The first book in my Unicorn trilogy, titled A LOST GOSPEL, centres around Christ's death. In the novel, unicorns were present to see Him born, and now must be present to see Him die. Glarus, the keeper of the unicorns, was also on hand for both events. In this excerpt, she assures Yeshua it is indeed the right time to make His sacrifice.
A LOST GOSPEL
"I know your voice."
"You may give yourself." Glarus stepped closer.
"My father takes this cup from me tonight?"'
"They won't kill me in this place?" Yeshua glanced around the olive grove.
"I have but followed the unicorns." Glarus touched them. "They have lead me here to take away your doubt."
"We've met before."
"A baby in a stable." Glarus smiled at him. "You have become more than memory."
"Do you still have spice upon your cloak?" Yeshua turned from her. "Behold. These men and their hatred approach." He put a hand on each of the ivory shafts. "You must be gone." Yeshua stepped aside. "Call them." He smiled. "They are yours again."
The unicorns pawed at the ground near Yeshua, then went toward Glarus.
"More than memory." She looked at him closely. "And more than just a man."
Glarus put a hand on each unicorn's back, and together they returned the way they had come.
Glarus had reappeared from the Mount of Olives leaning heavily upon the unicorns. Cowin reached her before she collapsed, and then held her against him as they rode into the city. Boaz had a home not far from the Neapolis Gate. He took them into Jerusalem to rest from their voyage, and await the outcome of their labours.
Glarus' exhaustion turned into illness, and she went immediately to bed without speaking. The unicorns again disappeared, leaving Sirona and Bettine resigned to their behaviour.
The druids and Boaz, after a night of troubled rest, went next day to the hill known as the Place of the Skull.
The druids were appalled by the slow torture of death hanging above them. This was not proper, as was the swift cut of beheading, or the clean end of fire. They would not make their most hated enemy perish in this manner.
That they had had any part in this filthy deed sickened them.
Many in the crowd clamoured and wailed, but many more taunted and jeered.
The Roman soldiers kept them away from the base of the crosses, so there was much pushing to get a good view. Along with the expectation of death, there was also the aura of haste, for the task had to be dispatched before the coming of the Holy Day.
As blood glistened in rivulets down the wood of the dusty cross, the earth and light and air turned strange and frightening.
Behind the four soldiers clutching each his piece of cloth, and casting lots for the seamless coat; behind the devastated band of weeping believers; behind the walls and homes and hills of doomed Jerusalem; behind the end of this tortured and bloodied beginning: the earth and light and air filled with rage.
Each hour of the sun passed.
The shadows disappeared from the streets of this city, which would be destroyed within the lifetime of many in the crowd.
This city, where no stone would remain upon another.
This city, where the hanging men felt the sun upon their bruised flesh.
The sun which ceased to shine when it marked its sixth hour, causing dim understanding to enter the heart of even a centurion. The sun which refused to shine while the earth split apart; while graves broke and disturbed bones; while the curtains of the temple were left in shreds to disclose their hidden mysteries.
The sun refused to shed its light upon the death of an innocent man.
The darkness settled over all these things until the ninth hour.
And the legs of two unfortunate thieves were shattered, so they could no longer struggle for their ragged gasps of air.
And a spear was twisted into the one beneath the scroll which proclaimed him a king, to prove he was already dead.
And then the day was done.