by James Somers
She leaped at Gideon only to meet a flurry of alternating strikes with the wooden dowels. Normally a woman, her age and in her condition, would have been killed very quickly by such an attack, but the demon kept her body empowered with the strength of ten men.
Ethan tried to help with a longer piece of the ladder, but the woman splintered it with her boney hand and grabbed him. Gideon intervened with lightning speed. The frail, old woman threw Ethan ten feet across the yard, turning to take on Gideon again. The sound of a mob filtered through the alley leading to the Seed and Feed.
The old woman fought like a rabid animal. She answered every one of Gideon’s strikes with defiance. No matter how much damage her body took, the demon within would not give her up. Gideon lost sight of Ethan in the fight.
Ethan disappeared from the physical realm after the old woman threw him to the ground. He appeared in the spiritual realm arrayed for battle. The old woman had her back to him as she tried to back Gideon up against the wall of the building. In the spiritual realm, the demon’s form was the more apparent, with the old woman appearing transparent around it.
Ethan drew the sword from his side and charged at her. He was not sure if the demon would be able to see him while inside of the woman or not, but it did not matter. In this realm, Shaddai had made him a mighty warrior. He struck the woman with his blade. It swept right through her physical form, but caught hold of the demon.
That mighty blow knocked the demon out of the woman’s body. It tumbled backward to the ground. The bewildered look on its face told the story.
Released from the energizing power of the demon, the old woman fell to the ground like one of the sacks of feed stacked against the wall. Gideon knelt down cautiously, checking for signs of life, but the demon had pushed her body beyond hope. She was gone.
“There they are!”
A crowd appeared in the entrance to the courtyard. They were armed, carrying torches. A man with a hook for a hand led the way.
Ethan saw the evicted demon run into the crowd. He moved with dizzying speed from one person to another, feeding them thoughts and steering their perception of what they had just found in the courtyard of the Seed and Feed. They saw a helpless old woman lying murdered.
Ethan appeared back in the physical world with Gideon. The men moved in, brandishing their weapons. “What do we do?” Ethan whispered.
“We give up, Ethan, and pray the Lord will have his hand upon us. Nothing can harm us without his allowing it to.”
The demons watched as the crowd fell upon the two young men and bound them. They led them away from the Seed and Feed to the stockade nearly one quarter of a mile away. A guard, who kept the stockade, locked the boys in a cell.
The magistrate would try them in the morning, then sentence them. Everyone knew the only penalty for murder was death by hanging. Even as the night hours crept along into morning, the gallows were already being prepared.
Some time in the morning hours, a commotion erupted in the jailhouse where Ethan and Gideon remained under lock and key. The rancid smell made any possibility of sound sleep remote. Only from sheer exhaustion had he and Gideon been able to nod occasionally as the night progressed. Members of the mob had beaten them before leaving them at the stockade. The mob had called the boys many unsavory things, making their arrival at the jail almost a relief.
Ethan awoke to the sound of voices in the outer office of the jail. It sounded very similar to what he had heard when he and Gideon arrived. Within moments, the keeper of the jail brought in three men dressed as pirates.
There was only one large cell in the jailhouse, so these men were placed inside with Ethan and Gideon. Darkness made it difficult to tell much about the new arrivals. The only light filtered in from a moonlit window outside of the cell on the other side of the room.
Gideon seemed uninterested in the men. He slept, or at least he pretended to. Two of the men found themselves a corner to occupy while the third, more outgoing fellow, stood at the bars, talking to whomever might be paying him any attention.
“What are you lads in for?” he said.
Ethan almost told him, before Gideon grabbed his arm in the dark. “We were framed,” Ethan said instead.
“Framed? Aye, we were framed too, weren’t we lads!” the man laughed.
The other two men dismissed his joviality. Considering the circumstances they found themselves in, they were not in the mood.
“Well, what are you in here for?” asked Ethan.
The man left the bars, walking over to Ethan and Gideon’s side of the cell. He knelt down where Ethan sat against the wall. Gideon waited. “What’s your name, lad?” The man had a goatee and a ring of silver dangling from his left ear. His hair was black and shaggy and he smelled like the sea.
“Ethan.”
“Well, Ethan, we were caught trying to blow up Mordred’s munitions depot.”
Gideon responded. “Mordred has a munitions depot in Tilley?”
“Aye, that woke you up did it, sleepy head?”
Gideon stood up followed by the pirate. They stood toe to toe, face to face, and eye to eye. Ethan hoped a fight would not break out between them.
“Why would he have such a thing way out here?” Gideon asked.
“There’s a war going on, lad, or didn’t you know?” the man said.
“Of course, I knew.”
“Well, lad, Tilley sold her soul three months ago to that devil. Mordred will use this place as a staging ground when he begins stamping out the rebellion in these parts.”
“And who are you, part of the rebellion?” Gideon asked.
“Aye, I don’t guess it matters now, since we’re caught. They’ll be hanging us all anyway for sedition when the magistrate arrives tomorrow. They love a good hangin in Tilley, ya know?” he said with a wild grin on his face. “My name is Ash and me mates here are Anthony and Brass.”
“And where did you come from?” Gideon asked.
Ash just smiled. “I wouldn’t want to give away any surprises,” he said, looking at Anthony and Brass. “How bout you, priest?”
Gideon had forgotten about his priestly robes. No one in the crowd had seemed to notice what his clothing represented.
“What, do you think I don’t know a warrior-priest of Shaddai when I see one?” Ash said, feigning insult. “Give a man of the world a bit more credit than that, lad. And from the color of your robes, I’d say you’ve been out, shall we say, severing liabilities?”
Ethan did not dare say it, but he was beginning to like this man, Ash. No one who could make the vein on Gideon’s temple pulse this way could be all bad. At any rate, they all appeared to be in the same predicament.
Gideon eased off a bit. It was hard to understand how a man in Ash’s position would be making light of their situation, but he did not care to argue the point with him. Ash seemed like the type who forever turned a conversation to his advantage.
“Shaddai will make a way for us,” Gideon said finally.
Ethan and Gideon were both surprised when Ash actually agreed with the statement. “Aye, he will. And maybe, just maybe,” Ash said, looking at his mates, “he already has.”
JUDGE, JURY, EXECUTIONER
“Get up you mangy sewer rats!” the keeper said as he unlocked the cell door. Several armed men stood by the cell with muskets and swords in case of an escape attempt. The wild look in their eyes dared anyone to try it.
Ethan, Gideon, Ash and his men sat inside the cell wide-awake already. The keeper opened the cell door. “The magistrate will see you now, ladies,” he said.
Ash led them, walking out the door with a bright smile. “Lovely day, ain’t it gov’ner?” he said cheerfully, as if he had been invited for tea. The keeper leered at him.
Ethan and Gideon followed the others out. “Have you been praying?” Gideon whispered to Ethan.
“Absolutely,” he said.
“Then the Almighty will deliver us. The prophecy concerning you can’t be und
one.”
When they came into the outer room of the jail, they stood before a man in a black robe wearing wire-rimmed spectacles and a curly white wig on his head. He sat at a table with a large black book full of legal precedents setting under his right hand.
The magistrate gave them all a cursory look, then spoke with the keeper of the jail, also acting as the bailiff for their hearing. “Bailiff, what crimes are these men charged with?” the magistrate asked.
Ethan reflexively goaded Gideon in the side. He had just noticed that the magistrate was under the control of a demon. He saw the spirit within the man. This would not go well.
“The two younger ones are charged with murdering an old woman,” the Bailiff said. Ethan examined the Bailiff. He appeared to be completely normal.
“Really?” the magistrate said, leering at Ethan, completely confident he had them dead to rights. The magistrate held the power of judge, jury, and executioner in these parts. Even if Ethan tried to tell the jailer about the demon, he would only be branded a lunatic and sentenced to a fate worse than death in some nightmarish asylum.
Ethan felt desperate, but something Gideon had just said to him moments earlier would not let him go. The prophecy concerning you cannot be undone. If Ethan really was a part of this prophecy, as Gideon had said, then Shaddai’s purposes concerning him must come to pass. No man, or demon, had the power to undo his counsel. Still, it was difficult to hold onto faith when a spot on the gallows waited for him outside.
“They were caught in the very act of killing her, Your Honor,” the Bailiff said, “and we’ve got plenty of witnesses who can verify it.”
“It seems like you two young men have been caught red handed, as they say,” the magistrate said. “Therefore it is my judgment that you both be hanged by the neck until you are dead.”
That last word carried the weight of finality. Ethan kept waiting for some sign that they would be all right, but nothing came—no bolt of lightning, no angels, nothing at all.
He thought about the realm shift. If he shifted into the spiritual world, he could escape them, but Gideon would be left behind. He could hide the priest from the prying eyes of demons, but not from natural eyes. Ethan could not bring himself to abandon Gideon.
“What about this other lot?” the Bailiff asked. “They stand accused of sedition against Lord Mordred and sabotage. They attempted to blow up the munitions depot last night.”
“Ah,” the magistrate said. “Do I find myself in the presence of men brave enough to stand against Lord Mordred? Well then, we shall have to give you heroes of the rebellion the special treatment you deserve…death by hanging!”
Ethan watched Ash. The pirate took it all very calmly, even glancing over at Ethan to give him a wink. Ethan couldn’t help but wonder, what’s he up to?
“Take them away, Bailiff,” the magistrate bellowed, looking directly at Ethan when he said it. “We mustn’t keep the crowd waiting.”
True to the magistrate’s word, a very large crowd had gathered to watch the execution. Ethan wondered how often they conducted this sort of public event. The so-called trial had been anything but. No defense of any kind had even been suggested.
Outside the jail, a wagon waited with sturdy fenced sidewalls. They led the prisoners, by armed escort, out to the wagon, where each took their turn having their wrists bound. Each man climbed into the wagon. The driver, a man in a black hood, sat up front. When the wagon was loaded, the black-hooded man snapped the reins on the team of horses, setting them in motion.
The tall gallows loomed ahead, beyond the thick crowd. The throng parted like waves of the sea as the wagon made its trip from the stockade to the gallows. The locals cursed and spat at them. Some threw food and mud, or worse.
Ethan wondered why the wagon itself was so long, until he saw the gallows. There a line of nooses hung from a cross beam about ten feet in the air above the main platform. A man stood upon the platform. He also wore a black hood with two holes cut to see through. The platform stood tall enough for a wagon, this wagon, to park and wait for the bodies to drop.
Six pegs lined the cross beam, but only five held nooses today. The wagon parked by the set of stairs leading up to the platform. The prisoners exited the back of the wagon and a guard escorted them above. The other hooded man, the executioner, waited to receive them.
The executioner took them each down the line, finding them a place among the ropes. He placed a noose over each of the men’s heads, cinching it up good and snug at the neck. Then he walked back to a lever fastened into the wooden structure. The lever would drop the floor open beneath them when the word was given. Ethan watched as the wagon followed a well-worn path from the stairs to just beneath the gallows.
The Bailiff climbed up onto the platform. He began to read off the charges against the condemned. Ethan’s thudding heart drowned out the man’s voice. He watched the sky, looking for something to happen, some sort of divine intervention that would save them. But Ethan saw no clouds in the sky or any angels flying to rescue them at the last moment.
Ethan turned to find the executioner ready on the lever. It was almost time. Strangely, the executioner wore a cutlass on his left hip. It puzzled Ethan, but not enough to calm the pounding of blood in his ears.
A thunderous explosion rocked the square. Everyone turned to see a plume of fire and black smoke rising above the buildings on the east side of the city. “The munitions depot!” voices shouted from the crowd.
“Hoo-hoo, this is where the fun starts, kid,” Ash said to Ethan.
A sword flashed through Ethan’s line of sight, severing his noose. He watched the hooded man run from man to man, along the platform, cutting all of the ropes fastening them to the beam above. “Come on, lads!” Ash said.
The executioner ran back to the lever and threw the switch. The flooring beneath their feet gave way like a trap door, and down they all went into the wagon waiting below. The executioner followed them through and began to cut their bonds.
Meanwhile, the hooded wagon driver snapped his reins and the horses jolted away from beneath the platform. The people ran out of the way, or fell out of the way, as pandemonium raged through the crowd. Most of the people had been distracted by the explosion. By the time they realized what was happening, the wagon was already racing down the main street toward the docks.
ELSPETH
White walls of granite stretched out before Elspeth and the other young women as their caged wagon approached the city of Emmanuel. Elspeth had heard many stories during her youth about the city named for the One God, but she had never laid eyes on it before. The name of the city held a prophecy, for the name meant “God with us.”
Elspeth felt so tired. How many days had it been since the riders in crimson and black had come to destroy the town of Grandee? She had stopped counting the sunrises. The women had been deprived of proper food and were always left thirsty. Elspeth felt like they were traveling the razor’s edge between death and life.
All hope had melted away for her. She had no idea why they had been spared while all the others in Grandee were killed. Plumes of smoke and fire had been their last images of Grandee—the final memory burning in their minds before each night’s sleep since.
The white walls of Emmanuel towered above her, fifty feet into the air. These impenetrable walls had stood as a testament to the holiness of Shaddai and as a beacon of hope. Now they encompassed the doom of the entire nation.
Three walls surrounded the royal city of Emmanuel on three sides with the palace as the fourth. From the back wall of the palace, the white granite cascaded down all the way into the Azure Sea hundreds of feet below. Mordred and his Wraith Riders were the only ones who had ever been able to take this city, the only ones in ages who had even dared to try.
Towers rose above the walls at regular intervals. From this distance it became difficult to see, but Elspeth knew that demons were there guarding the city. She had never heard exactly how many demons served under Lord
Mordred, but it had to be a great number. Many horrifying stories had been told about Mordred’s covenant with these wicked spirits. Elspeth wondered if the half had still not been told.
The caged wagon crawled up the cobblestone path, taking them through the main gate of the city. Both iron portcullises were raised, at the moment. If an enemy happened to make it beyond the first portcullis, into the vestibule, archers and gunmen would attack them from the wall. Troughs set within the stone, higher up, accommodated boiling oil, which could be poured upon those trapped between the two gates.
When the cart with its prisoners came inside the walls, the city spread out before them in all directions. The palace loomed high above every other structure, straight ahead from the main gate. The main road they traveled, branched out into smaller avenues along the way. But their destination appeared to be the palace itself.
All of the luxury of the House of Nod resided here in Emmanuel City. Elspeth had expected the city to be in shambles when she arrived. Conquerors such as Mordred usually wasted and destroyed everything they touched. But to her surprise, the city flourished.
People went about their daily business in crowded streets. Farmers and merchants traveled with their wares to the massive market complex. Wealthier civilians walked here and there on paved walkways. To look at them, one might never think anything had ever happened. Perhaps, she thought, wickedness such as Mordred’s is not always ugly.
As the caged wagon ambled further down the wide avenue toward the palace, Elspeth began to notice a change in the scenery. The prosperous homes and businesses of civilians gave way to the bustle of the military. For acres and acres, Elspeth saw the preparations of war.
The once lush, manicured lawns adorning the palace grounds had been converted to training quads for Mordred’s army. Thousands of men in red and black uniforms sparred in tight formations or trained with various weapons. In the distance to her right, Elspeth saw the manufacture of gigantic engines of war. These would not be used to raid villages and towns. These could only be reserved for laying siege to a large city.