by James Somers
I was in too much pain to even speak. What’s more, I knew that I would die soon. I felt my broken rib puncture my lung as I hit the ground. The blow to my sternum had done severe damage to my heart muscle. Its incessant beating would give out in moments. What was worse, I could not warn Ezekiah or defend him from this assassin. There was nothing I could do now except moan upon the floor; not even able to writhe in my agony for the probability of increasing it.
Helda stood over me confidently, waiting for Ezekiah to reappear and allow her to complete the task Belial had sent her for.
Having walked through the portal of light, Ezekiah now found himself within a small cube-shaped room. He could not discern any ceiling whatsoever. White clouds churned above, allowing bright light to filter into the room without ever directly penetrating. The walls were alabaster and so river stone smooth that no tool appeared to have ever touched them.
Ezekiah’s attention had been immediately drawn to the center of the room where a plinth of the same material stood approximately six feet high. Upon the plinth, or rather suspended just above its surface, was a sword of remarkable beauty. Once again, Ezekiah could discern no mark of craftsmanship on the weapon. Everything from blade to pommel appeared to have been shaped from one piece of silver, polished to the highest sheen he had ever laid eyes on.
“Take the Sword of the Spirit in your hand, Ezekiah,” the voice intoned.
Ezekiah perceived that it originated from the thick white clouds boiling above him. He did not dare to raise his eyes. Instead, he obeyed the voice of Elithias, reaching up to grasp the sword by the hilt. When his hand closed on the metal, he felt power surge through his body. Not the kind that might knock someone to the ground, but rather a confident feeling of authority and purpose he had never known.
The sword was absolutely smooth to the touch, but warm like a living thing. As he pulled the weapon to him, he noticed that it seemed lighter than air, almost as if it were an extension of his own arm; an effortless thing to move. The hilt, though smooth, gripped his hand like something magnetic.
Ezekiah stared into the blade. The silver metal did not reflect his face back to him as expected, but shown with heavenly light. Worlds unknown, distant stars, the roiling sea; all these and more he saw in the reflection on the blade.
“From this day, until my coming, you shall serve as my regent before the people,” Elithias said. “You shall execute my judgments upon the wicked and uphold righteousness. My statutes shall you teach as my prophet. My enemies shall you destroy as a king. Haven shall be the seat of my power five hundred years, and you shall serve me all that time. I have given you a queen to rule at your side and will bless you with children at your feet. And my spirit shall rest upon you.”
As Ezekiah watched the blade in his hand, the clouds plummeted toward him, filling the room. The light filled the space as well, blocking out his vision momentarily. The clouds covered him completely. When they dissipated, he was no longer in the alabaster room, but back within the temple chamber where he had left Gwen only a moment ago.
I lay on the ground, trying to keep my eyes on Helda. She remained motionless; still as stone near the place, if there was any way to measure it, where Ezekiah had been taken through the portal of light. I had no idea how long it had been since he departed.
My head was spinning, likely from internal bleeding due to my injuries. My body was in agony. I felt myself dying, my strength ebbing away. When Tobias had shot me, I had known some pain from the wound. But it had been very brief as numbness flooded through me and darkness followed.
However, Helda had gifted me with no such mercy. Instead, she had made my defeat as painful an experience as possible. I could not move for fear of causing myself more. So, I lay there, trembling with the effort even to breathe.
I worried how I might manage to offer Ezekiah any warning before Helda attacked. Over and over again, my mind ran through options only to come up with nothing. I was useless to my love now. When he emerged, she would strike him down before my eyes. Realizing that, I knew now why she had allowed me to go on living. I would suffer not only my own agonizingly slow death, but be forced to watch Ezekiah die as well.
All too soon, bright clouds erupted in the room, revealing Ezekiah standing before us in white apparel he had not been wearing prior to his departure from me. A weapon was in his hand. I could only describe it as a sword of some kind, though it looked nothing like any blade I had ever seen fashioned by the hands of men.
The room was filled with light from the clouds then from the blade of the sword. Ezekiah looked down at me. Seeing me dying on the floor, his expression, at first hopeful, now turned to rage. Helda looked upon the weapon Ezekiah carried in his right hand. She made her move.
I tried to speak, to shout a warning to my beloved, but it was no use. Pain coursed through my body again, causing me to writhe in agony. Tears flowed down my cheeks. I wanted to shut my eyes to what was about to transpire before me. But I had to see him. If these were the last moments of my life, I wanted to behold him for as long as possible.
Helda blurred into the light coming from the sword, her blade coming to her hand just as she disappeared. The sword had been her target. Ezekiah was incidental. The sword drove outward, almost as if it had a will of its own. Helda’s small body appeared impaled on the blade, snatched from her time warping trek by a weapon made by God.
She screamed then, astonishingly, backed away, off of the blade, and lunged at Ezekiah again. One lightning fast stroke divided her head from her body. She fell aside, her knife clattering to the floor.
Ezekiah appeared at my side, stroking my hair, whispering peace into my ear. I sobbed, happy that he was alive though I did not understand how. I couldn’t speak because of the pain in my chest. I looked into his eyes one last time, preparing to die.
The pain subsided quickly, but darkness did not take me as I was expecting. Strength came back to me; strength like I had never known flowing through my body. I felt completely at peace. I thought Ezekiah was supporting me, lifting me up to my feet, but he was standing apart from me now. I had gotten to my feet, but how?
My broken bones had mended. My ruptured organs and damaged tissue had been repaired. I looked to Ezekiah, desiring to ask the obvious question. How? But I already knew the answer. Elithias was with us, as Ezekiah had said. I smiled at him.
Then Ezekiah knelt before me, a tear running down his cheek, but a smile on his face. “My dear Gwen,” he said, “would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
I was shocked by the proposal to say the least, but not so surprised that I couldn’t answer. I threw my arms around his neck. “Yes! Of course, I’ll marry you, Ezekiah.”
He stood with me still holding tight to him. “Elithias has commissioned me as his regent until the time of his coming.”
“A Prophet King?” I asked, using the title Helda had mentioned.
“Yes, exactly,” he confirmed.
“And what now?” I asked. “The dragons are on their way. They might even have begun their attack already.”
Ezekiah lifted the sword between us. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Within the reflection upon the silver I saw a storm brewing over an ocean, a distant star exploding and a whirlwind of fire racing across an icy waste.
“Now, I will fulfill the duty Elithias has given me,” he said. “With the Sword of the Spirit, I will vanquish those wicked creatures and restore order in his name.”
The sword diminished, reducing itself to a silver band upon Ezekiah’s right ring finger. “Take my hand,” he said, holding out the same hand.
I took hold, and we began to walk forward. Within three steps, the light emanating from the silver ring had enveloped us completely. When normal light resumed, we were no longer inside the Temple of Elithias.
ONSLAUGHT
General Thurl waited behind the coastal wall that guarded Haven from storm surge during the fall season. All was quiet in Haven now. The women and ch
ildren, as well as the elderly and infirm, had been sent farther north toward the mountains. There were outposts there that Riven had established many years ago as he prepared for this day; though most had assumed it would never arrive.
Thurl considered Riven’s faithfulness to Elithias and how his many preparations might very well save some of their lives now. Riven had been a good man, a benevolent king and the dearest of friends. His son, Marco, was noticeably absent now that the battle was close. The prince had decided that it might be best if he join the women and children, along with his considerable entourage, to be sure that the monarchy and his father’s good name lived to fight another day.
Thurl had let him go without a word. Good riddance, he thought. Now, he watched with his soldiers, peering over the lip of the wall as the army of death walkers approached. They had suffered a small setback when the locomotive exploded nearly five miles out. Thurl hoped that his new friends had survived the ordeal, but he couldn’t worry about them now.
He had done what he could to ensure his troops were ready for this battle. The death walkers were running a bottleneck, unable to come any other way at Haven except two by two along the rail bridge. The dragons were another matter. They represented the primary threat at this point. The men were ready. He hoped it would be enough.
His men waited anxiously for the signal to be given. The heavy steps of the death walkers carried over to them on the shore. As the emaciated beasts came within thirty yards of the bridge outpost, Thurl stood, hollering, “Fire!”
At once, his men jumped to their feet, opening fire with rocket launchers on the head of the oncoming column. Once-human bodies were scattered left and right from the bridge, others were tossed ablaze into the sky. The place just ahead of the bridge outpost wall became a meat grinder.
The dragons, however, were quick to dive into the fray. Belial charged toward the soldiers that were busy cutting his death walkers to ribbons with launchers, grenades, bottles filled with oil which were lit and thrown, and all manner of guns. He roared furiously, preparing to roast the men alive where they stood.
“Now!” Thurl shouted over the din, blowing an air powered horn at the same time.
A second wave of soldiers emerged from the trees in the public park nearby, each carrying a rocket launcher. Several fired on the red dragon. Having faced such weapons before, Belial banked hard away. One rocket missed completely. Another came straight at him. He breathed fire as he retreated. The explosion was close enough to buffet him, casting him to the ground.
The soldiers cried in victory, but too soon. Baphmet, the green dragon, pounced upon their group. The men screamed. Those who had not launched their weapons tried to engage the predator among them. Rockets tubes discharged ordinance in every conceivable direction; one exploding in their midst.
Baphmet howled furiously, shooting into the air, dropping the few men he had grabbed already. One of the stray rockets hit the trees in the park, exploding harmlessly. Another hit a building that overlooked the sea, filling several floors with smoke where a base of operations had been set up. The last smashed into a section of Thurl’s front line behind the sea wall.
Disorder quickly ensued. Thurl called for a withdrawal from the wall to another position further back. The dragons brought down fire and acid upon many of the retreating soldiers, roasting them alive, or melting the flesh from their bones. Another line of soldiers received the retreating horde, melding with them in order to present their defense again. The wounded remained where they lay.
The death walkers had, by now, taken advantage of the chaos caused by their masters. They smashed through the barricade left at the bridge outpost and swarmed onto land full of bloodlust. Soldiers who had not retreated quickly enough were overwhelmed; the flesh peeled from their bones in the ensuing melee.
Some of the dragons entered the ground fight at this point, whipping their tails through throngs of retreating soldiers, scattering hapless victims in every direction. Fire issued upon others, sending soldiers screaming in flames. Moloch pounced upon a group, like a cat on a mouse, driving flesh into the pavement beneath his great weight.
Thurl grabbed a rocket launcher from a retreating soldier, right out of his hand, aimed the weapon at the black dragon and fired. The ordinance exploded upon Moloch’s chest as he attempted flight, carrying several victims. The black dragon was thrown backward. He crashed into a nearby building, caving the structure in upon hapless soldiers who had gone hiding within.
Moloch emerged angrier than ever, spraying acid in every direction. Thurl leaped behind a wall as the toxic fluid splattered toward him. He rose again with a machine gun, scattering shots at the dragon as the wall smoked before him. Thurl emptied the weapon then took off after his men.
The soldiers were on the run now. The death walkers ran after them; one huge swarm of predators chasing a dwindling herd of prey. The dragons converged with their army, inadvertently crushing a few too slow to move out of the way in time.
The soldiers continued to run. Thurl picked up a fresh weapon cast away by some unfortunate and turned to fire. The dragons and the death walkers continued their steady advance together now.
Then, between the two sides, the one on the run while the other advanced, a white light appeared. The light delivered two individuals onto the main road then retreated. Thurl immediately recognized them: Ezekiah the prophet, now robed in white garments, and Gwen holding to his right hand.
The dragons stopped immediately when they saw them. The death walkers rushed on momentarily until they realized their masters’ hesitation. Then they, too, stopped before the pair. If surprise had been an expression dragons could register then Belial was most definitely surprised by this change of events.
The light delivered us to the unfolding battle within the streets of Haven. Inwardly I was shocked to see the scene unfold before my eyes, but Ezekiah’s presence held me steady. The dragons were standing on all fours no more than fifty yards away. Their army of death walkers, thousands of them, was gathered on the street with them.
Everyone present on this shattered, makeshift battlefield appeared to be shocked by our arrival in their midst. I heard one of the dragons, Baphmet, speak to Belial.
“Your assassin has failed us,” he hissed.
Belial did not look at him, but remained fixed eye to eye with Ezekiah. I let go of his hand as he stepped forward.
“You shall go no further,” Ezekiah said, fully assured that he had the authority to make such a claim. His voice resounded unnaturally, echoing from the faces of the buildings.
Belial roared in answer, threatening the prophet with his ferocity. Then he commanded his forces forward.
“Walkers, kill the prophet of Elithias!” he bellowed.
Ezekiah stood stone-faced as they howled and surged forward. He extended his right hand; the same holding the weapon given unto him by Elithias. The silver ring flowed out into his hand and beyond, reforming the Sword of the Spirit within his grasp. A light like the sun reflected in the blade.
I thought I knew what would happen next. The power of God would cut down these creatures under the dragons’ power like wheat before a scythe. Instead, Ezekiah held the weapon aloft crying, “You shall no longer be bound to these wicked creatures any longer!”
Faster than I could blink my eyes, the horde of death walkers was transformed. They became men and women, boys and girls of every age and size. A great cry of woe went through the thousands as they were released from their hellish enslavement as death walkers. The wicked spirits that had kept them bound were forced out of every individual. Not one death walker remained.
The dragons roared in their rage. The former death walkers ran screaming, scattering in an instant from their previous masters. Baphmet, being the closest, lunged toward Ezekiah. But he leaped to the side, allowing Baphmet’s head to strike beside him. He raised the silver blade high then brought it down upon the green dragon’s neck, severing it from his body.
“Kill him!” Belia
l screamed.
Daimon, Asteroth and Moloch leaped upon Ezekiah at once. I wanted to come to his aid, but my feet remained planted; not out of fear, but out of confidence in the man commissioned by Elithias himself.
Ezekiah leaped and twirled among the whirling forms of the dragons as they attempted to catch him. Ezekiah bounced precisely from one to the other, taking the heads of every dragon that had dared to attack. Only Belial now remained.
The High Serpent King hissed at Ezekiah. He knew his defeat was now imminent. Rather than stand and fight, Belial stretched forth his massive wings, beat them down for lift and took off. I mistook his flight for cowardice, but I had been wrong to suppose such a thing. Belial’s claws extended as he flew toward Ezekiah fresh from killing the other four dragons.
Just before the talons would have snatched him up, Ezekiah hurled the silver Sword of the Spirit at Belial, driving the blade through the red dragon’s breastbone. The dragon lurched backward, smashing into the ground. The light from the sword radiated from the exposed hilt, beginning to engulf Belial’s huge body.
The dragon scrabbled with his claw, attempting to extract the blade, but he could not manage it. The light penetrated the terrible crimson scales, bursting through on the other side of the beast. Despite his mad thrashing, the white light swallowed him. His form froze in place, vanishing completely as the light dissipated.
The sword shot back to Ezekiah’s hand, once again becoming the silver ring upon his finger. I ran to Ezekiah, embracing him as the crowds of retreating soldiers and emancipated walkers began to converge upon the person they would soon realize had been commissioned by God to become their new king.
DECREE