Mortal
Page 38
“It means nothing!” Jordin cried.
“No? Then we test each of you.”
In short order, Roland produced another vessel and applied the same test to Jordin. Again the liquid refused to darken.
Roland held it up to show them all. “She will live only a natural life span, if that.” He summarily dropped the vial and let it break on the stone.
He repeated the exercise with the Book and then with Triphon. Both with the same result.
Last of all, he tested Seriph. This time the amber liquid turned dark.
Roland held up the dark vessel. “Life!” he cried.
“This means nothing!” Jordin snapped. “We are alive! Mortal.”
“Perhaps you are.” Roland handed the darkened vessel to Seriph and faced the crowd. “But today is a new day.”
Roland lifted his voice again.
“Today, I no longer call myself Mortal! Whether Keeper or Nomad, this day I call all who celebrate life and vow to protect it: Immortal!”
The word echoed through the valley.
Immortal.
So. Roland would have his new race.
“All who would follow me, we leave today! We go north, where we will rebuild and claim what is ours. We who are Immortal will inherit the earth, by might and by sword and by any means required!”
He glanced at Rom.
“As for those who would follow these three, I will say what Jonathan himself said before he left us: Let the dead bury the dead.”
With that, Roland walked down the steps, strode past the leading edge of the crowd, swung into his saddle, and delivered his final charge for all to hear.
“Chose your destiny today!” he cried. “Immortality…”
He leveled a pointed finger toward Rom.
“… or death!”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
THE FORTRESS SPRAWLED along the edge of the forest, her turrets sunk deep into the earth like the talons of a steel-footed throne.
From here among the twisted pines, one might monitor the hills of Byzantium, the world capital, twenty miles away. Might gaze at the roiling sky and devour its ominous poetry—might shun the diffused light of the sun.
The thin strain of violins filled the master chamber, pumped in through the vents like air. They lingered like shadows in Saric’s private chamber, now bared of the gold silks that had recently hung in the corners.
A knock at the door.
“Come.”
Corban entered and sank to a knee. A second figure stepped in behind the Master Alchemist and followed suit. A simple Corpse, as they were called.
“My liege.” Corban’s head was bowed, his long hair unbound over his shoulder.
Behind the ebony desk, Feyn Cerelia, Sovereign of the world, laid down her silver knife beside an unfinished meal. The glow of the tabletop candelabra glinted off the ring of Office on her hand.
So much had changed.
Eighteen. It was the number of days since she had woken to new life at the hands of her Master, Saric.
Seventeen. It was the number of days since she had first realized that love was born of loyalty. Maker to creation. Master to servant. In it, she had found a measure of peace. She was more than a thing reborn. She was a thing perfected.
Eleven. It was the number of days since she’d realized that she was a creature destined for more power than her Maker and succumbed to the demands of her own destiny.
Saric’s downfall had been his own arrogance, of course. She, not he, had been made the superior vessel, having been trained for Sovereignty her entire life. She, not he, was the greater ruler, and now mastered the Dark Blood with more power and authority than he ever had.
This was her destiny, not Saric’s.
Nine. It was the number of days since Saric had disappeared into the wasteland beyond the Seyala Valley, after losing the men she had dispatched to follow him.
“Rise.”
Corban stood, stepped aside, and nodded at the leader of the senate, who was trembling with palpable fear.
“Hello, Dominic,” Feyn said.
“My Lady,” he said, head bowed, eyes fixed somewhere on the lion rug before him.
Feyn pushed the carved chair back and rose. To Corban: “Have you found my brother?”
“No, liege,” the alchemist said. “I’ve dispatched four hundred to search him out, but there is no sign of him.”
She slid her gaze along the table, past the glow of the candelabra to the empty glass sarcophagus.
“Keep looking.”
Feyn glided around the table, the hem of her red velvet gown trailing along the floor behind her. The beads on her sleeve caught the dim light, throwing fire against the walls.
Behind him, Dominic looked up as though searching for the source of the violins, his eyes stark at what could only be the realization that it was not the staid music of Order, but something far more emotive and ancient.
“By week’s end, I want the appropriate traces of my blood in every Dark Blood. Like you, their allegiance will be to me alone.”
Corban inclined his head. “And if we find Saric?”
“Then you will kill him on sight and bring his body back to me intact,” Feyn said.
“Yes, my liege.”
It was only a beginning. She would go much further than Saric had ever dreamed.
She moved toward Dominic, laid a hand along the side of his head, cupped his cheek. Did he tremble?
Yes.
“You will be my firstborn. Soon all the world will follow in your footsteps.”
“What is your wish concerning the Mortals?” Corban said.
“We will extinguish them,” she said, her attention fixed on Dominic. “We will wipe their names from history.”
She smiled then, lowered her hand. “Are you ready, Dominic?”
The senate leader lifted his head and silently nodded.
“Corban,” Feyn said.
“Yes?”
“Turn the music off.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
THE SEYELA VALLEY LAY UNDER A CLOUDY SKY, the camp and ruins vacated once again. Roland had taken nearly nine hundred self-professed Immortals north, riding high in his saddle, gaze fixed firmly on his destiny. No amount of persuasive words could alter the man’s interpretation of the days leading up to Jonathan’s death, or his course.
Rom hardly blamed him. Who could argue against the powers of life evidenced in all of those who’d sworn their allegiance to Roland? They possessed acute senses that would facilitate their rise to supremacy over the course of their vastly extended lives. In their eyes, they were nothing less than gods ready to walk the earth.
Even now, as Rom sat upon his horse watching Jordin pay her last respects at Jonathan’s grave, he felt a strange draw to the lure of such a life.
But that life was no longer for him.
The forty-five who’d joined Rom, the Keeper, Jordin, and Triphon would be fortunate to live natural life spans before they were returned to the ground. Beyond that, it was really anyone’s guess. None of them truly understood Bliss. But so few statues of Order made sense any longer—from the code of prescribed behavior abandoned by Rom years ago when he first left Byzantium, to the vengeful Maker such a code was meant to appease.
Jonathan’s obsession had been with love, not punishment.
A total of forty-nine true Mortals now inhabited the earth. Sovereigns. Theirs was a meager beginning to a journey none of them understood well. But they understood now—at last—the One who was the cornerstone of their new life. As a result, who they were and what path they might follow had become clearer over the last few days.
They now understood that they were Makers. Most of their number had been made from Rom’s, Jordin’s, or the Keeper’s blood rather than what remained of Jonathan’s.
They understood that they had given up much of what Roland’s Immortals prized. That Mortals of the Sovereign realm would be misunderstood and despised, a tiny band of vagabonds bent no lon
ger on ruling the world but surviving within it.
They understood the beautiful simplicity that came with certainty, like children who believe long before wrestling with the philosophical or empirical underpinnings of those beliefs. And so they lived with supreme assurance of simple truths. The world was round—why? Because it was. Corpses longed for life—why? Because they did.
Jordin was crying.
He saw it in his mind before tears broke from her eyes. As if it was already happening, though it was not. Not yet.
Rom blinked, taken back by the sudden realization even as Jordin reached out and touched the tall pole she’d erected at the head of Jonathan’s grave. The monument was topped with a leather wrap that simply read:
Life flowed from his veins;
Love ruled his heart.
Here lies Jonathan,
The first true Sovereign.
Jordin lowered her head and let her tears flow.
Rom stared at her, astonished by his precognition. He’d known she would cry, not because he’d anticipated the behavior, but because he had known.
As much as he knew that she would now say, “I’m so sorry, Jonathan.”
“I’m so sorry, Jonathan,” Jordin said, shaking her head with remorse.
A chill passed down Rom’s neck.
What other powers would they soon discover?
The question brought warmth to his heart despite the display of sorrow before him. Their lives would not be easy. But where there was need in following Jonathan’s way, there would surely be means. That, he also knew.
Triphon led the train of Mortals into view on the plateau’s southern edge. Kaya was with them, as were Adah and Raner. Only twenty were warriors, the rest aged men and women or children. Would skill with sword and bow be needed? Stripped of their acute Mortal senses, how would they survive?
“Jonathan killed Dark Bloods,” Jordin said, setting her jaw without bothering to wipe her tears. “We follow him.”
Rom studied her, wondering if her response was coincidence or if she’d spoken with insight into his thoughts.
“With every breath until the day we die,” he said.
Jordin touched Jonathan’s memorial one last time, eyes lingering on the sign she’d fastened to the top. Then she walked to her horse, swung into the saddle, and drew alongside Rom, facing the approaching caravan. For a moment, neither spoke.
“They will try to snuff us out,” she said.
He offered a single nod. “Sovereigns may not live as long, but neither will they die easily.”
The grave to their right begged to differ, but they both knew that Jonathan still lived, if not as a Mortal who walked the earth.
“I would have you lead them with me, Jordin. As my equal.”
A crow cawed somewhere behind them.
“I’m young,” she said.
“You have a pure heart.”
“I’m too broken to think clearly.”
“You saw the truth before the rest of us.”
“How can I lead if I don’t know where to go?” she said.
“We go south, to the Carena Valley.”
“To do what?”
“To follow Jonathan. Beyond that, none of us knows. Does a colt know what they will do when they first lurch on weak legs still wet from their birthing? You may know before I do. I see in you a great leader.”
She offered no more objections.
“Tell me, Jordin. Was Jonathan triumphant in his death?”
“Supremely,” she said.
“And is the colt glorious when it becomes a stallion?”
She looked at Triphon and the others, now halfway across the plateau.
“I will be that stallion.”
“You will. And with me you will show the world true triumph, as the one Jonathan loved and to whom he entrusted his legacy. We don’t know what cost we’ll pay yet, only that his life will reign supreme.”
“Then let us live,” she said, turning her head to face him.
“Then let us live,” he said.
Rom hesitated only a moment, nodded once, and nudged his horse forward.
Overhead, the sky had begun to churn.
To be continued…
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
TED DEKKER is a New York Times bestselling author with more than five million books in print. He is known for stories that combine adrenaline-laced plots with incredible confrontations between unforgettable characters. He lives in Austin, Texas, with his wife and children.
TOSCA LEE left her position working with Fortune 500 companies as a senior consultant to the Gallup Organization to pursue her first love: writing. She is the critically acclaimed author of Demon and Havah and is best known for her humanizing portraits of maligned characters. She makes her home in the Midwest.
THE JOURNEY BEGINS
FORBIDDEN
TED DEKKER AND TOSCA LEE
SPRING 2012
BOOK THREE IN THE BOOKS OF MORTALS SERIES
SOVEREIGN
COMING SPRING 2013
TED DEKKER AND TOSCA LEE
Contents
Welcome
The Beginning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
About the Authors
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Ted Dekker
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