Sovereign

by Ted Dekker

  “Surely you don’t mean the virus,” Gamil said. “Book was clear that it was experimental at best and would take years to perfect.”

  The alchemist walked past them to the altar, lifted Triphon’s amulet, and turned to face them, holding it delicately between his fingers. For a moment he stared at the pendant as though just noticing the blood, and then he lifted his eyes to Jordin.

  “We have in our possession thirty-six living vessels of Sovereign blood.” He looked in turn at Adah, Gamil, and finally Rom. “You might think us all human, fully alive, but I see vessels running with a blood that defies all I know as a master alchemist. I was a Corpse when Book approached me two years ago with a vial of blood—the same blood that runs in your veins. The same that spilled from Triphon tonight. Only after extensive examination did I come to understand the remarkable difference between the sample under my scope and my own Corpse blood. At first I thought the sample diseased and Corpse blood whole. When I accepted the truth that it was, in fact, the other way around, I gave myself to Sovereign life solely for the purpose of preserving it and ridding the world of the disease infecting its Corpses.”

  “You’ve told us all this,” Adah said. “What is this way you’re talking about?”

  “It’s important that you first understand my reasoning. Sovereign power is in our blood. We are but vessels. It is the most precious thing on this dead earth. On this we all agree.” He acknowledged slight nods from the others. “We cannot, under any circumstance and no matter how high the cost, allow our blood to die. But out of the body, it lasts only a week before losing its power—no other vessel is able to preserve it, or else I would siphon every ounce of blood we could spare from our remaining number and send it to the four corners with the hope that someday, when we are gone, someone might use the blood to reawaken humanity as Jonathan intended.”

  Jordin’s skin prickled. It had been the same mission of the very first Keeper five centuries ago to preserve life within a vial of ancient “TH” blood. She glanced at Rom. His jaw had visibly tightened—at the memory of that first vial that had come into his life and set all of this in motion? Was it even possible that this is what Jonathan might have intended all along—that his legacy be inherited not by those who had known his face, who had loved him and fought for him, but by those who might not even know his name?

  Something like despair seized her.

  No. That couldn’t be what Jonathan intended—the fact that it wouldn’t survive beyond a week was evidence of that.

  “And yet, as you say, it’s impossible,” she snapped. “What’s your point?”

  “The cost of the solution I have found may seem high, but it’s not too high if there’s no other way. I have considered every factor, and I can now tell you that there is no other way.”

  He was choosing his words too carefully, Jordin thought. He was preparing them. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Go on,” Rom said, voice taut.

  “Book was wrong about the virus. We have perfected it.”

  Rom’s right brow lifted. Book had talked about it for months: a virus that accomplished what they had only formerly been able to do to one Corpse at a time. Mass seroconversion. They’d all written off such a possibility, thinking it only the play-stuff of alchemists who didn’t know a better way to channel time and hope. It had been no surprise when the old Keeper had labeled the experiment a failure in the weeks before his death.

  “Even if that’s true,” Rom said, “unilaterally changing Corpses to Sovereigns through a virus defies Jonathan’s nature. It’s no more ethical than kidnapping Corpses and forcing blood into their veins against their will.”

  “I said nothing about changing Corpses,” Mattius said quietly.

  A flicker of glances.

  “Reaper is an airborne virus that will only give Corpses a common cold.”

  “Reaper?”

  “The name I’ve given the virus, also called simply ‘R.’ When released into the air, it will spread on the winds and infect every breathing soul on earth within months. Beginning here in Byzantium, naturally.”

  “How does infecting Corpses with a common cold help us?” Gamil said.

  “The virus has a three-day incubation period. It remains latent in its host for three days before the onset of disease. A cold in some. Death in others.”

  “Death? Which others?” Rom said.

  Mattius looked at him. “The virus will kill all Dark Bloods.”

  Jordin felt her heart begin to pound. Kill all Dark Bloods? Was it even possible? And if it was, why hadn’t Mattius rushed in to tell them the good news immediately?

  She glanced at Rom, his pale expression unreadable.

  Gamil, on the other hand, appeared shocked. “You’re sure about this? You’ve tested it?”

  “Only on Dark Blood tissue, but yes, I am as sure as one can be without actually releasing the virus.”

  “And there’s no way they can protect themselves?” Jordin demanded.

  “No. It’s contagious once contracted and kills Dark Blood cells with astonishing speed once past its latency. They won’t have time to begin—much less complete—work on an antiviral. The death of all Dark Bloods will be rapid…. and assured.”

  They stared at him, aghast.

  “Feyn,” Rom said. “She has the ancient blood in her veins as well.”

  Mattius nodded. “But not Sovereign blood. She too will die.”

  There had to be more. And suddenly Jordin knew what it was.

  She stepped forward, intent. “Leaving Roland and his demons easy and immediate access to the throne. We kill one enemy only to strengthen another. Free to rule without adversary, Immortals will prove far more dangerous to Sovereigns than Dark Bloods ever did.”

  Even as she spoke, she knew by Mattius’s calm gaze that he was ahead of her. “Immortals will prove no threat to Sovereigns. We knew at the outset that any virus we developed would need to deal with both species. Immortals will suffer the same fate as Dark Bloods.”

  “They will all die?”

  “Yes. Not as quickly, perhaps, but yes.”

  Jordin’s head swam. For the first time in a year she imagined uncompromised victory over their enemies. For a moment the room felt robbed of oxygen. Did she dare surrender to such a hope?

  “Then it’s no solution at all,” Rom said. “To kill Dark Bloods is one thing. But to take the lives of Immortals—those who are Mortal and fully capable of finding life as we ourselves once did—that’s absolutely unacceptable.”

  “They are our enemies,” Jordin said. His hard glare did not deter her. “How can you dismiss it so quickly?”

  “What makes you so sure that Immortals will die?” Gamil asked. He spoke with control but there was no hiding the enthusiasm in his voice.

  “Because we know Mortal blood. It is our own with only slight—but significant—modifications. The virus will kill Immortals.”

  “But not affect Sovereigns?”

  Mattius hesitated a beat. “Perhaps.”

  The physician blinked as if he weren’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Perhaps?”

  “We may lose our emotions, but we can’t be sure. I’d say it’s fifty-fifty. Even so, losing emotion might be to our gain. The strength of Sovereignty is in our wisdom and knowing, not in emotional ecstasy.”

  “No!” Rom snapped, snatching Triphon’s amulet from Mattius’s hand. He slapped it down on the altar. “Return to the life of a Corpse? I forbid it! Neither can we murder thousands of Immortals in a war to preserve our own blood. Or destroy all Dark Bloods wholesale. This is not Jonathan’s way.”

  Jordin stared at him. And then she knew.

  It was because of her.

  Feyn.

  “Then you would allow all Sovereigns to be butchered and eradicate the world’s last hope for true life as a matter of principle?” Mattius demanded, his calm slipping. “This is what you call love?”

  “I saw love while you were still concocting brews as a Corpse,” Rom
said with dangerous quiet. “I saw Jonathan spread his arms and die for those same Immortals you now mean to wipe out. Don’t lecture me on love.”

  “Your love will get us all killed.”

  “So be it!” Rom’s voice rang out in the chamber like thunder.

  Adah gave voice to what was on Jordin’s mind. “Rom, walk through these chambers and look in the faces of the children before deciding their fate. The Immortals made their choice and since have stopped at nothing to kill us. Maker in heaven—they’ve all but exterminated us!”

  “The Maker’s not in heaven; he’s in our veins. And the Maker I know does not kill those he can save.”

  “But you would kill the Maker in your veins,” she shot back. “I say if we have no other reasonable choice, sacrifice Immortals to preserve true Sovereign life.”

  Rom rounded on Mattius. “Burn it. If you don’t, I swear I will.”

  “No. You won’t.”

  “You would stop me?”

  “I don’t have to. I’ve hidden five samples where they can’t be found. It will only take one to save Sovereigns from annihilation. And more than one of us knows how to release the virus. Even if you kill me, it will gain you nothing.”

  Realization crept across Rom’s face even as it blossomed in Jordin’s mind: Mattius hadn’t come to propose his solution, but to inform them of a decision he’d already made. It was as good as done. For the first time, she faltered.

  Rom drew a slow breath in through his nose. He glanced at each one of them in turn and finally at her.

  “Does this ring a bell in your thick skulls?” he asked. “The irony of it? Five hundred years ago another alchemist named Talus created a virus. It was deployed by Megas, the first tyrant to rule the world unchallenged as Sovereign. Now you would release another virus as Megas’s reincarnation? Talus gave his life to bring, not take, life. As has every Keeper since, including Book.”

  “A small price to pay to preserve Jonathan’s life,” Mattius said. “For us and for all Corpses. We need a true Sovereign on the throne. A Sovereign—not that Dark Blood imposter, Feyn.” His lips curled as he said it.

  “This isn’t just about survival. You mean to kill her.”

  “With any fortune, Feyn will be the first to die.”

  Rom turned to Jordin, his expression devoid of color. “You lived with Roland when he was only Mortal. They took you in when you were a child before any of this. They saved you. And now you would stand by while Mattius slaughters them all?”

  She knew he was pleading for the life of that Dark Blood witch.

  “No one has seen the face of an Immortal since they left us,” she said, her voice sounding cold even to her own ear. “For all we know they’re mindless. Beasts that do nothing but kill.”

  But Mattius had acted without agreement or consultation, ready to decide for them all. Was she ready to accept such a decision? The Dark Bloods should die. The Immortals deserved to die. In her mind, they had betrayed Jonathan as much as Saric and Feyn. And yet…. was this truly Jonathan’s way?

  Jonathan, where are you?

  “The matter deserves further consideration,” she said, sure of nothing anymore.

  “Jonathan will show a better way!” Cords stood out on Rom’s neck as he spoke. “You think they’re only rumors, or that he lives only in your blood. He’s alive; I know it to be true. Somehow—out there. He lives!”

  “Then he’d better hurry,” Mattius snapped. “If he hasn’t shown himself within seven days, I will release Reaper to keep alive the hope of salvation. And if I’m wrong, Jonathan himself can take pity on my soul.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JONATHAN, WHAT have I done? I followed you. I did everything you asked.

  Be still, Jordin, and know.

  What is there to know? You left me!

  I never left, my love. See me.

  I don’t see anything.

  Open your eyes. See me. Find me….

  Jordin’s eyes fluttered open in the darkness. She’d had the recurring dream for two weeks now, always the same, always the voice…. always without him. She was no stranger to vivid dreams over the last six years. Some said that their dreams, like the unpredictable precognition and their emerald eyes, had been Jonathan’s last mysterious gifts to all Sovereigns. What the dreams meant, she had no idea. The meaning of any of their dreams was beyond them. Perhaps they were nothing more than lifelike experiences devoid of the suffering they’d found beneath the city. Snippets of familiar faces, of things that might be and that sometimes did manifest. But mostly she dreamed of Jonathan. Perhaps because she’d loved him in a way none of the others ever had, as a woman loves a man. And perhaps because Jonathan had loved her as well.

  But that love now left her heartsick and alone. What was love if there was nobody to love…. no lover beyond the figments of imagination or the fabric of dreams?

  The events of the previous night had interrupted her sleep. Mattius’s ultimatum—seven days. A part of her felt relieved that they’d reached such a clear intersection. Waiting for death had never been in her blood, before or since it had become Jonathan’s.

  The worn curtain into her room moved. She tilted her head to see who was there, but the curtain was still closed. She’d only foreseen it, the gift most active these days in the residue of her dreams.

  Jordin pulled her shirt on and shoved herself up to greet whoever was coming.

  The curtain moved, pushed aside by Rom, who was framed by the eerie light of an outer chamber. Seeing her awake, he stepped in, his expression calm, determined. She knew the look well.

  “Come in,” she said wryly, leaning over for a match.

  He stopped at the end of her pallet. “You were expecting me.”

  She lit the match and applied the flame to the wick of her lamp. The amber light only seemed to further illuminate the shadows in the ancient crypt. Filled with cracks and sooty depressions, the wall moved with darkness, its uneven surface stained with secrets.

  “I saw the curtain open before it did. Not that foresight ever comes when I really need it.”

  “Then let’s hope that changes. I’ve made a decision.”

  She blew out the match and looked at him. He was dressed in black as if he intended to travel aboveground. Was it still night? She’d gone back for the rice with Gamil and found it untouched. As anticipated, there were no Dark Bloods near the warehouse—they’d found them lying on the street, cut to ribbons by the Immortals. If Roland had lost any men, they had taken their bodies. And someone had taken Triphon’s.

  For as much as she despised the Immortal Prince, she admitted her grudging respect. Their cunning and speed had proved the bane of Feyn’s new regime—Roland was as cruel and driven as she.

  She wished them both dead.

  “And?”

  “You’ll lead while I’m gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “Gone where only I can go,” he said, walking toward the bed. “Mattius must not be allowed to release the virus. I won’t accept any victory that comes with the death of so many innocents.”

  “Innocents?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “You know as well as I do…. that is not Jonathan’s way.”

  She returned his stare for a moment, then flung off her wool blanket and stood on the opposite side of the bed, dressed only in her long white nightshirt.

  “You talk about Jonathan, but he’s in the grave and now we’ve found our own. If nothing changes, they’ll discover our bones in this crypt centuries from now. We might as well carve it here, on the wall: ‘Here lie unknown bones draped in dried-out flesh.’ ”

  “Then I go to the grave with him. But I won’t deny the blood he gave me by doing what I know he would not.”

  “No? Then what will you do? Wait here to die and take the rest with you?”

  Rom looked taken aback at the harshness of her tone. She told herself to stop, that venting her frustration wouldn’t help anything, but she found herself unable to.

/>   “If there were any other way, it would have presented itself to us by now. Mattius has a point. Sovereign blood must be saved at any cost. You know that Roland won’t rest until all Sovereigns and Dark Bloods are dead, leaving only hapless Corpses to block his way. Never mind the Dark Bloods—the Immortals will always be our enemies, and they won’t stop until we’re dead.”

  He gazed at her, silent, eyes glistening in the firelight.

  Jordin turned toward the chair and snatched her pants off the back. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. We have nowhere left to go. Even if we did, the others are too weak to even attempt to move. But we can’t just wait here and let them slaughter us.”

  “You mean like they slaughtered Jonathan,” he said quietly.

  The words cut. “Yes. Like they slaughtered Jonathan.”

  “And yet he made no move to save himself. He knew what he was doing. He had a reason. Honor it, even if you don’t understand it. Seek him. Find him.”

  She spun around. “How? Tell me and I’ll do it. Show me where to find him. But no, you can’t, because you don’t know either. No matter how much we might wish it otherwise—and believe me, I’ve wished myself to the bone—we can’t. We can’t because he’s dead.”

  “Is he?”

  “I’m not talking about his blood.”

  “Neither am I,” Rom said.

  She took a long, steadying breath. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I dreamed the same dream you told me about a few nights ago. His voice calling from the desert.”

  “It’s a dream, Rom.”

  “Is it?”

  “Haven’t they all been?”

  “I pray you lead the Sovereigns with Jonathan’s heart, Jordin,” he said in a soft voice.

  The ugly echo of her words hung in the air. How could he have such surety about the heart of the man she had loved more than any of them…. while she felt only lost?

  “I have to leave now, while it’s still dark,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “To the Citadel.”

  She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

  “To the witch?”