historical fiction by Katherine Grace Bond

Nikos can't be dying, Kallias thought, hoisting his little brother's bed up the steep trail. Papa lifted the other end over rocks and brambles.

“Breathe, Nikos,” Kallias pleaded with each step. “Breathe.”

Mama, who should have stayed below in Demetriada, hurried alongside the pallet and touched the 5-year- old's forehead. “He's so hot.”

“We must keep going.” Papa's voice was flat.

The place where they were taking Nikos was forbidden. Kallias tried not to think about what the gods' punishment might be for such a betrayal. Whatever it was, he deserved it. His sin had made his brother sick.

The trouble had started on Kallias' 11th birthday. On that day he stood before the statue of Asklepios, god of healing, and vowed to adore him as his favorite god.

But Kallias had neglected his worship. Storms had destroyed most of Papa's crops. Kallias worked like a man alongside his father, but they were still starving.

Then Nikos got sick. Papa and Mama took him to the temple to sleep and sold their goat to pay a doctor. Still, coughs wracked Nikos' small body.

“My bones hurt,” he groaned when he awoke in front of the great stone god.

My bones should hurt, Kallias thought. I was the one who turned my back on Asklepios.

The doctor almost refused to see Nikos, claiming the goat money was not enough. When he did look at the boy, he paced about.

“What did you dream?” he demanded.

Nikos smiled faintly. “I saw a lamb,” he said, “with a kind face. On a golden throne.”

The doctor's forehead wrinkled.

“I walked up to the throne,” Nikos continued, “and the lamb kissed me.”

“That's all?”

“Yes,” Nikos said. He coughed.

“Mars and Saturn are in conjunction.” The doctor looked at Papa. “It does not bode well.”

“But the dream?” Mama interrupted.

“I make no sense of it,” the doctor said. He held up an amulet. “Perhaps you'd like a healing charm?”

“I've no more money,” Papa whispered.

The doctor shrugged and tucked the amulet back in his tunic.

Now they were taking Nikos to a forbidden place.

Kallias shifted Nikos' pallet gently as they approached a dwelling that was part house, part cave. Two women lived here. Christians.

Kallias' stomach hurt. Bringing Nikos here was like kicking dirt on Asklepios. The women rejected the pagan, temple gods entirely and followed a Jewish prophet who had been crucified for rebellion before Kallias was born. Christians claimed the prophet Jesus Christ had come back to life.

Mama had first heard the rumors. These sisters, once rich, had given away everything they owned. It was said they could heal the sick and didn't expect money.

Kallias awoke in the night to whispered voices. He squinted. Two women leaned over Nikos in the candlelight. Mama and Papa slept on the floor.

“Zenaida,” the older woman spoke, “bring a new poultice for his chest. I can't leave him. His fever's high. I fear for him.”

“Hush, Philonella,” the younger woman said. “Prayer, not fear. Is not Jesus, our God and Savior, the Master of all healers?”

Foolish words! Kallias sat upright. “Asklepios is the master of all healers!”

Zenaida turned, her eyes gentle.

“Asklepios is the master healer,” Kallias repeated. “If he couldn't heal Nikos, no one can.” He gritted his teeth as the reality of those words hit. No one can heal Nikos. The gods are angry.

Zenaida touched his shoulder. “Are you afraid, Kallias?”

Kallias closed his eyes and nodded.

“I am too sometimes,” she said. “But Christ, our God, shines brighter than fear. I pray so that I may look into the face of love.”

“It's my fault Nikos is sick.”

Zenaida lifted Kallias' chin. “It's no one's fault.” She straightened her shoulders. “We shall see the one true God glorified.”

Morning sunlight slanted across Kallias' face. He threw off his blanket.

Where is Nikos? For three days, the sisters had tended him as his fever rose and fell. Had he worsened in the night? Kallias bolted to the dining room.

Zenaida sat with Kallias' parents, calmly eating soup. It was the first he'd seen her eat since they arrived. Beside her Nikos chewed on a piece of bread.

“Kallias!” Nikos stood from the table, stumbled over and wrapped his arms around his brother. Kallias laughed. Wonder flooded over him like spring rain, and he felt his fear wash away.

Good Doctors

Some scholars have called Zenaida and Philonella the “Mothers of Modern Medicine.” According to accounts, the pair were relatives of Apostle Paul and heard the gospel from their cousin Jason, Bishop of Tarsus. The sisters reportedly practiced medicine in a cave dwelling near the thermal springs of Thessaly, where they healed through prayer and shared Christ with all. Unlike the pagan doctors of the time, they took a special interest in the poor and refused payment for their services.

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