Sam took a step towards them and they all turned and sprinted away. They disappeared like flies, and in just a moment, Sam was the only one left in the square.
He had beaten them all. But it wasn’t enough for Sam. There was no end to the blood and death and destruction he craved. He wanted to kill every man in this city. Even then, it would not be enough. His lack of satisfaction frustrated him to no end.
He leaned back, face to the sky, and roared. It was the shriek of an animal finally let loose. His cry of anguish soared up, into the air over Jerusalem, reverberated off the stone walls, louder than the bells, louder than the cries for prayer. For just a brief moment, it shook the walls, dominated the entire city—and from end to another, its inhabitants stopped and listened and learned to fear.
In that moment, they all knew a monster was among them.
CHAPTER FOUR
Caitlin and Caleb hiked down the steep mountain face, heading towards the village of Nazareth. It was rocky, and they slid more than they walked down the steep face, stirring up dust. As they went the terrain began to change, the rock giving way to clumps of weeds, the occasional palm tree, then to real grass. They finally found themselves in an olive grove, walking amidst rows of olive trees, as they continued further down, towards the town.
Caitlin looked closely at the branches and saw thousands of small olives, shimmering in the sun, and marveled at how beautiful they were. The closer they got to the town the more fertile the trees were. Caitlin looked down and from this vantage point had a bird’s eye view of the valley and the town.
A small village nestled amidst enormous valleys, Nazareth could hardly be called a city. There looked to be only a few hundred inhabitants, only a few dozen small buildings, each one story high and built of stone. Several of them appeared to be built of a white limestone, and in the distance, Caitlin could see villagers hammering away at the enormous limestone quarries surrounding the city. She could hear the soft ping of their hammers echoing, even from here, and could see the light limestone dust lingering in the air.
Nazareth was encased by a low, winding stone wall, maybe only ten feet high, which looked ancient even now. At its center was a wide, open arched gate. No one stood guard at the gate, and Caitlin suspected they had no reason to. After all, this was a small town in the middle of a desert, in the middle of nowhere.
Caitlin found herself wondering why they had awakened in this time and place. Why Nazareth? Why the first century? It was such a dramatic leap from Medieval Scotland, and she found herself missing Europe. This new landscape, with its palm trees and desert heat, was so foreign to her.
More than anything, Caitlin wondered if Scarlet were behind those walls. She hoped—she prayed—that she was. She needed to find her. She wouldn’t be complete without her.
Caitlin walked up to the village entrance with Caleb and entered through the town gate with a great sense of anticipation. She could feel her heart pounding at the thought of finding Scarlet—and of figuring out why they had been sent to this place to begin with. Could her father be inside, waiting? She thought back and tried to remember what she knew of Nazareth. It wasn’t much. The name sounded familiar. She vaguely remembered once learning something about it, but she just couldn’t remember.
As they entered the town, she was struck by the vibrancy of it. The streets were filled with children running, screaming, playing. Dogs ran wild, as did chickens. Sheep and oxen shared the streets, ambling about. And outside every home there was a donkey or camel tied to a post. Villagers walked casually about, wearing primitive tunics or robes, carrying baskets of goods on their shoulders. Caitlin felt as if she’d entered a time machine.
As they walked down the narrow streets, past small houses, past old women washing laundry by hand, people stopped and stared. Caitlin realized they must have looked so out of place, she and Caleb, walking down the streets. She looked down and noticed her modern clothing—her tight, leather battle outfit—and wondered what these people must have thought of her. They must have thought she was an alien that had dropped down from the sky. She didn’t blame them.
In front of each house was somebody preparing food, selling goods, or working on their craft. They passed several families of carpenters, the man seated outside the home, sawing, hammering, building objects from bed frames, to dressers, to wooden axles for plows. Before one house a man was building a huge cross, several feet thick, and ten feet long. Caitlin realized it was a cross meant for someone to be crucified on. She shivered and looked away.
As they turned down another street, the entire block was filled with blacksmiths. Everywhere flew anvils and hammers, and the ping of metal rang throughout the street, each blacksmith seeming to echo the other. There were also clay pits with large flames, on which they laid slabs of metal, turning red-hot, forging horseshoes, swords, and all sorts of metal work. Caitlin noticed the faces of children, black with soot, sitting by their father’s sides, watching their work. She felt badly that the children worked at such a young age.
Caitlin looked everywhere for a sign of Scarlet, of her Dad, of any clue of why they were here—but she found none.
They turned down yet another street, and this one was filled with masons. Here, men chipped away at huge blocks of white limestone, crafting statues, pottery, and huge, flat presses. At first, Caitlin didn’t realize what they were for.
Caleb reached over and pointed.
“They’re wine presses,” he said, reading her mind as always. “And olive presses. They use them to crush the grapes and olives, to extract the wine and oil. See those cranks?”
Caitlin looked closely and admired the craftsmanship, the long slabs of granite, the intricate metal work of the gears. She was startled to see what sophisticated machinery they had, even for this time and place. She was also startled to realize what an ancient craft winemaking was. Here she was, thousands of years in the past, and people were still making bottles of wine, bottles of olive oil, just like they were in the 21st century. And as she looked at the glass bottles, slowly being filled with wine and oil, she realized they looked just like the olive and wine bottles she’d used.
A group of children ran past her, chasing each other, laughing, and as they did, clouds of dust rose up and covered Caitlin’s feet. She looked down and realized the roads were not paved in this village—it was probably, she figured, too small, too humble, to be able to afford paved roads.
And yet she knew that Nazareth had been famous for something, and it was bothering her that she could not remember what. Once again, she was kicking herself for not paying more attention in history class.