Chapter 5: Into the Garden

Wrapped in his cloak against the night's chill, Michael tracked the shadow ahead silently as forest paths dissolved into an open meadow. Pale moonlight filtering through gnarled olive boughs granted just enough vision to follow unwaveringly.

A dim glow now shone ahead between ancient trunks. Slipping nearer with held breath, Michael peered through leaves and saw the gathering: Jesus, asleep on the grass, while eleven figures conversed anxiously nearby. His warning had brought them to this wilderness refuge too late.

A rustle drew his eye to a darker figure detaching from the trees. Michael started, but it was only Judas emerging from the gloom. Heart sinking, he watched the betrayer approach the dozing Savior respectfully and stir him awake to walk apart from the group. There, in that moonlit glade between gnarled silhouettes, the last fateful act was played.

"Greetings, Rabbi," murmured Judas softly. Jesus merely looked at him, his eyes kind but knowing. "Do what you have come to do."

As they embraced, Michael glimpsed something small and glinting pass between them. Silver for the one who would deliver the Son of Man to his own. Revulsion and grief wrenched Michael's guts at the transaction's hollow intimacy.

Judas withdrew, melting back towards the city, while Jesus returned to his disciples. Michael did not follow the traitor; his place was here till the end, as promised, though despair gripped him at witnessing the inevitable unfolding he could not stop.

Jesus spoke calmly to his men. "Remain here and keep watch with me." Then he withdrew alone, farther into the grove.

Slipping soundlessly through pale trunks, Michael stole among the ancient boles until a clearing opened before a small knoll. There in the diminishing moonlight knelt the Lord of all creation, face raised beseechingly to the silent stars.

"Father," prayed Jesus in a voice rending with the burdens of humanity, "if you are willing, take this cup from me. Yet not my will, but yours, be done."

Three times he repeated the plaintive cry before rising, serenity restored to his countenance. As Michael watched in awestruck grief, he knew that in the garden of Gethsemane, the fate of the world had hung in balance and been willingly shouldered by its redeemer.

Now only the darkest hour remained. Michael took a steady breath and went to stand watch at the grove's edge, ready to stand by Jesus' side as whatever end may come. Beyond the moonlit olive rows, a deeper darkness was closing in.

Before the eastern hills grew gray with approaching dawn, a noise like a storm broke the hollow peace—the tramp of armored sandals, the jangle of weapons, and the grind of mail. From the shadows erupted a torchlit host, startling birds from their roosts in treetop commotion. At their lead marched the scowling form of Judas.

The betrayer stepped forward, the kiss still fresh on his lips, and unwittingly sealed his people's fate. "Hail, Rabbi!" he called with false cheer. Jesus merely acknowledged him sadly as the detachment closed in. The final hour was at hand, and with it, the supreme test of faith...