James Somers - The Order of Shaddai

The former priest eyed the demon warily and then looked back out the window toward the Willow Tree Inn. “You mean fancy breeches? Who is he anyway? Those colors remind me of old Macedon armor.”

“Very good, Mordecai, I’m almost impressed. As we speak, an emissary from Macedon is baiting my trap.”

“For the boy? How so?” Mordecai asked insistently.

“I never put all my eggs into one basket, Mordecai.”

“I said I would get him and I will.”

“Look at it this way,” Jericho explained, “If you can eliminate the boy, then you’ll find the priests somewhat distracted by the news this emissary is carrying. It can only work in your favor.”

Mordecai grimaced. He was being insulted, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“I trust you have all the equipment you will need?” Jericho said evenly.

“In this very store I’ll find what I need. It will be a simple matter of taking it tonight while everyone is asleep.”

“I want no witnesses, Mordecai, and no evidence of what you’ve taken,” Jericho said. “If someone were to discover mountain climbing gear missing in a theft, then they might suspect something amiss and send word to Isaiah so that he would have his priests watching for the thief.”

“I’m not afraid of the priests,” Mordecai spat. “I trained half of them.”

“Nevertheless, I want no evidence left behind.”

“Not a problem,” Mordecai said.

The demon smiled unconvincingly and then faded into the shadows. Mordecai turned his attention back to the soldiers in the street and the sun now beginning to set upon the western horizon. Soon it would be time to journey into the Thornhill Mountains.

It was well after the midnight hour when Mordecai stirred from his daytime slumber. For the most part, he had been able to ignore the commotion caused by the Royal Emissary from Macedon across the street at Millertown’s Willow Tree Inn. While everyone in town slept, he would get his supplies and set off on his journey to the Temple. No one had seen him enter Millertown and no one would see him leave.

Mordecai stole down the side of the building and forced the lock on the back of the General Goods Store. He crept inside without a sound. Mordecai smiled. He watched the storeowner and his wife as they slept near a wood burning stove. They kept the room very warm this evening as a cold snap had descended upon the Thornhills.

The storeowner, an elderly man of good reputation, slept soundly beside his wife. She was well known for her delicious pies. In fact, people would mention those wonderful pies after her passing-not to mention the awful way in which she and her kindly husband had passed-such a tragedy.

A trail of lamp oil crept across the floor toward several hot coals which had been aided in their escape from the wood stove. The embers glowed red on the floor as the oil slid snake-like toward them. Beyond the spilt lamp oil were a number of powder kegs. Mordecai had shifted their location somewhat in the last ten minutes. It would be said, the old man was foolish to keep his black powder stores in such close proximity to his wood stove. Others would curse the day they placed their own businesses near the General Goods Store, even knowing the sort of volatile agents being sold there.

Mordecai slipped out the door to lay hold on the horse he had stolen along with the gear he had stolen from the store. The assassin-priest rode at a hard gallop, escaping Millertown completely by the time the flames bloomed from the lamp oil stain and leaped across the room to the black powder kegs. The General Goods Store blew apart in every direction at once, sending fiery debris onto the neighboring businesses located in the middle of town.

The explosion shook everyone staying at the Willow Tree Inn from their beds. The thunderous shockwave shattered every window in the Inn. The volunteer fire department of Millertown would later record it as the worst disaster they had ever faced in their eighty-year history. Moreover, the storage and sale of black powder would be prohibited in the Millertown for years to come.

The least realized effect, but perhaps the most important to the nefarious schemer who had caused the deed, was that no one knew a theft of mountain climbing equipment had taken place-equipment necessary for a deadly assassin to gain access to the Temple of Shaddai without its priests noticing. Mordecai ascended into the Thornhill Mountains. He still had a prophesied Deliverer to kill.

Ethan stood among the target dummies at the end of the archery range, his body en guard in a traditional martial arts stance, watching his friend and mentor take aim. Almost four months of intense training had brought him to this point. Gideon refused to be specific, but he had at least been excited about the speed with which Ethan took to the training and ways of the priesthood.

Ethan had heard the other priestly mentors commenting about Gideon’s pupil being almost born to the tasks presented to him. He was glad for the attention surrounding his training, but Gideon had been especially clear to teach him to guard against pride. Ethan whispered a prayer of submission to the will of Shaddai, then heard the release of Gideon’s bowstring fifty yards away.

Ethan tracked two arrows-simultaneous-as Gideon was fond of doing. They were dead on target. In the blink of an eye, Ethan leaned to the side, snapping his right arm out and through both arrow shafts. These four months had trained speed into his body, nearly catching up with his unnatural speed of sight.

Gideon grinned at his able pupil, but did not let up the assault just yet. Six more shafts followed in lightning quick succession. Ethan snapped five in the same manner, then caught the last as he spun and came back to his original stance. Only this time, he curled his index finger at his mentor-ready for more. Gideon laughed and lowered his bow.

Just then, the cry of a falcon pierced the air. Both Gideon and Ethan looked up, as did priests all over the courtyard. They saw the large predatory bird pierce the cloud cover at the top of the chasm. “A message is coming in,” Gideon said.

The falcons had been trained to go directly to a perch residing in the walkway outside of Isaiah’s private quarters. By the time Gideon and Ethan ascended to the seventh level and ran around the circular walkway carved into the chasm wall, the High Priest was already reading the message. Joseph, another mentoring priest who kept the falcons and cared for them, stroked the bird, feeding it a plump, wriggling mouse as a treat.

Gideon stopped running when Isaiah’s eyes rose to meet his own. He could see it in the High Priest’s expression-Macedon had finally called for the Word. Gideon smiled, but Isaiah did not return it. Gideon became concerned. Were him and his star pupil not going to receive this assignment?

Gideon had honestly never considered the possibility. After all, Ethan needed the training, he was more than ready, and if he was going to accomplish the purposes of Shaddai, he could not stay here at the Temple forever. Isaiah’s expression beckoned Gideon to follow, but also betrayed his lack of enthusiasm for the argument about to come from his most valued priest and dearest friend.

When Gideon got to the chamber door, he turned, motioning for Ethan to remain outside. He smiled and closed the door behind him. Gideon walked into the dimly lit room where Isaiah stood beside the fireplace leaning upon the hearth on one hand. He looked tired.

“Are you all right?” Gideon asked.

Isaiah sighed. “I’ve not been sleeping well the past week. I see visions, disturbing images, and I have no explanation for them. If the Almighty desires to show me something, I have no idea what it means.”