Chronicles of Stephen BoxSet

by Kenyon T Henry

  “I believe so.”

  “I’ll introduce you.”

  Danny interrupted. “First, we have something for you.”

  The other man approached, lowering his hood. He was older, with long gray hair. His hands were wrinkled, but thick—strong-looking.

  Stephen glanced at the others in cloaks. They were all older, at least as old as Waltz would have been.

  “I’m called Hamon.” The old man reached inside his cloak and pulled out a sword as he knelt before Stephen. “I’m honored to have lived long enough to meet you.” He held the sword up with both hands, as though presenting an offering.

  Stephen looked at the blade. It was shiny and looked sharper than before. He couldn’t see where it had been broken in two. Hope grew inside him. He reached for Escalibor and noticed a tattoo on Hamon’s forearm. It resembled the emblem of the Mighty, only the shield was different. Instead of a crest-shaped shield with a round top and pointed bottom, it was a red circular shield with a golden sword and blue gem in the center.

  Escalibor felt strong in Stephen’s hand when he took hold, as though it had also taken hold of him. Like two magnets drawn to each other, it responded to the bloodline that belonged to Stephen. In the reflection of the blade, his eyes shone blue, filled with light. Then, as if responding to its master, the blade began to blaze like a blue flame.

  He looked at Hamon. “I would knight you,” Stephen said. “But I believe you already belong to the Circle.”

  Hamon lowered his head. “I spoke the oath once, long ago. Still, a king has never laid his sword upon my shoulders.”

  Stephen lowered his sword until it touched the man’s right shoulder, then lifted it and touched the left. “Arise, Knight of the Circle.”

  The man stood, holding his head high. Stephen knew it wasn’t possible, but Hamon looked as though he had grown several inches and went back a few years in age. A new spirit had rested on him, with a fire in his brightened eyes.

  “You fixed the blade?” Stephen asked.

  Hamon nodded. “My special ability is smithing. I can do things with metal that most others can’t—even without tools. But I retired long ago, around the same time as your father, though he was younger than me. Having been a knight, I recognized Escalibor when I saw it. These men here,” he pointed to those standing in front of the stage, “have served with me. I trust them with my life. Them and many others. I called and told them what I had and what it meant. They are here to help. More have gone to the different dispatches around the world, to your men. We are old, but we are still Mighty.”

  “Then it’s time,” Stephen answered, turning to those who watched closely. “Remember why we are here. It’s not for our glory. God’s glory is constant, not dependent upon us. Instead, we are here because He has called us—each and every one. We will all fight. Some of us may die. For us, death is merely sleep until we rise—resurrected into a new life. Be of courage and good cheer. For even if we do not win the day, He has overcome the world!”

  A cheer erupted from the floor, as all held their weapons high in approval.

  Stephen lifted his eyes and Escalibor toward heaven. “For the Almighty!”

  “For the Almighty!” came the echoing cry.

  Chapter 22

  The steel mill was now overrun with Fallen as the red mist blew away with the breeze. Inside and out, there wasn’t a vacant spot of real estate. The place was already buzzing with the sounds of triumph.

  Gregor looked down from his lofty window, feeling a sense of pride that he’d accomplished what no other before him had—not even Satan himself. In a way, he knew this was also that serpent’s victory. Soon afterward, Lucifer would reign on the earth. Gregor’s job was to pave the way.

  “Do we really need all these people?” Elizabeth snarked. “Stephen’s not that powerful.”

  “Powerful enough to lock you inside your own shell,” Bernie replied.

  “Other fronts might be better served with some of our people,” she replied.

  “No,” Gregor said, turning to face them both. “We will have a swift and decided victory here, then turn toward the other assaults to send reinforcements as needed.”

  Elizabeth looked thoughtful. “I’m simply concerned that more than a thousand here were recently Mighty.”

  Bernie rubbed his chin a moment, then added, “She does have a point. Stephen could rally them. It’s a long shot, but it could happen. Even so, we’d still have the numbers on our side.”

  Gregor looked back out the window across a field to the edge of the woods. He saw the stirring of Mighty. Enclave had arrived. “Put them in the second and third waves. By then, they will see victory in our grasp and forget any misgivings they may have had. Everyone wants to be on the winning side.”

  Elizabeth’s footsteps hurried out of the room as she went to give orders to their legion waiting outside the door. He knew Bernie still watched him. “What is it, Bernie?”

  “There’s been no sign of Stephen,” he said.

  “Without his family’s sword, do you still think he’ll come?”

  “I do. He didn’t have dat sword when this all started. He’ll be here, sword or not.”

  “And you’re concerned why? You helped raise him. Is this hard for you?”

  “You know where my loyalties lie. I’ve got no problem killing anyone for our cause. Not my brother, not Waltz, and certainly not Stephen.”

  “Then what is it?” Gregor turned to look at Bernie. He envied one thing about Stephen—knowing a person’s thoughts and feelings, never having to rely on a person’s own loyalties and self-interests.

  “The kid’s powerful. Stronger than he knows. Something about his power concerns me.”

  “He is powerful. Yes. But he’s human, with a mortal life that I plan to suck out of him, securing my victory!”

  He walked past Bernie, out of the office, and down the catwalk until he came to a point where he had the best vantage point of all Fallen. Looking down, he saw Elizabeth corralling a large group together, as several other captains attempted to get the mass into some type of organized formation. The cacophony quieted to murmurs as word spread that he was watching.

  Elizabeth looked up and vanished, reappearing at his side, opposite Bernie.

  “Look at them!” Gregor shouted to the crowd of Fallen below, pointing toward Mighty who were gathering across an empty lot and field. “I can smell their fear. I hear the tremble of their bones,” he said to the laughter of ten thousand. “They know what awaits them. Soldiers of the past have said, ‘Death before dishonor.’ Today, we will gladly give them both. Be ruthless. Leave no one alive except the boy Stephen. He is mine.”

  ****

  Stephen and his men stood on top of the hill, looking down and across to the steel mill. He had hoped the scouts had been exaggerating. They had not. He looked to Zander and the other captains and nodded. Each acknowledged his signal. One by one, they vanished to join their own men and women across the world to fight Fallen in hopes of delaying the apocalypse for at least another generation.

  He turned to Jax. “Go be with Patty.”

  Jax hesitated. He looked at the ground a moment, then back to Stephen. As he opened his mouth to speak, Stephen calmly cut him off.

  “Jax, she needs someone there with her. That’s where I need you. I won’t worry about her if you’re there.”

  Jax dipped his head in acknowledgement. Then he, too, vanished.

  Stephen turned his attention back toward the mill. The mill grounds were saturated with Fallen. At least ten thousand, he thought. They seemed to be in some type of formation, though somewhat chaotic. Their emotions ran high with excitement. The thoughts Stephen tapped into proved they believed victory was already theirs. Train tracks ran alongside the mill. Fallen stood poised on their side of the tracks, their attention focused on Mighty.

  On the other side of the tracks was an enormous vacant lot, followed by a large field, then woods. At the edge of the woods, the Mighty stood,
looking miniscule by comparison. He listened for their thoughts and found that Alistair was present. Neither side seemed to take notice of Stephen and his little band of men.

  Cicadas began a soft chorus in the distance. Birds vanished from the sky as the blue backdrop darkened. After a few minutes, the sky turned black.

  A loud roar erupted from the mill. At first, Stephen thought something had exploded. He quickly realized, instead, that Fallen had begun their attack.

  Now, Johnathan, Stephen ordered.

  A bright light streaked across the sky, lighting the battleground well enough for Stephen and his Outcasts to see where they were heading. Fallen slowed, taking notice of the streaking light in the sky. Still, they had already gotten halfway across the lot, nearing the field where Mighty waited. Something had to be done to slow them . . . No, to stop them. Stephen needed time to make a final plea to Alistair to unite groups and coordinate a plan of attack.

  From nowhere, lightning flashed across the sky. He knew what to do. Stephen held his sword high and lightning flashed again, this time striking Escalibor’s blade. The blade burned bright as lightning struck the weapon twice more. He whipped the blade in the direction of Fallen’s front line, burning a path down the hill, through a field and across the lot, and farther. Those on the very front line of the first wave of attack turned to ash as a fire blazed across, burning higher and higher, but spreading no farther.

  He now had everyone’s attention as both camps looked up the hill to see where the consuming fire had come from. Stephen motioned for his men to follow, and they hurried down the hill to where the Mighty of Enclave and Alistair awaited.

  As they went, Stephen kept an eye on the blaze, which didn’t waver. He felt the army’s ocean of frustration on the other side. Only a few were afraid. Most were simply irritated, waiting for the opportunity to tear into Mighty and Stephen’s small band. Fallen had faith in their numbers.

  He could not see them, but he felt three specific sets of eyes watching him from afar—Bernie, Elizabeth, and Gregor. A chill ran up his spine at the thought of Gregor. Facing him seemed to Stephen like facing Death itself.

  Though not too far, it seemed to take an eternity for them to reach Alistair. The terrain quickly changed from hilly to tall grass and eventually to bedrock covered in moss. Johnathan was no longer streaking across the sky, giving off light. Instead, the tall flames flickered, giving off a brilliant light Stephen was sure would be seen for miles as the moon continued to block the sun. Shouts from Fallen, now standing far back to stay clear of the flame, filled the air as his five hundred or so troops walked across the field, along their side of the flame. Nearing, Stephen saw Sam, Anastasia, Colvin, Do-Yeong, and many more elders standing with the Scotsman, including, of course, Charles. There was a tension in the group, which was to be expected considering the fight was only moments away. Still, uncertainty among the elders seemed obvious. Sam, Anastasia, Do-Yeong, and Colvin stood closer together, while Alistair, Charles, and Commander Brahms stood apart. The remaining elders had made a larger semicircle around the two groups.

  When Stephen stepped into their midst, a number of guards rushed forward to stand between him and the elders. At the same time, Anthony, Zander, Vincent, Bernard, Rex, Shannon, and Edge moved to Stephen’s side. Several of Alistair’s guards’ facial expressions changed, looking uncertain upon seeing the group.

  “Anthony? Zander?” the seasoned captain asked. “You both took oaths. Where is your loyalty?”

  Hamon stepped forward in front of Stephen, as did several of the others he brought with him, including Danny—Oracle. “As did I,” Hamon said in a soft, compassionate voice. “Will you question my loyalty too?”

  The captain was speechless, standing with his mouth open. After gaining his composure, he approached the old man and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. As he did, Stephen noticed the same tattoo on the captain’s forearm that was on Hamon’s.

  “What’s this about, Hamon?” the captain asked.

  “Let Stephen through, and the matter will be settled in a few moments.”

  The captain hesitated.

  Hamon looked toward the blacked-out sun. “Please, we don’t have much time.”

  “Only Stephen.”

  Vincent moved to step forward, but Hamon stopped him and looked back to his former compadre. “On your word as a knight, protect him.”

  The captain nodded.

  Stephen stepped forward and followed the captain into the circle where the elders were talking, having paid little attention to what had been going on. Charles was the first to notice that Stephen was not only joining them, but was being escorted by a guard. The rest soon took notice, watching keenly, until Stephen stood just a few feet away from Alistair.

  “Alistair, let us help,” Stephen pleaded.

  “Ye have no place here,” he replied, and several of the council members lowered their heads.

  Sam, however, watched intently. So much so that Stephen nearly felt unnerved by it, but he continued. “Alistair, we’re friends. Mighty can’t do this unless we come together.”

  Alistair glared at Stephen as the light from the distant flames flickered across his face. “You are dividing us.” His voice grew louder. “I am the David. I am chosen to lead. Not you!” he yelled.

  “Not true,” a cloaked figure from Stephen’s group shouted. Danny lowered his hood.

  “Let him through,” Anastasia ordered. She motioned to him. “Come.”

  Danny walked straight to her.

  “Who are ye and why should we listen?” Alistair demanded.

  Stephen was certain he saw a slight smile on Danny’s face as he spoke. “I am Oracle,” he announced for all to hear. “I was present after Stephen’s wedding when Pastor Buchanan anointed Stephen.”

  “Anointed Stephen as the David?” Commander Brahms demanded.

  “No.” Danny shook his head. “Not as the David, but as king!”

  Murmurs grew from the Mighty of Enclave. Stephen sensed already that people were beginning to split and argue amongst themselves.

  “There’s no king amongst Mighty,” someone yelled.

  “The king’s bloodline is gone,” shouted another.

  “Listen to him,” came a third.

  “Stop!” Stephen demanded. “I hear you arguing. I was being honest when I said I do not want to split Mighty. We cannot stand divided.”

  “Proof,” Alistair said through clenched jaw. “I know ye. Ye wouldn’t be here without proof.”

  Stephen pulled the sword from its sheath. Even in the darker light of the flame, the captain must have recognized Escalibor because he instantly knelt. Half the guards followed his gesture, as did a few others among the Mighty of Enclave, including Commander Brahms.

  “Escalibor,” the commander muttered.

  Stephen drove the blade into the bedrock beneath their feet. “Alistair, I did not ask for this. I never wanted to be part of this war from the start. You know that. Now I have finally accepted my place in this world. I’ve made peace with it. And for whatever reason, the Almighty has put this task at my feet.” He nodded to the sword’s handle. “If you can pull it free, then you—not I—are chosen by God.”

  Alistair stared at the handle, then back to Stephen. His eyes welled up, and he appeared overrun with sadness. He dropped to both knees, keeping his eyes on Stephen. “Please forgive me. I let me own ambitions get the better of me, my king.”

  Stephen walked over and help his friend to his feet. “I’d rather you call me friend.” He pulled Alistair into his embrace and both held tight to one another. Stephen felt something change among Mighty. A seed of hope had been planted.

  There was a commotion behind Stephen, and then he felt something hit him in the back, knocking both he and Alistair to the ground.

  “You fool!” he heard Charles scream.

  Stephen turned to see Sam lying on the ground with a dagger planted deep in his chest while guards subdued Charles.

  “Trai
tors,” Charles screamed. “All of you, traitors!”

  Stephen crawled over to Sam and was joined by Shannon, Vincent, and many others.

  “Heal him, Stephen,” Shannon said through a river of tears.

  Stephen placed his hand on Sam, but Sam grabbed him.

  “No,” the dying head councilman said. “I knew this day was coming.” He spat blood to the side, and Shannon wiped it from his lips.

  “When I left Waltz to deal with Elizabeth alone, I caused this. He and I were given a task by God, to sacrifice our gifts or our lives. We both had to sacrifice. I couldn’t . . .” He coughed. “I loved having power and was ambitious. If you want to blame anyone for Waltz’s death, blame me. Waltz’s death and mine are the price to stop Gregor, Elizabeth, and Bernie. Finally, I’m glad to pay . . .” Sam’s voice trailed off.

  All the joy that Stephen and other members had felt had been fleeting. To his own chagrin, Stephen had been right about Charles. Perhaps he should have said something to Alistair sooner. His friend may have listened. Stephen had the ability to share Charles’s thoughts with Alistair. Why hadn’t he at least tried? Now he could only watch as Sam turned cold.

  I thought he didn’t like me. Stephen had lost control for only a moment, which was enough for those standing near to have his thoughts forced into their minds.

  Anastasia placed her hand on his shoulder. “No, he liked you. It was his own shame that kept him from being around you.”

  Shannon pulled her father into her arms, closed his eyes with one hand, kissed his forehead, and faced her king. “Stephen,” she said, rage flashing in her eyes. “End this, please.” Then she vanished with Sam.

  “What are their plans?” Stephen asked, turning toward Charles, who disappeared in a puff of red.

  Chapter 23

  Gregor looked up from the picture in his hand, tucking it into his pocket once more. From his vantage point, Gregor could see over the flame, but was too far away to see what had taken place. He knew something had changed. He could feel it. Stephen had somehow reclaimed the broken sword of his bloodline. But it was only a sword—a piece of metal. His annoyance with those below who had so eagerly declared victory before the sun grew dark—now growing quieter by the moment—could barely be contained. Loud roars and shouts were being replaced by whispers and moans. He beat his fist against the catwalk, which reverberated through the air.