David L McAfee - 33 A.D.

33 A.D.

By

David McAfee

Kindle Edition

2010 by David McAfee

Cover Design by Jeremy Robinson

This is a work of fiction. The events depicted in this story, though based on real events, are entirely products of the authors imagination or are used in a fictitious manner and should not be construed as fact.

Kindle Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your direct use only, please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Visit David McAfee on the web at mcafeeland.wordpress.com

Twitter: DavidLMcAfee

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"33 A.D. by David McAfee is a wildly original, non-stop pulse pounder that tells the story of a vampire assassin whose mission is to kill Jesus of Nazareth. In a genre mired by clich stories, this stands out as something bold and new."

Jeremy Robinson, author of Pulse and Instinct .

"David McAfee's 33 A.D. is a truly compelling and unique perspective on the events surrounding the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. With all the skill of a seasoned novelist, McAfee's thriller brings a melange of riveting characters, otherworld mythology, and political intrigue together in one fascinating read - a tautly paced winner on all levels."

Jon F. Merz, author of the Lawson Vampire novels & Parallax

This book is lovingly dedicated to my wife, Heather, for all the love and support she has shown me over the years.

I love you, Hon.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

BONUS MATERIAL

Excerpt from , by Jeremy Robinson

Excerpt from , by Jeremy Bishop

PART I

Chapter One

Jerusalem, 33A.D.

Ephraim darted around his modest wood-and-mortar home in the Upper City, grabbing as many of his possessions as he could carry mostly clothing and a few personal items and shoving them into a large burlap pack. Every now and then his brown eyes shifted to the door, waiting for a knock. Or worse, no sound whatsoever. The latter worried him the most because it would mean the servants of the Council had found him. A Psalm of Silence only carried for about twenty paces, so if the world around him went suddenly quiet, he would know those who hunted him were very, very close.

As an Enforcer, or at least a former Enforcer, Ephraim knew the inevitable result of breaking the laws of his people, a race not known for mercy. Now, as he packed, he couldnt help but wonder why hed felt the need to tell the Council about his indiscretions. Bad enough hed defied them, but he also gave them all the information they needed to punish him. And for what? A strange feeling in his heart? A pang of conscience? Was he mad? In retrospect, it seemed possible, but he couldnt do anything about it now. His elders wanted him dead, and unless he hurried they would get their way.

A worn, woolen tunic hung halfway off his bed. Ill need that , he thought as he reached for it. He couldnt afford to leave a single piece of clothing behind. He stuffed the tunic into his bag and turned to regard a large chest on the wall opposite the bed. He reached down and flung the lid open, breaking one of the hinges in the process, and started grabbing more clothes. Ill need that. And that.

Then his fingers closed on something small and hard. He didnt have to look at it to know it was his ceramic wolfs head figurine, a symbol of his former rank. I wont need that. Ephraim tossed it over his shoulder, where it shattered on the hard floor. He didn't pay it any attention as he picked up a short, fat bladed knife. Ill need that, too. It joined the many tunics in his bag. Just as he picked up a pair of worn breeches, a noise outside his door caught his attention.

What was that? Ephraim froze, craning his ears and trying desperately to catch the elusive sound. He stood silent and still for sixty long seconds, muscles tense and booted feet nailed to the floor. The breeches hung from his fingers like a mouse in a raptors claw. He eyed the sickle-shaped sword on the opposite wall, ready to spring over and grab it if necessary. Although the sword was very old, he kept it sharp and in perfect balance, not easy to do with a khopesh.

When the noise didnt return, he shook his head. The wind, he told himself, and returned to the task at hand. He had to hurry. They were coming.

He couldnt allow himself to be captured by the Councils minions. They would make him talk, and that would be bad. Not just for himself, but for his newfound friends, as well. The elders of the Bachiyr race had many methods by which to extract information, even from one of their own. All of them brutally effective. If they caught him, they would find a way to make him talk. Sooner or later Ephraim would tell them anything they wanted to know, the only real question was how long would it take to break him.

As he packed, his hand brushed against a small figurine of a lamb from the shelf above his bed, knocking it off and sending it toppling through the air. Damn! He reached out to catch it and missed, but his fingertips brushed the delicate figurine just enough to alter its course so that, instead of following the wolfs head to the hard floor, the lamb plopped down amidst the soft linens on the bed. Ephraim breathed a sigh of relief when the delicate figure didnt break, and reached down gently to pick it up. He didnt miss the irony that he, the predator, had thrown away the wolf figurine and kept the lamb.

Former predator, he amended, shaking his head. I am not like that anymore. He stared at the lamb for several precious seconds, remembering what it symbolized and making sure, in his heart, hed made the right decision. Satisfied, he placed the tiny item into a small velvet bag and tied it shut, then placed the bag into his pack, stuffing it between the folds of a coarse brown tunic. He tied the pack closed and set it on the floor in front of him.

Ephraim then stepped over to the far wall and eyed his ancient khopesh , which he had wielded for over a thousand years, though the style of blade had largely gone out of use eight centuries ago. He reached a tentative hand up to the sword, but his fingers froze before they touched the handle. Ashamed, he pictured the faces of his many victims, heard again their anguished screams, and saw their mouths stretched wide in agony. The smell of their blood returned to him, sending an unwelcome rumble through his belly. Far from the pleasure these memories once brought, Ephraim now felt only shame. How many? He wondered. How many have I killed with this very blade? He had no idea, but the number must surely be huge.

So great is my sin, he whispered. He could not shed tears, none of his race could, but his face felt hot and flushed, nonetheless. He drew his hand back, unwilling to touch the ancient sword, his most trusted companion for centuries, now too poignant a reminder of who he used to be. With a sigh, he turned from the wall and walked over to the bed, determined to leave his past at his back.

Now ready to go, he just had to wait for his friend to come and help sneak him out of the city. Ephraim sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for Malachis knock. He hoped it would not take long.

Please hurry, Malachi, he thought. Time is running out. They are coming.

* * *

Above Ephraim, crouched amidst the pressed oak beams that supported the structures ceiling, a single pair of eyes looked down at the one-time Enforcer. The Council's agents were not coming , as Ephraim feared. They or rather, he had already arrived. If he had looked up, he might have seen the dark shadow hiding among the lighter ones in his ceiling, but he never so much as glanced upward. His visitor thought lack of sustenance to be the cause of Ephraim's inattentiveness, and he shook his head in disbelief. From his dark vantage point, he watched the scene unfold, memorizing the layout of the room for future reference.