James Somers - The Order of Shaddai

Jericho passed through the door, following the priest along his route. He’s quite clever, Jericho thought. More what I would have expected in a choice of Deliverer. Perhaps this priest could actually do as we hope.

Gideon walked cautiously down the narrow corridor of the ship. He blew out the wall-mounted lanterns as he came to them, then proceeded, using the darkness to his advantage. Jericho followed, intrigued.

The priest ascended the stairway, only pausing before he came on deck to spy out his odds. Apparently, he hadn’t been overly concerned by the amount of men he had to face. He surged forward onto the main deck.

Jericho rose through the deck until he had an excellent vantage point of the ensuing skirmish. The priest tore through men as though assailed by no more than a troop of goose down pillows. He spotted Macedon off the port bow and ran for the rail, intending to leap from the ship and make a swim for it.

Jericho deftly moved to intercept, permeating the physical world just enough to bar the man’s efforts to leave. Gideon hit an invisible barrier and toppled backward to the deck. He stood, baffled, then tried again unsuccessfully. A look of semi-comprehension washed over his face. He ducked back, fighting more men across the deck toward the other side. He jumped more cautiously and slammed into another of Jericho’s barriers. He landed back on his feet this time, then switched tactics completely.

Jericho watched him run around the soldiers, taking down more as necessary. The priest climbed quickly to the poop deck. What is he doing now?

The priest assaulted the guard at Rommil’s quarters and plowed through the door. Jericho rushed after him. When he entered the room, he found the priest just inside the door pointing his sword at General Rommil. The Wraith General sat across the cabin behind his oak writing desk in a leather chair. He smoked on a long pipe, smiling at Gideon.

“I must say, priest, that took longer than expected. I was told you warriors of Shaddai were supposed to be the best.”

Gideon said nothing. Smart, Jericho thought. Maintain your focus-don’t let the enemy turn you from your goal. Half the battle takes place in the mind. He realized the priest might strike any moment. No need to waste a good warrior like Rommil while he was still so useful.

Jericho made himself visible to Rommil. The general seemed to barely take notice, as if he’d expected the demon was there all the time.

“Tell me, priest, have you ever fought a demon?” Rommil asked coolly.

“I’ve killed a few.”

Jericho smiled at the young man’s ignorance. He’s posturing…perfect.

Rommil smiled and stood behind his desk. “So, will you kill me, then?”

Gideon gripped the weapon tighter. Soldiers gathered at the door to Rommil’s quarters. They shouted to their general for admittance.

“Stand down!” Rommil hollered to them.

“I’ll spare your life, General, once you have the barrier removed from around the ship.”

Rommil laughed heartily. “I didn’t place the barrier around the ship, you fool! You don’t realize the situation you’re in, obviously.”

“I won’t ask again, General.”

“Then strike, priest. I’m unarmed.”

Gideon had now come up against the wall. His bluff had been called.

Jericho watched and waited. The priest stood there, considering for the briefest moment, then he lunged for General Rommil. Jericho intercepted the priest with one invisible swipe of his forearm. Gideon sailed across the room, landing in a bookcase.

The entire lot tumbled to the ground around him. Gideon recovered lightning quick, blade ready, searching the half-light within the general’s cabin. Jericho waited.

The priest leaped again, trying to place his sword between his body and any invisible entity in the room. Jericho seized Gideon’s sword arm, then used it to swing him around the room. The demon battered him into every piece of furniture available until Gideon could barely manage to get to his knees. He remained on the floor of the cabin, gasping for breath, blood pouring from his nose and many lacerations across his body.

The demon left him there to wallow in self pity and discouraged defeat. Rommil’s deep voice boomed throughout the cabin with laughter. “Ah, priest, you don’t fail to amuse do you? Perhaps if you serve no other purpose for Lord Mordred, he might allow you to live as a jester in his court.”

Gideon barely managed to catch his breath. It felt like several of his ribs had been broken during the demonic attack. He’d never seen it coming and there was no way to fight back. He had been defeated.

Rommil passed by and removed the chair Gideon had used to bar the door. The soldiers came in after him. “Gather up our friend and bring him onto the main deck,” Rommil said. He walked through them into the sunshine.

The soldiers hoisted Gideon to his feet. He winced at the pain coursing through his torso. The breath came only in gentle inhales and exhales. Gideon staggered between the guards holding him up. They led him, following the general, out onto the main deck.

The sunshine made him feel a little better. The cabin had seemed nearly cold enough to see one’s breath suspended in the air. But hopelessness knocked out any small joy that remained.

Rommil stood at the railing. “Come over here, priest. I assumed you would want to see this.”

Rommil’s men pulled him to the rail beside the general. On the beach, a large fire burned with some of Rommil’s soldiers next to it. They also had a silver chest with them. Gideon perked up pitifully.

“I see you recognize the chest,” Rommil crowed. “The same one you and the boy brought with you from your pathetic Order of Shaddai.”

General Rommil raised his hand to the men on shore. They were nearly two hundreds yards away from the beach on Rommil’s sleuth, the Razor. As soon as they received the signal, his men smashed the lock from the front of the chest and opened it. Several of them began pulling scrolls from the chest, shredding them, then tossing the remains into the bonfire.

Gideon’s last vestiges of strength left him. How could it have happened? Their mission a failure, himself captured, and only the Lord knew what had happened to Ethan.

“Surely you realize your God will not save you this time,” Rommil said. “Your mission of mercy to Macedon is a miserable failure, young man. We sail for Nod where you will stand before Lord Mordred at his palace. You may live to regret your rebellion to my master.”

Gideon watched the strips of scroll reduced to ashes in the fire. They rode the thermals into the air, then drifted down the beach. He had not protected the Word of Shaddai, nor Ethan, Shaddai’s Deliverer. Sorrow pummeled his soul like a wave of the sea. “Why not simply kill me now?”

Rommil laughed. “How perfectly cowardly of you. But there will be no taking the easy way out of this, priest. You will stand before my master. He alone will decide your fate.”

The sails on the sleuth billowed and caught the wind under the direction of Rommil’s crew. Gideon closed his eyes to the spiritual carnage taking place on the beach. Whatever happened to him now, he deserved it for his failure to Shaddai.

Ethan, Levi, and Seth remained behind the dunes, watching as General Rommil’s men broke away the lock securing the scroll chest where it sat next to a large fire roaring on the beach.

“They’re shredding the scrolls,” Ethan hissed through clenched teeth. He couldn’t take it any longer. He tried to surge forward from the protection of the dunes. Levi and Seth caught him and held him back.

“No!” Levi urged him. “You can’t.”

Ethan pulled against them, but he didn’t have the strength to break free from their grip. He still couldn’t realm shift either. Instead he had to sit and watch the soldiers destroy the Word of Shaddai meant for Macedon’s people. Tears began to stream down his cheeks in anger.