“House of the Lord?” Gerard asked. “Surely you jest. The only lord you worship is the Prince of Darkness, vile creature.”
The Djinn’s head slumped down slightly, as if in thought. Then silently, it arose to its full height and sighed.
“Nay, my friend. I worship not the creatures of hell, but Jesus Christ Himself,” it said aloud, no longer the rasping voice of a spirit—but that of a man. It was a voice familiar to him, but he could not place it. “I am not a servant of the devil, as you have believed, but one of the Most High…and it is His hand alone that stays my blade against you. I would gladly relieve your neck of the burden of its head for what you did to Isabella and Tufic, but His mercy is now upon me and I can’t bring myself to do what my heart commands me to do. So I say again, join us.” It paused. “Please.”
Without waiting for an answer, the Djinn reached up to his hood and pulled it from his head. Black gloved fingers worked quickly, unwrapping the dark shroud that covered his face. Slowly, imperceptibly, the grotesque features of the man beneath the Djinn’s hood were revealed and Gerard could do nothing but gawk in silence at the sight.
William De L’ombre’s leprous and scarred face stood in the place where only moments before the Djinn had basked in his victory over his foe. The brother of the baron himself had been Gregory’s demonic spirit of vengeance.
One by one, the army of Djinn removed their hoods, revealing knights that had gone missing over the last few months after encounters with the creature in battle. Gerard recognized many of them. The one that had wanted to filet him with his sword moved forward and unmasked himself—it was the imbecile knight Horatio. A second later, the half-witted face of Samuel stood by his side.
“I should have cut you down for what you did to my cousin, knave,” the knight growled. “But it would be a dishonor to him to do so.”
Gerard’s mind screamed silently from within his skull. This was lunacy. The very idea was beyond preposterous. William was an invalid. He was dying of leprosy. How was it possible that such a man could do the things that the Djinn had done?
The baron’s brother bent down again to look Gerard in the face. The mercenary’s eyes caught a glimmer of red trickling down William’s side. He was injured. By the way he moved, Gerard could tell it was serious.
“My condition,” said William to the mercenary’s unspoken questions, “has an interesting side effect. Contrary to popular belief, a leper doesn’t randomly lose body parts. He loses them because he can feel no pain. When the leper injures himself, the wound goes unnoticed, often rotting to the point where amputation is necessary.”
“So that’s why you could take such a beating and never seem to be affected by it,” said Gerard, finally understanding.
The man who had been the Djinn looked over to the approaching form of Tufic, leaning on the shoulders of Isabella, as they entered into the sanctuary of the church.
“Exactly. Tufic is a brilliant physician and man of science. He has seen to it that my wounds are always properly maintained,” William continued. “His experiments with the fungi known as foxfire have provided me with extended periods of strength and spryness that I would not ordinarily have. In addition, the mushroom provides a natural phosphorous illumination that I’ve used on occasion to give myself the otherworldly appearance that you know all too well.”
To his own surprise, a burst of laughter exploded from the mercenary’s belly. Gerard knew that he should be terrified, but seeing his great enemy before him now, he couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been.
“This is just too much,” Gerard said, stifling the laughter that welled up inside him. “I can’t believe we fell for such a charade.”
Of course, it all made perfect sense. The creature’s knowledge of the baron’s comings and goings. His ability to always be one step ahead of Gerard’s men. His relationship with the baron’s daughter.
The mercenary had completely misinterpreted the secret liaison with Isabella for that of a lover. In reality, it had been a doting uncle that was simply visiting his niece. It was no secret to anyone that William and Isabella’s mother had been hopelessly in love with each other. It must have been utter torment when his parents announced the engagement of Gregory to the woman William desperately desired.
Then, after her mother’s death, William had naturally fawned over Isabella—that is, until he was captured in battle by Saracen raiders and sold to a sheik as a slave. It had been shortly after that, William had become infected with leprosy…a punishment from God, the baron had said, for his betrayal at being adopted by the Sheik Samir.
And now, after all this time, William had mounted this great offensive against his brother’s plans for an Outremer conquest. It was sibling rivalry taken to an extreme level.
“Will you join our cause, mercenary?” asked the leper, ignoring Gerard’s outburst.
Gerard pushed himself off the floor and stood squarely before his captor. Suddenly, the “demon” no longer seemed so horrifying. The leper’s shoulders hunched as the injury to his gut bled out. William was no longer the formidable beast that had threatened him at every turn. He was now only a dying man, determined to see his brother’s plans fail.
His army, on the other hand, was another thing entirely. He had seen many of these men fight on a number of occasions. They were good. Very good. Gerard knew that there was only one means of escape from his present circumstances—join the baron’s brother.
But it was the one thing that he could not agree to. Not that he had any loyalty to Gregory. Nor was he afraid of losing his soul, as he only moments ago feared. No. The reason he could not agree to the Djinn’s demands was simple pride. He had been bested by a foul cripple. He had been defeated by an unclean cretin who could hardly even hold onto his sword, but for the medications the Saracen doctor had given him. And it was for that reason that his own humiliation refused to agree to the Djinn’s terms.
“And if I don’t join you?” he asked.
“The truth is I’m not sure. I’m not a murderer,” said William. “But you would not be allowed to leave here freely. Not until we’ve ended Gregory’s campaign and retrieved the Sefer Yetzirah.”
The Book of Creation? Then, the Djinn had not secured the Book. All was not yet lost for the baron’s plans. And, by William’s own admission, he was reluctant to kill him. He had a chance. There was a chance he could escape his fate after all.
Gerard paced forward, dipping his head as if considering the leper’s proposition. The djinni spread apart, allowing him room to move freely. The mercenary stopped beside the small frame of a young knight named Adam that Gerard knew to be inexperienced.
“You see my dilemma, don’t you?” asked Gerard, turning to face his nemesis. “I’ve been paid to do a job. Unless you offer more than your brother…well, I don’t see how I could help you.”
“Gerard, please reconsider. We could use…”
William was unable to finish the sentence, as the mercenary sprung toward Adam with all his strength. Wrenching the youngster’s sword from his hand, Gerard spun the knight around and pulled him tight against his body as a shield. The sword’s blade rested lightly against the boy’s neck.
“Now, I’m walking out of here,” Gerard spat.
“We can’t allow that, DuBois.”
The mercenary backed up, guiding his hostage toward the church’s door. The djinni army spread apart, making room for him at a nod from William.
“Now, leper, I will take my leave…grrk.”
Gerard released his hostage as something sharp slammed into his back. It was the oddest sensation, but a familiar one, as hot and cold mingled around the blade that now pierced him. Blood streamed from his lips as he slowly turned to see the beautiful face of Isabella standing behind him, bloody knife in hand.
“He might not be willing to kill you, monster,” she whispered coldly in his ear as he collapsed to the ground. “But I have no such qualms.”
The mercenary’s eyes grew dim. A grea
t sound of rushing water filled his ears as his lungs struggled to take in breath. And then, he felt no more.
22
“Isabella!” William’s necrotic eyes widened with horror. “What have you done?”
His niece’s lithe frame moved slowly around the cooling body that lay crumpled on the sanctuary floor and spat at the beast that had murdered Margaret. Silently, she looked up at William, not offering a word of explanation.
It was no surprise, actually. Isabella had always been a defiant child. When she believed herself to be right, nothing would stay her course. Her will and determination were indomitable. That was why he’d spent years secretly training her how to fight…how to be a warrior. If she was going to run out and fight against every sign of injustice, he had been determined to prepare her for any eventuality.
He had not, however, prepared her for murder. He glanced down at the mercenary, whose blood now pooled around his body, then shut his eyes from the sight. Gerard was not a good man. He should not be lamented. Still, the idea of his precious Isabella bloodying her hands—it was something he had never foreseen.
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” his niece finally said, a single tear streaking the porcelain contour of her left cheek. “I could not allow him to leave here. You know that.”
“He would not have left, child. I had three men in hiding outside. They would have stopped his escape.”
Isabella stared helplessly at William. The men who followed the Djinn shifted uncomfortably in the silence. William knew they believed he was being too hard on her. Perhaps he was. But he could not bear the idea of her being guilty of cold-blooded murder. He had fought so hard to avoid killing anyone through his own campaign against Gregory. Yes, there had been unfortunate casualties—the inescapable result of war—but he had intentionally avoided outright murder.
He looked up at Isabella, who seemed unable to tear her eyes away from him—the dead mercenary under her feet completely forgotten. Her lips trembled as she valiantly struggled to hold back an onslaught of tears.
Oh Lord, how much she resembles her mother, William thought. His heart constricted within his chest at the sight. He missed Catherine so much. His niece was all he had left of her and he had loved her with every ounce of his being. His every breath and thought had been guided by this love…his desire to keep sweet Isabella safe and to see her happy. Now, here she was standing before him, covered in the blood of their enemy as the full terror of her actions threatened to consume her.
Pulling his hood over his face again to protect her from making contact with his diseased skin, he stepped forward and took Isabella into his arms, pulling her tight against him.
“It’s all right,” he said soothingly into her ear. His gloved hand caressed her back as she heaved in anguish and a flood of tears against him. “Everything will be all right.”
“I’m not…It’s not him…it’s….”
“Shhhhh. No need to talk now. Just let it out.”
She pulled away and looked at him from under his hood, shaking her head in defiance.
“You don’t understand,” she continued. “I’m not concerned about Gerard. I’m glad he’s dead. That’s not the problem.”
William looked around the sanctuary. His men stood transfixed, staring silently at him. Their mouths agape. Streams of tears streaked across many of their own faces. What was going on?
“Uncle, it’s not Gerard…it’s you,” Isabella said
William’s eyes continued staring at his niece. What was wrong with her? Why was she suddenly fading from his sight? She was only inches away, but she seemed so far. He tried to focus his vision, but her image grew dimmer in front of him. His knees buckled underneath him and he plopped to the stone floor of the church. Although he could no longer see her, he felt Isabella’s warm embrace and heard her sweet whisper in his ear.
“Please, Uncle. Please hold on. I can’t do this without you.”
He felt a single droplet fall to his cheek. His niece’s tear. Then, consciousness deserted him entirely.
****
His dreams were dark and scattered—fantasy and horror mixed with segments of his past. Images of djinni and all sorts of evil spirits plagued his fevered sleep. Darkness whirled around him as nightmarish phantoms slithered fiendishly through the shadows.
I’m dying, William thought to himself as he scanned the dreamscape surrounding him. This is what dying feels like.
He’d nearly died once before—many years ago. The memory flooded his mind’s eye, a whirlwind of sorrow and admiration. If he hadn’t already been comatose, the impact of the memory would have floored him.
Samir. The man who would eventually adopt him as an adult son—a custom common in the eastern nations—tended his wounds. The battle had been fierce and by all accounts, he had fought valiantly. But it hadn’t been good enough. An arrow to his chest would have killed him for sure if not for the tender care and medical expertise of the Saracen sheik that found him alive on the battlefield.
“Be still, boy,” Samir had spoken harshly, but William had known the gruffness had been for his own good. “The shaft must be pulled out. One jerk by you and you might as well get ready to meet your ancestors.”
William had been so young…three months away from his seventeenth birthday. Much too young to see the atrocities he’d been part of. Even younger to now lay victim to those very same atrocities.
Thankfully, Samir was no slouch when it came to medicine. He’d been trained by the best. From an early age, the sheik’s father had sent him on a journey around the world—his brilliant mind absorbing anything it could. And it had soaked up a great deal.
William later learned that medicine had not been the only subject his adopted father had picked up on his journeys. Philosophy, science, and a variety of special fighting skills had been added to his repertoire as well. As had religion…a simple little detail that would change young William’s life forever.
“Steady now,” Samir gritted his teeth and his two strong hands wrapped themselves around the wooden shaft of the Saracen arrow. With a great heave, William’s rescuer yanked the projectile from his chest and brought down a white hot branding iron on top of the open wound in a single motion.
William couldn’t remember screaming, but he knew he had. Even now, forever marred by his horrible illness, unable to feel pain of any kind…even now, William remembered the horrible agony of that single moment. It was as if he were completely reliving it.
“It’s all right,” said the soothing voice. “Everything is going to be all right.”
This time, William heard himself scream. His eyes bolted open to see Tufic’s bruised but concerned face bent over him—a red hot poker clenched in his hand.
“William, listen to me,” his long-time friend continued. “You’re bleeding out. You’ve got at least three new injuries. And two older ones have reopened. We’ve got to stop it.”
The smell of Tufic’s insufferable medicinal fungi weighed heavy in the air. The stuff smelled worse than his own decaying flesh, but William ignored the putrid odor as his eyes looked past Tufic and locked on their target. Isabella. He looked up into her moistened face and smiled as much as he could muster. He wanted to assure her. He still had work to do. He still had purpose. He couldn’t give up until Gregory’s plans were finally stopped.
The fire brand seared his flesh with a hiss. He couldn’t feel it, but the smell of burned hair and skin flooded his nostrils and he drifted back into the dreamscape once more.
“You’re finally awake, eh, lad?”
The younger William sat slowly up in the feather bed of the sheik’s palatial tent. The wizened face of his benefactor beamed back at him. Instinctively, William reached for his chest, which he found covered in linen cloths.
“Don’t worry, boy,” Samir beamed. “You’re going to be just fine. Not a thing to worry about.”
Obviously, the older man didn’t seem to think a Western Christian, immobilized and powerless in a Moslem’s home
in occupied territory was something to worry about. Every ounce of his soul screamed at him to jump out of bed and run for freedom. All it took was an attempt to sit up to realize how foolish that notion was.
“I’m serious,” the sheik said gently. “You’ve truly nothing to fear from me.”
For some strange reason, William believed him. From that moment on, the two formed a deep seated friendship that would have lasted forever…if not for the jealousy and greed of Samir’s eight sons. It was a friendship that meant almost as much to him as…
****
“Isabella, no!”
“I must see him immediately,” William’s niece demanded. When she set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. “Tufic, get out of my way.”
“He needs his rest,” said the physician. “He’s stabilized for now, but I’m not sure for how long. He needs time for the foxfire to work. Needs time to recuperate.”
Consciousness was slinking its way into William’s mind. He knew it was impossible, but it felt as if pain wracked every inch of his body. Phantom pain. Memories. Nothing more.
You silly oaf, thought William. Lepers, after all, can’t feel anything except shame…humiliation. As much as he tried, William couldn’t muster strength enough to open his eyes. He wanted to see Isabella. He wanted to see her mother again. But he couldn’t get his lids to cooperate.
“I don’t mean to disturb him,” Isabella said. “I just want to be near him. He needs me.”
“I can assure you, he doesn’t even know you’re here. He’s completely delirious.”
Tufic, you fool, let the poor girl in here. William wanted to scream. He couldn’t even do that right. What had he done to his body to cause it such stress?
“Isa…Isa…” it was all the once mighty Djinn could choke out.
The Djinn (The Order of the Knightshades Book 1) Page 19