Free The Betrayal by Kathleen O’Neal Gear

chance.”
    â€œYou mean like two monks who were not at dinner?” Zarathan felt like he was going to throw up.
    Cyrus abruptly turned to look at him. “Do you recall Brother Jonas saying that Barnabas never assigned a punishment that he himself did not follow?”
    â€œYes, why?”
    Cyrus’ white robe flapped around his long legs as he swiftly strode out of the room and down the hall.
    Zarathan whispered, “Where are you going? If they are coming, shouldn’t we get out? While we still can?”
    Cyrus didn’t even slow down. He went directly to Brother Barnabas’ cell and called, “Brother? Brother, are you awake?”
    When no answer came, he opened the door and looked inside. After a few moments, he closed the door. “He’s not there. Where else might he be?”
    â€œStill in the library, perhaps?”
    Cyrus nodded and headed for the basilica, following the path they had taken only that afternoon to see Brother Barnabas.
    The echoing passage of their footfalls had an eerie, surreal quality, as though somehow not human.
    As they hurried through the dark corridors, Zarathan pleaded, “Cyrus, how long do we have before they come looking? Shouldn’t we run?”
    â€œThat, brother, is the last thing we should do. The first person who flees the monastery will be cut down in a heartbeat. We need to wait until it’s too dark for them to see us leave.”
    â€œHow long will that be?”
    â€œPerhaps another half hour before the moon sets.”
    â€œWe could be dead by then!”

    They walked back through the grisly kitchen and out into the oratory, where Cyrus stopped dead in his tracks.
    The trapdoor to the library crypt was open. The amber glow of an oil lamp created a halo over the entry and illuminated the oratory.
    Cyrus said, “Who else has a key to the crypt?”
    â€œHow would I know?” Zarathan hissed. His heart was beating so hard it felt like it might jump out of his chest. “Please, Cyrus, let’s run!”
    Cyrus said, “Wait for me here. Do not move unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”
    â€œY-yes.”
    Cyrus moved across the floor like a lion on a hunt, one cautious step at a time. When he neared the crypt, he got down on his belly and slid forward until he could see over the edge.
    â€œBrother,” Cyrus called softly, “what are you doing?”
    â€œHmm?” Brother Barnabas’ frail, confused voice responded. “Oh, I—I wanted to see these books. One last time. I thought I might spend the night reading them, trying to memorize their words. I have memorized many, but not all of them.”
    Cyrus rose and hurried down the steps into the crypt, disappearing from Zarathan’s view, leaving him absolutely terrified. He scurried across the room, breathing hard, and called into the crypt, “Let’s go! Hurry!”
    Cyrus didn’t even look up at him. He had taken the two gazelle leather bags and was stuffing them full of every book that would fit, while Brother Barnabas watched in utter bewilderment.
    â€œCyrus, what are you doing?” Barnabas asked.
    â€œSaving as many as I can. Brother Barnabas, do you realize what’s happened here tonight?”
    As Barnabas tilted his gray head, his long hooked nose cast a shadow across his cheek. “What do you mean?”
    â€œEveryone else is dead. They were poisoned tonight at dinner.”
    Barnabas’ elderly brow furrowed, as though in anger. “Cyrus, that is not amusing. I don’t know what would possess you to say—”
    â€œBrother?” Cyrus glanced up at Zarathan and said, “Please show Barnabas the kitchen.”
    â€œMe?” Zarathan asked in horror. “But I—”

    â€œDo it!” Cyrus ordered in a voice that sent a shiver down Zarathan’s spine.
    Zarathan began shaking violently. He had never been brave. Since childhood, he’d hated lightning