Thirst of Steel

by Ronie Kendig

  Thefarie inclined his head. “Granted. Your mother, Nadine, was not of Nizari blood as she claimed, and the evidence she produced of her lineage was fabricated by a century-old sect, the Camarilla, that has hoped to thwart the AFO.”

  Ram shook his head. “My mom was just a teacher.”

  “Your mother was one of the most intelligent women to cross my path,” Thefarie said. “Shrewd and perceptive, she was quickly chosen when the sisters presented their candidates.”

  “Candidates?” Tzivia scowled.

  “For what?” Ram asked.

  “To infiltrate the AFO—even now, there are more than a hundred spread throughout the structure of the Order. Though the plan bordered on ludicrous,” Thefarie said, looking a bit sheepish, “we knew regardless of the Adama Herev’s recovery, it was imperative to disrupt the Nizari Ismaili bloodline. For centuries, they have clung to maintaining a pure lineage, but in doing so, they unwittingly strengthened the disease, the thirst.”

  Tension had rolled out of Ram’s shoulders. He gave a slight shake of his head. “I . . .” He cleared his throat. “What is your point?”

  “Once your mother realized Yared was a clear contender for Sovereign of the AFO, she targeted him. Married him. Bore his children.”

  “Sovereign?”

  Tox twitched, watching as Ram connected the same dots he had. It was obvious, but hearing it, saying it, was a whole new level of real.

  Ram scowled, lifting his palms in a shrug. “I know who my mom was—who gave birth to me.”

  “You were raised among the Israelis and in the Hebrew faith—”

  “I know how I was raised,” Ram growled.

  Thefarie held up a hand. “It was all done to protect your father’s position and his influence in the Israeli community, give him a good name and reputation, so he would be trusted.”

  Apprehension held Tox still, not wanting to set off Ram, whose fists were white-knuckled and his lips tight beneath his beard. Though Ram had betrayed him, though he’d held a gun on Haven and threatened her life, he was still Tox’s friend. He yearned for Ram to find his way through this dark hour.

  Tzivia shifted forward, disconcerted. “What’re you saying?”

  The Timeless One held Ram’s gaze for a long time. “You know the truth. Somehow you knew.”

  “What truth?” Tzivia asked.

  Ram lifted his chin, glowering at Thefarie. “We are of Nizari blood.”

  “But you aren’t—not pure anyway,” Thefarie said with a sad smile. “Your mother concealed the truth of her heritage to marry your father, to position herself.” He glanced to Tox again before redirecting to Ram. “Your mother was pure Hebrew.”

  Ram had gone deathly still.

  Was he angry? Daring Tzaddik to say the wrong thing so he could lash out? But Tox didn’t see any anger. No . . . he saw nothing. Ram was like stone, holding it all back. If that internal dam broke, what would happen?

  “Neither of you are pure Nizari. Add to that your mother’s connection to his enemy—that is why your father abandoned your family. That is why you clung to the church, to the yarmulke.” Thefarie’s tone grew grave, burdened. “Yared had already assumed leadership of the AFO before he moved your family to America, an endeavor designed to hide his identity from the enemies of the AFO. Once he learned of Nadine’s betrayal . . .”

  “He faked his death. Left,” Ram mumbled. “So he could assume full control. Rule.”

  Sovereign. The thought still rattled Tox, though it was logical, considering the facts.

  Thefarie inclined his head. “You’ve lived to honor your mother and defy your father. Continue that now, Ram. Defy him. Defy what they ask of you.”

  Ram took a step back. Shifted on his feet. “Did he kill her?”

  “No. She had a guardian to protect her.”

  “Who?” Ram and Tzivia asked at the same time.

  For the first time, Thefarie hesitated. Dropped his gaze from Ram, then dragged it to Tox. With a soft exhale, he glanced over his shoulder toward the tent entrance. “Ameus.”

  A large shape spilled inside. Of the same age and dress as Thefarie, the man moved a little less nimbly. Bearded, he had a familiarity about him.

  Tox jolted with recognition. “No!”

  With a strangled cry, Ram leaped away, flinging out his hands as if to find balance. “You—you’re dead!”

  51

  — VALLEY OF ELAH —

  Tzivia’s knees buckled as she recognized his eyes. “No!” she cried out, her words strangled. “I saw you die. You—right in my arms!” Tears blurred her vision as the man came toward her. She scrambled back. “Stay away!”

  But he reached for her, caught her shoulder, and held her steady. Cupped her face. “I am sorry.”

  “Doctor—” The name caught in her throat. Sanity forbid her from speaking it. But was that his name? Who was he? “You’re . . .” Had he tricked her all this time? “How—?”

  “When Nadine died,” Thefarie said, coming up behind the resurrected Dr. Cathey, “Ameus took on a new protectorship—you, Tzivia. But with your rather strong beliefs against our Lord Jesus and God the Father, it was more natural for you to come to know a bumbling archaeologist. Ameus did quite well.”

  “It was not far from the truth,” Ameus rumbled, years gone from his once aged face.

  “Your voice is different—your face!” Tzivia shook her head, as if this insanity might break loose and fall away. She held her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Forgive us,” Thefarie said. “It is hard to hear, hard to see the truth, when it is so contrary to the laws of the world you live in, the readily erected walls of rejection to the power of God and the spirit realm.”

  “Why are you telling us this?” Ram asked, his words grating with anger.

  Tzivia frowned but could muster no response. Her mind had drowned in this impossibility. Of seeing her mentor alive—yet . . . not. He was so changed. She gripped her temples. It made no sense!

  “Brothers,” a voice called from outside. “The hour is upon us.” Another man peeked into the tent, and Ram hauled in a breath.

  “Lukas!” Tox gasped, staggering.

  Thefarie rumbled a laugh. “To me, he is Sir Raoul Asanes.”

  “That is the name I have borne longest,” Lukas Gath said with amusement. “Alas, reunions are grand but inconsequential. We must to war.”

  Disbelief still strangling her, Tzivia again found herself studying Dr.—“Ameus.”

  His gray eyes came to hers once more. The eyebrows were still thick, but not crazy anymore. The age in his cheeks had lessened, but experience scratched lines around his still-kind eyes. “I beg your mercy, Tzivia. We could not reveal ourselves as such, especially not after what happened, but the hour is dark, and war is before us.”

  “It’s cheating,” she finally managed, “to pitch faith when you are . . . whatever you are.”

  “Not cheating,” he said with a rueful smile, “when you wholly believe what you speak.”

  “Why tell us? We don’t benefit from your secrets,” Ram protested.

  Thefarie went to him and held up the ampoule. “No, but this—”

  “No!” Tox lunged forward. “Don’t let him have that. He’ll give it to them. Then it’s over.”

  However, Thefarie never wavered. “Before you stands a decision.”

  With ire, Ram wrapped his fingers around the ampoule, but Thefarie did not release it.

  “Your mother sacrificed her entire life, her chance at true love, at wealth and happiness, to end this thirst. To free you—her son. Will you now continue her work? Or will you destroy it?”

  Ram tugged the ampoule free and stepped back, glancing at Tzivia, who shook her head imploringly. He then shifted to Tox, and guilt flickered through his eyes. Without a word, he pivoted and strode out of the tent.

  “Ram!” Tox shook the bars of his cage.

  Thefarie palmed his chest. “Let him go to his end.”

&
nbsp; “No!” Tox barked. “I’m his friend. I won’t let him go without a fight. I’m not—”

  Voices outside drew their attention. Tzivia watched in broken disgust as Ram handed the ampoule to their father, who patted his shoulder and smiled, proud.

  In stunned grief, Tzivia felt a chill and turned. “Why did—”

  The brother-knights were gone.

  Her father motioned for her to join them outside the tent on the plain. Teeth grinding, heart crushed, she gave Tox an apologetic look, then complied.

  The lush valley spread before them in a long, narrowing swath rent in two by the road to Gath, home of the ancient Philistines and the giant Goliath. A small brook interrupted the rich green landscape, which had been freshly mowed to accommodate the reenactment. Ram and her father talked quietly.

  How could Ram even talk to him after Tzaddik’s explanation and Dr. Cathey’s return from the grave? The betrayal by her father—and Ram! Both of her family members. It gutted her. Made her own actions seem that much more abhorrent, made her wish she’d chosen a better path.

  Just as Tox had tried to tell her, Abba was not injured, save the flesh wound to his leg. Her brother and father were so alike in posture, in build. In intensity. Abba motioned over the field, giving instructions, which her piece-of-crap brother made swift strides to carry out.

  Her father trudged toward her. “You are displeased.”

  She snorted. “Try disgusted. Ashamed. Even shamed.”

  His gaze traveled up the hillside a little more, to the hundreds gathered around small campfires. The Hebrew contingent of the reenactment.

  Abba stood before her. “I am proud of you, Tzivia. You accomplished what no man has in centuries.”

  “You’re missing the third piece,” she pointed out, taking too much pleasure in that unintended victory.

  His lips lifted in a grin. “The third piece has always been in the possession of the Order.”

  Her hope died. “So it’s true. You’re their leader, the Sovereign.”

  Pleased, he pivoted and motioned to the valley below. “It will happen tonight, Tzivia. The two factions already fill the valley. The battle will rage, but this year”—he drew in a long breath and slowly let it out—“it will be different.” He nodded, eyes squinting at an imagined victory. “Tonight, the curse will be broken.”

  “Ram said there was no curse.”

  “Desperate men cling to idealism when it suits them. Your brother was desperate to be free. I know what it is to hope and then have that hope crushed. He is the same. As have been all men in our line for centuries.”

  “Why me? Why did you make me hunt down the pieces?” It sounded petulant, even childish, but Tzivia had to know. She had to quash this ache that had bloomed upon his betrayal. “You . . . you lied to me. Made me believe you were dying, that they were hurting you. That Nur shot you. Why could you not trust me?”

  She thought of Dr. Cathey. Trust with him had been implicit. And yet, here with her own father, she couldn’t find a grain of it.

  “Was there another way to convince you?” His smile was hollow, his words emptier. “Besides, you are my daughter, and I wanted you—”

  “Under your control?” She began plotting how to free Tox, Haven, and Chiji. She might have broken their trust in smaller ways over the last few months, but she would not shatter it as Ram had. One Khalon had to be worth their salt.

  That hollow smile again. “With your skills in archaeology and the connections you developed through the years, I knew you’d find the sword with just a little motivation to look outside yourself.”

  “Look outside myself?” Her pulse shrieked in her ears. “I walked away from everything to find you. To save you!”

  “And in the end,” he said, unaffected by her anger, “you have. Good girl.”

  Anger thrummed through her veins, begging for freedom. “And Mom?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You abandoned her! And us! Because what? She wasn’t pure?”

  His expression went hard, feral. “How do you know that? Who told you this?”

  “So it’s true.” Air—she couldn’t breathe. Her lungs ached with restrained sobs. “She worked herself to death after you vanished.”

  “We cannot allow the line of David to thrive when we struggle.”

  “Are you even hearing yourself? Do you even care about me?”

  “Of course, I do. Nobody could’ve gotten the sword but you.”

  “Is that all I was to you, a means to that stupid sword?”

  “Enough.” He rose to his feet. “Make your decision, Tzivia. Or you will bleed on this field, too.”

  Wraith.

  Tox struggled to keep his head up, but with Haven here—plus one—and Chiji . . . he could not focus on loss. But his brothers-in-arms were probably dead. And who had been on the other range, attacking Igor’s men?

  Then there was Ram.

  Tox had never seen his friend like this. Never imagined he, of all people, would betray him. Grief had tossed a frag grenade into their relationship. Blinded him. Deafened him. How had he missed it? This had to be a ploy on Ram’s part to get in, find the plans, and wreck them.

  Right. It was. Had to be.

  God, please let it be.

  “You okay?” Haven lay curled on her side nearby.

  He’d forgotten—missed—how she could read him so well. On his back, arms beneath his head, he stared up at the tent ceiling. “Thinking about Ram.”

  “Thinking what?”

  “I can’t accept he’s gone to the dark side.”

  “Good.”

  He snapped his gaze to her, desperately hoping her deception skills said it was a ploy. “Did you see something?”

  “I saw a lot of conflict in Ram, but I think we all saw that.” She sighed. “No, I said that because you wouldn’t be Cole Russell if you easily accepted a friend’s betrayal.”

  Shouts rang through the afternoon. A din, chants by hundreds. He listened but couldn’t make out the words, which were in another language.

  “It has begun.”

  Tox glanced to where Yared Khalon again stood inside the tent. As Yared sauntered around the interior, Tox came to his feet and pulled Haven to himself.

  Yared smiled through the bars. “Hear it? They are beginning the chant of the infamous Battle of Elah. One we will take part in. One you can no longer stop.” He was infuriatingly assured.

  “How’d you turn Ram? What price?” Tox asked.

  “A little lesson in the ways of pain corrected his thinking.”

  “So you tortured him.” Tox snorted. Gave a disgusted shake of his head, reassured by the vast difference between Ram and Yared. “Your son is a better man than you.”

  “I hope so. My son will take my place when I am gone. He will rule.”

  “No,” Tox said. “Ram has no desire for that kind of power—he never even wanted to be promoted to team leader.” He scowled. “Do you even know your son? Do you know he owns an art studio?”

  “It was a front,” Yared hissed. “Of course I know!”

  “It was his outlet,” Tox said. “What about the woman he loves?”

  “He has no wife.”

  “I did not say wife. I’m referring to the woman he abandoned to protect Israel—interestingly enough, the country that you’ll decimate on this field.”

  “It is the right of the Nizari to be free and take back centuries of what you have stolen from us.”

  “Stolen from you?” Again, Tox snorted. “You tried to enslave them, and it backfired! At what cost will you continue this madness?”

  “Did anyone care when it was us who lost? Who were ruined with this curse?” Yared sniffed. “No, you rejoiced.”

  “What d’you mean, ‘you’?” But Tox knew. Recalled what Haven had told him. What Thefarie said of the ampoule.

  “Do you not know your genealogy, Mr. Russell? You are descended from King David. You carry the blood that will free us.”
/>   He didn’t like the sound of that. “You have the ampoule. You don’t need me.”

  “The ampoule is the beginning. You are the end.” Yared snickered, his words holding a double meaning.

  “What? You’re going to sacrifice me?” What flashed in the older man’s eyes coursed a new dread through Tox. “No. I’m not participating in this. You can—”

  “I think you will.” Yared motioned to someone standing just inside the tent, and Tox noted Igor training an M4 on Haven.

  “No!” Tox barked. “You—” He stopped short when Ram entered.

  His friend strode to the cage door and unlocked it. Motioned Tox out.

  “I’m not leaving her,” Tox growled.

  Haven swung panicked eyes to him. Considering the man with the M4, Tox flexed his fists. Unflexed. Flexed.

  “Now, Mr. Russell,” Yared commanded, “before Igor gets trigger happy. He’s not very patient, nor am I.”

  Tox turned to her. “It’ll be okay.” But he couldn’t inject much confidence into words whose truth died on his lips. “Sorry,” he said, giving her a kiss and praying it wasn’t a good-bye kiss. Stiff and furious, he flicked daggers at Ram as he walked out of the tent. “I’ll kill you if anything happens to her,” he hissed.

  “Very good,” Yared murmured, pleased with himself and his plan, as iron clanged shut behind Tox. He shifted back to her.

  Haven looked stricken. Alone. She gripped the bars, and he clamped a hand over hers, to reassure them both. This wasn’t over. This wasn’t their end.

  “Now, would you like to reconsider your refusal to help?”

  Baited, Tox tensed. Knew he’d do whatever it took to keep her alive. Seeing Chiji move behind Haven gave Tox the smallest hope that she’d be okay.

  “Well?” Yared prompted.

  “You don’t want help,” he growled. “You want me dead.”

  “You dead. Her alive.” Yared pursed his lips and shrugged. “Quite a bargain, I think.”

  Not answering, unable to, Tox walled up the anger-fed grief that churned and writhed through him as he turned his gaze on Ram the Betrayer.

  Yared’s sick laugh played through the heavy air. “Your little world has been so disrupted, Mr. Russell. Tell me, do you know what happened to your girlfriend, to Brooke?”