A/N: This is going to be a long author's note, so hang
with me. I wrote this after watching a History Channel (God, I love them)
special on Jerusalem's history. It's really quite intriguing. Anyways, think of
Zeph and his followers as being in a different time, an alternate universe if
you will. It would make much more sense than trying to compare my version of
the city to the one you see today.
It may seem strange and not relating at all to the
Harry Potter series in the beginning chapter, but just read on. I'm hoping you will all enjoy this. I know
that this random chapter is short, but bear with me.
Disclaimer: All this belongs to J.K. Rowling,
although Zeph and the girl are mine.
In the Beginning, there was nothing.
Human
life is complex and busy. Time is unnecessary and manufactured, and perhaps,
altogether inexistent. And yet the
Messiah stands at the gate. When arcs of gold and alabaster part like clouds
and beams of sunlight, he will walk through, thus creating a Messiah. Few shall see his coming, but many will
watch him leave. He is not God, nor a god, simply man, or boy, come to rid of
us this impatient tension and the misunderstandings plaguing humanity.
He
stood, the dark boy with sullen eyes, before the gate, wishing the city would
open to let him enter. He had tried the other gates, the ones named Zion and
West, but those had close rapidly before him, most likely by the villagers.
This
gate was old and crumbling. Chunks of moldy rock landed at the boy's feet,
almost as if to bid him good riddance. Other villagers had begun to stare at the
boy. They stood amazed that this boy, seemingly of their own race, did not know
that Muslims had sealed the Gold Gate shut years ago, as if to protect their
world from the inevitable coming of the Jewish Messiah. But, he would come.
Yet,
he stood, unmoving, a stoic statue shedding no shadow or light. The sun was
long gone, but he stood. If they would not let him in elsewhere, he would wait
until the time had passed. Although the boy grew weary, he strayed not. Then
one called his name.
"Zeph!"
The crowd now craned their necks to view the one who knew the boy. An apparent
slave girl, a half-Hebrew, no doubt, pushed through the mass of people.
"Zeph!
You know that Master said we could no longer visit inside the walls of
Jerusalem. Besides, these walls are sealed shut."
"He's
not my master," spat Zeph with a snap of his wrist, to show the girl away. She
persistently pushed through the crowd until she had reached the front. Zeph did
not turn to greet the slave girl in any way. He simply watched as pebbles
bounced to the ground and slabs of dust and rock smashed at his feet. Through
this all, an aura burnt fiercely surrounding the boy. No stone dare light upon
his bare feet, no grain of sediment fall nearer to his sides than the first.
"Zeph!"
called the half-Hebrew again, growing more impatient. He did not respond, his
back remaining towards the now-dispersing throng.
"Zeph!
He's coming, I can hear his troops!" called the urgent voice again.
"I
will wait as long as it takes," he answered calmly, almost methodically, as he
raised his sun-baked arms to his imaginary heaven.
As
if exacting his arrival, entire blocks of ancient limestone slid down,
transforming into dust that was blown away by invisible breezes. And when the
dust had cleared, there came a hush about those remaining in the crowd. The
gates had opened.
