Elizabeth was the first to break the murmurs with her shrill voice. “Attack!”
What followed was pandemonium. Alistair, along with the elders, Enclave, and Outcasts braced themselves for an assault that never reached them. Instead, those Fallen closest to them turned to fight Fallen behind them. How many was it—two, maybe three thousand? He couldn’t tell.
Bernie and Elizabeth yelled at them, angered by what they deemed as cowardice and treachery.
Realizing what had happened, that Stephen had managed to reach some of the Fallen who had once been Mighty, Alistair yelled and charged forward. “For the Almighty!”
Their own numbers added to the fray, Fallen had more of a fight than they had planned for, but they weren’t giving up either.
Bernard and Rex chased after Bernie, while Anthony and Jonathan went after Elizabeth. Vincent, Zander, Anastasia, Colvin, and Alistair completed a perimeter around Stephen to prevent anyone from damaging his body. Alistair owed him that and so much more that he would never have a chance to repay.
Commander Brahms took charge of the fight and shouted out orders as he pushed forward with the line.
Before long, Bernard, Rex, Anthony, and Johnathan returned, reporting to Alistair that both Bernie and Elizabeth had fled, vanishing in a plume of black. As Alistair looked around, he saw numerous bodies scattered. In one swift battle, Fallen had been defeated and were running. Shouts of joy erupted from all around. Similar reports were coming in from all the other fronts. Whatever Stephen had done, it had impacted not only them, but skirmishes all over the world.
He looked at the scattered bodies again. It could have been so much worse. He knew there would be mourning and brokenness. There would also be healing, thanks to Stephen. Alistair turned around to see his friend lying on the ground. He knelt beside him and stroked his fingers across Stephen’s face. He couldn’t hold back the tears as he spoke. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, mukker.”
****
“Where is he?” Patty hadn’t waited for the mist to clear before she ran in the direction of what little fighting remained, Jax following behind. She called again, louder and more determined. “Where is he?”
A couple Outcasts she knew from Outposts stared at her, eyes wide with surprise that she was on the battlefield. Patty ran up to them, pleading. “Where’s Stephen? Where’s my husband?” One of them glanced in the direction of a group of men and women gathered in a circle.
The two hurried to the crowd and cleared their way through until they stood in the middle looking down at two bodies—Alistair kneeling beside one of them. All eyes turned and watched her. She didn’t have time for sympathy, nor did she care. She rushed to Stephen’s side, opposite Alistair.
“I’m sorry, Patty,” he said.
She ignored him and wiped at the tears that clouded her vision. Was it really him? He’s so cold, she thought as she grabbed hold of him. “Lord, help me,” she repeated over and over, frantically searching for something, anything in her memories that could help.
Just beyond, she would see the battle still going on, though Mighty had all but won. Bodies, both Mighty and Fallen, laid strewn all around. So many had died. Still, she couldn’t accept that her husband was among them. It wasn’t acceptable. In her heart, she knew this was not the way it was supposed to end. How could she change it? She wasn’t Stephen. She wasn’t the one chosen by the Almighty.
Edge knelt next to her, squeezing her close with one arm. She resisted, not willing to give up. “Lord, tell me what to do. Anything. I’ll do it,” she bawled, still resisting Edge’s comfort. Aggravated, she turned to Edge, fully expecting to yell at him. It was when she saw his face that she knew God had answered her prayers.
“We’re bonded,” she muttered, looking back to Stephen.
“Patty,” Alistair began. “He can still die if he’s bonded.”
Without looking up, she snapped, “Shut up, Alistair. I’m listening.”
“Listening to what?” he asked, only to receive a glare of disapproval.
“I suggest you listen to her,” Vincent said, pulling the Scotsman to his feet. “Look at her eyes—they are glowing like his did.”
Patty heard it but didn’t care. There was something she needed to do, but how? Without another thought, she followed her instinct and placed her body on top of his—chest to chest, palms to palms, face to face, and mouth to mouth, and then she breathed into him. As she did, she felt a flush of warmth on his skin. She did it again. His heart beat. When she breathed a third time, his eyes opened and shone like blue flames that could not be quenched.
Gasps and awes issued from the growing crowd of onlookers. Soon, whispers erupted into praise at the sight of their king, alive again.
She kissed her king and held him tight, enjoying the warm embrace she received in return. While sounds of fighting—metal clanking, shouting, and screaming—were still in the air, although growing more distant, Patty didn’t want to leave his side. She didn’t care about anything else. Stephen was safe now, and her husband was alive.
“You’re gonna suffocate me.” Stephen chuckled.
She punched his chest with all the strength she could muster. “Ow!” she said, shaking her hand. Stephen hadn’t flinched.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yeah, but that shouldn’t have hurt.” In that moment, she realized something new. She couldn’t sense the mood of those around her any longer. She stood and tried to help him up. Instead, she nearly pulled herself off balance. Her enhanced strength was gone, as was her other abilities. She tried harder, focusing on Stephen. Then, she realized that she could still sense him, but only him. He was overwhelmed with joy and happiness in seeing she was there.
Stephen’s eyes were beautiful—flickering like a blue dancing flame. She had never seen them glow so brightly. Looking up at him, a movement caught her attention just over his shoulder. A dark shadow zipped in their direction. Patty shoved Stephen aside, knowing it would be better for all if he lived and she died.
Instead, a bright streak of light intercepted the shadow just short of Patty. A shrill cry sent chills up Patty’s spine as she watched the shadow tumble to the ground and take form. Elizabeth. From her side, near the top of her ribs, a dagger could be seen with only half of the handle still visible. She struggled for air, spitting blood and coughing as she tried to speak.
As the light dimmed, Johnathan took bodily form again and stood over her at first, then knelt beside her. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking up at Vincent, whose eyes were glued to his mother. “I couldn’t let her get to Stephen.”
Vincent walked over to her and knelt beside her as his father stood beside him. “I know. I just wish it could have been different. Mother, I wish you could have believed.”
Elizabeth tried to snarl at them, still acting as though the fight wasn’t over. Then, she looked toward the sky as her eyes filled with terror.
Patty glanced up. Nothing.
“No,” Elizabeth gurgled. “I served you. You promised me!” She turned to crawl away, but fell under the weight of her own body. Wheezing, she tried to speak one more time. “It’s s-so h . . .” The last bit of air escaped her lungs with a shrill cry that Patty hoped never to hear again.
She wanted to feel relieved at the sight, knowing Elizabeth was gone. But there was something in her cries that caused Patty to feel horrified, and to be moved with compassion at the realization that Vincent’s mom hadn’t gone to a better place.
Chapter 25
A week had gone by since the battle. People had buried their dead and tended to whatever affairs needed tending. That week had been bittersweet. Although many Mighty had been promoted to God’s eternal army, and a great many more Fallen had forever fallen, an even larger number of those who had once lost their way had returned to the fold. Stephen’s message had been heard, not only by Fallen at the steel mill where he stood, but by any who had been open and willing to receive it. Many lost sheep had come home.
Stephen stood in the large hall with tapestries depicting the feats of David and his mighty men hanging on the walls. In front of him was the raised platform where the council members sat in a semicircle, looking out at him and the crowd of people behind him. He felt a gentle squeeze of his hand. He looked at Patty and smiled. Her emerald eyes sparkled, and the emerald dress shimmered in the light. Her burgundy lips were so inviting, he couldn’t resist. He leaned forward and kissed her, lingering longer than he should have, but he didn’t care. He had died, yet he lived. He had much to be thankful for—every moment of the rest of his life, in fact.
He heard a couple hoots and hollers, followed by a catcall. Behind him were his own mighty men and women, those who had stood by his side through it all, Outcasts and Mighty. Behind them were the Mighty of Enclave. The hall was packed, standing-room only.
“Uh-hmm!” Anastasia cleared her throat to capture Stephen’s attention, along with everyone else’s.
Seeing her standing up there as head council member reminded him that Sam had given the ultimate sacrifice for him. Sam’s chair was empty. Anastasia, who had known Sam best, was the acting head, though she had already expressed to Stephen that she would not accept the position on a permanent basis. Colvin, who had been filling the spot vacated by Charles, had stepped down so that someone new could be appointed due to Charles’s death. Two additional council chairs sat empty, one of which belonged to Novak—who had been the youngest among them.
Stephen looked around. There were others he had known who were not present. Silently, he recalled all those who had sacrificed their lives in the past year or so. His friends Boone and Do-Yeong were now among them. It seemed the crowd of people left spaces for each of them, as the faces of Waltz, Pastor Buchanan, and many others filled the gaps. He was sad that Waltz had not lived to see this day. Several layers of people back, he saw a teen with bright blue hair, who locked eyes with him. The boy smiled and nodded in appreciation for what Stephen had done. The sadness ceased, if only for a moment. With a single raised corner of his mouth, Stephen acknowledged the boy, whose name he had never learned.
The crowd was quiet once more, and Stephen looked toward the front, after first stealing a glance from Patty.
Anastasia looked graceful, as usual, in her white flowing council robe, which nearly seemed a continuation of her long, flowing white hair. She smiled at Stephen, then addressed the crowd. “Today is a day of happiness that comes on the heels of one of the saddest days I have seen as Mighty. Loved ones were lost and laid to rest. But let us not mourn for Mighty who are gone, for they are blessed beyond anything we can comprehend as they join the army of Mighty who have gone before them. Instead, let us celebrate the life each lived, the sacrifice they made, and the victory they earned. Their sacrifices will forever be recorded in the annals of the Mighty.
“We who remain are also blessed. Today, we will see something no Mighty has seen since the time of Christ, when our gifts were given to us. We will see not only the selection of the next David, but the crowning of a king. Stephen Cross, step forward.”
A lump rose in his throat as Patty nudged him forward. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go through with it, to be King What did he know about being Mighty, that others did not? What made him worthy? His feet continued forward as he swallowed hard, attempting to clear the lump. Looking down at the stone floor helped to steady his feet and balance his light head as he moved forward in what seemed a longer distance that he first thought. Finally, he stood at the edge of the platform, directly in front of Anastasia, who had somehow produced a simple but very real crown while he was focused on the floor.
“If there are any here who challenge Stephen’s claim to the throne, let them be heard.”
The first challenge, Stephen recalled, as he remembered the order of events.
A man in the crown called out, “Scripture says on the word of two or more. Where is your witness?”
A hooded man stepped forward from the first row of people and turned to face the crowd as he lowered his hood. Danny. “My name is Danny Nokes. You all know me by another name—Oracle. And I am a witness.”
The second challenge.
This time, a woman called out with what sounded like an Irish accent. “A king has an army, people willing to follow him to death. Where’s your army?”
To Stephen’s surprise, the first several rows of people stepped forward, distancing themselves from the others, and turned to face the group. It was more than Stephen had known about, including his friends and loved ones, the leaders of what had once been Outcasts, and more who he could not recall the names of, unsure if he even recognized them at all.
Vincent continued forward and stood beside Stephen, opposite Danny. “We are the king’s army, Knights of the Circle, and we pledge our lives to Stephen. We are his army.”
“As are we,” the others in the hall shouted in unison.
The final challenge. Stephen didn’t know what to expect. No one had told him what the third challenge would be.
“Only one question remains,” Anastasia said to Stephen. “What makes you think you are worthy to wear this crown.”
What? Stephen hadn’t expected the question. He had never wanted to wear the crown. Was she being serious? Everyone else had told him of his destiny, sure that he was ordained to lead. It was never his idea. Now, she’d asked him why he thought he was worthy? There was only one thing to do.
Stephen hopped onto the stage next to Anastasia to address the crowd. “I’m not worthy,” he said. “I’ve done things. I have a past that I will never forget. Instead of being raised as Mighty and learning like all of you, I grew up normal, just like most of the world.
“People have sacrificed for me in more ways than I can recount. Waltz died for me. More than that, he gave up a true father-son relationship in order to protect me, to keep others from knowing who I was, and what I’d become. Friends have died.” He fought back tears as he continued, stumbling over words. “I wasn’t strong enough to save them.”
He caught Vincent’s gaze and held onto it. “I’m sorry about Elizabeth. I-I should have seen what was inside, the first time I went to your house. Maybe I could have done something then.”
Moving on, he stopped at Shannon, whose eyes were watering nearly as much as his. “Sam was a better man than I ever gave him credit for. He shouldn’t have had to die, not for me.”
Someone was missing. The blond Scotsman had been absent since the battle had ended. His eyes combed over the crowd. Where was Alistair?
****
He couldn’t remember the last time he had been in the family cemetery. But he remembered the first time, when he was thirteen years old as they laid his mom to rest. Alistair squatted in front of the headstone and ran his fingers gently across his family name, Stewart. Though he knew that there was no body in the freshly covered grave, he needed to spend this time visiting.
Rain drizzled around him. He didn’t mind. In fact, the rain had always had a calming effect on him, so long as it was only rain. He looked around at the ghosts he could still see in his mind, as though his mother’s funeral had just closed.
“Alistair,” a middle-aged Charles said after placing an arm around a barely teenage Alistair. “We need to leave soon, son.”
Alistair’s stringy blond hair tossed in the wind as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I don’t know if I can.”
Charles looked to the young lady with long black hair that stood on Alistair’s other side. “Will you give us a minute?”
She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Stewart.” She hugged Alistair and walked away.
Charles squeezed his son tight as Alistair cried heavily into his father’s chest. “It’s not fair,” came the muffled cry.
“Shh. I know it isn’t fair. This world often isn’t. But there’s coming a day when none of that matters. For your mum, that day has already come. She’s happy now. The sickness is gone.” Tears streamed down Charles’s face. “She’s healed. And one day, I’ll be with her
again. We both will, in time.”
Charles held his son at arm’s length and wiped a tear away with his thumb. “We both need to be strong until it’s our time. We mustn’t allow death to take us off course. We must hold our heads high and keep our eyes focused on the One who made us and allow Him to direct our paths.”
“What if I lose ye too?” Alistair asked.
“Not if, but when,” Charles replied, smiling. “Then, you lay my remains next to your mum and add the date of my death there—” He pointed. “Just below my name. After that, continue to live. Don’t allow death to have any sort of victory over you. Be with your family and friends.”
The two turned to walk away from the grave, toward the young girl waiting by the car. “Can my friends come visit me in London?” Alistair asked.
“As often as you like,” Charles replied.
Alistair looked up. The rain had stopped. His father’s words echoed in his mind, “Be with your family and friends.” He looked down at his watch. There was still time to make it. He kissed his fingers and touched them once more to the name Stewart. “I love ye. And I miss ye both.” Touching his hand to the medallion that hung from his neck, he vanished as a blue cloud engulfed him, then redeposited him in the large hall deep below DC.
As he stood on the platform, hidden behind a tapestry depicting David’s victory over Goliath, he waited as challenges were presented to Stephen. Then, he listened as the young king failed to answer the third challenge. Instead of telling why he was worthy, Stephen pleaded with bitter tears the cause of his unworthiness. Then Stephen stopped. At first, Alistair thought his friend was pausing for only a moment. When he peeped around the tapestry, he noticed that Stephen appeared to be scanning the crowd. That was when Alistair realized, He’s looking for me. My king needs me.
Alistair stepped out onto the stage, fully aware that everyone was watching him with bated breath. Even Stephen had turned at hearing the approaching footsteps.
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