Blood Brothers: A Short Story Exclusive by James Rollins, Rebecca Cantrell Read Free Book Online Page B

of gold encircled her upper arm.
    He stepped past her, his shoulder nearly brushing hers. The fragrance of lotus blossoms danced on the warm air that surrounded her.
    “Leave behind your clothing,” she ordered. “You must go into the water as naked as you once came from it.”
    At the water’s edge, he fumbled with his robe, struggling against the shameful thoughts that crowded his mind.
    She refused to look away. “You have brought much death to this holy place, priest of the cross.”
    “It will be purified,” he said, seeking to appease her. “Consecrated to the one God.”
    “Only one ?” Sorrow wakened in those deep eyes. “You are so certain?”
    “I am.”
    She shrugged. The small gesture shed her thin shift from her shoulders. It whispered to the rough stone floor. Torchlight revealed a body of such perfection that he forgot his vows and stared baldly, his eyes lingering on the curve of her full breasts, on her belly, on the long muscular line of her thighs.
    She turned and dove into the dark water, barely causing a ripple.
    Alone now, he hurriedly unbuckled his belt, yanked off his bloody boots, and tore off his robe. Once naked, he sprang to follow, diving deep. Icy water washed away the blood on his skin, and baptized him into innocence.
    He blew the air from his lungs, for he had no need of it as a Sanguinist. He sank quickly, swimming after her. Far below him, bare limbs shone white for a flash—then she flitted to the side, quick as a fish, and vanished.
    He kicked deeper, but she had disappeared. He touched his cross and prayed for guidance. Should he search for her or continue his mission?
    The answer was a simple one.
    He turned and swam onward, through twisting passages, following the map in his head, one learned from those ancient scraps of papyrus, toward the secret hidden deep beneath Jerusalem.
    He moved as swiftly as he dared, into utter darkness, through complex passageways. A mortal man would have died many times over. One hand brushed rock, counting passages. Twice, he reached dead ends and had to backtrack. He fought panic, telling himself that he had misread the map, promising himself that the place he searched for existed.
    His despair grew to a sharp point—then a figure swept past him in the icy water, felt as a flow across his skin, heading back the way he had come. Startled, he went for his sword, remembering too late that he had left it in a pile with his robes.
    He reached for her, but he knew she was gone.
    Turning in the direction from whence she had come, he kicked with renewed vigor. He pushed through the rising dread that he would swim forever in the darkness and never find what he sought.
    He finally reached a large cavern, its walls sweeping wide to either side.
    Though blind, he knew he had found the right place. The water here felt warmer, burning with a holiness that itched his skin. Swimming to the side, he lifted trembling hands and explored the wall.
    Under his palms, he felt a design carved into the rock.
    At last. . .
    His fingertips crawled across the stone, seeking to understand the images etched there.
    Images that might save them.
    Images that might lead him to the sacred weapon.
    Under his fingers, he felt the shape of a cross, found a figure crucified there—and rising above it, the same man, his face raised high, his arms outstretched toward heaven. Between the bodies, a line connected this rising soul to the nailed body below.

    As he followed this path, his fingertips burned with fire, warning him the line was made of purest silver. From the cross, the fiery path flowed along the curved wall of the cavern to a neighboring carving. Here, he found a cluster of men with swords, come to arrest Christ. The Savior’s hand touched one of the men on the side of the head.
    Bernard knew what this depicted.
    The healing of Malchus .
    It was the last miracle that Christ performed before his resurrection.
    Swimming along the wall, Bernard traced the silver line