Ted Dekker: Mortal

“Corban,” Feyn said.

“Yes?”

“Turn the music off.”

THE SEYELA VALLEY LAY UNDER A CLOUDY SKY, the camp and ruins vacated once again. Roland had taken nearly nine hundred self-professed Immortals north, riding high in his saddle, gaze fixed firmly on his destiny. No amount of persuasive words could alter the man’s interpretation of the days leading up to Jonathan’s death, or his course.

Rom hardly blamed him. Who could argue against the powers of life evidenced in all of those who’d sworn their allegiance to Roland? They possessed acute senses that would facilitate their rise to supremacy over the course of their vastly extended lives. In their eyes, they were nothing less than gods ready to walk the earth.

Even now, as Rom sat upon his horse watching Jordin pay her last respects at Jonathan’s grave, he felt a strange draw to the lure of such a life.

But that life was no longer for him.

The forty-five who’d joined Rom, the Keeper, Jordin, and Triphon would be fortunate to live natural life spans before they were returned to the ground. Beyond that, it was really anyone’s guess. None of them truly understood Bliss. But so few statues of Order made sense any longer-from the code of prescribed behavior abandoned by Rom years ago when he first left Byzantium, to the vengeful Maker such a code was meant to appease.

Jonathan’s obsession had been with love, not punishment.

A total of forty-nine true Mortals now inhabited the earth. Sovereigns. Theirs was a meager beginning to a journey none of them understood well. But they understood now-at last-the One who was the cornerstone of their new life. As a result, who they were and what path they might follow had become clearer over the last few days.

They now understood that they were Makers. Most of their number had been made from Rom’s, Jordin’s, or the Keeper’s blood rather than what remained of Jonathan’s.

They understood that they had given up much of what Roland’s Immortals prized. That Mortals of the Sovereign realm would be misunderstood and despised, a tiny band of vagabonds bent no longer on ruling the world but surviving within it.

They understood the beautiful simplicity that came with certainty, like children who believe long before wrestling with the philosophical or empirical underpinnings of those beliefs. And so they lived with supreme assurance of simple truths. The world was round-why? Because it was. Corpses longed for life-why? Because they did.

Jordin was crying.

He saw it in his mind before tears broke from her eyes. As if it was already happening, though it was not. Not yet.

Rom blinked, taken back by the sudden realization even as Jordin reached out and touched the tall pole she’d erected at the head of Jonathan’s grave. The monument was topped with a leather wrap that simply read:

Life flowed from his veins;

Love ruled his heart.

Here lies Jonathan,

The first true Sovereign.

Jordin lowered her head and let her tears flow.

Rom stared at her, astonished by his precognition. He’d known she would cry, not because he’d anticipated the behavior, but because he had known .

As much as he knew that she would now say, “I’m so sorry, Jonathan.”

“I’m so sorry, Jonathan,” Jordin said, shaking her head with remorse.

A chill passed down Rom’s neck.

What other powers would they soon discover?

The question brought warmth to his heart despite the display of sorrow before him. Their lives would not be easy. But where there was need in following Jonathan’s way, there would surely be means. That, he also knew.

Triphon led the train of Mortals into view on the plateau’s southern edge. Kaya was with them, as were Adah and Raner. Only twenty were warriors, the rest aged men and women or children. Would skill with sword and bow be needed? Stripped of their acute Mortal senses, how would they survive?

“Jonathan killed Dark Bloods,” Jordin said, setting her jaw without bothering to wipe her tears. “We follow him.”

Rom studied her, wondering if her response was coincidence or if she’d spoken with insight into his thoughts.

“With every breath until the day we die,” he said.

Jordin touched Jonathan’s memorial one last time, eyes lingering on the sign she’d fastened to the top. Then she walked to her horse, swung into the saddle, and drew alongside Rom, facing the approaching caravan. For a moment, neither spoke.

“They will try to snuff us out,” she said.

He offered a single nod. “Sovereigns may not live as long, but neither will they die easily.”

The grave to their right begged to differ, but they both knew that Jonathan still lived, if not as a Mortal who walked the earth.

“I would have you lead them with me, Jordin. As my equal.”

A crow cawed somewhere behind them.

“I’m young,” she said.

“You have a pure heart.”

“I’m too broken to think clearly.”

“You saw the truth before the rest of us.”

“How can I lead if I don’t know where to go?” she said.

“We go south, to the Carena Valley.”

“To do what?”

“To follow Jonathan. Beyond that, none of us knows. Does a colt know what they will do when they first lurch on weak legs still wet from their birthing? You may know before I do. I see in you a great leader.”

She offered no more objections.

“Tell me, Jordin. Was Jonathan triumphant in his death?”

“Supremely,” she said.

“And is the colt glorious when it becomes a stallion?”

She looked at Triphon and the others, now halfway across the plateau.

“I will be that stallion.”

“You will. And with me you will show the world true triumph, as the one Jonathan loved and to whom he entrusted his legacy. We don’t know what cost we’ll pay yet, only that his life will reign supreme.”

“Then let us live,” she said, turning her head to face him.

“Then let us live,” he said.

Rom hesitated only a moment, nodded once, and nudged his horse forward.

Overhead, the sky had begun to churn.

To be continued…

TED DEKKER is a New York Times bestselling author with more than five million books in print. He is known for stories that combine adrenaline-laced plots with incredible confrontations between unforgettable characters. He lives in Austin, Texas, with his wife and children.

TOSCA LEE left her position working with Fortune 500 companies as a senior consultant to the Gallup Organization to pursue her first love: writing. She is the critically acclaimed author of Demon and Havah and is best known for her humanizing portraits of maligned characters. She makes her home in the Midwest.