Master: Arrow's Flight #3

by Casey Hays

  “I’ll be with you the whole way,” he whispers.

  I press my hand against the book of scriptures hidden safely inside my shirt—my only possession. Before I’d taken it up and tucked it against my skin next to my heart, I’d looked around me. The only things I would remember of Jordan were the walls of this house dripping with moments of both sadness and hope . . . and a never ending rainstorm.

  And this book . . . with so many pages I have yet to read. An unfinished story.

  But it is finished.

  I catch my breath as the strange thought penetrates my core. It is?

  And with a quick beat of my heart . . . I understand... just like that.

  It is!

  The story is finished. It was finished long ago . . . when the creator of this world left his throne above to become a man. And those who walked with him walked with God, the Author. My soul flutters as this new realization invades, and all the dreams I’ve had of God roll into place. The large hand of wrath . . . and of mercy. He has always been with me, even when I didn’t know him. And he did this unthinkable thing—something no other god ever hinted at doing. For every lie I’ve told, for every hateful thought, for every ounce of stubborn pride in me . . . it was not the Archer who died for me. It was Yeshua.

  I let a slow breath escape my lungs, and I’m not afraid anymore. A truth floods my soul with a new hope. And peace—even in this storm.

  Always . . . He . . . is peace.

  The rain patters against the raft. Justin extends his hand to Claudia, helps her climb aboard. Penelope and Aaron hunker down beneath a large plastic tarp, and Sophia hops on and quickly settles in between them. Liza tosses a two-fingered salute to her cousin and leaps onto the far end, pulling the hood of her rain jacket snug around her face and squatting to wrap her fingers around the tightly woven branches. I take a deep breath, and raise up my first, small prayer. It is new and unfamiliar on my lips, but in my heart, he hears me. Because he is real and alive, and . . . he loves me. And I believe it.

  I close my eyes as words from the Scriptures race through my mind.

  Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.

  A drop of blood spills from the wound of the Savior and covers me.

  Hamartia. I have sinned.

  And still, he loves me.

  Forgive me.

  My heart leaps. One simple confession and forgiveness settles over me like a promise in the midst of a shortage of promises. It’s a warm blanket covering my soul. I raise my eyes to the gray sky; a tear—fresh with the scent of renewal—slips from my eye at the thought of God loving me enough to die in my place so that I could live.

  “Kate? You ready?”

  My fingers tighten around Ian’s hand as I step onto the raft, but for the first time in my life, it’s God’s touch that steadies me.

  His hand . . . it’s big enough to steady me for eternity. I feel it, and I know it.

  I believe it.

  And in the blink of an eye, the Archer’s hold on me is broken . . . forever.

  Where, O death, is your victory?

  Where, O death, is your sting?

  1 Corinthians 7:55

  Ian †

  Chapter 28

  T

  he streets of Jordan are long gone. Only rivers of water remain, twisting and turning through the neighborhoods like a mud snake, burying porches in its wake.

  We’re all silenced by the devastation.

  At the front of the raft, Justin hunkers down, pushing us forward while I propel us from the rear with a second paddle. Liza squats at his feet. The going is slow as we work our way around debris and other obstacles, and the rain beats up my face every time I lift my head to check our progress.

  Kate huddles under a tarp with Claudia, her arm securely wrapped around my leg. Her own legs are drawn up under her rain jacket, creating a tent for her body. She can’t swim, and her tightening grip reminds me of how terrifying it must be for her surrounded by water on every side. She pulls the hood lower over her face, and on impulse, I reach down, pressing my palm against the top of her head, just to let her know I’m here and in tune with her misery.

  It is miserable, even for me with my warm blood pulsing through my veins again. I tug my own hood closer, blocking my view of the ugly scene for a second. What I wouldn’t give for a dry, warm shelter. We won’t find that in Jordan—not anywhere.

  We enter the plaza. It’s nothing more than a pond now. Aaron rises up onto his knees and pokes his head out from under the tarp when we pass his workstation. It’s gone—along with every other workstation. The lean-tos still standing are buried or pushed over by the flood until only a piece of one here and there pokes up out of the water—mocking the blacksmiths. Aaron slumps back against his heels.

  Other rickety rafts float along with us. Most are poorly made, and frankly, I’m surprised to see so many floating. Impressive for people who have never crossed the river. People who are blacksmiths by trade.

  When the raft closest to us begins to tear apart, Justin jumps into the water to help tighten it with some of our extra rope. The man and his wife mumble gratefully. Their clothes are not adequate, and their tarp is worn and thin. The woman looks scared. I scan the other rafts nearby. Everyone looks defeated. I toss my eyes along the rest of the route ahead of us. It’s going to be a long, agonizing trip.

  And so, our little caravan of makeshift rafts moves along together. It’s a sad picture of displaced families being chased out of their homes, pounded by the downpour.

  Several yards over, the massive wooden cross stands tall and firm in the middle of the plaza, outlined against the gray sky. The water rises up the base, and I look at it as we pass. I really look at it this time——with different eyes. Open eyes.

  Kate pulls down one side of her hood, and squints against the rain as she takes in the cross for the first time. Her fingers tighten around my thigh.

  “Will you take us closer?”

  I study her, watch the rain tap at her cheeks that are pale from the cold. The ends of her dark hair hang out of the hood on each side of her neck and stick to the front of her jacket. Even soaking wet, she’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

  We’ll have to turn the raft, back tracking into the plaza to get close. Eyeing the cross, I stop paddling.

  “Justin!”

  He tosses a glance over his shoulder, and I point.

  “Head for the cross.”

  He squints an eye at me, confused. “Why?” he hollers.

  “Just do it!”

  He turns away with a shake of his head, but his shoulders heave, changing our direction, and I plunge my paddle in to help. With difficulty, pushing floating objects aside and maneuvering around others, we make it. Justin grabs for a nearby tree and pulls the raft to a stop, holding it steady. It rocks roughly for a minute before it settles into a gentle sway.

  Kate stands on wobbly legs, and I take her elbow. She’s oblivious to her shivering, her eyes pinned on the wooden beams. Aaron pulls down one side of the tarp to watch us.

  “It’s so big,” she says.

  I lean against the paddle’s end and join her in staring at the structure. It meant nothing to me when I first saw it. Just a couple pieces of wood. And as much as Aaron and Penelope tried to make me see God’s hand in everything—even in what had happened in my life, I rejected it.

  I rejected him.

  I study the perfectly healed flesh on the end of my finger before I lay my palm flat against my chest over my rain jacket. For the longest time, I wanted to keep believing nothing could hurt me. I didn’t need anybody’s help. I didn’t need to attend classes, and I definitely didn’t need training. I could do it on my own.

  That was my pride talking. And my impatience. I definitely didn’t need God, that’s for sure. I was strong and fast. Invincible. I was a god. He had nothing for me.

  The black presence invades my memory, and I shudder. Not because of the dark presence, but because of
God’s absence.

  I understood then, as I laid in there sweating every bit of my life out of my body, that God was everywhere in the world. I see his power now, in the floods, the clouds—even in the machines that roam around inside my body. I see it in Penelope’s love for a dying stranger, in Claudia’s willingness to forgive the men who raped her. It’s with me, coursing through my spirit and testifying to the Truth—a truth that I didn’t believe in a few days ago. But in that room behind the kitchen, God’s presence was never more real than when it was gone. Kate’s eagerness to believe so quickly didn’t seem fast enough anymore. And through the black veil of death—while I was still unconscious—I cried out to him just in time. And he answered.

  He answered. Me.

  I take a deep breath. I see God . . . everywhere in my life. He’s always been here, and he’s always had everything under control. And I can rest in that fact.

  I raise my eyes to the cross as what little scripture I’ve read penetrates my heart. Yeshua. Jesus. The son of God. The scriptures say he is Adonai, the Master. He wants to be my strength.

  He wants to be my Lord. Tears suddenly sting my eyes.

  Aaron carefully stands and plants himself next to Kate, a hand on each of our shoulders. My eyes connect with his.

  “You believe, don’t you?”

  His question is for me, but Kate nods. She takes my hand. I grip the paddle in my other and concentrate on the cross.

  “I do,” I finally say. I look at him. “I do.”

  When he looks at Kate, she smiles, and a small laugh escapes her lips.

  “Well, there’s plenty of water,” Aaron says. He bows his head. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Spirit, I baptize you.”

  A sudden rush of rain pours from the sky, battering us. Kate pulls the hood of her jacket completely away from her head and raises her face to the sky, eyes closed. I gaze up, my heart pounding.

  “Thank you, Yeshua,” I say, and Kate fixes her eyes on me briefly before she raises them to the cross again. “Thank you for saving me from myself.”

  The clouds part, and a ray of sunshine bursts from the sky, illuminating the cross in its light. Kate squeezes my hand, and just like that, the sun vanishes and the rain pours over us.

  I’m crying, and I feel so free, and this is amazing. The most amazing experience of my life.

  Justin lets go of the tree, and the raft balks for a second, bumps against the cross, and begins to turn with a current. He stares at me a moment, his head tilted as the rain patters against us. I shove the paddle against the water to get us going again. The raft turns; Justin’s end comes close, he reaches out, presses a palm against the bottom section of the cross briefly before grasping the paddle with both hands and shoving us away.

  We reach the last of the houses on the edge of town. Jordan stretches behind us, a simple village overtaken by the waters. The flood levels have reached the bottoms of the windows at this end. Rafts drift close to porches to take people aboard. We have room for two, and we pick up a woman and her daughter. Penelope takes the frightened little girl onto her lap, tucking her in beneath the tarp, and we leave Jordan behind.

  I toss my eyes over my shoulder. I’ve been in this little village only a few days; I will never forget it.

  A half day’s walk, and the forest comes into view. Clouds billow overhead, but the sun shines hot, and the ground here is dry. A sense of relief defines our group.

  Exhaustion paints itself over the people, and I’m amazed again by their character and strength. They’ve been through hell for weeks, and they smile.

  “How can you all be so happy?” I ask Penelope. She walks beside me, hand in hand with Sophia. “Your people have lost everything.”

  “Not everything,” she smiles, but then her face grows serious. “We have a hope that lives beyond anything that happens to us in this life. You have it now, too, Ian. You’ll see in time. There’s nothing they can do to us that will keep us from praising God.”

  Kate’s hand is small and comfortable resting in mine. She’s quiet, listening, and I’m amazed at the strength in her, too. Everything I ever loved about her shines at me in a different way. The love I feel for her? It’s different, too. I understand now what love is. Love is sacrifice. It means something.

  It’s worth something.

  “Back at the house, I took a look at the concoction Justin cut out of you,” Penelope says.

  “And?”

  “The way it was reacting to the Serum—the way the Serum reacted to it—leaves only one explanation. Nanotechnology.”

  I stare at her in disbelief.

  “Based on what little I was able to observe in my limited capacity,” she continues, “it appears these nanos were designed to attack and destroy other nanos on impact. She nods toward my arm. “Your flesh wounds were a little different. The fluid had to fight for entrance, so the Serum was alerted in enough time to work up a defense and hold off the invading nanos for a time. Still, you would have died, eventually.”

  “Yeah,” I breathe.

  “This means only one thing. The Vortex knew our abilities were created by some form of nanotechnology. They designed the ammunition in the Eden-killers to start a war—on the inside. A war that we couldn’t win.”

  “But does that explain why they think we have a cure for the virus?”

  “I think so. They somehow learned of healing abilities, and assumed it was due to some form of technology.” She pauses, and we walk a few paces. “Whatever this liquid is, it only kills; it doesn’t heal.”

  Justin jogs over, his thumbs looped through his pack. He nods toward the treeline.

  “We have trouble.”

  A small cluster of soldiers gathers at the edge of the forest. They stand at attention, weapons readied. Eyes trained on us, they don’t move, and chills crawl up my spine before I push the fear off. Justin moves up ahead. I drop Kate’s hand and step up close on his heals. Justin connects with Aaron.

  “Tell everyone to stay back while we talk to these guys,” he says.

  The people of Jordan, eyes wary and glued on the soldiers allow themselves to be herded to the side. Kate lingers a moment.

  “Be careful,” she whispers. I nod, and run my fingers along the length of my bowstring that rests diagonally across my chest.

  Justin and I make our way across the small divide of grass to the Vortex squadron, our hands up in a gesture of peace. Some of the men stand, weapons aimed at the ground, but ready; others kneel or squat in various positions. All of them are young but they aren’t like the others I’ve seen. These guys are trained, experienced, and fearless.

  I am fully aware of the danger we are inviting. One press of the trigger from one of those rifles, and any one of us could be dead. More than likely, it would be Justin. I glance at him. He walks next to me, seemingly without fear, a calm reserve in his dark eyes as usual. But I see his throat muscle contract with a nervous swallow, and I’m reminded of the darkness that tried to swallow me up on the death bed. My heart thuds involuntarily at the thought of losing my best friend to that fate, and instinctively, I move forward and place myself in front of him.

  We halt a foot away from the commanding officer. He stands front and center, his piercing eyes unblinking.

  “Where’re you folks coming from?” he asks, his voice gruff. He’s dressed in the standard uniform, the brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes. Dark, gritty whiskers outline his jawline where red lips bulge. Too red. I ignore him, my eyes moving over the small group, assessing each man carefully. One looks straight at me. He chews on a long stem of grass that hangs from the corner of his mouth. A deep scar runs the length of his cheek from left eye to chin.

  “Jordan,” Justin answers. He steps up to stand beside me, shrugging his backpack more securely into place.

  The officer nods. “How is it up that way?”

  “Flooded.” He pauses a beat. “If you’re asking about your men, they’re long gone. The place is deserted. In fact,”
He takes a step forward. “I’d get out of here, too, while you still can. If I were you, that is.”

  The officer frowns and lifts his rifle slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Justin shrugs. “Exactly what I said.”

  The soldier swallows, but his gun stays poised at Justin’s chest, and he struggles to keep his composure. Clearly, we intimidate him despite his tough stance.

  “Are you threatening me, young man?”

  “No,” Justin reasons. “I’m making a suggestion.” He raises his hands in slight surrender, and the soldier flinches. “Look. We don’t want any trouble with you guys. We’re just trying to get these people to safety.”

  He gestures over his shoulder at the large crowd of people who watch our exchange in near dead silence. If they converse at all, it must be in whispers.

  “No trouble?” The officer squints one brown eye, leans over, and spits at the ground. “You’re from Eden. That reeks of trouble.”

  His eyes travel up and down Justin’s body, and settle on his face. Justin sighs.

  “Who told you that? Have you ever met one of us until now? We don’t have to be your enemy.”

  The soldier falters, his eyes darting from Justin to me. I hook my thumb through the string of my bow and raise a brow, waiting for his answer.

  “You see?” Justin continues. “You don’t know anything.”

  “I’m not falling for your tricks,” the officer scowls, raising the rifle a bit higher. “We know all about your lying ways.”

  “We’re not trying to trick you.” Justin maintains his calm stance. “We’re trying to find out why you want to kill us off when you have no idea who we are. Do you always follow orders without asking questions?”

  “I’m a soldier.” His chest puffs with pride. “I always follow orders.”

  “You’re a soldier,” Justin nods. “In a world that hasn’t had a war in over a hundred years. Don’t you think maybe you should be asking questions?”