Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet

by Kenyon T Henry

  As the door opened, he entered the training room. Making his way onto the floor, he looked around and smiled. Everyone had come: the team, the trainers, and Bernard. He listened to their thoughts. Not one of them had a clue why they were there.

  “Stephen—” Colvin stopped him short of reaching the others. “Your recovery thus far is nothing short of a miracle. But this? You’re not ready to train yet.”

  Stephen grinned and hobbled past his teacher.

  “So you know, I’ve already looked inside your minds. None of your guesses are correct,” he said aloud, for everyone to hear. “Not one of you knows why I’ve asked you here. Still, thank you for trusting me enough to come.”

  Bernard stood separate from the others. Stephen understood why. They weren’t fully certain they could trust him, despite his assistance in the cemetery.

  “What is he doing here?” Rex asked, as he nodded toward Bernard.

  Stephen ignored him. “Vincent, Alistair, and I have been trying to form a triune, as you all know. You may also have realized, it’s not going well.”

  “Is that why I’m here?” Bernard’s deep but soft voice echoed. “You want me to fight you guys for more practice?”

  “Yes, that’s why you’re here. Yes, I want you to fight. No, you aren’t fighting me.”

  “Stephen?” Alistair sounded concerned. “What are you doing?”

  “Only what needs to be done, mukker.” Stephen grinned. He took a deep breath before sharing what he had come to realize. “I’m not the warrior in this triune. I was never meant to be.” He pointed to Bernard. “He is!”

  All eyes looked at Bernard. Stephen sensed Bernard was just as uncertain as everyone else. He pushed their feelings away from himself, not wanting their doubts to cloud his own thoughts and feelings.

  “Stephen,” Aidan began, “you can’t just insert any warrior into a triune. It’s not something we decide.”

  “I know,” Stephen said. “Yet, the council has been trying to force me into this triune. You, our trainers, have gone along with it.”

  Stephen looked at Colvin upon hearing Colvin’s thoughts, wondering if it could be possible that Bernard was the warrior. “Colvin, I’ve been privy to your emotions. I know you’ve had doubts about my place here.”

  Colvin looked at Stephen and said nothing. Anyone could see the truth in his eyes, even without Stephen’s gifts.

  “I’m not fighting. You three must decide now if you’re willing to accept God’s will. If so, and if you try, you will know one way or the other.”

  Vincent walked over to Bernard. “What do you know about my mother?”

  “Nothing,” Stephen replied. “Whatever knowledge he had was lost when his link with the puppet master was severed.”

  “How do we know we can trust him?” Rex asked.

  Cassandra replied. “He has been cleared by the council and by us,” she said, motioning to Colvin and Aidan.

  “Will you help me find her?” Vincent asked Bernard.

  “Even if it costs me my life, I will.”

  Vincent stood next to him, staring at Alistair.

  “Heid doon, arse up!” Alistair chimed in.

  Stephen looked at Rex and Shannon, and pushed his thoughts to them. No abilities. It’s still not time. “You too will fight with the trainers against them.”

  “I guess we’re ready when you are.” Alistair placed his arms on Vincent and Bernard’s shoulders, which looked odd considering the height differences.

  Everyone looking at the three gasped with surprise as a faint glow began to build around Alistair. Soon, it spread to Vincent and Bernard, growing brighter. Within moments, the group was forced to shield their eyes. Then, in an instant, it was gone.

  Cassandra spoke first. “I’ve never seen that before, not that fast.”

  “Neither have I,” Colvin said.

  “Nor I.” Aidan stepped forward. “A triune has formed.”

  “What?” Alistair asked. The other two just shrugged. “It happened?”

  Stephen smiled. “It happened.”

  As with all other triunes, the formation was witnessed by others outside the triune. Now, the triune needed to work together to become one triune with three members, not three members that formed a triune.

  Stephen hobbled to the door, which opened. “You still have work to do,” he called back to them—the door closing behind him.

  ****

  A couple days later, Stephen lay in his bed feeling tired. He had pushed himself too much that day. Fortunately, he had been allowed to return to his own living quarters. Being able to return to his room had given him a surge of energy. Unfortunately, he had spent every last bit of it. As a result, his healing had all but halted, leaving him with a noticeable limp. He had been asked to consider physical therapy. His door opened and Pastor Buchanan walked across the small room and pulled himself up a chair.

  “Feel up for company?” The old man smiled.

  Stephen thought about Waltz for a moment, realizing that he was about to get a talking to. For what, he had no idea. “You’re welcome anytime, Pastor Buchanan.”

  The David played with the rim of his glasses for a moment. The glasses, it must be serious. He sat up a little straighter in his bed as the old man began.

  “I’d like to talk to you about what happened. Chasing after Bernard alone—that was very dangerous.”

  “I know,” Stephen interrupted. “It’s just—I thought it was Bernard. I knew I could get through to him. And others might not have shown the restraint I would’ve. He’s like my brother, my oldest friend.” He paused a moment to gather his thoughts as the David sat silent.

  “Look, I know I shouldn’t have left the group. But I knew something happened the last time we were together. The Fallen who had a hold of him had lost his grip. I more than sensed it. I felt it. I had to go after him, team or not.”

  “I’m not talking about the team.” Pastor Buchanan stared at him. Though he didn’t raise his voice or change his usual calm tone, Stephen understood he was about to be scolded. Still, he wasn’t sure why.

  “When did you last spend time in meditation?”

  Stephen said nothing in reply. What could he say?

  “How about fellowship with other Mighty? Prayer? Have you been at least reading Scripture?”

  Stephen sat quiet, staring at the old man. Did he not understand the weight that was on his shoulders? Of course he hadn’t done those things! All his spare time was spent training or studying other things; combat, prophet, and warrior classes had been added. All that other stuff would be a waste of time now. Everyone depended on him. He’d have time for that later.

  He couldn’t maintain his silence any longer. “I know what you’re saying. What’s more, Waltz would be right there with you. But I’ve been spending every spare moment training and working. I’m the most powerful Mighty. This is my fight.” His tone came out sharper than he intended. He didn’t mean it that way, not really. “I’m sorry. I’m frustrated. I’ve stopped healing. I’ve been training again, but something’s off.”

  “I know,” Pastor Buchanan said. “That’s why I’m here. You need to take time away from everything else to work on your relationship with God.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Stephen asked.

  “Just where do you think you get those powers? Where do any of us get them?”

  That thought hadn’t crossed Stephen’s mind in quite some time. It stunned him, as though he’d been slapped in the face. He had wondered that very question when he first returned to Waltz. That was what he wanted to know more than anything. When he got his answer, he fought against the idea before finally accepting it, and the Almighty’s love when he first confronted Bernard.

  The old man continued. “These magnificent abilities we are blessed with are dependent on a relationship with the Almighty. Without a relationship, our abilities suffer.” He took his glasses off and set them down; he massaged his temples with his other hand.
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  For the first time, Stephen noticed how tired his old friend looked. He had dark circles under his eyes. His hair seemed grayer. Had Stephen caused this stress? Seeing his friend like this, Stephen realized that only a part of the whole picture was made known to him. Though he knew Pastor Buchanan cared for him, surely there was more going on than he realized.

  “You’re right,” Stephen admitted. “I guess I thought that training and getting stronger was the key. I don’t know why I so quickly forgot that He saved me before. All that I am, all that I have, is by His grace.”

  The old man looked up and smiled. “So, you’ll work on your relationship?”

  “I will. I’ll start today by finding a quiet place to talk with him, or read, or just wait.”

  “You’re a good man, Stephen. Waltz and Layla have a fine young man.” Pastor Buchanan put his glasses back on and got up to leave.

  “Tell me why you look so tired. Surely this isn’t all because of me?”

  The David sighed, stopping short of the door. He turned to Stephen. “It’s not something you should concern yourself with.”

  “I should, because you’re my friend. Aren’t you?” Stephen smiled.

  “Mighty aren’t immune to politics. There’s always fighting amongst ourselves. Now it’s as bad as I’ve ever seen it. It just doesn’t make sense. I’m concerned that some are being influenced by darkness. We all can be. But this seems worse. Pray for us.”

  “I will.” Stephen nodded.

  The preacher left.

  Stephen knew what he needed to do. Despite his natural tendency to act, he needed to wait—take time to study, pray, seek God, and listen for Him to speak. It would go against everything that the world had taught Stephen when he was on the streets. Natural was the opposite of how this felt to Stephen. Still, it was right.

  Chapter 21

  The next morning, Stephen sat in the library, thumbing through pages of the Bible. He had woken up early and, as promised, set aside his usual routine to spend some time working on his relationship with God. He had already read a few chapters in Genesis. When his mind began to wander, he decided to take a break. But he wasn’t sure what to do next. Should he pray? Should he force-read more Scripture, even when the words bled together?

  A hand from across the table grabbed his. Looking up, he witnessed Patty glaring at him. That was when he realized he had been tapping the top of the table with his free hand.

  “Sorry, babe. I’m just not sure what to do now.” Stephen smiled, hoping for sympathy.

  “Find a quiet corner and pray,” she quipped. He got no sympathy from her.

  “I just can’t get over the feeling that I’m supposed to be doing something.”

  “You are stubborn,” she replied. “And you are supposed to be doing something: reading, praying, studying, any of those. None require you to make noise.”

  Stephen rose from his chair and hobbled around to Patty’s side of the table. He stooped to see what she was reading. Some kind of history book. History was one of the few academic classes Stephen had enjoyed throughout school. Due to his rigorous training schedule, history of the Mighty was something he had learned only a little about thus far.

  “Who was Simeon?” Stephen said.

  “He was a Mighty that lived during the revolution.” Patty sounded a little annoyed.

  Stephen paid little attention. “What class was he?”

  Patty sighed. “He was a priest.”

  Stephen continued to look over her shoulder, reading. But it was hard to understand without having read the previous pages. “Why was the council mad at him?”

  Patty turned to glare at him once more. Stephen straightened up, seeing that she wasn’t happy. “Because he didn’t do as he was told. He didn’t like tradition.”

  Stephen could take a hint, though her tone of voice and fire in her eyes were less of a hint and more of an ultimatum. “I’m gonna let you have some quiet time.” Stephen hobbled down the aisle. He heard Patty as he reached the corner.

  “Come here,” she sighed.

  He stopped, but didn’t turn around immediately. He heard Patty’s chair slide across the floor, followed by her nearing footsteps. She squeezed him tight from behind.

  “I know this is hard on you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  Stephen shrugged.

  “Oh, quit your pouting and come sit down. Your acting is horrible.”

  Stephen turned and kissed her on the forehead. “I love you.” He followed her back to where she’d left her books on the table. “I’ll go back to reading Scripture.”

  “You know, you don’t have to. You could learn a lot from reading about the struggles of other Mighty. There are many different eras here. Did you know the Mighty have historians?”

  Stephen nodded. “Pastor Buchanan told me he wanted you to be one.”

  Patty’s excitement grew suddenly. “Yes, he does. That’s why I’ve been studying. Let me show you something. I just saw this yesterday.” She turned to a shelf and pulled what appeared to be a new book from the shelf. “This is the most recent volume. It stops around the time of the last great battle.”

  “Really? That sounds like something I’d actually enjoy.” Stephen grabbed the book.

  “There’s more. These books record all the Mighty discussed in the index.” She turned through the book as Stephen held on. She pointed to a name. “I didn’t want to read this book before you. I’d almost forgotten with all that’s happened lately.”

  Stephen teared up. “Stockton, Ian Walter. It’s Waltz!”

  She flipped a few more pages. “And Bernie!”

  Stephen took the book and walked over to the table as he searched through the pages to where Waltz’s name was recorded.

  Patty followed. “Do you want me—”

  “Shh!” Stephen put his hand up to her.

  Patty sat back down in her seat. Stephen found a lounge area around the corner and sat down to read.

  Waltz and Uncle Bernie were mentioned only a few times. The last great battle had taken place when they were very young, fresh out of training. Still, he learned things about them he had not known. He read how fierce and aggressive Waltz had been, more so than any other in his class. During the battle, Uncle Bernie had gone missing for two days, having been taken prisoner. Waltz, after discovering where his friend was being held, led a small team of four, which included Elizabeth and Sam, to rescue him from a squad of Fallen. The team fought off twenty or more Fallen soldiers, rescuing Bernie and two others.

  He flipped through until he found the training graduates that year. They were listed by rank, with their selected class, skill set, and other accomplishments. Waltz had been first in his class, with the shield beside his name. Next to the shield was a scroll, indicating that he was proficient enough to teach academic classes. After that, there was a spear, indicating he could also teach combat. Stephen knew that both of these were hard to achieve by the time kids graduated.

  He searched for Uncle Bernie’s name. He saw Elizabeth’s next. She was in the top tier of the class too. She had the sword next to her name, followed by a spear. Stephen continued down the page until he came to Bernie’s name. Next to his name was a stone, as Stephen expected. Stephen wasn’t certain what the armored helmet that followed stood for. He flipped to the back of the book, looking for the key in the index. He found it and ran down the list until he found the helmet. Chills ran through Stephen as his mind and heart began to register what his eyes had already shown him. What did this mean? He struggled to accept the pieces that were completing the puzzle in his mind. He knew the truth. Somehow, he had known it, only to reject it. After all, Bernie had helped raise Stephen.

  Stephen closed the book and jumped to his feet, running as fast as he could past Patty. “Call the council,” he yelled. “Call the David.” He didn’t have time to explain. They could use the comm display to find him.

  The pain in his leg and hip shot up his back. It didn’t matter. Nothing could compar
e to the pain that was to come if he was right. Now that his eyes had been opened, would he see the truth?

  He turned the corner into the catacombs, slamming against the emblem to open the door. He hobbled through as fast as he could manage until he reached Uncle Bernie’s cell. He looked in. Empty.

  “Guard,” his scream echoed. He wiped the tears from his eyes, hoping to see Bernie sitting there. Empty still.

  “What’s wrong?” a guard asked after slowing from a jog.

  “Look in there, what do you see?”

  The guard looked in. “Hey, Bernie. How are you today?” He looked back at Stephen. “Is something wrong?”

  “Is it normal for the council to keep someone in these cells this long?” Stephen asked.

  “Actually, no—never more than a week or two,” the aged man replied.

  Stephen grabbed the man’s head. The sentinel struggled to break free. It was useless, which surprised Stephen. Somehow, his strength was working in the catacombs. He searched the man’s mind, passing by thoughts, being flooding with various emotions. Then, it was there, as obvious as anything Stephen had ever witnessed—a seed of darkness. This seed didn’t belong to the guard though.

  Stephen let out a loud cry, which carried throughout Enclave on a wave of energy. Then he collapsed. The guard grabbed hold of Stephen and cuffed his wrists. Too weak to fight, Stephen asked the guard, “Now what do you see?”

  “I see an arrogant boy who should have known better than to . . .” His voice trailed off.

  Stephen looked up at the man who now stared into the cell, mouth agape. “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know,” Stephen managed, breathing deeply. “I don’t think he’s been there for quite some time.” Tears continued to roll down his cheek.