Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet

by Kenyon T Henry

  Patty threw her gloves next to the box they had come from. “What do you know about Stephen?”

  ****

  A blue glow from the far end of the room allowed Stephen to see Anthony and Vincent in front of him. As the two men turned to look around, the other lights in the room turned on, faint at first, then brighter. Armor of all kinds hung like decorations on the wall, accompanied by at least as many different weapons, all of which appeared nearly flawless with only a few battle scars showing their ages.

  Anthony’s eyes locked on Escalibor. After a moment he walked toward it, stopping a short distance from it.

  Stephen walked over and took the sword from its resting place. “Would you like to hold it?” Stephen asked.

  “I could not,” Anthony replied.

  Vincent joined his father. “Only a descendant of the king can wield it.”

  “But you said I’m not descended from the king.”

  “That’s not what I said. I said you are not a descendant of King Arthur.” Anthony pointed to an inscription on the scabbard that lay at the base of the sword stand. “Do you see this?”

  Stephen nodded, though he had never paid attention to it before. He had never carried the sword, so there had been no reason to sheath it. The language appeared to be Hebrew, though he had no idea what it meant.

  Anthony continued. “The sword’s name—Escalibor. Stephen, you aren’t from the bloodline of King Arthur. But like Arthur, you are an heir in the bloodline of King David.”

  Stephen became dizzy at the thought. This quest all started when he returned to St. Louis seeking help from Waltz to understand his powers, his lineage, and his purpose in life. Now, it was revealed.

  He looked down at the sword. “Goliath’s.”

  “We believe so,” Anthony said. “When David fled from King Saul, he did not have time to grab his own weapon. Instead, he stopped along the way. A priest who had been given charge of this great sword gave it to him with his blessing. This sword has been wielded by Israel’s greatest warrior and blessed by a priest. We knights also believe it was anointed, along with David, by a prophet as the new king began his reign over Judah.”

  “Did Waltz know?” Stephen asked.

  Vincent answered this time. “We do not believe so. The oldest records of the bloodlines are lost. This sword was thought to be lost, also. The Knights of the Circle have the only known painting of Arthur, his triune, and Escalibor.”

  “His triune?” Stephen asked. “Guinevere and Lancelot?”

  “No,” Anthony replied. “Guinevere and Merlin. Lancelot was Fallen, as best we know. Merlin wasn’t a wizard, but a prophet. The land was largely pagan at the time, and they used the term ‘wizard.’ Guinevere was a priest, whose job it was to protect Arthur. Lancelot seduced her—not just her, all of them.”

  “Since you’ve told me all this, I guess you should see this.” Stephen held out his hand toward the blue light. The light flew across the room, straight into his hand. He dropped the glowing scroll, which twisted and unrolled. His name was at the top, with several names underneath.

  “What is this?” Vincent asked.

  “The Scroll of Awakening.” Anthony looked at Stephen. “Shannon, Rex, and Jax?”

  Stephen sighed. “Apparently, I can aid in unlocking or restoring dormant or lost powers.”

  Anthony pointed to new names Stephen hadn’t noticed before. “These must be children who have started showing abilities.”

  Stephen shrugged. “I guess. With the battle ahead, they’ll have to wait for their invitation to Hogwarts.” With a swipe of his hand, the scroll flew back to where it had come from.

  ****

  Stephen rounded the corner to the training room inside Outpost, sensing Patty, Zander, and Shannon were all inside. Anthony and Vincent followed behind. As the door opened, he saw Patty send Zander crashing into a wall. Sweat dripped from Patty’s hair and arms. He couldn’t help but like the look on her. The fight suited her personality.

  Zander sat first, seeming to check himself for injuries before standing. “Good. Nice job. I can’t remember hearing of a bonded learning to use an ability so quickly.”

  Stephen laughed out loud, feeling excited that he could share more with Patty than before. As he approached her, he was happy to know she would understand what it felt like to be Mighty, the energy, the power, and the responsibility. He could help her through it. After all, if she shared in a portion of his abilities from being bonded, she may also share in a portion of the darkness he had struggled with for so long—same power, same weakness. Perhaps with his help, she wouldn’t have to know how it feels to be addicted to the rush of power.

  “What’s wrong,” Patty asked, stepping forward to meet him.

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  “Your mood just changed. Didn’t it? I mean, I thought I felt something change.”

  “Remarkable!” Stephen replied. “So you know what’s going on? They filled you in?”

  Patty punched Stephen’s chest, resulting in a loud thud and garnering snickers and jeers from the others.

  “Ow!” Stephen laughed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know until after I met with Alistair. I haven’t seen you since.”

  “How did Alistair know?” she asked.

  “You told him by bruising the entire side of his face when you slapped him.”

  Patty’s faced contorted and her mouth gaped. “Well, he deserved it, I guess.”

  “He agrees. And he’s very sorry. He’s been under a lot of stress. But that can wait until later. We need to talk about something else. Anthony and Vincent have shared some pretty important information about me that I wanted you to know first.”

  Stephen looked at Zander, who had limped back over to the group. “Did you tell her about me?”

  “No. But I think she was trying to beat it out of me.”

  Stephen noticed Shannon looking at Vincent and shrugging.

  Vincent looked at Stephen. “We cannot tell anyone without your permission. We are bound by our oath.”

  Stephen asked, “Shannon isn’t a Knight of the Circle?”

  “No,” Anthony replied. “There are only two ways that someone can take that oath—by being born into it or being knighted by the king. As you can imagine, we haven’t had a new bloodline in the order for quite some time.”

  Stephen walked over to the wall and pulled a sword from the stand. “Will this work?”

  “If you say so, it will,” Zander replied.

  Stephen stood in front of Shannon. “Are you willing to take the knight’s oath?”

  Shannon locked eyes with Vincent, who gave a simple nod. “I am.”

  “Please kneel.”

  Stephen placed the sword on her right shoulder. That was when he realized he didn’t know what the oath was. He searched deep in the minds of Vincent, Anthony, and Zander, finding the oath had been etched into their memories, never to be forgotten.

  “Be brave when others are scared. Be strong when others are weak. Defend when no one else will. Love others even when they are filled with hate. Walk the path of the righteous that has been set before you. Serve the people, serve your king, and live for Almighty God. Arise, Knight of the Circle.”

  Shannon stood, a grin on her face and a light in her eyes.

  Stephen sensed the pride she felt, along with the confusion, unsure of what was taking place. He turned his attention to Patty. “In simplest terms, you are my queen.”

  “That’s not simple at all,” Patty challenged. “In plain English, what the heck is going on?”

  Anthony interjected. “Stephen is the last known descendant of King David. He has Escalibor in his trove, which is the sword David took from Goliath to behead him. That same sword now only responds to those in the line of David who are worthy to wield it.”

  “Wait,” Stephen said. “Worthy to wield it? You didn’t say anything about worthiness.”

  “It didn’t matter,�
� Anthony replied. “You were already wielding it.”

  Stephen pondered this for a moment. Was he really worthy? His thoughts drifted back to Tommy, the boy whose death he had caused. Then again to Elizabeth, whose evil mind he had freed. Why would he be considered worthy?

  Patty grabbed his hand. “It’s okay. Leave the past behind. It’s time. God chose you, not a sword. He has a habit of choosing people with checkered pasts to do great things.”

  He had often considered how unpleasant it would be to have someone read his mind the way he did others. But he didn’t mind this at all. He managed a smile and nodded.

  Chapter 12

  Stephen, Zander, and Anthony walked through Oakwood Cemetery in Montgomery, Alabama. He still hadn’t gotten used to Anthony following him around, refusing to leave his side since they had learned a couple days prior that his bloodline traced back to Israel’s mightiest warrior—King David. Much less Anthony’s insistence that he carry Stephen’s duffel bag for him. He knew Anthony meant well. Still, it seemed a little much.

  As they walked, Stephen realized one thing he missed about the South was the warmer autumn days that turned to cool—not cold—fall nights. What he didn’t miss was the humidity. As the sun set behind him, the temperature dropped, making his moist shirt uncomfortably cool.

  “See that section on the other hill?” Stephen pointed across a grown-up green space to another part of the cemetery. “I read that Hank Williams is buried over there.”

  “Who?” Zander and Anthony asked simultaneously.

  “He was a country singer.”

  The two men looked at each other. Zander shrugged. Anthony shook his head.

  “I forget you’re both from Europe.” He looked around. “How much farther, Zander?”

  “Not far.” Zander closed his eyes a moment. “Just down this hill, I think.”

  They continued on as Zander gave further instructions. “We’re looking for an entryway of some kind. Perhaps in a mausoleum or a crypt. It should be around here.”

  The men stopped. They stood close to the ravine where the creek flowed below. Each looked around for a nearby building or structure of some type.

  “Could you be off?” Anthony asked.

  “I guess,” Zander said, scratching his chin.

  Stephen wandered from the two. He felt they were close. There were additional thoughts near, but no one else was within sight. He walked down a small slope and up to the ravine and stopped, concentrating. He heard voices, thoughts from a number of people. But where? He walked along the edge of the tree line, looking for any sign of a trail or path. Nothing. He turned back up the hill to get the attention of his companions. In front of him, hidden in the hillside, was a large solid metal door that was rusted over.

  How did I miss that? “Guys!”

  Neither responded, continuing to debate as to how Zander could have missed something on the mental map that had been shared with him.

  Guys! Stephen threw his thought, ensuring they would be interrupted.

  Both men turned as they grabbed their heads.

  “What?” Zander asked, sounding annoyed at the intrusion. They made their way to Stephen.

  Stephen pulled the handle on the door and opened it. It was heavy enough that he thought only a warrior could open the door by force. A dust cloud of dirt and rust billowed in the air. Damp, stale air spilled from the tunnel ahead. He peered into the dark as the two men stopped beside him. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Anthony held up his hand, and light formed in the palm of his hand, as though holding a light bulb. Together, they entered the long, dark tunnel.

  “What is it with cemeteries and dark, smelly tunnels?” Stephen asked.

  “What?” Zander said. “You don’t like it?”

  “I could think of preferred places to meet. We’re not vampires.”

  “Exactly,” Anthony added. “People are less likely to stumble upon a meeting. Most Outcasts aren’t as fortunate to have a secured meeting place with all the amenities of home. Many live by moving from place to place, unable to establish anything permanent.”

  Stephen looked around. “Maybe we can help fix that.”

  The tunnel ended at a block wall. Zander held out his Mighty medallion. A spot on the wall nearest Stephen began glowing.

  Stephen approached. It was an outline of their symbol—a sword, shield, and stone. He touched it, and the wall opened away from them, rumbling as it moved.

  On the other side was a well-lit room, larger than Stephen had imagined and filled with people. The room rivaled the grand hall back at Enclave where all the Mighty would meet for celebrations and special occasions.

  A lady who appeared to be in her fifties approached. She had a soft smile and large, bright eyes that captured the glow from Anthony’s light. Tan skin and high cheekbones led Stephen to believe she was of Native American heritage. Her long dark hair lay to one side of her head, the other side shaven. She wore a long, earthy dress. Tattoos covered her left arm.

  “I am Tallou. You must be Stephen.”

  He nodded, not sure what to say or where to begin.

  “Follow me.”

  She led them to the far side where an empty stone stage awaited. He understood. Everyone wanted to hear from him. But why? He and his friends still were not sure why the meeting had been called. He reached out to their thoughts, desiring to understand why he was there. It took only a second. The same thing was on everyone’s mind, though not everyone felt the same about it. Could he really unite and lead them? He took the bag from Anthony and jumped onto the stage where everyone could see him. Among the crowd were Miguel, Michael, and Nadia, as well as a few others he had met before.

  “You’ve all heard what happened in London,” he called out. “Zander is here with me and can verify what is true. We believe Fallen attacked because Outcasts in London had been helping search for the David, Pastor Buchanan. Now you wonder if Fallen will target other Outcasts. I don’t know that answer.

  “I see many of you that I have met over the past several days. Thank you all for letting me come and speak with you when you did. I see many more that I have never met before. Thank you for coming. I believe now, more than ever, is the time to unite and stand together. Zander and others have joined us at a base we call Outpost. They still use their London operations too. My hope is that Outcasts will unite, sending delegates and leaders among you to work together and organize everyone.”

  A voice called out, “You want us to be like Enclave!”

  “In a way, yes,” he replied. “We are facing an enemy that is strong and determined. Mighty numbers are dwindling.” Stephen felt a shift in the mood. The crowd grew concerned at hearing the news. “The enemy’s numbers are growing. All Mighty need to come together.”

  “We’ll not follow Alistair,” another cried out.

  “He’s a Stewart,” another yelled.

  Murmurs spread across the crowd.

  Stephen reached down into the bag and pulled out his sword—the sword of David—and held it high. “Then fight with me!” he yelled.

  A tall burly man walked to the stage. “You’re just a runt. Why should anyone follow you?”

  Anthony and Zander stepped in front of the man, blocking his access to Stephen.

  “Let him up,” Stephen said.

  The man leaped high into the air and thudded onto the stage.

  “Say your name and class for everyone to hear,” Stephen demanded.

  “I’m Boone. And I’m a warrior.”

  Stephen drove the sword into the stone platform. “Boone, I’ll make you a deal. You’ve heard of King Arthur, the sword and the stone?”

  Boone nodded.

  “We’ll both pull the sword. You pull it free, I leave. I pull it free, you follow me.”

  Boone grinned large enough that Stephen saw his stained teeth. “Me first.”

  “Okay, but I pray first.”

  Boone agreed.

  “Almighty Father,” Stephen began. “We seek Your
guidance. The enemy is beating on the gate. The battle for this generation is near. The souls of humanity hang in the balance. There are doubts. I ask only that You help us to know Your will. Should these Mighty join with me or not? Forgive our faithlessness and show us Your desire. In Christ’s name.”

  Stephen stepped away from the sword.

  Boone took hold with his mammoth-sized hands, which swallowed the handle whole. Surely the sword had originally been made for someone such as he. Grunts and heaves didn’t help him, though. He pulled and tugged. Rather than the sword loosening from the stone, the stage cracked beneath Boone’s feet. Finally, Boone had exhausted his strength.

  “May I?” Stephen asked.

  Boone gave one last jerk on the sword. His hands slipped free and he tumbled backward. Hushed laughter rippled through the crowd.

  Stephen took hold of the sword. The ground around the stone rumbled the moment he touched it, as though preparing to offer the blade to his hand. As when he had been anointed, Stephen felt power surge through his body. The blade sang as it slid free of its prison and shimmered in the light. He realized then that this was his purpose—to bring the Outcasts back to the others, to Enclave, and to unite all Mighty in preparation for the battle.

  In the reflection of the blade, Stephen saw his own eyes—glowing an ice blue as he had once seen in the minds of others, back when he had wandered the streets of St. Louis. He caught Tallou’s gaze from the front row. Her eyes were wide. The smile on her face a result of the renewed hope that Stephen felt emanate from her. She bowed. Others followed until the entire room was bowing to Stephen.

  He looked to Anthony and Zander, who pointed toward Boone lying prostrate on the floor in humble respect.

  ****

  Stephen, Vincent, and Edge walked through the French Quarter of New Orleans. The lights were so bright, Stephen couldn’t make out the stars in the night sky. Jazz billowed from the street. Were it not for the importance of the mission, he might have taken the time to enjoy it. He loved good jazz.

  Additional scouts scoured other parts of New Orleans too. Zander, Max, and Shannon were in the Garden district, Jax, Tallou, and Miguel were checking out Tremé, and Anthony took Rex, Boone, and Bernard to the Ninth Ward. Additional Outcasts, whom Stephen didn’t know yet, were checking Metairie and other outlying parts of the city. While Stephen had gone to meet with the Outcasts, information came into Outpost giving them reason to believe Fallen in New Orleans might know the location of Pastor Buchanan. Search teams were quickly organized and sent to uncover anything they could that would lead to finding him.