Read Online Centurion: Mark's Gospel as a Thriller by Ryan Casey Waller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ryan Casey Waller
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a blended community with no one credo," she says. "This park is open to anyone who wishes to come. No soul is rejected in this place."
"Even the English?" I say, disgusted by the thought of those people in this Southern sanctuary.
"Even the English," Maria says, a tenor of pride in her voice.
This buzzes me with challenge. "I don't understand. Why would anyone from the Kingdom be welcome here?"
"Don't get spiky," she says. "The Teacher's fame has spread tremendously during the past three years. People come from all around to sit at his feet. He also travels but always returns here, to this park, which is near his hometown. There are no secrets with him. He moves openly and without regard to who may be listening. In one city I saw resistance fighters, American religious authorities, and the Centurion Guard all in his audience, listening intently to his stories. It's an astonishing sight to behold."
"And they all enjoy his teaching?"
"Oh, no!" Maria gasps. "Not at all. Some do of course, but he outrages many, which is why he's grown so popular. He teaches, they say, 'as one with authority.'"
"Why hasn't he been arrested? I'm shocked the Kingdom would allow it."
"There have been many close calls—many. Yet he remains a free man." Maria shrugs. "It's a mystery."
"But he's sympathetic to the cause?"
"Which cause is that?" she asks.
"The cause of the South and the American resistance, the cause of our religion, the cause of the one true God." Righteous anger drenches my voice.
"My cause"
"You've come here to fight?" Maria says, clearly stunned by the bruising nature of this truth.
I want to kick myself. Of all the ways to tell Maria, this is the worst. I had hoped to tell her about my parents, to explain I had no choice but to travel home and avenge their deaths. She would understand that. She would see this is the right thing for me, as a son, to do. On the train ride, I nearly spat it all out. I nearly confessed my motives, but then she poured out her past to me, bonding us together. How could I tell her I only came home to die?
I can't look at her; I'm so ashamed. I gaze at the hill closest to us and see a black man with long dreadlocks pouring wine from a large bottle. He smiles and raises the bottle of red in my direction. I look away.
"Yes," I say, hanging my head low. "I came home to fight."
Maria wipes a stray tear from her cheek. "The gun," she says. "I should have known. That's why you were being chased." She stiffens. "What have you done, Deacon? Are you a bandit, a rebel?"
Maria's dark eyes laser me critically, questioning everything about me, probing my face as if I'm a monster charged with a heinous crime.
"Yes," I mumble, "but I've done nothing wrong. Not yet. The gun was given to me. I had no choice but to run from the guards."
Maria's eyes are glassy and removed. She's already placing a veil between us; I feel our connection being disrupted, the innate line of communication destroyed.
I can't let this happen.
"So...what now?" she says. "Will you join that snake pit of conspirators who plot death beneath the stars? Is that what you want? Is that who you are, Deacon? Another angry man thirsty for war?"
"I don't know who I am," I say in a panic. "But why are you so dogmatic about this? You don't understand how complicated it all is."
Maria puts her nose in my face. "Oh, yes, I do! Don't you
dare
try to tell me how bad it is. I've known pain you can't imagine."
"Is that right? Then tell me. Explain away!"
"If I didn't rescue you in the street—
two bloody hours ago
—you'd already be dead.
Muerto! Comprende?"
I start to respond, to yell something back at her but snap my mouth shut. I bite the inside of my cheek. There's no reply. She's right.
"That's how these fights end," Maria says. "With you dead." She pauses then adds, "Every American who comes here hell-bent on war finds himself hanging on a Kingdom cross. All of them. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. It's as uncomplicated
"Even the English?" I say, disgusted by the thought of those people in this Southern sanctuary.
"Even the English," Maria says, a tenor of pride in her voice.
This buzzes me with challenge. "I don't understand. Why would anyone from the Kingdom be welcome here?"
"Don't get spiky," she says. "The Teacher's fame has spread tremendously during the past three years. People come from all around to sit at his feet. He also travels but always returns here, to this park, which is near his hometown. There are no secrets with him. He moves openly and without regard to who may be listening. In one city I saw resistance fighters, American religious authorities, and the Centurion Guard all in his audience, listening intently to his stories. It's an astonishing sight to behold."
"And they all enjoy his teaching?"
"Oh, no!" Maria gasps. "Not at all. Some do of course, but he outrages many, which is why he's grown so popular. He teaches, they say, 'as one with authority.'"
"Why hasn't he been arrested? I'm shocked the Kingdom would allow it."
"There have been many close calls—many. Yet he remains a free man." Maria shrugs. "It's a mystery."
"But he's sympathetic to the cause?"
"Which cause is that?" she asks.
"The cause of the South and the American resistance, the cause of our religion, the cause of the one true God." Righteous anger drenches my voice.
"My cause"
"You've come here to fight?" Maria says, clearly stunned by the bruising nature of this truth.
I want to kick myself. Of all the ways to tell Maria, this is the worst. I had hoped to tell her about my parents, to explain I had no choice but to travel home and avenge their deaths. She would understand that. She would see this is the right thing for me, as a son, to do. On the train ride, I nearly spat it all out. I nearly confessed my motives, but then she poured out her past to me, bonding us together. How could I tell her I only came home to die?
I can't look at her; I'm so ashamed. I gaze at the hill closest to us and see a black man with long dreadlocks pouring wine from a large bottle. He smiles and raises the bottle of red in my direction. I look away.
"Yes," I say, hanging my head low. "I came home to fight."
Maria wipes a stray tear from her cheek. "The gun," she says. "I should have known. That's why you were being chased." She stiffens. "What have you done, Deacon? Are you a bandit, a rebel?"
Maria's dark eyes laser me critically, questioning everything about me, probing my face as if I'm a monster charged with a heinous crime.
"Yes," I mumble, "but I've done nothing wrong. Not yet. The gun was given to me. I had no choice but to run from the guards."
Maria's eyes are glassy and removed. She's already placing a veil between us; I feel our connection being disrupted, the innate line of communication destroyed.
I can't let this happen.
"So...what now?" she says. "Will you join that snake pit of conspirators who plot death beneath the stars? Is that what you want? Is that who you are, Deacon? Another angry man thirsty for war?"
"I don't know who I am," I say in a panic. "But why are you so dogmatic about this? You don't understand how complicated it all is."
Maria puts her nose in my face. "Oh, yes, I do! Don't you
dare
try to tell me how bad it is. I've known pain you can't imagine."
"Is that right? Then tell me. Explain away!"
"If I didn't rescue you in the street—
two bloody hours ago
—you'd already be dead.
Muerto! Comprende?"
I start to respond, to yell something back at her but snap my mouth shut. I bite the inside of my cheek. There's no reply. She's right.
"That's how these fights end," Maria says. "With you dead." She pauses then adds, "Every American who comes here hell-bent on war finds himself hanging on a Kingdom cross. All of them. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. It's as uncomplicated
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