“High up on the side of the cliff you will see it—if you look closely.” He pointed toward the top, where the water began its fall over the edge, over a thousand feet up. I scanned the rocks and ferns that clung to the side, but didn’t see anything.
I was about to give up when I saw a large nest made of twigs and branches, built in a very thin tree. He smiled when he saw that I did indeed see what he wanted me to see. “Now watch.”
I rubbed my eyes and took another look. This time I saw a skinny baby bald eagle scramble up the side and sit perched on the edge looking out at the valley—perhaps at us. He fluffed his baby feathers and opened up his new wings, testing them. This little bird was making me nervous. I hoped he wouldn’t fall over the edge—it was a long way to the bottom. I was sure from the way he moved that he had not yet learned to fly.
The mother eagle swooped by the nest in a tuck and clipped the baby in the back, pushing him over the side. My hand flew to my mouth as I watched the baby eagle tumble in the air, flapping wildly, trying to recover, and not making much progress. “Oh, no…”
Then, just as he was about to hit the rocks, his wings finally got some traction. They bent, filled with air, lifting the young bird. He fluttered and flapped to a landing a few feet from the sharp rocks that would have crushed him. He threw back his head and let out a tiny warrior’s squawk, and then another.
I let my hand fall from my mouth, looking up at my captor. He still had my little hand in his. He smiled and said, “This is why you are here…” It shook me awake, his voice seeming to echo in my room. My cell? It was morning and the room was filled with rainbows dancing across my bed like butterflies as the light filtered in through the waterfall.
Chapter VIII
1250 B.C. City of Ke’elei
Gathered near an ancient oak tree, dappled by the sunlight that filtered through it, the circle of elders, wise men, and Sons of El were gathered on a mountaintop high above Ke’elei. The court in which they were seated was encircled by perfect Corinthian stone columns of pure white; the massive old oak at the north side, the beginning and end of the circle. A fine latticework of shimmering silver thread screened the open spaces between the columns, casting wild shadowed reflections on the cobblestone floor.
At the east side of the circle, Kreios was seated in one of the high-backed gopherwood chairs drawn up in a half circle. On the west side were twelve thrones of white marble making up the other half of the circle.
Zedkiel was seated at Kreios’s right, Yamanu at his left. His brother and friend were adorned in their best garments, as was custom in this council. Kreios was wearing the same cloak he had worn on his wedding day, and it was bittersweetness that rode on his shoulders.
His beloved wife had crafted it for him of white elk skins throughout their long courtship, lasting through two harvests. His thick belt was studded with rubies that stood out against the white color of his robe like blood in snow. His long hair was pulled back with a leather thong, and the Sword of Light was strapped to his side in its sheath.
The elders, one taken from every tribe, were twelve in all; immortals representing every race of humanity. Kreios looked from one face to another, studying their eyes, reading into most of their thoughts. He was happy to see that most of them were on his side, wanting to fight, to put an end to the Seer and his horde.
The old man in the middle of the twelve wore his beard long and white, but his face was young. He stood, draped in a golden cape lined with badger fur that touched the ground. His breastplate gleamed of onyx, set with diamonds.
“I am called Anael. I am the Watcher over this land as well as the land that overlooks the Forked Sea. This council will come to order in the matter of the reentry of the Sword of Light and the matter of the Seer and his followers. We, the council, will hear you well.”
Kreios acknowledged him and stood. Anael took his seat, and all eyes were on the barely visible Sword in its sheath; its presence exuding great power.
Kreios’s hand moved to the grips of his sword as he strode forward to the center of the circle. When he reached the center of the council he stopped, his eyes locked with those of Anael. The sound of metal against metal rang out.
As the Sword cleared the scabbard, the heavens came loose with the ringing. The skies thundered, the artillery of the Kingdom of God sounding off at once. The Sword was lifted up, its blade held high. It crackled and a barrage of blinding white light burst from the tip in a bolt of lightning.
Then he spoke. “I, Kreios, Son of El, the keeper of the Sword of Light, give praise to God Most High, who is seated now and forever on the Throne of Grace…” He knelt down. “…and Grace has allowed that I could recover from the Seer what was stolen. Father! Raise up your voice to the storm! We approach boldly to ask what You would have us do…”
Murmurs of praise to El ran through the encircled leaders, like water over stones.
“Praise be to El; praise be to God Most High…” Prayers and awe came from the elders. Anael stood now, his white beard waving in the breeze like a banner. Kreios stood under the blazing Sword as if hanging by it. Anael stood tall and began to weep from the corners of his eyes.
The council remained in this posture for some time, awaiting the Word amongst them. Heads were bowed, Kreios stood at center, and Anael stood at the head of the elders.
The Sword became quiet again and cool to the touch. Kreios looked above him to the Sword, to blue sky beyond. The canopy of the mighty oak that covered the gathering place of the council had been partially consumed in a perfect circle.
He brought the Sword down to his side, looking at it with the familiar respect of a seasoned warrior. It still glowed mildly as he guided it back into its sheath, sliding down to the hilt.
“It is time for the Seer to be numbered with the dead. He must perish. If we fail in this, we will be destroyed along with our children and wives. The time to act is now!” Kreios stood, a statue of stone, staring into the faces of the elders. They whispered to one another. He knew he could not do without their endorsement if he were to gain the support of the other warriors.
He closed his eyes, still standing at center in the court, and ran to the place in his mind where he kept things that—if he were wise—he would never reveal.
In his mind’s eye he could see a long valley much like the one below them, where the city of Ke’elei stood. He went deeper into the void and found what he was looking for. He could not tell what it was—only that somehow he needed it. He understood that it would help to convince the elders they could defeat the Brotherhood.
There was a door standing before him as if floating, without hinge or handle. It was of solid wood and it bore no marks of having been crafted with tools. It looked to Kreios like it had been simply grown. It had suffered many scars and scratches in its dark surface, as if someone or something had tried to open it, but could not.
He felt the Sword of Light respond to the door, but he could not tell what it would mean. Deep in his mind, Kreios took hold of the Sword, unsheathing it swiftly. The door flew open at the very same instant. Kreios was pulled powerfully toward the black opening, but he planted his feet and stood his ground. The scent of moist earth filled his senses, but it smelled of something else that he could not place. Iron? Wood? He gave up on knowing—all he was certain of was that he must not go through the door. Not just yet.
From out of the blackness came fingers of red and blue light, separately wooing him, and wreathing him; pulling him toward the black hole of the opening with insistence.
“Return!” He commanded. The Sword of Light returned to the scabbard and the door slammed in his face, knocking him onto his back. Simultaneously, he returned to awareness in the court, in the presence of the elders, the sound of silence soaking him. The birthmarks, like tattoos, that ran and twisted up his forearm all the way to his neck, now burned hot. The elders stared in blank amazement.
Kreios hid his shaking hands as he moved back to his seat. He did not know if t
he door he had seen could help them or if it would end up killing them all. These questions were quickly submitted to the facts. The Brotherhood were relentlessly pursuing him and his daughter. The only way to save her was to stand and fight.
Chapter IX
Boise Idaho, Present day
The rain drizzled from the heavens in a light mist, landing on a black BMW 7, making little droplets on the windshield. There was a different kind of individual inside. His arm hairs stood up on end as he watched a house across and down the street a little way.
His mind flipped over and over about what he was going to do to the girl, if she turned out to be who he thought she was. Kill her now before it’s too late! “Try to control yourself. We don’t even know if it’s her.”
It was just past midnight, and the street had settled down. He ducked down as the high-beams of a Ford Explorer filled his car, then drove on past and turned into a driveway, slinking into an opening garage door.
He thought back to a few nights ago, when he saw her so close and vulnerable in the moonlight as she ran like a spooked rabbit. He wanted to drag her kicking and screaming back to his deep, dark hiding place; the cage, his toy. He would let the caged beast out to play. “You want to come out to play? I know you do.”
Patience. There is no need to hurry, we can enjoy it soon enough. He couldn't wait to feel the thrill of the kill again. He shivered as he gripped the steering wheel. His hands turned white with desire and he started hacking deep within his lungs. He spit out thick black snot and wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve. He cursed under his breath, washing it all back down with cold coffee.
His chest heaved and bulged as if something inside wanted to get out and the only way out was through his sternum. He clutched at his ribs, groaning, and then his skin began to crawl. He ripped his shirt open, watching the spectacle, disconnectedly wondering if he would die this time.
Around his neck was a steel chain. Suspended from the chain was a black stone that glowed blood red. It pulsed darkly with the killer’s heartbeat, speaking to him. The evil that flowed through the killer’s veins surged and pulsed with a low hum that no man could hear.
He had a splitting headache and dug his fingers into his skull, hoping the pain would stop. He tipped a bottle of Advil up like a drink and poured some into his mouth. He chewed them up and consumed them, waiting greedily for the calm that would come, if only for a little while. He closed his eyes and felt them burn in their sockets.
The next thing he knew, he woke with the sunrise beginning to warm the black leather of the interior. He hoped he had not been discovered while passed out. The headache had been replaced with a cool dizziness that wafted over him in waves. He pulsed with that rhythm, feeling like he was underwater, moving like an anemone.
Two police cars were now parked in front of the girl’s house. His body filled with alarm and dread, but not because of the presence of the authorities. There was a more potent authority he feared. A word now formed in the air before him, draped with cobweb and corrosion, and he read it aloud: FAILURE. He repeated it in several languages, even some he did not know. He felt sickened far beyond what he had become accustomed to. He knew there had been a change in the game. He didn’t know what, but it was not advantageous to him. Then he reverted to pathetic curses.
His thoughts tortured him with images from long-ago battles that he himself had never fought, of bloody kills he had never administered. He clutched his skull and pressed his fingers into his temples in an attempt to stop the gruesome images from filling his mind.
He could see the girl, her dark brown hair and stupid smile. Oh, how he hated her. Especially now that she was so obviously in love—he could feel it and it nauseated him.
He remembered he had a job, but he had not been in to work for over a week now. He even had a family, but at the moment couldn’t remember who they were. He laughed in spite of himself and damned all of it, all of them, to Hell. He didn’t even remember his own name, until he wracked his brain over all the "S" names he could drum up: “Sam, Steve, Saul, Stan... Stan, that’s it! Stan’s the man…”
Stan nodded and touched the red stone, marveling at how much power he could feel coming through its cold sides. He returned his attention to the house, where the two squad cars were now joined by a news van with Channel 12 printed on the side in big block letters.
He had a feeling that some ill had befallen his prey. Maybe she was dead. Perhaps her blond stalker friend had done the job for him, saving him a lot of dirty work. But he resented someone working his job.
The demon in the back of his mind told him otherwise, and he watched from the comfort of his BMW as a new wave of hate filled his veins. He wanted to kill Airel, wanted to take hold of her neck and choke the life out of her and feel the crunch of her bones breaking under his hand.
Smiling with bright white teeth, he gripped the steering wheel harder. Happiness filled him and bubbled over with the thought of finding her and the blond man from the theater. He would kill them both.
Chapter X
1250 B.C. The City of Ke’elei
“What I ask for is this: the Army of Ke’elei. Assist me in eradicating the Seer’s horde from the face of the earth. If we do not attack, they will find this city and all will be lost. Word of it will spread like a plague throughout the land. We must act quickly to destroy before we are destroyed.” Kreios looked at the frowning faces and continued.
“They are less than a day’s flight away. If we move with haste we can attack them before the next sunset. I believe El has placed the key to victory within our hand already. With the aid of the Shadowers we can attack them from the air without their foreknowledge.” Kreios felt the the tide begin to turn as he spoke. He wondered what it was that had begun to turn his peers so quickly—unless he was in fact deceived somehow, he wasn’t quite sure. His face radiated with the power the Sword had already demonstrated. He was not sure exactly what propelled him forward, and to what end, but he felt he could almost defeat the horde by himself. It was as if he was becoming one with the Sword, and the Sword one with him.
Anael shook his head, and his white beard wagged with disapproval. “If we give you the Army the city will be defenseless. What will happen if they send a second wave to take the city as you are gone? I cannot allow our women and children to be sacrificed in order for you to embark on a battle that may leave you all dead.”
Kreios tried to keep his voice even, but it shook slightly in spite of his effort. “I believe that the Sword of Light will protect us from the drain of power in battle—”
“—You believe, but have no proof. What happens if the battle lasts for days? What if, over time, you lose all of your power? The Shadowers will not be able to protect you as you return to the city and lead the entire horde to our gates. Then, not only will you and the entire army be weak and dying, but also the city will stand at the mouth of its own grave.”
Kreios could feel his temper rise, but resisted. “Understand, they will be at our gates on the morrow no matter what we choose to do today. I do not know how, but the Seer is able to see past our defenses. How he does it is not the point. The enemy would not expect us to leave a fortified city in favor of open battle in the wilderness. If we attack swiftly he will not see it coming.” Kreios stopped, looking at Anael, gauging his reactions. He was stone-faced still.
Kreios slumped his shoulders slightly in acknowledgement. “We have to try. I can leave half the Army here to defend the city in case we fail, but we must try! Our lives are all at stake!”
Anael muttered, conferring with the other elders in a hushed tone, occasionally stealing a glance toward Kreios and the Sword that hung at his side.
Kreios had no evidence that his plan was sound. He simply knew what was true and what was not. He knew he would protect his daughter at any cost. If that meant meeting the Seer in battle on his own, he would do it.
“We will have to hold further council over this matter,” Anael stated matter-of-factly. “It
is a difficult thing to judge. The Sword is back in our hands now and I have a hard time risking that it be taken away again.”
Kreios flinched in fury. “Why is a sword forged, O Great Anael? Why are shields made? For what purpose does a man bend a bow and craft arrows? Why does he train his hands to battle? Is it to hide these things in obscurity when they are most needed? Would you in fact have us run from the risk of battle when the possibility of victory is at hand? If we would but reach out to grasp it! I lost the Sword once. Once! That will not happen again, Anael. I am the keeper of the Sword and the rightful use of it is mine alone. If I must, I will fight the horde single-handedly. But you would open up the gates of the City of Refuge for the enemy to trample our very graves and defile them, to keep safe that which is not even your responsibility. Do you stand with me, or no?”
Anael smirked and turned aside dismissively in his seat. “Kreios, you speak as a fool. You are indeed the keeper, but the Sword belongs to us all. Even you must see that. If you lose it or are killed, we will be lost and our city will have no chance of defense. The enemy army will be here, as you say, in a day or two. Why attack them when we can prepare our own city and hold it when they come? After all, what is the purpose of the City’s great walls?”
“You are blinded by your own fear!” Kreios despised the weak of heart. “If we fight them away from the city we have a chance of keeping it secret. If they find it—where do you propose to rebuild? We will then be locked in perpetual war. Do you not remember why we live in hiding? Our last refuge will be under attack until everything about it has been snuffed into legend—including any of us unfortunate enough to be caught here.”
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