words. But I did know he would do it one day.

That’s not surprising! Mother. As rough and tumble as he is, that would be a good guess by anyone! She walked away from me, then turned to study me from a little distance. What are we going to do with you, Basil? She used her affectionate name for me.

He’s no different than his father was at that age, Grandmother said, crossing the courtyard and heading for the gate.

That may be, Mother Issaca, Mother said as she followed her. But this boy has alienated himself from all his second cousins. They are afraid of him!

You think they are afraid of me, Mother? I said, a little too sharply. They laugh and tease me continually. If that is what you call fear –

Have respect for you mother, Basilikos! Father’s voice made both of us jump.

Hello, Balthazar! Issaca sounded not the least surprised. We were just talking about you.

Harumph! He turned to me. "What’s this about fear?’

I meant no disrespect to Mother, Father, I bowed my head.

It seems Thales has fallen off his pony and broken his leg, Issaca spoke for me.

I am aware of that! What has that to do with Basilikos?

Thales believes he put a curse on him, Issaca answered.

Did you? Father swung back to me.

No, Father, that is just what I was telling Mother and Grandmother. I just knew it was going to happen.

Father studied me for a moment.

Are you on your way to Thales now?

We are. Issaca.

Good! I will come with you! He opened the gate. We will do this together.

I followed them out the gate and through another courtyard, along a hall and into a third courtyard.

Walk beside me, Basil. Father called from the head of the procession.

If you knew that Thales was going to break his leg, why didn’t you try to stop him?

Me stop Thales, Father? You’ve got to be joking! Besides, I added. I didn’t know how or when it would happen, just that it would.

Well. On a sigh. He’s too big for a pony, anyway. In another month, he will be going through the Rite of Passage and then he will move on to manly pursuits. And, he won’t have time to bother with you anymore, either. He glanced down at me as we approached the gate of the Harem.

Until he passed through the Rite of Passage, a boy usually lived with all the other children in a section of the Harem. We found Thales in his room, which he shared with his six brothers. He lay on his back with his leg supported by pillows.

Thales! Father greeted him as we entered the room. He stood at the end of the bed and studied him. I hear you fell off your pony and broke your leg!

Magus Balthazar! He exclaimed. His eyes, darting past Father to me, narrowed. I allowed a tiny smile to touch my lips, and was satisfied to see Thales’ hand move under the covers to make the sign to ward off evil. I stood expressionless while Father and Mother helped Grandmother set his leg and wrap it in a splint.

ab

That was not the first run-in I‘d had with Thales – nor would it be the last. He was the largest of my cousins and a natural bully.

I had plenty of cousins, for, as in most families of our time, my Grandfather, Madjid, son of Jenghiz, had many wives, therefore my father had many brothers, who had many wives, who had many children. But, because of Thales and his entourage I often found myself alone, exploring the palace, or playing in my mother’s or my grandmother’s rooms. At other times, my father let me play quietly in his study while he poured over manuscripts or wrote in his journals. Sometimes I would go to the kitchens or even the stables and listen to the marvelous stories told by the servants.

I did not mind being alone. I knew that as often as not my behavior warranted it. As the only son of the Magus, the High Priest of the temple, I was expected to have extraordinary powers. And, I must admit, I exploited it, because I was smaller than the other boys my age, and they liked to tease me. It gave them the impression that I knew more, that I could see things – and sometimes I really could.

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Chapter 2

8 B.C.

It was the summer of our tenth year, the year when a boy leaves childhood and enters the adult world through the Rite of Passage. It was early in the summer, already hot and dry and we still had The Passage ahead of us. We were restless, chafing for adventure. We had managed to escape our tutor, an old priest who tended to nod off after his midday meal. As we slipped quietly out of the palace through a little used back gate, we pulled off our yellow student’s robes, piling them just inside the gate to be retrieved later. With our pantaloons tied above our knees, we padded on silent bare feet through the empty streets. The whitewashed walls of the houses shimmered in the afternoon heat. A cat, stretched in the shade of a scrawny bush, opened one eye to watch us pass. A dog, sitting on its master’s stoop, managed a low growl.

Today we were heading to a new part of town, an area not yet fully developed. Our intentions were to indulge in one of our favorite pastimes – the one most forbidden by our parents – to use the aqueducts as water slides. The aqueducts were covered stone channels that directed the water from the Artesian well throughout the city. They were an invention of the Romans, which my grandfather had employed. The aqueduct for which we were heading ran down a less used street, feeding into just one or two houses and ended in a small waterfall into a holding pond.

We managed to push several slabs far enough off so that we could get into the sluice. If we lay flat on our backs with our arms to our sides, the water would carry us along. It was exciting when you went through the parts that were still covered, for every sound echoed back at you and you lost your sense of direction as you twisted and turned in the dark. At the end, you would suddenly fly out of the aqueduct and fall into a pool beyond the city walls.

Come on, Basilikos! You go first! You’re the heir apparent. Show us how it’s done. Be our fearless leader! Shouted Thales.

Naw! I said. Don’t want to. I was suddenly afraid!

Coward!

You go first!

Coward!

I’ll go! Demetres pushed past me and jumped onto the edge of the aqueduct. As he brushed against me, I froze in horror: I saw him caught in the aqueduct and drowning while we tried to get the stone off.

No! Don’t! I cried, grabbing his arm. You must not go down there! You’ll drown! He stopped to stare at me, but the others started laughing and calling him names.

Listen to him, Demetres! Gaius said, trying to stop him, too. You know he ‘sees’ things.

Are you a coward, too, Demetres? Demanded Dinias, brave with the courage of the crowd. Demetres pulled away from us and jumped in the aqueduct. We ran along beside the aqueduct. My heart was pounding.

Oh, Mighty One, creator of goodness and light, let him live. Please let what I just saw be out of fear and not truth! I whispered the words as we ran. The others laughed and pounded on the stone coverings. We got to the city wall, and slipped through the low tunnel that allowed the aqueduct to pass through it, and waited for him to shoot out and splash into the pool below.

And waited.

And waited.

He’s stuck somewhere!

Start pushing the stones off!

Go get a grown up!

As the others tried desperately to find Demetres, I staggered against the wall and slid to the ground, pulling my knees up under my chin, wrapping my arms around them. They found me there later when all the fuss was over, and they had pulled Demetres’ body out.

ab

That night I went to my father’s study. As usual he was poring over a manuscript. I slipped into the room, stood close to his side, and drew comfort from his nearness.

So, Basilikos, he said without looking up, what happened today with Demetres?

I tried to tell him not to go.

You’ve been told time and again not to play in the aqueducts! I hung my head. He put down the quill with which he had been making notes and turned to look at me, and waited for my response.

I saw it.

Tell me. He said, his voice suddenly gentle.

We were bored, and hot. It was Thales. He insisted we should play in the aqueducts. He wanted me to go first, but I saw death, and refused. Demetres said he’d go first and jumped up on the ledge. I saw him caught and drowning and I couldn’t help him!

Did you just think that he might get caught?

No! I tell you! I looked up into his eyes. Steady eyes. Understanding eyes. I saw it!

How? When?

When he pushed me out of the way to go first.

So, when he touched you, you saw what was going to happen. I nodded. And you tried to stop him? I nodded. Why didn’t he stop?

The others laughed at him and called him names. I searched those eyes, startling blue eyes, deep blue as the desert sky. He had to go, I pleaded. He nodded and pulled me against his chest. I buried my face in his robe, sobbing out the details and the release that had to come. He lifted me up onto his lap and cradled me as a baby until I lay exhausted and quiet.

I heard him speak, but not to me. My mother’s soft voice answered. He lifted me as if I was light as a feather and carried me. I did not lift my head or open my eyes, but I could see the dark passages through which he walked, the smoking rushes that served to light the way. I saw the stairwell as he mounted the steps to the rooftop. I felt the softness of the rugs as he placed me, not in my own bed, but in his. I felt the warmth of his body as he lay beside me and then the softness of my mother as she lay on my other side. I turned and snuggled against her soft curves and she held me until I went to sleep.

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Chapter 3

The Rite of Passage came later that summer, but it left no profound impact on me. The pain of the circumcision seemed as nothing compared to the pain of the loss of Demetres.

Now we were men. We put off the yellow robes of youthful students and donned instead the robes of our calling. I had a choice: the purple robes of royalty or the blue robe of the Magi. I chose the blue.

Basilikos, my Lord, The servant bowed to the room. A brazier stood in the middle of the floor, the flames guttering in the draft from the open door, created shadows that leapt up the walls and deepened in the corners.

Come in and shut the door. The beloved voice came from those shadows. I stepped forward and the servant shut the door behind me. Pausing just inside, I took a deep breath, savoring the odors of dusty books and musty old manuscripts.

You did well, he said. I nodded. You showed yourself to be a man.

I watched the flames in the brazier as they curled around the embers, flickering and dancing to an unheard tune. My whole body ached. My groin throbbed. My penis burned as if it was on fire. No preparation for the Right of Passage could ever prepare you for the burning pain of the circumcision. And yet, the pain was welcome. It matched the pain of the loss of Demetres.

Your Father has something he wishes to give you.

Mother? I looked up, shaken from my thoughts. I shaded my eyes from the flames to better see her.

I asked your mother to be here. I wanted her to share this moment. He lit an oil lamp that stood amongst the clutter on his desk and in the warmth of its glow I could see them both clearly. He looked surprisingly young for his square jaw was clean-shaven. She was beautiful. Her auburn hair, loosed from the accustomed shawl, shimmered as if it had a life of its own.

Well! Are you going to stand there all night?

Forgive me, Father, I was thinking. I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath and moved around the brazier to stand in front of the massive Mahogany desk.

Manhood changes many things. He said, lounging back in his great chair. You will pursue your learning and take your place in the guidance of this tribe, both as leader and as High Magus. You will take a wife – or wives – and continue the legacy of this tribe. Our times together will become rare.

Without looking at Mother, Father stretched his hand toward her. It is time.

She placed a small leather pouch in his open hand. I watched with fascination as he undid the ties of the pouch,

You have seen this before. Many times. You played with it as a child. And you know the story well. I smiled as I realized he spoke of the gemstone that usually hung around his neck on a heavy gold chain. Yes, I knew the story well: the destruction of the first village and the death of the High Priest; the ruins and how Grandfather found them; the fouled lake with the gemstone lying hidden deep in the mud.

Your grandmother wore it for many years. Father.

I didn’t know that! I was surprised. Why would she have it?

"She is the one who