Immortal by Glenn Beck Page A

angel told us is true.”
    They would have talked on, far into the night, but Melchior rose and urged his friends out. “They need their rest. Time enough tomorrow,” he said. As he left, he turned back and said to Joseph, who stood in the doorway, “We have been commanded by King Herod to let him know of the child. The king himself!”
    Joseph smiled. “We are going to Jerusalem in two days. The time has come for Mary’s purification and for the child to be presented in the Temple there. If King Herod wishes, he can see Jesus then.”
    Melchior bowed and said, “We would consider it an honor to make the journey with you.”
    Joseph thanked him and then looked past Melchior and said, “Do you wish to see the baby?”
    Krampus rose, turned, and shambled over to crouch behind Agios. He put his hand to his face and shook his head, weeping. Standing in the darkness, Agios felt his face grow hot. “He thinks he’s too ugly,” he explained. “He thinks he might frighten the child.” He turned away quickly.
    The kings were able to rent two rooms in the inn, one for the three of them and one for Agios and Krampus.
    â€œKrampus won’t sleep in a room,” Agios said.
    Krampus murmured, “Manger.” He pointed in the direction of the stables. “I sleep there?”
    Caspar said, “He heard the story. Now he wants to sleep where the baby was born. I think he feels close to the child.”
    Agios smiled. “A manger is something too small for you, Krampus. But we’ll find you a bed of straw in the barn if you want.” To Melchior, Agios said, “He’s like a child himself.”
    â€œAnd he has the faith of a child,” Melchior said softly. “I saw him kneeling. Of all the presents we came to offer, I think maybe Krampus offered the best.”
    â€œHe gave nothing,” Agios said.
    â€œHe gave his belief,” Melchior corrected. “Let Krampus go rest. You stay with us for a while, please. I’m sure we want to discuss what we have seen and heard. Sometimes when Caspar and Balthasar are enthusiastic, I can’t understand one word out of five.”
    And so Agios found himself on a bench in their room—again a small room, hardly fit for men of their stature. The others were excited and talked far into the night, so rapidly that they were often hard to follow, and they spoke of ancient writings and signs and omens that Agios could not begin to understand. He did his best, though, and they shared enough knowledge for them, at least, to make sense of it all.
    When the three kings had talked themselves out, they fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. Agios went into the room next to Melchior’s and was the last to doze, and for some little time he lay on his back, listening to the steady breathing—and the snores—of the others, coming clearly through the wall. He smiled to himself in the dark. He had learned one thing, at least: even kings were men like other men. Balthasar’s snoring was as loud as a lion’s warning rumble.
    Then it seemed to Agios that he had hardly closed his eyes when he heard Melchior’s urgent voice in the darkness: “Brothers!”
    At the same instant Caspar began in his own language, “I dreamed—”
    And in his, Balthasar gasped, “I’ve had a vision—”
    Agios rose and went to the scholars’ room, where they had lit a lamp. A moment later a troubled Joseph came, too, and asked to speak with them. Agios stood in a dark corner, the half-open door accidentally shielding him from Joseph’s line of sight, and translated as best he could, though Joseph and the others had a hard time keeping patience, each wanting to tell the story first.
    At last it began to sort itself out as Agios worked hard to keep up. All four men had dreamed the same thing, at the same instant: Melchior said, “I saw before me an angel, as Agios spoke