Taras watched them disappear into the building. The hunger in his belly faded to an insistent rumble, but he ignored it. He had eyes only for the red flower, which the man had removed from his hair and stuck into the woman’s cleavage. It was the same kind of flower as those he brought to Mary’s tomb. Had it really only been less than a month ago? It seemed like a thousand years had passed since the events in Jerusalem. His life had taken a turn for the better when he met Mary and a turn for the worse when he met the Bachiyr, Theron.

Not even a month, he thought. Yet his clothes were as ragged and threadbare as if he’d been laid to rest years ago. Upon his death in Jerusalem, the Legion had buried him in uniform. On his third night as a Bachiyr, he had acquired clothing from one of the Judean peasants. The man had not willingly given up his clothes, of course. He’d been one of Taras’ first victims, just before some of the people in the city began to glow in that strange, unearthly manner. Taras had no idea what the glow meant, but it made him uncomfortable enough to leave those people alone.

Not everyone glowed, of course. Here in Antioch, very few people did, especially in his current location. But it seemed like every evening Taras would see at least three or four of them walking through the city. Even now, one such man walked through the middle of the street, keeping his distance from the brothels and taverns, and talking to a young boy who did not glow. Taras had seen this before, too. Sometimes the other person would begin to glow, as well, and sometimes not.

He thought it had something to do with the dead rabbi, Jesus.