Master: Arrow's Flight #3

by Casey Hays

  “I nearly killed myself getting you to Jordan, you know?” He lets go of my hand, takes a couple of steps and turns back, a fist shoved into the palm of his other hand. “But when I thought hard enough about it, I had to ask myself . . . why I did it. To save you for your sake, so that you could live? Or to save you because I couldn’t stand the thought of living without you?” He pauses, runs a hand through his hair until a field of blond strands stand upright on top of his head. “Or did robots make me do it?”

  He smiles, but it fades quickly because the implication is too real. I hold still, contemplating his words. And I have to admit . . . I see his reasoning. Why did I so desperately want Justin to save his life? For him? For myself? For both of us?

  “Why did I go back to your village?” he asks, throwing his hands up slightly. “You asked me to stay away, but what did I do? I dragged my friends into a dangerous mess because I wanted something. I didn’t care what you wanted. Only what I wanted.” He sighs. “I’m a wretched person.”

  “Ian—”

  He cuts me off, takes me by the arm and sweeps me into his chest, the open scripture book compressed between us.

  “No. I am, Kate. And I don’t regret coming back for you. But the question is, did I do these things for you or for myself?”

  He looks at me—eyes expectant—as if he sincerely thinks I may know the answer to this. I simply shake my head.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  He releases me. “I do. Robots or not, I’m still responsible for everything I do. And I do a lot of selfish things.” His voice drops dramatically. “There’s always a consequence.”

  His words penetrate until I see myself reflected in them. After a moment, I ease onto the very edge of the nearest bed. Ian runs a hand through his hair and makes a wide circle before he faces me again.

  “I’ve believed only in myself for so long, trusted only myself. I’ve been arrogant, thinking my strength was due to my own efforts.” His hands rise up, then fall, defeated. “Now, I know it’s not true. I’m crammed full of robots that are triggered by danger. And the worse the danger, the harder it is to control myself.”

  I listen to his words, mull over them while he paces the floor in silence.

  “But I remember everything I did, Kate.” His voice grows quiet. After a moment, he slumps next to me. “That young soldier? I shouldn’t have killed him. But the Serum... it was driving me, coursing through my veins, telling me it was better to take him out now than let him grow into what the others had become. And even though everything else in my conscience said I shouldn’t, I heard one voice. And it said one thing over and over: This is the enemy. It’s war.”

  His eyes swim, the blue intensifying even in the gloomy gray shadows permeating the room. He sits. I find his hand, a small crack splintering my heart.

  “I knew I was dying, you know?” he continues, his thoughts rambling from one subject to the next. “I was totally aware of it, even when we were in the cellar. Maybe it was because the Serum was fighting so hard, I don’t know. But I could feel that stuff eating me up inside. And I knew—and it was real knowledge—I knew that if I died, there was something horrible waiting for me on the other side. I could feel it in my bones. My gut.” He swallows, looks at me. “My soul. That was the darkness in that room.”

  My eyes dart toward the blood stain barely visible at the edge of the rug, and I’m silent beside him, allowing him to tell me in his way.

  “Knowing I was going to die . . . it made me stop, think about some things.” He sighs. “I never wanted to kill anyone.” He looks straight at me. “I took away someone’s chance to change . . . to become better. What if someone had taken that away from me? Or from someone I love?”

  The tears spring so quickly into his eyes that one fat droplet races toward his chin before I can take another breath.

  “Oh, Ian.”

  He quickly wipes his tears. “This life—it just spins in circles every day, and then it’s over. And I thought . . . why? If the end is just an empty never-ending darkness, what’s the point?”

  He runs his hand through his hair, his eyes pinned on the window. And he keeps talking because he has to. He has to feel his way through it all.

  “We have to master our abilities so they don’t master us.” He jaw tightens. “That’s what they teach us. But they were wrong. And Penelope . . . she figured that out.”

  His mouth parts, and his eyes dance as he studies the floor, a hope reflected in his voice.

  Confused, I crease my brow. “She did?”

  He smiles. “Yeah. And I get it now. While I was unconscious in that room, it all came clear.”

  I squint at him. He smooths his hand over the top of mine, pulls it into his lap.

  “She believes in something, no, in someone bigger than herself. Bigger than the darkness.”

  His eyes fall over me. He smiles.

  “She didn’t master anything. She gave it all up . . . to the Master.”

  The complete confidence that overcomes him when he says it causes my heart to flutter erratically out of rhythm. He speaks of God, the creator of everything just as Claudia said, and my heart wants to sing. Could it be that together we have found what I’ve been searching for my entire life?

  “I never thought I would say it, but I want to have faith like hers.” He straightens, and I sense a new motive in the movement. “Not faith in me, but faith in someone bigger than the darkness inside me. I don’t want to be selfish anymore. I want to have self-control. Just like her, I want to get rid of me and follow something else. She had to leave Eden to do that.” He tugs on my hand. “I want there to be a reason to live in this broken world. And when I say I’d die for you, I want to mean it.”

  With a small gasp, my lips part slightly, and I lose myself for a moment in the depths of the very first real promise his lips have ever uttered.

  “When I’m weak, then I am strong. The Apostle Paul said it . . .in the same verse you mentioned before.” He pauses with a smile. “See? I really was listening. And boy, am I weak,” he whispers.

  I smile, toying with the edge of the Scriptures.

  “I’m one of only a few people in my village who can read.” I shift, facing him head on. “Did I ever tell you that?”

  He nods.

  “There was never anything written about the Archer or the Moirai. Not in my village. No words of wisdom to ponder. No reason behind why or how they chose our destinies. Everything we ever learned of them was told to us by those who came before us. And based on this alone, we were expected to believe that the stories, the rules, the words could be trusted.” I shake my head. “No one ever questioned it.”

  Ian lifts his hand, cups my cheek in his palm. I lean into it, my eyes trained on his face.

  “I’ve never believed in Fate. Not completely. But I see now that perhaps it was my darkness.” I lean in, hoping he’ll understand what I intend to convey. “I can’t deny that someone’s hand must have been over me even then. I see it so clearly now. When I was a child learning how to read, someone was preparing me for the moment I would find and read these scriptures.”

  I glance at the book in my hands, stand, and take a couple of steps.

  “I’ve read enough books for many of the stories to make an impact—to make me feel things. Like joy. Sadness. Pain.” I face him. “But not one of them has ever made me feel alive. Not until now.”

  I hold up the Scriptures. He takes them, his thumbs covering the rough lettering.

  “Someone more powerful than Death lives in these pages,” he concludes.

  My heart stills at his words.

  “Yeshua,” I whisper. “He rose from the dead. I read that.”

  Ian nods. “And the Word became flesh.”

  I smile and run my hand down the side of his face until he grabs it and kisses my fingertips.

  “Hey, you two?”

  We turn. Liza stands awkwardly in the doorway, her sword in place, her arms crossed over her chest. She to
sses her dark hair behind one shoulder with a quick fling of her head.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time to move. The floods aren’t getting any shallower.”

  Ian stands, rears back his shoulders. “Let’s get going then.”

  With a wink, she skips back down the hallway. Ian moves to follow; I tug on his hand.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  He sighs, turns back toward me. “I have to be. This is Justin’s family we’re talking about.”

  “Ian, you were so sick. You just woke up.”

  He smiles sympathetically. “Kate, I’m still from Eden. Don’t forget that.”

  “But what if there are still soldiers here? What if you get shot again, and this time it’s fatal? Don’t you think—”

  He stops my protest with a kiss, his hand snaking up to cup my jaw line.

  “This is my unselfish act,” he whispers against my cheek. He presses the Scriptures into my hands. “Don’t take it away from me.”

  He pulls back; his smile cuts through me, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes me sigh. I’ve never seen it before, and there isn’t a word in the world to describe it. But it matches the peace that I unmistakably feel in my heart, and that is description enough.

  Chapter 27

  T

  he peace doesn’t stay with me. Daylight rolls into evening as we wait for the boys’ return. The rain pours on. There’s nowhere to go; every house is just as flooded as this one. Soon the ceiling is leaking in various places, and we don’t have enough buckets to catch the drips. It’s miserable in every way.

  I slosh back and forth in the living room through the rising water until my feet are numb, and Liza insists that I climb up onto the couch and try to rest. When I lay my head back against the cushions, fatigue overwhelms me. I close my eyes, and in minutes, I’m sound asleep.

  And I dream.

  It’s raining, and on the horizon I see God. Not clearly . . . only his shadow. But the word Elohim is stained across his forehead in bright white letters, and this I see. He lifts his hands, and a rush of rain pours over the earth. It rains and rains, and I climb up into a tree to get away from it, but the water rises until it touches my feet. I climb higher, and all around me I see people. They scream and scramble to find places to escape the water, but it is too late for them.

  It’s too late for me.

  They curse God, raising angry fists and refusing to acknowledge their evil, and my heart begins to chant along with them. It scares me.

  Soon the water surrounds me at the waist and works its way up to my neck. I’m choking on dirty foam, and I’ve reached the top of the tree. And then I see it. The boat. It’s huge and enclosed, but I hear the animals—the ones from the first book in the Scriptures. They cry out to Elohim, and it’s like music. I swim to the boat, bang on the wooden side with my fist. The sound is a small unnoticeable tapping, and God’s arm bends down from heaven and sweeps me away. The water swirls over me, pulling me under, and I know for certain I’m drowning. I cast my eyes upward through the surface of the water, and there’s Yeshua hanging on a cross. Blood pours from his hands where nails have impaled him just above his wrists. I gasp for air, and everything in me knows that if I’ll just reach up through the water, he’ll save me. But I don’t.

  The water vanishes. A sharp pain pierces my feet. I look down, see the shiny spike that has pinned them to a piece of wood. I look to the left, then the right. My aching arms stretch out from me, my wrists nailed down. Panic rises as my body sags under my own weight. I can’t breathe.

  The shadow of God falls over me from above, and tears flood my eyes. I see myself in the shadow. I am full of darkness so black it covers everything good.

  “Yeshua,” I whisper.

  The hand of God reaches down and scoops me up. I’m small in his palm, but I’m safe, and I cling to his fingers and the shadow bursts into rays of light. And I know whose hand I’ve dreamt of so many times before.

  A rainbow appears on the horizon, and peace flutters in to chase the fear away. I cling to that rainbow.

  Voices wake me—unfamiliar voices sounding from the kitchen. I shove off sleep, the rainbow shattering into the shadows of the dim living room and pull myself upright, rubbing my eyes. Someone threw a quilt over me, and the fabric scratches at my legs. I push it aside. A soft female sound floats on the air, and relief floods in. Claudia. I stand, and water reaches the middle of my shins. I stare at it in shock as my dream slips into my reality.

  I wade toward the kitchen and peer in. Claudia’s family gathers around the table. Overwhelming sorrow hangs in the room, reeking with the freshness of Michael’s death. Claudia’s face is a mask of pain. Aaron rubs his eyes—tired, sad eyes, red from crying. And . . . Penelope . . .

  A crack runs along the entire center of the table, and it dips ever so slightly in the middle, compliments of its use as Justin’s operating table. The teacups and food items that litter it stand at odd slants, threatening to slide any moment. A few of the teacups are dangerously chipped. Sophia munches on a piece of bread, and it seems comical to see them sipping tea—surrounded by water. I can barely see the legs of the chairs as the water heaves them about, and leaks drip from the ceiling in so many places, it’s a wonder the roof is still intact.

  “These soldiers have taken everything from us,” Claudia says. “Now the storms run us out?”

  “A lot of people are suffering,” Aaron concludes. I notice a large bruise purpling the left side of his face.

  Claudia pulls the blanket she’s wrapped in closer around her shoulders. The end of it treads the water. In the presence of her brother, she seems suddenly small and young and vulnerable.

  “Well,” Aaron sighs, tossing his eyes around the room. “We don’t have any other choice. We have to leave. But Yeshua is our strength.” He nods at his sister. “He’s your strength right now, and we can do all things, endure all things, through Christ who strengthens us. We can.”

  Claudia shoves at the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, but she nods. “We can,” she agrees.

  Next to her, Sophia listens, miserable. The water already reaches her knees, and she shivers. She wears a rain jacket under a thin blanket that’s tied at the neck in a firm knot, and it’s she who spots me first.

  “Hi, Kate.”

  Penelope turns, and our eyes meet for the very first time.

  Her hair, like Justin’s, is black as night but for a sliver of silver that frames her face. And despite the fact that she stands in a kitchen full of water that continues to rise by the hour, her eyes are calm, confident. In true Eden fashion, she shows no sign of physical trauma—even after several days in the hands of the enemy.

  She comes to me, oblivious to the water rolling over her shoes. A foot away, she halts, her eyes pinned on me.

  “Kate,” she whispers. She raises her hands, lets them fall again to her sides. “I feel like I already know you.”

  She reaches a tentative hand, changes her mind, and steps in for a full hug. The top of my head tucks in under her chin. I close my eyes as she embraces me.

  “You look . . . so good.” She leans away, keeping a hold on my shoulders. “I checked in on you earlier, and I was tempted to wake you. How are you feeling?”

  Her hand instinctively lands on my forehead. I jump at the unexpectedness of it.

  “I feel . . . fine. Better every day.” I smile, and after a brief moment of hesitation, I forget all the formalities and spring back into her arms. She gasps, a shocked chuckle emitting from her, and her sturdy embrace envelops me. I melt into it.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you so much for saving my life. And for taking care of us. I know you didn’t have to, but . . . thank you.”

  My tears well up, and I close my eyes against them.

  “Oh, Kate.” She hugs me closer, tears in her voice. “Of course.”

  Penelope keeps hold of my arm. “Are you hungry? We’re packing up what we can, but there are a few things to
eat.”

  She gestures toward the table. I take a couple sloshing steps and pick up a piece of bread. Claudia moves to the cupboards and puts a few items from the shelves into a box.

  “Hi there, Kate,” Aaron nods. “You look a world better than you did last time I saw you.”

  “Thank you.” I look from him to Claudia and back again. “Where is Ian?”

  “Making a raft,” Aaron responds. “We’re going to have to make a getaway before we drown.”

  “A raft? How deep is the water.”

  “Look around you,” Penelope smiles. “This is a raft-worthy flood. Every family in Jordan is busy building rafts. No one can stay here.”

  Just then, Justin wades in, hidden inside his rain jacket. Water runs off the sleek material. He pushes the hood away, shakes out his wet hair and wipes a hand across his face.

  “We need more rope.”

  He flashes me a quick smile. Aaron splashes through the water and follows him out.

  I move to the window. Water runs in sheets, and my insides tighten. Traveling in a storm like this is fresh in my memory. I’m not looking forward to it.

  I push away the dreadful thought and face Penelope.

  “I’m glad your safe,” I smile. “I was afraid I might never meet you.”

  She returns my smile. “A couple of times, I wondered myself. But God is good.”

  The day reaches noon, but we wouldn’t know it by the sky. The gray mistiness overshadows the land, and the rain tramples the earth. We stand in a row on the porch, knee deep in water, donned in raincoats, and holding bags and boxes stuffed with pieces of our lives. A pocket in the rainstorm eases the downpour and the men decide it’s the best time to go. Ian unties the raft and pushes it off the porch. It floats perfectly, swaying back and forth over the rippling flood. But everyone is wary. Beside me, Sophia stares at the raft with wide, frightened eyes and timidly slips her hand into Justin’s. His fingers tighten around hers reassuringly.

  Justin jumps off the porch. The water reaches him at chest-level, and I understand immediately how deep it is. My fear peaks, causing an unwanted fluttering in my chest, until Ian takes my elbow.