“When Jonah reached the top of the hill from the beach, his stomach twisted at the sight of the countless graves scattered across the wide plateau. He stopped for a moment on the path, suddenly realizing that the ground he was about to walk on was sacred.” – Full chapter below.
I’m excited to share the opening scene of “The Shadows of Gerasa” with you.
This is a preview, still evolving, but polished enough to give you a real sense of the story. If you’re here because you love Follett-style historical fiction (interwoven lives, rich historical detail, multiple perspectives), I’m hoping you’ll see that influence clearly.
What I’m hoping for: your honest feedback.
- Does the opening hook you?
- Does the setting feel authentic without info-dumping?
- Is the character voice working?
Thanks for reading, your thoughts mean everything at this stage!
[START]
The Incident in the Tomb
When Jonah reached the top of the hill from the beach, his stomach twisted at the sight of the countless graves scattered across the wide plateau. He stopped for a moment on the path, suddenly realizing that the ground he was about to walk on was sacred. The scorching summer sun had dried and gilded the spring greenery, leaving only withered remnants that stirred in the highland breeze across this desolate landscape. Looking back, the Sea of Galilee stretched endlessly to the horizon.
His friend Shimon, who had agreed to let Jonah accompany him, walked ahead and called back casually:
“Well, are you coming?”
Jonah resumed walking behind his companion, his heart beating faster as he gradually took in his surroundings. His thoughts raced, driven by a morbid excitement mixed with the apprehension of exploring the unknown.
This was the first time he had set foot on the land of the dead.
When Shimon reached his father’s grave, he asked for a moment to pay his respects. “Wait for me somewhere nearby. I’ll come find you when I’m finished,” he said solemnly, his voice wavering.
Jonah nodded, though his mind was already elsewhere. Before moving away, however, he noticed that his father’s grave had been freshly filled in. It was bordered by roughly hewn stone slabs that formed an orderly frame all around. Shimon pulled away the few weeds that dared to spread across the surface of the grave, then knelt directly in front of it and began to weep.
Jonah moved quietly away without a sound and began his exploration along the path.
On their way back from the beach that late afternoon, Shimon had told his friends to return to the village without him. He had said he wanted to visit his father’s grave by taking the hill path. Jonah had eagerly offered to join him, driven purely by curiosity. He didn’t know what to expect. Since all his family members were alive and living under the same roof, he had never attended a funeral. His parents had gone to a few burials of village members, including Shimon’s father. Pa had explained that his friend had lost his father tragically several moons ago.
He had been part of a group of three who had left very early, before dawn when the sea was calm, and had spent the day fishing offshore. The account of the tragedy had been brought back to Shimon’s mother and his two brothers by the two survivors when they returned after that dreadful night. Thunder had begun to rumble in the early evening, and the elements had unleashed their fury. They had been forced to begin their return under full sail, but after some time the winds had become too violent for the sail, which they had had to take down. They had tried to use it as long as possible to get back quickly, but this mistake had proved fatal.
Shimon’s father had taken charge of removing it while the others tried as best they could to keep the boat relatively stable given the conditions. The sail was securely fastened to the crossbeam, and the wind had made his task difficult. It had taken him a long time to manage to untie it. And it was at that precise moment, when the sail was freed with such brutal force, that the crossbeam, which made a sudden rotation, struck him violently with its end right in the temple. He had collapsed in the boat without moving.
His companions, though shocked, had not had time to come to his aid—their own lives were also in danger. With great effort, they had finally managed to detach the sail and stabilize the vessel. When they approached his father to examine him, he was no longer of this world.
Jonah remembered that after hearing this story, he had understood the dangers of the fishing trade, which he did not wish to pursue. He understood Shimon’s pain—he could not imagine losing his father; the very thought was unbearable to him. He shook off these grim thoughts and continued walking.
Jonah noticed that the graves were placed on either side of the path that started at the bottom of the beach, climbed the hill along its rocky flank, then crossed the plateau through its center to end at the village of Gergesa, slightly downhill. It was the shortest route from the village to the beach, but also the steepest and most difficult. Only the fishermen used it daily. Others, like children, preferred the main road that went around the hill. This took longer but was the main access for outside visitors, especially those arriving by cart.
As he walked slowly along the graveled path, he noticed that the farther one went toward the village, the more elaborate the burial sites became. The first were simple rectangular pits covered with limestone slabs, respecting the ancestral precepts of a burial that was modest but proper and dignified. Jonah noticed that some were adorned with carved limestone steles, standing like silent guardians with the names of the deceased inscribed on their faces. The carved motifs represented various images: pomegranates symbolized eternity, olive branches evoked peace, and sometimes simple menorahs decorated the soft stone. Other graves were protected by small rectangular constructions with flat stone roofs, true family monuments that sheltered niches where offerings of perfumed oil and incense were placed.
But steps carved directly into the ground in the limestone of the hill and descending underground intrigued Jonah. Several of these openings were scattered across the rocky terrain. Some were even protected by a wall of roughly hewn stones and topped with a roof of flat wooden tiles. He approached one entrance and, leaning against the wall, bent forward to inspect the interior.
The steps gradually disappeared as they descended, swallowed by the darkness of the depths below. He turned his head, making sure he was not being watched. The reddening sun in its decline was beginning to cast long shadows on the ground from the steles. He looked again at the steps and, hesitating for an instant, finally placed his first foot on the top step. Then the other foot followed as if his body no longer obeyed his will, and he abandoned himself to the nascent euphoria that was taking hold of him.
Jonah noticed that to his left there was nothing but emptiness and darkness, while a rough, rocky wall accompanied him on his right. Approaching slowly toward the dark portion, his hand sliding along the right wall, his eyes began to adapt to the underground darkness. He could make out troubled, reddish shadows dancing on the wall facing him. The image became clearer, and the void below on his left became a cave superficially lit by a few oil lamps. They were arranged along the edge of niches carved perpendicularly into the side of the vault itself. Squinting further, he counted eight niches—two rows of four on two levels. He deduced that the bodies of the deceased were probably housed inside, since two of them were empty. The others were closed by stones cut to measure. The staircase ended at a right angle to his left with another series of four steps. Once at the bottom, he felt an unexpected fascination for the place. The small flames of the lamps flickered as he passed close to them. On the ground, offerings of fruit and burned incense testified to a recent burial. Jonah reached out his hand to touch the stone that sealed the freshly closed niche. He knew that on the other side, a body lay at rest.
Death intrigued him. What happened when one passed away, he wondered? In the village, some like Ma believed there was a single God, creator of all that surrounded them. Every Sabbath day, Jonah and his parents went to the village’s only synagogue, except for his grandmother, who was pagan. Most of the village went there. It was the only ritual that most of the village followed. It was more of a social moment when the inhabitants stopped their activities to spend time together. Pa had no real opinion. “Whatever happens, there will be a day when we will all agree, regardless of our beliefs,” he would say. All of this was mysterious to Jonah, and this unknown fascinated him as much as it terrified him. What if there was nothing beyond death? What if one fell asleep never to wake again? At this thought, his body shuddered and he shook his head to chase it away.
The sealing stones were set in such a way that they left a ledge on which to place the lamps. He touched the vault of an empty niche and felt a greasy substance on his fingers. Examining them in the light, he saw to his great surprise that his fingertips had become completely black.
Understanding that it was soot, he rubbed it between his fingers and spread it further on the skin of his hand. He imagined his face entirely covered with this black substance, frightening Mattathias during the night. He was the son of the pig farmer. He was sixteen, which made him four years older than Jonah.
Despite this, he never missed an opportunity to pick on him. It was never too mean, but Jonah wished he would stop his taunts. He wiped his fingers on the wall.
He sat cross-legged on the ground, leaning against the wall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The damp smell of the vault refreshed his nostrils—he felt strangely well here. His thoughts gradually faded and an astonishing peace came over him. He felt his spirit slowly lighten, and he heard what sounded like a whisper breathing to him: ” Jooonaaaah.” He remained unmoved. A muffled and barely perceptible call echoed in the underground chamber. It was Shimon looking for him.
Keeping his eyes closed, Jonah was imperturbable—he felt he needed a moment. He prolonged the experience, ignoring Shimon outside who was wearing himself out shouting his name. The shadows seemed to close in around him, and he had the sensation that his spirit wanted to float.
But outside, Shimon was tireless: ” Jonah, Jooo-naaah!” The moment was over—he would not stop shouting until he found him. Jonah then tried to open his eyes and mouth to respond, but nothing happened. For some mysterious reason, he could not extricate himself from the trance he was in. He felt a certain distress, but a strange jubilation took over. Suddenly, from the top of the steps, Shimon shouted loudly: ” Jonah, are you there?” and in the blink of an eye, he regained the use of his voice:
“Yes, I’m here, I’m coming up.”
“Hurry up, the sun is setting and we don’t have much light left.”
“Understood.”
He climbed back up the steps that brought him back to reality. What had happened in that vault? When he reached the top, he cast one last glance behind him into the darkness. The sun, now low in the sky, was illuminating the entrance with a fiery glow. Deep in the void, where the shadows were deepest and the steps invisible, he thought he heard a whisper:
” Jonah… Jooonaaah…”
[END]
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