Immanuel's Veins

by Ted Dekker

  God and all that is good above me, have mercy.

  I had mumbled prayers all the way, wondering if there was any way they could be heard above that black mass. Thomas’s words whispered through my mind on the lips of ghosts. Woo her, Toma. You are her Immanuel, Toma. It’s in the blood, Toma, there is no undoing of evil without the blood, Toma.

  Toma. Thomas. Twin. It made me wonder if this unlikely saint named Thomas had ever given his blood or if, as a creature of the light, he had any blood to give.

  A mist crept down from the blanket of cloud as I drew closer to the ancient castle walls, visible through the treetops. By the time I worked my way to the edge of the grounds cleared of trees, a hazy fog hung to the ground.

  I pulled up behind a large trunk and peered at the thick walls made of massive stones, blackened by age. Not a sound but the pounding of blood in my ears. Out of sight, a horse snorted. The corral was to my right. The entrance to the underground was around the eastern wall a hundred paces ahead of me.

  There comes a point before every battle when a decision must be made to proceed or retreat for a better opportunity. As I looked across the expansive lawn, I knew that proceeding was terribly ill advised. But I also knew that there would never be a better opportunity to rescue Lucine.

  There would never be any further opportunity at all, because the bishop and his church would soon learn that I had not gone to find the general. They would send a full army against me, and I would spend the rest of my days in a dungeon, if the empress had mercy, or be put to death if she had even more mercy.

  So then the die was cast. I would only hope for the mercy of God himself now.

  Resolved, I set the bag down and pulled out the iron crucifix. I had seen many crucifixes about the castle, but Thomas said they feared those elements that were blessed, directly linked to God himself. So I tried to bless the crucifix in my hand by crossing it and whispering a prayer as I’d seen priests do on occasion.

  “Use this cross as your instrument, covered by your blood. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” The large crucifix lay dormant in my hands. No bolts of lightning suggested a greater power had heard me.

  I checked the stakes, jabbing the air with them as if they were swords. I’d never actually thrown a stake as I had many a knife, but these were heavy with sap and would likely fly fast and true if properly thrown.

  The jar of water I’d brought seemed a hopeless device. What was I supposed to do, throw it at them as if it were a cannonball?

  I shoved two stakes under my belt opposite my pistol, gripped the crucifix in my left hand, and, after a long-drawn breath, ran forward in a crouch. The mist was so thick that I could feel a tingle on my face as I cut through it.

  When I reached the eastern wall, I slowed my rush with my right hand and spun so that my back hit the stone with hardly more than a bump. I could not be sure they hadn’t seen me, but I would know soon enough. They moved fast.

  And so would I.

  Twenty paces along the wall to the front edge. I glanced up as I flew and saw no sign of them. Then I was at the corner, peering around.

  Still no sign I’d been seen.

  The wall was three feet thick here, so I had to take two steps before I could see whether the passage I used to escape the underground was open. I prayed it was so; my secondary plan was even more foolhardy than the one I would try first.

  The gate lay open in the same position I’d last seen it. But was the door at the end of the tunnel open?

  Ducking inside the alcove and plunging down the stone steps both encouraged me and sped my heart with dread. I was inside, that was good. But I was inside . . . with them.

  Still no alarm that I was aware of.

  The torch at the end of the tunnel was not lit, but after inspection I was satisfied that it contained fuel and would fire when I needed it. After replacing it in the bracket, I crept up to the door.

  The handle moved under my hand. Daring not to breathe, I eased the door open just a sliver, just enough to know that the cavern beyond was dark. I pulled it shut and calmed myself. Here then was the way in.

  I retreated to the tunnel wall and stared at the gray light for several long seconds, knowing that I had to go back outside if I hoped to succeed. There in the passage I was unnoticed, momentarily enshrouded by a close hand of comforting darkness. If I went inside I would be in their home, at their disposal, with only some unlikely weapons at my disposal, wooden stakes and a crucifix.

  Outside I would be exposed, and if discovered I would stand no chance of entering. They would seal the doors or stand in wait to crush me the instant I tried to break in.

  Either way was a terrible risk. My mind grappled with uncertainty and for a while I could not move. On any other battlefield I would trust my skill and strength to deal with any foe because I could hack my way through a dozen infidels if pressed. But against these masters of darkness . . .

  Lucine’s savior was a powerless fool who didn’t stand a chance. She was doomed! I felt defeated already, cowering in that darkness, overwhelmed by such desperation that I thought I might fall to my knees and weep.

  Instead I laid the bag in the corner where it couldn’t be seen, and I plodded back down the tunnel. Up the stairs, holding close to the stone wall. The approaching dusk was unbothered. Still not a hint they knew I was at their walls.

  I slipped back around the same wall along which I had come, then ran along the base toward the back corner. Dismissing all but the immediate task from my mind, I gained some familiar composure. I had to know more about the lay of this battlefield before I rushed into battle.

  The stables lay fifty paces behind the back wall. No servants that I could see, but I waited several minutes at the corner to be sure. No sentries along the top wall, but the castle’s rear door could open at any moment. It was a risk beyond my control.

  I withdrew my pistol, checked the load, and hurried along the back wall.

  The door was locked—a quick yank of the latch confirmed that—but I had no intention of using it then because I had no idea what lay behind it.

  When I reached the far corner, blood surged through my heart. The tower rose into the dark gray sky ahead of me, and I knew from Sofia that this was where Vlad van Valerik made his kingly home.

  Thunder crackled overhead; lightning stabbed the horizon, a long crooked finger belonging to God or the devil, I knew not which. I could barely see the windows at the top of the tower, glowing orange from the light inside.

  Everything in me wanted to rush up the tower, scale the wall by whatever means, and break through the window to save Lucine. Surely she was inside there, or would be soon.

  Surely she would fall into my arms and vow her love. Surely she would take my side and fight off that other suitor.

  But if I went up now while the Russians were still at full strength, they would simply hound us down and crush us before we reached the road. I felt too irrational for my comfort already, but I wasn’t foolish enough to rush into certain death. What good would I be to Lucine if I were dead?

  I approached the tower, studying the layout of the wall and the windows in the event I would need to scale the fortress.

  The first drops of rain began to fall as I turned and ran back. By the time I reached the far corner, water was dumping from the sky, a gift from God I thought, because now the visibility hardly extended beyond ten paces. I quickly secured my pistol under my shirt, praying the weapon would remain dry enough to fire.

  With only a glance to my right to be sure the back door was still secured, I ran across the lawn toward the stables. My own horse hunkered down at the top of the mountain where I’d tied him off. In the event I did manage to escape with life and limb, I might not be well enough to crawl back up that mountain, particularly if I had Lucine with me. I had to secure at least one mount.

  There were only ten horses in the stable. Because of the storm they would not run far even if I took a whip to their hides. This was their
home, and I had no doubts but they were as loyal to Valerik as his coven.

  If I’d had a potion to make them sleep, I would have used it. They were beautiful beasts, all of them. But they presented a threat to Lucine, however small, so I did what I had come to do.

  I secured them, slit their throats with my knife, and let them bleed out. I killed them all but one.

  The one, a tall black stallion that could carry three people if need be, I tied off in a separate stall, hoping the scent of the others’ blood wouldn’t disturb it too much.

  The rain washed the blood from my hands as I ran back across the lawn and rounded the fortress to the underground entrance where I’d left my bag. I was thankful for that gift from the heavens.

  But once I had descended the stairs where the rain no longer mattered, all the comfort I felt at having successfully surveyed the area vanished. Because there at the end of that passage lay the door to the dungeon, and in that nest I would face a terrible enemy that I was sure I could not survive.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Breathing steadily, I managed to light the torch using the flint I had brought. Orange flame flared and my immediate impulse was to extinguish it before I was seen. But the tunnel beyond was dark and I would need light to pass quickly.

  Taking one long breath, I eased the door open a crack, saw that it was still dark, then pushed it wide enough for me to slip inside. I closed the door behind me and strode down the inner passage, pulse pounding in my ears.

  I am tall and strapped with muscle, but there I felt far too frail as I moved down the tunnel to the door that led into the study I’d escaped through before.

  That door was also open. And the space beyond was dark. I stepped in and once again shut the door behind me. Now I was fully inside the nest. The flame from my torch showed the desk and the portrait of what I now knew to be a fallen angel that had crossed over into this world to spawn those Nephilim.

  Moving quickly, I lit the torch next to the portrait and extinguished my own. I removed the oil I’d brought and spilled it along the floor by the door through which I’d entered. Then along the bookcase and over the desk. Grabbing a lamp from that desk, I splashed more oil on the door and the sofa.

  Satisfied, I left the torch burning and exited the study into the outer tunnel. Except for the orange light spilling from the single torch behind me, the passage was dark. But I was too close to the main halls to risk light now. At the end there was a door. I had to reach that door in the darkness.

  Withdrawing my pistol and checking the load one last time, I headed forward. The sulfuric stench was so strong I couldn’t breathe except in shallow pulls, but the floor was moist and slippery. Without more light, I couldn’t run without risking a fall.

  How I managed to stay straight, I don’t know, but I only scraped the moss on the walls once. And then I was at the end, winded more by my nerves than from exertion. I could still just see the slight glow of flame from the study far behind me.

  No light from under the door. I opened it and stepped through. Now I was on the thinnest of ice. Up to that point I knew my way because I’d been there before. But I had no intention of retracing my former steps back to the main ballroom from which I had fled.

  I had to get back down to the tunnels where I’d met Alek. Back to that same library that, according to Sofia, Alek preferred. If I could make it there and win Alek back, I would stand a far better chance than if I had to go it alone.

  I had noticed earlier that the Russians seemed to hold together in groups, lounging in rooms where they clung to each other. During my tour with Sofia, we hadn’t encountered even one wandering down a hall alone. They all seemed to know where they wanted to be and wasted no time getting there.

  Or so I hoped.

  A thin thread of light traced the base of a door directly ahead of me. I’d passed by this door before, avoiding it because it led back into the castle when my intent was to get out.

  I crossed to the door. It wasn’t locked.

  Now I had a choice. In the event I did encounter one of the Russians, I would have to strike without a moment’s hesitation, before they could fly at me or flee to give the warning. Normally I would use the pistol, for there was no quicker way to a man’s head than the path of a musket ball.

  But the ensuing blast would give its own warning so close to the main hall. I would risk it deep in the tunnels but not here.

  So I shoved the pistol into my belt and withdrew my throwing knife and one of the wooden stakes. I don’t mind telling you, that stick of wood felt like a toy in my hand.

  I cracked the door and eased my head forward for a view. If anyone had been in the hall, they were gone already. It ran to my right, toward the back of the castle. A single torch on the wall lit the way.

  I stepped in and strode quickly.

  This is it, Toma. At any moment a door will open and expose you to a team that’s been watching and waiting. They know you’re here.

  But I refused to believe myself and picked up my pace, empowered now by raw experience. I was a slave to my instinct, clinging desperately to a hope in a blood greater than mine.

  The way was unknown to me—all I know is that I passed through two doors and rounded a corner that delivered me directly to the flight of stairs I’d descended with Sofia. And I had not encountered a soul.

  I was so surprised that I pulled up sharply and searched my memory to be sure this was the right passage.

  But it was! And I leaped into it.

  Perhaps they didn’t know I was there. Perhaps I had stumbled upon the greatest fortune, or perhaps another force was behind me, seeing my way to this noble task.

  If only I had known what awaited me. I might have fled.

  Instead I took the steps two at a time, down into the round atrium, through the darkened door, and then right, into the same tunnel that Sofia had led me down. I ran down the passage, sure I could hear whispers from the rooms I passed, which only sped my pace. I had only one objective, and I tore for it with every last reserve of speed.

  And then I was there, at the gate to the library. I spun in, panting.

  It was empty. The door leading to the room where I’d found Alek was closed. I could not dare hope for my good fortune to hold up a moment longer. I could set fire to this room using the torch on the wall, and then retreat, having accomplished some of what I’d set out to do, but if Alek was behind that door, I might consign him to his death. I would have rather fallen on my own sword!

  So, for my love of Alek, I would risk it all by going through the door, if only to win him first. I was bitten by madness!

  I slid silently up to the door and pressed my ear against it. A soft chuckle. But how many? And was Alek . . .

  Then I heard him laugh.

  The sound flooded me with a frightening mix of rage and optimism. I decided to use all the weapons at my disposal. Snatching the water from the bag, I shoved the latch down and threw myself through the doorway.

  At first glance I saw that there were only three of them. Alek and Dasha were in a chair together opposite a male I recognized but did not know.

  My entrance caught them off guard, and I was already rushing forward. I hurled the jar of water at the male with my left hand as I flew toward Alek and Dasha. Then, uttering a guttural cry, I snatched a stake from my side and dived for Dasha.

  She was just snapping out of her shock, twisting to her right, when the stake reached her with my full weight behind it. The sharp point entered her body just under her armpit and drove deep, into her chest, all the way to my fists. I swear that stake had gone through her heart.

  She gasped loudly, grasped for the wood that stuck out of her body, and collapsed into Alek’s arms.

  My momentum carried me over them. I hit the ground rolling and came up with my pistol withdrawn. Only then did I see that the jar of water had smashed into the wall and accomplished nothing.

  But the shock of seeing me shove that stake into Dasha’s heart had momentarily frozen the ot
her male. I steadied my aim and shot him through the head.

  A hole, and he collapsed in a heap.

  “Ahhh!”

  I bounded to the door and shut it, then spun back around. Alek was off the couch, staring at Dasha’s dead body. His face was white and he was shaking with horror.

  “Wha— Oh no, what is this?”

  “Alek! It’s me! Toma, your commander.”

  He looked at me, flabbergasted by what had happened. And no wonder: the woman who had seduced him was now dead at his knees. For the first time it occurred to me that he might be too far gone to come to his senses. But he was Alek. Alek! The strongest of men.

  “You’ve . . . you’ve killed her!”

  He collapsed to his knees and began to shake her body, wailing his command. “Wake up! Dasha, get up! Wake up!” Tears spilled from his eyes. He grabbed the butt of the stick to pull it free and immediately jerked his hand away as if it had burned him.

  I hadn’t anticipated this reaction. I might have made it that far without being detected, but surely someone would come soon.

  I leaped to his side, grasped the stake, and jerked it free. Blood flowed from Dasha’s wound.

  “You see, Alek, it burns you? But it does nothing to me. You’ve been infected by the blood of the Nephilim. You must break free of this curse!”

  He leaped to his feet and spun to the dead male. “You . . . you’ve killed Petrus?”

  “They are infidels! Worse by far than any enemy we’ve faced. I beg you, Alek.”

  He backed away from the sofa, arms trembling. “You’ve killed Dasha.”

  “She’ll come back to life,” I said. “Didn’t Stefan?”

  “You used the wood! She can’t come back!”

  He knew more than I.

  “I need your help, Alek. If you possess an ounce of duty still, you must find your way past your passion and help me save Lucine!”

  He looked stricken. “Lucine? She’s the bride. She’s the new queen. What have you done?”