Ted Dekker - Mortal

Another peal of thunder rumbled across the sky. The wind picked up.

Terror sliced through Rom’s mind.

SARIC’S MIND SPUN WITH THE MEANING of Feyn’s sudden arrival, aware all the while that his children’s eyes were fixed on him riding behind her like a leader who had taken second seat to true royalty. Aware that his skin was clammy with sweat. That his heart pounded. Aware that Jonathan’s jaw was set, his eyes fixed, his hips rolling naturally with his mount’s gait, his hands light on the reins as one at ease with his place as supreme ruler of all that life could offer, despite the falsity of that notion.

Aware, too, that the Mortals were cut off from any attempt at saving the boy.

The battle had stalled completely, drawn to the sudden appearance of the pair. His children watched him, waiting for his direction. He left them standing. The battle was now in his hands.

He studied the side of Feyn’s face, the line of her jaw bared by her simple plaits, the pale gray mantle, the pearls sewn at the cuffs of her sleeves. She had fulfilled her promise to bring the boy to him.

And yet, she showed none of the reverence he expected from a loyal servant. The submission that had occupied her very posture before turning full Dark Blood only last evening was gone.

He considered the line of Dark Bloods to his right. They watched him mostly, but some of their eyes had turned to Jonathan.

A chill flashed down his back. He could hardly blame them-the object of their full fury had been delivered into the hands of their Master. But curiosity, not anger, occupied their eyes.

He kicked his horse and trotted up next to Feyn as they approached the steps.

“I was beginning to question your loyalty, my love.”

Her eyes remained steadfast on the dead Mortal hanging before the temple. As did Jonathan’s.

Didn’t she know he could draw his sword and summarily cut her down now, where she sat? For a brief moment he considered showing his supremacy in such a way for all to see. But then, he had no evidence that she’d betrayed him.

“You have done well,” he said quietly. “For this I will reward you.”

She made no effort to acknowledge him.

Had she lost her mind? Did the boy have such power to steal her heart? But no… They were both under his heel, their fates in his hands.

Beside her, Jonathan rode as though alone, seemingly oblivious to the thousands who looked on. He looked strangely majestic in his worn black tunic. Even his mount seemed to be aware of nothing but its rider’s supremacy, as though to say: Here is one born of true life, the final remnant of Chaos, fully alive by birthright.

A man brimming with more life than Saric could possibly know without taking his blood himself.

No. He was imagining things.

And what if it’s true, Saric? What if you rid the world of the only vessel that might bring you the supreme life and power you so desperately crave?

“Is there anything you would say to your Maker?” he demanded of Feyn.

Her horse stopped ten paces from the ruin steps, just beyond Triphon’s lifeless form. Without a glance at Saric she dismounted, walked around to Jonathan, and offered him a hand.

Jonathan took her hand, gave Triphon’s body a last look, and dismounted. She led him to the steps, lifted his fingers, and lightly kissed his knuckles. Gave him a parting look. Only then did she turn to face Saric.

“I give you your Sovereign, my Lord. My debt is repaid.”

Without another word, Feyn crossed to her mount, swung into the saddle, reined her horse around, and rode directly toward the line of Dark Bloods at the valley mouth. They parted like a black sea as she approached, wind gusting through their corridor.

He could have stopped her, but she had played her role. If her loyalty to him had been undermined, he would deal with her easily enough later-she commanded no army. No force could offer her protection.

Feyn rode through his ranks, past the Mortals beyond, and headed out of the valley at a full run.

When Saric turned back to the temple ruins, Jonathan had already climbed the steps. He stood, looking out at Dark Blood and Mortal alike. His feet were parted and firmly planted, young jaw tight, his hands clenched in fists by his side as gusts tore at his clothing and hair.

So then, nine years had finally brought them to a place of righting the past, of all that had gone wrong. Their roles, this time, were reversed. Today it was Jonathan’s turn to surrender.

Life…

The word swept through Saric’s mind as if carried by the raging wind.

“Jonathan!” Rom Sebastian’s voice carried over the lines, stretched thin by desperation. “Jonathan!”

Saric was about to dismount when the boy’s voice cut through the rising storm, drawing the ear of every breathing soul in the valley.

“In an age of Chaos the first to walk this earth lived in full abandonment!” he cried. “They embraced the full pleasure of all that was given. They laughed and filled their bellies with the offerings of the land. They danced beneath sun and moon, and celebrated unreserved passion. Do any of you dare say it was not good?”

His challenge rang out with an authority that brought a tremble to Saric’s fingers.

He speaks of life as one who knows it too well…

The wind moaned through the ruins. Above, the dark sky churned. Dark Blood and Mortal alike stared on in silence.

Jonathan walked to his right, tendons taut along his neck beneath bulging veins. Veins flowing with the first blood of life.

“Before there was war, there was peace! Before hate, love. Before selfish ambition, selfless service. There was beauty without end, never meant to fade.”

He was pacing now, hands clenched in the air.

“But those who lived also courted sick ambition and selfish greed. They longed for power. To consume more than they were given. They waged war. Human killed human, enraged, jealous, filled with the need to possess the service of others. Love was crushed by the need to protect what could not be owned. Man ignored the call to embrace the way of a Maker whose banner is love given freely, not controlled by force or demanded by allegiance or loyalty!”

How dare this man stand before his children and speak of love divorced from obedience, loyalty, or possession?

And then, as his rage gathered like the storm overhead, he realized it wasn’t rage at all… but jealousy.

“ This was the failing of man!” Jonathan cried. “And so a man named Megas stripped humankind of all sentiment but fear. Jealous for humanity, determined to possess it, zealous for control! Until the day that life was reborn five centuries later in one child. A boy to be raised for his blood to feed all those thirsty to drink!”

Far to Saric’s left, one of the Mortals cried out: “He speaks the truth! Mortals rise with life!”

Jonathan’s finger shot out in the direction of the voice. “No!” he screamed. “I tell you today, true life is not found in blood that wakens only the passions. As in the days of Chaos, only love given freely inhabits the Maker’s design. Those who claim love dependent on allegiance are imposters who know nothing of the Sovereign realm. They will die the same as those who walk without life already!”

A jagged knife of lightning split the sky. Thunder crashed overhead as the wind gained intensity, whipping Jonathan’s braids about his face.

But the heavens were not the only thing on the verge of cracking open.

Saric felt his mind tilt even as he sat tall in his saddle. The boy’s words cut, severing every tether to all that he’d died and lived for. Slowly the world around him began to fade, leaving only the accusing form atop the ruined temple steps. Was it possible? Was Jonathan’s life more true than his own?