by James Somers
The young man found where the trail continued out of town. If his assumption was correct, they were heading for Emmanuel—another curious move for them to make. He climbed onto the saddle of his patchwork horse, goading the animal forward into a quick gallop. He would have to make good time, taking a little known pass to get ahead of them. He hoped their hostage would slow them as much as he expected.
GIDEON
“Get up!” Mordecai shouted. “If you keep trying to run, then I’m just going to have to tie you up even more and throw you across the rear of my own horse. And believe me that would make for a very uncomfortable trip to Emmanuel.”
One of the other priests, Bo staff, picked Ethan up by his upper arms and pushed him bodily back up into Whistler’s saddle. Ethan had tried to goad the horse forward to break the rope binding him, or at least pull it free from Mordecai’s horse. For the second time, it had not worked.
“Why are you taking me to Emmanuel?” Ethan asked.
Mordecai pulled up close to Ethan’s horse with his own. Then he grabbed Ethan’s arm and yanked the sleeve back, placing his index finger right on top of the boy’s birthmark. “This is why I’m taking you to Emmanuel, boy,” he hissed.
Ethan looked at the birthmark, then gave Mordecai a puzzled look. “You’re taking me there because of a birthmark on my arm?”
He saw no deceit in the boy’s eyes. Mordecai stifled a laugh. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Let’s just say, this birthmark makes you the most valuable person in this kingdom. You’re worth a king’s ransom to me, once I turn you over to Mordred. So don’t try any more escape attempts. If I have to shatter your bones to keep you, then I will. It won’t make you any less valuable to me, but I think you might not enjoy the experience very much.” Mordecai grinned fiendishly. He read a new compliance in Ethan’s eyes, nodding, before turning his horse to proceed.
Mordecai only half heard the distant twang from the trees ahead. The slightest flutter of feather fletches stayed the courses of the two thin, wooden shafts cutting through the air. On pure unconscious instinct, born of his training, Mordecai slid sideways in his saddle, hiding behind the side of his horse. “Get down!” he shouted to the others.
Ethan watched the entire incident unfold—his eyes still faster than his reflexes. He saw the two shafts glide through the air. The air vibrated back to the place where the arrows had originated—air currents only his enhanced perception could discern.
The arrows found their marks, sinking with deadly accuracy straight into the breastbones of both priests traveling with Mordecai. It had been an amazing double shot fired from one bowman in tree up ahead of them on the road.
One of the priests slung backward out of his saddle to the ground. The other had been about to speak when the arrow stole his breath and his life. He slumped forward in his saddle with a look of anguish on his face.
The arrows were odd in color—plain brown, wooden shafts with crimson fletches. Only when Ethan saw the second priest slump over on his horse, did he consider the fact that he was sitting there on Whistler as an easy target for the next shot. He had no way of knowing whether this was a rescue, or some bandit intending to kill them all, to rob them of their valuables.
Mordecai hugged against his horse’s flank like a conjoined mutation. He wasn’t risking his neck for the boy. He peeked over his saddle and saw the man who had done this. The young man wore the same type of garment Mordecai and his fellow priests were wearing. Only the colors were different, a brown knee-length robe and breeches tied at the waist with a scarlet sash. The stranger was not shaven like Mordecai and his fellows. He had short black hair neatly trimmed and no facial hair. Gideon.
“What’s going on, who is that?” Ethan asked.
“Vengeance,” Mordecai whispered.
He reached for his sword, still attached to his saddle. Mordecai placed the scabbard strap over his shoulder so the blade rested on his back. Then he picked up the fallen priest’s Bo staff and began to walk toward their attacker.
When the two men met in the grassy meadow, twenty yards from where Ethan remained on the road, they stopped. Gideon tossed his bow to the ground. He carried no quiver of arrows.
“So they’ve sent the best for me, Gideon?” Mordecai said.
“Just a priest who hasn’t forgotten his vow to The Order and the Almighty,” Gideon said.
Mordecai moved quickly, whipping the grounded end of the Bo staff up toward Gideon. When its arc placed the end toward Gideon’s chest, Mordecai thrust with the end of the staff in order to jab it into his ribcage. Gideon countered just as quickly, rotating around the strike, following through with a roundhouse kick, striking Mordecai on the cheek. Gideon snapped his heel as he completed the kick, bringing it down through the middle of Mordecai’s Bo staff. It busted in half as Mordecai reeled back briefly and tried to recover.
Mordecai drew his sword before the Bo pieces hit the ground. He waited to charge, knowing the wrong move could quickly be fatal. Gideon was one of the few people whom Mordecai actually feared, though he would never admit it.
Mordecai swung and missed. Gideon dug his toe into an anthill next to his left foot. One exact flick of his ankle sent the grains of soil and angry ants into the air toward Mordecai’s face. He swiped at it by mistake. Gideon lunged. The brown robed priest got well inside of Mordecai’s line of attack. With his right fist, Gideon pummeled Mordecai’s grip on the steel weapon. With his left hand, open and stiff as a board, he smashed Mordecai directly in the throat.
The sword fell from Mordecai’s hands as he stumbled backward, falling to the ground, gasping for breath that refused to come. Gideon seized the Mordecai’s sword from the air, then slammed it through his abdomen, pinning him to the ground.
Mordecai screamed. He clutched the weapon, but he could not remove it. Within seconds, all of his strength ebbed away as he bled into the soil. He lost consciousness while death closed in like a predator.
Ethan was astonished. He had never seen such elegant precision in a warrior before. Fear crept up his spine. Would he be next? He decided to speak up and find out. At least from this distance, he might get Whistler into a run before the young man got to him.
“What are your intentions, sir?” Ethan shouted.
Gideon turned, walking toward Ethan and his mount. “That depends upon your relation to these men.”
Ethan held up his bound wrists. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“And how did you become Mordecai’s prisoner?”
“These men were looting the bodies of my people in Grandee. They were thieves,” Ethan said indignantly.
“They were priests. My name is Gideon.”
“Priests? Then why did you—”
“They were renegades from The Order of Shaddai. I offer the apologies of my order for their actions against your people. They have shamed us all by what they have done. Now, they have been punished,” Gideon said.
Ethan glanced at Mordecai and the other priests. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he managed. “What about me? I’d like to be set free if you don’t mind.”
Gideon walked closer. “Why did they take you as their prisoner?”
“I don’t know…some crazy notion Mordecai had. He thought Mordred would pay him for my capture.”
“And why did he think Mordred would do such a thing?” Gideon asked.
Ethan extended his arm. “He said it had something to do with this birthmark.”
Gideon’s eyes lit up immediately. “Does this mark mean anything to you, uhm—”
“Ethan.”
“Ethan, yes…does this mark have any special significance to you?”
“Nothing I’m aware of,” Ethan said
“Tell me, Ethan, were you born in Grandee?”
“No, my sister and I came from a village called Salem. But it was destroyed many years ago,” Ethan said.
“Nine years ago,” Gideon said before he realized it.
“Wh
at?”
“Never mind,” he corrected. “I’ve heard of that old village. Mordred destroyed it just before he rode to conquest in Emmanuel.”
“My parents were killed that night, while Elspeth and I escaped into the forest.”
“Elspeth is your sister?” Gideon asked.
“Yes, but I think Mordred’s soldiers took her when they attacked Grandee,” Ethan said. “There were no young women among the dead there. They vanished, but they’re the only ones. I don’t understand why Wraith Riders would bother with prisoners.”
“That all depends on why Mordred would send his men to attack Grandee in the first place. Do you know anything about that?”
Ethan offered his bound wrists. “It’s sort of a complicated story.”
Gideon smiled and removed a dagger from a sheath beneath the sleeve of his brown robe. He reached up and cut Ethan’s bonds. “I’d love to hear it.”
JERICHO
Mordecai had difficulty ascertaining how long he had been lying there on the ground. He was surprised to wake up alive at all. His body felt so cold. Numbness was overtaking him. He no longer felt his arms or legs. The monolithic sword protruding out of his belly filled his view, but he could no longer feel it.
I’m dying. He searched around him through dimming vision. He could not find Gideon or Shaddai’s Deliverer. Fear gripped what was left of his mind. He had only one chance.
Mordecai recalled the ancient, forbidden word for summoning. He spoke it along with the name Jericho. He kept repeating the phrase, using the last vestiges of his strength, casting a grappling hook by a thread, hoping to hold on to life just a little longer. Mordecai felt weaker by the second though how much time actually passed he could not tell. He could not even hear his own voice anymore. The sound of wind through grass faded.
“Mordecai?” a deep voice asked.
Hearing his name, Mordecai snapped back to consciousness.
“Mordecai, why have you summoned me?” the voice said.
Mordecai heard the fallen angel’s voice, rich with power. He opened his eyes. Over him stood the form of a man. For just a moment, Mordecai thought he saw a trailing glimpse of two large wings—the feathers soiled. Then the image disappeared, leaving just the man.
He bent low, examining the sword protruding out of Mordecai’s belly. The angel reached out, flicking the pommel with his long index finger. The sword vibrated, sending a shimmer of pain coursing through Mordecai’s body again. I’m not dead yet. Despite the pain, that knowledge relieved him.
The angel’s face appeared quite beautiful—the way a snake or deadly spider is beautiful. Jericho’s fearsome countenance might have been radiant at one time, but somehow the light was missing, leaving only a sad emptiness behind. Jericho peered into Mordecai’s face, smiling.
“I’ll bet you never expected to end up like this, did you Mordecai?” The whole situation seemed very amusing to the angel. “Your friends from the temple don’t look so hot either, but you look the worst. Oops, I’m not much of a comforter am I?”
“Help me, Jericho,” Mordecai strained.
“You’re as good as dead. Poor Mordecai,” Jericho said, shaking his head with mock concern.
“I’m not dead yet,” Mordecai spat through the renewed sensations of pain.
“True. But I have no reason to help you,” Jericho said. “You will be in Torments soon enough. I have no reason to delay it.” He stood, turning away from Mordecai’s body, disinterested now.
Mordecai’s last hope was fading away. “Wait!” he pleaded.
Jericho’s disappeared.
“Shaddai’s Deliverer is alive!” Mordecai used his last breath to say the words. He teetered on the brink, crossing into the spiritual realm for good—into the abode of the dead.
Jericho hastened to Mordecai’s side instantly. His hand gripped the sword, removing it so he could work quickly. The blood pulsed through the wound with each fading heartbeat. Jericho placed his hand into the wound and began to mend the worst damage.
After several tense moments, Mordecai breathed again like a man coming up from the depths—sucking in precious breaths of life. His heart rate increased steadily. Blood flow began to pick up with each contraction of his atria and ventricles. Blood pressure rose to acceptable levels. Jericho eased off the wound. Mordecai had not yet regained consciousness, but he would live.
Jericho watched the unconscious man as he inhaled and exhaled with regularity. He laughed within himself. How could they have been so foolish—to think it would be so easy to defeat the purposes of the Almighty. It made perfect sense now, just as it had when Mordred had announced victory nine years ago. Jericho had held his own misgivings then. It seemed those doubts had been confirmed. The chosen child had survived.
THE HUNT
The sun sank below the wavy horizon created by the Borla Mountains in the west. Ethan and Gideon had been riding for several hours without much conversation. Gideon hoped they could set up camp after a hunt. Ethan agreed. He had not eaten anything in two days, and his stomach cramped for nourishment.
They came to an area where tall pines drove high into the sky. The sparse undergrowth made for easy movement between the trees. At this time of year, the pine needles created a thick mat upon the forest floor, helping to silence their footsteps.
Gideon brought them to a halt and quietly got down from his saddle. He removed two arrows from his quiver. Ethan started to speak, but Gideon quickly silenced him with a wave of his hand. He pointed into the dimly lit forest beyond the road. Ethan noticed the slightest hint of movement. Something watched them anxiously.
They both stood behind their horses now. An animal might be spooked by a person walking about, but they would be unconcerned by horses. Gideon nocked both arrows at the same time. These arrows had different heads than the ones Ethan had seen Gideon use on Mordecai’s renegade priests. Instead of the needle tip, both arrows were fitted with broad heads to promote more internal damage and a faster bleed-out time.
Gideon’s middle finger curled up to separate their flight path by a degree. Ethan watched the trees. His new senses kicked in again, just as it had happened at the slaughter of Mr. Howinger’s doomed delegation. He saw the animal—a fallow deer, almost as if it were standing completely in daylight. The animal hid behind a pine trunk nearly one hundred yards away. Ethan heard its heartbeat and smelled its scent. He saw the heat rising from its body.
Then Gideon let the arrows fly. Ethan watched the air vibrate as the two arrows cut through atmosphere, driving toward their target. One arrow struck the neck, while the other hit the heart. Ethan could almost feel the wounded heart seize inside the deer’s chest.
The startled animal bolted from the spot where it stood, clearing a span of twenty feet in the first leap. Ethan started to lunge forward in pursuit. Gideon quickly stopped him with a restraining hand to the shoulder. “No need to wear yourself out, Ethan.”
Sure enough, as Gideon and Ethan led their horses back through the pines, they found the deer fifty yards from where it had been shot. “See there, I told you. No need to wear yourself out when you place the shots right.”
Gideon removed a set of knives from his saddlebag and went to work harvesting meat for them. He unrolled a canvas bag and placed the meat inside. “Now, let’s get further up the road, then we’ll make camp. We’ll leave the carcass for others to have their fill. If there are any bears or wolves in the area, hopefully they’ll come here for meat and leave us alone tonight.” A generous amount of salt lay in the bag already, which Gideon rolled over in order to cover the meat.
Ethan helped Gideon with the heavy bag of meat and then saddled Whistler. Dark lay upon them now with the moon casting an eerie glow through the canopy of dense pine needles overhead. They rode back out to the main road, following the bare road glowing in the moonlight. Within ten minutes, they had found a large clearing with a few stout trees. There they made camp for the night.
A wonderful aroma streamed off the
deer meat as it roasted over their fire. Gideon produced some fragrant spices from another pouch on his saddle. The sweet smelling savor had Ethan’s mouth watering for a taste.
“I want you to tell me how you came to be in Grandee, the attack, everything you can remember, all right?” Gideon asked.
Ethan was more than ready to get it all off his chest. He told Gideon what he could remember of his mother and father and the village of Salem. He told him about the day when the attack came and the demon he saw in the market.
Ethan was surprised Gideon did not immediately brand him as crazy. He went on to tell him about the attack itself and what he had seen when he and Elspeth had fled into the woods. Ethan told him about coming to Howinger’s farm and the way he had treated them while they were there and about the council meeting and the demon turning the words of the men to achieve its goal.
Gideon listened intently, slowly turning the spit over the fire. He took in every bit of information, processing it with what he knew of the Deliverer and the Wraith Riders under Mordred. When the boy finally finished, Gideon mulled it over, still turning there meal over the flames.
“When can we eat?” Ethan asked.
“Just a little longer, my friend. Tell me, Ethan, what are your plans? With Grandee sacked, there’s nothing left for you there.”
Ethan considered it. “I thought about going to Emmanuel to see if I can find my sister.”
“A rescue from the palace would be very difficult to pull off by yourself,” Gideon said.
“I have to find her, if she’s still alive, Gideon,” Ethan said. “Like you said, there’s nothing else left for me.”
“I understand. And you have a good reason for believing she could have survived the attack. I’m just worried that you would end up captured or killed in the attempt.”
Ethan stared into the fire.
“What I mean is that you have no weapons and no training,” Gideon clarified. “I would guess you don’t even have a plan for getting into the city, let alone the palace itself.”
