by J. Adams
“What?”
“Your pinkie finger isn't sticking up properly.”
“My what?”
“Your pinkie finger. Didn't you watched any period piece movies on the surface?”
“No,” he answers, plucking another cake from the plate.
“Well, if you had, you would know that the proper way to hold a tea cup is by the handle with the pinkie extended.”
“Like this?” He maneuvers his long fingers to hold the handle and deftly extends his little finger and takes a sip.
“Umm, sure,” I say covering my mouth to keep from laughing, but it's useless.
He scowls a little and puts the cup down, wrapping his hands around it before raising it to his lips. “I'll stick with this way, if that's all right with you.”
“It's okay with me, but you get an A for effort.”
“Thank you,” he says, grinning and I laugh. “What is that?” He nods to the envelope in my hand.
“I don't know. One of the guards handed it to me.”
“Did he say who delivered it?”
“No. He said he opened it to make sure there was no danger, but he didn't read it.”
Sebastian moves to stand next to me while I open it. It is a foil embossed card with the phrase, “Think of You” written in beautiful gold script. I read the card, smiling at the words of encouragement. When I reach the last line I feel the blood drain from my face. In a flash I feel the breeze of Sebastian's departure as he zips to the door. He returns a second later.
“The guard council.”
The guards is gone. I must inform Father and the
never leave without waiting for their replacement, and even then, they inform us of the change before leaving, which leaves us with one conclusion: this particular guard is a fugitive and can no longer be trusted. My eyes move to the open note on the table where I dropped it. A cold shudder rips through my body as I silently reread the final line.
This isn't over, Woman of Prophecy. It will only be over with your death.
* * *
A search for the rogue guard is in progress and a replacement guard is sent. I sit in the now shaded garden room and wait while Sebastian speaks with all the guards and does a final sweep of the grounds.
I am tired. Not tired physically but emotionally. I'm not afraid, at least not for myself. I worry for our son, for our people, our home, and the completely oblivious world on the surface.
I feel the baby shift and I softly rub my stomach. “You feel it, too, don't you?” He nudges me as if in answer. “Don't worry, little one. Your daddy and I love you very much. We won't let anything happen to you.” I heave a deep sigh and close my eyes and imagine myself running across the vast green countryside. As the image plays before me, I briefly recall the feeling of freedom that always comes when I run. I miss that freedom, more so at this moment. I take a deep breath and release my cabin fever emotions. Instead, I turn my thoughts to the future, determined that it will be one of great joy and peace.
* * *
A band of fifty peace keepers track the traitorous guard deep into the forest. He feels them near, but he will not allow himself to be caught. He cannot, so he continues to run. It is both fruitless and pointless, he knows, nevertheless, he keeps going because it gives him time to ponder his choices. Truthfully, he knows he really has no choice save one.
Finally surrounded and seeing no opening for escape, the traitor stops and slowly turns, his eyes scanning the circle of men. Having been trained in the use of the inner power residing in him, he smiles and closes his eyes and calls upon that power. The surrounding warriors move back and ready their shields to defend his attack. The traitor's hands begin to glow as energy surges through him. He takes a deep breath, pulling the surrounding air into his lungs, and with a mighty grunt, slams his hands against his own chest, the force of the blow knocking him to the ground, killing him instantly.
* * *
Venice, Italy
In a cold, dank room under St. Mark's Basilica, Father
Bruno Battiano stands with his head bent low and his arms and legs chained to a stone wall. His face is unrecognizable, his eyes swollen shut, his bloodied nose broken, his cheeks black and blue. For hours the Urchin has beaten and tortured the priest, but he still won't break.
He knows the cost he will inevitably pay for his silence, but it is a sacrifice he is willing to make. He fulfilled his purpose when he bound the Woman of Prophecy to her true mate, helping to bring about the fulfillment of the prophecy. He'd known after performing the ceremony that his life would be forfeit, that sooner or later the enemy would find him and try to force him to reveal the secret he would take to his grave. He had known all of this, and he was all right with it. He still is. Dying is only the beginning of an even greater journey. He is ready for that journey.
In between the beatings, he had taken the time to examine his life. Thinking on his mortal existence, his only regret is that he has no family to carry on his name. No wife and child to mourn him after he is gone. He should have converted to another religion where he could have had it all, a congregation to lead and a family. Other than the lack of posterity, he has no other regrets. He has lived a good life.
The priest watches his tormentor approach and squares his shoulders as much as possible.
“I will ask one last time. Where is the home of the ancients?”
Pressing his lips together tightly, he shakes his head, closes his eyes and awaits his death.
He doesn't wait long.
Twenty-two
The number of guards around our home is now doubled, and the closer I get to my delivery date, the more anxious the inhabitants of Challis become. Though I feel the love and concern of all, there is also a tension I don't think ever existed here before. Never before has there been mistrust here, only peace and a feeling of security. I feel like it is all my fault, and though Sebastian, his parents, and the council assure me otherwise, the guilt is still there.
I am only two weeks away from delivery and my stomach is huge, but I don't mind. Sebastian continues to tell me I'm beautiful, showering me with gifts for myself and the baby. He is patient and loving, making sure I have everything I need and doing what he can to keep my boredom at bay. We finished decorating the nursery the week before, and many times he finds me there, sitting in the rocker, gazing around the room and contemplating our son's future.
The nursery is done in blue, white, and gold. The drawers of the light maple chest are filled with clothes and blankets, and afghans fill every shelf in the tall corner cabinet. I had crocheted over one hundred of them. I know many will not be used for some time, but it had helped to stay busy. Who knows, maybe I will save a few to give as gifts to other expectant mothers in the city. My work will not go to waste.
I am looking over my handiwork when Sebastian enters. His face is grave as he approaches me.
“There is news from the surface.”
“What is it?” I don't like the look on his face at all. It can only mean something bad has happened.
He gently takes my arms in his hands, caressing them softly. “It is Father Battiano. Beloved, he has been murdered.”
“No,” I whisper, not able to believe it, not wanting to hear it. “Was it the Urchin?” I ask tearfully, knowing the answer already.
He nods. “He was tortured, most likely to get the location of our home. But he didn't break. He sacrificed himself for us.”
I am too emotional to say anything more. The tears come and I am quickly pulled into his arms, his chest muffling my sobs. That dear sweet man is dead. I can't stop the guilt that enters me. People have died, and will die because of me.
No, Celine. It is not your fault. Do not blame yourself. I won't let you.
I continue to cry, oblivious to him picking me up and carrying me to our room. I am instantly lying on the bed, wrapped in the cradle of his arms.
I'm so tired, Sebastian, I finally tell him. I'm so tired of others dying because of me. I c
ling to him and he holds me tighter.
Listen to me, beloved. Those who die in your service are proud to do so because of the cause for which they fight. They know what is at stake and they do so willingly. We mourn for them and will remember them always because they served selflessly and died with honor. We can't take that away from them.
The tears continue to flow and he pulls me further into himself, the touch of his hands and the warmth of his body slowly soothing my emotions. I silently accept the comfort he gives. He is right. I know he is, but it still doesn't make this any easier.
“Did he have family at all?” My voice is strained.
“Sadly, no.”
I heave a calming sigh, getting my emotions under control. “We must tell the people about him. His sacrifice should not be forgotten. He must not be forgotten.”
“He won't, angel. I promise you he won't.”
* * *
Mount St. Helens
The Urchin leader stands before Lord Derth.
“My lord, the priest is dead.”
“Of course he is,” he replies, with heavy sarcasm. “But the question is were you able to extract information from him before his life expired?”
“No,, my lord.”
“So you are telling me you still have nothing?” The tone of the dark lord's voice is both cold and impatient. He has grown tired of excuses. The longer it takes to locate the woman who carries the means to his death in her womb, the less time he has left before her spawn is born. He cannot tolerate failure, for to do so will surely be his demise. The Urchins–the so-called threat to the human race, grow more useless by the day and he is ready to do away with the leader and replace him with another more suited for the job. But the Urchin's next words change the path of his thoughts and bring a smile to his face.
“We've had a breakthrough, my lord. The team in the north made an exchange and has collected the traded information. We know where the ancient ones reside.”
Twenty-three
Two miles east in a beautiful secluded grove of olive trees sits a missile containing just enough C-4 to demolish the small mansion with no problem. The bomb is constructed with the best materials, the ingredients superstrength for efficiency. It is aimed at its target with complete and total accuracy. In another thirty seconds there will be a large gaping crater where the house now stands, making this officially the first violent act to be perpetrated in the socalled peaceful world of Challis.
It hadn't been hard to acquire the ingredients for the bomb. The asking price had been steep, but easily met, and the mode in which the transaction between the inner and outer earth was made had indeed been clever. Eagles are not known for being docile creatures, but training the massive bird had been easy.
The Challissian people aren't as thorough as they assume they are. In less than a minute they will regret that fact.
* * *
“You know, we still need to decide on a name.” Turning from the nursery window where I have been
standing and staring out for a while now, I force a smile. I am still saddened over Father Battiano's death, and I know this is Sebastian's way of steering my thoughts toward happier things. I love him so much for that.
“There is a name I have been considering for a while now, but so much has been going on I keep forgetting to run it by you. Of course, you probably already know, with having twenty-four-hour access to my thoughts and all.”
He smiles slyly. “True, but why don't you tell me anyway, just to make sure I know.”
“Well, since naming him Sebastian will be kind of confusing, I thought we could use your middle name and your father's name. What do you think of Marcello Devon?”
“I think it is perfect,” he says, taking my hands in his and raising them to his lips. “Father will be surprised and deeply honored.”
“Okay,” I say with a smile, “Marcello Devon it is. It's only fitting that I name him after the two men I love most in the world.”
“Thank you, caro.”
I smile and run a hand over my stomach. “Did you hear that, baby? How do you like your name, Marcello?” In answer, my stomach rolls and I receive a strong kick in the ribs. I laugh at our son's response. “I guess you like it, huh?”
Marcello continues to kick, each one growing stronger until they border on pain, which has never happened before.
Leave.
The soft voice in my mind startles me.
“Did you say something?”
“No,” Sebastian answers, puzzled.
No, of course it wasn't him, I muse. I know his voice as well as I know my own. Still, if it wasn't Sebastian, then who . . .
As the voice comes again, my eyes meet his and we both gasp.
Leave, Mama! Leave now!
The explosion is instant and rocks the entire city. * * *
“What in the blazes was that?!”
Aaron looks at the guard, his face grave. “I don't know, but we cannot leave our post.” His bushy brow furrows. “I am sure someone will bring us word soon.” He braces himself against a tree as an onslaught of questions from guards all around the north opening enters his mind with force.
Men, until we have a report, remain at your post. I have a feeling the enemy will be upon us soon, possibly in the next day or two. We must stand alert and ready.
Yes, sir, a chorus of voices reply.
The time for preparation is drawing to an end. Their people have looked forward to the coming event for centuries, have anticipated the birth of the child who will banish all evil with the intake of his very first breath.
Aaron severs his mind from the others. Leaning against the tree, he closes his eyes to commune with the being who is the beginning and the end of all things.
Oh, Great One who knows all, we your people, both in the world and on it, need your help, your guidance and protection. The time of war and wonder is upon us. Our lives are in your hands. I give mine freely, for it was you who gave me life. My sword and my soul are yours.
He opens his eyes just as a warm burst of air flows around and through him, and in this brief moment he knows all will be set right.
* * *
The assassin watches from the grove as the granite and crystal building explodes and shatters in a million pieces, a great cloud of smoke ascending high above the city. There is no question that the inhabitants of the home are no more. Success is in the air, so tangible one can taste it, touch it. The assassin watches people run to the scene of death and carnage. Satisfaction is present in abundance and partaken with gluttonous abandon. Restitution has been made–a life for a life. A long-awaited goal has at last been met.
Now to prepare my family for evacuation, for death is at the door.
* * *
With tears running down his face, Devon holds his wife close, her wet face pressed against his shoulder as he watches the investigative disaster team search through the wreckage for signs of life. All twelve guards have been found, five of them having died instantly from the blast. The rest are seriously injured, but are already beginning to recover from their wounds.
The disaster team finishes quickly, and under President Simon's orders, tells no one of their findings.
Tears are shed by the entire city and despair settles thickly over the land. In the history of Challis, nothing like this has ever happened before and the people don't know how to handle it. What will they do now? If the prophecy is not fulfilled, if the golden child is not born, what will become of them? Nothing can stop the enemy from destroying the people now.
Peace keepers have been dispersed all over the city to find the person or persons responsible.
The citizens are instructed to return to their homes. They do so with heads hanging low and hearts devoid of hope.
Twenty-four
The cave we inhabit is guarded by two mammoths and a group of five enormously sized black panthers and five Bengal tigers. The animals are just as protective of me as Sebastian. whenever
We've often comm
uned with the animals we've come out to the countryside and they understand the importance of the child I carry. The bear in whose home we are staying willingly gave up his living space and sought shelter elsewhere.
Between the two of us we've turned the once dark cavern into a cozy hideaway. A large, down comfortercovered bed sits against the far wall. A rustic, brown leather sofa is situated across from the bed and a large braided rug stretches out between them. I still find it unreal at times that I can simply will things into existence.
We have food, water, light, and even a few of my favorite books. Anything else can be created as we need it.
I lay on the bed with my head on Sebastian's shoulder, his arms curled around me, and lightly rub my stomach as we silently marvel at what had just taken place.
Our unborn child spoke to us! He literally warned us to flee and we barely escaped. The explosion had come fast and we felt its impact a mile away from the house. Someone still wanted me dead, enough to blow up our home along with anyone in or near it. It couldn't have been anyone from the surface, because both entrances are monitored and guarded around the clock. My senses are fine tuned enough now to sense danger, but this was done at a distance. It had to be.
Now our beautiful home is gone and our people most likely believe we are dead, which according to Sebastian is good and bad–good because the assassin will believe he or she has been successful, and bad because the people will lose hope. However, Sebastian has telepathically contacted President Simon to let him know we are alive. The president agreed that our escape should be kept silent for now. He didn't want to know our location, only that we were safe.
Little Marcello has been extremely active but is now calm and still, except for a hand or foot prodding every now and then. He is also settled lower in my stomach now, readying himself for birth, which means labor could start at any time. I am both excited and afraid. I had thought our son's birth would happen in the comfort of our home where everything is light and airy and peaceful. I also hoped Sarah would be present. Taking in our surroundings I decide that two out of three isn't bad. At least it is peaceful.
