by S. L. Duncan
“What happened to you?” Gabe asked. “Where were you?”
“I’m sorry, dear Gabriel. My injuries, too, were severe. It took some time for me to heal myself. I do hope you will forgive me.”
Gabe nodded as the Ethiopian’s hands warmed against his skin. Gabe felt the strange sensation of all the pain and injuries retreat from his body. His arm mended with a popping sound. The gash on his brow sealed. He put his hand to his forehead and felt not so much as a scratch. His knee became hot, and it felt like snakes moved under his skin as ligaments reattached themselves. Strength filled his joints and muscles as the sun began to rise above the distant orange hills.
“We shall be in need of the Vatican’s services now, I think,” his father said as Afarôt removed his hands from Gabe. “You wouldn’t happen to have a phone nearby, would you?”
“In due time. But there is another matter to which we should attend first. You are a priest, are you not?” Afarôt stood along with Gabe’s dad, and together they walked past the compound gate and into the streets.
Gabe noticed refugees emerging from where they hid, gathering around their fallen.
Micah sat up and followed Gabe’s gaze to the carnage in the city. “I don’t think the world will ever be the same after this.”
“I don’t, either. I think I’m learning to accept that.” He stood and helped her to her feet. His father and Afarôt were comforting the people below. “This isn’t over,” Gabe said, facing Micah. “Septis said they wouldn’t stop. Not until they got what was rightfully theirs.”
“Maybe that’s true, but regardless, at least we’ve managed to gain some time. When you’re trying to stop the End of Days, time is the most valuable commodity there is. Besides, we have Solomon’s Ring,” she said. “And we have you.”
“Maybe I sit the next one out and let you do all the heavy lifting.”
Micah laughed and playfully punched his shoulder. “I think I’m going to see if there is anything I can do. Why don’t you find someplace quiet and catch your breath?”
“I think that’s a very good idea. Thanks.”
“Thank you, Gabriel Adam,” she said with a smile and left him to join his father and Afarôt.
Gabe turned and walked toward the main building, its white dome bright under the morning sun. As he walked, something glittered in the light, catching his eye. Under a loose pile of debris he found the Gethsemane Sword. Its blade shined through the dirt and dust covering the metal. He picked it up to give to Micah later.
Before he retired to the peaceful silence waiting inside the main church, Gabe looked once again to the street below. He didn’t notice the devastation anymore. He could only see Micah putting her arm around a crying woman, consoling her. He wanted nothing more than to hold Micah in his arms and tell her all the things he felt for her in his heart, but there would be plenty of time for that later.
Gabe cupped the ring in his hands and studied the faded sheen of the band and the dark jewel lit by the clearing blue sky. There was comfort in knowing what he could do with it, but even as powerful as it had been, Solomon’s weapon paled next to the strength given to him from those he loved. He knew the future was uncertain, but for now, none of that mattered. Whether the enemy would rise from these ashes and try again to cast the world into darkness was a question that didn’t much interest him at the moment. Instead, he watched his father below and the life shining in Micah’s face.
All was well, and he could not wish for anything more.
Bio
S. L. Duncan
S. L. Duncan writes young adult novels inspired by his travels around the world and the characters he’s met. He’s interested in finding those unique connections between stories and places, people and circumstance. When he’s not writing, S. L. Duncan plays guitar and soccer, loves to cook, and spends time taking horribly framed pictures. You can find him blogging at INKROCK.com.
