by James Somers
Scar drove his palm under Levi’s jaw, trying to fend him off. But Bonifast returned the favor with two sharp knee strikes to the ribs. Levi whipped a hand between them and lunged at Scar with all his weight. They fell backwards and became still. When Levi sat up on top of the imposter, he left a dagger protruding from beneath the man’s sternum.
He stood up, looking at the imposter with disgust. Levi turned back to his friends, finding Seth smoldering in the grass, but extinguished. “Are you all right, Seth?”
Seth stood patting hot spots and breathing heavily. “A little singed, but I believe so, Captain.”
Levi walked over to Dung and Ethan. “I need some help.” Seth found his way to him and together they rolled Dung away from Ethan. Levi knelt down and made sure the boy was still breathing.
Seth waited. “Is he all right?”
“Unconscious, but he will be.”
Seth turned to Dung’s body. “Is he?”
Levi patted Dung’s large head. “He gave his life to save Ethan.”
Ethan woke soon afterwards with more questions than pain. When he realized what had happened to poor Dung, he spent several minutes stroking his fur, weeping. Levi watched, trying not to tear up himself.
When they had gotten their gear together and started off, wondering what in the world they should do for Gideon, Levi stood still. Ethan turned back. “It’s time to go, Levi.”
Bonifast did not reply. He stood staring over smoldering embers at Dung’s body. “I should have been kinder to him, don’t you think?”
Ethan looked at Seth, then back at Levi. “There’s nothing that can be done for him now. We have to go. We have no choice but to go to The Order and speak with Isaiah. He’ll know what we should do for Gideon.”
“We can’t just leave him like this…not after all he did for us, Ethan.”
Seth spoke up. “Captain, I’m afraid we don’t have any way to bury the poor creature. I feel as bad as—”
Levi straightened. “A pyre then…we can do that much.” He began to walk toward the edge of the woods in search of firewood.
Ethan tried to plead with him, but the Captain would not hear of it. “I’ll not leave him to the buzzards!” he said, throwing his hands up in the air.
Ethan turned back to Seth. “You wait here and I’ll help him.”
Seth smiled, nodding. “I didn’t know he had such a soft spot for the beast.”
Ethan smiled. “Neither did I.”
INVADERS
Gideon took a drink from a water-bladder as the noon sun beat down upon him. Grimwald had driven his men unrelenting toward the Thornhill Mountains for just over a week. Halfway through the journey, two of his soldiers had fainted and fallen behind. Grimwald had flogged the first to death with a bullwhip. The second, he had slain with a sword in order to save time. None of the other men had dared to fall behind for the remainder of the journey.
Gideon knew Millertown waited for them several miles in the distance. He wondered if he would have to face Sarah’s parents dressed in this vile crimson armor. The thought of his old friends watching him ride through the town with Grimwald and his soldiers made him feel nauseated. Still, he had no choice.
Grimwald rode up next to Gideon’s horse with a smile on face. “Soon we will be at your Temple, priest. I’m sure they’re going to love you in your new uniform.”
Gideon tried to ignore him. Those same thoughts had paraded through his mind during their entire march toward the Thornhills.
“I can see you’re looking forward to it almost as much as I am. And yet we must delay until tomorrow,” Grimwald said.
“Why? What are we doing for the rest of the day?”
“Preparing.” The General closed his eyes as though enraptured. “You’ll witness something tonight you’ve never seen before, priest.”
For the remainder of the day, the soldiers worked like bees doing their master’s will. They were only too happy to comply with his demands today. He had ordered all of the cattle, which had been marched behind them, to be slaughtered. A great feast would be prepared.
By evening, the soldiers were roasting great hunks of beef upon a hundred huge fires. Gideon watched, fascinated by what was taking place. It made no sense to him at all. What did Grimwald have planned?
By nightfall, the entire camp had grown loud in their revelry. The soldiers acted like they had gone on holiday. Gideon watched Grimwald. He had not joined in the festivities. The General simply watched. He seemed to be waiting.
Then something changed in the camp. First one, then another and another of the soldiers doubled over in pain. They moaned loudly. The laughing ceased. More of the men buckled to their knees as though under an unseen attack. The first began to scream, thrashing upon the ground like a madman.
Gideon looked at Grimwald, now standing next to one of the pyres. He smiled as he watched a wave of mass hysteria transform his camp. He and Gideon, alone, remained unaffected.
The men writhed on the ground, howling unnaturally. Gideon walked through the melee of agonized bodies toward General Grimwald. “What’s going on, General?”
Grimwald smiled sadistically. “Exactly what I told you would. The demons are entering them. All of these men underwent a ritual of binding before marching on this campaign. They have taken oaths, and today they will fulfill them.”
Gideon watched the soldiers: some of them begged for mercy. Whatever process they were undergoing, they didn’t seem at all happy about it.
“This is how my men will enter the Temple of Shaddai. This is how the demons will be able to pass through—bound to Mordred’s soldiers,” Grimwald explained.
“I’ve seen possessed soldiers before, Grimwald—and I’ve beaten plenty.”
Grimwald grinned as though instructing a foolish child reluctant to learn their lessons. “You’ve not seen this before. They are not merely possessed. These men are now joined completely. The spirits may not come and go as they please. These men are becoming part demon—something new.”
As Grimwald spoke, Gideon noticed the reason for the pain these men were experiencing. It wasn’t simply the invasion of a spirit, but the transformation of their physical bodies which drew their howling lament.
Hands grew larger—the bones creaking and popping. Some of the men began to puff up, as though muscles were ballooning all over their bodies. Eyes changed to bloodshot red with yellow rimmed irises. Some grew taller, others hunched over. Fangs protruded over lips and nails grew rigid and sharp.
Gideon realized his mistake. He’d supposed the priests of Shaddai would be fighting back against things he’d already conquered. But these creatures were no longer human. When he led Grimwald’s forces through the secret Temple entrance it would not be an army of men, but abominations.
Several hours had passed in Grimwald’s camp as demon and man fused into new, hideous mutations. Grimwald went throughout his ranks examining the painful process, delighted with his progress. Gideon watched the scene from a distance, horrified. The abominations of Mordred had now grown to new heights. Men, taken over and fused with hellish spirits, now roamed the encampment with cruel, leering smiles for Gideon.
Gideon thought that, were it not for Mordred’s wrath, they might have torn him limb from limb and gleefully feasted upon his innards. After facing the possessed man onboard Rommil’s ship, returning from Macedon, he knew what sort of power these men wielded. Only these appeared even fiercer, if that were possible.
General Grimwald walked toward Gideon. “What do you think, priest? Shall I unleash them on Millertown? It’s only a few miles over those hills, before we come to the base of the Thornhills.”
Gideon tried not to think of the carnage that would surely issue through Millertown until everyone within had been killed. The townspeople wouldn’t stand a chance. And Sarah’s parents still lived there among many of his other friends.
Gideon feigned interest. “Go ahead, Grimwald, I’m sure such a diversion would do much for alerting the Templ
e of our imminent arrival.”
Grimwald’s smile dropped. He obviously hadn’t considered that possibility. He smiled again after a moment. “Very good, Gideon…very good. But we may need to come back through Millertown, just the same, on our way back to Emmanuel, once the Temple has been destroyed.”
Gideon didn’t rise to the bait, but only kept his gaze cool and leveled upon Grimwald. He hunched his shoulders in apathy for good measure.
Grimwald called out for his second in command. “Dervins!” A terrifying version of the man sauntered over, complete with yellow eyes like a frog and a mane of thick black fur trailing down from his head. The man’s uniform had nearly split apart from the new bulk of muscle formed during the hideous transformation. A set of four boney prongs jutted out of his forehead, crowning the mutation.
He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. “Yes, sir?”
Grimwald almost seemed taken aback by the man, now clearly superior in size and strength to himself. A smear of cow’s blood still dripped down Dervins’ uniform.
Gideon recalled, with disgust, how the terrified cattle that remained had been brought up among the ranks of mutated soldiers only to be slaughtered. A feast of gore had quickly ensued as demonic men tore into the poor beasts: blood and entrails flying in every direction among the feeding frenzy.
“Form ranks immediately,” Grimwald said. “We leave for the Broken Pass at the base of the Thornhills within the hour.”
The beast, that had been Dervins, snorted, delivering a gooey string of mucus onto the front of Grimwald’s breastplate. Dervins grinned, despite his bow, then cocked an eye toward Gideon that made chills run the length of his spine. He no longer believed General Grimwald was in control here.
BROKEN PASS
The next evening, Gideon watched the dwindling lights of Millertown, far behind and below Grimwald’s army, with satisfaction. With any good providence, this company would never come back out of the Thornhill Mountains alive. Nevertheless, Grimwald had managed to assemble and lead his horrifying new army all the way onto the Broken Pass at the base of the mountains. Now it had become Gideon’s turn to lead.
He rode approximately fifty yards ahead of the main group, scouting out the way before them. Gideon smiled in anticipation. He would have to lead them the long way around in order to give the army access into one of the secret exits used by The Order of Shaddai. He also knew that approaching in this manner was fraught with all manner of natural perils.
Gideon dared a silent prayer in hopes that Shaddai would not only alert The Order to their presence in the mountains, as they approached, but also destroy as many of these ghoulish creatures as possible along the way. If his prayer was answered, he hoped the priests would be long gone by the time any of his company actually made it into the Temple.
The rocky terrain, where they were currently riding, had gradually grown more so as the day had worn on. Now, with twilight upon them, the rocks and boulders, which occasionally rolled down upon the pass, had become a nuisance to the long, winding line of horses trailing after him. Gideon watched the loose hanging shelves of shale that towered above them on either side. Jagged teeth of grayish rock threatened to close on them at any moment. Sun-bleached bones, lying here and there beneath slabs of rock, testified to past tragedies.
Gideon had personally witnessed a far smaller group trigger a deadly rock slide with the pounding hooves of their horses. The thunder generated by these demons on horseback, not to mention their howling and general carrying-on, would almost certainly cause trouble before they moved out of the pass.
Gideon quietly goaded his animal forward in order to increase his lead and get out of the pass more quickly. Loose gravel rolled down the steep incline ahead of him, forcing his gaze upward again. He spotted plate sized pieces gingerly sliding down the bare, gray slope.
Gideon glanced back toward the army winding its way through the narrow pass, still littered with debris from past slides. The trail they were following now had actually formed on top of previously fallen debris. How many times had this valley buried travelers only to be trodden over by more hapless victims?
The crack of rock and the grating slide of stone against stone resounded above them. Gideon watched as a shelf slid away behind him. Several horse-sized boulders rolled, wobbled, then bounced away from the sheer face headed straight into the line of soldiers.
Gideon kicked into his mount’s sides, spurring the animal forward. The black horse leaped away wildly wanting to be clear of the danger as much as its rider. Gideon pulled the reins back hard, when they were clear, as he heard several loud cries silenced abruptly behind him.
He turned the animal, though it jerked hesitantly, and looked back at the front of the line behind him, hoping to see many of these abominations lying crushed beneath the rock slide. Even as Gideon surveyed the damage, he knew it unfortunately couldn’t have been enough to do much good. There just hadn’t been as much rock coming down as he had hoped.
Still, Gideon had to suppress a smile, when he found General Grimwald lying on his side on the ground. He lay in a pool of blood. But as the man stirred, defiantly attempting to get back to his feet, Gideon realized it wasn’t the General’s life issuing out, but his mount’s. The black horse remained crushed beneath one of several large boulders which had dislodged from the shelf above them. Only a few hooves and a crimson stained muzzle remained for viewing.
As the General got to his feet again and surveyed the damage, he turned toward Gideon. The priest leveled a petulant gaze upon the man, saying without words, you wanted this.
Grimwald’s face flushed red with anger. But there was nothing more he could do. The priest hadn’t caused the slide. It was simply one of the many hazards to be found in the Thornhill Mountains. Everyone knew the dangers of passing through them. And rock slides were perhaps the least worry they might face. Still, his anger burned as he watched the wry smile fighting to reveal itself fully on Gideon’s face.
“Would you like to turn back, General?” Gideon called back.
Grimwald only grimaced, then turned back to his army. He had lost several men, but only one other horse. He stalked back around the dead and the fresh debris and secured another horse for himself. When he had mounted the animal, Grimwald turned back toward Gideon smugly. “We ride on, priest, but don’t get any ideas of sabotage. Remember, your child is counting on you.”
Gideon’s anger ignited afresh—mostly because Grimwald hadn’t been killed by the slide. So close, he thought. But then he realized that might make things even worse. What would happen with this demonic army without Grimwald here to restrain them? The least they might do was kill him. But they could also turn back out of the mountains toward Millertown. As bloodthirsty as they were, they might do anything.
If it was still the will of Shaddai for Grimwald to live, then certainly there must be a reason for it. Gideon gulped down a lump in his throat as he turned his animal back down the trail leading out of the valley. He felt so cold inside, so far from the place of close fellowship with Shaddai he used to enjoy—perhaps even taken for granted. Now that he had turned down this path of treachery, with Mordred and his demon allies, Gideon felt utterly alone.
He pushed forward, down the path, not caring now if the entire mountain gave way and buried him alive beneath the rock. At least he wouldn’t have to look his former priestly brothers in the eyes as he led these demons straight into the Temple—wouldn’t have to bear the pained looks of betrayal most certainly waiting for him there.
General Grimwald and the endless line of soldiers behind him reorganized and began the slow trek around these fresh boulders. Grimwald was dusty and a bit battered, but he rode proudly again. Some of the demons looked longingly at the corpses left behind—a few licking their lips hungrily.
Wide eyes stared down into the valley as a black spyglass lowered. The priest, watching the horrid army winding its way through Broken Pass, couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. More startling than the army it
self or the few deaths caused by the slide was the presence of one of their own among the enemy.
The priest, Gideon, rode at the head of these invaders, leading them through the Thornhills toward the Temple of Shaddai. He didn’t want to believe it. But Gideon was not bound in any way and he was leading them. Worse still was the black and crimson armor that he wore—the uniform of Mordred himself. Betrayal—utter, black betrayal—could be the only answer to what he had seen. And that could mean only one thing for the other priests. Gideon, their long time mentor and brother, was now dead to them.
THE PRIDE
Isaiah forced himself to breathe again. The young priest, Jason, had brought back the most disturbing news Isaiah had ever received. An army marched toward the Temple—Mordred’s army, but not men exactly. Some sort of hybrid between man and beast, as near as Jason could discern. But there had been more.
Gideon, Isaiah’s closest friend in the world, his protégé of many years, and the one man he’d assumed would succeed him as High Priest to The Order in Nod, had betrayed them into Mordred’s hands. It did not make any sense. Isaiah tried, but he couldn’t get his mind to accept it.
Gideon had always been the most loyal of friends, the most faithful of the priests in The Order. What could have turned him from the path of righteousness to utter corruption in the service of Mordred and his demons?
Peter, the captain of Isaiah’s elite guard, stood forth. “Master, what are we to do?” Nearly everyone had heard the news by now. And all of them had been stunned with unbelief.
