Ted Dekker - Mortal

“Who is this?” Feyn said. But something in her tone told him she already knew.

Rom stepped to the side.

“This is Jonathan. The boy you gave your life for.” He fell silent as the two considered one another in the dimly lit chamber.

“Jonathan…,” Feyn said faintly.

“Yes.”

She glanced at Rom and then walked past him, stopping just short of Jonathan who continued to take her in without a word.

“I remember you,” she said. “The boy on the horse. Coming to take the seat I gave up. And now here we are. What are we to do? Two Sovereigns. But only one now.” Her gaze left his eyes to trail over his braids. She reached out, took several of them between her fingers, thumb brushing over them thoughtfully. They were all tied with black cords for skill in the games and adorned with feathers-gifts from children.

“I remember you as well,” he said softly.

“They said you were crippled.”

“I was. But my leg healed.”

“It’s his blood,” Rom said. “Like the blood you tasted once, but much more. We’ve all taken it. We see differently now. We feel emotion, but we sense in ways that we never did before. There are many of us now. We call ourselves Mortals.”

“Indeed?”

“You died for me,” Jonathan said. “I owe my life to you.”

Feyn was silent. A tear slid out the corner of her eye. Jonathan lifted his hand, as though to touch it, but before he could she had dropped his braid and brushed it quickly away.

She turned to Roland.

“And who is this?”

“This is Roland.”

“A Nomad,” she said in a musing voice, seeming to take in not only his appearance but his very stature. She tilted her head. “Not just a Nomad, but a prince, I think. And so the stories are true. You still exist.”

“Indeed we do,” Roland said, inclining his head. He showed her respect, but Rom knew he would not bow before Order-or any other Corpse, for that matter. Only another Mortal would have noticed the barely perceptible way that he stiffened when she stepped toward him. The way his nostrils flared slightly at the smell of Dark Blood. And it was strong. Strong, but different from that of the Dark Blood that Roland had brought back to camp.

“I take it you’ve taken the office of your ring,” Roland said. “Before the senate?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at Rom. “We must hurry.”

Rom pushed aside the questions flooding his mind and nodded.

“Feyn… you remember why you gave your life for the boy?”

She looked at him, eyes dark, expressionless. “I remember.”

“Then you know how critical it is that he rule this world…”

He waited for her answer, breath stilled.

She gave none. But that was good enough for now.

“He must bring the world back to life from this office, either as Sovereign or through you.” He flipped his hand. “We can figure it all out later. For now we act on what we know, which is this: Saric wants to rule. How he managed to stay alive and find you, we don’t know, but he can only have one purpose. Surely you know his intentions.”

He couldn’t tell if she was at a loss or just allowing him to make his plea.

He continued, picking his words carefully. “Nine years ago as Sovereign, he changed the laws of succession. You do realize that if you were to die now, he would become Sovereign. Not Jonathan.”

She hesitated and then offered a single, shallow nod.

“At any moment he could reach out and kill you and rise to power.”

“Saric will not kill me,” she said.

“And what would stop him?”

“Love.”

“Love? Evil knows no love!”

“Then I am evil?” she asked with a raised brow. It was a soft-spoken challenge, not a question.

“No. But we can’t take any chances. You must remember Jonathan’s destiny to rule and save the world!”

She shifted her gaze to the boy who seemed to return her rapt interest.

“Is that how you feel?” she asked him.

“My blood brings life,” he said. “Not death. You died for me once… I don’t want you to die again.”

They faced off like two lost souls meeting for the first time. Two unsure Sovereigns at a critical crossing. Jonathan was only being crafty, he thought. Feyn…

The Sovereign was critically confused.

“How did Saric bring you back to life?” Rom asked.

“With his blood,” she said. “Isn’t that how you showed me life once? Through blood?”

“His?” How was it possible? “Saric’s?”

“This surprises you?”

“You’re saying blood from his body ?”

“From his veins,” she said.

The revelation felt like a blow.

Roland moved closer, glancing at the door. “We don’t have time.”

Rom held up his hand. “There can be no comparison between whatever alchemy Saric has conjured up and Jonathan’s blood. Surely you know that.”

No response.

Roland was right. They had little time. “We need to reverse whatever Saric has done. You must take Jonathan’s blood.” Even as Rom said it, the image of the Dark Blood, slumped in the chair, tugged at the back of his mind.

He glanced at Jonathan. “Will it work?”

The boy nodded slowly. “It might.”

“It has to. We have to make her Mortal and figure out this problem of succession.”

“There’s something different about her,” Jonathan said quietly.

And it was true. She reeked of Dark Blood, but not in the same way as the Dark Blood earlier that morning. And Rom was suddenly certain he knew the source of the scent.

He turned to Jonathan, eyes wide with hope. “She drank the blood. The ancient blood. Not enough, but she tasted life once before.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Jonathan said, biting his lip.

“Roland.” He reached out to his second. “Stent.”

Roland withdrew the Keeper’s black bundle from under his cloak and handed it to Rom.

“Feyn-” Rom glanced up to find her looking through the great window at the dark sky outside. She turned at the sound of her name.

“We’ll begin with only a drop,” he said, laying the bundle on the bed. He released the ties and rolled it open, lifted out the gloves the Keeper insisted he use.

“You’ll need to sit still for a moment.”

“So much talk,” she said, folding her hands. “As though I weren’t truly here.”

“I’m sorry. Actually, you could take my blood-it has that property now. Any one of us can bring another to life.”

“Like Saric.”

“Yes. No. Not the same at all. There’s no blood as pure as Jonathan’s. If there’s one blood that can save you, it’s his. That’s why he insisted on coming.”

Feyn regarded Rom with a slight smile and a tilt of her head.

“Save your blood, Jonathan, for those who need saving.”

“ You need saving!” Rom snapped.

“Do I? Do I look wounded to you? Like one who is sick? One near death in the Authority of Passing?”

“Authority of Passing?” Jonathan said.

She turned from Rom to Jonathan.

“Where the diseased and defective go to die, away from a fearful public. Where all who offend by their very Mortality are sent.”

Rom stared at her, struck by her choice of words. Mortality?

“Where is this center?” Jonathan said.

“You don’t know? On the southeast edge of the city outskirts. It’s where you would have been taken, born with a crooked leg as you were.”

“We didn’t come for them.” Rom fought a sudden surge of panic. “We came to help you.”

“Help me what, Rom? Give up my life again? I did that once.”

“This isn’t life you feel!”

“Isn’t it? I feel pain. I feel remorse. I feel pleasure…” She slid her gaze to Roland and back. “Ambition. Great purpose. And yes. Love. I’ve found a beautiful life, Rom Sebastian. How can you know that it is less than yours? That my love is less than the love you feel? The answer is: you can’t. I feel every bit as much beauty and joy to find myself alive now, tonight, as I ever felt once with you.”