by Ted Dekker
“I don’t think so. On the other hand, only a madman would kidnap the Sovereign.”
She laughed, and the sound was like water running over pebbles in a brook. Its own music.
“Mad or not, everything is different,” Rom said. Was it only a day ago that he and Avra had left the basilica together, running for the subway beneath one of the banners bearing the image of this very woman?
“Read the rest,” he said.
Feyn sat down before the fabric, found her place again, and read:
I shared my findings. And then I gathered my research, my notes, my samples, and gave them all up to my supervisor, a man whom I trusted. His name was Megas.
“Megas!” Rom breathed.
“Wait. Listen.”
A month later, a stunned world learned that Sirin, its philosopher hero, had been assassinated. By zealots, haters of his peaceful message. The public outcry and the sympathetic recommitment to his statutes was instant and worldwide.
It was then that I learned that my research had been used to create a virus called Legion. Highly contagious, it stripped away all emotion but one: fear. Shortly before Sirin’s death, Megas proposed use of the virus as a way to make Sirin’s ideology permanent. By secretly infecting the world, he could excise emotion and ensure peace. Only fear would remain, as a means to maintain obedience to the Order.
But Sirin refused, and for that, he was assassinated. Let me state it here: Sirin was not killed by religious zealots, but by Megas—a name I believe the world will soon know.
As of today, Legion has been loosed and there is no way to stop it. The course of human history has been forever altered. What was once human will be no longer. I fear that if I stay, I will be killed or soon infected.
I must flee…
Rom was staring, first at the vellum, then at Feyn’s translation, and then at Feyn herself. She shook her head faintly. “This can’t be.”
But a moment later she read on:
March 15, 001:
Two weeks have passed since my last entry. It is worse by far than I could have imagined. Legion is ruthless.
I am in the desert. I have four things: a roof over my head, a generator, a link to the computers I used in my laboratory, and my samples. You must realize: the world is being fed a lie without even knowing it. Legion infects without notice, at first contact.
Humanity is dying. The fact is clear to me: Though blood flows through their veins, those infected by Legion are no longer human but a fear-filled race of dead.
“Dead?” Rom said into their ensuing silence. He could not move. “He’s claiming that the world is actually dead?”
She lifted her eyes. “I don’t feel dead.”
Was it possible? He looked at his hands. But they were the hands of the living, weren’t they?
“You don’t feel dead because you feel. The blood brought us back from the dead,” he said, embracing the idea. “That’s it, don’t you see? We were dead and now this blood has brought us back to life!”
“Dead…” Sweat beaded Feyn’s brow. “The whole world, dead? And it’s been that way…”
“For four hundred and eighty years,” Rom finished.
“You’re saying that there are only five living people on this planet.”
“I’m not saying it—the vellum says it.”
“And that I would be…a dead Sovereign…ruling a dead Order.”
Feyn turned back to the deciphered account.
This is my doing! It is my burden to right it if I can. I work without ceasing. I sleep and eat only to aid my research. I may have the means to return a few to humanity’s true soul, but only a few, and only for a time. I have a sample of purest blood of unknown origin marked only “TH,” which proved resistant to the strain. It cannot cure Legion—humanity reverts to death, which has become its natural state. But it may return those who drink it to their full humanity at least for a limited time.
Rom blinked.
Only for a time?
“Keep going,” he said, less steadily. She read again:
April 20, 002:
It is a year now since the spread of Legion. Within another it will have reached every corner of the globe. Within this generation, true humanity will be no more. And though my work is not finished, my death is inevitable. So I write this that I might know what my purpose is, even when I no longer feel horror.
Megas has asserted himself as the world’s only leader and has formalized a version of the Order that even Sirin would count as blasphemy. He is nothing less than a dictator ruling a race void of the ambition to overturn him.
I see no hope, yet I press on in my search for the means to reverse the effects of Legion on the human race.
August 8, 002:
I have had to move twice for fear of coming into contact with Legion. They know that someone has breached their firewalls, and I fear that my access to their computers may be compromised or terminated soon. But I have finally constructed a model that offers what may be humanity’s only hope.
Sometime at or near the new year 471 the human genome will return to its original, undefiled state in the same bloodline of the sample first used to create Legion.
Mine.
Bloodlines should converge to produce a child, a male, probably in the area of Africa, now called Abyssinia. Within his blood will be the means to overthrow Legion on the genetic level. Assuming he survives the war within his body, which may cripple him in his infancy.
In this child is our hope. It is he who will remember his humanity, who will have in him the capacity for compassion and love. And it is therefore he who must free us from Order, the very structures of which go up like a prison around the human heart. This boy will be humanity’s only hope.
“The boy,” Rom said.
Feyn hesitated as though remembering something, but before he could ask, she hurried on:
It is now for this boy and the hope he brings that I work feverishly. When I am certain of my calculations, I will disengage from my laboratory computers. I have managed thus far to elude capture. I will establish an Order of Keepers and together we will vow to guard this blood and keep these secrets for the day that boy comes. I will teach them to remember what it was to know more than fear, so that our minds will remember even after our bodies have forgotten.
Though we will surely die under the curse that is Legion, we wait in hope, having abandoned the Order in anticipation of that day.
Until then, I have just enough blood for five to live for a while. Only five. And only for a few years. Let the blood ignite the five who must find the boy and bring an end to this death. You who find this, you who drink, you are that remnant. Drink and know that all I have written is true.
Find the boy. Bring him to power so that the world might be saved, I beg you.
“Find the boy,” Feyn repeated softly, to herself. “The keeper said that.”
“To you?”
“Yes. He was reciting the vellum.”
Rom’s heart beat like a cudgel in his chest. “That’s it? There’s no more?”
Feyn focused on the vellum. “Only one line, four months later.”
“What?” Rom said. “What does it say?”
She stopped, visibly faltered, and a moment later read:
Three days ago, I, Talus Gurov, died.
Chapter Twenty-five
Chaos gripped the Senate Hall, threatening to pull Order into the abyss once again.
Saric stood, reeling. Feyn was missing. Feyn, who was to be central to everything.
For several minutes, no one seemed to know what to do. Even the guard on duty were looking around for direction.
Rowan’s gavel came down with a crash, again and again.
“Order! We will have Order! This news is not confirmed. I’ve heard no reports of this.”
But that changed when the captain of the Citadel Guard himself burst in through a side door, motioned Rowan over, and spoke urgently into his ear. The senate leader questioned him an
d hurried back to the podium.
They came to order without encouragement this time, to a man and woman.
“My friends, last night as we slept, an imposter entered the Citadel and kidnapped our lady, Feyn Cerelia, from her bedroom. It seems we are without a Sovereign, present or to come.”
There was no outcry, no more argument. Only dreadful silence.
And outrage, at least on Saric’s part.
“In light of this,” Rowan said, “we must now acknowledge the wisdom of the new law proposed by Saric. We must move now. The world cannot be left without a leader.”
On the floor, Senator Dio lifted his hand. Saric stood off to Rowan’s side, mouth dry. He had to find Corban.
“This senator would speak.”
“Speak, Senator Dio.”
“I move that we amend the law as proposed.”
Murmurs now issued throughout the chamber, floating up to roost in the ceiling’s high vaults.
He heard the motion’s second as though from a distance.
The gavel. “And so will read the law.” Rowan’s voice rang out in the senate. “Should a Sovereign die before the tenure is fulfilled, the former Sovereign will step into office once more. It is hereby agreed and ratified to be signed into law by the new Sovereign as his first act of office.
“My lord,” Rowan said, near his shoulder, startling him. “Your request is fulfilled. Please come stand at the edge of the dais.” He held in his hand a Book of Orders.
Saric moved woodenly to the edge of the dais. He held up his hand to the assembled senate. It was the posture of blessing the masses. His other came to rest on the book in Rowan’s hand.
“I, Saric, son of Vorrin,” Rowan said.
Saric repeated the words, but all the while he felt ill.
What if she was dead? Or died in the days to come? This was the work of the keepers, carrying on beyond the grave, using as their instrument this Rom Sebastian.
“…will carry out the office of Sovereign to the best of my abilities, to uphold Order with my life…”
“…to uphold Order with my life…”
It was to be the pinnacle of his life.
But all he could think about was Feyn.
“…under the Maker. Maker, help and bless me, and bring Bliss to the world.”
“…under the Maker. Maker, help and bless me…”
“And bring Bliss to the world.”
“And bring Bliss to the world.”
The senators, all of them standing for the oath, began to kneel. Beside him on the dais, Rowan went to one knee.
“Sire,” Rowan said when Saric gazed at him, “you are now Sovereign of the world.”
Inside Vorrin’s chambers—no, his chambers, now emptied of Vorrin’s body—Saric stormed toward the windows. He stared out.
“I want to be alone.”
“Sire,” Rowan said. “If you require—”
“I don’t. And if I do, I’ll call for you.” It occurred to him that Rowan was his senate leader now; Saric might depose him with a word. It was a fact he might have liked to savor. But now that was lost.
Rowan turned for the door, but before he had pulled it open, Saric said, “Please ask Camille to send for Corban the alchemist immediately.”
When the taller man had gone, Saric stood in his father’s apartments, staring out at the maze of the Citadel with her walkways and her rock gardens, her ancient palaces and museums and her modern administrative buildings, much as he had seen his father do on so many occasions.
One of the heavy bronze doors opened behind him. Saric turned to see Corban walk sedately into the chamber and, almost as an afterthought, drop to one knee.
“Get up. Feyn’s missing.”
“I’ve heard,” the alchemist said, rising.
“Do you realize what this means?” Saric lowered his chin and leveled a gaze at the alchemist. Corban never changed. He never aged. Though he had no emotion, he seemed to have other uncanny gifts.
“The law is passed?” Corban asked.
“Of course it’s passed. But it’s now worthless!”
“How can you say that?” Corban asked. “Feyn will succeed you in three days, and the office will pass to the previous Sovereign, you, when she dies.”
“What if she’s already dead, now, before she’s seated?”
“Then rule will pass to the next eligible candidate upon the inauguration. And you will kill them once they are seated.”
True. Then he would have his throne either way. And yet, it rankled.
“The outlaw, this artisan. He’s the one who took her. It has to be.”
“Rom Sebastian.”
“Yes.” Rage clouded Saric’s mind. “But why? What would he gain by kidnapping her?”
“Clearly, leverage. He may have just become the most powerful person in the world. It’s not so foolish.”
“You will find him and my sister. You’ll assure me that she is alive. But you will kill him, and this time you will not fail. I want to see my beloved sister safe. I want, as her devoted brother, to see her come to power. It is my duty. I will not be defied. Do you understand?”
The bronze door opened. Both men’s heads turned.
“Does no one beg entrance? I won’t have people coming in and out of here at will!”
Camille stood white-faced, having never fully recovered from this morning.
“Forgive me, sire. There is a woman here demanding to speak to you.”
“Of course,” he said drily. “The whole world would demand to speak to its Sovereign.”
“She insists that you’d harm me if you knew she’d departed without audience.”
“Send her away.”
“She says to tell you that she’s brought you information about the keepers.”
Saric stilled.
Interesting.
Corban, standing between Saric and Camille, tensed.
“Who is she?” he said.
“She came in with one of the apprentice guards. She says her name is Avra.”
Chapter Twenty-six
For nearly an hour they had paced the knoll—Rom, raking at his hair as he speculated how this information might change the world, Feyn lifting the swath of fabric on which she’d translated the vellum, scanning it again and again.
“The first viable means to reprogram that DNA by means of a retrovirus. He claims that the limbic system is the seat of humanity, but he must be speaking metaphorically. Surely.”
“Reread that part about the virus,” Rom said.
“Humanity is dying. The fact is clear to me: Though blood flows through their veins, those infected by Legion are no longer human but a fear-filled race of dead.” Feyn set the translation to her side. “I still can’t fully grasp it.”
“But we aren’t dead,” Rom said, “you and I.”
“And when we were, did we have any clue we were?”
“Can a dead person know they’re dead? I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “But I know one thing: Everything I’ve been told about the blood so far has turned out to be true.”
He watched Feyn as she gazed skyward, then closed her eyes. Standing there like that in her skirt with its tattered hem, she might be a peasant, a nomadic urchin basking in the country air. She inhaled deeply. Her ribs expanded against the bodice of the dress as though to draw as much life into her lungs as she could.
She opened her eyes and leveled her gaze at him. “But you and I are alive now in ways the rest of the world is not.”
Feyn came to him then and took his hands. “I’m so grateful.”
She laid a kiss against his knuckles. He thought she would laugh, but she didn’t. Perhaps it was the mind-bending significance of the keeper’s account, but she was already less giddy than before. A hint of the ordered ice that had held her eyes so steady before she’d ingested the blood laced them again, he thought. Or was it only his imagination, fearing the consequence of her not drinking a full portion?
“This vellum�
��it can never come into the hands of the public,” she said, letting go of his fingers. “Not yet. Not now. We have to protect it and keep it.” Her voice trailed off, as though interrupted by another thought. He could almost see the play of ideas across her face, the thought captured in the glance of her eyes. Something was there, niggling at her, bothering her.
“Feyn…”
“We’ll find a way to solve this riddle—all of it.” Again, the look of distraction, and then she seemed to shake off the thought, as though by sheer act of will. She reached for him, slid her hands around his neck. “Remember I said I wanted to tell you something?”
“Yes?”
“Come to my estate with me. Stay with me until my inauguration. We’ll rest, we’ll talk, and we’ll eat. I want to eat with you.” She laughed then. “Come back and I’ll send for instruments. You can make your music. Lie down with me and get up with me, and when the day of my inauguration comes, ride into the city with me. I want you at my side. Sovereigns don’t marry, but I could change that. My father has seven concubines he’s kept by him for thirty years. He might as well be married. I’ll be the world’s Sovereign, and we will be each other’s.”
She tilted her head. The sun was in her face and playing through the nearly blue highlights of her hair. Tiny virgin creases marked the corners of her eyes, and he realized that today had been the first time that genuine expression had reached them.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she laid her finger against his lips.
“Don’t say it. You’re right, I have to return. We’ll bring your friends to the Citadel. We’ll release the old keeper. But most important, Rom, we’ll be together. Because this is what I wanted to tell you. I love you. I feel it. In all its chaotic glory, in all its scandal, against everything I’ve ever stood for. I love you.”
She held his gaze, refusing to let him escape.
“Do you hear me? I love you, Rom Sebastian. And whatever this is—this old vellum, this account and secret knowledge, we’ll get to the bottom of it. Together. And my reign will be a reign of love. We’ll bring truth, beauty, and love to the world!”