robes. The moon sits fat and large in the sky, caressing the scene before you with a haunting pale light. You force a sigh from your long-dead lungs. You feel a wetness on your cheek, and putting your hand to your cheek, you realize that you are weeping blood - something that you have not done for centuries.
You turn your head, glancing at the figures standing motionless on either side of you. Both stare at the ground before them, and lines of salty, human tears mark their tanned, swarthy
complexions. Both men are clad in the same sack-cloth robes, and both have their cleansed and
oiled hair pulled back under a distinctive embroidered headband. Expanding your sense slightly,
you share in their great sorrow for a moment, before turning back to look up at the hill before
you.
The moonlight illuminates the scene all too clearly. The great wooden crosses cast shadows like groping fingers across the rise, the silence eerily apparent and only adding to the sense of
foreboding you feel. The crucified bodies are barely visible against the timber, and yet as you
concentrate, your eyes are able to discern the small silhouette of the one you seek. A great crowd is gathered below him, and as you watch they lay offerings of bread, wine, fish and flowers before him. You smile faintly at the feeble, human gestures. A cough to your left disturbs you from your reverie.
"Well, master" your pupil Adayire says, "what are we to do?"
"We are too late," you say, your light voice sounding faint in the cold air, "it has happened as I
feared it would. Our own work here is undone."
"Surely not, master! Surely not!" You turn to face the protests of your mortal companion, who looks tearfully up into your gaze. "We have achieved so much! Many wheels have begun turning because of our deeds - because of your deeds!"
You shake your head at the naivet� of your pupil, feeling frustration once again at the turn of
events that have befallen you and your allies. "The Enemy has bested us," you say after a lengthy
pause. "We must retreat and count our gains and our losses." You turn back to look at your other companion, Andreus, your loyal and humble servant. Without raising his eyes, he speaks softly in his usual manner, "As always, my friend and master, I am with you heart and soul, wherever you choose to go." You shake your head again, looking once more towards the hill. Despite the late hour, people continue to flock to and fro through the gate of the enclosure marking the boundary of Golgotha. The soft glint of armour catches your eye, and you watch as yet another cohort of Legionnaires march by, no doubt there to help enforce order on the growing crowd.
A figure leaves the hill and heads in your direction, and you wait patiently as he approaches. He
is dressed in similar garb to yourself and your companions, and the golden hair and sour grin
reveal him to be your progeny Angelus. "Impressive, do you not think?" he shouts as he bounds
up the rock to your vantage point.
"In what way?" you enquire, frowning.
"The show of mourners," he says, coming to stand before you.
"This," you proclaim, waving an arm, "is not an impressive sight!"
"Even so," he says, "we can be sure that he touched more people than we had imagined. The
Disciple Thomas and the merchant Joseph are calming them, but it proves a difficult task. The
Zealots and their sympathizers are calling for blood, but many fear to wage open war upon the
Romans. I believe a revolution is only a matter of time."
You look sharply at him, at this, and he flinches backwards under your gaze. "You know very well," you say, "that violence is not our way!"
He turns away, making an exasperated noise. You can feel your two mortal companions shifting uncomfortably at your side. "Our way has failed," he says, "has it not? Perhaps it is time for new methods, before worse calamity strikes us." He stands, defiant now, a look of determination in his eyes. You look away, knowing that the personal battle between you has now ended, at this moment. You struggle with your emotions, feeling pride at your progeny��s strength, and anger at his lack of tradition and foresight.
"Do as you wish," you say at last, "I will argue with you no more. Whatever becomes of you in my absence is your own concern." With that you turn your back to him and nod for your companions to leave.
"Please," cries Angelus, "I beg you to listen to me. The Sicarrii Zuthros is ready to incite his
brethren against the oppressors. If you could talk to the Essenes - I know that they will heed your words more than mine��"
"Stop!" you exclaim, turning on your heel, fighting with the Beast within you for the first time in a millennium, "I will hear no more! Do as you will, but it will be without my own help. My time here is ended."
"Where will you go? What will you��"
"I shall seek out your grandsire," you say slowly, more calmly, "for guidance in these matters. It is not our task to decide the fates of men, but only to help them away from the shadows back to the light, if they should get lost."
"And the fate of our own kind?"
"This answer," you say, turning away once more, "I have not yet found." Without another word, you walk away, leaving Angelus alone in the night.