The Gift

by Bryan M. Litfin

  Teo’s feet touched the floor just as another smoke bomb from above detonated nearby. The acrid smell of black powder hung thick in the air, and the smoke burned his eyes. Everyone was shouting and rushing around. Teo ran toward the altar. Red-hot coals glowed in the brazier. Circling behind the altar, Teo found Borja cowering on the floor. The man looked up with bulging eyes. His jowls quivered as he shook his head.

  “No!” he screeched. “You can’t have it!” He waved his hand and clutched the New Testament to his breast.

  “It is not yours to keep,” Teo said. “It belongs to the one true God.”

  He snatched the book from Nikolo Borja.

  A massive force suddenly crashed into Teo’s back, hurling him across the room. The sound of iron striking iron resounded in the temple. Teo hit the floor hard. His torch and the New Testament flew from his grasp. As he scrambled to his feet, a malignant voice spoke to him, full of deadly power.

  “So fate has brought us together once more, Teofil of Chiveis.” The Iron Shield lifted his black mace. “This time I will kill you.”

  Teo’s back throbbed. Only the iron keg in his rucksack had kept the blow from snapping his spine. He slid the pack from his shoulders, then drew the sword of Armand. “I have fought you before,” he said, “and I am not afraid to do so again.”

  Smoke swirled in the temple. Torchlight flickered on the evil warrior’s face, dancing in his glass eye. With a sinuous motion like a cat, the Iron Shield darted to the New Testament and snatched it from the floor. “Behold, Teofil, you have failed.”

  “No. It is you who will fail. The victory will belong to Deus.”

  A shadow enveloped the tall warrior as he inched toward the altar. “Yes, we know,” he said in a voice that rumbled from deep within his chest. “But today is not that day.”

  Blade in hand, Teo stepped closer to the altar. The Iron Shield’s flank would be exposed if he made a move toward it. The two men stared at one another, each waiting to see what the other would do.

  Teo’s rucksack lay near his feet. A long fuse protruded from inside. Before the Iron Shield could react, Teo grabbed his torch and lit the fuse, then pitched the pack against the idol’s feet. Though this wasn’t the way he had planned things, he judged now was the time for a desperate gamble.

  The Iron Shield’s jaw dropped. “You’ll kill us all, you fool!”

  “Throw me the book and I’ll put it out!”

  “Never!”

  “Are you prepared to meet Deus?”

  “Deus be cursed to the depths of hell!”

  The Iron Shield heaved the New Testament over Teo’s head. Borja caught it and plunged it into the brazier. A demented smile was plastered across his face. The book’s brittle pages burst into flame.

  No! Stop!

  Teo dashed to the altar as the Iron Shield moved in the opposite direction. Teo tried to grab the burning book, but the fire was too hot. Already the pages had curled up and turned black. Bits of ash floated on the wafting smoke. As Teo watched in horror, the New Testament was engulfed by the hungry flames.

  “You lose!” Borja stood several paces away, clapping his hands and dancing madly. “Look at that book burn! You lose!”

  Teo turned his back on the repugnant man.

  The Iron Shield knelt beside the pack containing the ironclad bomb. He gripped the fuse in his fist and yanked it out. Teo drew his war ax and sent a steel ball hurtling toward his enemy. The missile took the Iron Shield on the knuckles. Though the warrior’s hand was gauntleted, he cried out in pain and whirled to face Teo.

  From the roof a bugle sounded—Marco’s signal for the Christiani forces to attack.

  The Iron Shield’s head snapped toward the oculus. Assessing the situation in an instant, he dropped his eyes and stared at Teo. “We will meet again,” he vowed, then rushed through the doorway into the battle outside.

  Borja’s haughty voice made Teo spin around. Four shamans stood next to their leader, each holding a dagger.

  “You think we don’t know about your pitiful rebellion?” Borja’s face contorted into a sneer. “We found out all about it. Your troops have walked into a trap. It will be a glorious slaughter! At this very moment my men are advancing toward your temple. They will kill everyone they find: your mercenaries, your Papa, and yes, even your woman.”

  Ana . . .

  Teo ran to the base of the idol and snatched his rucksack. Though the bomb hadn’t destroyed the statue as intended, it was still a powerful weapon that could take out many enemies, perhaps even turn the tide of battle. Teo sprinted out the door with the bomb on his back.

  The plaza outside the Temple of All Gods rang with the clash of swords and shields as the mercenaries fought in hand-to-hand combat. A fighter on horseback spotted Teo and charged, but Teo parried the thrust and ran his sword through the man. Yanking the rider from the saddle, he mounted and turned into an alley. With a kick of his heels, he urged the horse into a gallop. Its hooves clip-clopped against the cobbled streets of Roma.

  Teo’s mind reeled. The New Testament was gone. Everything was in motion now. The final outcome would be decided at the Christiani basilica. There he would make a final stand. If he reached the basilica in time, the battle could still be won.

  At the very least, Ana must not fall into Nikolo Borja’s hands.

  O Deu, Teo prayed, show us your power! Give us the victory! Though the urgent prayer comforted him as he galloped through the streets, he couldn’t shake the feeling he had been here before.

  Teo arrived at the basilica to find a pitched battle unfolding within the arms of the church. As he galloped into the circular plaza with his sword unsheathed, he discerned right away that the Christiani fighters were hard-pressed. Though the Knights of the Cross fought valiantly alongside their troops, the enemy was starting to overwhelm them. Borja’s condottieri outnumbered the Christiani mercenaries by at least three to one. Unless some dramatic action altered the balance of power, the outcome didn’t look promising.

  Surging ahead on his warhorse, Teo dealt a series of grievous blows to the footmen who dared to confront him. He passed the stone spike in the center of the plaza and fought his way toward the basilica. One of the Christiani knights, his silver hair slick with blood, held the portico as a last line of defense. Teo leaned from the saddle and swung the sword of Armand in an arc, severing the head of a man attacking the earl. The earl glanced up from his enemy’s fallen corpse and nodded at Teo, letting him pass.

  At the top of the steps Teo paused and looked out over the plaza. Many of the Christiani mercenaries had fled the scene, while those who still fought were being forced back. The battle had turned into a rout. Borja had taken the day.

  Teo dismounted and ran inside the basilica, slamming the door and throwing down the bar. The Papa was there, as well as the Overseer with his bandaged hand. Other priests, servants, and aristocrats milled around. Off to the side Teo spotted Ana standing with Vanita. Relief coursed through him, though the emotion was fleeting. She’s still in danger, he reminded himself.

  “Listen, everyone!” All eyes turned in Teo’s direction, and Ana’s face lit up when she saw him. He beckoned the little crowd to come near. “The battle has gone against us. If you have weapons, get them ready. We must fight our way out if we want to live.”

  “Indeed we must fight!” The Papa’s voice rang out in the silence of the cavernous nave. “But let us not forget, brothers and sisters, that we Christiani bear the most powerful weapon of all.” Gathering his companions around him, the Papa asked them to kneel. “Each of us must fight in the way he is gifted by the Eternal One. Fight on with your sword, Teofil of Chiveis, for that is the strength Deus has given you. We who are not warriors will fight with words of intercession. Let us all rely on our God in this hour of desperate need.”

  At the far end of the basilica a figure materialized from the shadows. Sword in hand, Teo ran to meet the intruder but quickly discerned it was Marco. As the pirate drew near, Ana and Vanita a
lso came to greet him.

  “There’s no time to wait,” Marco said. “I’ve come up through the grottoes. I have horses with me, four good ones. My ship is ready to sail at the port. The cause here is lost. Escape with me now! We must live to fight another day.”

  Vanita nodded. “It’s a strategic retreat. We need to go.”

  Teo glanced at Ana. Her eyes were closed, her chin tucked to her breast. He touched her shoulder. “Ana? I think Marco is right.”

  She did not open her eyes. “I have no strength to flee again, Teo. Not again.”

  “I know it’s hard. But perhaps we must accept it like when we left Chiveis.”

  Ana looked up, pointing to the group kneeling beside the Papa. “What about them? They haven’t given up yet. They’re still praying.”

  “Deu has a plan for them, and he has a plan for us. We must walk the road he has laid before us.”

  Tears gathered in Ana’s eyes. “This isn’t the future I imagined,” she whispered.

  “Me either. But we must step into it nonetheless.”

  “Must we?” Ana turned toward Teo and gripped his leather jerkin in her fists. Her face betrayed her anguish. “Must we always lose? Always flee?” She shook him by his garments, staring into his eyes. “Where is Deu’s power? Tell me that, Teo! Where is it?” Ana dropped her hands and threw back her head, lifting her voice to the ceiling. “Tell me, Deu!” she shouted. “Where is your power?” Overcome by tears, she buried her face in her palms.

  Teo stood in the basilica with his bloody sword, unsure what he should do next. His gaze moved from Ana’s weeping form to the wide, expectant eyes of Marco and Vanita.

  It’s up to me to make a decision, he realized. Whatever I decide now is going to determine life or death.

  So be it.

  I’m in your hands, Deu.

  He looked directly at Marco. “Give me your matches. And another fuse.”

  As Marco fumbled in his pockets and handed over the items, Ana lifted her face from her hands. “Wait a minute, Teo. What are you doing?”

  “Cutting off the head of the snake.” He turned to go.

  “But you’ll be killed!” Ana grabbed his sleeve. Teo wrenched himself from her grasp and started running toward the basilica’s front door.

  “Stop! Wait!”

  He ignored her desperate pleas and kept going.

  “Teo! Come back to me!”

  This time Teo could not give his usual answer.

  Everything was quiet. The sounds of battle had died down outside. Ana pressed her ear against the door of the basilica, straining to hear what was happening. Fear gripped her. Will I ever see Teo again? She didn’t know.

  When the explosion came, its force physically knocked her from the door. Ana staggered back, her ears ringing. The deafening concussion shook the very foundations of the Christiani basilica. She held her skull in her hands and shook her head. It was all too much. The tightness in her chest made her feel she might suffocate. Ana was at the end of her strength.

  Help me, Deu! Protect Teo! Oh please, Deu . . . please . . .

  Vanita came and stood next to her, slipping her arm around Ana’s shoulders. “I’ll stay with you until the end,” she said.

  The sound of men in the portico startled Ana back to reality. She heard shouting, followed by a tremendous boom as something heavy smashed into the door. The Christiani who had taken refuge in the basilica cried out, and many turned to flee. Again the men outside rammed the door. The hinges snapped, then one of the great bronze doors tumbled to the floor with a deafening crash.

  From out of the swirling dust Nikolo Borja pranced into the hall, backlit by the dazzling sun. He was even fatter than Ana had imagined. The obese man was sweating in his engraved silver breastplate, which looked ridiculous on someone so obviously not a warrior. From his belt hung an ornate dagger that surely had never seen service in battle. Even so, Borja seemed to relish playing the role of conquering hero. His face wore a look of arrogant disdain.

  “So, Papa, it has all come to this. Welcome to the day of your final defeat.”

  “Victory belongs to Deus,” the Papa replied.

  Borja smiled. “Is that so? Come here and behold the ‘victory’ of your God.” He walked out to the barrel-vaulted portico, beckoning the Papa and the Overseer to follow. Ana and Vanita went too, but Marco hung back.

  Teo!

  He was held by two strong shamans, his wrists bound in manacles behind his back. The Iron Shield stood nearby. Teo’s face was blackened by soot, and a line of blood trickled from his forehead.

  Borja spread his arms toward the plaza encompassed by the circular colonnade. The Christiani mercenaries were gone. A silver-haired aristocrat lay dead on the steps. Only Borja’s troops remained—thousands of them. A deep crater was gouged into the plaza’s pavement. Smoke and dust still rose from it.

  “Your weapon is fierce, Papa, I grant you that. It will be my pleasure to wring its secrets from you. But as you can see, your great hero has failed.” Borja punched Teo in the abdomen, doubling him over. Teo winced as he took the blow but straightened again without replying. Borja snapped his fingers. The Iron Shield stepped forward.

  “Hurt him,” Borja said. “Hurt him hard.”

  The corners of the Iron Shield’s lips turned up in a smirk, and his cat’s eye made his face appear demonic. He brought out a small, evil-looking knife and moved toward Teo while the shamans held him in place.

  Ana’s breath caught, and her knees went weak. No! Deu, help him!

  Teo stared into the dark interior of the basilica. Ana’s eyes flitted to where he was looking. Marco was there, holding one of the smoke bombs. A match flared. Marco lit the fuse and rolled the bomb onto the portico.

  “Look out!” Borja shrieked, covering his body with his fleshy arms.

  Everyone stood frozen as the bomb’s fuse hissed and sparked. Ana’s heart pounded in her chest. Adrenaline rushed through her body, preparing her for instant action. Run to the horses, said a voice in her head.

  The moment hung suspended. The bomb stopped rolling. For a split second everything was silent.

  Then it happened.

  The bomb’s fuse fizzled out.

  What?

  Ana stared at it. The little round ball sat on the marble pavement of the portico. A tendril of smoke wafted from the fuse.

  The Iron Shield snatched the bomb and hurled it away. He ran to Marco and seized him by the neck, shoving him to the portico floor, kicking him in the ribs. Marco grunted and rolled over.

  Turning toward Teo, the Iron Shield grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked his head back. The warrior’s teeth gnashed in Teo’s face. The knife glittered in his hand.

  “I believe it was your God who said ‘an eye for an eye,’” he snarled.

  Teo struggled, trying to get away, but he could not. The point of the knife moved toward his face.

  “No! Leave him alone!” Ana started toward him, but Borja caught her arm, wrenching it behind her back. She cried out.

  Teo turned and met Ana’s eyes. She knew why. He wanted to take one last look at her before he was blinded.

  “I love you,” she mouthed to him.

  At that moment the shout of a mighty host descended upon the holy place. All eyes looked up at the sudden, deafening noise. The Iron Shield ran to the portico’s main portal and looked out. Borja uttered a cry of confusion and dismay.

  Ana darted to another portal. Thousands of men streamed into the plaza, an army too large to comprehend. They wore ragged garments, sometimes just loincloths. Their weapons were sticks and hammers and pickaxes. Something about the way the men moved caught Ana’s attention. Their motions were jerky and awkward. She gasped as she realized what she was seeing.

  Defectives!

  “Rally our troops!” Borja screamed to the Iron Shield. “Lead a charge! Kill them!” His face turned red, and his eyes bulged as he watched the mayhem in the plaza. The Iron Shield instantly obeyed his master’s command. He dr
ew his mace and leaped into the fray.

  Though the Defectives were ill-equipped, they made up for it with courage and sheer numbers. When one of their men went down, three more sprang into his place. They fought without fear, unleashing their righteous anger against the army of their oppressor. As the mercenaries were knocked to the ground, the Defectives dropped their primitive weapons and picked up the swords and shields. Borja’s forces could not withstand the fierce onslaught of so great a company.

  Staring at the unbelievable scene, Ana noticed a blond-haired man leading the Defectives in battle. His movements weren’t awkward; they were the smooth motions of a warrior who knew how to wield a sword. Beside him fought a giant man with a dark beard and a bald, bloodied head. He used a shepherd’s crook like a scythe as he cleared a swath toward the basilica.

  The man looked up, and Ana recognized him. She called his name: “Liber!”

  When Liber spotted Ana he became a madman. He swung his staff in great, furious arcs, knocking foes aside as he barreled toward her. Reaching the steps, he mounted them swiftly. Ana had backed up into the portico for safety. Liber ran to her with his arms outstretched.

  “Stasia!” he cried.

  Ana leaped toward Liber, but not so she could return his embrace. She snatched his crook and brought it down hard on a figure behind him. The staff made a dull thud as it struck flesh. Borja howled and collapsed to the ground, clutching his shoulder. His dagger clattered across the portico’s marble floor.

  “Keep your hands off my friend, you backstabber!” Ana shouted.

  She brandished the staff as she towered over the fat man. Borja stared up at her. His face streamed sweat, and his breathing was labored. Ana feinted toward him with the stick. Borja squealed like a pig and squirmed away on his rump.

  “Aaargh!” Borja’s mouth contorted into a grimace. His pudgy hand clawed at his left arm. The blood drained from his face. His body convulsed, then his eyes rolled back in their sockets.

  Ana reeled, horrified by the gruesome spectacle. The man slumped over, his head lolling in an unnatural way. He emitted a raspy gurgle. Dark fluid ran down his chin. Ana covered her face and turned away.