by James Somers
Gideon fought back the panic welling up inside. Claustrophobia fell on him like a weight. He stopped himself from allowing his emotions to have their way. Reason told him that there must be a way in and out. He’d just come through. Realizing the alternative helped to bolster his confidence. It’s a trick-even if you don’t know how-remember it’s only illusion.
Gideon closed his eyes, then searched the walls inch by inch with his hands. Still he couldn’t find anything to suggest a door. He gave up and sat down in the middle of the floor, trying to relax. The air seemed to grow thin around him. He tried to control his breathing. The feeling of suffocation grew-panic attacked at the fringe of his consciousness again. And again, he had to reason through. “They’re not trying to kill you,” he told himself. “This is an illusion. Demons are involved here-that’s how they can do this to you. Mordred made it clear that you would come before him in his throne room, that you would live to regret it. A dead man can’t do those things.”
It was then that Gideon noticed something he had not before. He could see, despite the fact that the room had no windows, no discernable source of light at all. Still, there was some form of light in the room-dim, as though light particles had simply been suspended somehow. He smiled. “They’re trying to break me.”
Gideon closed his eyes again and made himself believe that there was plenty of air. He thought of the room as a safe haven instead of a tomb. He felt better, calm, hungry.
He opened his eyes and saw a bowl of steaming soup sitting on a plate with a piece of bread. Gideon looked around the room. Had he fallen asleep? Certainly there hadn’t been anyone to come into the room without him realizing it. But there sat the food.
Gideon reached out and pulled the plate across the stone floor to him. The aroma was wonderful. The bread smelled of butter and honey, and the soup looked like a chowder of some kind with a creamy white sauce. His belly groaned and complained, wanting to be satisfied. It seemed so long since he’d tasted food worth tasting.
Gideon took the small loaf of bread in his dry hands. It felt moist and warm to the touch. He broke it open and sniffed at the vapors rising through the crust. His mouth watered, and he sank his teeth into it. The sweet flavor rolled across his taste buds like high tide upon the shore. He moaned with satisfaction as he chewed and swallowed the first bite.
Next, Gideon took the bowl of soup and brought it to his mouth. It smelled wonderful. He greedily tipped the rim to his lips, slurping the creamy broth. He let the flavor fill his mouth, then he looked curiously inside the bowl.
Something round rolled over in the broth until the sauce revealed a pigmented ring and pupil within. Gideon forced the soup through his lips, spewing it out. The broth splattered across the stones before him. It had been an eyeball. He dropped the bowl. It scattered its contents across the floor-blood intermingled with the creamy white sauce.
Gideon spit the remnants out over and over again. He caught a glance at the bread broken open on the plate. Maggots festered within. Gideon coughed in spasms, horrified that he’d eaten any of the foul food he’d been delivered. He heaved upon his hands and knees, but he had nothing in his stomach to bring up.
When he finally felt some settling, Gideon looked up again. The spilt food, along with the bowl and plate, had disappeared. Examining the stone floor closely, he found no evidence there had ever been any food at all.
The room suddenly grew cold-so much so, that his breath hung suspended in the air. Gideon’s clothes were little more than rags after the fighting on Macedon and the voyage across the Azure Sea. His teeth chattered, while gooseflesh sprung up all over his arms.
A light shone behind him. Gideon turned to see it and found the stone walls had given way to images. He blinked, but the images remained, unfolding before him. He saw entire cities burned to the ground, the inhabitants strewn in the streets. He saw soldiers in crimson and black torturing the living inhabitants of Nod, husbands taken from their families, children torn from their mother’s arms.
He heard a faceless voice echoing softly in the room. “Such needless violence. Why should this continue? If not for the Deliverer, written about in ancient texts, this suffering could stop. The people could live at peace again.”
Gideon grew angry, watching the suffering. “No! It’s Mordred who has caused this oppression and death.”
“Is it?” the voice asked. The image changed to show Ethan sitting upon the throne in Emmanuel. He had grown older, wore a beard on his face and a crown upon his brow. “Who will reign when Mordred is defeated?” The image showed Gideon’s friend launching attacks on villages, extending his own power, even beginning a war in Wayland to the north. “Will a boy with so much power acquiesce to the role of servant when his prophesied task is completed? Who would be able to stop his ascension to the throne, his insatiable lust for power? The Order of Shaddai?”
The images changed again, showing Ethan and his would-be troops coming into the Temple, bypassing the security measures held secretly for so long. “Would such a conqueror, with so much power, allow an organization to exist that could threaten his dominion? Of course, he would not-could not.”
Gideon gazed in horror at the scenes unfolding before him. The voice, with its poisonous words, struck his soul like an adder. For the first time, Gideon doubted his young friend and his noble intentions. Could it be possible? Could it happen as the voice had said? He felt suffocated. Tears fell on his cheeks. Even if he had been freed right then, the damage had been done.
The images faded to be replaced by the stone walls of his prison. It grew colder still in his cell. The light dwindled until he could barely perceive his hand before his face. He shivered, but it was more than cold. Evil had come.
Gideon heard panting-not human. He smelled something in the stale air reminding him of the bear he and Ethan had killed in the forest shortly after they met. Panting turned to snarling.
Gideon looked around in the cell, desperately trying to find the source of the noises. It multiplied. He couldn’t see them, but he felt like prey for a starved pack of wolves. He smelled them-felt their breath hot upon his flesh. He tried to focus upon shadowy figures moving along the walls. They remained elusive, indistinct, figures among fog.
Then the eyes glowed red before him. They gazed upon him from every side. He had nowhere to run within his stone prison. They struck at him. Teeth gnashed. The scent of blood filled the air. Gideon struggled against the pain. He felt his flesh ripped from his bones. Teeth, as has hot as irons in a fire-as sharp as knives, pierced him over and over again.
Gideon wilted under the brutality of the attack. Had he been able to see his attackers, he still would not have had the strength to stop them. Even in the midst of a slaughter his belly groaned for food.
When he thought he could not stand the pain anymore, Gideon cried out, “Shaddai! My Lord in Heaven, please help me!”
The room fell suddenly silent. Nothing moved. The snarling had ceased altogether along with the inflicted carnage. Gideon lay there in the middle of his cell. The pain subsided very quickly. He wanted to look, but he knew what he would find.
Finally, Gideon opened his eyes and beheld what was left of his torn body after the attack. To his astonishment, he remained very nearly the way he had been before. The ground had no stains from his blood. His flesh remained whole, except for extensive bruising and what appeared to be large bite marks.
Gideon examined himself closer now-glad for his condition. The damage that had been done still told him one thing. Something real had attacked him-the puncture wounds certainly weren’t an illusion.
What had happened? In his confusion, he’d not considered why the attack had stopped. “The prayer!” Shaddai had stopped the attack.
Gideon sighed as he sat on the cold stone floor. His faith was not in vain. He tried to get into a more comfortable position. His body still felt like it had been mauled by wild beasts even if the damage wasn’t as severe as it had seemed at the time.
There was no way to tell if it was day or night, or how much time had passed. Gideon settled in and sought further refuge in prayer.
DESPAIR
Days might have passed and Gideon would not have known it. He only knew he was starving and beaten half to death by repeated demonic attacks. Each time they had come to him, he had driven them away through prayer, but not before taking a beating. He began to hope for a quick death.
Gideon heard a noise-creaking. He opened his eyes and saw the door opening in the wall as it had when he’d been thrust into this maddening prison cell. He lay on his side with no pillow but the cobblestone floor.
His face had been bruised and small lacerations streaked his complexion. Puncture wounds and purple mottling were found scattered across his entire body. Gideon had seen food again on several occasions, but he’d not been able to get the thought of the first meal in this place out of his mind.
Several guards came into the room, carrying manacles. Gideon laid on the floor, lacking the strength to even get up. They shackled his wrists and ankles. Then a longer chain was connected between those, so that his movements were now very restricted.
The guards picked him up off of the ground and took him from the stone cell. When Gideon passed through the door he smiled. The air outside smelled far fresher, and he hoped what he was experiencing now was actually real. Inside the room, he had lost the ability to tell truth from illusion.
The guards dragged him down several long corridors and he caught glimpses of the white stone walls normally seen in the palace. The walls had mold clinging to them in places. Gideon smelled food coming from somewhere and his belly groaned to be fed.
Two guards waited at a set of large wooden doors. When Gideon and his escorts reached them, the guards opened to them, revealing a throne room beyond. He recognized the place. This had been the chamber where he and Levi had come through the grate in the floor, only to find Ethan under assault by demonized soldiers.
The chamber had been a complete mess by the time they’d finished rescuing the boy: a room flooded with wine, bodies, and tumbled furnishings. Today, it stood clean, at least cleaner than other places he’d passed along the way here. The guards carried him inside, and the doors were shut after them.
Two rows of guards stood at attention on either side of the room. They appeared unthreatened by Gideon’s presence. He wondered what he must look like after his internment in the stone cell. He felt as though he were on the brink of death. The looks from the guards ranged from pity to disgust.
At the far end of the massive room, Mordred sat upon the throne of Emmanuel. A servant girl sat next to him, feeding him grapes and other kinds of fruit from a silver platter. When Mordred saw Gideon dragged into the room and brought before him, he smiled and waved the girl away.
Mordred took a drink from a golden goblet, his eyes never leaving the emaciated priest before him. Gideon noticed General Rommil standing obediently at Mordred’s right side. Both men were great in size and Gideon suddenly felt very small and frail before them.
“My dear, Gideon,” Mordred said pleasantly. “I’m so very glad to see you.” Mordred whispered to the servant girl. She stepped down from the platform, carrying her tray of fruit and stopped in front of Gideon.
His eyes flashed with desire for the bananas, grapes, pineapple, and apple slices sitting on the silver tray. The girl offered the tray to Gideon. He didn’t care anymore if suddenly the food turned into something horrible. He had to have something to eat.
Gideon reached for the pieces of fruit with his manacled hands. He sank his teeth into the food and nearly fainted from the overload of flavor flooding his parched senses. He savored it only a moment and then greedily took more-as much as he could hold-then shoved it into his mouth.
“My poor, Gideon. I’m so very sorry for the way you have been treated,” Mordred said. “I had not realized you were not eating all this time.”
Gideon paused to look up at Mordred in disgust. Did he really expect him to believe these lies?
“When General Rommil informed me of your condition, I knew we had to get you out of that awful prison cell immediately,” Mordred continued. His voice dripped honey, but Gideon knew his words were nothing but poison.
Mordred stood and descended from his throne. He walked up to Gideon, and the servant girl fell away. Gideon watched mournfully as the food platter went with her. “I had to be sure I could trust you, Gideon. But now I feel we can come to some understanding with one another. You see, I have no desire to kill you. In fact, I believe we could even work together for a common good in the Kingdom of Nod.”
Gideon glared at the warlord. “You and I working together? Never,” he spat. “You might as well kill me and be done with all of this pretense. I’ll never serve you.”
Mordred might have erupted into a rage, but he refrained and simply smiled. “I don’t think you understand what I’m offering, Gideon.”
“I don’t care what you’re offering. You’ve nothing I could possibly want.”
Mordred laughed. “Ah yes, the priest so devoted to his Order of Shaddai. Of course, peace in this kingdom and freedom for yourself would have no bearing on the situation.”
Gideon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You bring peace to Nod? I’m not a fool, Mordred.”
“I think perhaps you are,” Mordred said flatly. “You see, I know your real desires Gideon. I know about your wife and your child.”
He knew-this monster knew about his precious Sarah. Gideon thrust at him against his chains, but the guards had little difficulty restraining him.
“Gideon, please,” Mordred continued. “I’m offering you the chance to go to them and be a family. You and your wife can raise your son together and be happy.”
A son? How does he know if I have a son, or not?
Mordred understood his expression. “Yes, Gideon, you have a son. The child was born while you were away.”
Suddenly Gideon realized Sarah must have been taken. “Where is she!” he demanded.
Mordred paused, then returned to sit upon his throne. He smiled when he looked at Gideon again. “You’re right. She is here and the child. Both of them are perfectly safe…for now.”
“If you harm them I’ll-”
“Please, Gideon, save your pathetic threats. You are in no position.”
Gideon settled down a bit, his confidence drained. “What do you want?”
Mordred drew another drink from the goblet sitting on the broad arm of his throne. “I want to make you an offer. You have great skill as I understand it. I’d like to put those skills to better use.”
Gideon felt sure where this was leading, and he didn’t like it.
“I want you to lead my army after the boy Deliverer. Kill him for me. Then, you and your family can go in peace. Live in Nod with a king’s ransom, or go far away if you like. It really doesn’t matter to me.”
Gideon hardened to stone before Mordred. “I cannot. I will not.”
Mordred hardened against him, as well. He turned to Rommil and nodded. The Wraith General went to a side door and emerged with Sarah in his grasp. When she saw Gideon standing there, she seemed almost not to recognize him.
Gideon lunged against his chains to get to her, but it was no use. His guards held him fast. The two of them cried out for one another. Mordred stood. Sarah carried their infant child in her arms. Mordred took Gideon’s son away as she screamed for after him.
Gideon lunged against his chains harder, but he only stumbled to the floor.
Mordred carried the child back to his throne and stood there. “I can see there is no convincing you, Gideon. I’ve made a reasonable offer, and you have refused…so be it.” He nodded to Rommil again.
The Wraith General removed a large dagger from his belt and, without hesitation, he thrust Sarah threw the back. She had been watching the child in Mordred’s arms and pleading with Gideon to stop them from harming their son. The strike caught her unaware.
She fell to
the floor, bleeding before Rommil.
Gideon screamed in agony, as though his very heart had been ripped from his chest. He fell and lay there on the cold stones, tears streaming down his dirt-stained face, watching the life ebb from Sarah’s eyes. At that moment, he felt as though he had been torn into pieces. He gladly would have accepted such a fate if it would have saved her. Now, it was too late.
Gideon laid on the stones for what seemed like an eternity-his strength sapped away. Mordred waited, savoring the moment. Rommil wiped the blood from his dagger and replaced it. No pity or remorse shown on his face.
Slowly, Gideon found strength enough to stand. He glared at Mordred, then at Rommil-he had done the deed. He had put the blade to her.
Mordred sat upon the throne, cooing the child. Gideon watched him, full of hatred for the man. “Gideon, before you say anything else on impulse, I would remind you that your son is depending upon you.”
That statement snapped Gideon out of his malice. The child-his and Sarah’s child-still lived.
Mordred glared at the priest. “My offer still stands, Gideon. Do not refuse me again.”
Gideon watched his son, so helpless-all that remained of his precious wife and the love they had hoped for in life. He couldn’t do it, but he had no choice. He spoke through teeth gritted together so tightly they attempted to bar him from speaking. “I will do as you want for the promise of my child’s safe return to me and our freedom when it is done.” He looked at Rommil, who wore a smirk on his face. “And for him.”
“What do you mean?” Mordred asked, glancing happily toward the general.
“I mean me and him, right here, right now,” Gideon said. “If I win, I lead your army myself to do this. If I lose then I’ll be dead and it’s up to you to get Ethan.”
Mordred grinned viciously at Gideon. The general stood there bemused, sizing up the priest just in case. “I agree,” Mordred said. “This might be fun, eh, Hevas?”