“Do you think you can lead better than me?”
That was it! Thomas finally understood why Bernie needed to keep control of the minds of Fallen. Bernie had shown his hand—fear. He was afraid that Fallen wouldn’t follow him. The young man looked over the people in the room once more as he wiped the blood from his nose. He knew several of them, several who respected him and had fought alongside him.
“Answer me!” Bernie demanded.
Would Fallen follow Thomas? He wasn’t certain. If he challenged Bernie and won, their minds would be released. Then, he would either lead or die.
“Here’s your answer!” Thomas shouted. As he did, the daggers from around his waist flew from his belt and embedded themselves into Bernie’s torso.
Bernie yelled out in pain, but did not fall. Instead, he snarled at Thomas. “You’ll die for that.”
Thomas held his hand out and made a twisting motion. Each of the blades twisted, going deeper into the old man’s body. Bernie yelled once more and fell backward, landing with a dull thud. The young man walked around to the other side of the body. He needed to see if Bernie was dead while keeping his eyes on the others. He watched as Bernie took his last breath. At the same time, the Fallen in the room appeared dazed, as though waking from a deep slumber.
Thomas stared down at Bernie’s corpse, which resembled a pin cushion from all the daggers sticking into the torso. He hadn’t been impressed by the thought of building a larger army than Gregor’s. “A large army? That’s too unoriginal.” Thomas knew it would take time to tear Mighty apart—piece by piece. “We’ll wear them down by keeping them busy on all fronts. Gregor’s mistake was giving Stephen a clear objective, taking him head on. Instead, I’ll keep him guessing. He won’t know what’s going on until it’s too late.
“Let Stephen have his moment. We’ll stay hidden, building the right army with the right tools. He’s got Mighty and Outcasts working together. So I’ll have to be careful.” He looked out at the other Fallen, who looked to be awaking from a trance. A few in the front, having already regained their own consciousness, had eyes locked on Bernie’s body.
Thomas raised a hand, and the daggers lifted into the air at the same time, turning toward the other Fallen. “I’m the new leader now, unless someone would like to challenge me.” Thomas wasn’t certain, but believed all in the room were either warriors or simple soldiers. He would have an edge over them as a prophet.
He caught a glimpse in his peripheral of a man snarling and drawing his sword. Thomas sent a dagger flying with the flick of a finger. The man had barely moved, then froze, before falling to the floor with a thud.
“Anyone else?”
Several more drew their weapons—swords, hammers, chains, or whatever they had. Of course! he thought with a sinister grin. He sent daggers flying, but there was more of a fight this time. These people had known what to expect. Except the majority of Fallen present had already determined to make him leader.
Thomas stood still and watched as the lesser group was slaughtered. “No mercy!” he cried out.
When the cries and shouts subsided along with the clanking and clashing of metal, Thomas was proud. Though small, he had a unified army of Fallen that had chosen to follow him, which was more than Bernie would ever have been able to accomplish. He stood tall, head held high. With another flick of his wrist, all the daggers flew into the air and returned to his belt.
Epilogue
Stephen knelt to place a flower on Pastor Buchanan’s grave. It had been less than two weeks since they laid his body to rest. Still, small sprouts of grass had already started to appear among the freshly filled grave, which he was able to see clearly enough thanks to the clear skies and full moon. This was the first night he had been able to get away since the ceremony. What little free time he had found, he had spent with Patty.
The cool breeze blew across the cemetery. The weather would change soon. Stephen was becoming used to change. Less than two years ago, he had been homeless with no family or kin of any kind. The lack of training and knowledge concerning his own abilities had nearly driven him insane as he’d found it hard to distinguish between his own thoughts and memories and those of a multitude whose minds he had accessed. Now, however, he had a wife and knew who his family was. His friends were numerous. For perhaps the first time, he fully understood the gifts he had been given by God. The Almighty’s purpose for his own life had healed his once broken spirit. Although he occasionally wrestled with maintaining control, he had hope that didn’t seem to exist before.
He glanced across the hill in the direction of Waltz’s grave, then back to Buchanan’s. “Do you think Waltz knew we are descended from King David?” Stephen considered it as he stood again. “Probably not,” he answered himself. “I’ve found nothing about it in our trove.”
He pulled a leaf from a low-hanging limb and fidgeted with it. “I know he’s proud of me. I’m guessing you are too. Still, I can’t help thinking that I could have saved you both. If I had learned who I was sooner and trained, you may both be alive. Maybe I could have even healed Mom.”
“You can’t save everyone.”
Stephen turned and saw Edge leaning against the tree, then turned back toward the grave. “I know. Everything is ordained and has purpose.”
“Aye! That’s right.”
Stephen looked up to see Alistair walking toward him. He looked around to see if there were any other surprises and saw Vincent, Shannon, Bernard, Rex, and Patty. All approached and stood around him.
“How did you all manage to sneak up on me?” he asked.
Edge pointed to a nearby crypt and chuckled. “That’s a vanishing point.”
“How did you know where I was?”
Patty wrapped her arms around one of his and leaned her head against his shoulder. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”
Vincent chimed in. “You are very much a creature of habit.”
“Habit? What habit?”
“Seriously, mukker? Anytime something goes right for ye, ye can’t help but feel guilty about it. Ye’re full of compassion, Stephen. Which is a great thing. But ye tend to brood over hurts ye cannae do anythin’ about.”
“I don’t brood,” Stephen asserted. A sharp pain shot through his free arm, followed by numbness where Shannon had immediately punched him.
“Yes, you do,” she said. “You know it too.”
“We are here for you,” Vincent added. “Each of us has lost someone at some point. We each know what you are going through. But none of us have to go through it alone.”
“Exactly,” Rex said, in his usual gruff voice. “Besides, brooding is a bad look for you. You’re more of a hope guy. In fact, we might as well put a big ole S on your chest. Leave the brooding to me.”
With that, the entire group burst into laughter. They stayed in the cemetery awhile longer, each sharing memories of those who had gone from this life, each one thankful for those who still remained.
Stephen knew there was a lot of work ahead of him—ahead of them all. There would be more battles and hurts. One thing was clear, his fight wasn’t over—not with Fallen, not with the world, and not within himself. But this night, he was able to let it all go, realizing each day had enough worries of its own. Instead, he enjoyed this time with his family and friends.
Acknowledgments
I want to thank some very special people in my life. First, I give God thanks for all he has done for me. He has raised me up to heights I could never have dreamed possible. And He has given me a great joy in writing.
I thank my wife, Shaunna, for always being supportive and encouraging. Without her, I don’t believe I would have come this far. I also thank all my family and friends who have been there for me during this process. It’s a great feeling knowing so many people are cheering me on and believing in me.
I give thanks to the following people for their help in making my stories a success: Kris at Drop Dead Designs for the awesome cover art she put together for this ser
ies. Her knowledge and professionalism are incredible; Natalie for her talent in editing and helping authors to grow to reach their potential; Keith for his willingness to share his experiences and lessons as a fellow author of fantasy, as well as for his talent in proofing my final work; and all the members of the North Georgia Writers Guild for their amazing support and willingness to share their knowledge and experiences with us who are short on it.
Finally, I thank my readers. As you have now shared a very intimate journey with me, you are more than fans, but friends. I value that friendship and hope that you not only enjoyed the stories, but that you were moved by them as well. I love hearing from my readers, so feel free to email me at: [email protected].
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