Free A.D. 33 by Ted Dekker Page A

water began to boil, forgotten. Maliku might have been a statue. He laid it out quickly, barely above a whisper.
    “Every full moon, Kahil and Saman take to the desert north of Dumah at the high point—”
    “I know it.” Judah’s pulse thrummed. “It’s where I first took charge of Maviah the night you betrayed her father.”
    Maliku blinked. His betrayal had now come full circle.
    “They go this very night to offer sacrifice to the moon god, Al-Quam, who gives them power over the darkness. And then the next day they sacrifice to Dushares, the Nabataean god of the sun, victor over the day. On the third day they celebrate and return.”
    “The moon is full tonight.”
    “And they go as Bedu, taking only their high guard from—”
    “How many?”
    “Perhaps twenty. But you must know that they are the best warriors—”
    “The best mean nothing to me.” Judah was already pushing himself to his feet.
    The teapot rocked on the coals. It occurred to him that Maliku might be setting him up, but to what end? If the Thamud wanted him dead, they would have killed him already.
    “You have to plan carefully. Kahil is no ordinary warrior.”
    “What is there to plan?” Judah spat. “They won’t suspect anything so soon. They know Maviah has no heart for war and think me crushed, but they don’t know Judah’s heart. The moon is full to lead me. It is my God, not theirs, who offers power over this night!”
    “Judah…”
    But he was already moving into Maviah’s tent, certain of his path. Nothing had been clearer to him in two years. He snatched up the long sword that leaned against the chest, and her sheathed dagger, then stepped back out into the night, mind fixed as surely as the cold blades in his fists.
    Maliku stood.
    “Tell Maviah I take her camel and sword. You know only that I wished to be alone. For your own sake, confess nothing else, do you understand?”
    The man did not object.
    “I’ll be back with the sun.”
    Maliku stared at him. “You have no armor.”
    “I’ll take it from the first man I kill. Watch over Talya.”
    And then he was running for the camels.

Chapter Eight
    A BITTER wind swept in from the deep desert, and yet Judah accepted the cold as a gift. All of his senses were on edge as he pushed Zahwah to her limit over the sands, guided by the moon and a thousand bright stars.
    Riding now with blade in hand and retribution in mind was as much life to him as water was to the sands. This was the Bedu way.
    This was the way of God, who demanded blood on the altar in payment for every sin. Saba was wrong to suggest God would lay down the sword and turn his cheek.
    Judge not lest you be judged, Yeshua had taught—and now Kahil would learn the truth of those words.
    The glory of Judah’s people would be restored by this single blow. The head of the serpent—Saman the eyes, Kahil the fangs—would be crushed by the very warrior Kahil had shackled in darkness. All would then know.
    Maviah, the mother and queen. Judah, the sword and her right arm.
    Eden would be restored in the desert. Then they would return to Israel and join with the chosen one to find liberation from those who oppressed and crucified God’s children.
    Maliku would hold his tongue for fear of falling out of Maviah’s grace. And if Maviah objected to the deaths of Saman and Kahil, the tribal sheikhs would rejoice. All would soon be forgiven and more, celebrated.
    These were the thoughts that nourished him as he crossed the sands.
    And his desperate need for justice fired his bones as he cut through the wind.
    He came to the base of the high point before the first light had grayed the eastern sky, and there he couched Zahwah. The dark towers of rock stood tall four hundred paces ahead, silhouetted against the starry sky.
    Studying the terrain for any sign of movement, he stripped off his white tunic, leaving only his dark pants, which he quickly bound to his calves so they would not catch. Taking up the sword and dagger,