by Sharon Hinck
Medea smiled up at me from beneath the water. “The cost is too high, Jake.” The words were surprisingly clear. “He asks too much from the ones who follow Him. Haven’t you learned that yet? It’s not too late. You can turn back.”
“No.” I meant the word to be firm, but it came out as a whimper. I backed away and searched for a glimpse of Linette across the pond, which had become an ocean. She was gone, but the sweetness of her voice still echoed. I ran toward it, along the edge of the water and away from Medea’s face. I kept running past troubled fragments of images throughout the lingering hours of dreams.
•••
I woke long before first light and stared up into the vast darkness overhead. I didn’t want to disturb Wade or the sentries who quietly paced the edges of the station, but anxiety tossed me from side to side. Part of me wanted to run screaming from the day ahead.
“God, why did You call us here? Is this really what You want from me?” I mouthed my prayers in silence and heard silence in return. My dad had always told me that having courage didn’t mean you weren’t afraid. It meant you felt fear but did what you had to do anyway. The One had heard my fears when I slept alone in a hospital bed ten years ago knowing my odds of beating cancer weren’t great. He’d given me the strength to tell the guardians who I was. And He heard my heart now as I spread my fears out at His feet. “I need You. I can’t do this alone. I can’t do this at all. Work through me today. I give You my life.”
I sniffled and wiped my eyes, grateful for the darkness. No one would know how alone and uncertain I felt. Eventually, I eased away from Wade and picked my way to the edge of the station. The muted glow of a light trivet helped me avoid tripping over sleeping guardians. I murmured a few words to the sentry and sank onto the bench near the transport shelter. Resting my head in my hands, I prayed again. My thoughts ricocheted from fear to hope to doubt to faith like a pinball game. When a hand rested on my shoulder, I assumed it was the One and sighed with a reassurance of peace.
“Jake?” It was Arland.
I lifted my head. When had morning arrived? The forms in the clearing were becoming more visible. Arland wore an expression of steely resolve. “Will you speak to the men before we move out?”
I hid my surprise and gave him a firm nod.
•••
I had figured we’d get up, strap on our swords, and march into Rendor to fight. But men had to eat, injuries had to be looked at, weapons sharpened, inexplicable preparations made.
The men prepared for battle in a way that reminded me of play practices in high school. Actors hurried into place in the wings, where they cooled their heels while lighting technicians changed a gel or refocused a Fresnel. Stage managers moved around positioning props and set pieces. Musicians fussed with their instruments and argued about tempos. Somehow all the parts wove together when the curtain went up.
Arland directed the confusing range of activities like it was second nature. He fed confidence and courage to the men.
The frenzy stopped suddenly, and Arland appeared by my side. Scores of faces looked in my direction.
My stomach knotted. “Now?”
Arland rubbed his mouth. He looked as though he were going to speak, but then he just nodded and stepped back.
God, help me. Give me Your words for these men.
I cleared my throat. “From the time I arrived in Braide Wood, the One put Rendor on my mind.” My voice grew stronger. I stepped up onto the bench so I could see everyone. “I didn’t understand it, but I knew there was a purpose. When I came here, the One asked two things of me: to let people know Cameron’s new Records were a lie, and to rescue Rendor.”
The men’s faces were impassive. They were listening, but they weren’t with me yet.
“My parents always taught me that if the One calls you to do something, He will give you what you need. You aren’t here today because it was my idea, or Tristan’s plan, or Arland’s strategy. You’re here because the One has asked us to free Rendor.”
A light kindled in some of the men that watched me. The young messenger stood to one side, anguish and fervor burning equally in his eyes. Wade pulled himself up taller and nodded. Ian rubbed the back of his neck and studied the ground.
“That’s where your strength is today. Look at me. I’m just a guy without skill or experience, but I’m going to fight in the name of the One. No one can stand against Him.” The words rang through the group, carrying a power beyond my own voice. Faith burst to life inside me like a light that chased each cringing corner of doubt away. The same earnest trust glowed in the faces around me. I took a deep breath, savoring the power of the One’s presence.
Arland stepped up beside me. “Awesome in majesty, perfect in power!”
“One to Deliver us, He is our tower!” roared the men in response.
And just like that, we headed out to fight.
Moving was better than waiting. Marching along moss-covered footpaths, I could pretend for brief seconds that I was back at the adventure camp I’d gone to my freshman year of high school. But we weren’t heading forward to navigate a ropes course, play paintball, or scale a rock wall.
On his orders, I stayed as near to Arland as I could on the short march. Wade stuck so close behind me that at times I could feel his breath on my neck. I wondered if my face held the same set expression as the men around me. I rubbed my jaw, realizing my molars throbbed from how tightly I clenched my teeth.
We covered the path from the station to Rendor in only a few minutes.
My first glimpse of the city raised goose bumps on my skin. The images I’d seen in my dreams had been accurate. Tall wooden towers generously inlaid with huge windows rose from the tumultuous river and out toward the forests and cliffs. There was no city wall—just the gentle defense of thick forest and underbrush.
As we drew close to the outer buildings, Kahlarean soldiers swarmed out to meet us. Like the soldiers at the transport stop, deep, remorseless eyes glared out of pale, chinless faces that reminded me of frogs. And like an Egyptian plague, they poured out of every building and gap in the trees.
A man next to me spat out a curse and lifted his sword.
“Ugly monsters, aren’t they?” Wade clapped my shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve fought ’em before, and the ugly doesn’t give them any advantage.”
Another guardian snorted in amusement, even as he braced himself for the coming attack.
A syncbeam flared and a chunk of bark exploded from the tree to my right. Wade pushed me behind a different trunk. I crouched and looked around wildly.
All the men had scattered and ducked. I drew in a steadying breath and smelled ozone and burnt resin.
Another beam crackled.
Every impulse in my body screamed to retreat—to run away from the searing weapons and the hoards of enemy soldiers.
But Wade charged a few yards up and took cover behind a rock. He beckoned to me.
I took a deep breath and dove forward to join him. Around us, every guardian was doing the same.
Syncbeams fired from multiple points ahead, a dangerous grid of resistance. Far to my left, someone yelped and crashed down into the underbrush.
I shuddered. Pull it together, Jake.
Using the cover of trees, we maneuvered closer without all being mowed down.
Move fast. Engage them before they can do more damage to our advancing guardians.
Stay low. Dash forward. Watch Wade’s back. Follow.
Then the next wave of Kahlarean soldiers was on us. Those with the syncbeams stayed back near the buildings but stopped shooting as their own men filled the firing line. Our guardians scattered into a chaos of sword-to-sword combat. I raised my blade and ran forward, zeroing in on one soldier. A loud clash rang out to my right. Wade blocked an attack that would have impaled me from the side.
I stumbled. Pay atten
tion.
The surrounding noises unnerved me. I’d never heard anything like the shouting, clanging, and screeching of scores of men battling. Then the Kahlarean I’d targeted was in front of me. Time to fight.
He swung his blade toward my neck, and I sidestepped and countered. Clumsiness vanished, and I followed his next move. Our swords clashed over and over. I retreated, drawing him deeper into the trees. Arland wanted a Kahlarean alive. I needed to stay on my feet while capturing one of the enemy. I anticipated his next move, slipped past his guard, and landed a slice into his collarbone, near his neck. His sword dropped and he tumbled back. I ran to crouch beside him.
“Where are the people of Rendor?” I shook his shoulders, staring into his froggy eyes. The bulging orbs were lifeless. I’d cut him deeper than I’d intended. Sickening guilt wrenched my gut, but I dropped him and stood up, scanning the chaos.
Arland dragged a Kahlarean away from the line of battle and toward me. This soldier was still alive, twisting against Arland’s grip even though the guardian pressed his boot knife under the man’s ear.
I ran toward them, again forgetting to pay attention. Arland’s shout alerted me. I turned and swung wildly at a Kahlarean who leapt at me from behind. This time I didn’t try to wound him. A few quick strokes and he was dead on the ground.
Arland retreated farther with his prisoner, and I caught up to them.
“The people from the clan.” I was gasping for breath. “What did you do with them?”
The Kahlarean ignored me, still struggling with Arland. The guardian pulled his dagger away, then clocked his prisoner on the side of the head with the pommel. The man’s head lolled forward, and he stopped fighting. We dragged him behind a large trunk and out of sight of the battle. Wade followed, watching our backs.
Arland braced the semiconscious man against the tree, still on his feet. “Come on, Jake.”
I stepped closer and stared into the enemy’s face. “Tell us. Where are the people who were left in Rendor?”
The Kahlarean lifted his head heavily and squinted in my direction. As coherence returned to his face, his lips curled in a sneer. He turned toward Arland. “Your people are so desperate, they’re sending out boys to fight?”
Arland shifted his grip on the soldier’s hand where he held it against the tree. There was a snap, like a breaking twig, and the man gasped, sweat beading onto his pasty face. He sagged, and Arland used his forearm under the guy’s neck to brace him against the tree. “Answer him,” Arland said through clenched teeth.
I heard another grinding pop, drowned out by the prisoner’s animal howl.
I stepped back and stared at Arland. What was he thinking? He was breaking the Kahlarean’s fingers. Stubby digits with knobby joints, they hadn’t looked great in the first place. Now the hand pressed against bark was twisted at a grotesque angle. Bile rose in my throat. Arland was the closest thing to a role model I had in this place, and he was calmly torturing someone. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Jake!” Arland snapped at me.
If I wanted this to stop, I needed to get an answer. “Where are they?” My voice leaked desperation, but I didn’t care.
The Kahlarean’s focus pulled out of his pain with difficulty, but he met my eyes. “We took them across the river.”
It would have been my first guess. It sounded plausible. But a shadow wavered in his oversized pupils.
“You’re lying.”
Arland drew back and smashed the man’s mangled hand against the tree.
“Stop that!” I yelled. Arland looked at me with surprise but adjusted his grip and simply held the man up.
The soldier’s whole body twitched, and he breathed in ragged gasps.
“Tell me the truth.” My eyes claimed his, and I saw the first flicker of fear that he’d shown. I pressed my advantage. “Where are they?”
There was power in the words. Some part of me recognized it. I wasn’t surprised when he told the truth this time.
“It was part of our deal with your king. We turned them over to that witch of his. She sent them to her country.” His sneer returned, though with less energy. “We don’t have need of barbarian slaves. Apparently they do.”
Cameron’s witch? Medea. I stepped back, stunned. What did she want with them? Where were they now?
“Is he lying?” Arland asked. “Jake, is it true?”
I sagged, suddenly bone weary as the surge of Restorer power faded. “It’s true.” I took a few more steps away and rubbed my face.
From Arland’s position by the tree, a blur of movement startled me.
I looked back. The Kahlarean sank to the ground with a line of dark blood at his throat. Arland wiped off his dagger and slipped it back into his boot sheath. My mouth rounded in horror.
Glancing up, Arland saw my expression. “Jake, I know it isn’t good news, but we’ll deal with it later. Right now the battle is that way. Let’s go.” He drew his sword and headed back toward Rendor.
He’d misunderstood my dismay, but I didn’t bother explaining. Arland was supposed to be one of the good guys, yet he’d just tortured and killed a guy in cold blood. My stomach lurched. I took a few unsteady steps toward where Wade waited for me.
“Jake, don’t think right now. Time enough for that later. The men need your help.”
Wade was right. I had convinced them to fight this battle. No time for wavering. I pushed away my thoughts for later and charged after Arland, ready to take out my frustration on the first enemy soldier I could find.
28
Susan
The light walls never stopped glowing. Pallet, floor, and ceiling were all white, as were my tunic and drawstring pants. Yet this was the darkest place I had ever known.
“There were some things I hadn’t found before. But I’ve seen enough now. You bought yourself today. Tomorrow I’ll need this room for new arrivals.”
Nicco’s words invaded my attempts to sleep. I had told myself that death would be a relief, yet my mind screamed in rebellion. I didn’t want to die. Dreams chased me. Regrets hounded me.
I had sought God day and night and followed His call to pray for these people in spite of spiraling frustration and anger. I clung to the Scriptures from my world each time fear tore into me. The only thing I had of worth to offer these people was the truth about the One, and I had shared that as best I could.
Still, Nicco had made it clear he had no more use for me and refused to hear more about any One who had more control over his existence than he did.
Mark would never know what happened to me—unless he found Medea in Lyric and she chose to gloat. My thoughts shifted to the children. Karen and I had planned to make a scrapbook together of her high school years. Who would do that with her now? Who would even venture into her hazardous bedroom to help her gather all her photos and souvenirs?
And Jake. What did the mysterious Restorer signs mean? My own road as a Restorer had been both more difficult and rewarding than I could have imagined. What did the One have planned for my oldest son? I should have done more to prepare him.
Jon and Anne were so young. How would Mark manage? How could I face not being there to see Jon’s latest Lego creation? Would they think of me when they walked around the pond after supper? I pictured the color-streaked sky reflecting in still water. Mark’s warm and solid arms wrapped around me. The way Anne’s curls bounced when she ran ahead of us. Jon’s whoop of joy when he caught a frog.
I’d never again kiss their salty foreheads on a hot summer night as they slept in a tangle of sheets and stuffed animals.
I tasted salt now. Tears poured down my cheeks, wetting my lips as I wiped them away.
I gave up on sleep and pulled aside the narrow pocket door by the sink. Cool water pooled in my palm, refreshing and comforting. I stared at it for a while, then began to wash. I could coun
t my ribs now. They had stopped bringing food again—not that there had ever been much. Weakness manifested itself whenever I stood up. I had to move gradually or sparkling darkness would crowd my vision.
As I had done at least a hundred other times, I tested the door and prowled the room checking for any way of escape. Then I lowered myself onto a chair.
The Rhusicans apparently didn’t believe in giving a prisoner a last meal, but I’d treat myself in these hours before dawn. I’d relive my happiest memories in rich detail. Each day of my life had been a gift. My days and hours were in God’s hands. If my time was done, I’d thank Him for what He’d given me.
So many images rushed into my mind that it was hard to focus. Finally I picked one shining day. I’d been twenty. The sound was the first part of the memory to flood back.
Guitars thrummed a worship song. People around me clapped and sang. The warm sense of community enveloped me in the tiny but lively campus chapel at Ridge Valley College. Outside the window, trees flounced their fall colors. A gust of wind shook leaves loose to chase each other in spirals. The beginning of my junior year of classes couldn’t be more perfect. Classes and practicums, plays and community projects—every day was a banquet of new experiences. God had a plan for my life, and I was squarely in the center of it. Energy and confidence were a hot spring in my soul, bubbling up in unending supply.
The last chorus ended, and the campus pastor pronounced a blessing. Around the chapel, students grabbed their backpacks and started chatting. Waving a greeting to a few girls from my dorm, I made my way down the center aisle. Sunlight pierced the window and touched a man’s hair at just the right angle. The blond waves on his downturned head gleamed like gold. But it was the heaviness of his shoulders that stopped me. He looked like a man completely alone—not just in the back row of chairs but in the universe. He stared at the chair in front of him, lost in an expression of sadness that made me ache.
