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Writer's pictureMark Sanders

Chapter Three: Quill

Blogtober 2021 Story Project

“How long have you been here?” Lucius asked the old man.


“I cannot tell how long,” the man said. He led Lucius to the darkest corner of the cell and turned over a stone. Lying beneath was a raven’s feather with marks and letters scratched in the dust. He picked up the feather and used it as a quill to make another tally. Lucius counted twelve in the top row, with three more below those.


“What do they mean?” Lucius asked.


“The guards have entered twelve times since I arrived,” he said. “Three men were taken. He will be the fourth. I will be next.”


“What is the writing at the bottom?” Lucius asked. “I recognize the Hebrew, but I cannot read it.”


“The Lord’s Prayer,” the man said. “Do you know it?”


“I don’t know any Jewish prayers,” Lucius said.


“They are the words of The Way,” the man said. “The prayer of the Christ.”


“You are from that Nazarite sect,” Lucius said. “The ones who won’t pay homage to Caesar.”


“We have no king but Yeshua,” he replied.


“One false god is as useless as all the others,” Lucius said. “What is your name?”


“I am Chaim bin-Ephraim,” he answered. “And you?”


“Lucius Gaius Metellus,” he said. “How long until the guards return?”


“Time means nothing in the darkness,” Chaim said, “but they bring us food. I think it will be soon.”


“Then we have to be ready when they do,” Lucius said.


And then the girl spoke.

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