The Asjera Midjanitter Story: Durjodhanas War

The Asjera Midjanitter Story

Zswarupa Part 1

By

M C Tarnisle

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Knut Ofstbo

Copyright 2010 M C Tarnisle

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ZSWRUPA - The Mysterious Rose

EHYE ASJER EHYE

Introduction

Part I: LORD OF THE SOUL

Chapter 1: The Star

Chapter 2: Seraph

Chapter 3: John

Chapter 4: The Mysterious Rose

Chapter 5: The Lineage

Chapter 6: The Crol Procedure

Chapter 7: The Velvet Night

Chapter 8: The New Era

Chapter 9: The New Pact

Chapter 10: Father Degar

Chapter 11: The Plan

Chapter 12: A Call from Another World

Chapter 13: Flaming Red Blood on Burning Hot Iron

Chapter 14: The Needle

Chapter 15: Beneath a Different Sun

Chapter 16: The Rose

Chapter 17: A Gentleman

Chapter 18: Perfect Evil

Chapter 19:Amos Tekoa

Chapter 20: Weed

Chapter 21: Where You Walk

Part II: BIBEL

Chapter 22: The Demon

Chapter 23: The Man from Izcoytacur

Chapter 24: Anubis, The Angel of Death

Chapter 25: Tracks

Chapter 26: Nirvana

Chapter 27: The White Book

Chapter 28: Doctor Soul Blackledder’s Dark Secret; The Farm

Chapter 29: Thought is the only Reality

Chapter 30: The Fourth Case

Chapter 31: The Surrealistic Angel

Chapter 32: Inch Allah

Chapter 33: The God’s Law

Chapter 34: Izcoytacur

Chapter 35: Bibel

Chapter 36: The Long Day

Chapter 37: The Game

Chapter 38: The Safe Room

Chapter 39: The Signs

Chapter 40: The Last Archangel

Chapter 41: The Entity

Chapter 42: Don’t Trust Anyone Who’s Been Bleeding for Three Days and is Not Yet Dead

Chapter 43: Reality’s Reality

Chapter 44: Black Moon, 10,000 Nights

Part I - LORD OF THE SOUL

Chapter 1: The Star

It was quiet in the sleepy, little Portugese village of Fatima in the Province of Estremadura.

The burning hot sun made people calmly seek the shade. It was the year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and seventeen.

Suddenly the peaceful silence was interrupted by the shouting from excited children. Three shepherd children came running through the narrow main street with the tiny, whitewashed houses. They were all shouting at once, pointing towards the valley. One of them, Lucia Santos, tripped and lost her shoe, but she stubbornly got up without letting a single teardrop fall as she limped along.

Wait! Wait for me!

Her brother Francesco stopped and waited impatiently for his sister. His cheeks were blushing from the excitement.

Hurry up Lucia! We have to tell Mom!

As they got closer to the old, whitewashed brick-house where they lived, they waved goodbye to their friend, Jacinta Marcos, who excitedly waved back before she disappeared into the house next door.

Francesco and Lucia charged into the small kitchen. Their mother, who was baking bread by the stove, turned around in surprise, but before she had the chance to open her mouth, the children had thrown themselves at her. They both spoke nervously at the same time.

Mom! There is a lady down in the valley, by the sheep pasture!

Oh, Mom, she was beautiful! She glowed and….she talked to us!

The children stared wide-eyed at their mother.

Slow down children. Take it easy and then you can tell me, one at a time.

Mrs. Santos removed her apron and sat down on the old worn-out bench next to the stove. She wiped beads of sweat from her forehead with a rag and smiled gently at her children.

Now you can tell me all about it, one at a time.

She lifted her hand in warning. Francesco started; he was, after all, a man. He stared at his mother for a second before he started out.

We were down by the big rocks by the pastures in Cova da Iria when something strange happened. The girls and I had just sat down to rest in the shade for a while when we heard a strange and unusual sound, sort of a crackling above the big three. We got scared and stared at the three. Then all of a sudden we heard a bang. And then…right out of thin air, this huge bubble came drifting down from the sky. Francesco eagerly drew the bubble in the air in front of his mother.

No, no! It was not like that!

Lucia was getting impatient, she wanted to tell too.

It was just there…all of a sudden!

All right then! All of a sudden!

Francesco glared irritated at his sister who had interrupted him. Then he looked back at his mother, both hands buried deep in his pockets.

At first, we got very scared and hid behind the big rocks. But after a while I went over to get a closer look. And then I realized that a glowing lady was sitting inside the bubble. She radiated…it was so beautiful!

He looked at his sister who concurred by nodding excitedly and taking her mother’s hand.

And Mom, you know what? All of a sudden she talked to us! She, the lady that is. The one who was sitting inside the bubble!

Mrs. Santos glared at the children, incredulous. Was it possible to have such an imagination? Her voice got serious.

You know it’s not nice to lie! I want have it from either one of you!

She knit her brows and gave them a strict stare.

But, Mom! It is true! Cross my heart!

Both children crossed themselves. Lucia looked at her brother.

Show her your arms Francesco!

Francesco got up and rolled up the sleeves of his ragged shirt as he walked towards his mother.

Look Mom! I got burned when I touched it!

He looked at her, uncertain, and a little proud as well, before he showed her his underarms. Mrs. Santos studied them with great concern and lovingly stroked the red splotches. Both of Francesco’s arms were red and swollen. It looked like he had been badly sunburned. Her little son continued to tell his story, his cheeks red with excitement.

"While we were talking to the lady, Jacinta and I went closer and touched the bubble. That’s when we got burned. It didn’t hurt much, but the lady got very angry and told us we would die if we touched her.

The mother looked fearfully at her son. She did not know what to believe. She asked sceptically:

Was Jacinta there with you too?

Her children answered in unison:

Yes, Mom!

And did this lady tell you where she was coming from?

Mrs. Santos voice had become hesitant; she put her hand nervously on her mouth and stared tensely at the children.

She told us that she came from the stars….from Heaven. She said she had come to help us!

Did she tell you her name?

The mother bit her lower lip, her eyes had widened and she crossed herself vehemently.

No, she did not…

The children kept chattering, both at the same time. Finally, Francesco got the word. He looked at his mother with huge eyes and grabbed her hand before he said in an uncertain voice:

She just told us that she was from the stars?!

The rumours spread quickly in the small village. By noon the following day, most of the inhabitants had heard about the event. Fatima had suddenly become a very lively place. Everybody was talking about it. What had really happened in the valley? Some shook their heads in consternation while others wanted to know more.

The children were walking down the main street, holding hands and wearing their best clothes for the occasion. Their parents walked proudly next to them, also dressed in their finest attire even though it was in the middle of the week. But this was no ordinary walk for the small group on this beautiful summer day. They were on their way to visit The Holy Father and Bishop of Fatima.

The inside of the church was cool and dark. The small group moved, uncertain, across the floor, they were seldom this close to the altar. They were poor farmers and their usual place was in the back of the church. But this time the Bishop had told them that they were to come all the way up to his office this time.

The Holy Father was in deep prayer when the small group entered the room. The parents waited by the door while the children continued walking, uncertain, hand in hand, towards His Holiness. A solitary candle was burning on the small private altar and the smell of incense hit them and filled their bodies with veneration. High up on the wall a small, lead glass painting caught the rays from the sun and made the whitewashed walls in the tiny room shine in all colours of the rainbow.

When His Holiness became aware of his guests arrival, he turned around and looked seriously at the children. The Bishop was only human. He usually let God be the judge, but he realized that this situation was something way out of the ordinary. And here they were, these two little children. He looked at them -- one by one -- and they lowered their eyes in front of him. It created a small lump in his throat when he realized how seriously the children treated the situation. The old man studied his guest for a while before he sat down on a worn wooden chair next to the children. He cleared his throat reverently.

You know what great of a sin it is to lie? And that everything that is said is heard by the God Almighty?

The children widened their eyes and looked very seriously at His Holiness.

Yes, Father!

All three of them quickly lowered their gaze to the floor.

Then I want you to tell me exactly what you experienced yesterday when you were herding in the valley.

Francesco, as usual, did the talking. He looked at the girls before he started to tell their story. Once in a while he was interrupted by the girls, but the three of them were pretty much in agreement as to what had happened. At the end, Francesco and Jacinta showed their arms which by now had been covered with soothing lotion. His Holiness studied them carefully before he, with faltering voice, blessed the children.

Finally, the children said that the lady had promised that she would be back on the 13th of every month; that is, the next time would be on June 13th, and she wanted them to return as well. The children had also been told to bring paper and pencils so they could write down the messages that would be given to them.

June 13th was one day which would never be forgotten in the history of the village. Several hundred people were gathered at Cova da Iria. They all wanted to see her. Rumours had it that it was the Holy Virgin who had appeared in front of the children.

Everybody talked simultaneously while watching the children who were standing a little further out in the field. Behind them stood the Holy Father in his black robe which fluttered in the warm summer breeze.

All of a sudden, something happened. The children started pointing and talking, there was a gasp coming from the crowd and everyone looked expectantly towards the sky. The children continued talking, seemingly into thin air. Lucia Santos pulled out her notebook and diligently wrote on the yellowish, small pages. Then a second gasp cut through the crowd as the Bishop fell trembling to the ground. The Holy Father had heard parts of the conversation and was sure that it was the Virgin who was revealing herself to the children.

The Village of Fatima was never the same after that. The revelations happened on the 13th of every month just as the Holy Virgin had promised. The last revelation was going to take place on October 13, 1917. By then, the occurrence was well known far beyond the borders of Portugal. Pilgrims in great numbers made the journey to Fatima.

On October 13th 1917, around 80,000 people were gathered in the field. Those who were there would have an experience which would effect them for the rest of their long lives - because most of the people that were there that day would become very old.

The rain was pouring down incessantly. It was if the sky had opened, but that did not affect the loyal spectators. Everybody was looking at the three children who was standing at their usual spot a little further out in the field, the Holy Father right behind them.

Then the rain stopped. Everyone was looking at the blue sky as the sun suddenly appeared from behind the clouds. THE SUN MIRACLE IN FATIMA HAD STARTED! But the strange thing was that the sun did not blind anyone. As it slowly emerged from the clouds, the paralyzed crowd of people could hear strange rushing and crackling sounds cutting through the firmament.

Suddenly the sun started to make rash movements. It turned to the right and to the left and at last it started rotating around its own axis at an incredible speed – just like a lightning wheel. Green, blue and violet rays of light shot out from the sun and painted the landscape in an indescribable light. The strange vision lasted all of 12 minutes and it could be seen in a radius of 40 kilometres.

At every revelation, the children had received a message. The oldest one, Lucia Santos, born on March 22nd 1907, had written down everything in a book which she handed over to the Bishop when everything was over. A few years later, she joined a convent. The other two children who had touched the bubble died of a mysterious illness right after the revelations. The Holy Virgin’s warning that those who touched her would die, came true. The notes and the sketches of the message of the third revelation were not made public until 1960. Then they were delivered to the Pope in Rome in a sealed envelope. It was Pope Pius XII who received the envelope and further transferred it to the Holy Office.

In 1960 John XXII was the leader of the Curia in Rome. The secret letter was opened behind well-guarded doors. Monsignor Paulo Jose Tavares had the honour of translating the letters. The message shocked the honoured gathering. The letters contained admonitions about how life on this earth should be lived, about the dangers of war and about the need for compassion for other people. It said that religions were an abomination and that the worship of any gods had to be avoided at all costs. This was emphasized by calling Buddhism the only right way of life for humankind.

Not a word was written about the church, Christianity, or other religions. In addition, there were several indecipherable sketches which contained several points connected by lines.

One of the sheets was different in that way that it contained a drawing of some sort of a wheel with strange symbols and inscriptions on the front of it. At the bottom of the page, Lucia had written: By this sign a new era will start and a new Deva (half-god) will reign.

In 1986, the top secret writings, of which the Vatican knew of only six, were in all secrecy examined by experts. This resulted in another shock for the Holy assembly. It appeared that some of the sketches were celestial maps where the star Zeta 1 Reticuli was in the centre. The whole map encompassed a radius of 55 light years, and about a thousand stars.

Astronomers classify stars using candle powers etc. This information showed that there were around 50 stars which could belong to the G-2 category; comparable to the sun. The very uncomfortable question arose in the minds of these few initiated men: Who were these strangers and where did they come from?

Naturally, it was unanimously agreed by this Holy little assembly that the information remained top secret.

Chapter 2: Seraph

Tharah yawned and thoughtfully rubbed her tires, red eyes. Finally the unit was quiet. She stopped at the end of the pale, long, yellow hallway to give it a last glance. The red exit lights at the end peered lazily at her. The clock above the door showed 2:44 a.m. It was night at Central Hospital. She stopped at the top of the hundred-year-old granite stairs in the back. Her dark, thick hair hung heavily on her shoulders and felt like a shield against the ice-cold draft. It felt great just to stand there and inhale the cold, raw New York City air. The mist from the many ventilators looked like wild, grey fierce tongues as it twisted up along the walls and silently disappeared into the quiet winter night. Its times like this that gives life meaning Tharah thought as she automatically lifted her hand towards the collar of her grey, worn-out coat, trying to find the top button that she knew was missing. Once again she took a deep breath and enjoyed the cold, clean air which filled her lungs.

She started to walk briskly along the quiet winter street, the crunch of new snow underneath her shoes was unfamiliar and the snow created a thin white layer on the otherwise muddy, black asphalt. Some trash haulers on the other side of the street called to each other as they dragged the heavy trashcans into the street. The men made her feel safe; she raised her hand and waved at them. They waved back with familiarity as they got into the truck and hurried on. They were always working at this hour Tharah thought to herself, always when she was on her way home. Suddenly a cold gust made her pull her coat tighter around her body. A group of tired barflies came out from a side street – on their way home after a wet night out. They laughed as they threw snow at each other, their laughter sounded metallic as it echoed in the almost empty street.

The snow came down more heavily now, far into the falling snow she could discern two shapes walking towards her. Slowly and ominously they got closer. Fear started to build up inside of her as both men walked straight at her without giving an inch. One of them was African-American, darker than the night itself. He was wearing a long, black leather coat with a fur collar. On his head, an old top hat which was decorated with some strange silver pins. His hands were covered by dirty, white fingerless gloves. That was the last thing she notices until she felt his drunken, bad breath as he pressed his face into hers and blocked her way. The man stood over six feet tall, he sneered menacingly at her. The other man stood at a distance and waited as he pulled out a brown paper bag from his pocket and took a good sip of the contents of the bottle while staring at his buddy.

Where do you think you’re going you old hag?

The stranger grabbed her tightly and brutally pulled her closer. She was paralyzed by fear; Tharah had to use all her energy to give him just as tough an answer.

None of your business, you idiot!

A touch of uncertainty came over his lazy look, but it soon disappeared when his buddy called excitedly:

Take the damned whore home with you Sly! Let’s go!

Tharah suddenly exploded in a chaos of arms and legs and pulled herself free from the stranger’s iron grip while pushing with all her might. The man stared at her for a moment, confused, before he lost his balance and fell backwards, flailing his arms. He remained down on the street, wriggling in a chaos of trash and trashcans while Tharah, desperate with fear, started to run towards the gate of her apartment building.

Grab her, Rygon! Damned it, grab her!

Where were her keys? She was digging through her pockets. Even though Rygon was very drunk, he reacted quickly. With an irritated sneer, he gave his buddy a dirty look before he threw his bottle and went after his victim with long, heavy steps.

Tharah was running for her life, she knew all too well what would happen if the attackers caught her. Her thoughts were focused on her keys. She ripped her purse open with one hand and started to throw all the small items on the ground as she simultaneously pulled off her heavy coat and threw it on the sidewalk. There they were! She could feel the cold metal of the keys in her hand. Nothing else mattered now. Purse and contents were scattered all over in the snow. The black wrought-iron gate came into view in the heavy snowfall. She could hear the heavy steps behind her getting closer….twenty yards more, she thought. Just twenty more yards..

Shaking with fear she got the key in the lock. Suddenly a couple of strong arms grabbed her around the waist and pulled her sown onto the street. She could feel the heavy weight of the big man as he forced her down on her back and straddled her. The pale face behind the yellowish, long, soaking-wet hair which fell dripping and threatening towards her, scared her to death. Paralyzed she stared at the ugly, red scar which stretched from his left eye to the corner of his mouth where it changed into a red sausage which continued down his throat. The attacker peered intently at his victim and sneered satisfied.

SLYY! Get over here and help me!

Rygon panted and was obviously tired after the short run. His bad breath, a combination of cheap alcohol and rotten teeth, made her gag. Her tears broke out and the attacker changed into a grey mass which moved clumsily on top of her. In a moment of desperation she tried to wriggle out of the iron grip, but she soon realized it was no use. His powerfull hold were too tight. Finally, she just laid there motionless. Her attacker mumbled something and smiled at her triumphantly.

Sly! Get your ass over here and help me! Now!

Rygon turned and looked irritably over his shoulder to get a response from his buddy, but Sly’s attention was already on another person who was approaching him slowly. It had stopped snowing and the visibility had improved. Rygon glared ominously at the intruder, He gave a dirty look as he let go his grip on Tharah’s hair so he better could see what his buddy would do.

Sly sautered confidently towards the intruder. A long bladed knife shone in his right hand. His little game had been interrupted and for that reason he could easily kill. As he got closer to the intruder who was so stupid to meddle in his private matters, he started cursing. Unintelligible, drunken phrases started to flow from Sly’s mouth, damning the stranger to Hell and back. When there were just a few feet between them, Sly looked him in the eye and stopped instantly. The stranger looked at him with a glance that made his blood freeze in his veins. The cold, blue eyes shot at him like lightning and Sly felt the hair on his back stand up. But it was not just the cold eyes which made him uncertain; it was the man himself, his whole demeanour. Sly was one of the old street-fighters and, even though it had been a long time, he understood that he had been overpowered.

The stranger continued quietly, unaffected by Sly’s vulgar and terrible language. He walked right up to Sly’s face before he stopped. There was no sign of fear in his expressionless face. His thick hair was combed back and reached way down onto his shoulders and it seem to have been treated with some strange, spicy oil. Nervously, Sly inhaled the unusual smell and took a couple of steps back as he knit his brows in suspicion. His eyes had become narrow slits as he looked at the stranger from head to toe.

The intruder wore a long, tight, black jacket which was way too flimsy for winter. It looked like a biker’s jacket with a very modern cut. The bottom of the sleeves were decorated with five golden stripes each, something which immediately gave the jacket a military look.

Sly studied the jacket sceptically. He knit his brows again. On the left side of the chest was a strange sign which suddenly caught his interest. Inside a triangle which seemed embedded in the jacket was a blue swastika glowing at him. Sly just stood there, transfixed, staring at the famous sign until he looked down and noticed that the man’s slacks seemed to be made of the same fabric as the jacket and a thin, white stripe went down each leg where it disappeared into a pair of long shiny riding boots.

The two giants stood there quiet for a moment, giving each other challenging looks. All of a sudden, Sly’s eyes lit up. Quick as lightning, he threw himself forward and stabbed at the stranger who, with elegant ease, slid away from the huge knife blade and gave the attacker a little push which sent him on a little run until something knocked his feet away and he flailed onto the ground. They locked eyes again and Sly’s eyes grew in amazement. An invisible power started to push him back down to the street and for the first time in a very long time, a strange feeling came over him. A feeling ha had almost forgotten crept up his back, the feeling of fear took hold of his body. He stared uncomprehendingly at the stranger.

Instantly, an indescribable pain shot through his body and uncontrollable jerks made him fall to the ground. He sat on the snow-covered winter street, shaking and completely out of control. Blood poured out of his nose and eyes and ran in small rivers down his terrified face. A small red pool appeared between Sly’s legs. He bent his head and looked at the steaming red spot in surprise while it slowly increased mercilessly in the new fallen snow. And then he felt it! The quiet winter night was suddenly cut in half by a scream that went straight through the heart. It was the scream of a person afraid of death, a scream from a helpless person facing death, from a poor little person afraid to die. It was so indescribably filled with horror that it gave Tharah got goose bumps all over her body. She shuddered and stared at the attacker who was still sitting on top of her, panting from his short run. His gaze was locked on the unreal scene unfolding before them. The man was clearly surprised by the situation. An ugly sneer crossed his gaping face as he gave Tharah an angry look before he cursed violently and went to help his friend.

Rygon found his buddy on his knees, crying hysterically and mumbling incoherently to himself. Shaking from shock, Sly lifted his face in confusion when he heard footsteps coming closer. Blood was still streaming from his eyes. Desperate and blinded by his own blood, he started to stab wildly with the large knife and Rygon stopped in his tracks. His otherwise tough, confident face was instantly changed into a stiff, doughy mask. He could not believe his own eyes.

It’s me! It’s Rygon!

His voice had become mild, compassionate. Sly dropped the knife into the snow while he squinted at his friend. Uncontrolled jerks still ran through his ravaged body and made his voice quiver. A word which Rygon long ago had deleted from his limited vocabulary escaped Sly’s quaking lips. The word hit him hard. Actually, he did not think the word existed any more. The forgotten word cut through his heart like a knife and made him look down at his companion in shock.

Mercy…..

Rygon’s anger made his heart stop in his chest as he sent a last glance down the street and saw the stranger slowly disappear into the cold, dark New York night. He bowed his head over his buddy in confusion and exclaimed: What the Hell...has happened to you?!

Chapter 3: John

New York City! Big, threatening, exciting, ugly, beautiful, dirty, clean….a lot could be said about it, but it really was the city above all others. It was noon and the city was fully awake. Drivers hit their horns and brakes, sirens screamed, people yelled and called at each other. All of this became a deep humming sound which only was noticed by outsiders. The big city pulsated with heavy, even breaths, like a huge well-oiled machine.

The sun had pushed itself through the clouds and gave the streets a silvery, grey shine as the two girls closed the gate behind them and started walking down the street. There were only small puddles left from last night’s snowfall. The heat had quietly erased all traces from the dramatic event and the two friends walked slowly down 47th and 7th. Asjera gesticulated and chatted away incessantly.Tharah looked at Miss Midjanitter. They had met a few years ago during some very dramatic circumstances when they both had been involuntarily involved in an armed robbery at the Wall Street Bank. Tharah could not forget that day when Asjera, the gifted orator that she had proven to be, literally talked the weapons out of the robbers’ hands.

Her friend was indeed a very special woman. Her beautiful, chiselled profile gave her an almost majestic look which complemented her black hair which, at the moment, was braided in hundreds of small braids with colourful beads. In addition, the eminent woman was dressed for the occasion in a red, wide-brimmed hat, and floor-length chequered coat which covered her lace blouse and her long, black skirt slit up to her thigh and a pair of red, spike heeled boots. Tharah was, in deep contrast to her friends outfit, dressed in jeans, a leather jacket and running shoes. She smiled to herself, what a nice pair they were! Different, but also very much alike. The two of them had shared an apartment for four years now and Tharah had gotten to know Asjera very well by now, she was extremely intelligent. She had studied at several universities and interned at The Royal Academy of Art in London for three years, majoring in Advanced Mathematical Cubism. Of course, she had been named the top scholar every year. At her first exhibit, she had sold her pieces of work for at least $ 10,000 each.

After finishing her studies, she was offered contracts at some of the best known galleries in London, Paris and New York, but Asjera was not interested. She wanted to take a break, so instead of art she wanted to start working with orphans in New York City. A decision which had caused uproar in certain artistic circles. You could ask Asjera about most things because she knew everything. Tharah would never forget the party they had attended at some friend’s house. She had had a little too much to wine and had been bragging endlessly to a medical student about Asjera’s fantastic memory. The young man did not believe her, but finally Tharah had challenged him to ask Asjera about anything he could possibly think of.

Ask her anything you want!

The student had been thinking for quite a while before he finally came up with a question. Proud of his own creativity, he had turned to Asjera:

What is the weight of a $ 100 bill?

Miss Midjanitter was not interested in answering such an inoccuos question and the medical student smiled triumphantly at Tharah.

Answer, Asjera!

Finally, Asjera got tired of the fuss and gave Tharah a disgusted look before she indifferently turned to the student.

Do you have a $ 100 bill?

He smiled smugly as he pulled out a bill from his pocket. Asjera took it and immediately gave it back to its owner.

0.0762 grams….. Was the terse answer. The student found the answer later that evening when he searched the web and he was quite surprised. A $ 100 bill weighs 0.0762 grams. How many people in the world would know the answer to that one? 200 and maybe a few counterfeiters? This was Asjera Midjanitter in a nut-shell, there was no one like her.

Asjera’s father was born in England, but in the 1950’s he had travelled to China to teach. She had never mentioned her mother and Tharah had grudgingly set for that. The light brown complexion of her skin revealed that Asjera must have some African genes, but her eyes attracted the most attention. They were a very distinct blue, a colour which became even more prominent in her glowing, perfect face. All of a sudden Tharah went rigid and her heart skipped a beat. Alarmed, she reached out and grabbed Asjera’s coat. She whispered nervously in her friend’s ear.

I…I think that’s one of them!

One of the guys from last night? One of the attackers?

Asjera’s voice had turned sharp, the merry tone was gone. Tharah pointed at a man wearing a long, black coat who was leaning up against the corner of a building across the street, about 100 feet ahead of them. He was smoking a cigarette and watching the people passing by.

Yes, I….

Take it easy!

Asjera slowed down and pulled Tharah over to a display window. They stood there for a minute while they secretly studied the man in the reflection of the huge window. Asjera’s look changed. Her soft look had been replaced with a sharp, almost feral expression. Tharah looked fearfully at her friend as she bit her lower lip. Asjera mumbled at her:

Let’s go a little closer.

She grasped Tharah’s arm securely as they started to walk slowly across the street, towards the stranger. Tharah followed her friend reluctantly as she desperately tried to cover her face with one hand.

Are you sure we should do this Asjera?

Tharah felt fear take a hold of her, her legs would not co-operate. She came to a complete stop in the middle of the street. Suddenly, the man turned around. Tharah exhaled and let go