“No,” the Dragon whispered. Then he shouted over the massacre of his mighty army, “No!”
All who had thrown things, who had laughed at the spectacle in the arena, who had pledged their allegiance to the Dragon, who had killed the innocent and treated people like objects, lay smoldering. The invisible flyers were suddenly as visible as the scythe flyers, as every beast of the air committed to the Dragon fell burning to the ground.
Without so much as a whimper, the Dragon’s forces had been there one second and gone the next. The only thing left was their ashes, and those blew away with the wind.
Tears came to the Dragon’s eyes, not because of any compassion for his forces but because he himself had ignored the King’s warning and wiped out everything he had worked to accomplish. He wept for himself and the end of his dream.
Looking at the King, who should have melted away but now shone like gold, the Dragon sneered.
The King lifted a hand, signaling his followers to rise. “Son,” he called, “arise and retrieve your weapon.”
As if changed into the image and likeness of his father, the Son stood tall on the knoll, his garments glowing as well. No longer a boy, the man was eerily framed by sunlight that streamed through the dark clouds. Suddenly the sky brightened and clouds vanished, the sun now brilliantly covering the land.
“I hate the sun,” the Dragon muttered. “I hate the Son.”
The Son shouted, “Sword!”
From deep inside the Dragon came a creaking and squeaking as his chest bulged. Breaking through the scales, the sword flew out, leaving a cross-shaped hole.
The old beast reached and felt blood pouring from the wound. He set his jaw, and though he fought to stay upright, he teetered and dropped to his knees before the King. And with a final rush of air and smoke from his lips, the Dragon’s head crashed down on a rock.
The King turned, his face and beard pure white, and smiled. “My friends, the battle is over. It is time for a wedding!”
Dragon City was changed with the blast of fire and now gleamed in the sunlight. The King and Queen welcomed everyone who wished to participate in the wedding. The coliseum was transformed from a house of blood and death to a chamber of love and happiness and hope. It was here that all came to witness a new union of the Son and his bride. It was everything The Book of the King had said it would be and more.
Owen stood before his true father and mother with Starbuck and Rogers as his best men. Connie, still stricken with age and wrinkles and fatigue, stood next to Clara as Owen pledged his life for his wife and to honor and protect and provide for her in every way.
Connie, now known as Onora to the rest of the kingdom (but always Connie to Owen), pledged to love and honor and cherish her husband, though Owen could see a hint of sadness in her eyes.
“What is it?” Owen whispered.
“How could you love me? I am still an old woman.”
Owen smiled. “We have been destined for each other from the beginning. My love and the father’s love can change anything the minions have done.”
“But how?” Connie said.
“Watch,” Owen said. “And listen.”
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the King said. “My Son, you may kiss your bride.”
When their lips touched, it was as if everything in the world changed. A rumble began in the distance as light and fog mixed with sparkling stars. But it was not magic. It was the power of the King to accomplish what he had purposed.
From the floor of the arena came sounds so wondrous and beautiful that the people held their breath. It was something they had not heard in such a long time, and the voice was that of Erol. Only it was coming from the mouth of a boy Owen had known in the Highlands—a musical lad named Rollie Cumis.
While the two kissed—and we know this seems like a long time to kiss and not breathe, but trust us, these things happened quickly—one by one, like people standing before mirrors, every person with a counterpart in the other world united with themselves. Mrs. Rothem became the Queen; Humphrey rose and became Petrov. Mordecai and Stanley Drones were one, and then Mordecai/Stanley embraced Qwamay/Gordan. Mr. Reeder and his wife became Drushka’s husband and Drushka. Then Mr. Reeder scooped up the young blond boy below him and held him tightly, completing the promise made by the King. The Scribe rose before them and merged with Jim Videl, the editor of the student newspaper back at Owen’s high school. The king and queen of the west, Connie’s real parents, beamed at their daughter in her flowing white gown. All around Owen and Connie were people and beings they had known, merging and becoming one—Rogers, Starbuck, Burden, and others. Owen’s sister, Clara, merged with Machree, the brown-winged bird.
As Owen pulled back from Connie, their kiss complete, he could see Watcher’s eyes in his true love. And her skin was smooth and soft now, the years gone.
Owen turned to his father to ask about Clara—how she could be from the Lowlands and be united with another creature from here. But his father smiled, knowing the question was coming.
“Mysterious are the ways of the King, my Son. Your sister will one day be a queen herself, and the heart of Machree, once clouded by treachery, will send her soaring.”
The song of Erol (from Rollie) rose among the people, first praising the Son and his bride, then praising the King, and finally singing the song of the defeat of the Dragon. Everyone danced and sang and feasted and told stories until the stars filled the heavens.
Owen and Connie walked among the people, greeting and thanking them for joining the celebration.
“No, thank you,” Connor said. “I had no idea back then that . . .”
Owen pulled him close. “The King had the idea. You were part of the plan.”
Bardig slapped Owen on the back and laughed. “The Wormling is the Son. I would never have believed it after meeting you on that mountain.”
* * *
A wind blew from the north, and the King slipped away. Near the rotting carcass of the Dragon several figures stood, seen only by the King. Nicodemus, the invisible charged with watching Owen, was there. He had been restored with the joining of the Highlands and the Lowlands, and the mountains that were laid low were in place again.
“We didn’t know, Your Majesty,” Nicodemus said. “We couldn’t conceive of such a wonderful plan.” He looked toward the city. “Such harmony.”
“They need nothing but the Son,” the King said, “and I have given them everything in the Son. And there shall be no end to his reign.”
* * *
When the time of celebration was over, Owen took Connie to a spot along the hillside above the city and showed her where their home would be.
“The kitchen and dining room will be larger than any ever built,” he said. “We will fill it with friends and family.”
“And our children?” she said.
Owen laughed. “Yes, many children.”
Connie walked to the edge of a cliff. “And this will be the most special room of all.”
“Which?” Owen said.
“The library. Filled with books and stories to enjoy each day. And a window right here so you can see the world.”
* * *
Some people are born to do great things. Owen Reeder was born to be great. Some are given destinies they do not understand. His was to lead in love and return many to his father, to make sons and daughters of them all.
A world that becomes new does not leave behind every vestige of the old. Though the graves in the valley near the White Mountain were empty, the scars in the earth remained. The Dragon’s body wasted away until it was only scales on the wind, but the scales stayed.
One scale, gray and withered and lighter than air, floated above the trees, past the cave of the fourth portal, and down into the valley. It danced on the wind until it came to rest on the surface of the water. Drifting, tossed by the undulating waves, it finally sank and slowly settled on a rock.
Fish, looking for insects or algae, nibbled at but passed on
the bitter scale. A crack appeared in the rock and soon ran the length of the oblong sphere. And every underwater creature of any kind quickly darted away, sensing evil.
The Wormling series is an allegory, a story designed to make a point. We hope you have learned something about yourself from our tale, but let us explain our reason for the telling.
Owen represents each of us—an ordinary, seemingly insignificant person. What he doesn’t realize at the beginning is the same thing we often forget—that if we have a relationship with the King, we enjoy authority given by him. We were designed by him. Nothing happens by chance. Our life is a unique tapestry woven by an unseen hand.
We are also, whether we realize it or not, engaged in a fierce battle between good and evil, and it is our choice whether to pick up weapons and fight or do something else.
While this present world seems like all there is, a much bigger reality awaits. What we do in this life reaches into the next.
The duality of the characters in the story, such as Watcher and Constance, represents the split between our spiritual lives and our physical ones. However, as we see in the end, when we allow the King to make us whole, these two can come together beautifully as we were meant to be.
While there are obvious parallels to Jesus, God, the angels, Satan, and other biblical characters and themes, we admit that there are also many differences which leave our story merely that—a story. It is not meant to exactly reflect the Bible. For instance, the King has a wife (which God does not have), Owen makes mistakes (which Jesus doesn’t do), and so on.
We are grateful that you have picked up this saga and hope you have enjoyed the adventure. May you be aware of the presence and power of the King in your life today.
Jerry B. Jenkins
Chris Fabry
About the Authors
Jerry B. Jenkins (jerryjenkins.com) is the writer of the Left Behind series. He owns the Jerry B. Jenkins Christian Writers Guild, an organization dedicated to mentoring aspiring authors. Former vice president for publishing for the Moody Bible Institute of Chicago, he also served many years as editor of Moody magazine and now serves on Moody’s board of trustees.
His writing has appeared in publications as varied as Time magazine, Reader’s Digest, Parade, Guideposts, in-flight magazines, and dozens of other periodicals. Jenkins’s biographies include books with Billy Graham, Hank Aaron, Bill Gaither, Luis Palau, Walter Payton, Orel Hershiser, and Nolan Ryan, among many others. His books appear regularly on the New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal, and Publishers Weekly best-seller lists.
Jerry is also the writer of the nationally syndicated sports-story comic strip Gil Thorp, distributed to newspapers across the United States by Tribune Media Services.
Jerry and his wife, Dianna, live in Colorado and have three grown sons and four grandchildren.
* * *
Chris Fabry is a writer and broadcaster who lives in Colorado. He has written more than 50 books, including the RPM series and collaboration on the Left Behind: The Kids and Red Rock Mysteries series.
You may have heard his voice on Focus on the Family, Moody Broadcasting, or Love Worth Finding. He has also written for Adventures in Odyssey and Radio Theatre.
Chris is a graduate of the W. Page Pitt School of Journalism at Marshall University in Huntington, West Virginia. He and his wife, Andrea, have nine children, two dogs, and a large car-insurance bill.
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