Chapter 2 - The Creature in the Mud
Mara was halfway out the door when her father caught her sleeve.
"You'll get yourself arrested," Jonah said. "Silas has guards on the upper road."
"He knows where Eli is."
"We don't know that."
"He put it in writing."
Jonah looked at the notice as though it might become less cruel if he stared hard enough. Across the kitchen, Jesus set the cracked water jug beside the washbasin. He did not tell Mara to stay, and that almost frustrated her more than an argument would have.
"I'm going," she said.
"Then don't go alone," he answered.
Ruth arrived with flatbread wrapped in a clean cloth. Word of the notice had already traveled. She pressed the bread into Mara's hand and then, with exaggerated care, tucked the last slice into Jonah's pocket. "You can't make good decisions hungry," she told him. "You two never could."
Jonah tried to refuse. Ruth refused the refusal. For one small moment, their kitchen resembled the kitchen Mara remembered from before the drought, when neighbors borrowed sugar without keeping score.
The road to the reservoir crossed a stretch of scrubland and then curved through a shallow wetland. At least, it had once been wet. Now most of the basin was mud split into hard plates. Mara found hoofprints in the softer ground, along with a narrow track left by something dragging itself.
Jesus stopped beside a pool of dark water. A young gazelle lay on its side near the bank, so still that flies had gathered around it. Its legs were folded unnaturally beneath its body. Mara saw the outline of ribs against hide and knelt, covering her mouth.
"It tried to drink," she said. "The mud held it."
The animal had been dead long enough that Mara knew touching it would accomplish nothing. She thought of the bird in the tree and immediately distrusted her own hope. A person could turn a miracle into an expectation and then hate the world when it did not obey.
Jesus knelt beside the gazelle. He brushed the mud away from its face and placed one hand against its narrow chest. Mara heard him pray softly, though she could not make out the words. The air seemed to brighten. A pulse of light moved over the animal, and its body shuddered.
Mara held her breath. The gazelle's eyes opened. It drew a startled breath, kicked free of the mud, and scrambled upright. For an instant it stood between them, trembling, its ears flicking toward every sound. Then it sprang across the bank and bounded into the distant grass.
Mara laughed and cried at the same time.
"You keep doing that," she managed.
"Doing what?"
"Making me feel foolish for deciding the worst is certain."
Jesus looked toward the fading animal. "Fear tells us what may happen. It does not always tell us what will."
They continued toward the upper road. The muddy basin held more than hoofprints. Along its edge, Mara found deep grooves where wagon wheels had sunk into the soft ground. Someone had been hauling heavy loads recently. She touched a patch of damp earth and frowned. The riverbed below was dry; this mud had been fed from somewhere uphill.
"That's strange," she said.
A voice answered from the reeds. "Not strange if you know where the water goes."
A boy of about twelve emerged, barefoot and narrow-shouldered, carrying a fishing basket with no fish in it. His name was Ben, and Mara recognized him from the market. His mother worked in Silas's kitchens. Ben glanced nervously at the road.
"I wasn't spying," he said.
"I didn't accuse you," Mara replied. "What do you know?"
"The reservoir's full behind the stone gate. They open the spillway at night and send the water west to the orchard. Some runs off into this basin." He pointed toward the mud. "My mom says I'm not supposed to talk."
"Your mom is trying to protect you," Mara said. "Can you show me where you saw it?"
Ben shook his head hard. "The guards know me."
Jesus crouched to his level. "You don't have to put yourself in danger to be useful. What you have told us matters."
Ben considered that, then reached inside his basket. He took out a brass washer with a tiny red V stamped into its edge. "I found this by the broken drainage pipe. It came off one of the gate wheels."
Mara recognized the mark on Silas's debt notices. She accepted the washer, promising to keep Ben's name out of any accusation unless he and his mother agreed otherwise. Before he went, Jesus gave him the remaining flatbread. Ben broke it in half and put a piece back in Mara's hand.
"For your brother," he said.
The gesture almost undid her. She slipped the bread into her pocket, beside the brass washer.
At the first guard post, a man named Tobin stepped into the road. He had once helped Jonah harvest wheat. Now he wore Silas's blue sash and carried a short spear.
"Turn around, Mara," he said.
"I'm looking for Eli."
"He shouldn't have come here."
"So you've seen him."
Tobin's jaw tightened. Behind him, a stone aqueduct carried a narrow stream past the village road. It flowed toward Silas's orchards, bright and steady in the afternoon sun.
Mara pointed at it. "You told us the reservoir was dry."
"I told you to turn around."
Jesus said quietly, "Is the young man safe?"
Tobin looked at him, then away. "He climbed up toward the northern ledge yesterday. The old service path's been breaking apart. I sent a guard after him, but the man came back alone."
Mara's stomach dropped. "Why didn't anyone tell us?"
"Orders." Tobin's voice was rough. "Silas says the boy's a trespasser."
Mara pushed past him. Tobin reached for her arm, then hesitated when Jesus stepped beside her. There was no threat in his posture, only a steady refusal to let the moment become violent.
"If you know the path," Jesus said to Tobin, "you can help bring him home."
Tobin looked at the flowing aqueduct, then at Mara. For a moment she could see the man who once ate dinner at their table. He lowered the spear.
"Take the north trail," he said. "And hurry. A storm's coming off the ridge."
May you like
Mara followed Jesus toward the mountain. Behind her, the aqueduct whispered with water the village had been told did not exist.
By dusk, they found Eli's scarf caught on a thornbush beside a sheer drop. Below it, somewhere in the widening shadows, a young man's voice called for help.
