James Somers - The Realm Shift

Mordecai swung and missed. Gideon dug his toe into an anthill next to his left foot. One exact flick of his ankle sent the grains of soil and angry ants into the air toward Mordecai’s face. He swiped at it by mistake. Gideon lunged. The brown robed priest got well inside of Mordecai’s line of attack. With his right fist, Gideon pummeled Mordecai’s grip on the steel weapon. With his left hand, open and stiff as a board, he smashed Mordecai directly in the throat.

The sword fell from Mordecai’s hands as he stumbled backward, falling to the ground, gasping for breath that refused to come. Gideon seized the Mordecai’s sword from the air, then slammed it through his abdomen, pinning him to the ground.

Mordecai screamed. He clutched the weapon, but he could not remove it. Within seconds, all of his strength ebbed away as he bled into the soil. He lost consciousness while death closed in like a predator.

Ethan was astonished. He had never seen such elegant precision in a warrior before. Fear crept up his spine. Would he be next? He decided to speak up and find out. At least from this distance, he might get Whistler into a run before the young man got to him.

“What are your intentions, sir?” Ethan shouted.

Gideon turned, walking toward Ethan and his mount. “That depends upon your relation to these men.”

Ethan held up his bound wrists. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“And how did you become Mordecai’s prisoner?”

“These men were looting the bodies of my people in Grandee. They were thieves,” Ethan said indignantly.

“They were priests. My name is Gideon.”

“Priests? Then why did you-”

“They were renegades from The Order of Shaddai. I offer the apologies of my order for their actions against your people. They have shamed us all by what they have done. Now, they have been punished,” Gideon said.

Ethan glanced at Mordecai and the other priests. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he managed. “What about me? I’d like to be set free if you don’t mind.”

Gideon walked closer. “Why did they take you as their prisoner?”

“I don’t know…some crazy notion Mordecai had. He thought Mordred would pay him for my capture.”

“And why did he think Mordred would do such a thing?” Gideon asked.

Ethan extended his arm. “He said it had something to do with this birthmark.”

Gideon’s eyes lit up immediately. “Does this mark mean anything to you, uhm-”

“Ethan.”

“Ethan, yes…does this mark have any special significance to you?”

“Nothing I’m aware of,” Ethan said

“Tell me, Ethan, were you born in Grandee?”

“No, my sister and I came from a village called Salem. But it was destroyed many years ago,” Ethan said.

“Nine years ago,” Gideon said before he realized it.

“What?”

“Never mind,” he corrected. “I’ve heard of that old village. Mordred destroyed it just before he rode to conquest in Emmanuel.”

“My parents were killed that night, while Elspeth and I escaped into the forest.”

“Elspeth is your sister?” Gideon asked.

“Yes, but I think Mordred’s soldiers took her when they attacked Grandee,” Ethan said. “There were no young women among the dead there. They vanished, but they’re the only ones. I don’t understand why Wraith Riders would bother with prisoners.”

“That all depends on why Mordred would send his men to attack Grandee in the first place. Do you know anything about that?”

Ethan offered his bound wrists. “It’s sort of a complicated story.”

Gideon smiled and removed a dagger from a sheath beneath the sleeve of his brown robe. He reached up and cut Ethan’s bonds. “I’d love to hear it.”

Mordecai had difficulty ascertaining how long he had been lying there on the ground. He was surprised to wake up alive at all. His body felt so cold. Numbness was overtaking him. He no longer felt his arms or legs. The monolithic sword protruding out of his belly filled his view, but he could no longer feel it.

I’m dying. He searched around him through dimming vision. He could not find Gideon or Shaddai’s Deliverer. Fear gripped what was left of his mind. He had only one chance.

Mordecai recalled the ancient, forbidden word for summoning. He spoke it along with the name Jericho. He kept repeating the phrase, using the last vestiges of his strength, casting a grappling hook by a thread, hoping to hold on to life just a little longer. Mordecai felt weaker by the second though how much time actually passed he could not tell. He could not even hear his own voice anymore. The sound of wind through grass faded.

“Mordecai?” a deep voice asked.

Hearing his name, Mordecai snapped back to consciousness.

“Mordecai, why have you summoned me?” the voice said.

Mordecai heard the fallen angel’s voice, rich with power. He opened his eyes. Over him stood the form of a man. For just a moment, Mordecai thought he saw a trailing glimpse of two large wings-the feathers soiled. Then the image disappeared, leaving just the man.

He bent low, examining the sword protruding out of Mordecai’s belly. The angel reached out, flicking the pommel with his long index finger. The sword vibrated, sending a shimmer of pain coursing through Mordecai’s body again. I’m not dead yet. Despite the pain, that knowledge relieved him.

The angel’s face appeared quite beautiful-the way a snake or deadly spider is beautiful. Jericho’s fearsome countenance might have been radiant at one time, but somehow the light was missing, leaving only a sad emptiness behind. Jericho peered into Mordecai’s face, smiling.

“I’ll bet you never expected to end up like this, did you Mordecai?” The whole situation seemed very amusing to the angel. “Your friends from the temple don’t look so hot either, but you look the worst. Oops, I’m not much of a comforter am I?”

“Help me, Jericho,” Mordecai strained.

“You’re as good as dead. Poor Mordecai,” Jericho said, shaking his head with mock concern.

“I’m not dead yet,” Mordecai spat through the renewed sensations of pain.

“True. But I have no reason to help you,” Jericho said. “You will be in Torments soon enough. I have no reason to delay it.” He stood, turning away from Mordecai’s body, disinterested now.

Mordecai’s last hope was fading away. “Wait!” he pleaded.

Jericho’s disappeared.

“Shaddai’s Deliverer is alive!” Mordecai used his last breath to say the words. He teetered on the brink, crossing into the spiritual realm for good-into the abode of the dead.

Jericho hastened to Mordecai’s side instantly. His hand gripped the sword, removing it so he could work quickly. The blood pulsed through the wound with each fading heartbeat. Jericho placed his hand into the wound and began to mend the worst damage.

After several tense moments, Mordecai breathed again like a man coming up from the depths-sucking in precious breaths of life. His heart rate increased steadily. Blood flow began to pick up with each contraction of his atria and ventricles. Blood pressure rose to acceptable levels. Jericho eased off the wound. Mordecai had not yet regained consciousness, but he would live.

Jericho watched the unconscious man as he inhaled and exhaled with regularity. He laughed within himself. How could they have been so foolish-to think it would be so easy to defeat the purposes of the Almighty. It made perfect sense now, just as it had when Mordred had announced victory nine years ago. Jericho had held his own misgivings then. It seemed those doubts had been confirmed. The chosen child had survived.

The sun sank below the wavy horizon created by the Borla Mountains in the west. Ethan and Gideon had been riding for several hours without much conversation. Gideon hoped they could set up camp after a hunt. Ethan agreed. He had not eaten anything in two days, and his stomach cramped for nourishment.