Mark Stone - The Judas Line

“Now, as you’ve read in my … memoir, only males in my family can use the Words. In fact, the magi not related to my Family are all male, at least as far as I know, my exposure to magi outside the Family has been rather limited. However, the use of Botanical magic is not gender specific, nor does it require you to be a magus. All you need is a slight … sensitivity to magic. Male or female, if you have that sensitivity to magic, you have the ability to use Botanical magic.”

Like firecrackers on a string, words popped out of his mouth faster and faster while I listened, rapt. “That’s where Wiccans come from, you know. Back in the day someone stumbled onto their magical heritage, usually by accident, and formed a religion based on nature.” The words trailed off. He looked up at the clear sky, staring at the slew of stars overhead. “Nature’s not a bad thing to worship, really. It’s all about balance and acceptance, realizing that things have their time to live and die. There are worse things to worship … much worse.”

I couldn’t keep quiet any more. “Why are you telling me this, Jude?”

“I love the stars, man. Always have. People look at the stars and think that Heaven must be there, despite what the Hubble telescope shows.” He laughed and the sound was like cracking ice. “Did you know that Christ had two brothers and a sister?”

The conversational whiplash nearly spun my head about. “What?”

“God used the Word to impregnate Mary and she was still infused with the divine spark when she gave birth to the other three children. Not surprising really, considering zero birth control and what kind of a loving God tells people to go forth and multiply, but leaves her without the ability to have more? That doesn’t make sense, considering she was married. So that little bit of divine spark got passed to her kids. The line of Joseph and Mary has some of the most powerful magi that have ever existed. The Sicarii have been trying to eliminate them for two millennia, man. And failing miserably.”

“Jude-”

“No, you have to hear this, man. Please. It’ll prepare you for what’s to come.” A deep sigh. “You know Luke 22:3–6 and John 13:27 … the Gospels that said Satan entered Judas and that led to the betrayal of Jesus?”

“Of course.”

“Of course … look who I’m talking to. Think about this: Satan never enters anyone else in the Bible, does he? Not until Revelations. Whom does Satan merge with in Revelations, Mike?”

An easy one. “His son, the Anti-Christ.”

“Good. Now put two and two together here, man … Satan only enters his son, or relative maybe because they are strong enough to be entered, to be able to contain Satan’s might. Reasonable, yes?”

“Yes, but-”

“So logic dictates,” Jude broke in. “That he can only enter a family member, like his son, or grandson, someone with resilient flesh.”

I stroked my moustache. “That’s possible, I guess.”

“When Christ comes at the end times, who comes to oppose him?”

“The Anti-Christ.”

“Good, we’re getting somewhere. Okay, big question here … so who opposed Christ two thousand years ago? Who betrayed him? And who is most likely to be seen as a kind of Anti-Christ?”

Oh, my … his words tumbled about in my head like pachinko balls ding ding dinging against my skull and knocking about everything I’d ever learned in Seminary. “Judas …” I breathed.

His look was bitter as vinegar. “Yeah. And because he was entered by Satan and, in the end, opposed Christ …?”

I wanted to puke. “The Anti-Christ?”

Jude nodded. “Yeah, he was Satan’s first born son, the one sent to betray Christ.”

The ground was warm and sandy under my butt; however, something prickled my left cheek. A thorn perhaps, but I didn’t feel it, not as pain, more as a minor irritation. That pachinko ball continued to bounce off the soft gray matter, scattering my thoughts, so I fell back on the only thing that could offer any comfort.

“’Our father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name …’”

I guess it was a kindness that Jude let me finish.

“You okay, Mike?” he asked when my voice trailed off.

Centered again, I nodded. It came to me that anyone else would haul Jude away to the laughing academy, even if they believed in magic, but in all my time in the army, as a priest, I know when someone is lying to me or delusional. Jude was neither. I just wished he were. “I’m fine.”

“Good, because here comes the fastball. Judas Iscariot … do you know the origin of the name Iscariot? It’s not a family name. Judas claimed to be the son of Simon. No, the name comes from the band of rebels he formed, fanatics who would do anything to drive out the Romans, led by a man who practically foamed at the mouth. A group of assassins called the Sicarii.”

“Judas Iscariot is-”

“The Founder. Founder of the Sicarii and of my Family. Except the spark that created the magi in the Family is not quite divine, is it?”

“Oh, dear Lord.” Ding ding ding. Why was he hitting me with all this? Was the sand shifting under me? No, I was lying flat on my back, staring at the stars. They winked at me, impervious to the shock my system had just received.

“Trust me, He has nothing to do with it.” There came a soft thump as Jude sat down beside me. “Sorry to hit you with all this, Mike, but you had to know. It wasn’t all in the memoir and we’re about to enter the lion’s den. It’s here, right before the plunge that you have to decide whether to fish or cut bait, man.”

Kind of him to give me the option, although it wasn’t needed, not by a long shot. Some things you feel right down to the bone because the people you share your strange little worlds with, the people you let inside the walls of your life and who let you into theirs, deserve the benefit of the doubt. But one essential truth shone like the light of the Lord:

He was my friend.

“Let’s see what we catch, then,” I said.

The phones little LED cast a harsh light on Jude’s features, turning them a ghastly green. Dit, Dit, Dit … He dialed, pressed the SPEAKER button, and gently balanced the phone on the center cup inside the ring.

Only three numbers? I thought.

Three numbers or not, a tinny ringing noise came from the cell. Two, three, four then five rings without an answer.

“Olivier, my boy, I am so glad you called.”

Oh my … that voice, the Voice. It had to be … It rolled out of the tiny speakers as if thrumming from the very atmosphere we breathed, bypassing any mere mechanical contrivance built by man. Smooth as silk, almost greasy, deep and vibrant with a paternal undertone that set my teeth on edge.

John Noble , I thought. The voice sounded like that of John Noble, the actor who played a crazy scientist on a sci-fi show called Fringe (a priest who watches and reads sci-fi, who’da thunkit?). The Voice had the same cadence and inflection, but there was a deep … wrongness to it that reminded me of a shark swimming just below the waves, dorsal fin breaching to declare its menacing intentions.

“Hello,” Jude said distantly, as if he didn’t care a whit about the Voice.

“You’ve blocked me. I’m impressed; no one has ever done that before. It just proves to me once again how special you are.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need you tracking me or blowing a phone up in my face.”

“You’ll just have to forgive me that one, boy. I lost my temper. Won’t happen again.” It sounded sincere, but I could see the big muscles at the corner of Jude’s jaws clench.

“I think I’ll have to opt out of believing you this time.”