“Yes,” Jesus said, noting their response. “Just think of it. And what is far worse, is that if one follows such a law, there can be no end to the damage. Until every eye, on every living thing, is cut out and thrown away. And this, my friends, is the grave risk we face when we turn from the Mother.”

When he was done speaking, Jesus dropped his gaze. He found himself humbled at his own words. And the great wisdom of The Way.

Wanting to be alone with his thoughts, he rose and drifted through the crowd. Then continued on into the distance.

Ruth watched his departure and felt lightened in her heart. For it seemed that her friend had fortified himself anew. But beyond that, she could see the momentous impact his words had had on the people.

And this made her wonder, again, at the future.

That night, as the villagers returned to their homes, they spoke among themselves of the healer’s stories. Some dismissed him as a charlatan who spoke of perversities. While others, knowing full well that his words were dangerous, even heretical, could not help but feel elevated by his teachings and his ways.

In the morning, some of those who were not tending the wounded collected their belongings and followed the healer and his sisters as they headed north. For they were eager to witness more of the healer’s wisdom, and to feel again that sense of connection and belonging that his words inspired.

CHAPTER 36

The City of Jerusalem—33 A.D.

The great wooden door groaned on its hinges. A Roman soldier released the iron handle with a clank. His sword slapped against his leather armor as he stormed into the room. He came to a sharp halt. “Sir!” he bellowed.

Farther inside the chamber, an exceptionally lean man stood at a high table, studying a scroll.

“One of the assassins desires to see you,” the soldier reported. “He has brought news of a traitor.”

Without lifting his eyes, the governor dipped his head. The movement was so slight that an untrained onlooker would have failed to notice. But the soldier observed it. “I shall bring him,” he said. He clapped a hand on his sword and hinged in a bow.

Shortly thereafter, another man came and stood in the governor’s doorway. His sun-baked cheeks and sand-beaten sandals branded him as a desert dweller. A dagger was tucked in the sheath laying flush at his side. A goatskin pouch hung tight along his back. When Pilate did not take notice of his entry, the assassin coughed to announce his presence.

Pilate smiled without looking up. “Welcome back, Judas,” he said.

Judas bowed. “Your excellency,” he said. He had learned long ago that the Roman leaders valued obsequiousness among their minions. When he stood, he noticed another man sitting in a far corner. Though older, his face carried a boyishness beneath a head of straw-colored hair.