The Order of Shaddai

by

James Somers

www.jamessomers.blogspot.com

Smashwords Edition

2010© James Somers

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When the demon born conqueror rises to power and darkness rules in the land of Shaddai, then shall come the Deliverer walking seen and unseen. Salem’s son who shall be a rod in the hand of the Lord to smite the wicked—and Shaddai’s priest shall be a sword of judgment and a king to bring the hearts of the people back to their God.

HALL OF BONES

A thunderstorm threatened the city of Emmanuel for the better part of the day, but it never materialized on the ground. A little thunder and a bit of lightning and then it moved on. The possibility of not getting to hear more of the Old Storyteller’s tale, concerning Ethan, would have been nearly unbearable for the children after the portion to which we had already been privy.

All of us, present the day before, had gathered again at the King’s Fountain, waiting. Everyone looked in different directions for the old man. Many grumbled that he should have been here by now. And we murmured amongst ourselves as to what direction he should come from, since it was the noon hour already.

Almost no one actually watched the place at the fountain’s edge where he had been sitting the day before. I happened to turn back, hoping to spot the man among the market-goers when, out of the corner of my eye, there he was.

The Old Storyteller sat, grinning at me while my jaw dropped—astonished by his appearance as though from the very air itself. He clapped his large hands together. “Well, children, are we ready to begin?”

All eyes were immediately drawn to his voice. There were more children today than the day before. The word had spread quickly, and at least fifteen more children had been added to our eager numbers. Surprisingly, no one asked the question. But everyone was thinking the same thing: how did he get there without us noticing?

Realizing he had our undivided attention, the old man began almost immediately. The idol god, Dyfore, towered ten feet above the storyteller, in the King’s fountain, but no one paid any attention to the golden statue. All eyes fixed upon the white, bushy beard, scarlet robes, and twinkling, kind eyes. The Old Storyteller placed his large, rough hands on his knees, leaned forward, and began to speak yet again of Shaddai’s Deliverer from so many years before.

Many weapons might be used to defeat a man in battle, but one of the most effective had to be discouragement. At three weeks into their journey, Ethan remained sullen. Gideon had tried to be encouraging about their situation. But Ethan could not see past the defeat they had suffered. King Stephen had dragged his army back to Wayland, and Mordred still lived. The Deliverer had failed.

Ethan walked down a stone corridor. Torches, mounted every twenty feet on the wall, cast a pale orange light over everything. A set of large, wooden doors stood at the end of the hallway. Ethan felt drawn to it. As he cautiously approached, the doors began to part.

Ethan walked into the sunlit room beyond. He found himself back in the throne room of Mordred, in the white palace in Emmanuel City. A party was in progress. Lively music filled the room as revelers danced and mingled in the throne room of Mordred, current Lord of the House of Nod.

Ethan watched as skeletal hands fastened to golden goblets and pieces of mutton. Faces without skin, muscle, or sinew tore at the meat, laughed, and drank wine. All of it spilled down through their garments and over their laps. Eyeless sockets gazed round to find their equally horrid companions across the buffet tables, and friendly waves were exchanged. Party gowns hung upon white bone while other patrons clattered and clanked, covered in rusty suits of armor.

To Ethan’s surprise, he was not afraid of these ghastly specters. Rather, he pitied their condition. Such is man apart from Shaddai. Though he may move and have his being, there is no life, he thought.

The music suddenly changed. Trumpets sounded, heralding the arrival of someone important to the feast. Ethan turned to see whom the dead waited for. From a door behind the throne, Mordred entered the room. Ethan had never laid eyes on the man, to his knowledge, but still he knew him.

Mordred was quite handsome to look upon—his features chiseled and roguish. Dark hair fell to his shoulders, and he walked with a haughty demeanor. He wore highly polished armor and a breastplate embellished with ebony.

Ethan appeared in his own liquid, silver armor—its mercury form fitted precisely to his lithe body. His sword hung suspended in the air at his side. Ethan drew the weapon into his hand, preparing to charge the dark lord. He felt confidence fill him.

Mordred had fled before when he, Gideon, and Captain Bonifast had stormed the palace throne room through the drain tunnel. He may have been larger than Ethan, but the prophecy stated Mordred would fall to him.

Ethan held his sword aloft and charged toward the warlord. Mordred did not even regard his attacker. He was too busy waving and gesturing to the crowd of skeletons making obeisance to him.

Ethan did not care if he noticed him or not. He intended to end this war right now. When he got within spitting distance of the dark lord, Mordred jerked backward, and a demon of immense power sprang out of the man. Ethan almost fell over his own feet as he skidded to a halt. He had seen this demon before—the wild raven hair, the piercing eyes with wide pupils ringed by stark, yellow irises. It was the demon who called himself Jericho—the same who had inflicted Ethan’s painful wounds.

Jericho leaped right out of Mordred toward Ethan with a broadsword of his own. He bared his teeth at the boy, and their swords clashed as the demon fell into him full force. Ethan staggered backwards from the mighty blow. Fear flooded his heart like a river bursting through a dam. He remembered his defeat at Jericho’s hands before. His wounds had ached to him every night since, reminding him of his failure.

Jericho instantly had the advantage and began to drive Ethan back. The demon batted Ethan’s sword away with every powerful blow. The crowd of bones began to part as their duel surged from one end of the throne room to the other. Ethan felt his arms begin to ache with fatigue.

A massive stained glass pane filtered multicolored light into the room, warming Ethan’s back. Then Jericho did something unexpected. He stood still, allowing Ethan to back away more. The demon raised his hand, almost as though he would wave at his opponent. Then Ethan’s sword obeyed an unvoiced command from his enemy and flew out of his hand to Jericho.

Ethan stood defenseless. Jericho launched his weapon at the Deliverer as he had in their battle before. Ethan couldn’t think. There was no time. The broadsword struck him in the chest just as it had before. Pain coursed through his body as the spiritual armor deflected the weapon but not the wound.

The explosive power of the strike sent Ethan’s body into the air and through the stained glass window behind him. He fell, his body turning and twisting in the air. Colors swirled in his vision, but he could not plant his eyes on anything distinguishable.

Ethan landed in a small clearing among a dense forest of huge trees. He had expected to die or at least to break every bone in his body. However, apart from the pain from Jericho’s attack, he felt nothing. Before him, any sign of the palace’s existence had disappeared.

A low, rumbling vibration traveled through the ground where he lay trying to get up. An intermittent, steady pulse throbbed through the ground, growing louder. Ethan heard the sound of wood twisting and snapping under duress. Then everything became silent—deathly silent. There did not sound so much as the chirping of a bird.

Wood splintered, exploding into the clearing. Ethan saw several giants rush through the trees, holding massive clubs in their hands. Ethan jumped to his feet and ran away toward the trees ahead. A club, the size of a small tree, smashed into the ground where Ethan had just leapt from, spraying earth over the boy as he ran.

Four Anakims, like those contained on the slaver ship, chased him into the trees. Ethan leaped into the branches, springing from one to another as quickly as he could manage. The massive clubs smashed through limbs and tore away great swathes of the green foliage, sending it in every direction, as the bulky Anakims pursued their small prey.

The giants ducked and weaved around the larger trunks they could not push their way through and kept up the onslaught. Pieces of wood battered Ethan as he fled from the Anakims. Finally, they closed the gap, and one of the men swept up with his club of stone, smashing through the large branch where Ethan had just landed. The splintered wood blew upward, flinging him into the air over the treetops.

Ethan cleared the edge of the forest, tumbling, and landed in a wet field. The ground was so saturated that he actually splashed into it. He lay there with his face sideways on the ground, breathing bubbles through the fluid collecting around his body. He opened his eye—the one not submerged—saw the tree line and listened. The giants did not follow him beyond the edge of the forest. He listened for the sound of their footsteps—nothing.

Ethan closed his eye again, breathing. As he tensed, attempting to stand, Ethan realized the pain. Every part of his body ached against his best intentions to move. He relaxed again, taking a moment to rest first.

Ethan blew the warm water away with each exhale, then he noticed the taste. It was bitter and familiar. A sudden, putrid odor threatened to nauseate him. Ethan sprang upright, despite the pain. The field was a dark crimson. Bodies littered the landscape along with spent weapons of war. Horrified, Ethan swiped the liquid from his face and hair, finding blood upon his hands.

He jumped to his feet and saw that the ground was saturated with the lifeblood of these countless souls. A great battle had taken place and the carnage was apparently fresh. A great cloud of birds hovered over the battlefield, sending down feeders and receiving others having taken their fill.

Something attached itself to Ethan’s ankle. He looked down and found a man reaching out from his prone position. When the man turned his head upward to meet Ethan’s gaze, he gasped in horror at the man’s condition. Most of his face was gone—though he moved, he was not alive.

Ethan leaped from his grasp, just as a trembling moan swept across the entire field. Bodies pulled themselves up from the places where they had fallen in battle. They cast horrid expressions at Ethan, trying to reach the place where he stood. He recognized their armor and uniforms as those of King Stephen’s army.

A lament carried from voice to voice throughout them all. “Deliverer, you have failed us! Why have you done this to us? We trusted that you would save us!”

Over again the mournful cry of these war victims assailed Ethan. His fear of failure fell upon him as a crushing weight. His legs refused to move. His feet planted firmly as though roots had sprung from them into the earth. The dead staggered on, dragging their broken bodies, reaching for Ethan. He looked for a weapon. His sword was gone—his quicksilver armor missing. Ethan cried out with soundless screams toward the heavens, receiving no reply as countless dead took hold.

Ethan sprang from his bedroll, screaming and drenched with sweat. Gideon and Levi sat up where they had been sleeping, their hands upon their weapons looking for attackers. There were none—only a frightened boy having nightmares.

“Are you all right, Ethan?” Gideon asked.

Ethan panted heavily. His eyes darted around, finding his friends, the camp, their horses, and none of Stephen’s slaughtered soldiers from the battle with Mordred’s army. He gulped down his fear. “I’m fine, just a nightmare…again.”

These night terrors had been coming with greater frequency in the days since his defeat at the palace. Ethan knew he was not afraid of the demon. It was failure troubling him most—unshakable failure.

“You should try to get some sleep, if you can,” Gideon said. “We’ll be leaving at dawn.”

Already the night seemed waning. In little more than an hour the dawn would break, and they would travel north again toward The Order of Shaddai and their mysterious temple. Levi sighed, pulling his blanket back up with a grumble. These regular middle-of-the-night wakeup calls from Ethan had taken its toll on the others.

Gideon lingered, concern written on his face. “I’m alright, really,” Ethan assured him as he lay down again. He rolled over as Gideon sighed, trying to return to sleep. Ethan breathed deeply, hoping to shake the images he’d just experienced. He knew he had to get control of his fear. In a war where so much depended upon him, a misstep to the wrong side of the razor’s edge could prove devastating.

MILLERTOWN

On a high parapet made of pure, white granite, a foul malevolence crouched upon the edge of the roof like a gargoyle. Jericho’s yellow-rimmed pupils stared northward, his gaze unblinking. It was true—the Deliverer had escaped him. Mordred had since sent out numerous patrols, hoping to ascertain the boy’s whereabouts but without success.

Thousands of King Stephen’s army from Wayland, as well as those conscripts made from Nodian dwellers during his march to Emmanuel, lay strewn as far as the eye could see. Now, a full three weeks from the day of that battle, the smell had become unbearable.

In keeping with his nature, Mordred had captured hundreds of laborers from the surrounding villages and cities to do the work of body disposal. Using his network of demon spies, Mordred had trained his vengeful eye particularly upon those who had been known to lend aid to Stephen’s attack.

Hundreds of next-of-kin trudged through the blood soaked plain, gathering the remains of their valiant young men—their last hope at freedom from the reign of the Mordred and his Wraith Riders. Their hopelessness only compounded with their sorrow as their taskmasters kept them busy with the horrid task.

King Stephen had ignited the fire of rebellion in their hearts, but had abandoned them, retreating homeward with the ragtag survivors from his army. Now, the only fire remaining was the massive pyre burning two miles from the white walls of Emmanuel. Body wagons made continuous runs from the fields to the smoking heap and back again.

Jericho sniffed at the air, but not for the sake of the burning. That would have been savor enough in light of their victory over Stephen’s army. There was another scent upon the wind—one far less discernable—fear. Its source was human and powerful.

Even though Jericho could not find the Deliverer, he still sensed his fear like ripples spreading through the spiritual plane. Following his defeat, discouragement would certainly gnaw its way into the boy’s mind like worms—in Jericho’s experience with humanity, it always did. The boy would be fertile soil in which to cultivate further failure.

Jericho knew well that while the boy trusted in Shaddai, he could not be defeated. However, if he became unfit for his master’s use: became faithless, defeated, and discouraged, then victory might be attainable and the prophecy nullified. This was Jericho’s primary goal now.

While Mordred controlled the kingdom, it would be Jericho’s task to defeat the Deliverer. Mordred, being mortal, would eventually pass from this world, but the seat of power would remain. Jericho desired this prize. With the Deliverer gone, he could then do whatever he liked with the kingdom.

True to his word, Gideon urged the others back on the move at dawn. They followed the River Sane, fed from the distant Thornhill Mountains. The river bordered between Nod and Wayland and avoided the main roads. Mordred would almost certainly be looking for them, so they shied from the villages and towns as well.

Ethan tugged at a piece of salt jerky, taking time to chew and savor it as they rode. Levi had managed to get them a third horse from those abandoned by fallen soldiers, found wandering in the grasslands following Stephen’s defeat. Their pace remained brisk as Gideon sought to bring their band to the safety of the Thornhill Mountains and the secret location of The Order of Shaddai.

As the trio continued over a large hill, a town became visible in the distance. Smoke spiraled up from the chimneys of nearly fifty houses and other basic structures, spread out over the next several low-lying hills. The center of town lay in a valley between them all. A well-worn road left the town to the east and another meandered away north toward the Thornhill Mountains in the distance.

They stopped long enough to survey the scene. “Is that where we’re going?” Ethan asked.

“Millertown, yes, I know people in this village,” Gideon said. “I was responsible for bringing the Word back to them after Mordred began his reign of terror in Nod. It was actually one of my first assignments from The Order.”

“How much farther to this temple you were talking about?” Levi asked.

“We’ve got another day’s travel into the Thornhills, but we could use a good home cooked meal and some rest in the meantime. The Thornhills are dangerous territory. Not many people live there, just man-eating snakes, dragon beetles, and ropeweed.”

“But if Mordred’s patrols are searching for us—”

“These are friendly people, Ethan. I’m sure we’ll be fine. I have friends here,” Gideon said. He never took his gaze from the village ahead.

Ethan and Levi looked at one another curiously as Gideon urged his horse forward without another word.

“So much for all of our caution eh, lad?” said Levi. He fell into place behind Gideon with Ethan following.

Within twenty minutes time, Gideon, Levi, and Ethan had made it into Millertown. People watched them as they entered the village, but no one appeared alarmed by the three riders. It was several hours past noon and many people were busy in the middle of town, gathering food from the small marketplace or drawing water from the large communal well.

Many friendly faces approached, all of them waving and shouting hello to Gideon in particular. He was known here, which brought Ethan some comfort. It meant they could relax their guard a bit—a welcome change after living the past three weeks as fugitives.

One man approached them with a very warm greeting, and Gideon lit down from his horse to embrace him. Levi and Ethan remained in the saddle watching curiously.

“Ah, my boy, how are you?” the man said.

“I’m doing well, Arness, and you? How is your good family?”

“Very well, but missing your face, my boy,” Arness said as he patted Gideon on the back. “You’ll be coming out to the farm later, yes?”

“Of course, we wouldn’t dare miss the opportunity. By the way, Arness, these are my very good friends, Captain Levi Bonifast and Ethan Hawk. We’re on our way to see Isaiah at the Temple.”

Levi, Ethan, and Arness exchanged nods, acknowledging one another. “Of course, gentlemen, any friend of Gideon is welcome in our home.” Then he turned to Gideon. “Will you be along directly? Sarah and her mother are still working at the laundry, but it won’t be long before they’re home.”

“Actually, I thought I would dispatch a message from the Willow Tree and perhaps treat my friends to a cool drink.”

“Even better. That way we can bid you a proper welcome with a hot meal when you arrive at the farm…say in two hours?”

“That sounds perfect,” Gideon said, “Just enough time for us to take advantage of the Willow Tree’s baths before we arrive.”

Arness patted Gideon on the shoulder and waved goodbye for the time being. He walked down the street toward the market.

“What’s the Willow Tree?” Levi asked.

“It’s an inn of sorts—that large building, down the road there,” he said.

“That bath certainly does sound nice,” Ethan said.

“Right this way, lads.” Gideon led his horse and his friends down the street toward the Willow Tree Inn.

Sarah, daughter of Arness, walked across the hard clay street toward the Willow Tree Inn. She was making a delivery of clean linens to their best customer, Mr. Oggle, the proprietor of the Inn. Her golden hair fell midway down her back with a thin braid of the hair cradling the back of her head like a chain.

Sarah carried two full sacks of linen by herself and cautiously weaved through the traffic of pedestrians and horse drawn wagons. She backed through the swinging double doors and carried the linen inside. Sarah hefted the bags through the maze of tables, being sure not to disturb Mr. Oggle’s guests. A young man, Blane, tended the bar where he served various drinks—concoctions of every tasty sort.

Blane was a handsome young man with dark hair and a thin mustache. He was not much older than Sarah and had been Mr. Oggle’s apprentice in the business for several years. He said Hello to the eighteen-year-old girl, pointing to the back room where Mr. Oggle was busy counting some of his stock.

Sarah waited with the bags at the bar where she and Mr. Oggle usually tallied his bill and where she received payment for the laundry owned by her parents. Blane tended to several customers at the other end of the bar while Sarah waited.

“Hey beautiful, how bout some service at this table!”

Sarah turned to find a table of well dressed, middle-aged men, four in all, engaged in a game of Tails—a game played with a die and round wafers of wood with characters etched into both sides. Gold and silver coins lay in different amounts before each of the men.

Sarah smiled politely. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t work here.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to bring me a drink, exactly.” The man who spoke was a dapper sort with fine clothes and a larger portion of the money sitting in front of him on the table. His thick hair was dark with gray beginning to weave its way through his wavy locks. He wore a thin beard, mustache, and gold rings upon his fingers. He leered at Sarah with his dark eyes. His devilish, toothy grin made his uncouth intentions all too clear. The other men laughed, thinking their friend quite clever.

Sarah disregarded him and turned back to the bar. She looked at Blane, whose gaze moved from Sarah to the man. She heard a chair scoot away from the table behind her and feared the worst. She heard his boots lazily slapping the polished, wood floor as he meandered toward her. “Don’t turn your back on me, girl.”

He grabbed her waist, spinning her to him. The other men laughed and jeered. He grabbed her arms, staying her wrath, and attempted to force a kiss. “Don’t play so hard to get.”

The man’s breath reeked of liquor. He was drunk even though Sarah knew he had not gotten it at the Willow Tree. “Let go of me!” she shouted as she tried to break free of his grip. Blane walked down the bar, attempting to intervene.

The dapper gent whistled, and a behemoth lurched away from where he had been standing in the shadows near the door. “Virgil, this kid needs a lesson,” the dapper gent said, gesturing toward Blane.

Virgil stood seven feet tall and as thick as an oak tree. Muscles rippled and flexed through his massive arms and chest—the latter bound only by a leather vest that seemed strained to contain him. Virgil came to his master’s side, flexing his arms and making strained grabbing motions with each hand, causing his knuckles to pop repeatedly. Blane swallowed the lump in his throat, standing down his protest.

“That’s better,” the dapper gent said. He whipped Sarah around like a top into Virgil’s grasp, then tossed several gold coins onto the bar. “Now, if you don’t mind, the little lady and I would like to get better acquainted.”

“I’d like to get better acquainted with you too,” Gideon said.

All eyes instantly fell on three men standing in the doorway. Blane smiled when he recognized the priest of Shaddai. Some of the Inn’s patrons moved away from Virgil and the dapper gent. A few left the Inn altogether.

Ethan and Levi stood in the doorway behind Gideon. Mr. Oggle came out of the back room, surveying the situation in his inn. “I don’t want any fighting in here,” he began, but a flick of Virgil’s wrist sent a throwing knife into the wall beside Mr. Oggle’s head, silencing him.

“I’ll handle this,” Gideon whispered.

Levi and Ethan shrugged at one another, then stepped out of the way. Neither of them had any doubt about Gideon’s ability, but the hulking mountain of muscle ahead of them stood nearly twice as tall as any of them. The tension in the room felt as though it would snap like an over-wound dulcimer string at any moment.

Virgil laughed under his breath. “This little pipsqueak needs a lesson.” He shoved Sarah back toward the bar and his master, but the dapper gent was too busy getting out of harm’s way to bother with her anymore. Sarah smiled at Gideon and he returned it. By the time his eyes centered back on the massive bodyguard’s movements, it was too late.

A throwing knife, one of many carried around Virgil’s waist, snapped through the air, glinting sunlight for the briefest moment between the big hand and its target. There was a brief whistle of air and a snap as the blade hit flesh. Everyone stared in disbelief. The sound had been Gideon’s flesh hitting the blade—specifically the weapon had been caught between the priest’s two palms at chest height.

“We’ve not even been properly introduced, and you’re already giving presents?” Gideon said. Rather than return the shiny silver blade, he let it fall harmlessly to the floor where the heavy blade stuck into the stained hardwood.

Sarah breathed a noticeable sigh of relief, once she realized Gideon remained unharmed. Virgil’s expression quickly flashed from astonished to angry. With surprising speed, for a man of his size, he whipped three more throwing knives from his belt. Three dull clunks sounded as each stuck into the wooden wall narrowly missing the priest—Gideon’s lithe movements a blur of evasive action.

A glimmer of astonishment crossed Virgil’s chiseled features again, but only a glimmer. That was all he had time for. His next facial expression was pain.

Quick as a flash, Gideon closed the gap between them, smashing a thick fist into Virgil’s left mandibular joint, shattering his jaw. Virgil yelped in pain, but was unable to close his mouth—his jaw having locked into a slightly open position.

The bodyguard tried to grab Gideon, but he was much too fast. The priest ducked beneath Virgil’s muscular arms and double kicked his right knee: once to the front and once to the side. The knee buckled as the second precise impact popped an important tendon. The bodyguard staggered and fell across the table where his master had been gambling—his great bulk smashing it to kindling.

Virgil moaned in pain, holding his jaw, but he did not get up. Gideon looked toward the dapper gent. “Would now be a good time for you and I to get acquainted, sir, or would you rather apologize to the young lady?”

He tipped his hat nervously toward Sarah. “I sincerely apologize, ma’am.” Then he and his companions left Virgil where he lay and hurried out of the Willow Tree Inn.

“Mr. Oggle, I think your physician should probably take a look at this man,” Gideon said, indicating the muscular bodyguard writhing on the ground among the broken furniture.

“Blane, go get the healer and bring the magistrate as well,” Mr. Oggle said. “And tell him he’s going to need some good men to help him.”

Blane obeyed instantly. He leaped over the bar, smiling, patting Gideon’s shoulder as he passed him. “Good to see you again.”

Gideon smiled at the young man, then turned to Sarah. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m all right,” she said. “It’s good to see you, Gideon.”

HOME COOKED SECRETS

Sarah left them to complete her deliveries for her parent’s laundry before she headed home to their farm. True to Gideon’s word, Ethan and Levi got to enjoy the steaming, hot baths at Mr. Oggle’s Willow Tree Inn. The attendants saw to washing road dust from their clothes while they simply relaxed their weary, aching muscles.

The local magistrate took Virgil, the bodyguard, into custody. The healer, Mr. Lesh, accompanied the prisoner to the stockade, mumbling as he tried to figure out how he could properly wrap the man’s jaw closed so he would still be able to eat. Blane cleaned the mess in the dining room, and business quickly resumed its normal pace at the Willow Tree Inn.

Once they had cleaned up, nearly two hours later, Gideon led Ethan and Levi to the outskirts of the small town to a solitary dirt road, bringing them to the farm of Arness and his family. The family had done well for themselves in Millertown, and their homestead reflected it.

Arness also worked in the cattle business. Ethan saw many heifers grazing within the fenced boundaries of Arness’ farm. In other places, he noticed sheep. The house was one of the few two story homes he saw in Millertown. He found it charming, white with glass windows framed by black sills and shutters—currently open.

The windows were open as well, two small doors which pulled inward opposite of the shutter’s movement. Ethan saw Arness’ wife walking back and forth in the house through the windows, trying to prepare the meal for their arrival. Arness met them outside the house and took their horses. He walked the horses to the barn while waving the men to the house. “Go on inside. We’ll eat shortly.”

Ethan and Levi followed Gideon through the door where Sarah, the daughter of Arness, greeted them again. “Hello, Gideon…I mean, Master Gideon, sir.”

Ethan noticed, again, the informal breech of etiquette. She had done the same thing at the Willow Tree. A mistake? He wondered. To address a warrior-priest of Shaddai so informally seemed odd to Ethan, at least for the young daughter of a friend. How well does Gideon know this family, he wondered.

Arness’ wife, Bella, instructed them from the kitchen. “Won’t you sit, gentlemen?” she said. “I’ll have dinner finished in a moment.”

“Thank you,” they said, taking the wooden chairs provided for them. A fire burned in the hearth. It felt nice with the air taking on a slight chill as the evening descended. As they rose in elevation on their approach to the Thornhill Mountains, Ethan had noticed the weather changing quite a bit. The colder air was something uncommon where he was from.

Arness came through the door, just then, all smiles. “Now we can catch up, Master Gideon. Tell me more about your new friends.”

Ethan looked at Gideon, unsure of what he would tell the man. Was he someone to be trusted with the secret of his identity in the prophecy?

“This young man is Ethan. He will be training with The Order.”

“Ah, I see. So you have given your life to the service of the Almighty? Very noble of you, young man, very noble indeed,” Arness said. “I’m sure Gideon has told you how serious a commitment that is.”

“I can honestly say, I was meant to serve Shaddai with my life,” Ethan said confidently.

Arness laughed. “Good man. I trust you’ll be blessed in your pursuits there at the Temple. I’ve only ever met one of the warrior-priests who reside in Temple within the Thornhills, and that’s Gideon. He brought us the written Word of Shaddai when all seemed lost. Lawlessness had rooted in Millertown during the days following Mordred’s takeover of Nod. But the Word restored our lives. We became free to pursue righteousness again.”

“Was it that simple?” Levi asked. “You just received the Word, and that was it?”

“Well, not quite so simple. When Gideon brought the Word back to us, there were already those in Millertown who staunchly opposed it. Mordred allowed many of his heathen allies to take up governorships in the towns and villages in Nod, including Millertown. But in the end, they were no match for Gideon.” Arness placed a hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “We owe him a great debt for what he has done for this town.”

“All of the glory is Shaddai’s, Arness,” Gideon said. “But I do appreciate your encouragement, as always.”

“And what of you, Captain?” Arness asked. “Were you with the military?”

“Well, yes and no. My background is not as admirable as Gideon’s. I was involved in thievery and wickedness as a pirate for many years. I became quite wealthy in fact, but it was a hollow existence. I did not have Shaddai in my life during my younger days. I regret it now. I actually became complacent, to a certain extent, which led to my capture by King Stephen’s men while indulging myself at a port city in Wayland. It was the king himself who led me to place my faith in Shaddai.”

Ethan and Gideon were all ears. They had never heard this story from Levi before. Perhaps this explained why Levi had been so reluctant to believe King Stephen had lost his faith. “Instead of hanging me as a pirate, King Stephen pardoned me of my crimes, adding my ship to his royal navy against Mordred. I was on a mission from the king when I came into the company of these two fine men.”

“Supper’s ready, gentlemen!”

“Ah, finally,” Arness said. “Now you men must have your fill of my wife’s fine cooking. You’ll not eat like this when you get to the Thornhills.”

“That’s for sure,” Gideon added. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

They sat around a table large enough to accommodate them and enjoyed a very nice meal before accepting rooms from their host and retiring for the night. They needed a good night’s rest before heading into the Thornhill Mountains tomorrow.

Arness gave each of the men their own room in the house. Gideon resided on the first floor while Ethan and Levi stayed on the second floor. Levi and Ethan found the accommodations very comfortable. So much that they dreaded the journey into the mountains come morning. However, several hours after everyone lay sound asleep, Gideon’s bed had not been disturbed.

Gideon silently left the house through the window, having locked his bedroom door. He crept down across the grassy hill which backed up the property. Eventually, a small house came into view. A single candle burned in the window of the home—just the sign Gideon had hoped to see. Gideon ran down the long slope and joined the dirt road leading up to the home.

For its size, the home was elegantly built. Obviously no expense had been spared. Gideon removed a key from his robe and fit it to the lock on the front door. It matched perfectly.

Gideon opened the door to find the candle in the main room the only light. He closed the door behind him. There was a quick play of shadow across the wall. Arms wrapped around Gideon’s neck. Sarah, the daughter of Arness, hugged him tightly, kissing him eagerly. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much, my love!”

Gideon returned her affection, lifting her off the ground, swinging her around the room. “I told you I would do my best to get back before the first snow,” he laughed. She interrupted him with more kisses.

“I’ve made your favorite,” Sarah said, giggling as they held one another. The aroma of sweet bread with cinnamon hung heavy in the air. “I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon.”

“So do I, but I must see the young man with me safely to The Order.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Sarah, I’ve found the Lord’s Deliverer.”

“The boy?”

“Yes. He has power like nothing I’ve ever encountered.”

“I’m glad, my love, but must you be the one to train him? Can you not come back to me once he is delivered to the High Priest?”

Gideon let go of her. She showed her usual disappointment. He did not blame her. “I must do what is necessary. He is the hope of our land, the only hope given by Shaddai’s prophecy for defeating Mordred and his demons.”

“I understand, Gideon. You have a commitment to The Order, but have you forgotten your commitment to me, your wife?”

The question stung his heart. “I have not forgotten.”

“I long for my husband, Gideon. I long to bring our marriage out of the shadows as you promised we would.”

“I know, and I intend to, but so much is in progress with the war going badly and finding Ethan now—our hope for freedom. I cannot jeopardize my place in The Order just yet, and you know they would never accept our marriage.”

“I only know that I miss you,” Sarah said. All the joy of seeing him again had melted away with the knowledge she would lose him again tomorrow.

Gideon held her. “Soon, my love. I beg you, please be patient with me. I must finish this work of training the Deliverer. When he is capable of standing on his own, then I will be ready to leave The Order as I promised.”

Sarah smiled. She couldn’t stay mad at him. The aroma of sweet bread lured them into the kitchen. Sarah led her husband by the hand, smiling. Gideon paused just long enough to blow out the candle.

THORNHILL PASSAGE

Jericho watched as Mordred went about the business he did best—destruction. The warlord was presently cleansing a town that had lent aid to King Stephen of Wayland both in conscripts to lay siege to Emmanuel and in supplies and fresh horses as he fled back to his homeland beyond the Nodian border.

This was just like old times for him. This was the situation which best suited Mordred—riding upon horseback with his Wraith Riders, stamping out resistance to his dominion. Jericho looked on, well pleased, remembering why he had chosen this man in the first place to be his juggernaut through Emmanuel’s white walls.

Mordred was certainly never going to be the ideal king, but he was a strong leader on the battlefield. And those days were not over. Rebellion still stirred in the hearts of Nodians and Mordred would be useful in crushing it out of them yet.

Buildings burned, and women screamed in the muddy streets as rain slowed their escape from the Wraith Riders. Clashing swords rang through the town as men cried out with their last ounces of resistance and were silenced. Darkness swept them out of the way. Demons swarmed like buzzing bees—unseen by mortals. But one was different. This demon approached Jericho with news—information Jericho had desired to hear.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, my lord,” the demon messenger said. “A boy and two men—one of them a priest of The Order of Shaddai. The man reporting to Mordred’s patrol said his servant was attacked by the priest in Millertown.”

“So, they are passing into the Thornhills already,” Jericho said.

“Apparently, my lord.”

“How far is this message from reaching Mordred’s ear?” Jericho asked.

“Three week’s by man.”

“Time enough to dispatch my own servant into the Thornhills,” Jericho said. “See that this message does not arrive sooner than expected. In fact, if it is convenient, the messenger should not arrive at all.”

“As you wish.” The messenger launched into the air, shooting away into the distance.

The weather treated them harshly as they traveled. It took a full day more than Gideon had expected before they reached the garden by the river deep in the Thornhill Mountains. Rain had beset them early on, forcing them to leave their horses back in Millertown with Arness and his family. The animals would never have made the journey through the narrow hidden pass in such weather.

The day of their departure had been a sad one as Gideon found it always was. Sarah had retreated into the house to watch from a second story window as he and his companions walked beyond the border of her father’s farm toward the ominous mountains in the distance.

Gideon’s heart had ached with each tear his young bride shed for his departing. But he could say nothing of the girl’s behavior to Ethan or Levi. Arness and Bella knew, of course, as well as many in the town, but they had kept a pact with the priest. They would always love him for his heroism on their behalf five years ago. Moreover, they had been consenting to the union of the young warrior and the daughter of Arness, but kept it secret for his sake and his vow to The Order of Shaddai.

Gideon led them beyond the snow line through some of the most treacherous terrain Ethan or Levi had ever seen: huge crevasses hidden from view by canopies of leaves and grass, quicksand in places, and vast rocky expanses. Eventually they came to a small cave in the mountainside, nearly invisible due to an optical illusion in the formation. Had Gideon not known its exact location, the others never would have seen it.

Once inside the cave, Ethan and Levi were amazed at how it opened up significantly. The priest led them through a forest of stalactites and stalagmites. The path was only discernable once you were on it. “Ouch!” Levi yelled. He had a sizeable tear in the sleeve of his coat where it had been gashed by the jagged stones surrounding them.

“Use caution, men,” Gideon warned, “The way is still dangerous.”

“Couldn’t they find a better place to have a temple?” Levi said as he examined his coat sleeve and the scrape on his arm.

“The way and location were meant to keep people from visiting,” Gideon said with a smirk. “We’re not far.”

“I hear water,” Ethan said, bringing up the rear.

“That’s the underground river that will take us to the location of the Temple.” Gideon waited for them at the top of a short rise. “This is where we’ll enter.”

Several small boats stood against the wall on a shelf of rock. A dark stream of water, six feet wide, ran through a tunnel. “What’s up there?” asked Ethan, pointing to the dark upper end of the tunnel.

“The river and the Temple complex form a vast loop in the mountain,” Gideon explained. “We get on here where the river is calm. It will take us down through the mountain to the entrance to the Temple. Once we’re inside, I’ll show you how we are able to leave. But it all comes back here in the end.”

“All of this in order to have a temple?” Ethan asked.

“All of this to protect the Word of Shaddai and train those who carry it back out into the world,” Gideon corrected. He pulled one of the boats down from the wall along with a lantern. Using a flint stone, Gideon lit the lamp and handed it to Ethan.

Gideon set the four-man boat into the water and bade the others to enter. Ethan handed Gideon the lantern. He placed it on a hook at the front of the boat, then got in. Levi followed while Gideon held the boat against the current with a mooring hook. He released the hook once they had situated inside, allowing the current to sweep them downstream. A corona of lantern light preceded them down the pitch-black tunnel. The boat sped up considerably with the current. The grade of the river grew steeper and the water increased its force.

A shaft of light broke through the darkness ahead of them. “Are we almost there already?” Levi shouted.

“Not quite,” Gideon said. “Find the set of leather straps on either side of your seats and hang on. It gets a bit wild from here.”

Levi and Ethan found the straps. They were puzzled by Gideon’s statement, growing anxious as the light at the end of the tunnel rushed toward the little boat. The river wasn’t visible beyond.

The boat rushed through the opening, immediately falling into rapid decline. Sheer walls of rock rose up several hundred feet on either side of the stream as far ahead as they could see. The seemed to be flowing through a fissure in the mountain.

The men screamed uncontrollably as the stream blasted down the sixty-degree decline, carrying them at a frightening rate of speed. The rock walls on either side threatened to dash their little boat to kindling at the slightest variance in their course.

Their hair whipped back as the wind pounded their faces. Even as fast at they were going, it still got worse. Up ahead they saw another tunnel come into view. Gideon yelled into the wind, bracing himself with the leather straps, but he was enjoying the entire ride.

There would be no room for error when they entered the tunnel. Turning to the right or left would smash the boat into the walls for sure. Nevertheless, the little boat maintained its precise position in the stream. Within seconds, they entered the tunnel at the far end. Darkness engulfed them immediately. Another lesser light appeared at the far end of the tunnel and they soon came out into the open again. The stream emptied into a larger basin, instantly diminishing their speed to almost nothing.

At the far end, the water left the basin, heading off toward distant rapids where it gained its speed again. “This is where we get off,” Gideon said. He pulled a small oar from the inside wall of the hull and began to paddle. On one side of the basin, the sheer rock wall continued to dominate all the way around to the place where the water left again. On the other side, however, there was a beautiful garden of willow trees and bright-multicolored flower arrangements.

A whistle escaped Levi’s lips as he surveyed the delicate portrait of Shaddai’s glory displayed in the garden. A slight mist hung in the air among the willows, and the sun crept through above the rock wall surrounding the garden. Gideon rowed the boat to the shore where they each got out and helped pull it up onto the bank.

There was rare beauty found in the wild bouquets, the elegantly kept paths of stone through the green grass, the vine like hair of the weeping willows, and the natural fountains running like rivulets through it all. But the sight which held Ethan’s gaze most had been unexpected.

Gideon placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he came up behind him. He had a feeling he might know what Ethan had found. “What is it you see?”

“Angels,” Ethan said, mystified.

Indeed, two angels stood watch in the garden. They nodded knowingly to Ethan.

“I’ve had heard some say they’ve seen angels here, but I never knew for sure. I wondered, in bringing you here, if you would see them,” Gideon admitted. “The Lord is keeping the way for the priests of Shaddai. Only those whom he wishes are able to disembark here.”

“What do you mean?” Levi asked.

“We found an assassin on this shore just after Mordred took over the palace of Emmanuel. The man was dead of unknown causes. He only ever got one foot on this bank before being struck down. Come, we’ll leave them to their work. And we must be about ours.” Gideon led them down one of the stone paths, through the trees, and deeper into the mist away from the breeching sunlight. Levi brought up the rear, still trying to catch his own glimpse of the angels but finding none.

ASSASSIN’S ASSIGNMENT

In the small village of Magog, the sorcerer Kane sat by a small fire inside his home. He usually conducted his rituals here with those who came to him for spiritual advice. So long as they were willing to pay the price, Kane would prepare for them potions and charms with which they might ensnare another man’s wife or hope for a better yield on their harvest.

Today, Kane’s client had paid an especially high price, for the desire was revenge. The villager had signed a covenant in blood in exchange for a demonic attack upon his neighbor. A heated dispute had been brewing for years, but this man had more resolve than the other did in the matter. According to custom, if a man died with no heir, as the victim would, then a neighbor could claim his land.

Kane sat across the fire from his client. He stirred a putrid mixture of herbs and animal entrails along with some of the client’s own blood in a clay bowl. The parchment bearing the man’s commitment to the set price, his own soul and his signature agreeing to the same, sat nearby with a crimson stained quill. “Do you have what I asked you to bring?” Kane asked.

The man reached into his cloak and produced a cloth. He unfolded it and removed a hairbrush. “Will this do?”

Kane took the brush and separated a wad of graying hair from the bristles. “It will.”

The sorcerer dropped the hair of the intended victim into the bowl and churned it into the mixture, reciting incantations as he did so. Among the unintelligible words, Kane added the Summoning Charm, peppering the flames with a pinch of gunpowder for effect.

The fire erupted in a flash of light much larger than Kane had expected. He and his client jumped back from the burst of flames. The fire grew in height until it stood taller than a man. The amber flame flashed again and became a bright blue, the form of a man appearing within the fire.

“My lord, Jericho?” Kane asked.

“Where is my servant Mordecai?” Jericho said from the flames.

Kane stumbled at the question. “My lord, this man requests murder for the—”

“MORDECAI!” he bellowed.

Kane bowed himself to the ground fearfully. “My lord, the priest took a weapon and went into the woods earlier today. I believe he meant to train, now that he is recovering well from his wounds.”

“Very good,” Jericho said. “I have need of his special skills. See to his provisions and bear him away in the morning.”

“My lord…this man has pledged his soul by covenant,” Kane said hesitantly.

The face in the flame looked toward the man cowering on the ground opposite Kane. Jericho laughed at the man. “The deed is done already—he fell when your blood stained the contract,” Jericho said. “But know this also. A disease, already present in your body, will take your life within a fortnight.” The demon laughed again, and the flames resumed their normal state and color as he left Kane and his astonished client to their mischief. Meanwhile, Jericho journeyed invisible into the forest beyond Magog looking for his assassin.

Mordecai stood blindfolded in a bamboo thicket deep within the forest near the village of Magog. Within the priestly sash at his waist hung a wooden scabbard anchored by a silver ring. Bright stripes of white paint marked ten bamboo stalks around him intermingled with unmarked chutes.

Mordecai grasped the rather plain looking wooden hilt of his sword and separated it—an oval, silver cross guard being the only item distinguishing blade from scabbard. He whipped the blade out, tagging first one then another of the white marks on the bamboo.

Mordecai made several elegant flourishes and severed five more stalks with white marks. He slashed at a plain chute of bamboo, but stopped the blade short of impact. With a quick backward somersault, the priest landed between the remaining three bearing white paint, severing each at their mark.

The entire attack had been so precise and quick that the first chutes only began to fall when he had finished cutting the tenth. Mordecai replaced his blade and removed the cloth wrap he had been using as a blindfold. He dabbed the sweat from his brow and tossed the wad of cloth over his shoulder.

Quick as a flash, Mordecai drew the blade again, stabbing it through the cloth as it fell. Two fingers caught the blade in flight, holding it there. Jericho looked out from behind the cloth hanging on the blade point. “I see you are healing nicely, Mordecai,” he said.

“I knew it was you,” Mordecai said as he yanked the sword back from the demon’s grip, replacing it in his scabbard.

“Even better that you could feel my presence before seeing my form,” Jericho said. “That kind of skill will prove very useful when you kill the Deliverer.”

Mordecai lifted his shirt from the ground and began to put it on. “So, you’ve found him?”

“He has been spotted in Millertown.”

“Beneath the Thornhills, eh? Guess that means I was right about them going to the Temple.”

“Apparently,” Jericho admitted.

“What now?”

“Now you infiltrate the Temple and rid me of God’s Deliverer.”

“Easier said than done” Mordecai said.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning there is only one way to enter the temple—at least for a priest—but no way for a demon or an assassin.”

Jericho began to pace among the bamboo, his form sometimes passing through the stalks like a ghost, deep in thought. Mordecai watched him in his peripheral vision as he continued to dress, getting ready to walk back to the village. Jericho stopped, epiphany lighting up his face. “A diversion, perhaps?”

Mordecai instantly took up his line of thought. “Yes, to lure the angels from their posts.”

“If they are distracted, then a lone assassin might just be able to enter the Temple. You will have at least a three-week head start before Mordred orders his patrols into the region. His messenger knows about the priest in Millertown, but they have been delayed for the time being.”

“I’ll need longer than that,” Mordecai said. “If you want this done right, then let me do it my way. Besides, the journey from here to the Thornhill Mountains is over a month easily. I’m not so well endowed with power as your kind.”

Jericho scowled at the priest. “I want this matter handled quickly, before the prophecy can come to pass.”

“Like I said, I’ll need more time to get there, and this must be handled delicately. I’ve never failed you before, Jericho. I’ll have to get the boy away from the others.”

“And you boast of your skills?” Jericho said sarcastically.

“You’re not the one who’d be facing three hundred warrior-priests if I’m discovered,” Mordecai rebutted. “The boy must be drawn away from the others. Then, I will deal with him. You just give me what I need to get to Millertown, and I’ll call for you when I’m ready for the diversion. Leave the rest to me.”

Jericho stood and began to dissipate. “Train well, Mordecai. I won’t accept failure in this matter. You had better be as good as you claim.”

“Oh, I will be.”

SERVANTS OF SHADDAI

The path from the garden passed through a dense area of tall trees, so much that they seemed to become a wall on either side. The branches hung low overhead, criss-crossing, sewing up the area above them into a tunnel that obscured most of the sunlight. The path was a mixture of pea gravel and cobblestones, becoming pure stone as it reached the end of the tree tunnel.

Beyond, the path fell onto a large stone terrace chiseled from the very rock of the mountainside. A network of staircases and stone terraces proceeded all the way up, down, and around a massive cylindrical gorge in the mountain. A courtyard spread out across the ground, dividing into areas of stone, grass, sand, and dirt.

The walls of the gorge rose up around them nearly a thousand feet with the staircase network following it all the way up. It was a beautiful sight, but even more interesting to Ethan were the hundreds of warrior-priests training in the courtyard below them.

“I never imagined it would be like this,” Levi said as he tried to search the upper levels of the gorge. “This must be right inside of the mountain.”

“It certainly is, though I can’t tell you which mountain it is,” Gideon said. “But rest assured this place is not visible from above or from anywhere in the mountains a man may venture. You might also notice the sunlight is diffuse down here?”

“Yes,” Ethan noticed. “What’s the reason for that?”

“Clouds covering the mountains,” said Gideon. “And they always cover this place. Come on, let’s go down to the courtyard and let you see where you’ll soon begin training as a priest of Shaddai.”

Ethan smiled, falling in behind Gideon as they walked across the terrace to the stairs leading down. Another stairway ascended, following the rock wall, leveling out in different places where people entered and exited through carved stone archways, promising untold mysteries beyond.

They descended three levels to get to the very bottom and the courtyard beyond. Ethan sensed every eye upon them, though no one was obvious about it. When Gideon led them onto the first practice field, where ten priests were sword fighting, the first of many people came to welcome them. Rather, they welcomed Gideon, and he introduced the priests to his friends.

Everyone appeared friendly and not the least bit threatened by the presence of outsiders. Ethan supposed there was no reason they should be. After all, the warrior-priests of Shaddai were some of the most dangerous men in the world, and everyone knew it. Who could possibly threaten them here?

The priests varied in age from quite old to many who were younger than Ethan. They were paired older to younger, masters to pupils, training in the ways of The Order. Younger combinations fought and trained with wooden Bokkens while the more experienced students sparred against their mentors with battle ready, steel weapons.

As Ethan shook hands with many of the young men, he could not take his eyes off those conducting their training exercises around the courtyard. There were sword fights and hand-to-hand sparring. Still, in other areas, a single pupil faced down up to ten attackers at once. And in one instance, Ethan noticed the mentor was blindfolded and empty handed as the aggressors, most likely pupils, came at him with weapons. He successfully disarmed them all. “Wow,” Ethan said under his breath. I’m going to be trained to fight like that?

Ethan wondered if Levi felt somewhat out of place here. After all, Bonifast was not here to join the priestly order, so he seemed more like a fish out of water—a captain without a ship.

A water wagon came out onto the vast courtyard and began to make its rounds among the various training yards. Students and mentors alike took their fill from the wagon’s side spickets, refreshing themselves. “Let’s get you two settled into some sleeping quarters, a hot bath, and a meal,” Gideon said. “Then we’ll go and see the High Priest of The Order, Isaiah.”

As promised, Gideon treated Ethan and Levi to the hospitality of The Order. A bath fed by one of the hot springs in the mountain and a meal of chicken and vegetables grown in the temple gardens. When they were dressed again, Gideon found them and led them to an anteroom of the High Priest’s quarters. “Isaiah will be with us in a few moments,” Gideon said, opening the door to let them walk in before him.

“I’m already here, Gideon,” said a deep voice near the fireplace.

Other than the fire, the room was lit entirely by candlelight, despite it still being light outside. The chamber was stone like all of the rooms they had seen so far, cut from the very mountain itself. But here intricately carved paneling adorned every wall.

A tall man sat in a finely crafted leather chair next to the hearth. Isaiah motioned for them to sit next to him. “Please sit, gentlemen. We have much to discuss,” he said.

Ethan, Gideon, and Levi each took a seat in front of the High Priest of Shaddai. He had white hair, thinning but not bald and a neatly trimmed white beard. His robe was different from the others, sand colored with a matching sash at the waist and breeches. All of the priests wore the same flexible leather shoes with a short tie at the back of the ankle to tighten it on the foot. He sipped tea from a plain cup. “Gideon, pour for our guests, please,” he said.

Gideon bowed to the High Priest and poured a cup of the light colored tea for each of his friends. Despite the obvious quality, Ethan noticed that the rooms in the temple complex were all rather plain. There was a simple elegance to everything—a practical aspect to all he surveyed. Everything had its use. Somehow, he already felt at home being here.

Ethan sipped on the tea. It tasted very good: a hint of cinnamon and not too hot.

“Young man, Gideon tells me that you are the Deliverer of prophecy,” Isaiah said.

Ethan nearly spit the tea back into his cup. This Isaiah was certainly abrupt. “That is what Gideon has told me as well.”

“And what do you think?” Isaiah sipped again from his cup.

“Well, I do have special abilities which allow me to shift from the spiritual to the physical and I was born in Salem as the prophecy says the Deliverer must be. But honestly, sir, I think the Lord could have picked someone more capable than I am.”

“Really, what do you mean?”

“I’ve failed the Almighty. Despite the power He’s given me, Mordred still lives.” Ethan hung his head in shame before the High Priest’s gaze.

“Indeed,” Isaiah said, then he laughed—something Ethan hadn’t expected.

Ethan glanced at Gideon, trying to gauge Isaiah’s reaction. “Sir, I’m not sure I understand what is so funny.” Did this man not realize all was lost?

“My dear young man, you have not failed,” Isaiah said. “Shaddai has taught you a lesson in humility and nothing more, though that is certainly worth more than gold. Mordred lives only because it is not yet time for the prophecy to be fulfilled.”

“I don’t understand,” Ethan admitted.

“Learn this one thing now, Ethan, and never forget it: nothing can prevent the Almighty’s purposes from being accomplished. And for you to realize you cannot perform this task without the Lord is vitally important. None of us can do any truly good thing without Him, Ethan. The things you’ve seen, so far, should lead you to understand that we are totally dependent upon Shaddai. And that is how He desires it to be. Mankind’s great failure has always been to seek independence from our Creator.”

Hope rose in Ethan’s heart. He had not failed—all was not lost. He thought about what he had been through, how he had tried to go it alone. Isaiah was right. Ethan’s failure now turned to understanding and even victory. He had learned something valuable Shaddai wanted him to know.

“Master Isaiah, am I the Deliverer then, as Gideon has said?”

“From what Gideon told me, with reference to the prophecy, I was inclined to believe exactly that. But the mark upon your arm confirms it, undoubtedly. I trust we’ll see this power manifested even more in your training as a warrior-priest.”

“I’m to be trained then?”

“Yes. And what you’ve already learned from your experiences has given you a good start. Your training here will be mentally and physically challenging, but always remember this one thing and never forget it—without Shaddai, we can do nothing.”

It was a statement Ethan had heard all of his life. From his parents when he was little to Elspeth and their years spent at Howinger’s farm, it had been engrained into his mind. But perhaps only now did he really understand the depth of its meaning.

Ethan remembered Elspeth. She was still somewhere in the city of Emmanuel as far as he knew. He only hoped she could manage to stay alive until he fulfilled his purpose and destroyed Mordred. His sister was tough, a fighter and she could bear whatever she had to in order to survive—she always had.

Isaiah picked up a leather-bound book from the table next to his leather chair and opened it to a place he knew well. After a moment, Ethan recognized it. This was the Word of Shaddai. In the days before Mordred’s takeover in Nod, it had been found everywhere. At least that’s what Elspeth had told him.

Since those days, Mordred had taken it from the people. If they found someone with a copy of its manuscripts, the penalty was death. Elspeth had told him of the days, when he was still too young to remember such things, about Wraith Riders entering into the villages and towns—into the homes of the people and the places of worship to take the Word and burn it in piles in the streets.

Isaiah began reading from the book. “When the demon born conqueror rises to power, and darkness rules in the land of Shaddai, then shall come the Deliverer walking seen and unseen. Salem’s son who shall be a rod in the hand of the Lord to smite the wicked—and Shaddai’s priest shall be a sword of judgment and a king to bring the hearts of the people back to their God.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard the prophecy read from the Word,” Ethan said.

“See? I told you, Ethan, you are Salem’s son, the Deliverer who walks seen and unseen!” Gideon said.

“But what about the other part,” Levi said, “Where Shaddai’s priest is a sword of judgment and a king?”

“Well, obviously it refers to Ethan being trained as a priest of Shaddai. That’s why he’s been brought here, after all. And we’re not sure, but the Word seems to suggest that the Deliverer will be the next king of Nod,” Gideon said.

Levi looked at Ethan and then at Isaiah. “Is that what it means? The boy will be the next king?”

“Well to be honest, we aren’t exactly sure,” Isaiah confessed, “But that does appear to be the implication.”

Ethan sat astonished. Could this possibly be meant for him? Was he to be a king? Gideon placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’d gladly serve under you, if it’s the Shaddai’s will, Ethan.”

“Well, you’ve a long way to go before you can become a king,” Isaiah said. “It takes training to be what Shaddai would have you to be, king or no. And let’s not forget that Mordred will not give up his reign so easily, as you have seen. He commands a great host of demons who have allied with him.”

Ethan leaned toward Isaiah. “There’s one in particular.”

Isaiah stopped short of sipping the tea again. “What do you mean?”

Ethan raised his shirt to reveal the scars from the battle in the palace, throne room. “The one who did this to me seemed to be in charge of the others. He told me his name—Jericho.”

Isaiah’s complexion blanched at the name. He looked at Gideon.

“An ancient name,” Gideon said.

“An ancient foe,” Isaiah added. “He is the chief of demons, according to Shaddai’s Word, and he is worshipped in many different forms by the heathen. No wonder you could not defeat him in battle. Only Emmanuel himself can defeat this foe.”

“But I thought all of the demons served Mordred and his Wraith Riders,” Levi said, puzzled.

“You can be sure of this, Captain Bonifast, Jericho serves no one. Mordrid is simply a tool in his hand no matter what it may appear. Using Mordred and the Wraith Riders allows Jericho and his fellow angels to work in this physical realm in a way they otherwise could not.”

“Perhaps that is the reason for Ethan’s particular abilities?” Gideon said, feeling a sudden epiphany.

“Perhaps. We must do everything we can to help Ethan hone these gifts and many more he will learn here. And the sooner the better to begin the training, I think.” Isaiah closed the book and laid it on the table again as he stood up.

The other men followed, standing before the fire. “Welcome to The Order of Shaddai, my boy.” Isaiah smiled, placing a firm hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “You are now a priest in training. Gideon will see that you are fitted with robes, along with all you will need. I’m going to assign Gideon to be your mentor during your training. He’s the best we have.”

Ethan smiled, but Levi interjected. “I see that you’re going to have a lot to do here, boys. Therefore, I think it would be best if I did not remain. After all, I’ve lost my ship, and technically I’m still under the commission of King Stephen.”

“Captain Bonifast, I wonder if I might speak to you in private.” Isaiah said.

“Of course, sir.”

“Gideon, if you would, please take Ethan and get him settled in his quarters. Then show him around the Temple. There’s a lot for him to learn and very little time to do so.”

“Yes, Master Isaiah.” Gideon and Ethan left the anteroom the way they had entered, closing the door behind them, leaving Levi with the High Priest of Shaddai. Levi forced a queer smile.

SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT

When the door closed, Levi suddenly felt a bit claustrophobic. The High Priest exuded authority and vast wisdom, and it simply made him uncomfortable that he was singled out to stay and speak with the man.

“Captain Bonifast, I truly appreciate your help in bringing Ethan to us here at The Order. Gideon has shared some of the more harrowing details of your brief acquaintance and his gratitude toward you for saving their lives on several occasions. I know that it cost you dearly to do so.”

“Well, that ride in here was pretty harrowing; I don’t mind telling you…” Levi coughed, abandoning his joke. “I appreciate the sentiment, Master Isaiah, but thanks are not necessary. It’s been my privilege to know these two young men. I count them as true friends. And if these things were meant to happen in Shaddai’s will, then I accept them.”

Isaiah smiled. “Gideon said that you were a man of strong faith. I can see he did not misjudge you.” The High Priest took his own seat again next to the fireplace. “Please, let’s sit for just a moment.”

Levi obliged the man, though uncertainly.

“It is concerning the will of the Almighty that I wish to speak to you about,” Isaiah said. “I can understand your desire to leave the Temple and to report back to Stephen, as there is still a war going on. And I fear it is only the beginning. But consider that Stephen’s army is defeated, and he has barely been able to cross back into his own country of Wayland.”

The news surprised Levi, shown plainly on his face. The elder man laughed. “Did you think that we are so secluded from the outside that we know nothing of the world in here? We, in fact, receive regular reports from all over Nod. Right now, Mordred is personally searching for the Deliverer, punishing those villages and towns which have given aid to Stephen’s army. You might go to Wayland as you said, or you could remain in Nod and perform a task that was given to me by Shaddai himself in a vision.”

Now Levi became intrigued. “You’ve got my ear, sir.”

“Shaddai has revealed to me that the Isle of Macedon is sending an emissary to us requesting the Word be sent to them.”

“But they aren’t part of Nodian territory.”

“We send the Word to anyone who asks, Captain, regardless of their affiliation. This is our task. We copy the manuscripts and prepare the volumes for transport. Our warrior-priests escort the Word to its destination, often remaining to play a role in the teaching and preaching of its contents. The heathen occupy Macedon to this day, but ten years ago, we sent two priests charged with preserving the Word already there. Both of them are missing and presumed dead.”

“So, where do I fit into this?” Levi asked.

“We are preparing to send the Word by ship to the Island. I am hoping you, Captain, will be willing to provide transport for the priests who are chosen to go.”

“But my ship is gone, blown to bits trying to escape with our lives from Mordred’s navy.”

“I understand, but I’m offering to give you a new ship and the means to outfit it as you please with crew and weaponry,” Isaiah said.

Levi’s right eyebrow cocked up. “Really? Now you’re talking.”

“I thought you might be interested.”

“And when this voyage is concluded?”

“The ship is yours, of course,” Isaiah said.

It seemed like too sweet a deal to pass up. Stephen was running for his life back to Wayland. He would not return to Nod anytime soon—if he ever did. What else did he have to do, but take the High Priest up on his generous offer?

“How long until we go to Macedon?” Levi asked.

“As I understand it, the emissary from Macedon is already on his way to Millertown where he can get a message to us directly. But it will take him some time to arrive. It will likely be several months from now before we send our priests with the Word. In the meantime you can take provisions and money and go to Hopple where you’ll find the ship waiting for you.”

“Hopple?” Levi asked. “But Hopple is just a small fishing village on the northern coast.”

“It is indeed and generally goes unnoticed by Mordred. Nevertheless, we have the ship stored there for just such emergencies. And it’s not been discovered yet.”

“I’ll depart tomorrow for Hopple if it pleases you,” Levi said with a grin on his face. He was going to get back to the sea, the one place he loved more than any other.

“Very good, Captain,” Isaiah said. “I’m sure it goes without saying that should you deceive us in some way—take the ship and the money—and leave off from the task we’re sending you for, it would not go well for you.”

“It does…but you just said it.”

Isaiah took a sip of his tea, grinning over the brim of his cup at the sea captain. “Yes, I did.”

CUNNING TRAP

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just stay here with us at the Temple,” Ethan said. The boy was dressed in his new robes. They were blue with a red sash indicating his status as a pupil under the tutelage of a mentoring warrior-priest.

“I’m not a priest, Ethan,” Levi said. “This just isn’t where Shaddai wants me to be. I’m a man of the sea and the Almighty will make a way for me to get back to serving him in that way—I’m certain of it.”

“Joseph will escort you back to the river and you’ll be able to leave through a different way than we came in,” Gideon said. He offered his hand to the sea captain. “I have a feeling we’ll meet again, but if not, then I’m sure we’ll see you in the Kingdom of Shaddai when life’s journey is over.”

Joseph and Levi both carried saddlebags with enough provisions to get the sea captain started on his journey. Besides that though, the bags were heavy with gold, which Isaiah had given to Bonifast to aid him in his journey and to procure the necessary materials and crew for his new ship awaiting his arrival at the fishing village of Hopple.

He kept this part of his leaving from both Gideon and Ethan. Isaiah did not want them to worry about him or become distracted by the knowledge that the sea captain was working for The Order. And when it came time to choose someone for the mission of escorting the Word to the Isle of Macedon, Isaiah did not want Gideon or Ethan to insinuate themselves, knowing they would be sailing with Bonifast. Because it pleased Isaiah, Levi honored this request.

“We’ll be seein ya, boys!” Levi said. He turned and followed Joseph the priest along the winding corridor which would take them to an intersecting point with the river running down the mountain. Ethan watched until the two men were out of sight and then he joined Gideon at the stone railing.

The balcony overlooked the entire gorge below. They stood at the top of the cylindrical wall built by The Order—over a thousand feet in height. Just above them, it opened up and the clouds hung almost low enough to touch. They were completely hidden from the outside world.

“Well, that’s that,” Ethan said. “I’m going to miss him.”

“He’s a good friend—a good man.”

“Do you really think we’ll see him again?”

“Only Shaddai knows,” Gideon said. He paused. “I hope we will. In the meantime, you’ve got training to tend to, and there’s no time like the present to begin. Let’s have a race back down to the courtyard. Pacing will win out in this one!”

Gideon shot away with Ethan quickly falling in behind his mentor, smiling all the way.

Hevas Rommil gazed out his window at the docks beyond. The burly Wraith General sipped on a cup of wine as he watched the galleon, bearing their emissary to Millertown in Nod, follow the setting sun toward the distant horizon. He had baited the trap, but Hevas wondered how successful this plan would actually be.

It was Lord Mordred’s intent to draw the boy with a plea for the Word in the Isle of Macedon. Hevas had been the Wraith General responsible for eliminating the Word in this island, and it seemed ridiculous to seek it again. But as Mordred’s messenger had said, “This is only a ploy to destroy the Deliverer.”

It had been nearly a month since word had come to Hevas of his twin brother’s death at the hands of the Deliverer. He had died in defense of Lord Mordred and had taken the blow meant for him there in the throne room of Emmanuel Palace. His brother had always been a brave man and a cunning warrior. Hevas missed him.

Rommil did not know whether this plan would actually draw the boy out of the Temple, but he certainly hoped. He longed to destroy the boy with his own hands. If he got a hold of the Deliverer, he would make him regret ever spilling the blood of a Rommil.

“You may carry word back to our lord, Mordred. The emissary is on his way to Millertown,” Hevas said. “Once he arrives, he will dispatch a message to the Temple desiring the Word to be carried to Macedon.”

“Very good, Rommil,” Jericho said. “Your brother would be proud.”

Rommil turned sharply at the mention of his brother. “Lord Jericho, I want to be the one to kill the boy, if and when he should arrive here on Macedon.”

“I can understand your desire to avenge your brother, Hevas,” Jericho said, emerging from the shadows to pass through a chair. “But we must be patient. It is not certain the boy will be the one to bear the Word to Macedon. Isaiah might very well send someone more qualified and experienced for this journey. After all, it would be risky to send the boy outside of the borders of Nod, even for such a noble task.”

Rommil considered it. “Then why do we bother baiting this trap? Surely, their High Priest will want to keep the boy hidden from us. The Temple is impenetrable while Shaddai’s angels protect it. Isaiah will never send the boy away from the one place where he is safe.”

Jericho smiled as he watched the setting sun and the silhouette of the galleon on the horizon. “If I have anything to say about it, Isaiah will soon realize that not even the Temple itself will be a safe haven for the Deliverer.”

ROYAL EMISSARY

It had been almost four months since Sarah had watched Gideon depart for the Temple with his new companions. She had watched her secret husband leaving, yet again, through her tears. When would she have him to herself as she longed to? Gideon had still not given her a certain answer.

Often, she wondered why she had accepted his proposal. It was part of the vow of a priest of Shaddai to remain unmarried, not that Shaddai forbade marriage, but because of the complete separation of The Order. They required it and Gideon had sworn himself to it as a child.

Sarah had not asked for his love, but now she could not live without it. Gideon meant to leave The Order someday by his own admission. But she was beginning to wonder if the day would ever come when he actually performed the deed. The appearance of the Deliverer would only complicate his decision further.

Sarah crossed the street, heading for the physician’s office two buildings down from the Willow Tree Inn. Mr. Hobb was the Healer in Millertown—a lithe man of nearly fifty years with wire-rimmed glasses and a white receding hairline. Hobb was ever kind and well versed in the medical arts.

Hobb had a simple place for his office since most of his work occurred in the homes of his patients at their bedsides. He did have a room in the back where he performed complex procedures, but usually it went unused. As payment for his services, Hobb would readily accept livestock or vegetables from someone’s garden and sometimes even nothing at all. Many wondered how he managed to survive on his meager wages, but what had not been well known was Hobb’s silent partnership in the Willow Tree Inn with Mr. Oggle.

Sarah looked this way and that, before entering Hobb’s office. She did not wish to be conspicuous. In a small place like Millertown, a visit to the Healer could quickly run the grape vine and subject one to all manner of questions and rumors.

Had it not been for the regularity of her nausea, Sarah might not have come at all. But she feared the plague which had taken several people’s lives in the past year. If she had any such disease, she might never see Gideon before he came back from The Order on another mission.

“Good day to you, Sarah,” Hobbs said as he met her at the door. She rushed inside and he shut the door behind her. “What’s the matter my dear, not feeling well?” he asked with a quirky smile.

“I’ve been ill almost every day for weeks now, Mr. Hobbs. I’m afraid I might have the plague or something equally horrible.”

Hobbs regarded the young maiden, smirking slightly before asking her to come into the back room. Sarah wondered why he didn’t look as worried about her condition as she might have supposed he should.

When Sarah emerged from the office of Mr. Hobb’s, she was at least as frightened about her condition as she had been when she entered two hours earlier. However, fear now mingled with new joy she wanted desperately to share with her husband.

A procession of some sort made its way into the middle of town, creating a great deal of noise. A covered carriage lumbered through the street pulled by a team of black mares with an armed military escort before and behind it.

Sarah had never seen anything like it entering her small town. Compared with the usual travelers, this person might as well have been a king for all of the fuss made. Children ran into the street, trotting along beside the soldiers and the carriage while Sarah stood watching with other bystanders on the wooden boardwalk stretching before the shops and businesses. The carriage, with its entourage, stopped when it reached the Willow Tree Inn. Mr. Oggle and Blane waited at the door, intending to greet this person when they disembarked.

Not having anyone she could share her own news with now, Sarah walked across the street. Something of this magnitude was simply too good to pass on. She mingled with the small crowd, trying to get closer to the carriage and its mysterious passenger.

When one of the armed soldiers opened the carriage door, a man wearing regal attire of gray and blue stepped forth to meet Mr. Oggle. He shook Oggle’s hand and then followed him inside as they talked. Several soldiers followed them inside the Willow Tree along with Blane as other soldiers stood guard at the door, blocking access for the curious crowd.

Sarah decided she would take the back way in and see what she could find out. She knew Blane would usually be the one to answer the service bell in the rear and supposed he would probably let her in. Sarah walked to the back of the building while the crowd remained in the street, trying to stir the rumor pot as to who this visitor actually was and what the nature of his visit might be.

Sarah gave Blane a few minutes and then she rang the service bell. In a moment, Blane appeared at the door. When he saw Sarah standing there, he looked about, making sure no one else was trying to gain admittance, then said, “Oh, all right. But don’t you let Mr. Oggle know I let you in.”

“I won’t,” she said and ran inside before he could change his mind.

Sarah followed him through the kitchen where several older women worked, cooking food and tending to dirty dishes and such. “What’s going on, Blane? Who is that man?”

“He’s the Royal Emissary from the Isle of Macedon. He’s come to make a request of The Order of Shaddai.”

“For what?”

Blane peered through the curtain into the main room. “He told Mr. Oggle their king desires The Order to send them the Word of Shaddai again.”

“But I thought Macedon had been taken over by Mordred’s army a few years ago,” Sarah said. “Why would the king ask for such a thing? Surely Mordred wouldn’t allow them to have Shaddai’s Word again.”

They watched through the curtain as the Royal Emissary prepared a message to send by falcon into the Thornhill Mountains. The falcon was specially trained to come back to the Temple and Shaddai’s priests with its message. And Millertown was the only place readily known where such a falcon could be found.

Mr. Oggle took the message after the emissary had prepared it. He rolled it up and placed it into a silver tube attached to a chain. He walked over to the large cage Blane had previously rolled out into the room and clamped the small bracelet and chain with the message cylinder to the falcon’s leg.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Blane donned a leather gauntlet and hurried out from behind the curtain. “I’m responsible for releasing the bird,” he called back. Sarah watched as Blane handled the animal, now adorned with a small hood. Having removed the falcon from the cage, Blane took it to a side door off the main room, removed its hood, and released it.

Blane came back in with the little hood in his hand, removing the leather gauntlet. He wore a smile as he came and bowed toward the emissary and reported the message sent on its way to the Temple and the High Priest of Shaddai.

“How long until I can expect a reply?” the Royal Emissary asked.

“Isaiah, the High Priest, is usually quick to respond,” Mr. Oggle said. “Probably tomorrow, but I’ll have Blane prepare our finest room for you so you’ll have a comfortable stay until the falcon returns.”

The emissary nodded and Blane bowed before hurrying off to prepare the room. Sarah stood there puzzled. Something did not make sense about all of it. Had the Isle of Macedon been liberated recently? If so, she was not aware of it. And how had this emissary and his entourage made it all the way to the Thornhills without encountering Mordred’s soldiers?

Sarah rubbed her belly and thought of her husband. She wished she could ask him these questions or at least know what he was doing. Sarah had important news to tell, and she hoped it would not be too long before she got the opportunity.

ASSASSINS IN THE MIDST

Mordecai watched with interest as the military men dispersed to equidistant positions around the Willow Tree Inn across the street. He wiped the dust from the dirty window of the attic loft where he had been hiding since last night. The business below, in the main part of the building, was a store where general goods were sold.

“Now what is all that about, I wonder,” Mordecai whispered to himself.

“Fascinating isn’t it?” a deep voice asked.

Mordecai whipped around with a dagger in his hand ready to hurl it at the source of the voice. When he saw the unexpected yet familiar face standing before him, he relaxed, if only a little. His pent up tension escaped with a measured sigh. “What are you doing here, Jericho?”

“I usually like to make sure men in my service are fulfilling their duties properly in accordance with my design.” The demon leaned against a bare support beam in the dusty gloom of half-light.

“You’ve nothing to worry about,” Mordecai assured him. “I’ll carry out my part of this, just as I said.”

“Oh, I’m not referring to you, Mordecai.”

The former priest eyed the demon warily and then looked back out the window toward the Willow Tree Inn. “You mean fancy breeches? Who is he anyway? Those colors remind me of old Macedon armor.”

“Very good, Mordecai, I’m almost impressed. As we speak, an emissary from Macedon is baiting my trap.”

“For the boy? How so?” Mordecai asked insistently.

“I never put all my eggs into one basket, Mordecai.”

“I said I would get him and I will.”

“Look at it this way,” Jericho explained, “If you can eliminate the boy, then you’ll find the priests somewhat distracted by the news this emissary is carrying. It can only work in your favor.”

Mordecai grimaced. He was being insulted, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“I trust you have all the equipment you will need?” Jericho said evenly.

“In this very store I’ll find what I need. It will be a simple matter of taking it tonight while everyone is asleep.”

“I want no witnesses, Mordecai, and no evidence of what you’ve taken,” Jericho said. “If someone were to discover mountain climbing gear missing in a theft, then they might suspect something amiss and send word to Isaiah so that he would have his priests watching for the thief.”

“I’m not afraid of the priests,” Mordecai spat. “I trained half of them.”

“Nevertheless, I want no evidence left behind.”

“Not a problem,” Mordecai said.

The demon smiled unconvincingly and then faded into the shadows. Mordecai turned his attention back to the soldiers in the street and the sun now beginning to set upon the western horizon. Soon it would be time to journey into the Thornhill Mountains.

It was well after the midnight hour when Mordecai stirred from his daytime slumber. For the most part, he had been able to ignore the commotion caused by the Royal Emissary from Macedon across the street at Millertown’s Willow Tree Inn. While everyone in town slept, he would get his supplies and set off on his journey to the Temple. No one had seen him enter Millertown and no one would see him leave.

Mordecai stole down the side of the building and forced the lock on the back of the General Goods Store. He crept inside without a sound. Mordecai smiled. He watched the storeowner and his wife as they slept near a wood burning stove. They kept the room very warm this evening as a cold snap had descended upon the Thornhills.

The storeowner, an elderly man of good reputation, slept soundly beside his wife. She was well known for her delicious pies. In fact, people would mention those wonderful pies after her passing—not to mention the awful way in which she and her kindly husband had passed—such a tragedy.

A trail of lamp oil crept across the floor toward several hot coals which had been aided in their escape from the wood stove. The embers glowed red on the floor as the oil slid snake-like toward them. Beyond the spilt lamp oil were a number of powder kegs. Mordecai had shifted their location somewhat in the last ten minutes. It would be said, the old man was foolish to keep his black powder stores in such close proximity to his wood stove. Others would curse the day they placed their own businesses near the General Goods Store, even knowing the sort of volatile agents being sold there.

Mordecai slipped out the door to lay hold on the horse he had stolen along with the gear he had stolen from the store. The assassin-priest rode at a hard gallop, escaping Millertown completely by the time the flames bloomed from the lamp oil stain and leaped across the room to the black powder kegs. The General Goods Store blew apart in every direction at once, sending fiery debris onto the neighboring businesses located in the middle of town.

The explosion shook everyone staying at the Willow Tree Inn from their beds. The thunderous shockwave shattered every window in the Inn. The volunteer fire department of Millertown would later record it as the worst disaster they had ever faced in their eighty-year history. Moreover, the storage and sale of black powder would be prohibited in the Millertown for years to come.

The least realized effect, but perhaps the most important to the nefarious schemer who had caused the deed, was that no one knew a theft of mountain climbing equipment had taken place—equipment necessary for a deadly assassin to gain access to the Temple of Shaddai without its priests noticing. Mordecai ascended into the Thornhill Mountains. He still had a prophesied Deliverer to kill.

A DECEPTIVE CALL

Ethan stood among the target dummies at the end of the archery range, his body en guard in a traditional martial arts stance, watching his friend and mentor take aim. Almost four months of intense training had brought him to this point. Gideon refused to be specific, but he had at least been excited about the speed with which Ethan took to the training and ways of the priesthood.

Ethan had heard the other priestly mentors commenting about Gideon’s pupil being almost born to the tasks presented to him. He was glad for the attention surrounding his training, but Gideon had been especially clear to teach him to guard against pride. Ethan whispered a prayer of submission to the will of Shaddai, then heard the release of Gideon’s bowstring fifty yards away.

Ethan tracked two arrows—simultaneous—as Gideon was fond of doing. They were dead on target. In the blink of an eye, Ethan leaned to the side, snapping his right arm out and through both arrow shafts. These four months had trained speed into his body, nearly catching up with his unnatural speed of sight.

Gideon grinned at his able pupil, but did not let up the assault just yet. Six more shafts followed in lightning quick succession. Ethan snapped five in the same manner, then caught the last as he spun and came back to his original stance. Only this time, he curled his index finger at his mentor—ready for more. Gideon laughed and lowered his bow.

Just then, the cry of a falcon pierced the air. Both Gideon and Ethan looked up, as did priests all over the courtyard. They saw the large predatory bird pierce the cloud cover at the top of the chasm. “A message is coming in,” Gideon said.

The falcons had been trained to go directly to a perch residing in the walkway outside of Isaiah’s private quarters. By the time Gideon and Ethan ascended to the seventh level and ran around the circular walkway carved into the chasm wall, the High Priest was already reading the message. Joseph, another mentoring priest who kept the falcons and cared for them, stroked the bird, feeding it a plump, wriggling mouse as a treat.

Gideon stopped running when Isaiah’s eyes rose to meet his own. He could see it in the High Priest’s expression—Macedon had finally called for the Word. Gideon smiled, but Isaiah did not return it. Gideon became concerned. Were him and his star pupil not going to receive this assignment?

Gideon had honestly never considered the possibility. After all, Ethan needed the training, he was more than ready, and if he was going to accomplish the purposes of Shaddai, he could not stay here at the Temple forever. Isaiah’s expression beckoned Gideon to follow, but also betrayed his lack of enthusiasm for the argument about to come from his most valued priest and dearest friend.

When Gideon got to the chamber door, he turned, motioning for Ethan to remain outside. He smiled and closed the door behind him. Gideon walked into the dimly lit room where Isaiah stood beside the fireplace leaning upon the hearth on one hand. He looked tired.

“Are you all right?” Gideon asked.

Isaiah sighed. “I’ve not been sleeping well the past week. I see visions, disturbing images, and I have no explanation for them. If the Almighty desires to show me something, I have no idea what it means.”

“What sort of images?”

“Explosions, fire, and a man in black, but I could not discern the identity,” Isaiah said.

Gideon thought about it, but had no idea what any of it could mean. Isaiah had the gift of foresight. Often Shaddai showed him events that were going to happen. But usually the Almighty gave him discernment of the visions. The lack of understanding seemed to shake his mentor to the core.

Isaiah leveled his gaze on his brightest pupil. “I know you want to take the boy and carry the Word to Macedon.”

“Of course…I want to serve any way I can, Isaiah. The boy is ready for this and I truly feel he needs it.”

Isaiah smiled at his friend. “Gideon you are the finest priest I have ever trained and a trusted friend, but I do not share your optimism about sending the boy to this task. Something is waiting, even wanting us to make a move—the wrong move. And I’m mystified as to the correct path. I don’t want to send the boy out before the time.”

“Isaiah, the decision is yours, but please pray about it further before you decide. After all, if it is the will of Shaddai for this boy to destroy Mordred then how can we undo it?”

Isaiah placed a hand on Gideon’s shoulder. It seemed like a weight lifted with his words. “Your wisdom is a gift from the Almighty, Gideon. Of course, you’re right. No one can undo the will of Shaddai.” The High priest settled into his chair. “I watched you test him on the archery field. I’ve never seen a student progress so quickly.”

“Ethan is like a sponge soaking up everything I can throw at him,” Gideon reported. “I’m trying to push him to his limits, as you did me, but I don’t know if I can find his limits. That’s one of the reasons I believe we should not contain him here any longer than we must.”

Isaiah poured them both a cup of tea and handed one to Gideon. “Allow me to meditate and pray about it this evening. Hopefully the Lord will give us an answer by tomorrow.”

Mordecai waited nearly a quarter mile away from the lip of the chasm. Jericho had been very specific with his instructions—that he not venture any closer else he would risk being seen by the angels guarding the Temple. The evening grew dim as the sun descended toward the west and the clouds hanging around the mountain captured the light, casting a reddish-pink hue over the entire landscape around him.

“It is time,” a menacing voice said from behind.

Mordecai turned to find Jericho there perched on a short outcropping of bare rock.

“I’m ready,” Mordecai said. He was dressed completely in snug-fitting, black clothing along with a hood, which tied around his face so that only the bridge of his nose and his eyes were visible.

“The attack is beginning,” Jericho said. He stood upon the rock looking up into the air. “You must be quick to the chasm and use the cover of the terrain as best as you can.”

The last glimpses of red sunlight began to fade as a shroud of darkness fell across the land. Jericho pulled a massive blade from a scabbard on his back and held it aloft. The final rays glinted upon its surface casting it blood red. “It has been so long since I have engaged my former brothers in battle!”

Mordecai watched as the demon smiled and howled a war cry, leaping into the air. Massive wings, with soiled feathers, burst from his back as he took flight. The demon shot away, becoming invisible to Mordecai either by will or sheer speed. “Go now, Mordecai!” he called back.

The assassin launched out of his hiding place among the rock and bolted through the trees covering the face of the mountain. He heard multiplied peels of thunder cross the sky, yet no rain. He imagined the fierce battle taking place in the atmosphere above while he ran for the edge of the chasm. This way would take him down into the heart of Shaddai’s Temple.

Mordecai finally reached the edge of the cliff. The massive chasm opened up before him like the maw of some giant monster. It looked as though it might be able to swallow an entire city. Faint lantern light shone to him from various places far below. Despite Jericho’s affirmations, Mordecai was surprised to get this far without encountering the Temple’s heavenly defense. The diversion, apparently, was working.

Mordecai removed the layered loop of rope from his shoulder and placed the grappling hook firmly in place on the rock. He wrapped the rope under his rear and took the other end in his hand. Mordecai backed off the ledge, beginning a quick, controlled descent into the mouth of the chasm.

It would be close, but this longest length of rope, taken from the General Goods Store in Millertown, would be just long enough to reach the highest level of the Temple’s many levels. The thunder continued unabated for another five minutes, until Mordecai had almost reached his destination.

When Mordecai came, literally, to the end of his rope, he stood still on the face of the cliff wall, watching a sentry patrol the stone walkway of the highest level with a lantern in hand. Each of the levels held a walkway running like a horizontal vein through the rock nearly three quarters of the way around the wall of the cylindrical chasm. Each walkway acted as a hub joining living quarters for the priests and other rooms and tunnels to the whole. From there, a series of terraces and stairs interconnected the twenty levels and the massive training courtyard below.

Mordecai hugged the wall with his body as the sentry reached the end of the walkway, searched out over the railing into the darkness of the chasm, then turned to go back the way he had come. Mordecai saw by the color of the young priest’s robes: that he was still a novice learning under a mentor.

Mordecai spotted his opportunity and thrust his body away from the wall. He sailed in a wide arc—a pendulum upon a rope—bringing him precisely to the place where the priest was walking. Mordecai released the rope, and his momentum carried him over the carved stone rail and into the young sentry.

Mordecai delivered a single deadly blow, while in flight, with enough force to break the man’s neck. The young priest never even saw the assassin coming. Now all Mordecai needed to do was get down to the first level where all of the priests-in-training lived. There he would find the boy and finish the job he should have completed in Grandee.

NIGHTMARE AWAKENING

Isaiah tossed and turned upon his bed. Sweat drenched his body beneath his blankets as a nightmare unfolded itself while he slept. He sensed urgency in this dream not present before in earlier dreams and the images pulled him in.

Isaiah viewed the Temple from above, saw angels in white apparel and golden breastplates guarding The Order of Shaddai. Demons of all sorts descended en masse against their heavenly defense. The angels rose to the fight and a battle of epic proportions shook the very heavens as blades and war hammers, battle-axes and whips, fist and claw clashed above the citadel of Shaddai’s priestly servants.

The vision warped to a man in black lurking in shadow, then to Gideon running across the courtyard stones as black pitch rose around his feet, steadily hindering his progress until he struggled to keep his head above the thick darkness. He saw young Ethan, then the man in black sprang from the shadows to attack the boy.

The High Priest burst out of the dream as suddenly as he had been dragged into the nightmare. He was awake, sitting upright in bed, heaving every breath in and out of his tight chest. His senses screamed to him that this vision was not merely part of the future. The danger was now!

Mordecai laughed at how easy they had made this assassination for him. There on the door was the boy’s name: Ethan. He knew the layout of these rooms as well as anyone. His own room, when he had been a trainee, stood just three doors down from this one.

Mordecai drew his blade and kicked the door in. The assassin shot into the room, heading for the teenage boy sitting up in bed. His blade sliced the air. Goose down exploded into a cloud around the bed.

Ethan crouched on the floor in the dark, trying to orient himself after waking up so suddenly. The attacker came again, but Ethan evaded, rolling across the cold stone. Sparks leaped after him as Mordecai whipped the blade back and forth against the floor, following his prey.

Ethan rolled up to his feet, facing his attacker. Mordecai was dressed completely in black, but Ethan could still see him, even feel the heat from his body. The edged steel whistled, cutting through the air. Ethan ducked beneath the strike. But he was backed against the wall already.

Mordecai made a quick thrust, which should have finished the boy, but his blade only bit into the stone. The boy had disappeared. Mordecai leaped back quickly, slicing the air around him as he did so. He had already been informed of the boy’s power by Jericho. Ethan might be invisible, but he could still kill in the physical realm if he put the proper effort forth. One asset Jericho had equipped Mordecai with was the knowledge that any spiritual being, seen or unseen must become physical to affect the physical world.

This was where the rigorous training of a priest of Shaddai would either fail him or empower him. Mordecai closed his eyes and focused on his other senses. He shut out the need for physical sight, waiting motionless for the boy to make his move.

A spiritual blade, suddenly taking on physical characteristics, cut through the air behind Mordecai. He whipped his own sword over his head to his shoulders to block. His steel sang out, impacting with the boy’s unseen weapon. Mordecai’s skin tingled with expectation, every hair standing erect, waiting to taste the ripple of an air current when his invisible enemy moved into the physical world again.

“Come now, boy, let’s not play this game all night,” Mordecai hissed.

The glow of lamplight and the sound of rapid footfalls approached the open doorway. “The sentry…can you warn him before I kill him, Deliverer?” Mordecai asked.

Mordecai ran for the door to meet the unprepared priest who was coming to investigate the noise.

Ethan materialized in order to sound a warning. “Assassin coming out of my room!

Mordecai turned back when he heard Ethan’s voice, whipping his sword at the boy. Ethan sidestepped the weapon, as he had the arrows earlier, but caught the pommel as it passed. Now he had Mordecai’s sword and he went after him.

The sentry appeared in front of the open doorway with a sword in one hand and a lantern in the other. Mordecai kicked the lantern back into the priest’s chest. The glass bell shattered upon impact, spraying the sentry with fire. He dropped his sword as he tried to beat the flames out.

Mordecai swept the blade up, turning to meet a strike from Ethan. A rapid-fire series of strikes, blocks, parries, and faints ensued as each of them tried to find gain the advantage—neither could. Ethan’s sight allowed him to see every move Mordecai made with vivid detail, but he could not make his own movements fast enough to get past his defense.

The sentry screamed as he rolled on the ground, trying to put the flames out. The other priests on the first level began to emerge from their rooms along with a few from the second level. An alarm bell sounded.

Mordecai turned from the fight and ran out into the darkness of the courtyard, expecting Ethan to follow without thinking. He was right. Ethan ran after him without a second thought, bent on destroying his assassin.

The first alarm caused more bells to sound all over the complex. The priests came out of their rooms like angry bees from a busted hive, weapons at the ready. But they were all focused on the first sentry who had managed, by now, to extinguish himself with help from some of the first responders.

Mordecai and Ethan were now shrouded in darkness a good one hundred yards out onto the courtyard. Mordecai turned and swiped at Ethan as he ran up behind. Ethan had too much momentum to stall on the dew-laden grass, so he used it to somersault over the blade as it cut horizontally through the air.

Ethan landed and countered, but Mordecai blocked again. The stalemate raged on in the darkness. Mordecai heard voices: the sentry trying to explain what had happened. Others mentioned the courtyard.

Warrior-priests ran out onto the training grounds with lanterns and weapons, trying to locate Ethan and the assassin. Sparks, from the two blades in combat, led the way as the priests and their lanterns began to light the training-field-turned-battlefield. Mordecai tried his best to get past the young man’s defense, but Ethan’s skill was simply too much to overcome head to head.

Several times, Mordecai made clear strikes past Ethan’s weapon only to meet thin air as the boy realm shifted out of the physical, changed position, and then came back at him. Mordecai’s surprise tactical advantage was gone. The priests of Shaddai ran upon him. Ethan backed away from the fight as the others tried to get around the assassin.

Mordecai stood exposed. Several arrow shafts launched from the crowd. But Mordecai struck them down with deft movements of his weapon or dodged them entirely. The time had come to change his plan. The boy was no longer a feasible goal. I can still hurt The Order though, he thought.

Mordecai charged, flanking of the crowd where the number of priests was fewer. Several tried to intercept him, but he cut them down quickly and charged back toward the edge of the training field. The crowd ran after him with Ethan following.

As Mordecai reached the first set of stairs, leading up toward the second level, he encountered more priests coming down, but they were unsure what was happening. He used surprise to his advantage and struck them down before they realized the situation. He charged upward again.

As he ascended to higher and higher levels, Mordecai encountered less and less resistance. The priests had taken other routes toward the lower levels already, but one man in particular would stay near his quarters. Mordecai pushed his aching legs onward and upward until he reached the seventh level. When he charged onto the landing, he saw the older man standing near the end of the walkway, looking over the stone railing, trying to ascertain the situation.

Mordecai sneered at the High Priest and charged at him like a rabid animal. Isaiah readied himself as the assassin in black rushed toward him. He had no weapon in his hand.

Isaiah let the first strike glide diagonally above his right shoulder. The cutting of the air whistled in his ear. He stepped inside Mordecai’s line of attack—his arms entangling the man’s movements so a second strike became impossible. Isaiah sent several rigid fingers under Mordecai’s ribcage striking his liver, then hammered the man’s right ear with an open palm as solid as a board.

Mordecai staggered backwards, allowing Isaiah to whip one fist out between his arms and knock the sword free. It clattered to the stone floor. Mordecai quickly recuperated and leaped at the High Priest. “I’ll kill you, old man!”

“Mordecai?” Isaiah realized. “I should have known. Only you would have the audacity to try and attack the Temple.”

The crowd quickly stormed up the staircases, trying to find the assassin. Mordecai launched a vicious round of kicks and punches at Isaiah. For a moment, the High Priest met them. But Mordecai soon overwhelmed him with youthful vitality.

He smashed Isaiah in the chest, complicating his already labored breathing. The elderly High Priest staggered back, but Mordecai pursued him, landing several severe blows to his head. Isaiah fell to the stone floor as Mordecai picked up his sword and prepared to deliver the deathblow.

Multiplied air-whistles warned him in time to turn and deflect Gideon’s sword whirling toward him from twenty feet away. Mordecai smiled at his nemesis. “You should never throw away your weapon so foolishly, Gideon!” He charged at the priest who had nearly killed him months before, revenge boiling in his eyes.

“I didn’t,” Gideon said. He pulled a cocked pistol from his robe and fired. The blast caught Mordecai unexpected in the sternum. He buckled to his knees, dropped his sword, blinked once in astonishment, then fell forward dead.

Gideon ran to Isaiah’s side as many more of the priests reached the seventh level and charged down the walkway. “Are you all right?” Gideon asked.

“I never would have thought to see the day when you would use such a crude weapon,” Isaiah said as Gideon helped him to his feet.

Gideon looked at Mordecai lying in a pool of blood on the stone walkway. “I’m starting to gain a new appreciation for them.”

ETHAN MUST GO

After all was said and done, Mordecai had taken the lives of four priests with one wounded severely and one burned across parts of his chest and neck. But the Deliverer was alive along with the High Priest of The Order of Shaddai. “I never thought something like this could happen,” Isaiah said. He stood, leaning on the walkway railing outside of his residence.

The lamps made the courtyard look like firefly season. The entire order had awakened. They conducted a full search of the Temple grounds for any other intruders who might have come in with Mordecai. So far, no one else had been found.

“Mordecai was impeccably trained, Isaiah,” Gideon said. Ethan stood next to his mentor, watching the lantern lights spread out across the courtyard, up onto every level of the complex. “If anyone could have gotten inside the Temple, it would have been Mordecai.”

Isaiah dabbed a facial cut with a damp cloth. “I dreamed this was happening moments before it came to pass. And the vision wasn’t just about Mordecai. I saw demons surging against the Temple and angelic guardians defending us, even pushing the hordes away. But Mordecai got through.”

Gideon scratched his chin. “It’s curious. I wonder how Mordecai could get through and not the demons?”

“Maybe the demons kept the angels occupied in battle while he got through,” Ethan suggested.

Isaiah brightened. “A diversion! Very clever, young man. Gideon, I suspect Ethan may be correct, but that worries me even more.”

“Why?”

“Because this means they know the Deliverer is here at the Temple. He will be Mordred’s primary focus and that means the enemy will stop at nothing to penetrate our defenses in order to get him.”

“What should we do, Master?” Gideon asked.

“I am beginning to think you were right when you suggested taking Ethan to Macedon. He cannot remain here forever if the prophecy is to come true. And this place may have become more dangerous than any other, now that they know where he is.”

Gideon pushed his advantage. “So we can take the Word to Macedon?”

“There seems to be little choice in the matter at this point,” Isaiah admitted. “Despite the dangers of such a mission and my desire to have your apprentice train longer here at the Temple, I’m afraid Ethan must go.”

They came to a place in the Temple where Ethan had never been before. Two of The Order’s most proficient warrior-priests guarded the entrance to the tunnel entrance. They nodded as Isaiah walked into the tunnel past them with Ethan and Gideon in tow.

The tunnel, lit on either side by lanterns, began a winding descent below ground. The distance was not far, but when they reached the bottom, another pair of guards waited to examine them before Isaiah and his company could go further. The chamber where the tunnel terminated was small with a freight elevator opening up on the right side. “How does that work?” Ethan asked.

“The elevator is powered by a water wheel which intersects with an underground tributary of the river,” Isaiah said. “When we want to transport a copy of the Word to the exit tunnel at the top of the chasm we engage the wheel with a special gear, which is attached to a pulley for the elevator. And if we want to bring it down, gravity is the driving force.”

Ahead of them, a massive door stood on the far wall. It took up almost all of the space on the wall. “This is where we will enter the Hall of Scribes,” Isaiah announced.

One of the guards produced an iron key on a chain around his neck. Isaiah produced a duplicate key on a similar chain and together they placed the keys into locks on either side of the door. Both men counted down from three. In unison they rotated their keys counterclockwise and then clockwise all the way around. Ethan heard the sound of large bolts sliding out of place and locking into position through the thick metal door.

Isaiah and the guard removed their keys and then Isaiah turned a handle on the far right of the door and pulled it open. The huge door moved much easier than Ethan had supposed it would, a sigh of air escaping into the small chamber as the vacuum seal was broken. Ethan expected the chamber beyond to be dark, but sunlight spilled from within.

When the three men entered the Hall of Scribes, the vault door closed behind them. The chamber was massive in length and the height was three times that of a man. Intricately carved, stone pillars ran the length of the room on both sides of a central walkway and detailed representations of the country’s history, up through the last king of Nod, decorated the stone ceiling

Ethan noticed small mirrors hanging at carefully selected angles all around the upper regions of the chamber. This complex system brought sunlight in from a tunnel above, dispersing it throughout the room, virtually eliminating all shadow within the Hall of Scribes. Even more interesting than all of the detailed beauty was the lack of sound.

Only the minute etching of quill pens to parchments interrupted the pristine silence. On either side of the chamber, rows of large desks sat where priests concentrated upon transcribing the Word of Shaddai. They produced copies of sacred texts for transportation, by the brave, to places all over the world.

“Whoa,” Ethan whispered as they all stood at the head of the room.

Every transcriptionist within the Hall of Scribes looked up from his desk at the sound of the voice. Ethan felt instantly embarrassed. But when the men all saw Isaiah and Gideon with the boy, they disregarded the interruption and went back to work.

Isaiah laughed. “It’s all right, Ethan. This is where we preserve the Word for mankind. There may be other outposts in places abroad, but here is the only place where the original documents containing the Word may be found.”

The three of them walked down the length of the room. Ethan watched the men who transcribed each letter of the Word with tremendous care and exacting precision from old parchments to new ones. “So these are the original writings of prophets?” he asked.

“No, these are only exact copies,” Isaiah explained. “These have been meticulously studied to be sure they contained no error. We use the exact copies and keep the originals safely stored away where only a select few know their location. The enemy could literally tear this complex apart and never hope to find where they are stored.”

A slight whistle almost escaped Ethan’s lips, but he reined it in.

Isaiah led them to another room at the far end of the great hall where a large wooden door stood on iron hinges. Isaiah used the same key, from the vault door, to unlock it. When he opened the door, they found the room beyond completely dark. Isaiah removed a torch from the wall and held it up to one of the nearby sunlight mirrors. A small crystal lens on the framework around the torch caught the light and focused it on the wick. It ignited almost instantly.

Isaiah stepped inside the room with Ethan and Gideon following. This was a storage room filled with ten steel chests. “Each of these chests contains a complete copy of Shaddai’s Word, Ethan. You and Gideon will bear one of them to the Isle of Macedon. You are responsible for locating someone who can aid you with its safekeeping. The Isle of Macedon has been under occupation by Mordred’s forces in times past. We are unsure whether that occupation continues presently, but the call has been issued, and we are duty bound to respond. I charge you to protect the Word with your life, Ethan, for through it the souls of men are saved.”

Ethan tried to swallow the lump mounting in his throat as the High Priest continued. “The Isle of Macedon is a heathen territory and very dangerous even without Mordred’s presence there. This is what you have been trained for and that training is important, but never forget, without the Lord we can do nothing.”

Ethan nodded, glancing at the steel chests containing the Word of God.

“Ethan, do you pledge yourself to this task to the best of your given ability?”

Ethan looked the High Priest straight in the eye and confidently said, “I do.”

PREPARATIONS

The ride down the river from the intersection point, high atop the gorge, was much less dramatic than they had experienced coming in. The steel chest holding the copies of the Word of Shaddai made the shorter trip with two priests in one boat, while Ethan and Gideon floated in another with their personal supplies and weaponry.

The boats stopped at a different place than the cave where Gideon had led Ethan and Levi Bonifast through to get into the Temple. Here they were still higher up in the mountains, but the way was more open to get off and be able to unload cargo. In fact, it seemed like such an obvious opening to the Temple complex that Ethan could not help but ask why.

“Gideon isn’t this a bit conspicuous? I mean someone could float the river from this point and come to the cave we entered by originally and then take the flume of doom ride right into the Temple gardens.”

Gideon smiled as he unloaded gear. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But if you actually tried it, you would encounter a horrible truth too late to do anything about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Another quarter mile down the river from here it drops over five hundred feet in a waterfall,” Gideon said.

“Oh.” Ethan tried to imagine the surprising terror such an experience would invoke. Then he wondered how many people had actually found out the hard way over the years the Temple had been in existence here.

The two priests accompanying Gideon and Ethan loaded the steel chest onto a plain wagon. “I still don’t understand why we have to split up,” Ethan said.

“It will be safer this way, Ethan. If the enemy is looking for us, then we don’t want to give them only one target. I might be able to divert attention, in case we’re being tracked.”

“But why are you going back to Millertown? That’s got to be at least a day’s travel around the mountain.”

“I know some shortcuts. I can do a bit of surveillance and see if Mordred’s forces are there looking for us. Once I know, I’ll pick up a horse in town and then make my way to the rendezvous with you at Hopple.”

It just didn’t add up for Ethan. This plan seemed to take some unnecessary risks with their operation. “Is that the only reason you want to go back to Millertown?”

Gideon tensed under the scrutiny. “Why else?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan said cautiously. “You have friends in Millertown—especially Arness’ family. This risky move wouldn’t have anything to do with them would it?”

Gideon’s face hardened to stone. “Ethan, I realize you are new to The Order, but it is not acceptable for you to question the tactical judgment of your mentor. You will follow my counsel in this matter without further question. Is that clear?”

The words hurt Ethan. So it’s to be like that, is it? He glared at Gideon, then slowly, rigidly bowed a little at the waist in submission to his mentor’s authority. Ethan did not say a word—his teeth fastened together as he made his best effort to hold back his anger.

Gideon sighed. “Now, go with Joseph and Micah and take the Word to Hopple. Stay hidden, and I will meet you there in a few weeks.”

Ethan listened, but he purposely averted his eyes, too angry and hurt to look at his friend for the moment. Gideon regarded his fellow priests, Joseph and Micah, with a wave as they loaded the wagon, then he mounted the lone horse which had been left saddled for him next to the wagon.

Both the wagon and horses had been supplied from a farm owned by a friend to The Order. The priests paid the man money to keep horses and various supplies for them in order to simplify these missionary journeys.

Gideon looked back at Ethan. The boy met his gaze, but quickly averted his eyes to the ground.

Gideon sighed.

He snapped the reins and the horse sped him away toward one of the secret passes through the Thornhill Mountains which would bring him out close to Millertown.

Ethan watched him go, trying to ignore his wounded pride. Gideon was still his friend, but this odd behavior had him worried. Ethan helped Joseph and Micah finish loading the wagon, praying silently for Gideon’s safe arrival in Hopple as planned.

Sarah watched from the side of a nearby building as the Royal Emissary from Macedon entered his private coach, preparing to leave Millertown. The falcon had returned with a message from the Temple. The Order intended to send the Word out to Macedon within the next several months. There had been no indication, whatsoever, that priests from Shaddai were already en route.

Nightfall approached as the ranks of soldiers, accompanying the Emissary, prepared to escort the man home. Strange that they would leave at night, she thought.

A hand clasped around Sarah’s mouth, pulling her behind the building. She tried to scream as the dark figure in a cloak and hood pulled her close. However, as soon as the hood fell down, she almost screamed in exultation.

“Gideon!”

He shushed her with his finger as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you so much. What are you doing back so soon?”

“I’m on a mission to take the Word of the Shaddai to the Isle of Macedon.”

Sarah cast her gaze mournfully toward the ground. “What’s wrong?” Gideon asked.

“Gideon, you’ll be gone for months, trying to get to Macedon and back…if you make it back at all.” Tears began to stream down her face.

Gideon tipped her chin upward. “I’ve always come back. And after this mission, I’m sure Ethan will be capable of going on without me.”

“You mean you’ll leave The Order?”

Gideon smiled and took a deep breath. “Yes, I will leave The Order after this mission.”

Sarah had wanted to hear those words for so long. And she had hoped to hear them from Gideon before she shared her own news. “My love, I have something to tell you.”

Gideon looked into the eyes of his young bride, trying to discern what it was she might be about to tell him. Nothing could have prepared him for the actuality.

“I’m with child, Gideon.”

Gideon tried to breathe, but no air moved in or out of his body. “Did you say?”

Sarah stared into his eyes, watching him stammer for the first time since she’d come to know him. It’s quite enjoyable, seeing him this way, she thought.

“Yes, my love, you and I are going to have a baby.”

So many things happened to Gideon at that moment. His breathing labored, his palms became clammy, perspiration gathered on his upper lip and brow, his knees felt weak and his heart rate ran rapid. Not knowing what to say, he simply held his bride tightly. She returned the embrace, shedding joyous tears. Everything was going to be all right, finally.

They lingered in town only a moment longer. Gideon helped his bride onto his horse and then climbed up into the saddle behind her, being as gentle as he knew how. They rode slowly toward their home. They would celebrate there and enjoy each other’s company for one last time before he left for Hopple and the mission to Macedon—his final mission for The Order of Shaddai.

What had not been apparent to Sarah or Gideon, but which undoubtedly would have been clearly seen by his young apprentice, was the demon watching them as they stood by the building in the dimming light of dusk.HJJJ He watched them as they held one another. And he listened as they exchanged joyous information between husband and wife.

The demon did not know exactly where this man was going other than to Macedon. But it did realize who he was. The puzzling thing had been, the whereabouts of the priest’s companion, the boy. The demon had been assigned to watch for the Deliverer in Millertown, by Jericho himself, but only Gideon the priest had come.

Nevertheless, the implications of Gideon and Sarah’s conversation were not lost on the demon. He knew, as well as most, that priests of Shaddai were bound to The Order and did not marry. This was something new and interesting to see.

The demon followed the couple riding horseback to their home on the property owned by Sarah’s parents. He watched and listened more. Then he left the home during the night to find Lord Jericho and report the valuable information he had acquired.

HOPPLE

As expected, it took Ethan, Joseph, and Micah several weeks to get to the small fishing village of Hopple. Only five hundred people living in modest dwellings occupied the village, pulling their livelihood from the sea. Their location did have other advantages, however, as it provided a place for ships to make port with goods from Wayland and places north of Nod, if they happened not to be going to Emmanuel City.

For this reason, the harbor system, with its docks and loading trolleys, had actually expanded to become the largest thing in the village. When the seasons were right for fishing, the villagers made their primary living that way, but during off seasons the main work became mooring vessels, loading, unloading cargo, and playing host to seamen who came ashore to spend their wages.

Hopple might have become nearly as large as Tilley Town were it not for the fact that the weather was quite harsh during certain seasons and most people did not want to live in the region. The natives lived a comfortable but simple life, having all that they ever needed in quality without the desire of quantity.

There were caves eastward where people generally did not dwell because of the rough terrain and the presence of wolves. But this was of little consequence to priests of Shaddai. Ethan and the others had found a suitable cave in which to make camp and hide the chest containing the Word. Ethan had decided he would enter the village alone and try to find his shipping contact or Gideon or both.

Isaiah had told them that the man who owned the ship they would be sailing upon would find them. It made little sense to Ethan. But he trusted the High Priest and did not ask any more questions about it. Ethan even wondered if perhaps Isaiah had given Gideon more information about their contact, but with Gideon still traveling from Millertown, it mattered little right now.

Ethan understood well that The Order maintained a carefully crafted sense of mystery, with secret locations, hidden vaults, and death defying entryways and exits. The fact was, Isaiah had only known Ethan for five months. He did not expect to be told all there was to know about The Order. It was enough to know Gideon was the best The Order could offer and happened to be his mentor and partner in this expedition. Better to search for Gideon, if I’m to search for anyone at all, he thought.

Ethan had been careful to wear his commoner’s clothing on this journey, as had his fellow priests. This was no time for bold assertions of their priesthood. They had run across a number of patrols along their journey to Hopple from Millertown, but had managed to avoid them. Demons had been seen scouting for the patrols and spying out nearby villages. Ethan was glad for his special sight, more than ever.

Evidently Mordred was searching hard for him, even after all of these months since the battle with Jericho in the throne room. But by the Lord’s providence they and their precious cargo had remained undiscovered. Ethan only hoped Gideon’s foolhardy trip back to Millertown had not compromised the mission. And even more, he hoped to see his friend safe again.

Ethan left the chest of scrolls with Joseph and Micah inside the large cave they had found, while he walked the remaining several miles into the village proper. Ethan heard wolf calls on several occasions and once during the trip he had even realm shifted, hoping to avoid detection by a hungry pack on the hunt.

When Ethan finally arrived in the village of Hopple, he was surprised by the size of the docks, the ten or so large ships docked there, and by the miniscule amount of buildings actually built on the shore. For all intensive purposes, the dock system was three times the size of the village and looked like a small town afloat in the calm waters of the harbor.

The onshore dwellings were simple wooden structures—single family homes, mostly, with cobblestone lanes running between them. There were a number of larger buildings supported by stilts, anchored to the seafloor in the harbor. Ethan supposed they might be taverns and other such places where the wages of weary sailors could be spent on frivolity and wickedness.

These were excellent places to find the sort of people who undertake mysterious voyages. Ethan trod down the path, winding through lanes of lantern-lit windows—families settling in for a good night’s rest. He proceeded from shore to the docks and the revelry of fools eager to part with their money in the establishments beyond.

When Ethan reached the sea, it surprised him to find the cobblestone lanes simply continued unabated as bridges, extending into the harbor. Normally the docks would have been constructed of wood, but the people of Hopple had built a highly organized system of stone walkways likely standing a good ten feet above the water, even at high tide.

Ethan heard music filtering out of several larger buildings, so he decided to head for the closest. A few people milled about on the stone pathways. Then Ethan noticed a man in uniform. Hoping not to arouse suspicion, he did not pause or quicken his pace.

The man happened to be one of Mordred’s soldiers. He was not as large as the Wraith Riders and may have been one of the men conscripted from Nodian villages. Ethan continued on, past the man, toward the tavern.

When Ethan reached the door, he passed two more soldiers. Fortunately he had worn commoner’s clothing. The sign hanging over the door read, The Salty Dog. Lively musicians played at the far end of the building and a great number of people danced and drank intoxicating beverages. Soldiers danced as well, slinging ale from their mugs in every direction in the process. Armed men and strong drink, never a good combination, he thought.

The Salty Dog was not an elegant place. In fact, it lacked refinement in every way imaginable. There was little more to the structure than a bandstand for the musicians and tables for gamblers and drinkers. A bar along one wall served intoxicating beverages of every sort. This is where Isaiah has arranged for us to find a ship to take the Word to Macedon?

A cloud of smoke hung in the room fed by a plentitude of pipes. Ethan sputtered and coughed, hoping he wasn’t too conspicuous. Nevertheless, he was acutely aware of the fact that his young age was apparent. Anyone remotely alert wonder why he was here.

Ethan reconsidered his decision to enter the Salty Dog. He turned and noticed the two soldiers approaching him from across the room. He walked more quickly, heading back toward the door when a foot moved out into his path, tripping him. Ethan fell to the floor, landing on his palms as though he would begin a set of pushups. He bounced back to his feet quickly, only to find a ragtag sailor shoving his chair away. “You stepped on my foot you little puke!” the man bellowed.

The sailor was unshaven, lanky in appearance, with a mop of black hair sprouting like roots out from under a dirty seaman’s cap. He smelled absolutely awful, reeking of body odor and strong drink. Ethan was about to apologize to the man, when he noticed the soldiers again. While he wasn’t paying attention, the sailor hauled off and smashed him across the cheek.

The blow shocked him back to the confrontation with the drunken sailor. The man prepared another telegraphed punch, which Ethan blocked with ease. “Please, I don’t want to hurt you, sir.”

He felt it wasn’t even a fair fight, until the drunkard managed to fade with his next punch and get by Ethan’s defense. That punch doubled Ethan over. The man came at him again as the patrons around them began cheering for anybody who could do the most damage. Ethan blocked again and threw his first punch at the man, but the sailor anticipated it with ease and countered. A lightning fast succession of hand-to-hand, feet-to-hand, and feet-to-feet maneuvers quickly followed until the soldiers broke them up. They grabbed Ethan and slugged the sailor in the gut with a club. The soldiers drew their swords. Ethan wasn’t sure what to do.

“I told you never to come down to this stinking tavern,” a man yelled from the crowd. He ran up to Ethan and snatched him by the scruff of the neck away from the soldiers. “Thank you kindly, officers,” the man said, regarding them before he chastised the boy again. “Your mother has been worried something fierce, and here I find you drinking with the devil in this place. You’re going to get the beating of your life, that’s what!”

Ethan stood flabbergasted until he noticed the man wink at him while his back was to the soldiers. Ethan recognized the man as Levi Bonifast. He wore a crude disguise with a full beard and different clothes, but it was him. Ethan almost hugged him, but Levi tore his leather belt out of his trouser loops and began thrashing it at him. “Boy, you had better run your hide home, if ya know what’s good for ya!”

The soldiers stood there dumbfounded. “Hey, I want to see—” began one of them.

“Aye, officer, your right, I’ll skin him alive, if I give him a lick. He’ll get the beating he deserves!” Levi said. Then he chased Ethan out of The Salty Dog at the end of his belt.

Levi left the soldiers with the drunken sailor still hanging limp between their arms. “What about this one?” they asked of their commander.

“Throw him out!” the commander said. And so they did.

The soldiers carried the smelly urchin just outside the door—he moaned the entire time. Then, giving him a grand heave-ho, the two soldiers sent him reeling into the dark waters of the harbor.

Levi ranted at Ethan the entire way until they had passed the bridge leading them to shore and the housing district of Hopple. Then he settled down and looked around, searching for any soldiers who might be lurking in the streets. “How ya doin, lad?” Levi said with a toothy grin.

Ethan grabbed his outstretched hand and shook it as though he’d never been so glad to see anyone in his life. “I can’t believe you’re here in Hopple!”

“I better be, if I’m to bear you and Gideon to Macedon with the Word of Shaddai.”

“You? You’re providing our passage?” Ethan could barely contain his excitement.

“Aye, it was Isaiah who sent me here,” Levi confessed. “He’s a crafty old man.”

“I suppose he is,” Ethan said. “We’ve got to get back to Joseph and Micah. They’re keeping watch over the chest in a cave not too far from here.”

Ethan turned intending to lead Levi through the village toward the cave in the badlands beyond. But standing there, soaking wet and angry, was the smelly sailor whom Ethan had brawled with in The Salty Dog. “Where do you think you’re going?” he shouted.

Ethan prepared for another round with the disgusting brawler when the man stopped short and pulled off his seaman’s cap. His black head of hair came off with it. Underneath, a short layer of black hair bristled. Instantly, the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

“Gideon!”

“Shhh!” he hissed.

Gideon reached out a hand to Ethan, and his body odor wafted toward their noses.

“Oh, man…whew! Gideon, you really do stink!” Ethan said.

“I know, it’s disgusting ain’t it?” he flashed a rancid grin, teeth caked in something green, akin to algae.

“Let’s not dawdle, lads,” Levi warned. “We’ve got to get the Word loaded onto my ship and shove off without alerting those soldiers. The sooner we get back to the cave, the more likely we can get out of port unnoticed during the early morning hours.”

They ran at a brisk pace up the hill toward the boundary of the village.

“Gideon?”

“Yes, Ethan?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to run ahead of you.”

“Aye lad, good idea,” Levi said. “If I don’t get upwind of his foul funk, I’m liable to lose my dinner.”

SUCH SWEET SORROW

As it turned out, Gideon’s bath was sooner forthcoming than expected. He and the others arrived at the cave in good time where Joseph and Micah stood watch over the Word. And having taken the chest from the two priests, they bid them a safe journey back to the Temple and sent them on their way with the horses and wagon. The best way to get the chest to Bonifast’s new ship was by water.

They walked back to the sea, apart from Hopple, and entered the harbor with the chest. The air-filled container floated weightless on the water as Ethan, Levi and Gideon swam with it around the docks toward Captain Bonifast’s new ship. In the partial moonlight, Guards patrolled on the stone walkways above, but they paid little attention to what might be lurking in the water below.

They drew near the new ship, which was moored to the outermost dock. “What’s it called, Captain?”

“Yeah, what’s the name of your new girl?” Gideon said, grinning.

He gave the priest a cynical look. “Well it’s not the grungy priest, that’s for sure,” he hissed. “She’s called The Trinity.”

Ethan and Gideon considered the excellent choice of name. “I like it,” Gideon said. “It’s very appropriate.”

They swam around to the port side, facing away from the dock. There they found one of Levi’s new crewmembers waiting for them. He climbed down a ladder hooked on the rail and helped his captain carry the chest up to the main deck.

The new ship was smaller than the Maelstrom had been, but she looked far less worn and possibly faster. Up above them, Ethan heard the crew scurrying about lightly on the deck, preparing for a silent departure, if possible. The wind blew favorably, and the moon remained hidden by dense cloud cover—time to set sail.

Ethan bypassed Gideon climbing up the ladder. Instead, he realm shifted, reappearing on deck next to the captain. Levi utilized hand signals and whispered to his crew, as they made ready for departure. “Mooring lines away,” he called to some and, “unfurl the mainsail,” to others.

Ethan watched him, admiring the man. Captain Bonifast was a true seaman, only happy when he was sailing the great oceans where danger ever lurked. The man had not been the same since the destruction of his former ship, the Maelstrom. Now, that same wild light had returned to his eyes, and Ethan knew a great adventure lay ahead of them.

Trying to prepare such a vessel in the dark was truly a difficult task, but to try and do it without making any noise was nearly impossible. Mordred’s soldiers patrolled the docks already. Unfurling the massive canvas sails simply required too much activity to go unnoticed.

“You there, what are you doing!” a soldier shouted from the dock.

Everyone onboard froze in place, searching for the origin of the call with dread. Two soldiers stood off the starboard side with muskets ready and swords at their sides. “You’re not authorized to leave at this time of night!”

Gideon called for a weapon, but Ethan flew into action first. He realm shifted, then shot down to the docks, appearing beside one of the soldiers. He pulled his sword and dispatched him quickly. The other whipped his musket up toward Ethan’s chest, cocking the hammer back. Ethan rotated his body around the barrel of the long rifle, as the soldier fired, then struck the man squarely with his weapon. Still, the shot had been heard all over the docks.

“Catch the wind, boys!” Bonifast shouted. The men flew into action without any further concern for noise or being seen. It was now too late for any of that now.

Soldiers filled the docks as the shot roused a few, then they in turn called the others from their revelry. Fortunately their drink had dulled their senses—they fired on the Trinity, but showed little accuracy. Ethan ran toward the other soldiers, until he heard Gideon call for him. “Ethan, don’t try it! Get onboard!”

The ship pulled away as the musket fire increased. Then an explosion erupted from the smoky haze swelling around the docks. A had cannon fired. Some of the soldiers were shooting at the Trinity from a small ship moored nearby. The cannon ball sailed over the deck punching through some of the rigging equipment.

Bonifast responded. “Port gun crew, blast everything!”

The crewmembers, operating the guns, opened fire on anything and everything on the port side as the ship moved away from the docks. After the first volley everything became quiet. No one returned fire. Pain-filled cries filtered through thick white smoke. Ethan appeared back on deck next to Gideon, looking winded, but unharmed. The Trinity pulled away, caught the wind, and disappeared through the haze of cannon smoke drifting over the harbor.

Sailors and bar patrons swarmed all over the docks, trying to figure out what exactly had happened. A cloud of white smoke hung heavy over the stonework pathways. Men, wounded or worse, lay strewn everywhere near the place where the Trinity had sat docked for months.

A lone figure walked carefully among the dead—men conscripted unto his service. The Wraith Rider stared coldly at the damage left in the wake of the Trinity’s escape. By rank, he was a captain, by birth he was an abomination. The man stood near one of his soldiers from among the heathen tribes. The injured man reached out to him, his black and red uniform soaked in his own blood from the wounds inflicted tonight.

“What happened here?” the captain said, his voice menacing.

The man shook against his own pain, trying to relay the information. “A ship, trying to escape…”

“Was the Deliverer onboard?” But the man slumped forward, his many wounds having gotten the better of him.

The captain moved on, uncaring for the human life wasted before him. “Joyner?” he demanded.

A demon appeared behind him. “Yes, Captain Vastiss?”

“Take word to our Man-O-wars patrolling the coastline—destroy the ship called Trinity. Leave no one alive.”

“It will be done,” the demon said and vanished.

ABDUCTION

Sarah tired of the long day at her parent’s laundry. She had carried many deliveries. Despite being with child, and beginning to show it, she insisted on continuing to work. Sarah had never been the sort who could laze about the house. She would have gone mad with nothing to do.

Still, the work was hard and the bags heavy, so her parents had hired one of the local boys to help her with the deliveries, an eleven-year-old named Matthew. He was strong for his age, a ruddy boy with a mop of brown curls and blue eyes. Some day, she thought, he’ll have his pick of wife.

“I’ll take that one,” Matthew said as he pulled a heavier bag of laundry out of Sarah’s hand and gave her the much lighter one.

“You don’t have to baby me, Matthew. I can manage.”

“You keep saying that, but I can’t just let a mother-to-be carry around the heavy things while I take the small stuff. What kind of man would I be then?”

Sarah admired his ethic and decided to stop arguing with the boy. He was, after all, here to help. And as the weeks pushed on, her back ached more and more with the heaviness of her child. “Well then, let’s get going. Mr. Oggle will want these linens for his customers.”

The two of them walked across the street. Sarah noticed a pillar of dark smoke rising from beyond the hills of her family’s property. “Our farm! The house must be on fire!”

“I’ll go tell your father!” Matthew started to run back toward the laundry. But the thunder of galloping horses stopped him cold. They both stared down the road coming into town. Wraith Riders poured in like a storm surge. They rode into Millertown with weapons raised high and torches set ablaze.

As they passed through, sending pedestrians running in terror, they flung their torches through the glass windows of storefronts. Anyone caught nearby was slain with the sword. Matthew pulled at Sarah, urging her to escape. She stood in shock at the sheer ferocity of the attack. Why are they here? Why now?

Neither Sarah, nor anyone else in Millertown, saw the demon flying here and there among the people, searching for the girl he had seen with the priest of Shaddai—his wife, now with child five months. As fierce as the Wraith Riders were, they did not kill any of the young women, knowing the girl was extremely valuable to Lord Mordred, their entire purpose in Millertown revolving around her safe capture.

Half of the town stood burning, forcing anyone in the buildings out into the street where the riders sifted for Mordred’s prize. The demon found her. Sarah tried her best to run ahead of the tide of marauders. Matthew pulled her along as best he could. An invisible hand seized her by a wad of her blonde hair. She jerked backward at the neck, but Matthew kept her from falling. “Matthew!” she screamed as the demon stopped her from going any further.

The Wraith Riders responded quickly once the girl was identified. Black horses surrounded Sarah and Matthew. A Wraith Rider dismounted and seized the girl—careful not to damage her unborn child—collateral for their master’s use.

Matthew battered the black rider, but a leather gauntlet backhanded him out of the way. Sarah wondered where her father was. All she could see were the stamping hooves and snorting muzzles of their dark steeds. She thought, for a moment, she heard the voices of men trying to stop the riders from taking her. A brief clash of steel ensued beyond the circle of horses, then the moans of the dying.

The rider bound Sarah’s hands with a leather cord and hoisted her up onto one of the saddles. The muscular arms of a Wraith Rider surrounded her from behind, controlling his horse with leather reins. He turned the animal quickly, then they shot away from the chaotic scene. The others followed, leaving Millertown in their wake of terror and destruction.

Matthew struggled in the dirt. The right side of his face throbbed terribly. When he rubbed it, his hand came away covered in blood from several deep gashes across his cheek. People he knew wailed in the streets for their loved ones slain in the attack. Others, wounded, moaned, rolling around in pain like salted slugs.

A pair of strong hands reached under Matthew’s arms, hauling the boy to his feet. He could hardly stand. His head spun in a daze. “Matthew, are you all right?”

It was the voice of Arness, Sarah’s father. Her mother was crying next to him. “Matthew, where is Sarah?”

The boy tried to fix his eyes on Sarah’s parents. Blood dripped onto his shirt collar. “They took her,” he said, trying not to cry.

Sarah’s parents looked at one another. There could be only one reason why Mordred’s Wraith Riders would single out their daughter and abduct her. Somehow, Mordred knew about Sarah’s association to Gideon—knew she was his wife. And as Sarah had confided to her parents: Gideon was traveling with Shaddai’s Deliverer.

SEA DRAGON

Since the time of their departure, Captain Bonifast’s crew had been working feverishly to keep the ship running hard toward the Isle of Macedon. Since the time daylight illuminated the sea around them, they had doubled those efforts because two of Mordred’s Man-O-War battleships had been spotted hot on their trail.

Cannon shot sailed toward the stern of the Trinity, then fell abruptly short, crashing into the sea, sending up plumes of spray. “It’s uncanny!” Levi complained as he watched them from the helm. “We should be outrunning them.”

Ethan and Gideon stood nearby. “How long before they get within firing range?” Ethan asked.

“My guess is they’ll be able to hit us within twenty minutes at the rate they’ve been gaining,” Gideon reported.

“Get those specials up here, boys!” Levi demanded. “I want two on the stern rail!”

Several men labored to bring two of Captain Bonifast’s special, long-barreled cannons up onto the poop deck in order to fire them off the rear of the ship. When they had fastened them into position, another man followed with powder and prepped them for firing.

“Ready, Captain!”

“Fire at will and get more ammo up here!”

A steady stream of sailors carried Levi’s specially cast shells, with the oblong bodies and pointed ends, up to where the cannons were positioned. The gunners ignited the cannons. One of the shells hit a Man-O-war high on the hull. A plume of wood chips erupted and was sucked away by the wind. The other shot fell into the sea between the two ships.

“Ah-ha! We hit ‘em!” Levi shouted proudly. “Let ‘em have it again, lads!”

The gun crews reloaded as the Man-o-wars fired another volley. They still fell short of the Trinity, but not as much as before. The gun crews readied, aimed and fired the two special, long-range cannons.

Ethan watched the shells hurtle through the air toward their targets—one several fractions of a second ahead of the other. He gasped as a demon shot away from the deck of one of the enemy ships. He appeared powerful, though not in the same league as Jericho.

The demon pulled his sword from his side and crossed into the path of the first shell from Captain Bonifast’s cannon. It all happened in the blink of an eye. The demon cleaved the metal slug in two, then hurled his weapon away toward the second inbound shot. The sword spun around like a boomerang, clipped the shell and then returned to the hand of its owner.

The precision was amazing, but to the eyes of Captain Bonifast and his crew, one shell had exploded in mid-air while the other seemed suddenly to veer off course to drown in the sea. “What happened?” Gideon asked. The surprised look on Ethan’s face was unmistakable. He had seen something more than the rest of them had.

“There’s a demon deflecting our rounds,” he said. Ethan expected the demon to rush ahead and board the Trinity. He prepared to launch into the spiritual realm in order to defend them, but the demon did not approach.

“What’s it doing now!” Gideon demanded.

Ethan concentrated upon the demon. “I’m not sure. It’s not coming any closer.”

Bonifast’s special cannons fired several more rounds, but each met with the same demise: deflection or destruction. Meanwhile the Man-O-wars still closed on the Trinity and their shots fell into the sea nearer to the stern than before. Soon they would be able to hit the Trinity while their rounds still had enough momentum to do real damage.

Ethan watched as the demon suddenly veered away from the entire exchange. It dove into the depths of the Azure Sea and Ethan lost sight of it. “It’s gone. I’m not sure where it’s going—into the sea for some reason,” he said.

“Why would it do that?”

But Ethan could only turn to his mentor and shrug. Gideon’s expression softened. Unfortunately none of them had long to wait on the answer to the question. Something breeched the water off the starboard side approximately five hundred yards away. A plume of water erupted skyward, giving birth to a nightmare of gigantic proportion.

Calls came from all over the ship. “Sea dragon!” they yelled.

“What?” Ethan couldn’t believe what he saw. “I thought they were only myths—stories told to children!”

“Get the cannons ready port and starboard!” Levi demanded.

“Have you ever seen one of these before, Levi?” Gideon asked. The look on his face gave the priest his answer—none of them had. “I’ve only heard tales,” he said. “But who ever pays any attention to those? They say the sea dragons only hunt large whales in the depths. People have claimed to see whale carcasses shredded to pieces or bitten in half, but I never believed them.”

The snake-like serpent had armor of richly colored blue scales, except on its white underbelly. This dragon possessed no wings or appendages of any land sort at all—a sea serpent. Great fins protruded from various places on its body, allowing it to navigate more efficiently in the depths of the Azure where it normally hunted.

The beast drew its body upward and threw its hydrodynamic head toward the Trinity as the ship passed by. The dragon produced a piercing, high-pitched screech. The dragon flashed row upon row of large, serrated teeth like a shark, then plunged back into the water, the entire body following the course of the head. A great lump of its body rolled just above the water ending when the tail finished the course and disappeared beneath the surface again.

“It’s coming!” Ethan shouted. His sight allowed him to penetrate the murk and see the massive creature swimming toward the Trinity.

“Ready the guns, men!” Levi commanded. He kept a white-knuckle grip on the helm, hoping the sea dragon would not emerge at the bow or stern where defenses were weakest. “When you get a shot, take it!” he shouted to the gunnery crews.

For what seemed like an age, everything remained still. Only the sound of the Trinity treading water was heard now as even the enemy ships had stopped firing—most likely curious as to the dragon’s appearance and its next move.

Ethan watched as it drew nearer. The beast swam incredibly fast. Then the great toothy head erupted from the Azure on the Trinity’s starboard side. Its head seemed even more massive close-up and its open maw could have swallowed an elephant whole. The huge serpent held its body aloft for a moment and then brought the head down to strike.

The mouth split into rows of jagged teeth and smashed into the deck. The strike caught three men. The deck boards buckled and cracked where the men had been standing. One sailor disappeared inside the mouth completely. Another dangled by one leg caught between the teeth. He screamed frantically as his tan trousers turned red. The third man fell away to the side sustaining scrapes, cuts, and probably broken bones.

What happened to the first man in the next flash of those teeth was too horrible to describe—rows of serrated knives transformed from bone white to crimson. The second man fell away as the head rose up, chewing, swallowing. His lower leg was gone. Some rushed to help him. They brandished blades, trying to hack at the sea serpent. Gideon ran among them.

Ethan looked within the creature and saw the demon possessing it—the same which had been protecting the enemy ships. That was why the sea dragon, usually never seen, had come up from the depths to attack them. The beast struck again, becoming entangled in the rigging. Gideon jumped up and grabbed some of the ropes tangled about its head. He thrashed it with his blade.

“Shoot the body!” Levi commanded. The Man-O-wars were still approaching fast. The beast held the Trinity in place as the wind fought against the sails to drive them forward.

Cannons exploded, striking the beast where it draped over onto the deck. The sea dragon lurched and screeched, pulling away from the rigging ropes. The head sped on over the other side of the deck with the long body following like a shimmering blue archway over the ship. “Gideon!” Ethan cried.

Gideon disappeared over the side, still tangled in the ropes about the dragon’s head. Ethan leaped after him into realm shift, entering the spiritual plane to follow. Gideon tried to free himself, gouging the beast with his sword, giving it all of the effort he could muster.

The beast shot up toward the surface again, breeching with Ethan hot on its trail. He reached the head and saw the ethereal form of the demon within riding along like a passenger in a coach. Ethan’s blade leapt to his hand and he slashed into the dragon’s head—more at the demon than the animal. He had a plan.

The demon had to be struck three times to dislodge him from the dragon. The spirit writhed and then evaporated away as he’d seen happen to their kind before, during the attack on the slaver ship. Gideon thrashed, trying to catch his breath and his bearings before the serpent dove beneath the waves again. Everything happened so quickly.

Ethan leaped at the head, attempting to enter the dragon as the demon had, but he was repelled. For whatever reason, he could not possess the creature as a purely spiritual being could. Instead, he straddled the neck behind the head. His sword became liquid mercury, forming a silver chain in his hand.

Ethan wasn’t sure exactly how he accomplished it, but he didn’t care so long as he saved his friend. He had seen the demons using various weapons in combat and he wondered if they weren’t all the same weapon with this ability to change. Ethan whipped the chain over the serpentine head, then jerked it firm like a bit into the dragon’s mouth. He now held a crude bridle on the beast, hoping to force his will on the creature.

The serpent struggled against him, trying to free itself, but Ethan exerted all of his strength. He muttered a prayer for divine help and forced the dragon to submit. Willing it forward, Ethan dug into the scaly flesh and the sea dragon surged away toward the enemy ships. The Man-o-wars were almost upon the Trinity and preparing to resume their attack.

Ethan, the dragon, and a bewildered Gideon all plunged down beneath the surface of the sea. Ethan hoped Gideon could hold his breath for a few moments more as he sent the creature on the attack. The priest had little choice but to hang on for dear life.

The dragon veered to the port side of both Man-O-wars and then surged upward. The breech was so powerful that three quarters of the serpent’s thick, muscular body left the water and hung suspended over both ships. Ethan waited for just the right moment.

It all happened slightly slower than the time it took a man to blink his eyes. Ethan pulled the chain away. It became liquid then sword again. He sliced away the rope binding Gideon to the sea monster, grabbed him bodily, and leaped away.

The hulking mass of serpentine muscle struggled only a moment against gravity and then it all came crashing back toward the sea. Caught in between were both Man-O-war battleships. Wooden masts splintered and toppled. Deck planks burst asunder from the impact of the sea dragon’s bulk. Both warships buckled and stopped dead in the water.

Ethan returned to the physical world, still holding onto Gideon. But their tumbling bodies produced too much centrifugal force and he lost his grip. Both priests of Shaddai splashed into the sea.

Ethan felt drained, much like his experience after sinking the slaver ship and the demon battle that had taken place onboard. He barely managed to struggle against the water and keep his head above the surface. Ethan moaned. Exhausted, he slipped beneath the rolling waves of the sea.

A hand seized him—Gideon’s. He called to Ethan, but his words grew faint and distant. Unconsciousness swallowed up his final reserves of strength. And when he knew that his friend held him secure, bobbing on the surface of the Azure Sea, Ethan surrendered to it.

PRISONER OF WAR

Sarah slumped sideways, lying exhausted against the powerful leather clad arm of her captor. They had been riding for more than a day non-stop. Somehow the horses pushed on without water or food. Perhaps, she thought, their horses are as abominable as they are.

There were twelve Wraith Riders in their group—the same who had come to Millertown and burned it. Sarah had gone through bouts of crying during the long journey south. She had no idea if her parents had survived their brief attack.

Why had they not killed her already? What were they waiting for? Perhaps Mordred simply desired to perform the deed himself. Maybe he hoped to wring information about Gideon and the Deliverer from her before she died. She resolved to tell him nothing—a resolution Sarah hoped she had the courage to keep when faced with the warlord face to face.

Several columns of black smoke rose above the tree line ahead. The twelve riders in black leather armor turned from the road, riding in that same direction. Sarah thought of escape, but she had no chance of getting away. Even if she had not been heavy with child, she could never have hoped to outrun the riders.

When the riders breeched the line of trees, Sarah saw the village beyond. It had been occupied by several hundred people. Now the only living beings moving in it rode upon black horses. She immediately thought of Millertown although the heinous act committed here was far worse.

Images of people running in terror, then cut down like wheat, flashed through her mind. The lodges still burned while the smaller homes had been reduced to smoldering piles of waste already. The sparse countryside, with its few trees and yellow straw grass, was littered with the inhabitants of the village.

Mordred’s Wraith Riders had spared no one. The only weapons the villagers had possessed with which to defend themselves were farming implements. It was a total waste of life without reason. Sarah’s eyes strained to produce tears once again, but she was all dried up.

Some of the riders in the village took notice of them as they approached and one in particular. A particularly large man, on his horse, trotted toward them. His black and red, leather armor gleamed with gold trim. And what appeared to be batwings stretched upward into points upon his black facemask like ears. Drawing near, he held a long double-edged sword. The metal was thick and grossly stained with dried blood. He replaced it into his sheath, then came to a halt before the twelve riders and their prisoner.

Sarah supposed this man, sitting on the large black horse before her, had to be Mordred. His gaze fell upon her like a weight and Sarah felt she could not hold it without fear overwhelming her. After a moment, he reached up with a gloved hand and removed the hard-shell, black mask.

Sarah had never actually laid eyes on the Lord of the Wraith Riders. She was surprised to find him so handsome. Raven hair fell around the man’s broad shoulders as he shook free of the helmet. His sinister gaze penetrated to her very soul. He held a subtle seductiveness, as deadly as a python charming its prey before the inevitable strike.

“So, you are the girl who stole the heart of a priest away from his God?” Mordred asked.

Sarah said nothing. She had never thought of their marriage in that way. The comment sent icy pricks up and down her spine. Is that what people see in our relationship—that I’ve betrayed the Lord and stolen Gideon from Him?

“Of course, I suppose if anything could cause a man to forget his faith and the vows he has made, it would be the devilish charms of a woman,” Mordred continued. The other horsemen laughed at his remarks.

Sarah closed her eyes, wishing she could close her ears. His words felt like venom seeping into her veins, paralyzing her resolve.

“Now tell me, Sarah—”

He knows my name?

“—where is your husband and the boy traveling with him?”

Sarah stiffened, but did not speak.

“Perhaps, they have gone to the Isle of Macedon?”

Sarah’s eyes lit up with surprise. How did he know?

Mordred laughed at her bewilderment. “Do you really think I am so blind, girl? My eyes are in every place. I see all that happens in my kingdom and beyond. Your husband and Shaddai’s Deliverer are on a mission to bring the Word to the Isle of Macedon, supposing the island liberated from my hand. But I can assure you, I’m still very much in control there.”

Mordred rode up beside the mount where she was confined. He took notice of her unborn child for the first time. “How precious…and heartbreaking.” He smiled. “A child who will never see its father.”

Sarah cried out. “No!”

But this only baited Mordred’s desire to torment her all the more. “Take her to the palace and keep her secure. I want no harm to come to her or the child. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my Lord!”

They turned their mounts and started eastward for Emmanuel. Mordred watched them as they retreated from the carnage of the massacred village.

“Is this really necessary? The boy and the priest will be ours in Macedon. Why bother with this girl. We should just kill her and be done with it,” Mordred complained.

The demon, Jericho, stood next to Mordred’s horse, only visible to the warlord at the moment. “Mordred, your lust for blood does you credit on the battlefield, but these matters require more subtlety. The girl gives us an advantage over the enemy. Never give up your advantage. The trap at Macedon may be set, and the prey walking straight into it, but you should realize by now, when dealing with Shaddai you never underestimate your enemy.”

ISLE OF MACEDON

It took the Trinity nearly three weeks to make the run to Macedon. The voyage had been relatively uneventful after the attack of the sea dragon. Ethan had saved Gideon’s life in the process, and Gideon had saved his by getting him back to the Trinity in his exhausted condition. The bitter feelings felt when they had departed from the Temple of Shaddai were forgotten between them as they labored with Bonifast’s new crew and enjoyed their time at sea.

It was easy for Ethan to understand how a man like Bonifast could fall in love with the sea and never feel at home anywhere else. There was freedom out here. The wild sort that was difficult to experience on land. In some way, it was like taming a monster. The sea quickly destroyed those unaccustomed to her ways and the watery graves of many a sailing ship bore grim testimony to it.

The Isle of Macedon was fairly large in size—sixty miles in diameter. It had long been a heathen nation. Years ago, priests of Shaddai had evangelized the island, but it had since come under the dominion of Mordred and his Wraith Riders.

Ahead of the Trinity lay a massive port city. “That’s our destination, lads,” Levi said. “Calvera.”

“Isn’t there some place less congested where we could make port?” Gideon asked.

“Calvera is the only port for the whole island,” Levi said. “But I don’t think we should have a great deal of trouble remaining anonymous in such a large place. After all, I’ve removed the Trinity’s name plates and there’s so much traffic here. I have a good feeling.”

“Now, I feel much better,” Gideon said sarcastically.

“No better than I do, I’m sure, for having two deadly priests onboard to protect me.” They both grinned at one another and Levi went back to work guiding the ship into port.

The Calvera Harbor was a very busy place and seemed to stretch in both directions as far as one could see on this side of the island. Ships, too many to number accurately, of all sizes, entered or departed full of the spices and fruits the island nation had always been famous for.

“What’s the name of the king here in Macedon?” Ethan asked.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the island, lad. Last I heard, the king had been imprisoned along with his family. Mordred’s army has occupied the island for more than ten years. If something’s happened to change that, I’ve not heard it.”

“We’ll have to be very discreet. Even though a royal emissary was sent from Macedon, we can’t assume it was really from their king,” Gideon said.

“Then where are we going to take the scroll chest?” Ethan asked.

“To be honest, I’m really not sure,” Gideon said. “That’s why you and I will be going ashore in disguise to start with. Once we identify who’s actually in power here, we can decide if there is anyone on the island who can take charge of the chest to disseminate its teachings.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Then we go home and take the scrolls with us.”

The crew of the Trinity worked with the dockhands to moor the ship once they had found a place of entry. Levi went ashore first to arrange payment of docking fees and find out anything he could about who was in charge of the port and the island. Ethan and Gideon waited before actually setting off on the island themselves. When Bonifast returned an hour later and met with the priests in his cabin, he wore a curious smile on his face.

“Well, what did you find out, Levi?” Gideon asked.

“Good news, lads. A king has been reinstated on the island. It seems the son of the former king, who is dead now, began a revolt nearly a year ago. He managed to drive out the army of Mordred stationed here. I couldn’t learn anymore than that without acting suspicious.”

Ethan eyed Gideon curiously. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure. Have you spotted any demon activity in the port?”

“When we were on deck earlier, I didn’t see any at all. It’s eerie how quiet it is—from a spiritual standpoint anyway,” Ethan said.

Gideon rubbed his chin. “Just the same, I think we should conduct our own reconnaissance further inland and see if the story holds true everywhere.”

“Well, I told the dock master that we were here to purchase spices, so I’ll get the crew working on that to throw them off our scent, just in case,” Levi said.

Ethan and Gideon cloaked themselves in brown hooded robes and girded their swords underneath. There would be nothing so suspicious about carrying weapons out in the open, but any measure of inconspicuous they could maintain would be worth it in the long run.

When Gideon and Ethan disembarked from the Trinity, they made their way through the crowded docks and onto shore with little difficulty. But when they started walking down the main thoroughfare into Calvera, a wall of soldiers immediately appeared ahead of them. The crowds dispersed. Another compliment of soldiers surrounded them from the rear, cutting them off from the ship.

The two priests of Shaddai stopped dead in their tracks as pedestrians cleared the way around them. “Hold, Ethan,” Gideon warned as the boy groped under his cloak for the hilt of his sword. “Notice the uniforms?”

“Gray and blue, not red and black.”

“These don’t appear to be Mordred’s soldiers. They’re wearing the colors of the former king, Gavin of Macedon.”

A royal coach parted the wall of soldiers, rolling up to Gideon and Ethan as they stood waiting in the deserted street. It was trimmed in silver and precious stones Ethan was not familiar with. The gray horses wore blue-feathered plumes standing tall on the crown of their bridles. The carriage came around in a semicircle so the door faced the priests of Shaddai.

Ethan wondered why they hadn’t been attacked. Still, he remained at the ready just in case. He hadn’t spotted any demonic activity yet and it made him nervous. In almost every town or city, where they had traveled, there had been some measure of spiritual activity, even if it had nothing to do with hunting the Deliverer. It’s like a forest without the sound of animals, Ethan thought.

The driver wore tight breeches which stopped short just below the knee. White hose continued down his leg terminating with polished, black shoes and silver buckles. He wore a powdered, white wig with a blue ribbon tied in the pony-bob and a decorative blue and gray vest with silver buttons. The man lighted down from the carriage, only slightly regarding the rather ordinary young men standing before him. He opened the carriage door and bowed as he held it open for the gentleman seated within.

The man inside the carriage peered out into the street, first, then stepped forward daintily as though he was concerned about how much road dust might get on his clothes. He was very tall and thin with spectacles sitting upon the bridge of his long nose. He wore regal attire in the same royal color scheme. He also wore a powdered white wig and Ethan supposed it must be the fashion—at least for the royal house.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said. “My name is Mr. Hollingsworth. I am the royal advisor to His Majesty, King Nichols of Macedon. I’ve been sent by the king to escort you back to the royal palace with the Word of Shaddai we sent for.”

“How did you know who we were?” Gideon asked suspiciously.

Mr. Hollingsworth gave a pompous snicker to Gideon’s question. “My dear young man, it was a simple matter for our dock master to identify your ship once he spoke with your captain. People just don’t inquire about the things he wanted to know. Of course, we’ve also been expecting you. Our royal emissary only arrived back in Calvera two days ago, so we hoped you would not be far behind.”

Gideon and Ethan still looked suspicious of the man and his soldiers. “Now then, gentlemen, if you don’t mind, the king is waiting for you.” Mr. Hollingsworth motioned to the open door of the carriage, expecting them to enter.

“I think, Mr. Hollingsworth, that my apprentice and I would like to follow after your carriage, if you don’t mind,” Gideon said politely. “You see, it’s been a long voyage and we were just looking forward to stretching our legs a bit on the streets of your fair city.”

Mr. Hollingsworth arched the corner of his mouth in such a way as to make it clear he felt walking among the pedestrians was beneath him. “I assure you gentlemen, I am no threat to you. But if that is what you wish, then so be it.”

Mr. Hollingsworth turned and stepped back inside his blue, velvet lined carriage. The driver closed the door, then climbed back up to his seat and took the reins in hand, snapping them once to get the horses moving again. The carriage pulled around and started back down the main street the way it had come by. Gideon and Ethan fell in line, walking behind it. The soldiers broke ranks and took up the rear.

People stood upon sidewalks on either side of the street, watching the procession pass on its way toward the royal palace. There were no cheers, only murmuring as they watched the priests of Shaddai in their drab clothing following the royal carriage.

Ethan heard one voice among the silence held by the other pedestrians. “Alms for the poor,” a man called. “Alms for a blind man who believes in the Almighty.”

Ethan pulled a silver coin from his money pouch and walked over to the man as the carriage passed. His eyes were open, but held an odd colorless tone in the irises. He did not look at Ethan directly, but seemed to sense his presence, turning his head as the young man approached. The blind man wore a ragged brown cloak with the hood back and held a battered tin cup out toward the street. He appeared to be in his late twenties and Ethan supposed he might have been born in this condition.

Ethan dropped the silver coin into the cup. “Thank you kindly, good sir,” the beggar said then, he reached out a calloused hand to Ethan. He took it politely intending to shake it, but the blind man seized him with both hands, quickly groping up his arm, pushing back the sleeve. Alarmed, Ethan tried to pull away from the beggar, but the man held him fast in an iron grip. His finger traced out the birthmark on Ethan’s arm—the very same identifying him as Shaddai’s Deliverer.

“Leave off ‘em,” shouted a soldier, drawing near to accost the blind beggar.

The man’s face turned slightly, regarding the approach of the soldier. He pulled Ethan near by his arm and whispered, “Beware, Deliverer of Shaddai.”

The soldier shooed the beggar away, slapping him with a studded leather gauntlet. Ethan stood there astonished but unsure what to make of the beggar. He backed away, rejoining Gideon in the procession. The beggar disappeared among the crowd.

“What was that all about?” Gideon asked.

Ethan turned back to the crowded sidewalk again, searching. “I’m not really sure.”

A ROYAL WELCOME

Captain Levi Bonifast finished his prayer for Gideon and Ethan. He stood up in his cabin and grabbed his tricorn hat from the stand next to his bed. He turned and looked once again at the silver chest containing the scrolls with Shaddai’s Word imprinted upon them.

Levi had been privileged to study a set of scrolls while in Wayland in the service of the king. Stephen had been responsible for his conversion to the faith, and the king had allowed him to be tutored in the royal palace itself. It saddened him to think that Stephen may have actually lost his faith in the Shaddai’s prophecy concerning the Deliverer.

Levi stepped closer to the chest and ran a hand along its surface. All the power of Heaven and Earth is contained within these parchments, he thought. The chest had been loaded into the hold of the ship back in Hopple. But when Levi realized it, he had immediately commanded the chest to be made secure in his own cabin. “The Word of the Lord will have nothing but the best accommodations aboard my ship.”

The sound of his own voice made him aware of the sudden silence. The men had been set to the task of cleaning the ship, taking on food and water, and their bogus cargo—things that were all noisy by necessity. Levi stood very still. He heard nothing, no activity beyond the door to his cabin. He went to the door and reached for the knob. Before he turned it, he instinctively placed one hand on a pistol inside a brace across his chest, placing his thumb on the hammer.

He opened the door and let his hand fall away from the pistol. Everywhere across the deck, firing pins on long rifles clicked back into their firing positions. Soldiers in black and crimson armor stood across the deck of the Trinity. They guarded his crew and were armed to the teeth.

A large man stood forward as his men parted before him. He was clearly in charge. Only Wraith Riders held positions of leadership in Mordred’s army.

The man wore a short graying beard, and a jagged scar ran just above his left eye down across his left cheek very near to his jaw. The leather armor moaned and popped as he moved, barely containing his bulk.

“Can I help you, gov’ner?” Bonifast said in an overly innocent tone. He smiled wide and toothy for the man who stood a good six inches taller. General Hevas Rommil, returned the smile, if only slightly. “Tie him up in his cabin and secure the crew in the hold below. I want this ship under continuous guard.”

Bonifast started to protest the action.

Hevas Rommil turned slightly to his own men, then turning back to Levi, he punched him dead in the face with an arm the size of a grown man’s leg. Levi reeled backward, unconscious before he even landed on the floor of his cabin.

When the procession, following Mr. Hollingsworth and the royal carriage, finally arrived two miles later at King Nichol’s castle, trumpets at the main gate announced their arrival. Gideon and Ethan scanned the castle walls as they proceeded through the portcullis, trying to anticipate any point of potential attack. They might be set upon by archers from the walls, or riflemen from the rear. If Mr. Hollingsworth suddenly lobbed a grenade from the window of his carriage, they wanted to be prepared even for that.

But nothing happened—no surprise attack. Only a royal welcome as they entered the courtyard of the castle. The priests observed that it was not a very large castle, at least not when compared to the palace at Emmanuel. Its gray stone certainly did not compare with the grandeur of the pristine white, granite walls in their capital city.

Soldiers in deep blue and gray dress uniforms lined the yard on either side of a rose-colored carpet, which began in the courtyard and extended into the great vestibule beyond. The royal carriage pulled along side the carpet so that the door opened onto it. Mr. Hollingsworth waited for the footman and then stepped out onto the carpet.

Gideon and Ethan rounded the coach to meet the Royal Advisor to the king. The soldiers fell into ranks and escorted them inside. “You will address the king in his throne room momentarily, then His Majesty has prepared a banquet in your honor.”

“Thank you,” Gideon said, “but that’s really not necessary.”

“Of course it is. Don’t be so modest, gentlemen. You are honored guests here in Macedon. Please allow His Majesty the pleasure of treating you as such.”

Gideon and Ethan bowed in acceptance, then followed Mr. Hollingsworth along the rose-colored carpet, through the gauntlet of soldiers, and into the castle. As they walked along the torch-lit hallway, Gideon wondered at what level this ruse would breakdown. Royal carriages, Gavin’s colors, trumpets and such…but do they really have a King of Macedon?

When the hall ended in great wooden double doors, Gideon stood near behind Mr. Hollingsworth. He was prepared to dispatch this so-called Royal Advisor at the first sign of deception. The guards opened the doors and Mr. Hollingsworth entered with Gideon and Ethan close behind.

“Presenting the Royal Advisor, Mr. Hollingsworth and the distinguished gentlemen from The Order of Shaddai,” the Herald announced.

To Gideon’s genuine surprise, a young man sat upon the throne in the modest chamber. Mr. Hollingsworth led the priests before the throne.

“Gentlemen, so good of you to answer our call for the Word of Shaddai. I am Nichols, King of Macedon.”

Gideon bowed. Ethan followed his mentor’s gesture of good will. “My name is Gideon and this is my apprentice, Ethan. Forgive me, my Lord, but I was unaware that a king presided over the throne in Macedon. According to our prior contacts, the island was still under the control of Mordred and his Wraith Riders.”

“Of course, of course,” Nichols said. “That was the case, until very recently. My father died, imprisoned by Mordred’s Wraith General, Hevas Rommil. In order to help secure the cooperation of the people, Rommil allowed my mother and myself to live in one of our homes on the other side of the island, howbeit under constant guard.

“About a year ago, I was able to organize a revolution and overthrow the sparse army remaining on the island. I captured General Rommil myself and in a gesture of good will, banished him from the island rather than kill him.”

“A mighty deed, for such a young man,” Gideon said.

Nichols swelled with pride. He wasn’t the sort of man one would consider to be a mighty warrior. It wasn’t his size that was in question so much as his manner. Nichols was a bit foppish and pudgy to boot.

“My apprentice had the displeasure of facing Rommil’s brother in battle on the mainland,” Gideon said.

“Ah, really…and the outcome, young man?’

Gideon looked at Ethan, giving him leave to speak up. “I killed him, Majesty.”

Gideon observed the young king closely. Nichols’ eyes betrayed a hint of fear—the slightest twitch of concern over Ethan’s confession.

“Good show, Master Ethan,” he said. At this point, Mr. Hollingsworth interjected. “Sire, our guests did not bring the scrolls with them to the castle.”

“Really—why not?”

“We felt it would be wiser to establish contact with you first,” Gideon said. “After all, we did not know Mordred’s army had been defeated on the island.”

Nichols settled back into the cushions upon his throne. “Well,” he said clapping his hands, “no matter. I’m sure there is plenty of time to retrieve the scrolls from your ship, eh? First, I’ve taken the liberty of having a banquet prepared in your honor. I do hope you will do us the kindness of accepting?”

“Of course, Majesty. Ethan and I would be honored. Would it be possible for us to return to our ship and retrieve more appropriate attire?” he said, tugging on his drab clothing.

Nichols seemed to stammer for the slightest moment. He recovered quickly. “Better yet, I will have my royal tailor provide you with custom garments—a small token of our gratitude for the dangerous journey you’ve made on our behalf.”

Gideon knew Nichols would be insulted if they refused his hospitality. He gave a slight bow at the waist, thanking the king. Nichols was a tactful politician if nothing else.

“Mr. Hollingsworth will show you the way and see that you are well cared for,” Nichols said. “I look forward to talking with you again at dinner.”

Gideon and Ethan followed the Royal Advisor through another door and down a side hall from the throne room. Having met Macedon’s king, Gideon felt less comfortable with this situation than he had before. In fact, he wondered if the danger might not be far worse than he had previously imagined.

BLIND FURY

“I want you men to relieve the deck guard,” said one of Rommil’s captains, “and you men give relief to the guard on the docks around the ship. The crew must be maintained below deck and Captain Bonifast is not allowed out of his cabin. Lieutenant, be sure to assign two men from your company to relieve the two guards in Bonifast’s cabin.”

He finished dissecting his company of soldiers and sent them on their way with their commanding officers. The captain then turned and marched back from the docks toward the shore. He passed a number of homeless urchins huddled up in various places—doorways of dock master offices and small restaurants, all of which littered the massive complex along the Calveran shore.

Among the poor wretches, covered up in their own cloaks upon the ground, one particular blind man rose after the captain had passed. He had dressed completely in black except for his head. His pale blind eyes seemed not to hinder him in the least as he moved fluidly along the floating pathway, toward the Trinity, silent as a ghost.

The man in black hid a mere forty yards from the soldiers guarding the Trinity. Then he entered the water. Up to this point, he had crept quickly and quietly among the shadows, blending like a chameleon with the darkness. The seawater remained quite warm around Macedon, and the blind beggar swam without disturbing the surface of the water in any way that might alert the guards.

He rounded the Trinity, appearing at the stern. The man pulled himself cautiously from the water, sure to minimize the sound of water dripping from his clothes as he ascended. Despite his sightless eyes, his fingers managed to find the nooks and crannies on the hull surface. He pulled himself up the back of the ship, until he was level with the windowpanes of the captain’s cabin, where he listened intently.

Levi Bonifast stirred as one of the guards kicked his boot. The soldiers had beaten him, even after the one-punch-thrashing the Rommil had given him. His face throbbed and one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut. A dull purple mottled his complexion.

The captain had been bound to his leather, desk-chair in the rear of the room, near three panes of glass comprising most of the back wall. One of the two soldiers in the cabin leaned down to Bonifast, examining him with disdain as his companion watched.

“Hey, Bonifast, what’s wrong? You look a bit sad to be in our company,” he said mockingly. He looked back at his friend for approval. “I’ve heard of you, ya know? They say you were once the scourge of the Four Seas, a pirate to be reckoned with. You don’t look so tough to me, though. I think maybe you made up those stories just to satisfy your own ego, eh?”

Bonifast peered up at him slightly. On his face scattered rivulets of dried blood ran from small lacerations. The captain said nothing. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of provoking further physical abuse. Instead, he wondered about the well-being of Gideon and Ethan. None of the guards had mentioned them at all, and they had not returned to the ship.

“Too bad about your little mission of mercy, Bonifast,” the guard said. “I suppose, by now, General Rommil is probably having those boys tortured to death. Children make the most fascinating noises when you’re peeling the flesh from their bones.”

Bonifast thrust up, toward the soldier, against the bindings on his wrist and ankles. The ropes held him fast to the chair. The soldier looked pleased. He drew back a leather-covered fist to smash the defiance out of Bonifast.

The swivel latch on the right side window popped. The pane swung open on its hinge, and suddenly the soldier found himself overtaken by a living shadow. An arm around his neck dragged him off his feet.

The attacker crossed the room with the first soldier in tow. He assailed the second man almost before the guard noticed the sudden movement in the room. A precision strike to the soldier’s trachea sent him to the floor clutching his throat breathlessly as though he were choking on a piece of food.

Bonifast watched as the soldier turned blue and then relaxed. The attacker still held the first soldier in an iron grip. A jerk of his arm produced an unpleasant snap. The man in black released the guard’s limp body to the floor in silence.

Levi hadn’t been gagged, but he was too astonished to speak. The mysterious man produced a stunted blade and made quick work of Levi’s bindings. “I’m Seth,” he whispered. “I’m from The Order.”

This was all the encouragement Levi needed. He jumped to his feet ready for action. “We must get to your friends,” Seth said, heading for the window.

It was at this moment that Levi looked into Seth’s face, into his eyes. “But your blind,” he stammered.

Seth ignored the remark. “Your friends are in grave danger, Captain.”

Bonifast regained his composure, nodding his understanding. Privately, the mysterious younger man affecting his rescue bewildered him. An untamed mop of brown curls accentuated his boyish features, but it was the pale eyes, which struck him.

Seth led the way and leaped out of the window. Levi flew out of the window after him making the slightest adjustment to his trajectory to miss Seth in the water.

Due to the care Seth had taken for silence and the lackadaisical attitude of the sleepy soldiers guarding the deck, the slain guards in the captain’s cabin and their missing prisoner would not be discovered before the next rotation.

ROYAL TREATMENT

When the time came for the feast Nichols had promised, Gideon and Ethan entered the dining hall, wearing the custom garments prepared for them. The blue and silver material was luxurious to the touch and the Royal Tailor had done an excellent job with the fittings. Still, it was uncomfortable to be out of their priestly garb, and Ethan wondered if they weren’t now lounging in the gifts of a deceiver, or worse their own burial attire.

A fabulous spread of food lay on a large table before them. Ethan noticed all of the other guests at the dinner happened to be military personnel—and as their dress allowed, they were armed. Ethan and Gideon had not had the opportunity. Their weapons had been removed along with the ragged clothing they had been wearing.

Ethan unconsciously decided which of the soldiers sitting near them would be the first to be disarmed if he and Gideon ran into trouble. At the slightest provocation, he could realm shift to King Nichol’s place at the head of the table and hold the man hostage in order to withhold an attack if necessary.

Still, Nichol’s military officers seemed not the least bit interested in bothering them. They wore no tense, eager expressions nor did nervous hands guard the hilts of their brightly polished swords. All remained jovial and filled their faces at once when the servants brought their plates. Nichol’s also looked on with great pleasure, toasting the priestly order from the head of the table.

Ethan noticed Gideon eyeing the plates set before them and the goblets filled with wine. They would not be drinking any. The Word clearly forbade them to partake, and having their senses fouled by strong drink was never wise. Here it might prove quite fatal.

Ethan noticed a mournful whimper coming from behind them near the great stone hearth in the room. A fire burned there, and two hounds sat with eager expressions, looking at Ethan and beyond to his plate. Feeling sorry for the poor animals, forced to watch others stuffing their faces, Ethan snuck a few pieces of the meat from his plate and gave it a quick sideways toss to the dogs. They both snatched it up immediately and licked their chops gratefully.

“Gideon?” Nichols said from the head of the long table. “I wonder when we might retrieve the scrolls you’ve brought for us.”

“Forgive me, Majesty, but I am charged by the High Priest to find someone who is well able to take responsibility for them and disseminate the teachings to the population.”

Nichols seemed taken aback by the declaration. “Are you suggesting, I would be unable to carry out those duties?”

The tension in the room became instantly taut, like an over-wound psaltery string. “I assure you, Your Majesty; I meant no insult to you personally. The Order has always sought out those individuals who are inclined as we priests are. And I did not want to assume that one so busy with a new government, as you are, would take yet another weight upon his shoulders.”

Ethan watched the king’s expression soften a little. He seemed satisfied with Gideon’s placation in the matter. “Nevertheless, we will be glad to have the Word safe within these walls at your earliest opportunity,” King Nichols said. “From there we may work together to find suitable teachers who can devote themselves to diligent study and then teach others as well.”

Gideon wasn’t quite sure how to answer, but managed. “We are very grateful to you, Majesty.”

The king gave a slight nod as he forked a piece of steaming meat from his platter. “Gentlemen,” he said to the priests, “you’ve not yet touched your food. Surely, you’re famished after so long a journey across the Azure. I hope you won’t insult my hospitality.”

“Of course not, Majesty,” Ethan said and began digging into his plate with a fork. Just as he opened his mouth, ready to shove the food inside, Gideon grabbed his wrist.

“The hounds,” he whispered urgently.

Ethan turned from his plate and saw the two hounds he had fed from his plate moments ago. They lay still, their eyes rolled permanently back into their heads. Ethan gasped, realizing he and Gideon would certainly have shared that fate had he not felt sorry for the poor creatures in the first place.

The king, who had been watching them expectantly, said, “Gentlemen, your manners are poor for priests. You’re still not eating.”

They looked at one another, then they made their move.

And the king made his. “Seize them!”

Several astonishing things all happened within seconds.

Gideon leaped up out of his seat and over the table to evade the soldier immediately to his left. He grabbed a silver candlestick holder in midair, brained the man seated across from Ethan, and took his sword as he fell stunned to the stone floor.

Ethan realm shifted immediately and crossed the room, trying to get to King Nichols where he stood, shouting orders for their capture. Ethan, so bent upon his strategy, only half noticed the cold tingly shiver running up his spine. As Ethan reached Nichols, preparing to seize the man as their hostage, a horde of demons flew through the walls of stone block.

The demons saw Ethan, but instead of attacking directly, they entered the soldiers present at the dinner. He knew what that meant. The demons would be able to see him whether he was in the spiritual realm or in the physical.

A demon-laden soldier went for Gideon. He did not seem aware as he was busy fighting other men. Ethan launched forward as though shot from a cannon. He pierced the veil between physical and spiritual and landed next to Gideon in time to hammer his attacker with a kick to the ribs. The soldier flew backward out of the way. “Demons inside the soldiers!” Ethan warned.

Ethan quickly armed himself with the weapon of one of Gideon’s victims and assailed to help his friend. The soldiers took on an almost immediate ferocity, as though animals freed from their cages and set to a feeding frenzy. Ordinary men leaped through the air at the priests of Shaddai as they fought back the tide of the enemy. The bright clothing, fashioned for them, quickly became soaked with gore.

“Hold on!” Ethan shouted. He immediately realm shifted and grabbed hold of Gideon. The priest slashed at his attackers, until Ethan, unseen, yanked him up and out of the melee. He released Gideon. The priest sailed back down to the floor on the other side of the room. Ethan appeared in a run beside him. “This way!”

He ran, with Gideon following, toward the great wooden doors at the far end. Ethan remembered the throne room on the other side of those doors. From there, lay a hall leading out of the castle through the main gate. The demon-possessed soldiers ran after them, much quicker than normal men could. They had mere seconds to get through.

Ethan reached the doors first and tried to push them open, but they would not budge. Through the seam between the two doors, he saw a great wooden crossbeam holding them fast. Gideon also reached the doors and tried, but to no avail. Ethan realm shifted once again and used his sword to divide the beam through the seam—a knife through butter. He appeared with Gideon again and they pushed their way through.

Once on the other side, Ethan and Gideon struggled to close the great doors again. “We have to bar it!” Gideon said.

“This half of the crossbar is long enough, I think.”

They hoisted it up with difficulty and set it upon the iron grooves where it should rest. The doors tried to burst outward as the demon-possessed soldiers slammed into them from the banquet room. “Get the bar in!” Gideon said.

The doors began to part again as the boys struggled to get the crossbar into place. “There’s too many!”

“I’ll stop them!” Ethan said. “You get the bar into place!” He disappeared into the spiritual realm and shot through the door with his weapon forward. As soon as Ethan cleared the door, he ran into a throng of demon-possessed soldiers. They saw him and reacted, but he had enough surprise on his side to take down a few first.

Ethan fought with unbridled anger and drove them back from the door enough to allow Gideon to secure it from the other side. He heard the crossbar slide into place with a dull thump. Before the possessed soldiers reorganized their attack on him, Ethan launched back through the door and found Gideon waiting.

He patted Ethan’s shoulder with a smile of gratitude as soon as he appeared. “Nice work, brother.”

Gideon began to run for the other end of the throne room. But Ethan hesitated the slightest bit. The acknowledgement gripped his heart. Gideon had never referred to him as brother before. He smiled and followed his friend.

General Hevas Rommil massaged the back of his meaty hand through the studded leather gauntlet. He savored the pain inflicted on some of his former soldiers—men who had failed him today. They had allowed Captain Bonifast to escape from the pirate’s ship still docked in the Macedon harbor. After facing Rommil’s wrath, his soldiers had faced the executioner’s axe.

Rommil peered through a brass spyglass toward King Nichol’s castle, nearly a half mile away, and smiled. He turned to his men lined up along the ridge and the new weapons they were preparing. A line of one hundred short, metal tubes stood propped at an angle on their own stands. A short pile of self-propelled explosive shells stood next to each mortar tube and the two-man team assigned to fire each weapon.

He paused to savor the moment. The pompous brat, Nichols, King of Macedon would soon breathe his last. Hevas had waited a long time for this. The charade of Nichols successful rebellion on Macedon had tarnished his unblemished record. Mordred had desired to use the man for exactly this purpose—a clever trap.

Now came the time to spring it and catch all the mice inside. Hevas raised his broadsword high. The men at each mortar station, along the ridge, prepared a shell at the mouth of the tube while their partners made any necessary adjustments to the angle of trajectory. “Goodbye, Nichols.” Hevas let the words roll off his tongue poetically. “King of Macedon.”

Levi breathed through his mouth, gulping at the air as though it might be his last. “Are you sure this is the only way into the castle?”

Seth crawled through the black slime in the dark tunnel ahead of Levi. He sighed. “Unless you want to assault the main gate, scale the sheer walls under fire, and battle through an entire battalion of soldiers.”

Levi thought a moment, shrugged, then pulled himself up the tunnel another two feet. “What is this stuff anyway?” He sniffed. “It smells like a sewer in here.”

Seth smiled in the dark. “It’s sewage.”

“It’s a good thing you can’t see the look on my face right now.”

“I have a good imagination,” Seth answered. “We do what we must in the service of the Lord, Captain, and to help of our friends.”

Levi sighed again. “True enough, but knowing that does nothing for the smell.”

The trip through the drain tunnel had been slow going over the last hour. Seth and Levi had to slog through the muck on their bellies almost the entire way due to the size of the tunnel.

Levi pulled his hand back suddenly. “Seth, I felt something wriggle across my fingers…what’s in this stuff?”

“Nothing harmful…other than that, I doubt you really want to know.”

Levi considered it. “You’re probably right.” He swallowed hard and then reached for the next handful of filth, pushing his fingers down several inches until he felt the slime covered grooves in the stones. These they used to pull themselves along inches at a time.

A draft of air filtered down the tunnel around them. Seth immediately stopped. Levi grabbed his shoe as he continued his progression. “Why did you stop, Seth? What’s wrong?”

“Listen.”

The ground shook with a sudden tremor followed by a bellow of air and a booming sound. Another quickly followed and another on top of it.

“What in the world is that?” Levi shouted. “Almost sounds like cannons!”

“Almost,” Seth said. Then he listened again as the thunder continued.

“We had better keep moving,” Levi said.

“Wait, there’s something else.”

Levi tried to discern what Seth was referring too. Then he heard it. Mad screeching from animals, only multiplied a thousand times and soaked with panic.

“Is that?”

“Lie down as flat as you can, Captain, and be sure your clothing is pulled tight to your back. Cover your nose and mouth with your hand and try not to breathe unless you absolutely have to!”

The thunder pounded through the tunnel walls even more oppressively. Levi wanted to be out of this hole now. The panic flooding down the tunnel only added to his own anxiety. He pressed against the walls, trying hopelessly to turn himself around. He had to get out of here now!

“Captain, do as I said and we may get out of this alive!” Seth pressed his body down flat into the slime and lay perfectly still.

The screeching grew in volume and intensity as the pounding continued. The pulses of air blasting through the tunnels carried the added stench of filthy living things. Things about to pour through the place where Seth and Levi lay trapped.

“Lord Shaddai, help me!” he cried and pressed his body down flat. Levi covered his mouth as Seth had instructed, shoving his face reluctantly into the disgusting mire. It squished between his fingers trying to reach his mouth. The filth oozed into his ears, muffling the screeching just before it reached him. Then it happened.

Thousands of tiny, clawed feet stampeded across his body in the pitch black darkness of the tunnel. Rats! Hundreds, maybe thousands, poured through the sewer drain in a panicked attempt to flee from whatever danger was producing all of the noise around them.

Levi fought the sensation to vomit into his hand. He knew it wouldn’t have worsened the conditions, but he still had to have a way to breathe. The tiny claws pricked his skin over and over again until he felt like he might go mad right there in the tunnel. He fought to keep down the urge to flail against the creatures in a vain attempt to kill them and escape the moment. Instead, he muttered a prayer into his grimy palm. He tried to focus on why he was even doing this at all. “Oh Lord, help me to rescue my friends. Please let them be all right. I can’t do this without you.”

He wondered if Seth might be holding his own private vigil ahead of him. The rodents continued to wash over them in a seemingly never-ending wave of terror. After an eternity submerged in the madness and filth, Levi felt a single tapping on his shoulder. The change of sensations almost startled him. Then he heard Seth’s muffled voice calling out to him in the darkness as he shook him with his hand. “Captain, are you all right?”

Levi raised his face out of the slime with a loud sucking sound and took a moment to breathe again. Compared to what he’d been through, the ever-present stench seemed like bouquets of fresh flowers. “I’m all right, Seth.” He puffed a few more times, taking in what little precious oxygen was present.

Seth smiled. “Then we’d better keep going. It sounds like your friends are in greater danger than we suspected.”

Levi nodded and the two men began their trek forward again.

EXPLOSIVE RESULTS

The demon-possessed soldiers hacked at the barred wooden doors behind them as Ethan followed Gideon. The priests rounded a corner and came into the throne room where they had originally been introduced to King Nichols. Ethan paused while Gideon ran ahead toward the archway where they had entered before.

Ethan searched the shadows. Something didn’t feel right. More demons? He couldn’t place the feeling of imminent danger on any particular source.

At the far end of the throne room, more of Nichols silver and blue clad soldiers poured through the archway. Gideon grinded to a halt then reconsidered and launched into them head-on. Ethan ran toward the fight to help Gideon.

The polished stone ceiling of the throne room exploded downward. Stone and fire fell upon Gideon and the soldiers. Ethan cried out for his friend, then saw the elder priest evade the avalanche only to be swallowed in a cloud of dust again.

Ethan noticed a low whistling sound coming from outside through the damaged ceiling. He saw several small projectiles arc through the sky toward the castle. He didn’t know what they were—only that they were extremely dangerous. He followed the path of one that would enter the throne room and reacted.

Ethan flung the physical sword in his hand precisely into the objects path. Only after he had let go of the weapon did he wonder if it had been the wisest course of action. The projectile managed to fall just beneath the shattered roof when Ethan’s sword struck it.

The weapon exploded. A fireball raced out across the room with a shockwave that pummeled everything in its path. The soldiers, still visible in the dust from the first explosion, fell like wheat to a scythe. Ethan crashed through a heavy wooden chair and tumbled across the stone floor.

He remained conscious, but now he had no idea where Gideon had gotten too. Had his fellow priest even survived?

Ethan tried to catch his breath to shout Gideon’s name, but his feeble effort was swallowed up by a thunderous cacophony of explosions assaulting King Nichol’s castle. He found the strength to stand again. Great pieces of stone fell from the ravaged ceiling of the throne room amid a thick veil of dust and smoke. “Gideon!” He cried, but there was no response.

Soldiers broke through the doors behind him. Only the inhuman shrieking of demon voices through mortal vocal chords pierced the terrible noise of the attack coming from outside. He couldn’t see any way to go in the direction Gideon had gone. The demon-possessed would see him in the physical or the spiritual.

Ethan realm shifted anyway and flew to the pile of rubble left from the first explosion. Ethan searched frantically for a body, but Gideon was gone. The soldiers came into the other end of the throne room, apparently caring nothing for the collapse of the castle all around them. They spotted Ethan and tore through the chamber after him, some running perpendicular along the face of the stone wall while others bounded over and around the rubble.

Ethan still had the advantage of phasing through matter. He leaped through the wall as the soldiers attacked. Their swords bit into the stone after him.

Ethan came out into another room he didn’t recognize. Massive alcoves had been carved out of the castle here by the explosive attack. Many bodies littered the ground, some partially buried under wood and stone.

Two demons shot through the walls at Ethan, forcing him to defend himself. One struck at him before he could retrieve his weapon. He dodged the attack and locked his arms around the demon’s arm, then wrenched the weapon away. He released the brute and thought to use its weapon, but the spiritual sword evaporated in his grip, reappearing in the demon’s hand again.

“You’ve much to learn about this realm, warrior!” the demon snarled.

Ethan’s blade flew from his side to his hand, then morphed into a triple jointed staff. Both demons leaped at him. They struck furiously with their swords, but Ethan blocked with the middle section of his staff, then attacked with both ends.

The demons came again, but more cautiously. Ethan flourished with the staff, then spun around as the weapon morphed into two swords in his hands. No longer did the nightmarish legions of Mordred frighten him. His priestly training had done much to quash the childish fears.

They circled him and attacked yet again. Ethan defended between the two and managed to strike one in the chest. The creature reeled back and disintegrated like wind blown sand. The other demon growled at him. “It’s not over yet, Deliverer.”

Ethan brandished his swords, ready for another attack. The torches still burning in the room snuffed out and, despite the sun beaming through the gouged walls of the castle, an oppressive darkness crept in around them.

Ethan gasped for breath as though he’d been punched in the stomach. But he wasn’t breathing in this realm. Something else had happened. The demon lowered his weapon and smiled. “The master comes, boy.”

Ethan grimaced. “I’m not afraid of Mordred, you Hell-spawn.”

The demon’s eyes flashed with rapturous glee. “I do not speak of Mordred.”

The demon fled through the wall again, leaving Ethan alone. He felt choked by the encroaching shadow. Fear enveloped him. He materialized in the physical realm and ran away from the ruined walls toward the inward parts of the castle. Laughter followed him, dogging his heels as unrealized terror gripped his heart and took control.

Ethan remembered this fear and its source. The demon Jericho—the one who had beaten him and left him scarred for life—painful wounds that ached when the demon came near. His flesh screamed at him now to run for his life. Like a frightened rabbit, he obeyed its voice.

Jericho stood as still as stone, focused on the castle of King Nichols of Macedon. General Hevas Rommil stood attentively beside him on the ridge. The Mortar batteries maintained their campaign against the stone edifice in the distance.

Jericho allowed only Rommil to see him. This much was necessary. The Wraith General could handle it. The common man rarely could without overwhelming fear, sometimes to the point of madness.

Jericho smelled his prey upon the spiritual plane. He alone, among the demons allied with Mordred, held a connection with the boy. His blade had pierced the boy in a way no earthly weapon ever could—straight to his very essence.

Terror permeated the air—the fear of men under Nichol’s command thinking themselves allied to Rommil. Now they understood the treachery involved as the general’s shells cascaded down upon them.

Jericho surged outward with his power, feeling for the Deliverer in every crevasse, along every wall, like a living shadow. He taunted the boy’s spirit, causing him to flee through the broken ramparts in the distance. There is no escape, Deliverer…no escape from me.

“Now, General.”

“My Lord, the Deliverer is present?” Rommil asked.

“Yes, and in no condition to fight now,” Jericho said. “Take your men and storm the castle. Take him alive if possible.”

“Forgive me, my Lord. Can the boy be contained?”

Jericho turned his head, leveling his steely gaze upon Rommil. The General swallowed hard. “I control his fear and, with it, him. My kind, dwelling within your men, will take charge of him. We can hold him in either realm now.”

Rommil bowed to the demon. “Yes, my Lord. It will be done.”

He turned and ordered his men off the ridge as he mounted his great black horse. The soldiers obediently abandoned their posts at the mortar stations, took charge of their weapons, and stormed down the hill after the Wraith General.

FEARFUL

Ethan ran as hard as he could to escape the encroaching darkness, but it only grew. Deeper into the ruined castle he fled. The corridor, illuminated only by scant torchlight, seemed endless. The laughter followed him everywhere like a ball and chain.

Where can you go? There is no escape. You and your friends will all die. None can save you. You have not the strength to defeat me.

The voices echoed from every direction. The floor seemed to change. He fell to the ground, but the stone was soft, gooey. Ethan looked back at his foot anchored inside miry clay.

Ethan pulled with all his strength until the foot came loose. He scrambled to his feet again, desperately trying to break into a run, but the floor grabbed at his every step. Behind him, the torches mounted upon the corridor wall flickered and went out one by one.

Ethan felt the weight of the demon’s power press upon him. How could he hope to defeat such an enemy? He fell again, then clawed at the floor, trying to gain ground. Ahead, Ethan noticed the torches going out there, too.

Ethan saw eyes appear in the mounting darkness. Hundreds of pairs of blood red eyes ran down the corridor in his direction. Huge, black rats flooded into the remaining light.

Ethan screamed as the voices laughed again. He found a reserve of strength and floundered into a run in the opposite direction. He entered pitch blackness again with the surge of rats following.

The pairs of red eyes glowed and spread out so that they ran along the walls and even across the ceiling. A torch flashed into view. Ethan slammed into someone at full speed. The torch spun away and hit the wall sending out a flurry of cinders.

Two horrible slimy monsters stood before him. The smell wrenched his nose making him want to vomit. He tried to claw his way backwards as the monsters approached. The rats flooded around them, and Ethan screamed again. The voices laughed and Jericho’s face seemed to fill the corridor with multiple views of the Demon Lord.

Levi shook Ethan by the shoulders as the boy flailed frantically in his arms. His eyes were drawn to something unseen in the corridor. Seth picked up the torch and brought it near. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Seth. He’s not responding to me at all. Ethan!”

“I don’t think he can hear us right now. He may be under a spiritual attack of some kind,” Seth observed.

Levi shook him again, but his expression remained frozen in terror. “Ethan, wake up!”

“Listen,” Seth whispered. “The shelling has stopped.”

Indeed, only the mournful cries of the wounded and dying could be heard echoing through the castle corridors now.

“That means Rommil will be marching his men into the castle soon,” Seth said.

Levi watched Ethan. “What about the boy?”

“He needs prayer. Only the Lord can break this attack.”

Levi watched the young blind warrior as he called out to Shaddai, asking for his intervention. He prayed earnestly. Silently, Levi added his own prayer to Seth’s.

Ethan’s tense, shuddering body began to relax quickly. Bonifast watched his face and soon saw signs of real consciousness. Ethan blinked. His gaze settled on Levi’s face.

“Ah!” he screamed.

“Ethan it’s me,” Levi said hastily, remembering what he must look like after their trip through the sewer pipe.

Ethan calmed at the familiar sound of his voice, then reached up and rubbed some of the slime away from his friend’s face. “Levi?” He sniffed, then curled his nose. “You stink! You smell like a sewer. Where in the world have you been?”

Levi smiled. “A sewer, where else?”

Seth moved the torch closer. “Gentlemen, I think it’s now time to leave. The general’s men will storm these ramparts within moments.”

“Who are you?” Ethan asked, noticing the young man for the first time. “I remember seeing you on the street begging.”

“Yes. My name is Seth. I was sent to Macedon years ago by The Order of Shaddai.”

Ethan blinked again, trying to remember. “The Order…Gideon. Where is he?”

Levi looked puzzled. “We assumed he must be somewhere here in the castle with you.”

“We got separated after the explosions hit the castle. We’ve got to find him.”

“Impossible now,” Seth said, standing to his feet. He helped Levi get Ethan up on his feet.

“Look, Seth, we can’t leave Gideon here,” Ethan said.

Seth moved closer so that he stared blankly at Ethan’s face. “Deliverer, I know I speak for Gideon when I say, we must not risk your safety any further. General Rommil will enter the castle soon, and we’re going to have a tough time getting out of here as it is. Now, we must go.”

Ethan stood still, refusing to budge. “What makes you think you can speak for my friend?”

Seth stopped. “Because he was my friend long before he was yours. Now, act like a priest of Shaddai and do what is necessary and not what you feel.” He took off down the dark corridor toward the inner parts of the castle.

Levi squeezed Ethan’s shoulder. “As much as it pains me to say it, lad, he’s right. Let’s go.”

He had to tear the young man from his spot, but Ethan gave in and followed them down the hallway. Levi called up ahead to the blind priest leading their way. “Where are we going, Seth?”

In the darkness, Levi ran right up on three of King Nichol’s soldiers. They spun around, two carrying torches, another holding a sword. Their clothes were tattered and stained with blood, probably their own. They spotted Ethan and reacted.

“The Deliverer!”

As Ethan came up behind the Levi, the soldier with the sword lunged at the boy. Ethan didn’t have time to react. Seth appeared from the shadows blocking the strike at the soldier’s wrists. His left foot snapped up to make contact with the man’s chin, chest, and groin in turn. Within a fraction of a second, the blind priest held the sword, while the soldier lay in a heap on the floor with his companions watching in astonishment.

“Rommil has turned on you, gentlemen,” Seth said to the soldiers. “I would suggest you use the strength you have left to flee this castle with your lives.”

The two soldiers took a moment to gauge the situation—three against two. They shrugged at one another, turned, and ran back the way they had come.

“Where are we going to go, Seth?” Ethan asked, looking around.

Seth turned and ran through an archway hidden in the shadows. “The dungeon.”

DUNGEON MASTER

Jericho only half noticed the advance of General Rommil’s troops down the hillside, through the trees beyond, and into the pocked castle courtyard. His focus remained on Ethan and the promotion of fear. The soldiers advanced without any resistance whatsoever. After all, King Nichols had been under his command in reestablishing his throne and the invitation to the priests of Shaddai.

Jericho constructed the elements around the boy to encourage panic. Through the spiritual plane, he conjured visions and voices to haunt the boy. He promoted the rush of adrenaline and the myriad chemical components of a take-flight-response to what the boy was experiencing.

Jericho felt his racing pulse, his labored erratic breathing, and the sweat pouring from his pores. I have you, Deliverer!

Overwhelming light severed him from the darkness. An ethereal blade lashed out at him from a towering figure that materialized before him. Jericho instantly abandoned his hold on the boy to save himself from the sudden onslaught. The angel rushed his retreat and overtook him with a thunderous blow to the face.

Jericho reeled. Smoke rose from the white-hot wound left by the angel’s fist. He flew at his attacker, grappled with him, and then stammered back again. “Let me pass!”

The angel said nothing.

Jericho shot over the angel, but was quickly intercepted and cast down. He tried to reach the boy through his connection. Nothing.

“How? Why? What is the meaning of this interference in mortal affairs?” Jericho demanded.

The angel cocked one eyebrow with curious satisfaction and then spoke. “Prayer.”

Jericho screamed like an animal, then flew at the angel with his sword in hand. Thunder sounded as their blades smashed together in combat. Jericho wailed on his opponent repeatedly, but ultimately the angel proved too powerful.

He sidestepped an attack and caught Jericho full force with his heavenly sword. Jericho floundered backward to the ground, realizing his predicament. “No! Not now!”

His spiritual body began to dissolve while the angel watched. The angel disappeared with a smile on his face, leaving Jericho to disintegrate. The demon watched as the mortal plane, the castle, and the Deliverer faded from his vision. He would have to wait to find him again.

Seth led Ethan and Levi down into the depths of King Nichol’s castle. Levi carried their torch and a sword recovered from the unconscious soldier. He brought up the rear as they descended the stone steps of a long spiraling staircase.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Levi said, “why exactly are we going into the dungeon?”

Seth’s voice echoed back from the darkness ahead. “With General Rommil’s forces invading the castle we’ll need a secure way out.”

“There’s a secure way down here?” Ethan asked.

Seth hesitated to respond. “There is a way.”

When they had reached the bottom level, a cylindrical chamber opened up before them. Racks of old weapons lined the wall all the way around. Levi started toward something that caught his fancy. “I could do with one of those.”

Seth caught him by the shirt as he tipped forward almost falling into a great pit in the middle of the floor.

“Whoa!” Levi cried as his torch revealed his error. Seth pulled him back. Levi patted the priest on the shoulder. “Thanks, lad. I owe you one.”

“One?”

Levi ignored the remark. “Where do we go now? Don’t tell me that hole is our way out of here.”

Seth grabbed two swords from a nearby rack and placed them through the grime encrusted sash around his waist. “Okay, Captain, I won’t tell you.” He clicked his tongue, then leaped out over the pit. Ethan and Levi watched horrified, until they saw him catch hold of a chain extending up out of the pit where it attached to a pulley system anchored to the roof.

Seth dangled there, waiting for the others. “You’ll both need weapons, gentlemen.”

“How in the world did you do that? Your blind…I couldn’t even see that chain,” Ethan said.

“You’d be surprised how well your other senses develop when you don’t have your sight,” Seth said. “echoing sound, like a click of the tongue or even a whisper, works well to give me a picture of things your eyes can’t even see.”

Ethan was now even more impressed with the ingenuity of Shaddai’s priests.

“What’s in the hole?” Levi asked as he pulled a large cutlass from one of the racks.

“The dungeon is down there and our way out.”

“But I’ve heard no one has ever escaped the dungeon at Macedon’s castle,” Levi said.

“One person did.”

“How do you know?” Ethan asked.

“Because I’m that person. Now we must hurry before—”

Torch light filled the stairwell, reflected off of the stone walls.

Seth loosened his grip and slid down the chain into the darkness of the pit. “Come on! We must hurry!”

Ethan ran to one of the weapons racks. “Go, Levi! I’ve got to get a sword!”

Bonifast jumped across the pit grabbing the chain which was still taut with Seth’s weight below him. “I don’t like this one bit,” he complained. Then he slid down.

Ethan grabbed a medium sized sword from the rack and hefted it for feel. The light suddenly emerged into the chamber with a massive man holding the torch.

“There you are!”

The man pulled his great broadsword and swung it at Ethan. Surprised, he tried to block only to have his new weapon knocked away. The man roared at him and swung again. Ethan only had time to evade. He somersaulted backward, missed the chain and plummeted into the pit.

Ethan flailed in the darkness until his hand brushed metallic links. The chain! He seized it desperately. Searing pain tore through his left arm all the way to the shoulder, but his fall halted. He grabbed the chain with his other hand and began a slower descent.

After several minutes his feet touched the ground and hands supported him in the darkness. He still couldn’t see anything—not even his hand in front of his face.

“We’ve got you, lad,” Levi said. Just step down easy. “It takes a minute to get your bearings down here.”

“Where’s Seth?”

“I’m here, Deliverer.”

“Hey, I think I can see a little better,” Ethan said. “Is there some source of light?”

A torch fell through the darkness above and landed near them on the ground.

Seth turned toward it. “I feel heat, is that a torch?”

“They’ve tossed it down from above,” Levi said. “They’ll be coming after it I imagine.”

Seth pulled his weapons. “Then it’s time to leave.”

Ethan started to pick up the torch. “Well, we can certainly use this.”

Seth rushed to stop him. “No! We must get away from it. The heat will draw them.”

“Draw what?” Levi asked as he began to back away from the torch.

“Kung lizards.”

Levi immediately pulled the cutlass from his belt. “You led us into a nest of Kung lizards? Are you insane?”

Ethan grabbed his weapon and backed away cautiously from the torch. “What’s a Kung lizard?”

“Warm blooded reptile twice the size of a horse, lad, and mean as they come,” Levi said. “I thought you said there was an escape route down here, Seth.”

“There is. The Kung lizards tunneled into the dungeon years ago, while I was a prisoner of Nichol’s father. They attacked the other prisoners and the guards, but I used their own tunnel to make it out to safety. We can use that same tunnel again.”

The chain began to move and rattle.

“Rommil’s men are coming down,” Ethan said, peering into the darkness, expecting the lizards.

“The lizards should be hibernating this time of year,” Seth explained.

“Yeah, but that torch and these soldiers will stir them up for sure,” Levi argued.

“Then let’s hurry and get out of here before they wake up,” Ethan said. “I’ll realm shift and find the tunnel.” A look of disappointment quickly settled on Ethan’s face.

“What’s wrong, lad?”

Ethan looked puzzled. “I’m not sure. For some reason, I can’t realm shift.”

“But why?” Levi asked.

The chain rattled again, and voices echoed from above.

“This way, gentlemen,” Seth said, leading the way into the darkness. “We don’t have time to solve puzzles right now.”

They readied their swords and followed the blind priest into the darkness away from the torch. Ethan heard hissing behind him and turned just before entering one of the corridors to a cellblock. A huge slender reptilian head appeared silhouetted by the torchlight.

Ethan froze and gripped his sword tighter in anticipation of an attack. The reptile turned its head toward him. A tingle shot up his spine. The beast stood only twenty feet from him. Then it turned back toward the torch and the dangling chain.

A soldier dressed in black and crimson armor slid down the chain into view then dropped to the ground. He looked up to his comrades. “I’ve reached the bottom!”

The huge Kung lizard lunged forward, snapping a whip-like tongue at the man. The sticky coating on its tongue seized the soldier, holding him fast, then quickly drew him into the beast’s jaws. The soldier screamed as the lizard crunched down upon his armor.

It pulled him away from the torchlight into the darkness. Ethan heard it tearing away the armor plating as it went for the soft flesh beneath. Ethan ran to catch up with the others, his stomach churning.

THE NEST

The sound of trickling water drew Ethan into an adjacent chamber. He barely dared to whisper for Levi and Seth. “Where are you?”

No one answered. Water continued its babbling just ahead. Ethan crept closer. His feet tapped into a ledge. He felt a cool rim of stone at waist height. Beyond, a pool of ice cold water sat in the chamber, apparently fed from somewhere above. “A Cistern,” he whispered. His eyes had adjusted better to the poor lighting by now. The tiniest fraction of sunlight filtered in from somewhere far above.

Ethan bent over to get himself a drink. He’d been parched for the longest time. Something hissed behind him. He turned in time to find one of the huge Kung lizards opening its jaws. Someone hit him. He flew backwards into the water.

He pushed through the surface of the water again to see the lizards tongue shoot out and grab Seth. The sticky saliva held him to the horrid appendage as it pulled him toward his death.

As the beast reeled him to its mouth, Seth brought one of his swords down across the bridge of its nose. With the other weapon, he slashed through the adhesive tongue. Seth fell loose as the Kung lizard lurched backward. It flailed its body in every direction from pain. Blood sprayed everywhere.

Seth ran at Ethan with the tip of the lizard’s tongue still dangling from his clothing. He leaped over the rim into the pool. “Stay down!”

“Are you kidding? We’ve got to get out of here.”

Seth gripped his arm and held him in the pool. “No!” he hissed. “The water hides your body heat from the lizards. That’s the way they track their prey.”

Ethan stayed put even though the water chilled him to the bone. The lizard groaned and croaked against the pain of its injuries.

“But won’t that thrashing about attract the others?” Ethan asked.

“Exactly the reason we don’t want to be walking around right now….Look.”

Ethan watched as another Kung lizard appeared, then several more. They briefly watched the wounded reptile rolling around on the ground. They sniffed the air—blood. Then they lunged at the poor beast and began gorging themselves.

Ethan suddenly realized the captain was missing. “Where’s Levi?”

“He’s down the corridor toward our exit. I left him safe in one of the cells slathered in cool mud from the floor.”

“Body heat?”

“Precisely.”

They remained in the pool as more giant lizards arrived in the chamber to feast.

“How many?” Seth asked.

“Do you really want to know?”

“I’m hoping the whole nest will come to feed. It will keep them busy. With a fresh kill before them, they’re less likely to pay any attention to us.”

Kung lizards of all sizes chirped and clicked to one another—mothers calling their young from the tunnels adjacent to the room. Then, unexpectedly, one of the large carnivores turned toward the cistern. Ethan tensed and grabbed Seth’s arm.

“What’s wrong, Ethan?” he whispered.

“One of them is coming over here.”

The pair backed up to the rear of the cistern. “Get below the surface,” Seth instructed.

They ducked down under the water. The cistern held a water depth of only four feet. Ethan opened his eyes, trying to see the lizard. He kept his blade pointed up toward the beast, just in case it spotted them.

The tip of the Kung lizard’s snout pushed through the surface of the water. The long tongue curled out, then pulled water like a scoop back into the reptiles mouth. It stood there drinking—the tongue loping through the water mere inches from Ethan and Seth.

Ethan noticed something clouding the water next to him. The lack of light made it incredibly difficult to see anything. Then he noticed the stump of lizard tongue still attached to Seth’s clothing. Blood from the severed appendage poured out into the water around them.

The lizard’s tongue picked up the scent in the water. It darted toward the source and found Seth hiding there beneath the surface of the water. Feeling the heat, the tongue attached and drew him out of the cistern by his leg.

Ethan shot out of the water after him. The tongue held Seth suspended upside down. He became disoriented—not quite sure which way was up. Ethan lunged at the beast. He leaped up with his sword and swiped the blade horizontally across the lizard’s throat. Blood poured out across the earthen floor. The beast released Seth. He tumbled back into the water, recovered and came up again with his blade ready.

“Ethan, what happened?”

“Let’s just say, we’re even. Now, let’s get out of here!”

Ethan helped him out of the cistern and Seth led him to the right corridor. “Bonifast is down this way.”

With another great reptile bleeding out on the chamber floor, they easily escaped the attention of the feeding frenzy. The Kung lizards remained in the chamber enjoying a sumptuous feast.

When Ethan and Seth reached the cell where Levi should have been waiting, they found shredded metal covered in blood. Ethan stared in disbelief while Seth felt the twisted edges of prison bars torn asunder.

“Tell me this wasn’t where you left him,” Ethan said.

Seth touched his fingers to the blood, then brought it to his nose. The pungent odor startled him, putting a smile on his face. “This isn’t the captain’s blood. The lizard that did this must have wounded itself on the torn metal.”

Just then, they heard a cry for help down the corridor. They ran toward the sound. Ethan noticed Seth breathing deliberately heavy breaths—using the echoes to guide his steps through the darkness.

Soon, they came to a wall. The stones had been thrust out into the corridor. “This must be where the lizards tunneled in. It smells awful.”

“I think the nest is here,” Seth said. “I’d imagine most of them are back there feeding near the cistern, but we’d better be careful.”

Another cry for help echoed from the hole in the wall.

“It’s definitely Levi,” Ethan said. “There’s at least one of them in there. We’re coming, Levi!”

Ethan ran through the hole in the wall with his sword pointed in front of him. Seth followed. The miniscule amount of light available in the dungeon became almost nothing inside the nest. Sounds of dirt shuffling around, heavy footfalls and the occasional ring of a sword hitting scaly flesh reverberated from multiple tunnels around them.

Ethan stopped at a junction. “Which way?”

Seth stepped up beside him and listened as the sounds came to them again. He darted to the left. “Come on.” Ethan hurried to keep up. Seth definitely had the advantage in this environment. As he ran, Ethan wondered why he still could not realm shift.

Seth stopped in front of him, causing Ethan to almost slam into his back. Seth listened again, then bolted to the right and down another earthen tunnel. They arrived inside a larger chamber with more tunnels leading away. Ethan began breathing through his mouth. “This place smells awful.”

Levi flew into the room from an overhead tunnel, then tumbled across a mound of dirt. A Kung Lizard followed on his heels. But when it entered the chamber and found three persons present, it stopped short, raised its head, and hissed menacingly. Ethan and Seth raised their weapons, ready to fight.

“Ugh! What in the world is this stuff!” Levi yelled from across the chamber.

The Kung whirled on him, searching for his prey again. Presently the lizard stood between Ethan, Seth and the captain. “Hey! Over here!” Ethan shouted as he tried to direct the lizard’s attention to him and Seth. The beast turned its head back to them. Apparently two tasty morsels were more interesting than one which had somehow landed in—

“Lizard Poo!” Levi exclaimed. “I’m ever falling into a pile of dung in this place!”

The Kung turned on him again.

“Captain, I would suggest you stay where you are and stop complaining to the lizard. It doesn’t like it,” Seth said.

But Levi grumbled still, trying unsuccessfully to extricate himself from the heap of lizard dung. The beast began to move toward him, though he was too busy to notice now. Ethan and Seth lunged for the lizard as it turned from them.

The Kung smashed them both with a swish of its great tail. They tumbled through the chamber, landing in a heap, their breath knock from them. Now, Levi noticed the big predator closing on him. He tried to locate his cutlass, but it had landed about ten feet away, barely visible in the darkness.

The Kung lizard hissed at Levi and sampled the air with its tongue. Time to eat.

Levi flailed his arms and legs, but the muck held him fast. The whip-like tongue lashed out and caught hold of Levi’s clothing. “Help me, lads! It’s got me!”

Ethan and Seth, hit with the tree like tail, had barely managed to recover enough to start breathing again. They groaned against the pain, trying to get to Levi before it was too late. The thick, sticky tongue pulled against the grip of the dung pile, trying to free the Kung’s meal.

Levi’s body shifted upward. “It’s pulling me out!” Then he realized the mound was shifting beneath him. A large nose poked through the muck between his feet as the tongue continued pulling. The dung heap exploded, sending Levi into the air free of the sticky tongue.

Something—a creature easily the size of a man—leaped from the pile of filth to attack the Kung lizard. The reptile reared back, then tried to lash at the new threat with its tail. The new creature, completely caked with dung, dodged the tail then slammed into the lizard. The beasts tumbled. The dung caked animal tore into the lizard’s neck with razor sharp teeth and claws. Blood flew everywhere.

The Kung lizard spasmed, then lay still with the dung-beast still crouching on its chest. Then it turned its attention on the humans. The beast stared at Ethan then leaped from the Kung lizard and began to come toward him. Ethan stood and prepared for a fight.

This beast may not have been as big as the Kung, but it had ferocity to make up for its smaller stature. The creature stopped short of Ethan and Seth, then shook its entire body. A wave rolled along its form, shaking lizard dung from a coat of thick brown fur.

The filth came free with surprising efficiency, leaving a sleek brown mammal standing on its haunches. “It’s a rat!” Ethan exclaimed.

Levi reacted first. He dove for his cutlass. “No, I’m not doing rats again.”

The brown rat watched him curiously as he picked up the weapon and began to approach. The animal turned back to Ethan watching him. Then it surprisingly bowed to him—at least that’s what it appeared to be doing.

“Stop, Levi,” Ethan said as he lowered his own sword. “Don’t hurt it.”

Levi stopped short, looking exasperated. “What do you mean, don’t hurt it? That thing’s liable to tear your throat out any moment!”

“No, I don’t think so,” Ethan said. He transfixed on the rat as it slowly stood again on its haunches. Ethan extended a hand toward the creature. “I don’t know why, but I feel like you mean us no harm.”

The rat stooped again, this time placing his muzzle under Ethan’s outstretched palm. The black eyes watched, but the rat made no move to harm the boy. Seth stood still, listening, sampling every vibration of the air with his finely honed senses. Levi held his weapon ready to strike should the beast make the slightest provocation.

Ethan laid his hand on the rat’s muzzle. The thick fur was surprisingly soft, though much of his coat still held the remnants of the dung heap. As he made contact with the creature, Ethan felt instantly at peace. He realized the feeling did not emanate from within, but rather from the rat. It meant only to help them.

Ethan spoke then, while his hand was still touching the rat. “Do you know who I am?”

Instantly Ethan felt the answer crossing the connection between them. Somehow, the rat understood him to be one sent from the Creator. “Can you help us to get out of this place to safety?” Ethan asked.

Ethan barely had time to discern a positive feeling before the rat pulled away and scurried toward one of the tunnels leading away from the central chamber. It stopped at the mouth of the tunnel, waiting. Ethan looked at Levi with a smile on his face.

“Now, wait a minute, Ethan. If you think I’m going to go traipsing off, following a giant rat through these tunnels your crazy.”

Seth had already stepped after the rat toward the tunnel. Ethan looked back at Levi and hunched his shoulders. “Call me crazy, I suppose.” Then he followed after Seth.

The rat went into the tunnel with both following. Levi took another moment to consider the situation, until he heard hissing echo from the tunnels behind him. “Wait up, lads. If you’re going on some wild goose—er—rat chase, then I better make sure it don’t have you for dinner!”

CAPTURED

Gideon only vaguely remembered being dragged from beneath a heap of rubble, which had buried him shortly after the shelling began on Nichol’s castle. He heard men’s voices all around him. The sun beat down upon him. His body ached all over. The dry taste of dirt lay on his lips.

The men stopped dragging him by the shoulders. Gideon heard a deep laughter. He raised his head to find a large man standing before him in the armor of a Wraith General. He supposed the man must be General Rommil, but he didn’t feel like raising his head to look into his face.

“So, priest of Shaddai,” Rommil said, “are you the Deliverer of God we have been hearing about all these months?”

Gideon tasted dirt when he tried to speak. His tongue felt pasted to the roof of his mouth. The general grabbed his tattered shirt and picked him up off the ground with one hand. “No. You are not him are you?” Rommil listened, then spoke again. “So, you must be the one who trained the boy. Gideon?”

Gideon noticed, vaguely, that no one visible had spoken to the general, yet he seemed to be getting this information on the spot. He wondered from whom.

“Tell me where your companion is?”

Gideon managed to speak. “You pulled me from a pile of busted rock and you expect me to know where he is? Find him yourself.”

Rommil listened to an unseen voice again.

“Very well, priest of Shaddai,” Rommil said, “you will be my guest aboard The Razor, my fastest ship. It will take us to Mordred. Perhaps, he can persuade you to give him what he wants.”

Gideon started to protest again, but Rommil’s fist smashed him across the face and all went black.

Daylight flooded into the tunnel near the end. Ethan, Seth, and Levi had followed the brown rat all the way to the outside of the castle. Smoke rose above the treetops nearly a half mile away. “That must be the castle back there,” Ethan said.

Levi sat on a nearby rock and examined himself. “This is without a doubt the worst shape I’ve ever been in.”

Ethan wrinkled his nose at the captain. “Yeah, the fresh air really brings out your stench, Levi. You and Seth should take the advice of our new friend over there.”

They watched the brown rat wading into a nearby stream. Where the river became white-water, he entered and held tight to the rocks, allowing the water to cleanse his thick coat of its filth.

“Our new friend?” Levi asked incredulously. “He’s a big, nasty rat.”

The rat exited the stream and shook his lean frame free of excess water, then began grooming his coat.

Seth smiled at Levi. “I’d say he’s a fair bit cleaner than you at the moment.”

“Well, you’re no better, Seth.”

Seth walked toward the stream. “Then I second the rat’s wisdom.”

Ethan smiled as he watched the rat cleaning himself. “He’ll need a name.”

“What on earth for?” Levi asked, bewildered.

“He helped us,” Ethan said defensively. “Not to mention saving your life.”

Levi relented a bit.

“And I think he can help us find Gideon. He may have been captured.”

The rat wandered back to Ethan’s side. He placed his hand gently on the rat’s head, still a bit concerned by the beast’s size. It stood slightly taller than any of them.

“What is your name?” Ethan asked.

Levi rolled his eyes. “Oh boy.”

Ethan ignored him. The rat responded in thought. Ethan tried to decipher it, but only grasped feelings. “I can’t figure out what he’s telling me.”

Seth splashed in the river, allowing the water to clean away the sewage and filth they’d been traveling through.

Ethan tried again. “Would you mind if we gave you a name?”

The rat responded with eager feelings of joy.

“How about Dung?” Levi said from his rocky perch.

Ethan shot him a defensive look.

“What? We found him in a dung heap, after all.”

Ethan smirked, hoping to turn it around on Levi. “Sounds good to me. What about you?” he said to the rat. Surprisingly, he found the rat amiable to the name.

He turned back to Levi. “Good job, Captain, he likes it. Now, go wash up or Dung and I are going to push you in the river.” To this sentiment, the rat rose up with an eager look in his black eyes.

His pounding skull invaded Gideon’s slumber. He roused, slowly at first, then remembering what had happened, he leapt to his feet. Chains held him fast to a steel plate mounted to the wall. He turned and yanked against them again and again, but could not break free. He pulled to the point of wringing blood from his wrists and ankles—no use.

Gideon examined the bars of his cage. Iron bars on three sides. He noticed the floor. It was uneasy—tilting slightly. They have me on a ship. He heard footsteps coming down the corridor beyond the wooden door before his cell. A key slid into the lock on the other side—tumblers slid into place.

Jericho stood in the corner of the lone prison cell, amused. The priest of Shaddai had roused by now from his fist-induced slumber. He pulled against his chains several times, straining his wrists and ankles against the manacles to the point of blood. Most amusing.

Footsteps fell on the wooden floor outside the room. The priest reacted. Jericho watched as the guard came in to find the priest apparently still unconscious. Not a particularly clever ruse. Nevertheless, the guard inspected the man for a moment, then decided it safe to open the cell door in order to place a tray of food inside the door.

It wasn’t a wise move, but Jericho and the guard both knew that Gideon’s chains would not allow him to even reach the tray. Once the door was closed, the tray could be kicked across to the prisoner. But something had caught the guard’s eye.

Jericho moved to see what had seized the man’s attention. On the floor, partially spilled, lay a pouch of gold and silver coinage. Jericho had not noticed it lying there next to Gideon’s knee before.

The guard turned to look around, then at Gideon, wanting to be sure the man was really unconscious. He greedily inched closer to the money bag. Jericho puzzled a moment too long, then realized—bait!

Before he could do anything to warn the guard, the priest sprang at him, seized him in a silent embrace and snapped his neck. Jericho decided, curiously, to watch more of the priest in action.

Gideon took the keys, but none fit the locks on his manacles. Next he took the guard’s sword. He placed the point inside a chain link, then used his palm to drive the pommel down. Four times for four links he did this and freed himself in seconds. The priest took the weapon, keys, and his pouch of coins and crossed the room to the door. He paused, looked in Jericho’s direction, then shook off his suspicion and entered the corridor beyond.

Jericho passed through the door, following the priest along his route. He’s quite clever, Jericho thought. More what I would have expected in a choice of Deliverer. Perhaps this priest could actually do as we hope.

Gideon walked cautiously down the narrow corridor of the ship. He blew out the wall-mounted lanterns as he came to them, then proceeded, using the darkness to his advantage. Jericho followed, intrigued.

The priest ascended the stairway, only pausing before he came on deck to spy out his odds. Apparently, he hadn’t been overly concerned by the amount of men he had to face. He surged forward onto the main deck.

Jericho rose through the deck until he had an excellent vantage point of the ensuing skirmish. The priest tore through men as though assailed by no more than a troop of goose down pillows. He spotted Macedon off the port bow and ran for the rail, intending to leap from the ship and make a swim for it.

Jericho deftly moved to intercept, permeating the physical world just enough to bar the man’s efforts to leave. Gideon hit an invisible barrier and toppled backward to the deck. He stood, baffled, then tried again unsuccessfully. A look of semi-comprehension washed over his face. He ducked back, fighting more men across the deck toward the other side. He jumped more cautiously and slammed into another of Jericho’s barriers. He landed back on his feet this time, then switched tactics completely.

Jericho watched him run around the soldiers, taking down more as necessary. The priest climbed quickly to the poop deck. What is he doing now?

The priest assaulted the guard at Rommil’s quarters and plowed through the door. Jericho rushed after him. When he entered the room, he found the priest just inside the door pointing his sword at General Rommil. The Wraith General sat across the cabin behind his oak writing desk in a leather chair. He smoked on a long pipe, smiling at Gideon.

“I must say, priest, that took longer than expected. I was told you warriors of Shaddai were supposed to be the best.”

Gideon said nothing. Smart, Jericho thought. Maintain your focus—don’t let the enemy turn you from your goal. Half the battle takes place in the mind. He realized the priest might strike any moment. No need to waste a good warrior like Rommil while he was still so useful.

Jericho made himself visible to Rommil. The general seemed to barely take notice, as if he’d expected the demon was there all the time.

“Tell me, priest, have you ever fought a demon?” Rommil asked coolly.

“I’ve killed a few.”

Jericho smiled at the young man’s ignorance. He’s posturing…perfect.

Rommil smiled and stood behind his desk. “So, will you kill me, then?”

Gideon gripped the weapon tighter. Soldiers gathered at the door to Rommil’s quarters. They shouted to their general for admittance.

“Stand down!” Rommil hollered to them.

“I’ll spare your life, General, once you have the barrier removed from around the ship.”

Rommil laughed heartily. “I didn’t place the barrier around the ship, you fool! You don’t realize the situation you’re in, obviously.”

“I won’t ask again, General.”

“Then strike, priest. I’m unarmed.”

Gideon had now come up against the wall. His bluff had been called.

Jericho watched and waited. The priest stood there, considering for the briefest moment, then he lunged for General Rommil. Jericho intercepted the priest with one invisible swipe of his forearm. Gideon sailed across the room, landing in a bookcase.

The entire lot tumbled to the ground around him. Gideon recovered lightning quick, blade ready, searching the half-light within the general’s cabin. Jericho waited.

The priest leaped again, trying to place his sword between his body and any invisible entity in the room. Jericho seized Gideon’s sword arm, then used it to swing him around the room. The demon battered him into every piece of furniture available until Gideon could barely manage to get to his knees. He remained on the floor of the cabin, gasping for breath, blood pouring from his nose and many lacerations across his body.

The demon left him there to wallow in self pity and discouraged defeat. Rommil’s deep voice boomed throughout the cabin with laughter. “Ah, priest, you don’t fail to amuse do you? Perhaps if you serve no other purpose for Lord Mordred, he might allow you to live as a jester in his court.”

Gideon barely managed to catch his breath. It felt like several of his ribs had been broken during the demonic attack. He’d never seen it coming and there was no way to fight back. He had been defeated.

Rommil passed by and removed the chair Gideon had used to bar the door. The soldiers came in after him. “Gather up our friend and bring him onto the main deck,” Rommil said. He walked through them into the sunshine.

The soldiers hoisted Gideon to his feet. He winced at the pain coursing through his torso. The breath came only in gentle inhales and exhales. Gideon staggered between the guards holding him up. They led him, following the general, out onto the main deck.

The sunshine made him feel a little better. The cabin had seemed nearly cold enough to see one’s breath suspended in the air. But hopelessness knocked out any small joy that remained.

Rommil stood at the railing. “Come over here, priest. I assumed you would want to see this.”

Rommil’s men pulled him to the rail beside the general. On the beach, a large fire burned with some of Rommil’s soldiers next to it. They also had a silver chest with them. Gideon perked up pitifully.

“I see you recognize the chest,” Rommil crowed. “The same one you and the boy brought with you from your pathetic Order of Shaddai.”

General Rommil raised his hand to the men on shore. They were nearly two hundreds yards away from the beach on Rommil’s sleuth, the Razor. As soon as they received the signal, his men smashed the lock from the front of the chest and opened it. Several of them began pulling scrolls from the chest, shredding them, then tossing the remains into the bonfire.

Gideon’s last vestiges of strength left him. How could it have happened? Their mission a failure, himself captured, and only the Lord knew what had happened to Ethan.

“Surely you realize your God will not save you this time,” Rommil said. “Your mission of mercy to Macedon is a miserable failure, young man. We sail for Nod where you will stand before Lord Mordred at his palace. You may live to regret your rebellion to my master.”

Gideon watched the strips of scroll reduced to ashes in the fire. They rode the thermals into the air, then drifted down the beach. He had not protected the Word of Shaddai, nor Ethan, Shaddai’s Deliverer. Sorrow pummeled his soul like a wave of the sea. “Why not simply kill me now?”

Rommil laughed. “How perfectly cowardly of you. But there will be no taking the easy way out of this, priest. You will stand before my master. He alone will decide your fate.”

The sails on the sleuth billowed and caught the wind under the direction of Rommil’s crew. Gideon closed his eyes to the spiritual carnage taking place on the beach. Whatever happened to him now, he deserved it for his failure to Shaddai.

HOPE REMAINS

Ethan, Levi, and Seth remained behind the dunes, watching as General Rommil’s men broke away the lock securing the scroll chest where it sat next to a large fire roaring on the beach.

“They’re shredding the scrolls,” Ethan hissed through clenched teeth. He couldn’t take it any longer. He tried to surge forward from the protection of the dunes. Levi and Seth caught him and held him back.

“No!” Levi urged him. “You can’t.”

Ethan pulled against them, but he didn’t have the strength to break free from their grip. He still couldn’t realm shift either. Instead he had to sit and watch the soldiers destroy the Word of Shaddai meant for Macedon’s people. Tears began to stream down his cheeks in anger.

Seth tried to reason with him. “Ethan, Levi is right. You can’t just march out there for Rommil to see you.”

Ethan slumped down behind the sand dune with them. “But they’re burning the scrolls—the Word of Shaddai, Seth—burned like so much garbage.”

Seth considered it.

Levi watched The Razor through a small spyglass. “I believe I see Gideon aboard that ship. Rommil’s men have him. He looks pretty beaten up, but there’s no chance of getting to him right now.”

“At least we know he’s still alive,” Seth said, hoping it would improve Ethan’s outlook.

“I’ve failed, Seth,” he said. “I was charged to guard those scrolls with my life, and now the real hope of Macedon has been reduced to ash before my eyes.”

“We had better get busy working out some way to follow The Razor,” Levi said. “It will take a fast ship to even hope of keeping up with her.”

Seth clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “I think I need to show you something before we go.”

Seth got up under the cover of the dunes and walked back into the underbrush. “Come on, men. I believe we can find a ship to suit us on the other side of the island. And maybe, just maybe, I can restore your faith in Shaddai.”

The group walked for miles. Even Dung the rat came along, though it was unclear to everyone, but Ethan, why the beast bothered with them. Levi kept a suspicious eye on the giant rodent the entire way across the island.

Seth led them through the jungle, until they were deposited inside a small village at the edge of an ancient lava flow. Ethan wondered if the entire island was perhaps the product of some old volcano pushing its way through the surface of the Azure Sea, long ago.

The villagers gave cautious stares, until they noticed Seth leading them. Evidently, he was well known to them, which piqued Ethan’s curiosity all the more. Some of the people called the blind priest’s name, to which he obliged them with courteous waves and shouts. By voice alone, Seth apparently identified them all correctly.

Ethan also noticed that no one appeared to be threatened by Dung the rat. Where was he? The giant rodent had disappeared from their ranks. He scoured the tree line and found Dung hiding beyond the edge of the village away from the people. Ethan tried to coax him forward, but Dung apparently wanted to remain hidden from view. Perhaps, he doesn’t want to alarm the people, or maybe he just knows something I don’t.

Ethan carried on after Seth. The blind priest brought them to a particular thatched hut, among many, and knocked. Someone peeked from behind the door. Then, seeing Seth, they opened the door wide. A stocky man with bushy black hair stepped out and embraced Seth in a bear hug.

“Whoa, Bombil, you’ll break me if you don’t stop,” Seth said.

Bombil gave an inquisitive look at Seth’s two companions. Ethan and Levi looked like street urchins in their tattered, stained garments. The reek of sewage and lizard dung still wafted off Levi’s clothes—fire being the only way they could be purged of the foul funk now.

“What have you brought us, Seth?” Bombil asked.

“This is Captain Levi Bonifast. And may I present Ethan, priest of Shaddai and the promised Deliverer.”

Bombil was clearly stunned by the revelation. He looked back at Seth as if the blind priest might be playing a prank on him. “Truly, Seth?”

Seth smiled, even though he couldn’t see the expression on Bombil’s face. “I understand your doubts, my friend. I too found it difficult to believe the prophecy had come true. However, if we could get out of the street and into some suitable clothing, then perhaps Ethan would be willing to enlighten us to the journey that brings him to Macedon.”

Ethan felt as though he were on the spot now. “I, uhm, I guess I could do that. But we mustn’t delay too long in chasing down the ship with Gideon onboard.”

Bombil stepped aside in the doorway, beckoning for the others to come inside his home. His wife and two sons were seated at a small table inside with only four chairs.

“Gentlemen, this is my wife, Ella,” Bombil said. “I wonder, dear, if you would fetch some clothing for our guests.”

The children sniffed the air at them. Levi looked away, embarrassed.

“Certainly,” Ella said. “I’m sure the boys and I can scrounge up something from around the village. Come along, my sons.”

The children got up from the table with their mother and followed her out the front door. They paused and sniffed again as they passed Levi, then wagged their hands before their wrinkled noses, giggling.

“Come along, boys,” Ella called from outside. The boys scrambled obediently after her.

“Come and sit,” Bombil said. “We have much to discuss.”

“Seth said he had something he wanted to show me,” Ethan said. “Perhaps we might take care of that first?”

Bombil looked at Seth for approval. “It’s all right, old friend,” Seth said. “Show them our treasure.”

This piqued Ethan’s interest all the more. Even Levi had perked up at hearing of a treasure—the pirate blood in him no doubt. Ethan watched Bombil go to a corner of the main room and move aside a barrel sitting there. He knelt in the floor and used a small tool, he had produced from his pocket, to loose one of the floorboards.

A segment of wood popped out of place to reveal a handle beneath. Bombil pulled the handle and a trap door raised. He motioned for Ethan and Levi to follow him. “Come on then, if you want to see it.”

Bombil climbed down the ladder beneath the trap door. Ethan and Levi both followed. They descended into a subterranean cavern. The walls had been carved out to suit the purposes of the villagers, and the ceiling had been reinforced with sturdy cedar beams.

The sounds of the sea echoed along the wide chamber from the far end. Ethan noticed weapons and food, stored against some unforeseen calamity. Bombil proceeded to a small antechamber and pulled back a thick leather curtain. Ethan couldn’t believe what he saw.

A silver chest sat in the middle of the small room on top of a wooden table. Ethan rushed to the chest, caressing it to see if it was real. “Is this—?”

“It is, Master Ethan,” Bombil said.

“But we saw the scrolls and the chest on the shore with Rommil’s soldiers,” Levi said. “They tore them and burned them right before our eyes.”

Bombil laughed. “A fake my good Captain. When Seth rescued you from your ship, we followed after and secured the scroll chest from your cabin.”

“But how did they get another scroll chest?” Ethan asked.

“That chest was brought by Seth when he came, with the Word, to Macedon years ago. The King of Macedon arrested him and had his eyes darkened. Then he was left to rot in the castle dungeon, until he managed to escape. The chest had been emptied and left behind. We took it, hoping Shaddai might one day send us his Word to fill it again.”

“But who are you people, anyway?” Levi asked.

“Seth did manage to bring us the Word regardless of the King’s edicts. He had the Word hidden in his heart. When he escaped, we aided him and were taught the will of Shaddai by him. Now, we follow the Almighty and serve his purposes here in Macedon. We hope to use the scrolls to spread his message of hope and salvation throughout the island.”

Ethan grinned from ear to ear. His mission had not failed after all. He felt a great weight lifted from him and looked skyward praising the Almighty. “Even my feeble efforts couldn’t undo what you would have done.”

HOME TO NOD

Gideon stood still in the hold of Rommil’s sleuth. Rommil stood above, watching him from the cargo hold door. A thick chain dangled between Gideon’s manacles. His feet had been left free of bonds, Rommil had not yet told him why he was now in the hold.

“I suppose, priest, that you think I desire some information from you,” Rommil said from above. Gideon looked at him, but said nothing.

“Actually, I only mean to teach you a lesson. And of course my men always enjoy a bit of sport. These passages from Macedon to Nod can be so boring.” He laughed.

Gideon watched as men climbed down the single ladder leading into the cargo hold. They were burly brawlers from among Rommil’s guard. Gideon noticed faces from among the crew as well. They smiled and popped their knuckles as they hit the landing and encircled Gideon.

The men each carried a weapon of their choosing. Some held clubs, one a chain, and another few had brought whips. Gideon busied his mind with whom to attack first, and how he might best progress to the ladder, scale it, and possibly escape the ship. With demons onboard to prevent him, he supposed his chances were fleeting at best, but he felt he had to try.

His attackers seemed to also have some sort of plan. They looked at one another knowingly.

“Remember boys,” Rommil said, “he’s not to be killed, or else you’ll answer to me personally.”

The men’s faces hardened—certain that this would be an unwelcome prospect.

Ten men circled Gideon, each waiting for an opportunity to lay into him. A few had soiled bandages which seemed to indicate he’d faced them already in previous conflicts across the deck. Gideon prayed silently and waited for the first strike.

One of the whips curled through the air around its master’s head, then lashed toward Gideon. He threw up a taut chain and allowed the whip to strike it. The leather thong wrapped quick around the links. Gideon pulled the chain, whip, and man holding it across the floor.

Taken unaware, the man stumbled into Gideon’s grasp. He seized the man around the neck with the chain, then crossed his wrists behind. The soldier gasped, clutching vainly at the chain about his neck as he turned a sickly, bluish purple.

The others halted, dumbfounded by the priests ferocity. They all held back as the first man succumbed to unconsciousness. Gideon released the man and he crumpled to the floor in a heap. “Who’s next?”

The armed men all looked at one another, wondering who would dare make the next attempt. They decided on a joint effort and closed simultaneously. Gideon took the fight to them.

He kicked the closest in the side of his right knee, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Then he leaped toward the one he supposed was the more fearful of the group—he’d seen it in the man’s eyes—causing the man to stumble into someone next to him.

Gideon attacked each of them in turn this way, sometimes dodging the swing of a club, the crack of a whip thong, or even a fist, but he always came out better. Men dropped like flies to the floor around him with few getting up for a second try. His chain clinked between his wrists, when he finally stood still again, looking up at General Rommil.

Rommil’s smiling expression surprised Gideon. Then he noticed the General look at someone above and motion for them to join the fray. A small wiry fellow leaped over the threshold and dropped into the hold like a cat.

The man was naked from the waist up, sweating, and dirty. His lean muscle flexed as though every fiber might snap at any moment. His face held a ferocious expression that seemed more animal than human. Gideon had begun to wonder if the man was possessed, when the man suddenly dodged sideways, then leaped at him.

Gideon responded in kind, but the man moved faster than expected. He managed to smash Gideon across the jaw. He stumbled but recovered before the man attacked again.

The sailors and soldiers who had just received a sound thrashing from Gideon stood to their feet against the walls and stacks of packing crates to cheer on his destruction. Others lay on the floor where they had landed earlier, still unconscious to the world around them.

“Stan has spent time with more than a few of our demon brothers, priest,” Rommil said. “I think you’ll find him a more fitting opponent for your skill.”

Stan lunged again. Gideon tried to block him, but he seemed to float wherever pleased him rather than thrusting in one direction. He forced Gideon back while the other men scattered from the fight. To make things more difficult, Gideon’s wrists remained bound by manacles and chain.

The demon possessed man drove toward his waist. Gideon decided to meet the unorthodox fighter with his own brand. He somersaulted forward so that his feet spun around tightly. Gideon slammed them down with his full weight onto Stan’s back as he passed under.

Gideon had expected to drive the wind completely from his lungs, but Stan only became more ferocious. He forced his way up with Gideon standing on him. Stan spun around to get to him, but Gideon jumped away. Stan pursued. Gideon kicked the man’s knee hard enough to shatter bone, but he merely stumbled and kept coming.

Stan grabbed Gideon’s manacle chain as he tried to strike. Gideon leaped over him as the possessed man yanked back on his chain. Before he touched down on the other side, Stan yanked the chain back the other way, slinging Gideon against his own momentum—tossed like a dog’s chew toy.

Gideon got up quick, grabbed one of the men standing nearby and thrust him toward Stan as he came again. The possessed man grabbed his shipmate, then tore into him like a crazed animal. The others watched, horrified, as their mate was brutalized and tossed to the side. They screamed in terror, falling over themselves to escaped by the one ladder.

Gideon couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. “We are Legion—we are many,” Stan howled. He wiped his bloody arm across his face, making him seem even more ferocious. Then he attacked again.

Gideon reacted by driving a fist up under the man’s jaw. He realized his manacled wrists moved independently now—the chain had snapped. He used his new freedom and tore into the man, fighting for his life.

Stan faltered, fell, got up, attacked again and again. He did not possess the kind of skill Gideon had, but he never stopped coming, and Gideon grew weary. He tried to get to the ladder—anything to get away from the beast pursuing him around the hold. Stan reached it first and tore the rails and rungs away with several swipes that Gideon knew would have broken all the bones in a normal man’s arms.

Gideon tried the weapons still lying on the ground. He seized two of the clubs and battered the creature before him, until his skull split open. Still, Stan kept coming. Gideon picked up the whip as he crossed the floor, trying to gain some time to reorganize his defense. He turned and snapped the leather thong at Stan. The possessed sailor grabbed it, pulled it out of Gideon’s grasp, then tore the leather to shreds and continued after him.

“I don’t want him killed!” Rommil shouted. He seemed genuinely concerned at this point.

Stan tackled Gideon. The priest dropped, rolled, and kicked the man off of him. Stan flew into the wall and sank to the floor. His rage grew even more. Stan lunged again. Gideon managed to sidestep the crazed man and seize his head in an iron grip. He jerked the neck as hard as he could. It made a sickening snap and Stan went limp in his arms.

Gideon dropped him to the floor and backed away, gasping for breath. His clothes were soiled and torn. Despite his victory, he already felt multiple bruises, cuts, and abrasions crying out their pain from all over his body.

He heard singular, measured clapping and looked up toward his captor. Rommil finished his mock applause with a disgusted smile. “Well done, priest of Shaddai. You have bested Legion.”

The fear so apparent in his men barely crept into Rommil’s eyes as he looked down on him from the main deck. Gideon held onto quiet satisfaction, but said nothing. He hadn’t actually gained anything, after all. He was still a prisoner.

“General Rommil, Jericho, is pleased,” a voice emanated from Stan’s body, even though the man didn’t move.

The name—mentioned by Isaiah before—caused a chill to run up Gideon’s spine. The leader of demons had been watching him—perhaps, the very same Ethan had been defeated by in Mordred’s palace at Emmanuel. Fear began to creep from the recesses of his mind.

Rommil seemed to find something changed in Gideon’s expression at the mention of the name. He smiled. “I see you have heard of his fame?”

Gideon’s face became stone. He wouldn’t give Rommil the satisfaction.

Nevertheless, even that appeased Rommil’s curiosity. “I see. Well, my lord feels you will make him a worthy servant. He would have me to offer you a pain-free contract into his service.

Gideon fumed with indignation and let it show on his face.

“Do you refuse his generous offer of employment?” Rommil asked with mock bewilderment.

Gideon mustered his reserves, pushed fear back out of his mind and answered loud and true. “I do refuse to worship or serve any but Shaddai, The Lord Almighty, my rock and refuge.”

Rommil smirked. “Very interesting. We shall see, priest, we shall see.”

The blow came from nowhere, sure and fast. An unseen fist sent Gideon crashing through a packing crate full of bananas. He fought unconsciousness and started to raise himself up again, the sickly sweet smell of crushed fruit covering him. Another pummeling came from thin air. He hit the floor of the cargo hold hard and remained there.

WUNTIAN SENDOFF

Bombil led Ethan and his party away from the main village toward the sea. They passed through dense vegetation, coming upon a serene, sandy shoreline. A beautiful lagoon lay before them with long palms bent gently toward the sea on all sides. Clear, blue water rolled over the sandy beach while white gulls with gray spots surfed the thermals rising above them.

Just off shore, a ship bobbed gently with the current. It was a sleuth anchored at the mouth of the lagoon. “Our ship will take you back to the mainland so you can rescue your friend,” Bombil said. “It is not very large, or well armed, but it is fast.”

Ethan smiled at the Wuntian villager. “We are in your debt, Bombil, for your help, your hospitality, and for taking charge of the Word.”

Bombil looked at Seth. “You can thank Seth for that. He risked his life and lost his sight to ensure that we Wuntians had preaching and teaching after our conversion to faith in Shaddai.”

Seth did not smile, but stood humbly, allowing the praise to pass.

Ethan reached out and took Seth’s hand. “Believe me, I am very grateful to Seth,” he said to Bombil. “You saved my life, friend.”

Seth only nodded as he returned the handshake.

“As a matter of fact, I’m sorry that we have to be leaving so soon. I would very much have liked to hear about your journey here to Macedon for The Order and all that has happened to bring you here now. But we have to hurry to find Gideon in time. There’s no telling what will happen to him at the hands of General Rommil and Mordred.”

“Exactly,” Seth said. “That’s one reason why I feel I must come with you.”

Ethan smiled. “Are you sure? What about your work here on Macedon?”

Seth smiled now. “I have completed the task I was given by The Order of Shaddai. I brought the Word of Shaddai to this island, and now it is in the hands of the people. They have been trained in its teachings and are well able to distribute its truth to those on Macedon who have a willing ear to hear it.

“My work here is finished, and it is time that I reported back to my Order. Besides, if Mordred happens to gain the victory, then he will have Macedon as well and that won’t help the work here. So, I will go with you and do what I can to help Shaddai’s Deliverer in his appointed task.”

Bombil stepped forward, clasping a large hand on Seth’s shoulder. “The ship is laden with provisions for your journey. I cannot say that I am pleased by your decision, Seth, but neither can I say that I am surprised by it. Go in peace, my friend, and may the Lord bless your every step.”

The two men embraced as brothers, then Bombil led them toward the small boat which would take them out to the sleuth. Weeks of uncomfortable sea travel lay ahead of them, but Ethan couldn’t help wondering how Gideon faired. What he must be going through—Ethan shuddered.

They had been at sea for hours. The sun had just dipped below the western horizon, leaving an aurora of oranges and pinks in its wake. Ethan sat upon the main deck, allowing the wind to wash over him.

He felt so tired—not only in body, but in mind. It seemed that so much had happened to him in so short a time. He’d been chosen for this before he was ever born, and yet he had no idea why. What was he? Not a hero, still only a boy. But he felt already that his childhood had slipped away from him.

Perhaps it was during his and Elspeth’s time with Mr. Howinger, or when he met Gideon, soon discovering his unusual gift. No, it had to have begun fading away when Mordrid first arrived in his village of Salem—when he had seen a demon for the very first time as it walked virtually unseen among his people.

His father and mother had been torn away from him by the Wraith Riders. Then Elspeth had been taken and now his best friend. As weary as the journey had already been, Ethan knew it would only get worse from here on. Still, he could not surrender to discouragement. If Shaddai had chosen him for the task, then he surely had been equipped to dispense his will. Whatever happened, he intended to see this prophecy through and trust in the one whom had chosen him.

Ethan reached for a piece of fruit from a bowl he’d been given by one of the crew members. Dung sat near the bow of the ship grooming his fur. He did that a lot, causing Ethan to wonder if his new friend wasn’t cleaner than the humans he had chosen to travel with.

Levi came up on the deck by a set of steps. Seth followed him. Levi watched the rat for a moment and then walked toward Ethan. “I don’t know why we had to bring him along,” he said, jerking his thumb in Dung’s direction.

The rat must have sensed in some way that Levi spoke of him because his head lifted from his grooming to look at the three of them. His nose and whiskers twitched several times as he sniffed the air, before returning to his grooming.

Ethan tried to suppress a smile. “I think he likes you.”

Levi picked up a piece of fruit and shivered at the prospect of the giant rat getting anywhere near him.

“He did save your life you know,” Ethan reminded him.

“He’s right, Captain,” Seth said. “You might have been fermenting in the belly of a Kung lizard right now, were it not for our new friend.”

Levi accepted the reminder grudgingly. “Yeah well, he still gives me the creeps just looking at him.” He tossed his piece of fruit over his shoulder. “Here’s a thank you for your trouble.”

Dung caught the fruit as if he’d simply been waiting for the captain to finally toss it his way. He chattered a moment toward Levi, then ate the fruit.

Ethan smiled. “See, I told you he likes you.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “On to business, lads. We need a plan of action.”

Seth straightened up. “I agree. It will be very difficult to get Gideon away from Rommil—especially once he reaches the mainland and Mordred’s army. In fact, I think we should prepare for the possibility that we might not be able to rescue Gideon, at all.”

Ethan almost gasped at the suggestion. “Of course we’ll get him back. It’s the Lord’s will for us to get him back.”

Levi gave Ethan a puzzled look. “Why would you say that? There’s nothing written concerning Gideon. We know the Word tells about you as the Deliverer, but nothing of this. I like Gideon very much, but the best we can hope for is that it may be Shaddai’s will for us to get him back.”

Ethan looked disappointed. He hadn’t thought of that possibility.

“We will certainly do all that we can for Gideon, but as a priest of Shaddai, he is fully prepared to give his life,” Seth said.

“Well, I’ve defeated Rommil’s brother in the past,” Ethan said.

“I don’t know about his brother, but I can say, from experience, that Hevas Rommil is a very formidable enemy, not to mention Mordred himself.”

Levi scratched at the stubble on his face. “I’d say they’ll be taking extra precautions considering how we invaded the palace before. Mordred won’t allow us to infiltrate so easily this time. And there’s the matter of Jericho.”

Ethan felt his stomach churn uneasily at the mention of the demon.

“Jericho and his demons will be watching for you, Ethan,” Levi said.

“Mordred must realize by now that you will come for him, according to the prophecy,” Seth said. “They’ll most likely set a trap for you, using Gideon as bait. It’s not him they want out of the way, but you. As the Deliverer, you alone have the power to destroy Mordred.”

Ethan turned toward the bow of the ship. Dung had just finished the piece of fruit given to him by Levi. He licked his paws, then looked up at Ethan and twitched his whiskers inquisitively.

Ethan smiled and looked back at Levi and Seth. “Then I guess we’ll have to do something they won’t expect.

UNWELCOME WELCOME

Gideon had been kept for unnumbered days in his cell aboard Rommil’s ship. He had been unable to find any way of escape though he had tried many times. He’d lost count of the times Rommil’s men had come down to the brig to beat him. They had learned by now to keep him in chains for it.

By the time he felt the ship come to port, scraping against the pier, Gideon had lost a great deal of weight. Rommil had only given him enough food and water to keep him alive. Many nights, during the voyage, Gideon had seen terrible visions. He knew demons were with them on the ship, but still the supernatural taunting grew maddening.

On one particular night when Gideon wondered if he could take anymore, a light had appeared which drove away the specters. He had heard a voice emanating from the light which strengthened him with the assurance that Shaddai had not forsaken him. It had been enough.

Now he heard the soldiers coming down the outer hall to retrieve him. When they came through the door, they carried swords and pistols. Though he was emaciated, the soldiers still feared the priest of Shaddai.

Five men remained outside of his cage while two others took keys and removed his chains. The skin had been worn away at Gideon’s wrists and ankles. The soldiers kicked at him to get up, but he barely had the strength.

“Pick him up,” the guard captain ordered. The two soldiers lifted Gideon up and dragged him out of the cell with his legs trailing limp behind him. He tried to walk as they reached the stairs, but it proved difficult.

The sun stung his eyes when the soldiers reached the main deck with him. He’d not seen it in weeks now. Gideon shut his eyes against the glare, but enjoyed the feel of it upon his pale skin. The soldiers brought him before General Rommil, who had been waiting for him on deck. “Well, priest, how are you feeling?”

Gideon didn’t bother with a reply. He knew, of course, that Rommil had no care for his feelings. Rommil had made sure, rather, that he received poor treatment the entire way. He wouldn’t give the Wraith General the satisfaction of his moaning. Instead, Gideon got his feet under him and stood up between the men escorting him.

“I see,” Rommil snarled. “Still some pride in you yet. I trust Lord Mordred will break it from you. He is waiting to meet you, priest.” Rommil turned and walked down the gang plank toward the pier below. The soldiers pushed along after him with Gideon in tow.

They carried him down the pier to a wagon which sat waiting for him. Essentially it was a cage on four wheels. The soldiers unshackled Gideon and threw him inside, all under Rommil’s watchful eye. The Wraith General mounted a black steed, larger and more muscular than a normal horse. The look in the animal’s eye warned that only the Wraith Riders could tame his kind.

The march from the shores of Nod toward the White Palace at the city of Emmanuel began. Gideon turned back to see the ship and the harbor. He recognized it as the same one they had attacked aboard Captain Bonifast’s ship with the mercenary fleet which had ultimately betrayed them. That meant the journey up to the city would only be several miles.

Soon he would meet Mordred himself. By now, Gideon supposed they must have kept him alive for some purpose. Either they desired sport of him through torture, or Mordred intended to use him as bait in a trap for Ethan. Perhaps, they meant to do both.

The procession of soldiers, with General Rommil at the head, wound its way up the cliffs by way of a road paved with stones. The few horses among them clip-clopped as their hooves struck the road. The caged wagon wobbled a great deal. Gideon groaned as his sore body bounced on the rough timbers constituting the floor of his mobile prison.

He grabbed the bars over his head, trying to relieve the pain by hoisting himself up a little. His arms strained and trembled against his own weight. Gideon looked into the sky, closed his eyes, and prayed: for deliverance if possible, but more for strength to endure whatever lay ahead of him in the city of Emmanuel and Mordred’s palace.

The walls of the city stood as tall as he’d ever seen them, but the glory of them was gone. The once-polished, white stone had grown dingy with mold and caked with dust. Great thorny vines clawed upward from the base, thick and gnarled. Gideon wondered if it was a lack of care, or if they had been planted on purpose to dissuade attackers.

Double iron portcullises rose into the upper portion of the wall as their procession approached. General Rommil led them through the gates, but when they entered, there was no applause. Gideon supposed Rommil’s return, along with his capture, might have given Mordred’s faithful reason for celebration.

When he saw the few people actually roaming the streets of the city, he felt pity for them. There remained no joy in their expressions. Fear had taken residence now. Civilians were in short supply, from what he could see. The military seemed to encompass nearly the entire city now.

As the procession passed through the once-thriving business district, Gideon saw the palace in full view. It too had been allowed to deteriorate. The walls appeared dirty, and the spacious gardens had been left to grow wild, or had been trampled under foot by soldiers. Ivy, mingled with thorns, grew up the sides of the palace walls and it seemed to Gideon that goodness and purity itself was being dragged down into the pit.

The golden statues, wrought by artificers shortly after Mordred’s takeover of the city, stood covered in bird droppings—a testament to their true value.

Gideon saw, to his left, long rows of plain buildings which had been erected on the spacious, manicured lawns. Doors far to tall for a normal person opened at the ends. In the courtyards, where many soldiers trained, he saw the reason for them.

Giants, like those described by Ethan, sparred with one another in tunics of crimson and red. They wielded large maces and clubs, which looked like small trees. Some of them might have been ten or twelve feet tall. And there appeared to be enough of them to make an army themselves. But they were not alone. Thousands of men trained on similar quadrangles all across the city, from one wall to the other, several miles away.

A foul stench of decay filled the city, and smoke billowed into the sky from smelting plants where weapons of iron and steel were being made. Great engines of war filled another part of the city, towering higher than the dingy white walls. Gideon realized Mordred was preparing for battle.

Rommil, his troops, and the carriage all stopped in front of the great steps leading into the palace itself. A royal welcome seemed to be waiting for them. Then Gideon realized it was not for them, but for Mordred himself.

General Rommil dismounted from his horse, then walked back to the carriage holding Gideon. His guards opened the door while others prodded Gideon with swords to be sure he obeyed and came to the exit. He had little choice but to comply. Gideon crawled to the door and outside where the guards chained themselves to him on either side.

Gideon followed as the guards turned to look upon the warlord himself. Mordred sat astride his midnight stallion at the base of the great stairs of the palace. He wore regal attire like that of a king, albeit crimson and black remained the dominant theme. His raven hair fell across broad shoulders from which a stout muscled frame extended.

Gideon couldn’t help but find the man very handsome. He had never actually seen Mordred in person. His natural supposition had been that such a brutal conqueror must be grotesque—a bloated, dingy slob smelling of sweat with most of his teeth missing.

Mordred was exactly the opposite. No wonder people follow him, he thought. When Mordred finally spoke, it only confirmed that opinion. “Ah, the valiant priest from The Order of Shaddai. Hello, Gideon.”

Gideon raised his eyebrows curiously. The guards pulled him toward their master. “How do you know my name?” he asked.

Mordred smiled—every women’s dream, but beneath a nightmare. “You will find, Gideon, that I know a great deal about you—more than you would want, to be sure.”

Now Gideon looked puzzled. What was Mordred talking about—Ethan? The Order’s location? What could he possibly know about him?

Mordred seemed to sense his bewilderment. “Try not to worry yourself about it now, Gideon. There will be plenty of time for you to regret being so careless—plenty of time for you to wish you’d never met me.”

Gideon swallowed a lump gathering in his throat.

Mordred regarded General Rommil, grinning. “But not yet. We’ve prepared a place for you to rest until your official audience with me in my throne room. General Rommil?”

Rommil straightened. “Yes, my Lord?”

“See that our guest is tucked in comfortably. Then you may join me in my chambers.”

Rommil bowed obediently. Mordred turned his stallion and rode down behind the line of soldiers toward the stable. Rommil stepped in front of Gideon and looked him in the eye. He chuckled to himself. “Welcome to Emmanuel, priest.”

Gideon’s face hardened. Rommil turned and ascended the stone stairs toward the palace proper. Gideon’s guards followed the general, forcing him to come along. As they neared the top of the stairs and the great doors beyond, he wondered if he would ever see his friends again. And more importantly, would he ever see his Sarah again?

EDGE OF MADNESS

The special place Mordred had prepared for Gideon turned out to be nothing more than a room of cold stone. They had not descended into the dungeons of the palace, but it bore resemblance. The guards had thrust him in without any chains to bind him whatsoever.

Curious, he thought. Looking around the twenty foot square room, it held nothing at all in the way of furnishings, not even a bed. When the door had closed however, things had changed. As Gideon’s eyes wandered over every inch of the walls, looking for anything that might aid an escape, he happened to look back at the door. It had disappeared.

He blinked. Only stone remained where the guards had been standing moments before. He turned round and round, supposing he’d become disoriented and simply looked for the door in the wrong part of the room. But he had not. The door had vanished completely, as though it had never existed, yet here he was inside the room. No wonder they removed my chains, he thought. I can’t escape without a way.

Gideon fought back the panic welling up inside. Claustrophobia fell on him like a weight. He stopped himself from allowing his emotions to have their way. Reason told him that there must be a way in and out. He’d just come through. Realizing the alternative helped to bolster his confidence. It’s a trick—even if you don’t know how—remember it’s only illusion.

Gideon closed his eyes, then searched the walls inch by inch with his hands. Still he couldn’t find anything to suggest a door. He gave up and sat down in the middle of the floor, trying to relax. The air seemed to grow thin around him. He tried to control his breathing. The feeling of suffocation grew—panic attacked at the fringe of his consciousness again. And again, he had to reason through. “They’re not trying to kill you,” he told himself. “This is an illusion. Demons are involved here—that’s how they can do this to you. Mordred made it clear that you would come before him in his throne room, that you would live to regret it. A dead man can’t do those things.”

It was then that Gideon noticed something he had not before. He could see, despite the fact that the room had no windows, no discernable source of light at all. Still, there was some form of light in the room—dim, as though light particles had simply been suspended somehow. He smiled. “They’re trying to break me.”

Gideon closed his eyes again and made himself believe that there was plenty of air. He thought of the room as a safe haven instead of a tomb. He felt better, calm, hungry.

He opened his eyes and saw a bowl of steaming soup sitting on a plate with a piece of bread. Gideon looked around the room. Had he fallen asleep? Certainly there hadn’t been anyone to come into the room without him realizing it. But there sat the food.

Gideon reached out and pulled the plate across the stone floor to him. The aroma was wonderful. The bread smelled of butter and honey, and the soup looked like a chowder of some kind with a creamy white sauce. His belly groaned and complained, wanting to be satisfied. It seemed so long since he’d tasted food worth tasting.

Gideon took the small loaf of bread in his dry hands. It felt moist and warm to the touch. He broke it open and sniffed at the vapors rising through the crust. His mouth watered, and he sank his teeth into it. The sweet flavor rolled across his taste buds like high tide upon the shore. He moaned with satisfaction as he chewed and swallowed the first bite.

Next, Gideon took the bowl of soup and brought it to his mouth. It smelled wonderful. He greedily tipped the rim to his lips, slurping the creamy broth. He let the flavor fill his mouth, then he looked curiously inside the bowl.

Something round rolled over in the broth until the sauce revealed a pigmented ring and pupil within. Gideon forced the soup through his lips, spewing it out. The broth splattered across the stones before him. It had been an eyeball. He dropped the bowl. It scattered its contents across the floor—blood intermingled with the creamy white sauce.

Gideon spit the remnants out over and over again. He caught a glance at the bread broken open on the plate. Maggots festered within. Gideon coughed in spasms, horrified that he’d eaten any of the foul food he’d been delivered. He heaved upon his hands and knees, but he had nothing in his stomach to bring up.

When he finally felt some settling, Gideon looked up again. The spilt food, along with the bowl and plate, had disappeared. Examining the stone floor closely, he found no evidence there had ever been any food at all.

The room suddenly grew cold—so much so, that his breath hung suspended in the air. Gideon’s clothes were little more than rags after the fighting on Macedon and the voyage across the Azure Sea. His teeth chattered, while gooseflesh sprung up all over his arms.

A light shone behind him. Gideon turned to see it and found the stone walls had given way to images. He blinked, but the images remained, unfolding before him. He saw entire cities burned to the ground, the inhabitants strewn in the streets. He saw soldiers in crimson and black torturing the living inhabitants of Nod, husbands taken from their families, children torn from their mother’s arms.

He heard a faceless voice echoing softly in the room. “Such needless violence. Why should this continue? If not for the Deliverer, written about in ancient texts, this suffering could stop. The people could live at peace again.”

Gideon grew angry, watching the suffering. “No! It’s Mordred who has caused this oppression and death.”

“Is it?” the voice asked. The image changed to show Ethan sitting upon the throne in Emmanuel. He had grown older, wore a beard on his face and a crown upon his brow. “Who will reign when Mordred is defeated?” The image showed Gideon’s friend launching attacks on villages, extending his own power, even beginning a war in Wayland to the north. “Will a boy with so much power acquiesce to the role of servant when his prophesied task is completed? Who would be able to stop his ascension to the throne, his insatiable lust for power? The Order of Shaddai?”

The images changed again, showing Ethan and his would-be troops coming into the Temple, bypassing the security measures held secretly for so long. “Would such a conqueror, with so much power, allow an organization to exist that could threaten his dominion? Of course, he would not—could not.”

Gideon gazed in horror at the scenes unfolding before him. The voice, with its poisonous words, struck his soul like an adder. For the first time, Gideon doubted his young friend and his noble intentions. Could it be possible? Could it happen as the voice had said? He felt suffocated. Tears fell on his cheeks. Even if he had been freed right then, the damage had been done.

The images faded to be replaced by the stone walls of his prison. It grew colder still in his cell. The light dwindled until he could barely perceive his hand before his face. He shivered, but it was more than cold. Evil had come.

Gideon heard panting—not human. He smelled something in the stale air reminding him of the bear he and Ethan had killed in the forest shortly after they met. Panting turned to snarling.

Gideon looked around in the cell, desperately trying to find the source of the noises. It multiplied. He couldn’t see them, but he felt like prey for a starved pack of wolves. He smelled them—felt their breath hot upon his flesh. He tried to focus upon shadowy figures moving along the walls. They remained elusive, indistinct, figures among fog.

Then the eyes glowed red before him. They gazed upon him from every side. He had nowhere to run within his stone prison. They struck at him. Teeth gnashed. The scent of blood filled the air. Gideon struggled against the pain. He felt his flesh ripped from his bones. Teeth, as has hot as irons in a fire—as sharp as knives, pierced him over and over again.

Gideon wilted under the brutality of the attack. Had he been able to see his attackers, he still would not have had the strength to stop them. Even in the midst of a slaughter his belly groaned for food.

When he thought he could not stand the pain anymore, Gideon cried out, “Shaddai! My Lord in Heaven, please help me!”

The room fell suddenly silent. Nothing moved. The snarling had ceased altogether along with the inflicted carnage. Gideon lay there in the middle of his cell. The pain subsided very quickly. He wanted to look, but he knew what he would find.

Finally, Gideon opened his eyes and beheld what was left of his torn body after the attack. To his astonishment, he remained very nearly the way he had been before. The ground had no stains from his blood. His flesh remained whole, except for extensive bruising and what appeared to be large bite marks.

Gideon examined himself closer now—glad for his condition. The damage that had been done still told him one thing. Something real had attacked him—the puncture wounds certainly weren’t an illusion.

What had happened? In his confusion, he’d not considered why the attack had stopped. “The prayer!” Shaddai had stopped the attack.

Gideon sighed as he sat on the cold stone floor. His faith was not in vain. He tried to get into a more comfortable position. His body still felt like it had been mauled by wild beasts even if the damage wasn’t as severe as it had seemed at the time.

There was no way to tell if it was day or night, or how much time had passed. Gideon settled in and sought further refuge in prayer.

DESPAIR

Days might have passed and Gideon would not have known it. He only knew he was starving and beaten half to death by repeated demonic attacks. Each time they had come to him, he had driven them away through prayer, but not before taking a beating. He began to hope for a quick death.

Gideon heard a noise—creaking. He opened his eyes and saw the door opening in the wall as it had when he’d been thrust into this maddening prison cell. He lay on his side with no pillow but the cobblestone floor.

His face had been bruised and small lacerations streaked his complexion. Puncture wounds and purple mottling were found scattered across his entire body. Gideon had seen food again on several occasions, but he’d not been able to get the thought of the first meal in this place out of his mind.

Several guards came into the room, carrying manacles. Gideon laid on the floor, lacking the strength to even get up. They shackled his wrists and ankles. Then a longer chain was connected between those, so that his movements were now very restricted.

The guards picked him up off of the ground and took him from the stone cell. When Gideon passed through the door he smiled. The air outside smelled far fresher, and he hoped what he was experiencing now was actually real. Inside the room, he had lost the ability to tell truth from illusion.

The guards dragged him down several long corridors and he caught glimpses of the white stone walls normally seen in the palace. The walls had mold clinging to them in places. Gideon smelled food coming from somewhere and his belly groaned to be fed.

Two guards waited at a set of large wooden doors. When Gideon and his escorts reached them, the guards opened to them, revealing a throne room beyond. He recognized the place. This had been the chamber where he and Levi had come through the grate in the floor, only to find Ethan under assault by demonized soldiers.

The chamber had been a complete mess by the time they’d finished rescuing the boy: a room flooded with wine, bodies, and tumbled furnishings. Today, it stood clean, at least cleaner than other places he’d passed along the way here. The guards carried him inside, and the doors were shut after them.

Two rows of guards stood at attention on either side of the room. They appeared unthreatened by Gideon’s presence. He wondered what he must look like after his internment in the stone cell. He felt as though he were on the brink of death. The looks from the guards ranged from pity to disgust.

At the far end of the massive room, Mordred sat upon the throne of Emmanuel. A servant girl sat next to him, feeding him grapes and other kinds of fruit from a silver platter. When Mordred saw Gideon dragged into the room and brought before him, he smiled and waved the girl away.

Mordred took a drink from a golden goblet, his eyes never leaving the emaciated priest before him. Gideon noticed General Rommil standing obediently at Mordred’s right side. Both men were great in size and Gideon suddenly felt very small and frail before them.

“My dear, Gideon,” Mordred said pleasantly. “I’m so very glad to see you.” Mordred whispered to the servant girl. She stepped down from the platform, carrying her tray of fruit and stopped in front of Gideon.

His eyes flashed with desire for the bananas, grapes, pineapple, and apple slices sitting on the silver tray. The girl offered the tray to Gideon. He didn’t care anymore if suddenly the food turned into something horrible. He had to have something to eat.

Gideon reached for the pieces of fruit with his manacled hands. He sank his teeth into the food and nearly fainted from the overload of flavor flooding his parched senses. He savored it only a moment and then greedily took more—as much as he could hold—then shoved it into his mouth.

“My poor, Gideon. I’m so very sorry for the way you have been treated,” Mordred said. “I had not realized you were not eating all this time.”

Gideon paused to look up at Mordred in disgust. Did he really expect him to believe these lies?

“When General Rommil informed me of your condition, I knew we had to get you out of that awful prison cell immediately,” Mordred continued. His voice dripped honey, but Gideon knew his words were nothing but poison.

Mordred stood and descended from his throne. He walked up to Gideon, and the servant girl fell away. Gideon watched mournfully as the food platter went with her. “I had to be sure I could trust you, Gideon. But now I feel we can come to some understanding with one another. You see, I have no desire to kill you. In fact, I believe we could even work together for a common good in the Kingdom of Nod.”

Gideon glared at the warlord. “You and I working together? Never,” he spat. “You might as well kill me and be done with all of this pretense. I’ll never serve you.”

Mordred might have erupted into a rage, but he refrained and simply smiled. “I don’t think you understand what I’m offering, Gideon.”

“I don’t care what you’re offering. You’ve nothing I could possibly want.”

Mordred laughed. “Ah yes, the priest so devoted to his Order of Shaddai. Of course, peace in this kingdom and freedom for yourself would have no bearing on the situation.”

Gideon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You bring peace to Nod? I’m not a fool, Mordred.”

“I think perhaps you are,” Mordred said flatly. “You see, I know your real desires Gideon. I know about your wife and your child.”

He knew—this monster knew about his precious Sarah. Gideon thrust at him against his chains, but the guards had little difficulty restraining him.

“Gideon, please,” Mordred continued. “I’m offering you the chance to go to them and be a family. You and your wife can raise your son together and be happy.”

A son? How does he know if I have a son, or not?

Mordred understood his expression. “Yes, Gideon, you have a son. The child was born while you were away.”

Suddenly Gideon realized Sarah must have been taken. “Where is she!” he demanded.

Mordred paused, then returned to sit upon his throne. He smiled when he looked at Gideon again. “You’re right. She is here and the child. Both of them are perfectly safe…for now.”

“If you harm them I’ll—”

“Please, Gideon, save your pathetic threats. You are in no position.”

Gideon settled down a bit, his confidence drained. “What do you want?”

Mordred drew another drink from the goblet sitting on the broad arm of his throne. “I want to make you an offer. You have great skill as I understand it. I’d like to put those skills to better use.”

Gideon felt sure where this was leading, and he didn’t like it.

“I want you to lead my army after the boy Deliverer. Kill him for me. Then, you and your family can go in peace. Live in Nod with a king’s ransom, or go far away if you like. It really doesn’t matter to me.”

Gideon hardened to stone before Mordred. “I cannot. I will not.”

Mordred hardened against him, as well. He turned to Rommil and nodded. The Wraith General went to a side door and emerged with Sarah in his grasp. When she saw Gideon standing there, she seemed almost not to recognize him.

Gideon lunged against his chains to get to her, but it was no use. His guards held him fast. The two of them cried out for one another. Mordred stood. Sarah carried their infant child in her arms. Mordred took Gideon’s son away as she screamed for after him.

Gideon lunged against his chains harder, but he only stumbled to the floor.

Mordred carried the child back to his throne and stood there. “I can see there is no convincing you, Gideon. I’ve made a reasonable offer, and you have refused…so be it.” He nodded to Rommil again.

The Wraith General removed a large dagger from his belt and, without hesitation, he thrust Sarah threw the back. She had been watching the child in Mordred’s arms and pleading with Gideon to stop them from harming their son. The strike caught her unaware.

She fell to the floor, bleeding before Rommil.

Gideon screamed in agony, as though his very heart had been ripped from his chest. He fell and lay there on the cold stones, tears streaming down his dirt-stained face, watching the life ebb from Sarah’s eyes. At that moment, he felt as though he had been torn into pieces. He gladly would have accepted such a fate if it would have saved her. Now, it was too late.

Gideon laid on the stones for what seemed like an eternity—his strength sapped away. Mordred waited, savoring the moment. Rommil wiped the blood from his dagger and replaced it. No pity or remorse shown on his face.

Slowly, Gideon found strength enough to stand. He glared at Mordred, then at Rommil—he had done the deed. He had put the blade to her.

Mordred sat upon the throne, cooing the child. Gideon watched him, full of hatred for the man. “Gideon, before you say anything else on impulse, I would remind you that your son is depending upon you.”

That statement snapped Gideon out of his malice. The child—his and Sarah’s child—still lived.

Mordred glared at the priest. “My offer still stands, Gideon. Do not refuse me again.”

Gideon watched his son, so helpless—all that remained of his precious wife and the love they had hoped for in life. He couldn’t do it, but he had no choice. He spoke through teeth gritted together so tightly they attempted to bar him from speaking. “I will do as you want for the promise of my child’s safe return to me and our freedom when it is done.” He looked at Rommil, who wore a smirk on his face. “And for him.”

“What do you mean?” Mordred asked, glancing happily toward the general.

“I mean me and him, right here, right now,” Gideon said. “If I win, I lead your army myself to do this. If I lose then I’ll be dead and it’s up to you to get Ethan.”

Mordred grinned viciously at Gideon. The general stood there bemused, sizing up the priest just in case. “I agree,” Mordred said. “This might be fun, eh, Hevas?”

Rommil cracked his knuckles and smiled. “Absolutely.” He stepped down from the throne platform. “Weapons?”

Gideon held up his chains. “Of course, to the death.”

“Release his bonds,” Mordred commanded. The guards complied and removed the shackles from his feet and ankles. Gideon stood ragged and pitiful, but he was a free man again.

Hevas Rommil drew his broadsword from the sheath at his side. The sword was as big as Gideon. “And what will you have, priest?”

Even as Rommil finished his question, Gideon shot within arms length and snatched the long dagger from the general’s belt—the same he’d used to kill Sarah, moments ago. He dodged out again as Rommil tried to strike, swiping wide with his broadsword. Rommil missed. The Wraith General lunged again, swiping horizontally at him, but Gideon spun downward on the ball of one foot. His hand brought the dagger around and trapped it behind Rommil’s right knee. A quick slash severed the tendons. The general fell to the ground as his knee gave under his great weight.

Gideon rolled away across the stones and back to his feet. Despite the lack of food and rest, he felt reinvigorated by vengeance. Rommil growled out his fury, trying to stand in vain. Gideon glanced at Sarah’s lifeless body once more. Time to end it.

He ran at Rommil, who was trying to brace himself on one knee, which still brought him to Gideon’s height. The Wraith General gathered a full swing with his sword and brought it horizontally toward the priest. Gideon leaped off the floor from his right foot, then kicked off Rommil’s sword arm, at the wrist, knocking it away. He used the rest of his momentum to drive the dagger down just above Rommil’s breastbone into his heart.

Hevas Rommil gasped in horror, looking up at Gideon. He suddenly spasmed and fell over. His massive sword clattered against the stone not far from his limp hand.

Gideon breathed deeply, wanting to savor the moment, but there was nothing satisfying about it. He stepped over the hulking body of General Rommil to Sarah. He knelt down, cradling her body, and wept for her.

A nursemaid came in at Mordred’s request. “What is your name, girl?” he asked.

“Elspeth, my Lord.”

“Elspeth, you will take the child into your care and see that he is treated well,” Mordred said as he handed her the infant. “I don’t want our new general to worry about his son while he’s on campaign.”

Gideon regarded the woman as she took his son. The nurse cradled the child lovingly and then bowed to Mordred. “Take him away,” he said.

Gideon held Sarah and watched the woman go. She in turn looked back at him, curiously observing the macabre scene in the throne room and the ragged man’s tears as he held the woman she had known to be the child’s mother.

“Now, Gideon, I want everything to be in order,” Mordred said. “Your men will escort you and your wife’s body to see that she is buried according to your customs. I am not completely without compassion. Then, you will begin training again. Your going to need some fattening up before you ride forth to the hunt.”

Gideon only half listened to what Mordred was saying to him. As far as he was concerned his life had all but ended with Sarah’s.

FAREWELL

Gideon stood on a hill outside of the city walls of Emmanuel. Sarah’s grave lay before him covered in stones. A compliment of soldiers had obediently taken him, along with his wife’s body, to the place of his choosing outside the walls. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being left within the city with Mordred and his vile kind residing there.

He wept still, though he felt as if his tears had almost run dry. He picked up some fresh earth and squeezed it tightly in his fist. “My love, I will get our son back safely, or die trying,” he vowed. “He is all that is left worth living this life for—all that is left of our love.” He choked on the words. “Please forgive me for what I must now do.”

He sprinkled the earth across the stones. Gideon wanted to pray, but he felt like a hypocrite for even desiring it. How could he pray unto the Almighty, then turn and hunt down His Deliverer—Gideon’s own friend?

He tried to cast an eye toward the heavens, but his guilt kept him from it. He turned and walked back to the soldiers Mordred had sent with him. He mounted his horse, while the men got their equipment and cart together. He sat there in the leather saddle on a black stallion more suited to his normal size. The sun gleamed off of his crimson and black uniform—the colors of his enemies.

Gideon looked out from the hillside toward the city of Emmanuel in the near distance. “My love, one day this city will be free again. I swear it.”

The storyteller paused to take a drink from a wineskin at his side. “I think perhaps that is enough for today, children.” He took notice of several of the king’s guards strolling past. “Yes, quite enough for today.”

Being troubled by the words he had spoken this day and those left unsaid, I spoke up. “I’ve never heard these things before.”

The storyteller looked at me curiously. “Stand up, boy.” And so I did.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Phineas, sir,” I replied.

“Phineas?” Then, he took notice of my clothing, the colors involved and the style. “Phineas, Prince of Wayland?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered.

The old man smiled. “Then, young prince, I suppose a sound history lesson is very much in need.” He stood, took up his staff, and said, “Return again tomorrow and you shall have it.”

About the Author:

James Somers first novel, The Chronicles of Soone: Heir to the King was published by Variance Publishing in 2006. Since that time, Mr. Somers has published many novels including:

• Hallowed Be Thy Name

• Hallowed Ground

• The Chronicles of Soone: Rise of Lucin

• The Realm Shift (trilogy)

• A World Within

• Percival Strange and the Lonely Manor

• Perdition’s Gate

**If you enjoyed the Smashwords Edition of The Order of Shaddai, then visit me at jamessremos(at)yahoo.com and be sure to leave a review at Smashwords! Also look for novel three in this trilogy: The Sword of Gideon, and my latest novel, Percival Strange: The Lonely Manor!