The Lost Years of Jesus Christ Page 6

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  It is good to finally find time to sit down and write. The strangest thing happened a few weeks ago, something that has since uprooted my entire life, and I need to record it all while the conversations are fresh in my mind.

  Three men, scholars from various parts of the world, arrived at our door late one night. They were named Balthazar, Melchior, and Casper. Their wagon broke down nearby, and asked if I could take a look. I would never turn down someone in need, so I mended their broken wheel, invited them to supper, and offered them a roof for the night. They told me the most amazing tale.

  For the last three years they resided with King Herod. The wise and noble King valued sound advice from learned men. Now that Herod is dead, his sons are fighting over their inheritances. Archelaus, the eldest of the three successors, wants to be the sole ruler, and none of them are interested in the wisdom of scholars. Balthazar suspects Herod was murdered by Archelaus, but he has no proof. My guests fled the palace in the night, afraid Archelaus would have them killed for not choosing his side.

  “While Antipas and Philip seem content with the land they have been given, Archelaus desires to be king. Rome has ratified Herod’s will as he last wrote it and the division is not to be altered.” Balthazar said.

  “Archelaus will not be satisfied until he is king or dead.” Melchior added.

  Casper, the scholar from the Far East, was much quieter than the other men, but it is he that I will never forget. During our supper, Joshua began to cry. Miriam got up to tend to him but Casper gestured for her to sit. The scholar needed only to go near the baby to turn his cries into laughter. He lifted Joshua up and held him close. It was then that he spoke to all of us, or perhaps none of us.

  “It is no coincidence that we stopped here. This child will change the world forever. His life will not be easy, and it will not be pleasant, but it will be spectacular. There has never been a single man that has touched as many hearts as this one will. He will be a king among kings for the entire world to cherish.”

  I was frightened and amazed. Could he know who I am?

  “Do not be alarmed. Casper sees things that go unnoticed by normal men. I assure you we mean you no harm.” Balthazar said.

  Casper laid Joshua back down and spoke to his fellow travelers in a hushed voice.

  “Would you excuse us for a moment?” Melchior said.

  The three men left for a few minutes. They each retrieved an item from their wagon and laid them down beside Joshua.

  “These gifts were given to us by Herod for our years of service some time before his death. No gift is as fit for a king as one that comes from a king. Do not waste them. They will be a very important part of your journey little one.” Casper said to Joshua, and then he turned to me. The smile on his face faded. “You must leave this land. Dangerous times are upon us, and your son must be protected at all costs.”

  “You want me to leave my home and homeland?” I asked.

  “You must. Travel to Egypt, away from this conflict. Keep your ears open for word that the struggle has ended, and then you can return. It will not last long, but it will be bloody.” He would not relent until I agreed, so I told him I would take my family out of Judea.

  It wasn’t until they left that I examined the gifts for myself while Miriam tended to Joshua. Gold, olibanum, and myrrh were laid out before me, each of substantial weight. There I sat, a poor carpenter, with three of the most valuable substances in the world in front of me. My son will never want for anything if he is careful, though Casper’s words lead me to believe there is a far greater purpose behind these gifts than making him comfortable. I lied to Miriam about the gifts, pretending they were nothing of value and hiding them away. It is the first time I’ve ever lied to my wife, but just like my lineage this is not for her to know.

  The encounter with the men left me shaken. Could my son be the one? Is he the Messiah, or just another to carry on the torch until the true savior emerges? I trusted Casper’s words. Within two days we were on our way to Egypt.

  27

  Casper was right. Judea faced a time of great suffering following Herod’s death. Many innocent people lost their lives due to the tyranny of Herod Archelaus. During his first Passover in power he had no less than three thousand Hebrews killed while they offered sacrifice at the Temple. Joseph and his family could have easily been among them if not for the scholar’s warning. While Archelaus was removed from power and exiled by Rome after a short time, Antipas still ruled over Galilee from his seat in Sepphoris.

  Joshua sat in his room, his father’s journal still opened to the last page he read. After reading it numerous times, it still made no more sense to him than the first time. Not making sense seemed to be the new theme in Joshua’s life. He couldn’t believe how much his life had changed in a few short weeks.

  First a priest tries to recruit me to be his messenger, herald, or whatever he wants to call it. It seemed strange, but it was still a welcome possibility. Then I find out I’m descended from David, the last in a long line of men who have done nothing but wait for the Messiah to be born. That’s enough to make my head spin, if only it had stopped there. If what this book says is true, I’m supposed to change the world or possibly save the world. Change it to what? Save it from what? This is too much. Can I go back to being a carpenter? Can I go back to being a boy?

  A night of reading followed by several days of constant inner turmoil had drained Joshua’s energy. Being so engrossed in his reading and contemplation, he hadn’t stopped once to eat. The groaning from his stomach overpowered the cacophony in his head and he finally left his room in search of food. Joshua was surprised to find that their neighbor Marta, not Miriam, sat in their kitchen helping herself to lunch.

  “Where’s mother?” Joshua asked.

  Marta was startled, dropping a spoonful of broth into her lap. “Joshua, you scared me.” She began frantically wiping the steaming liquid off of her robe. “Miriam went to speak to Elizabeth.”

  “They’re still in town?” Joshua asked.

  “It would seem so. Miriam asked that I wait with you and feed you if you decided to come out. She should be home soon. Why not eat while we wait for her? I made soup.” Marta gestured to the mess on her robe and gave a half smile.

  They ate together in silence. Joshua hardly knew Marta. He spent all of his time with his father and knew little about how his mother spent her days when she wasn’t cooking, cleaning, and sewing. When they were finished eating, Marta decided to speak up.

  “How was it?”

  “It was delicious. Thank you.”

  “Now that you’re reenergized it’s probably best if you get back to the woodshop and do some work. There will be three mouths to feed soon and it’s not as if your father had a secret stockpile of gold lying around. Someone needs to support the family.”

  Marta wasn’t wrong about their situation. Every day Joshua didn’t work meant another bite out of their dwindling reserves. She was, however, wrong about the secret stockpile of gold. Her words did more than remind Joshua of his duty, they reminded him of something else in his father’s journal.

  The Gold. That’s what’s inside that box! What else could it be?

  “You’re absolutely right, Marta.” Joshua stood, suddenly excited. “I’m going to change into my work clothes and get right on that.”

  “You’ve still got it, Marta.” She said to herself as Joshua hurried to his room.

  Not wanting to leave it in the workshop, Joshua had snuck the chest containing his inheritance into his room. He went straight for the small wooden box that wouldn’t open on his first attempt.

  At first glance it looked like an ordinary trinket box. Joshua helped make dozens of them over the years, though none as intricate as the one he held. They were popular among women for storing jewelry and men for storing precious coins. There wasn’t a visible locking mechanism, but something prevented the lid from opening.

  Joshua studied the entire box.
There were etchings of the sun and the moon on the right and left sides respectively, and Joseph’s name was carved on the bottom. The signature was small and unintelligible to most, but Joshua knew it without a second glance. Though he did not mark everything he made, Joseph carved his name into every piece that was meant for his family’s personal use. He would never put his name on something he didn’t make. That meant Joseph made this container himself for some special purpose. Joshua couldn’t believe his father carved the sun and moon into anything he made, as it was considered blasphemous, but he couldn’t deny what was right in front of him.

  Joshua felt the wood, hoping to find a hidden compartment or lever to release the lid. Along the sides there were a series of small rectangles. At first, Joshua thought them decorative, but upon touching them he found that when he applied pressure they pushed inward ever so slightly. He counted the rectangles, hoping the number might give some clue to their significance. There were twenty-two in all: None in the front, twelve along the back, and five on each side.

  Father must have designed it so that only he would know how to open it. I guess I could always go grab my chisel and hammer, but I’ll use that as my last resort. Pity he didn’t share that information with me or at least write it down. Or did he?

  Hoping there might be a clue hidden within its pages, Joshua began skimming through his father’s journal looking for any reference to the gifts or a box. Everything involved their move to Egypt, getting acclimated to their new surroundings and attempting to find work. There was nothing of importance for a few pages, and then Joshua came upon a passage that looked promising.

  Though I refuse to touch the gold given to my son, I was forced to trade away the container it came in. I hated to do it, but it was unavoidable. Our sudden move left us with no time to sell our home. The proceeds provided us enough coin to acquire a residence and sustain us while my carpentry skills built up a positive reputation. A gold inlaid box isn’t exactly the best place to hide a cache of gold anyway.

  A few passages went by without mentioning the gold again.

  A man I befriended in the market by the name of Shem has been able to help me with something I’d been worrying about for quite some time. I needed a new container for the gold our three friends left to my son; one that would not be noticeable or easily opened. Shem was a blacksmith originally, but came to specialize in something a little more obscure. The former Pharaohs had many treasures, and Shem created special traps and locks to safeguard them. He even claims to have worked on the vaults of the last Pharaoh, Cleopatra! Since the Pharaohs lost power some thirty odd years ago he has had little use for his unique skill set, and he jumped at the opportunity to assist me. With his help, I have created a container that will be impossible for anyone other than me and my son to open.

  The entries didn’t contain any clues about how to open it, but they did explain where it came from. The margins of the pages held a few more potential clues, though Joshua didn’t understand them at first. Follow the sun and Patriarch were scribbled along the edges of the page. Joshua had no time to figure out what the clues meant; a knock at the door interrupted his contemplation. He hurried to put everything away as his mother’s voice called out to him.

  “Joshua, we need to talk.”

  “Be out in a minute.” When everything was hidden he opened the door. Marta had left. Joshua and his mother were alone. Miriam sat down at the table and ushered him to follow with a wave of her hand. “Is something wrong? Is the baby alright?”

  “Everything is fine. I’ve just spoken with Elizabeth and Moloch, and you have a decision to make.”

  Miriam explained Moloch’s desire to take Joshua back to Jerusalem and train him as a priest. He had heard it all before, except for the priest part, but being presented the option by his mother made it all the more real. It might be the only way to uncover his true destiny and provide for his mother and unborn sibling. Joshua had no faith in his abilities as a carpenter or businessman, and even if the lockbox held a fortune it wasn’t meant to be used for mere sustenance.

  “I think this might be my destiny, or at least a stepping stone towards it. I’m going to do it, but only if you come with me. I have to take care of you, both of you, and keep you safe.” Joshua said.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Miriam said, wrapping her arms around Joshua and cradling his head against her shoulder. “You’re going to do wonders.”

  28

  “Move along if you ain’t got no money, girl.”

  The baker watched Amara closely as she eyed some of his freshest breads. The stones she stole from Barba proved to have little value. Most of the local farmers were monotheistic followers of the deity Adonai, which prevented them from owning or even looking upon idols made in the image of other gods. She found someone willing to trade, but they offered her next to nothing. It was enough for a few good meals and some supplies to make new arrows, but not enough to sustain her for long.

  Amara could have traded the stolen goods for far more in a larger nearby city like Sepphoris or Nazareth, but she didn’t want to risk being seen. Barba promised to hunt her down, so Amara wanted to avoid anywhere frequented by bounty hunters and opportunists.

  The food satisfied her hunger, but there was emptiness inside that could not be filled. It was the first time Amara took a life, and it was the life of an innocent bystander who did nothing other than try to help her. The boy may not have been her intended target, but he died all the same.

  Did you ever feel this sadness after taking a life, grandfather?

  Amara watched her grandfather kill dozens of men to protect them from harm. He became quiet afterwards, keeping to himself and sleeping more than usual. Though there was never even a hint of sadness or remorse in his expressions or words, Amara believed he did not enjoy causing pain and death. Questions about what it was like to take a life were always on the tip of her tongue, but never made it past her lips.

  Amara left town after several nights of eating well and sleeping with livestock for warmth. Her purse and stomach were no longer filled, and her heart grew heavier each day. It wouldn’t be long before she required food, and the thought of stealing again terrified her. She decided to try hunting and fishing despite the scarcity of game.

  South was Amara’s direction of choice. Towards the homeland she would never reach. No matter how close she came, there was something inside that kept her from returning to the home she never knew. There was nothing for her to fear in Egypt. The men who sought her grandfather would never recognize her all grown up, but she feared the land all the same. It held all the truths about her past that she wasn’t ready to face.

  Traveling alone as a woman, even in the daytime, was treacherous on the open road. Meeting the wrong kind of men could leave Amara without her weapons, her dignity, or even her life. She stuck to the treacherous and rocky paths that ran alongside the main road, using anything and everything to conceal her from the view of other travelers. These hiding places were more a home to her than any dwelling of earth and stone. The trek went much slower off the main road, but it was also safer.

  When Amara came upon a small stream, she seized the opportunity and caught some supper. She carved a lance out of a dry olive tree branch and stood still in the stream until the fish thought of her as just another rock or stump. Careful aim and a straight shot landed her a plump fish on her first try, with three more to follow. Fish were difficult to come by in large lakes and rivers, but the small streams sometimes held a few hidden treasures. If fishermen couldn’t fit their boats into the narrow waterways or make use of their nets it wasn’t worth their time. Charred fish and stale bread made a banquet of a meal. She saved two of the fish for later, and continued on her journey.

  After traveling for several hours, Amara stopped to take a rest. There wasn’t anything to see for kilometers in any direction. The last town she passed was small and the next would likely be smaller.

  What am I doing? Where am I going?
What if he finds me while I’m sleeping?

  Amara had never questioned her movements before. In the past, her grandfather always decided where to go next. The movements were random and they never stayed anywhere too long. After he died, Amara continued on in the same fashion and never considered there might be another way of living. The fear changed that.

  Hunger, that constant companion, made its presence known with a low rumble. Amara removed the remaining fish from her bag. She took off her boots and lay out on the grass looking up at the clouds passing overhead. One in particular caught her eye. It looked like an arrow. It was pointed in the direction of a much larger cloud formation, an animal perhaps. Tall and wide, almost a man if it weren’t for the short legs and arms. Amara couldn’t decide what it looked like.

  This is stupid. It’s just a cloud. Why do I care so much?

  Amara heard a low growl followed by a massive roar from behind her. She shot up, instinct taking over as she grabbed her bow and immediately strung an arrow. Less than three meters separated her from a great bear. It stood on its hind legs, towering over her as her grandfather once did. One arrow would not stop it unless the shot was perfect. Heart or head were her only options. Both stood motionless for a few seconds, and then it moved. She released her arrow, but the shaking of her arm caused it to miss the bear’s massive skull. Amara braced herself for death, but the creature did not go for her. The fish, still lying in the grass where Amara had been resting, was what it wanted. Not noticing its close call with death, the bear began to eat. Amara hesitated for a moment, considering whether or not it was right to take the creatures life. She took a step back and its head shot up. It growled every time she made any movement. Her decision was made. Amara calmed herself, pulled a second arrow from her quiver, and took aim. This time her aim was true. A fountain of blood erupted from the back of the bear’s skull as the arrow pierced its eye.

  “Thanks for the warning! Maybe next time make it a little less vague and more in advance.” Amara called out to the sky. Her heart pounded, as if a stampede was racing through her chest, while she examined her kill. It was enormous. Most animals she hunted were small: rabbits, fish, and roe fawns. She was not prepared for something so massive. Bear fur and meat was far more valuable than fish, though transporting it before it went bad might prove difficult. The carcass would soon become prey to all manner of creatures. She needed a way to get it to a city where she might trade it for a few silver denarii, which was enough to last her for months. If she didn’t figure something out soon, her greatest triumph would turn into her greatest failure. With no alternative available, she decided to ask for help.

  The road was never out of sight as she walked, but for the first time she approached it willingly. She took note of a large boulder near her prize and began looking for someone to assist her. Amara paced back and forth along the same kilometer stretch for an hour, not wanting to stray too far. Several wagons passed by during that time, some pulled by horses others by donkeys, all of them driven by men.

  They all look like Barba from a distance, but I can’t be afraid. I have to find someone soon, or it will be too late.

  Daylight was fading fast. Night would be upon her in no time, and then no one could help her. Amara wasn’t sure who she expected to help her, but something kept telling her to wait. Then a single camel came galloping down the road. A young girl, around the same age as Amara, appeared to be riding between the neck and first hump. Behind the girl sat a woman. Her face was covered, but the clothing was definitely that of a female. Amara decided to take her chances and ask for assistance. There was no cart attached, which worried Amara, but camels can carry far more weight than horses. Upon catching sight of Amara, the woman slowed the camel to a meandering pace.

  “What is the matter child? Are you injured?”  The woman asked.

  “I’m not a child.” Amara said, trying to restrain her annoyance. She hated being called a child. After surviving on her own for almost three years, she felt like anything but a child. “I’m fine, but a bear attacked me.”

  “Thank the gods you are safe. How did you get away?”

  “He bit off a little more than he could chew.” Amara plucked the string of her bow. “But I have no way to get the carcass to town.”

  “Say no more. A bear is a fine prize, and you should not be denied that which you have earned. We may have to dismember it to carry it back, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Take me to it.” She dismounted the camel along with the child. “Stay with Jack, Trix.”

  “Yes Thea.” The little girl replied, leading the camel off the road.

  “What’s your name, child?” Thea asked.

  “Amara.”

  It had been a long time since anything good happened in Amara’s life. She was all too willing to accept the generosity of this stranger as genuine. She led Thea towards the bear. After a few steps she felt a sharp pain in her neck. Amara heard her grandfather’s soothing voice echo in her mind as she drifted into the darkness.

  Never trust anyone, Amara. It only gets you into trouble.

  Thanks for Reading!

  I hope you enjoyed the first part of my book (and if you didn’t at least it didn’t cost you anything)! If you want to see what happens next, the The Lost Years of Jesus Christ Volumes 2 and beyond will available for download on all major ebook distribution sites.