Ted Dekker - Mortal

“Then at least one of you has good sense,” the Keeper said.

“I would say he’s simply talking about the genetic mutations that ultimately caused Legion to revert in the same bloodline from which the virus was made. Talus was responsible for Legion, after all. He made it-”

“Not with the intention of using it.”

“Nonetheless, it came from his blood. He then calculated and predicted that the virus would revert in one child and concludes here that the boy born with that blood must bring life to the world.”

“As Sovereign.”

“Yes, in an idealistic world. But if Talus were told that the boy could not come to power, what would he say?”

To even speak this way would be considered sacrilege to many, but they could not afford to adhere to the bounds of superstition now.

The Keeper shut the book with more force than was necessary. “You say the boy can’t come to power? Do you know who you’re speaking to?” He jabbed his chest with his forefinger. “We Keepers held fast to this belief of what ‘could not happen’ coming to pass while the rest of the world blindly followed Order for centuries. How dare you inform me of who can or cannot come to power now!”

“And we honor you for it, Keeper,” Roland said. “As prince I can assure you, you weren’t the only one to guard truth for centuries. Please, let’s put the cockfighting to rest.”

To Anthony: “Finish your thought.”

The elder Nomad glanced between them.

“First a question. When was it decided that these writings were inspired by more than the sharp mind of an alchemist who, in realizing his error, wanted to return humanity to a dead world?”

The Keeper blinked at him. “They’ve always been sacred!”

“Did Talus claim his writing was sacred?”

“Keepers have always known the words of Talus to be those of the Maker.”

“Fine. Even so, the meaning isn’t clear. The boy is our hope because of his blood. The vessel is secondary to its contents. It is the blood at stake here. If the boy were to suddenly become ill and die, would his blood be wasted just because he isn’t in power? His purpose is to rescue the world with his blood, not with any other power. Unless I’m missing something.”

The Keeper looked at Roland, face ashen. You told him?

He shook his head.

“What is it?” Seriph said.

Roland held the Keeper’s eyes for a moment, then decided it was time.

“Jonathan is ill,” he said. “In a matter of speaking. His blood is reverting. In less than a week his blood will be no different than the blood of any Corpse.”

The air seemed to leave the room. Stunned stares, all around.

“Corpse?” Michael said.

Roland nodded at the Keeper. “Tell them.”

After a long pause, the old man looked around himself as though at a loss, and sighed. He told them about the tests on Jonathan’s blood, adding in a final detail that surprised even Roland.

“As of last drawing just this morning, Jonathan’s blood has lost more than half of its potency. At this rate it will be gone by the time he turns eighteen.”

“That’s in three days!” Michael said.

“Then…” Seriph’s eyes, wide with shock, shifted between the Keeper and Roland. “How will he save the world if he comes to power?”

“His blood will change again,” the Keeper said.

“Will? Or may?”

No response.

“That’s it!” Seriph said. “It’s settled. We are the world’s salvation, not the boy.”

“Quiet!” Roland snapped. “No one’s abandoning Jonathan as long as I’m prince! And you’ll find my blade across your throat if you speak a word of this to any soul. I will not rob my people of hope!”

“Agreed,” Anthony said. “It would be disastrous.”

Seriph said, “Please tell me I’m not the only one who sees the obvious here.”

“The obvious is that Order reigns in a world that is dead!” the Keeper said. “We cannot fight amongst ourselves or turn traitor to our mission-our very reason for living. The very reason we live.”

“Point made,” Roland said. “Seriph may not have the smoothest tongue, but he’s no more traitor than any of us. Please, stick to the point.”

“I’m not sure the point has been made,” Michael said. “So let me say it.”

She stepped forward and placed her fingertips on the altar. Her hands were those of an archer-strong, bronzed from hours of sun, the nails of her thumb and forefinger on her drawing hand painted black for her marksmanship, one of twenty-three in the entire tribe who were granted the same markings.

“We are facing the possible annihilation of all Mortals at the hands of Saric and his Legion. The truth is, it’s only a matter of time before he finds us. As a warrior who commands seven hundred Mortal fighters I would know one thing: how many do we sacrifice to save the boy?”

There it was.

“All of them?” She paced and spun back, flipping her hand in the air. “Why don’t we let all Mortals die, for that matter? And then who will bring life to the world? Jonathan, with his Corpse blood? He will be dead!”

Anthony turned to the Keeper. “Are you certain Jonathan’s blood is reverting to Corpse levels? You’re sure of this?”

“I’m sure of nothing except what I see in the tests.”

“What about our blood?” Anthony pressed.

“We will live very long lives.”

“How long?”

The Keeper hesitated. “My most recent estimate is over seven hundred years.”

A collective gasp.

“So long? Then our blood is strengthening ?”

“So it seems.”

Roland paced, hands on his hips. Distant laughter drifted somewhere outside, voices raised in the kind of jocularity that comes only on the cusp of a new beginning, a thing long anticipated.

If they only knew.

“Book, we’re running out of time,” Roland finally said. “Even if Rom succeeds, we can’t know if we can trust Feyn. We have to take precautions and we can’t afford division. So I need to know. Jonathan’s life flows through our veins. If our blood continues to grow stronger… are you saying we may find ourselves immortal ?”

The Keeper frowned. “That’s a stretch.” A pause. “But yes, we have his life. And yes, it is lengthening within us.”

Those around him looked from one to the other.

“You heard him. Our life is more potent than ever. Will we just throw it away? No. We must protect it.”

“No one’s suggesting-”

“Follow my reasoning. You agree that Mortals must be protected at all costs. Then would you agree with me that the blood in us must be protected above any single life?”

The Keeper remained silent, his mouth set in a terrible line.

“It’s a simple question. Yes or no. Tell me what Jonathan would say.”

Finally the Keeper spoke, his voice like gravel. “He would agree.”

“Then you, his servant, would agree as well?”

The Keeper’s jaw muscles tightened. He gave a single, reluctant nod.

“Say it.”

“Yes. Assuming such a choice was before us.”

“It already is, my friend. Our army’s well trained but small. And so we must task ourselves with our primary objective, which is no longer to put the boy in power, but to protect the blood he’s given us.”

“That isn’t what I agreed to-”

“I’ve seen Saric’s army!” Roland said. “He’s twelve thousand Dark Bloods strong! If he comes against us, he’ll crush us unless we’re fully prepared. And I will employ any means at my disposal to avoid a slaughter.”

“Jonathan will come to power in a matter of days!”

“Jonathan’s blood is dying! He’ll be no more than a Corpse! Wake up, old man!”