by Joshua Ingle
“I don’t know,” Thorn said for the tenth time in five minutes. Four blank-faced guards stood around him, each binding a limb, confining him to this meager vestibule beside the courtroom.
Marcus paced around them. “Tell me in private, after the trial. Whatever your sentence, I have ways of making it disappear if you just tell me how you do it.”
So this is why he had Shenzuul get close to me. He wanted secrets. The secrets of what or whom I cared about. The secret of entering physical space. Well, guess what, Marcus? Those secrets are just the tip of an iceberg of mysteries, and I have no answers. Ha! I’ll bet you realized I didn’t know, and that’s when you decided to run your little scheme. Force me to kill Shenzuul so I’d end up here.
“What if I really did know how it worked, and I told Shenzuul, and he used the ability against you?” Thorn asked. “What would you have done then? Killed him?”
Marcus glowered. “Leverage. You don’t play a game unless you know you can win. How do you enter physical space?”
“I don’t know.”
Marcus made a tsk tsk sound, then turned toward the door to take his seat in the courtroom. “You’re a bad egg, Thorn. Always have been. You think too much. Our kind will be better off without you.”
“At least tell me if Amy survived,” Thorn said.
Marcus stopped, turned. “I don’t know,” he mocked. Then he vanished through the double doors.
A few minutes later, Thorn’s keepers hauled him into the courtroom. Thousands of demons had descended on the Fulton County Courthouse for this trial, and from the looks of it, most of them had been allowed to cram into the moderate-sized courtroom. The place was a cesspool of evil spirits—more of them than Thorn had seen in one place in centuries. They cluttered the seats, the walls, the ceiling. Hundreds more hung in midair, menacing over the procession.
They jeered at Thorn as he was drawn down the center aisle. He could barely discern individual voices in the tumult that followed his entrance.
“Murderer! I hope you rot!”
“Not so great now, huh, Thorn?”
“Death sentence! Death sentence!”
One demon broke past the guards and struck Thorn’s face before he was contained. “That’s for the charges you stole from me in ’06!” he yelled as a guard took him away.
Thorn thanked fate that none of them knew the whole truth. They knew he’d grown attached to a human, revealed himself by possessing her, and killed Shenzuul. But they still knew nothing of Thorn’s greater change of views—that he was trying to be good now. This would aid his argument that his actions tonight had been a fleeting mistake that he would never make again. Such submission was his only hope of escaping the death sentence.
The ample number of witnesses whom Marcus had invited to Piedmont Park to view Thorn’s madness sat at the front of the courtroom. He knew my followers would be out searching the city, the bastard. He knew no one in the crowd at the park would restrain Shenzuul. Seated with the witnesses, Marcus nodded to Thorn as the procession passed. In hindsight, Thorn had to respect the brilliance of Marcus’s snare for him. He wondered how much of it had been prepared when Marcus first came to America three months ago. Marcus couldn’t have known about Amy then, so some of his plan must have been improvised as he went along, probably due in part to Thorn’s sterling reputation after the Christmas Eve shooting.
The Demon Judge of Atlanta, usually so jovial, now hunched over his judge’s bench with a great weight on him. His gelled hair stuck up in odd places, and his skin seemed greasier than usual. His sunglasses were nowhere to be seen. The Judge had witnessed tonight’s events himself—likely after an invitation from Marcus—so no matter how much he admired Thorn personally, Thorn knew he could not shrug off Thorn’s actions as hearsay like he had in the past. Tonight, there would be a sentence. No matter what the Judge wanted, he had to play to the crowd or risk his own hide.
When Thorn’s guards halted in front of the podium, the Judge drifted upward. “Silence!” he called. The room settled over the course of half a minute. When all was quiet, the Judge lowered his gaze.
“Thorn, you’re an idiot,” he said. He turned to the group of witnesses. “Marcus, you too. And probably the biggest idiot of all was Shenzuul. Hell, I even feel like an idiot for letting myself get put in this position. Marcus, I had a deal with Shenzuul, to learn from him if he learned from Thorn. Playing Thorn for a fool is one thing. But playing me for a fool… You’ve really pissed me off.”
Does the Judge realize that Marcus meant for Shenzuul to die, for me to break the First Rule? Thorn guessed not, and with no evidence, convincing the Judge of the truth would be an impossible challenge.
“Just kill him already!” came a shout from somewhere in the hall. All around the room, chatter rose in agreement.
“Hey! No talking!” The Judge strained to keep control.
“Kill him! It’s the law!”
“I am the law!” the Judge yelled. The room seemed to quiet a bit, so the Judge continued before the noise could grow again. “Lest you forget, gentlemen, the accused who stands before you is Thorn. That’s a name brand you want to send straight to Hell? Thorn. The guy who became Atlanta’s top dog with the Olympic Park bombing and has had every mayor, celeb, and gangster in this city under his thumb ever since. Thorn.”
Thousands of demons grew dead silent as the Judge dropped his eyes toward Thorn. The Judge looked remorseful, almost apologetic, as if he was ashamed of the decision he was about to make.
“But we have Rules,” the Judge said.
The crowd burst into applause. He’s already made up his mind, Thorn realized.
“Thorn,” the Judge said loudly, to quiet the throng. “Do you have anything to say in your own defense?”
“My actions tonight were a passing error,” Thorn said. The crowd booed, and Thorn raised his voice to talk above them. “I’ve made reparations before, Judge, and I will serve you and the demons of this city for as long as you deem necessary until I’ve paid for my crime. My mistake tonight will not ever be repeated.”
The crowd’s uproar had grown too loud to allow the Judge to speak, so he hollered at them again. Once they’d settled, the Judge shook his head sadly at Thorn. “You’ve broken both of our Rules,” the Judge said. “You’ve killed another demon, and you’ve revealed yourself to a human. These crimes cannot be forgiven.” The mob hooted and whistled.
“But!” the Judge interjected. When the crowd was quiet again, he continued. “But you are Thorn. You’re a small legend, with a place in our history books. If we had books.” He lowered himself from his place above the bench until he hovered directly over Thorn and his guards.
Thorn’s eyes met the Judge’s. “I won’t kill you outright,” the Judge said softly. Then he called out so the whole room could hear. “I hereby sentence Thorn to enter and complete a Sanctuary!”
The room erupted into a hurricane. Flurries of demons darted every which way, and dozens of the Judge’s guards sprang into action, both to protect the Judge and to oust the troublemakers. Thousands of devils roared and howled and cursed and demanded Thorn’s head, but the Judge stood steadfast. The clamor lasted almost two minutes before quieting enough for the Judge to finish his decree.
“If Thorn kills the humans in the Sanctuary and returns, he will have proved himself worthy of readmission into our society! If he dies in the Sanctuary, he dies in the Sanctuary!”
Thorn quickly thought through his punishment. Any demon who returned from a Sanctuary had killed its humans, so it was widely assumed that those who had failed in this task had died. If Thorn wanted to live through his experience, he would have to kill for it. This terrified him, but at least it was better than an execution order.
He considered doing it, too: killing the humans. The Sanctuary would hold only a hundred of them at maximum, which was an infinitesimal number compared with the deaths Thorn had caused in his lifetime. Their deaths still represented a hefty price, but they would be
strangers’ deaths. If they meant Thorn’s survival and the ability to continue pursuing answers to his questions… I might be willing to pay that price.
Then he remembered Jed, and the dying children, and the twisted feeling they’d left in his gut, and he was no longer sure. Thorn recalled his theory that Sanctuaries, though existing for the humans’ sake, held hidden paths toward demons’—or at least Xeres’s—defection to the Enemy. Though Thorn still detested the Enemy, he’d decided months ago that siding with Him was preferable to death. But can I find these hidden paths that so many demons miss? In the midst of the ruckus all around him, Thorn fantasized of becoming an angel in the Sanctuary. It was the least that cruel Fate could do for him. If I have to die, I should at least die with wings.
As the Judge departed to privacy and the mob’s cacophony began anew, the guards led Thorn through the turmoil. They passed Marcus at the foyer. Several squat demons in tattered clothing stood with him. Had they been humans, Thorn might have thought them Shenzuul’s family; the physical similarities were striking. Since demonic appearance is based in the eye of the beholder, Thorn guessed that these demons had mingled with Shenzuul in Africa.
“I remembered, Rat,” Marcus said, his face severe. “Be seeing you soon.” He turned and floated away. The other demons glared at Thorn as he was led past.
Be seeing me?
Oh. Of course. The full grandeur of Marcus’s plans dawned on Thorn as the guards escorted him to a lower floor—likely toward a staging area for his journey to the Sanctuary. Marcus must have guessed the Judge would go easy on me, so he had one of his followers mention the Sanctuary option to him. After killing Shenzuul, Thorn had wondered why Marcus had chosen a great African warlord demon to serve him under duress, when any eager lowlife off the street would have served Marcus willingly. Now Thorn knew. Marcus had needed a fearsome, brutal demon with fearsome, brutal followers who admired him. Followers who would be willing to enter a Sanctuary to avenge their leader’s death. Marcus’s own followers would never do such a thing, for all demons feared Sanctuaries, and would not enter one without excessive hubris or a damn good reason. Marcus had likely made enemies of these African demons by deposing Shenzuul, but Thorn had made greater enemies of them by killing Shenzuul. Enraged, they would follow Thorn into the Sanctuary, where he had no one to protect him, where no Judge ruled, and where no other demons would witness his death. I’m going to die in there, Thorn realized.
Goodbye, Amy, Thorn thought. I hope you lived.
9
The disorientation caused by Thorn’s rapid journey passed quickly, and he found himself in a curved hallway, alone. Stylish photographs of marine life adorned the walls, lit well by a fancy ambient lighting scheme. Down the hallway, around the next bend, Thorn spotted the edge of an elevator door. A luxurious swimming pool graced the enormous deck outside the large windows. Docks and an ocean and a darkening sky lay beyond. The place appeared to be some sort of upscale waterfront condo.
Thorn had heard horror stories of Sanctuaries ever since demons had discovered their existence, but to finally be here in one of the great testing chambers was surreal. The sun would be setting now on the other side of the building. That gave Thorn ten to twelve hours before sunrise—more than enough time to accomplish his task, if he chose to complete it. But how long did he have before the demons arrived? That was his real time constraint; his task would be next to impossible with an army of demons chasing him.
I just need to kill the humans before the demons get here, and I’ll be free. Thorn grimaced at the dark voice inside himself. He wished he knew of an easy way to leave it permanently behind.
Thorn decided to drift around and inspect the area. Hoping for wings, he stretched his back muscles, but no wings presented themselves. So much for that hope.
Perhaps he could still find a way to communicate with the Enemy in here, and thus save himself. It sounds like a pipe dream, Thorn wistfully admitted. He shook his head and floated forward.
No, not floated. Stepped.
As Thorn gazed down at his cold toes and felt a faint draft of air at his back, he knew for certain that he was not an angel. Nor was he a demon.
He was a man.
THORN’S STORY CONTINUES…
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Acknowledgments
I owe loads of gratitude to Robert Eichenberg, Robin Ingle, Marissa DePasquale, and David Sigurani for their feedback and encouragement during the writing of these Thorn books. Extra special thanks goes to Fedor Steer, whose dedication to this project and willingness to give continued criticism over the span of years is humbling and greatly appreciated. Thank you, Fedor, for offering your sharp eyes to these books from the very beginning—and for lending your face to their covers! Thanks also to Reid Nicewonder, for challenging me to always think deeper.
The largest slice of my Thank You pie goes to David Gatewood, whose deft editing took my raw story and raised it to the next level. David, thank you for your honesty and your keen insight, and for helping me craft these books into something truly special.
Last but certainly not least, thank you, dear reader. You’re the reason I write. Without you taking a chance on my books, their stories are just thoughts in my head that I happened to scribble on a page. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
About Joshua Ingle
Joshua Ingle is a pathologically curious sci-fi and fantasy geek. The Thorn Saga is his first series of books.
Learn more at www.joshuaingle.com.
Connect with Josh at www.facebook.com/joshthestoryteller.
