I believe strongly in right and wrong. However, I’ve also seen our own traditions inserted or even substituted for laws from God, despite numerous warnings against it in Scripture. Let us not be so hasty to force our culture on others, rather, let God’s own Spirit teach, as Scripture says it will do. Enough on that . . .
I now give you book three in the Chronicles of Stephen, Redemption of the Mighty!
Kenyon T. Henry
Rossville, Georgia.
Prologue
Zander hurried through the brick corridor underneath the city of London. Water from shallow puddles splashed onto his pants’ hem with each step. His mind raced as he struggled to make sense of the news he had just heard. This would change the tone of the meeting he raced to join. Had the others heard yet? Would they be as uncertain as he was?
News of Stephen—his abilities, accomplishments, and failures—had reached much farther than just Enclave and the Fallen. Zander, having long ago been Mighty, had give up being part of the organization. He, like many others, felt that Mighty allowed too little room for differences of opinion, and were stifled by their hang-ups about tradition and regulations.
The Mighty had long-established traditions and regulations that had to be followed. Many of those rules, Zander understood. Others, he strongly disagreed with. For example, using gifts to do good deeds on your own, apart from Mighty, had been forbidden. Your choice was either to be part of the organization and do things their way or live a simple life without using your gifts. There was no middle ground. And, once a person had made it clear he or she didn’t intend to follow the rules to the letter, they were written off and considered the same as any Fallen.
Zander found that Stephen, however, was different. His very existence challenged the rules of Enclave. Word had quickly spread to all who shared blood on either side of the battle, whether Mighty or Fallen. Zander’s group had watched with bated breath, anticipating what the future might hold.
He turned down another corridor, stopping at a metal door. The damp scent of mildew filled his nostrils; he grimaced. Meeting down here was never his first choice. He glanced up at a camera he knew to be hidden in the shadow of the corridor. The door opened.
As he entered the basement room, he noticed that all the usual people seemed to be present. They were like him, Mighty who had been shunned or turned away for wanting change. All present had broken away because of the beratement from elders and council members. Although not all elders held the same opinion concerning their traditions and ideals, their efforts to change and move the organization forward weren’t enough to keep the people in this room from falling under scrutiny.
Zander stood in the middle and cleared his throat. “Everyone, if I can have your attention, we should get started.”
Zander walked over to a small raised platform and watched the others pull chairs from against the wall and form rows several feet in front of him. No more than twenty-five were present. After most sat down, he stepped onto the platform and brushed his shaggy red hair from his face. Glancing down, he noticed the bottom of his trousers had been splattered with dirty water and sighed. He’d have to have his suit dry-cleaned.
“We’ve all been listening for news of Stephen. In our guts, we’ve felt the approaching battle. I, like you, wondered if we’d be called on to fight. And, if called upon, how would I respond? The council has turned their noses up at us because we aren’t the obedient sheep they demand. Still, we have stayed true to the Almighty. We’ve fought the battles we could. We are few. And we are scattered across the globe.”
He breathed deep, knowing his next words would surprise everyone. “Today, our fear has been fulfilled. The David, Benjamin Buchanan, is missing.”
Murmurs and gasps broke the silence. He watched a moment before raising his hands to quiet the group. “Please, there’s more.” Eyes filled with uncertainty stared back at him. He wondered if he looked the same.
“Alistair Stewart was named David pro tem a couple days ago, making him the David until Buchanan’s return. While Alistair has always been kind to everyone, we cannot know for certain what will happen. We are all familiar with Charles, his father, and the position he has taken over the years, asserting that we are no better than Fallen.”
From somewhere in the back of the room, a voice asked, “What about Stephen? Where does he fit in?”
“I don’t know,” Zander replied. “Stephen is on his honeymoon. My contact hasn’t heard from him since he left. I’m not even sure if he knows about Buchanan.”
“Someone needs to go to him, to ask him for help,” another person suggested.
Zander looked at their faces—each hurting, each afraid. “Max will go. I’ve already made preparations. Stephen hasn’t been at Enclave long. He may or may not know that we exist. I honestly have no expectations. I am, however, hopeful. My contact believes Stephen is a friend to all.
Chapter 1
Stephen stretched toward the sky, still stiff from his deep sleep, as he waited in a hammock outside their cottage for Patty. It had been just over a week, but his stubble seemed too much like a beard now, and his wavy brown hair hung in his eyes. Brushing it aside, he saw the sun had peeked over the treetops behind him, working its way higher into the sky. Even from this distance, he smelled the salty ocean air. Back home in St. Louis—and at Enclave in DC—temperatures would soon enough return to frigid, which made him appreciate all the more the warmth that spread across his body from the sun’s rays.
The honeymoon had given Stephen time away from everything. He had been able to simply enjoy life for the first time since his dad, Waltz, had been killed. He had also given little thought to Elizabeth and Uncle Bernie’s betrayals. Instead, he found that focusing on his new life with Patty reminded him of what he was fighting for—love. It was out of love for all humankind that Stephen knew he would continue to fight once he returned to Enclave.
The screen door to their cottage smacked shut as Patty trudged outside. Despite her beautiful glow and youthful appearance, he didn’t need to read her mind to confirm that she wasn’t happy. She pulled her sunglasses down from the top of her head to rest on her nose while glaring into the trees behind them.
“Stupid monkeys,” she called out. “Why can’t you sleep in?”
Stephen chuckled before catching a glare of his own from Patty. The first day, they’d both thought the early morning ruckus from the monkeys sounded fun and inviting, pulling them out of bed to attempt to see the exotic mammals. After more than a week of early mornings, Patty would rather sleep in.
Stephen grabbed his new bride’s hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. She managed a small, short-lived grin. “Breakfast before walking on the beach?” he asked.
Patty wasted no time with her reply. “Please, before I kill a monkey.”
They strolled to the restaurant to the dying cadence of monkeys cooing as they began to settle into their trees to rest. Stephen and Patty enjoyed their breakfast, just as they had each morning. From their table, they had a view of the natural wooded buffer that stood between the cottages and beach that ran along the pacific coast. They took turns pointing out exotic-looking birds and scanning the trees for signs of a sloth or monkey. The owner’s dog even made its way over to lay by the rail near them. He seemed more interested in watching the birds and paid little attention to the people around him.
After finishing breakfast, they walked along the path through the woods that led to the beach where surfers had already gathered. Even at the busiest moments, the beach still looked bare compared to most beaches either of them had ever visited. Costa Rica had taken measures to preserve the natural state of much of the country’s coastline. Rich flora and fauna were everywhere. It even covered the top of a large rocky mound that rose twenty feet above the water along the coast, where birds seemed to enjoy gathering.
Looking north to south, Stephen guessed no more than twenty-five people were out on the beach, besides Patty and himself. Patty and Stephen walked no
rth. The farther they walked, the fewer people they saw. Eventually, they were alone. Stephen enjoyed watching Patty—the way her hair shimmered like rubies and her now pinkish-tan skin glistened in the sun. Although she had her hair in a ponytail, the breeze still found free strands of hair to sway across her face. To Stephen, this was paradise, and all he could ever want.
The brown, sandy beach with volcanic rock jutting up here and there was unlike anything he had seen before. Black crabs hid themselves on the black rock, a perfect place to stay safe from the various sea birds that abounded. From a distance, it seemed the rocks were alive. At high tide, he and Patty were surrounded by the crashing waves that pounded against the hardened lava.
Before long, the two found themselves in a completely undisturbed area, where the only evidence of human existence was their own footprints in the sand and the occasional sign warning of dangerous wildlife. A small stream flowed from the forest across the beach and into the river. Just beyond, a rock cliff marked the end of their northbound journey. Birds squawked over head. A few even tempted fate as they landed and walked along only steps beyond the couple.
Patty squealed, “Stephen, look!” She pointed to some distant rocks across the stream.
Stephen turned to see a crocodile basking in the sun, his dark reptilian skin camouflaged against the black rock. “Beautiful, isn’t it? You don’t see stuff like this back home.”
“Thank heavens,” Patty replied.
Stephen watched for another moment. The sun, the breeze, the ocean air—it was a nice place to sit and relax. The rolling waves nearly drowned out the squawking of gulls and other nearby birds. He looked around, suddenly aware he wasn’t hearing any birds at all. It wasn’t just that. Stephen sensed thought patterns and feelings he couldn’t explain. Something was there. Whoever it was, the mind was out of focus.
Stephen turned to Patty, noticing no birds were visible behind them either on that long, void stretch of beach. Something was definitely wrong. “Patty, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why?” Patty’s face contorted with confusion.
“Something feels off.” What was it? He sensed danger. “Maybe it’s nothing. Still, let’s head back.” He grabbed her hand, and the two started retracing their footsteps.
They’d barely gone a hundred feet when Patty stopped. “Stephen.” She was staring into the forest. Despite the week of tanning, her face had turned pale.
“What is it?”
“I s-saw something. Large.”
Stephen stepped between her and the forest, watching for movement. He reached out with his mind, looking for signs of anyone else. Someone or something was out there. But the thoughts were distant and wild, as though driven instead by instinct. Hunger? After a moment, he stepped closer.
He glanced back at Patty, who stood motionless at the edge of the surf. He winked and turned his attention back to the foliage he now approached. He leaned into the brush.
“A-ha!” Stephen jumped out of the brush holding a sloth, which seemed to be enjoying its own leafy breakfast. The furry creature gently hooked its arms around Stephen’s neck and simply sat in his hands.
Patty laughed, which sounded more nervous than happy. “I guess it wasn’t as big as I thought.” She stepped closer, never taking her eyes off the peaceful creature. “Aren’t those usually in trees?” She looked sheepish.
Stephen found her reluctance humorous. “I think so. This one must’ve fallen out. Amazing how he doesn’t seem to mind us. He hasn’t a care in the world.”
Patty looked at him in a way that made him feel like putty. She had walked closer to him. “Although he’s just a harmless little guy, you’re still my hero.” She leaned in and kissed his neck just below his ear.
The sloth reached for Patty and hooked an arm around her neck too.
She grinned at Stephen. “I like this guy.”
“Me too. But we better put him back.”
He exercised gentleness in removing the creature’s arms from around their necks and walked it over to a low-hanging branch. The sloth took hold and pulled itself into the tree.
“Good-bye, Tag-a-long,” Stephen said.
Patty laughed. “You named him? Really?”
“Why not?” Stephen grinned.
Patty took Stephen’s hand in hers, and the two eased their way back toward their cottage, him holding her close to his side. He looked to the sky once more. Perhaps it was the fact that he knew they would soon return to a battle in which Fallen wanted him dead, or maybe it was because the birds were still gone, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched, a feeling he knew all too well.
****
The newlyweds took time to lounge on the beach and enjoy the sun’s warmth. Stephen looked to the sky, still curious about the lack of birds. A few miles off and into the ocean, a storm was brewing, sending larger than usual waves crashing to the shore. Strong winds were also beginning to blow. Stephen lowered his gaze to the horizon to watch some surfers. The skill with which they maneuvered their boards through the water while being chased by waves impressed Stephen. He had been tempted to give it a go, but didn’t want to leave Patty alone on their honeymoon. Plus, he didn’t know the first thing about surfing.
Even though the western sky filled with rolling clouds, the sun was high above and seemed to command that the clouds keep their distance. Patty basked in the sun, and the breeze rolling in from the ocean blew the strands of hair back as she lay on a blanket next to him, reading her favorite author, Jane Austen.
I’m a lucky guy. What a beautiful woman! Stephen threw his thought so Patty would hear it.
“Yes, you are,” she replied without looking up from her book. “And don’t you forget it.” She turned a page, grinning. Her eyes remained hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, but Stephen was sure he saw her wink at him.
Stephen looked back out to the ocean. He could sit and watch people surf all day.
A few surfers fell from their boards in near unison as they neared the beach, as opposed to riding the wave all the way in. The mood and atmosphere changed in a heartbeat. In his mind, he heard shouts and screams an instant before people found the breath to vocalize their fear. He realized people were looking at him. No . . . they were looking past him. Patty stood and turned toward the forest, then stumbled backward.
Stephen leaped up to face the woods, wondering what was causing the commotion. His gaze met another set of eyes, but they were not human. Less than twenty feet from him prowled a two-hundred-pound jaguar.
Earlier in the week, while on a cloud-forest excursion through volcano-filled mountain ranges in Northern Costa Rica, they had learned that jaguars were the third largest cat on the planet, preferred wet forests and rainforests, rarely attacked people, and always hunted alone. Seeing the large cat here didn’t make sense to him.
Behind the beast, another cat emerged. This jaguar looked bigger than the first. Both animals opened their mouths and roared a deep throaty sound.
Stephen looked around. People were running down the beach, away from the animals. He felt panic all around him and understood their desire to run, but everything he had ever heard about wild cats told him running was a bad idea and would only encourage their predatory instincts. He was right.
Both cats darted to Stephen’s left. He leaped at them from the side, sending both rolling in the sand. He bounded to his feet to find the animals’ focus had turned. The two humongous cats now roared at him.
Patty called out, “Stephen, be careful.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” he replied, not completely certain that he did.
A cat pounced at him. Stephen ducked underneath the large paws while sidestepping the advance. Grabbing ahold of the cat from the side, he flung the first cat at the second, which jumped out of the way and roared.
He glanced around. The beach had all but cleared. Patty remained at a safe distance, and a handful of onlookers watched from even farther away.
Everything about this att
ack was the opposite of what Stephen had learned earlier in the week about the cats—wrong habitat, wrong geography, wrong prey, and there were two. But none of that mattered right now. He needed to end this somehow.
He launched himself at the largest cat and wrestled only a moment before spinning around and wrapping his arms around the cat’s neck.
As the other animal sprang toward them, he kicked its snout, sending it tumbling to the side before slinging the cat into the tide.
Stephen looked around. In a dawning realization, he finally understood why this was happening. Someone was directing the cats’ behavior. He remembered sensing something earlier during their walk when they’d come across the cute, gentle sloth. He had sensed animalistic human thoughts.
He tried to break through the thoughts, but found they were too confused to sort through—half human and half animal.
The jaguars didn’t advance, but hesitated.
Stephen glanced at Patty and threw his thought. Someone’s doing this somehow. It’s like their thoughts are mingled. You should get help. If the jaguars split up, someone will get hurt.
Patty darted into the woods in the direction of their cottage. Stephen looked around. He was now alone on the beach, except for the two large cats. He listened with his mind, still hearing the mixture of thoughts—two coming from in front of him and one from behind, all three animalistic.
Turning toward the forest, Stephen ran as fast as he could, knowing the beasts would chase him, but hoping he would reach his destination before they did. He vaulted over the brush, landing well beyond the other side of the tree line, a few feet from a woman covered in tattoos with long black hair and olive skin. He knew she was behind the attack.
Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet Page 56
