The Blood Gospel

Rhun fingered his rosary, running through prayers to calm his mind. He was in awe of the Risen One, the one who had made their order possible, the one who had taught those such as Rhun that even the damned could seek forgiveness. Without him, Rhun would have become no more than a tainted animal.

He pushed forward into the sanctuary.

Jordan started when a figure in one of the alcoves moved, the face turning toward them. “The statues are alive. Like Piers.”

“No.” Rhun shook his head. “Not like Piers. They are not trapped and suffering. They have sought out this sanctuary.”

Erin’s eyes took in the scene. “Why?”

“After many long years of service, many choose to retire here, to spend their eternal existence in contemplation.”

He knew some had been here a millennium, sustained by no more than the smallest sips of sacramental wine.

Jordan’s eyebrows lifted.

Rhun smiled. “I, too, sought to shed the world in this place.”

“What happened to that plan?” Jordan didn’t sound pleased that Rhun hadn’t abided by that choice.

“Cardinal Bernard called me to service.”

Rhun was grateful that he had answered the call. He had discovered the book, yes, but he had also found Jordan and Erin, and a new life. Perhaps, with the aid of the book, he might shed his curse, walk in sunlight without pain, partake of simple meals, and live the life of a mortal priest.

Erin shifted, warm next to him.

Or perhaps he could live the life of a mortal man, outside the walls of the Church.

The book glowed brighter in her hands.

Rhun knelt and bowed his head in supplication.

The book knew his deepest desires.

Then footsteps approached out of the darkness ahead, out of the blackness of time.

The Risen One had come.

5:53 A.M.

Erin dropped to her knees next to Rhun, and Jordan followed suit. The book trembled in her arms. She wasn’t ready.

“Rise,” commanded a hoarse voice.

As one, all stood, heads still bowed.

“Thou hast brought me the book, Rhun?”

“Yes, Eleazar.”

Erin smothered a gasp. Eleazar? She remembered that this was the name of the one who had first hidden the book in Masada. Here was not the risen Jesus Christ, but a different miracle come to life.

Someone else who had risen long ago.

Jordan tilted his head to look at her, his eyes asking a question. He didn’t know who faced them.

She did. They did not stand before Christ.

Eleazar was the ancient form of a name now translated as Lazarus.

Here was the spiritual leader of the Sanguinist branch of the Catholic Church, just as the pope was the spiritual leader of the human branch of the Catholic Church.

Keeping her head bowed, she offered him the book, and he took it.

“Ye all may look upon it.”

She raised her head, still afraid to look upon him. But she did. The figure before her was tall, taller than Jordan. Long white hair flowed back from an unlined face. Deep-set eyes were dark brown, like olives, and his stern face smiled at her.

He turned the book so that all could see it, then opened the cover.

Golden light flowed from the page, but the crimson letters, written in ancient Greek by Christ’s own hand, could be easily read. Erin had them already memorized.

A great War of the Heavens looms. For the forces of goodness to prevail, a Weapon must be forged of this Gospel written in my own blood. The trio of prophecy must bring the book to the First Angel for his blessing. Only thus may they secure salvation for the world.

Lazarus seemed to take the words in at a glance. “As you see, the book is safe. Ye have done well. This battle is won, and without that victory all hope would have been lost.”

“That sounds promising,” Jordan said.

“But war still looms. To prevail, ye must seek out the First Angel.”

Erin stared at him in disbelief.

“Isn’t that you?” Jordan asked.

“No,” Lazarus said. “It is not.”

Erin looked around the vast cavern. “Then who is the First Angel?”

Unknown time

Undisclosed location

Tommy fiddled with his bootlaces. Alyosha had promised that today he could go outside. He’d only been cooped up for a few days, but it felt like forever. He wanted to see the sky, feel the wind, and he wanted to escape.

A pearl-handled knife had dropped from Alyosha’s pocket when he was playing video games a few days ago. Tommy had covered it with a pillow, then hid it under his mattress. It was in his pocket now. He didn’t know if he could hurt anyone. He’d never even been in a fight at school.

His parents had always taught him that violence didn’t solve anything, but he thought it might solve this problem. Asking politely sure hadn’t helped.