by Sarah Monzon
“Gelehrte.” She addressed him by his academic title, hoping her voice would rouse him from his delirious state.
His eyes fluttered open and her breath hitched. Like an animal caught in a trap, she was ensnared in his gaze.
Never had she beheld such an ice-blue hue. Like snow and sky woven together. His gaze held hers, though glazed with pain, and she reached out to stroke the damp hair away from his forehead.
“Has God…sent…an angel…to help me?” His words were stilted, as if pushed out by sheer power of will. Then his back arched and his hand gripped his wounded limb. “My leg.”
Her hand reached out but stilled before touching him, afraid she would cause him more pain. “I am no angel, though I wish to help. Pray, tell me what to do.”
He winced but pushed himself up onto his elbows. Christyne hurried closer to his side, hooked an arm around his back, and helped him to lean against the trunk of a tree. She stared at him as beads of perspiration dotted his brow, ignoring the flip in her stomach at their close proximity. “Who did this to you?” she whispered.
“Ketz—” He winced, licked his chapped lips, and tried again. “Ketzermeister,” he breathed out, his haunting eyes rolling back in his head with the effort of the single word.
Christyne’s blood froze in her veins, and her hands stilled on his brow.
Heretic hunters.
Chapter Two
Germany, Present Day
A person couldn’t outrun their doubts. Amber Carrington had tried. A twenty-six-hour flight, with a layover in New York and then another in Sheremetyevo, and the misgivings that had nibbled at her frayed conviction continued to scrape their pointy teeth against her exposed dreams.
She rested her head against the seat of the big jumbo jet and closed her eyes as the landing gear groaned beneath her. Bone weary, she tried to reach back into her memory and grasp hold of the calling that had felt like a heavenly mantle wrapped around her shoulders at one point in time.
There. In the faded, dusty corners of her mind, she could barely make out the silhouette of what she would consider the beginning. The stained-glass window as morning light shone through the hospital chapel. The peace amid the rising storm pelting her family as doctors continued to update her parents on her brother Michael’s surgery and amputations. The—
Breath tainted by cheese crackers assaulted her nostrils, and a knee came down on her wrist, which lay on the armrest between the seats. She peeled open one eye, the other flying wide a second later as she scooted to insert a bit of personal space between herself and the little tyke that was trying to hurl himself over her to get to the small rectangle of window on the other side.
The preschooler—he couldn’t have been more than four or five—had been an angel the entire flight, sleeping most of the way and then playing happily with Hot Wheels cars and the coloring books his mother had distracted him with. Sure, there had been a few dozen replays of Baby Shark on his mom’s phone at one point in time, but Amber had tuned out the too-catchy song with earbuds of her own. Now, however, he seemed to have reached the end of his tether. Or rather, broken free of it all together, if his bony knee in her thigh was any indication.
“Look, Mama, look. A castle!”
The whole back half of the plane should be able to hear him at that decibel.
Amber pressed her spine into the seat, holding in her laughter at the young mom’s horrified expression. Amber didn’t mind the little guy in her lap, truly. In fact, if she hadn’t been so absorbed in trying to banish the thoughts that had insisted on accompanying her like a second carry on, she would have been clearheaded enough to offer her window seat to the little family in the first place. What kid didn’t want to sit by the window, after all?
“Could it be King Arthur’s castle, Mama? Could it?”
“I am so sorry.” The boy’s mom unbuckled her seat belt and pushed up both armrests, snaking her arm around her son’s waist and pulling him back. Her face flushed pink with embarrassment.
Amber smiled. Both to reassure the woman, who didn’t look much older than her own twenty-one years, and because who wouldn’t feel lightened by the exuberance of little children?
“It’s not a problem,” Amber assured her as the boy was lifted from across her thighs. “How about we switch seats? I should have thought to offer before.”
The boy squealed, immediately gluing himself back to the window.
“You sure?”
The poor young mother’s voice sounded exhausted, and Amber kicked herself again for her thoughtlessness. She should have helped out more. Played a few rounds of rock, paper, scissors or thumb war so his mom could rest a bit. A transatlantic flight was tiring for anyone. Add trying to keep an overactive small child in a confined space without disrupting everyone else in the cabin and exhaustion took on a whole new meaning.
“Of course.” Amber reached around the preschooler to grab the small backpack she’d shoved under the seat in front of her. She turned her head to whisper into the boy’s ear. “Did you really see a castle?”
He nodded with excitement and jabbed at the plexiglass with his little finger. “There.”
Sure enough, gray stone turrets rose above crumbling walls. The castle, which looked to have been erected during medieval times, jutted out from the side of a gently sloping mountain. Amber held her breath as the plane banked and she slipped past the boy and his mom to claim the aisle seat. She stretched, trying to get another glimpse of the castle through the window of the row in front of them, but the plane turned the other direction and the castle was lost from view, replaced by blue sky dotted with white fluffy clouds.
The boy swiveled around, eyes wide. “Was it King Arthur’s castle, Mama?”
“He’s going through a bit of a knight phase,” Mom explained to Amber before answering her son. “No, baby. King Arthur ruled in England. We’re visiting Uncle Scott in Germany, remember?”
His mouth scrunched to the side. “That’s right. Uncle Scott in the Air Force.”
Tendrils of soft brown hair fell from the messy bun atop the woman’s head. She smiled at Amber as she tucked the strays behind her ear. “We’re surprising my brother for his birthday. The whole family is flying over, since he couldn’t get leave. Well, everyone except my husband. Turns out he couldn’t get time off either. So me and Jay-Jay here are having a mother-son adventure. Isn’t that right, buddy?”
Jay-Jay nodded enthusiastically before pressing his face back to the window. “Everything’s getting big again.”
The plane made its final descent, wheels touching down on the tarmac and bouncing before settling. Their bodies pushed forward for a second while the plane decelerated and then leveled out.
“Tell your brother I said thank you for his service. One of my brothers was in the navy, but he was medically discharged a couple of years ago.” A lifetime and yet a blink away. The end of what Michael had considered his purpose in life had been the spark to light hers.
If only the flame would burn as bright as it had at the beginning instead of flickering and threatening to go out altogether. Maybe then she could find the path and her place on it.
“You must not doubt. Anyone who doubts is like a wave which is pushed around by the sea.”
The verse in James had been a bit of a broken record to her, chastising her for the shadows that had slowly but surely grown until she could hardly see any illumination at all. She’d stood on the beach near her family’s home in Florida and watched as the tide brought wave after wave up the shore, crashing and churning white foam and then pulling back out to the vast blue ocean. Every day the pounding waves broke and ate away at the shoreline, the thunder of their voices drowning out the gentle coastal breeze and whatever whispers traveled on its wings.
Three years of theology courses. Three years of being one of, if not the only female in a class full of males. Three years of speculative looks. Well-meaning but confusing take-aside conversations. Discussions filled with reminders of Paul’s
epistles and council on a woman’s place and the headship of the church. The all-out scorn some people didn’t even try to hide, their vibrato rising like the surf, drowning out the soft assurance of a divine calling until she doubted she’d heard it in the first place.
Amber rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, picturing the ampersand pin her three older brothers had presented to her after the completion of her freshman year as a theology major. A symbol of their support. Men and women. Ordained by God and ministering as equals. Her brothers’ belief in women—in her—in ministry.
But what did one do when she lost belief in herself? In her calling? In her ability to minister to people the way she had once thought she was supposed to?
A ding sounded from the speakers, and a wave of people stood, streaming into the aisle and reaching into overhead compartments. Amber shook herself and rose. “I hope you have a nice visit with your family.” She nodded to Jay-Jay and his mom, who must have thought her a bit flaky to have wandered off in her own thoughts in the middle of a conversation.
“I’m going to ask Uncle Scott to let me fly in a fighter jet,” Jay-Jay exclaimed.
His mom smoothed down his hair with a smirk. “And I’m going to have to veto that suggestion.”
His little head cocked to the side. “What does veto mean?”
Amber grinned, grabbed her backpack, and shuffled behind the line toward the exit. Jay-Jay had been a tiny glimpse of what the next three months held for her.
Hopefully she wouldn’t have second thoughts on that decision as well.
Hefting the strap of her backpack up higher on her shoulder, she turned to the illuminated signs hanging from the ceiling, thankful the words were in English as well as German. She followed the arrows, passport in hand, and then took her place in line behind other internationals waiting to make it through customs.
An hour later, passport and visa stamped, she navigated the airport corridors and escalators before being spit out into baggage claim. Someone from the Excellency Center was supposed to meet her here. She scanned the crowd, looking for a sign with either her name or the center’s.
There. A tall woman with a blonde pixie cut. She looked to be in her early thirties, was wearing a white athletic jersey and a trim pair of jeans, and held up a sign sporting Amber’s name. Their eyes locked, and the pixie woman raised one brow. Amber smiled and wove her way past the traffic of bodies.
“I’m Amber Carrington.” She stopped her forward motion and took a second to breathe deeply, wishing assurance would catch up to her, brandishing a weapon to beat all her uncertainties away. If only she had an ounce of the confidence her brothers had…
The sign lowered and pixie woman grinned. “Willkommen in Deutschland.”
“Danke.”
Miss Pixie bent down from her towering height—just how tall was this woman?—and whispered conspiratorially in Amber’s ear. “Do not worry,” she assured in a thick accent. “I speak English. And have a forgiving nature. This is why I have already pardoned you for your terrible timing.”
Amber swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat. “Excuse me?” Not even out of the airport and she’d managed to offend someone. That did not bode well for the coming months. Although, to be fair, she had little control over the airline’s schedule.
Hazel eyes twinkled at her as Pixie pointed to her own shirt. “I am missing a great game because of you.” She waved her hand in the air. “Why do you Americans call that silly game you love football when the players hardly ever use their feet?” Her tongue clucked in disgust followed a second later by another grin. “But fuβball, now this is a beautiful game, no? I am Mila, by the way.”
Amber’s gaze lowered to the jersey. Upon closer inspection, she could make out the FIFA—Fédération Internationale de Football Association—emblem in the center of the chest. She recognized the official 2018 World Cup jersey of the German national team.
She rested her palm in Mila’s proffered hand. “Soccer has always been one of my favorite sports.”
Mila’s artfully sculpted brows dipped over her eyes. “You are no longer in America. Only there is it soccer.” She said soccer like it left a bad taste in her mouth. “You are now a citizen of the world, and as such, you must call the glorious sport by its rightful name—fuβball.”
Some of the muscles that had tightened during her transatlantic flight loosened in light of Mila’s good humor.
“Come.” Mila tugged on Amber’s arm. “Let us collect your bags and get back to the center. I am sure you must be tired and want to sleep for days, although I warn you, we plan to put you to work as soon as possible.”
Michael’s old sea bag circled on the carousel, and Amber shouldered her way in front of the motored runner to pick it up. When Michael had heard of Amber’s decision to sign up as a volunteer at the Excellency Center, he’d sent over contact info for his old military buddies in the area in case she ever needed anything. This, of course, was then followed by her eldest brother and lawyer, Adam, compiling a list of pertinent international laws along with numbers and addresses for the local embassy. Her third and closest brother in age, Trent, wouldn’t be left out, making sure she knew all the hotspots to hit for the nightlife, reminding her that all work and no play made Amber a dull girl. She shook her head. Somehow, clubbing and grasping the philosophical nuances of Augustine and Aquinas didn’t seem like they would mesh all that well.
Besides, her brothers worried too much. She hadn’t taken the summer off to need a military intervention, break international laws, or experience her first Heineken. She’d come to volunteer. To serve.
And to get far enough away from the academic and theological noise that filled her ears and heart to clear the static and tune into a direct station. A divine one.
Mila led her to a black sedan parked in the stacked garage and opened the trunk.
“Go ahead and stash your bag in the boot.”
Amber did as directed before sliding into the passenger seat. Once she buckled in, Mila handed Amber a cell phone, a soccer game playing on the screen.
“Forgive my rudeness.” Mila put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking spot. She shifted to drive and maneuvered out of the garage. “There are only three more minutes in stoppage time and the game is tied.”
Amber held the phone out at an angle so Mila could glance at the screen every now and then. She tried to focus on the game, but her vision blurred, eyelids weighed down from lack of sleep. Three minutes wasn’t enough time for even a catnap, but she could rest her eyes and hope some of the grittiness would go away.
The announcer spoke rapidly in German, his voice rising and getting faster.
“Nein!” Mila shouted behind the wheel. She smacked her hand against the dashboard, yelling at the players streaming through her phone like they could hear her.
Amber blinked hard just as the announcer let loose a drawn out, single-syllable word. Toooooooooor! No need for translation, said like that. Every sports announcer all over the world reported a goal in the same way. Goooooaaaaal!
“That man.” Mila poked at her screen with a finger. “I am not sure if I am going to kiss him or slap him.”
Amber tilted the device so she could better see the last seconds of the game. A player with short-cropped light-brown hair and a three-day beard ran across the field with his arms out wide, a smile stretched just as big across his face. He slid on his knees, raking his hands over his head. One of his teammates jumped on his back, and soon others were sliding in around him.
“Seth Marshall,” Mila supplied. “Most valuable player for the Premiere League in Britain, and the center’s returning volunteer.”
Amber’s head jerked back. “He’s coming to work at the Excellency Center?”
She watched as the referee blew his whistle and officially ended the game. The players that had been kneeling on the ground stood and then reached behind themselves, peeling off their sweaty jerseys. Bare, toned flesh walked unashamedly acros
s the field, uncaring of the international audience that watched on.
Amber’s first instinct was to slam her eyes shut and flip the phone over so the screen pressed against her thigh. Her cheeks heated as the players jogged, their muscles rippling with the movement of their bodies. It wasn’t like she’d never seen a guy shirtless before. She had three brothers after all. But Seth Marshall wasn’t her brother, and she wasn’t someone who went around ogling the opposite sex. No matter how well-defined their abs were.
Trent would laugh at her. Remind her of how sheltered her life was.
“He’s not only coming to the center. The two of you will be working together.”
It had to be the lack of sleep that caused a wave of lightheadedness to sweep across her, upsetting her balance though she remained sitting in the passenger seat of the moving vehicle. She glanced back at the screen. Seth, along with his teammates, exchanged jerseys with players from the opposing team, slapping each other on the back in a friendly manner.
Working with refugee children. Teaching English. Organizing games and arts and crafts. Outings and entertainment. Attending cultural events and learning both German and Arabic. That’s what she’d signed up for. Partnering with an international sports celebrity hadn’t been anywhere in the small print.
Something told her that, yet again, her expectations were about to leave her in a tailspin.
Chapter Three
England, Present Day
Twenty-six was too young to feel this old. Seth Marshall leaned with both hands against the tiled shower stall and let hot water pelt the muscles along his shoulders. The euphoria that had given him wings and allowed him to fly in the stadium not half an hour earlier now sloughed from his body, swirled around the drain, and disappeared. A crushing weight replaced the retreating lightness, the walls of the shower room closing in on him.
