Chapter 8

Kalen spent a restless night, his newly treated shoulder bulkily bandaged and throbbing mercilessly. Their strange new friends--clearly old friends to Eldan--had brought them to a rough cave, little more than a hole in the ground, then Eldan and two of the others had left, leaving the bearded man with Kalen and Jaened. Jaened would not speak or even look at anyone, but sat with his back to them. Their companion introduced himself as Aevin but made no further attempt at conversation.
Morning brought Eldan with a green cloak and sword belt with a short blade over her old clothes and her hair wet and bound up. Jaened was on his side, facing the wall, so she spoke to Kalen.
"It's time to go. They'll be tracking us, and my people can't afford to be found. Thalla and Skaev are still out confusing the trail, but I have a feeling that witch will burn the whole forest down to find us if she needs to."
"Let her." Jaened's voice had a bitter edge. "She has Erissa. We failed."
"Then you are in good company," Aevin put in softly. "We are the Tassin. All of us have failed, but we have redeemed ourselves."
Kalen started. "Tassin? But the Tassin are traitors!"
Eldan turned on him sharply. "What do you know of us? Fellyre fears us more than your petty city-states with their feeble armies." She shook her head. "Get up. We're leaving." She turned on her heel and exited the cave.
Kalen stumbled to his feet while Aevin quietly coaxed Jaened up. As they left the cave, Aevin whispered to Kalen, "Some of us have redeemed ourselves. Eldan has in all eyes but her own. Do not judge her harshly."

Outside the cave, the morning light was still faint, revealing little of their surroundings. Kalen looked back only to find that Aevin had vanished, leaving them to Eldn's charge. She led them quickly by unseen paths--so quickly they nearly lost her at every turn. Either she was in a desperate hurry or still angry. The evidence was strongly in favor of the latter.
"Where are we going?" Jaened gasped as they hauled themselves out of a waist-deep stream.
"East." Eldan pointed with her sword, not pausing her stride.
"What's east?" Kalen asked.
"Nothing that I know of. Clearly, you have never been tracked before." She glanced around, then added, "We'll stop here. Sleep if you can. There'll be no rest tonight."
Kalen lay down against a tree, only to be ordered up and informed that they would rest under the embankment on the side of the stream. It was damp and earthy, but Kalen was too tired to care.

The cold woke him. The sky had turned grey with a coming storm and the damp in the ground had soaked through his clothing. Sitting up, he saw Eldan crouched a few feet away, her sword resting in a loose grip. She turned sharply at the sound of his movement. She relaxed when she saw it only him.
"Is your bandage wet?" Kalen's hand went to his shoulder and he shook his head. "Good. Infection is a miserable way to die." She resumed her silent vigil. Kalen came over to sit beside her, but she paid him no attention.
"So, what brought you to join the Tassin?"
"That is none of your concern." Eldan replied flatly without looking at him.
"Look, I'm sorry about what I said back in the cave. You saved my life. I owe you respect for that. I'm just wondering."
"Well, you can keep wondering. I'll help you get back to Elni, then we need never cross paths again."
"No--I can't go back to Elni. The king wants me dead."
Eldan glanced at him curiously, then smirked. "That is how I became one of the Tassin. How can you hate us for what we are when you are the exact same thing?"
"I don't hate you--I only know what people say about the Tassin. You're the first one I ever met."
"And what do they say about us--that we are traitors?" Kalen's shrug was answer enough. "It's convenient for them. Calling us traitors when they are the ones who turned on us. Treachery is all about perspective. I betrayed no one. I took no lives. But they killed my friends and drove me from their city.  All I ever did was write."
"What did you write?"
"I wrote against the draft. They called men and women alike to join the army, giving no regard to youth, young couples, nursing mothers, and elderly. They filled the city with orphans. They sent my brother to his death. So I wrote my protest and another took it and read it before the crowds. The Elders would have none of it, but when they struck, we struck back. They would not listen. They thought themselves stronger, so they fought their own people. I never called for it, but the people attempted revenge. The rebellion was crushed within a few hours. Survivors were publicly beheaded. I had no choice but to leave. The Tassin took me in. They are my family and my nation now."
Kalen was silent for a moment, imagining what Eldan bitterly described. "So," he began hesitantly, "do you think the Tassin would have a place for me?"
"You would have to change your opinion of us. And we have no use for idle hands. Once you join us, you can never leave. We have no tolerance for desertion. Our secrets would be too dangerous if they fell into enemy hands."
"I am as capable as any other man. And I'm not a deserter."
"Do you really think you could live like this--hunted, hiding, spending nights on the move, knowing everyone to be your enemy? It is not an easy or pleasant life, and none would choose it if they had any other option."
"I don't think I have a choice. Syxel is destroyed and Elni is no longer home."
"Is there room for me too?" Jaened's voice broke in.
"This isn't a recruiting party. You have already demonstrated your uselessness. I am not taking you near my people until you prove yourself. All you want is to get your sister out of Terraphel. I have no doubt you would gladly sell our secrets for her freedom."
Jaened's silence was response enough. Eldan abruptly ordered them to their feet and led the way on, keeping to the edge of the stream. A light rain quickly grew to a drenching torrent, in which Eldan forced them across the stream. Their boots were heavy with mud and rocks as they dragged themselves up the bank on the other side. To their dismay, Eldan led them on a short dash into the woods, then made them walk backwards back to the stream to cross again.
Night fell quickly, but still they pressed on, keeping ankle-deep in the water after the rain died away, leaving no risk of tracks. Fatigue quickly combined with the chill to slow them down. It was hours before Eldan let them leave the stream and start into the woods again. The clouds slowly dispersed to reveal the brilliant night sky. Kalen fought to keep his eyes open as the white light blurred the trees with heavy shadows. Beside him, Jaened loudly collided with a tree, earning him a sharp rebuke from their self-appointed leader. With her fierce pace and confident stride, Kalen found himself forgetting who he was following. It felt like he was back with Taldyr on a night training exercise.

Ichabod: A Lament

Mighty was the fallen!
The fire burned so bright,
But it will burn no more.
The city on the hill has crumbled:
The basket hides the light.
Love was sweet.
Love was strong.
Love is cold.
Love is gone.
The glory is departed.
Richness of the gospel,
Power of the Spirit,
Lost treasures.
Doctrine,
Law,
Pillars of the church.
Exulted,
Praised;
Not followed.
No.
Rich, you call yourselves:
Rich in truth,
Rich in righteousness.
But you are poor.
You choose your truth;
You do not see the greater truth.
You speak of truth,
You do not follow it.
Your righteousness will fail.
Are you so blind?
Wrapped in filthy garments,
Raiment of your own making,
You call them robes.
White robes.
But they are shredded;
They are putrid.
They will not save you.
You name yourself "Philippi"
But you are Sardis.
You say you are alive
But you are dead.
Fallen.
The glory is gone.
The church is no more.

The Experiment

"I will destroy you, Martin Fanter, if it is the last thing I do." Kay whispered over their handshake. She meant it. The crowd was with her--scientists, sponsors, and religious leaders--all of them had been there that the day the experiment was proposed. They all wanted nothing more than to see their time and money bring results, and this man was the only thing in the way.
The betrayal still smarted. He had been by her side every step of the way--he had donated funds and promised more, he had helped find the children--he had even been a teacher. And now...
"Kayla Everett, you may begin."
Kay took the mic from the podium and turned to face her opponent.
"Martin, we are not here to waste these people's precious time, so I will cut it short. We are all wanting to ask the same question: Why would you denounce an experiment that could save humanity? Our world is on the brink of collapse--socially, economically, and religiously. We have little hope for this generation, but we can give hope to the next. Transcendence could save them all. These children will grow up free of all social constructs, free thinkers with original ideas and no knowledge of evil--you, as one who reads the Bible, can look on it as taking the tree of the knowledge of good and evil out of the picture. We are raising a new Eden." She lowered her mic and looked expectantly at the grey-haired man across from her.
"I am withdrawing my support because the experiment is going to fail. It has a fundamental flaw: It is based on the assumption that people are naturally good. But we have already seen the early evidence of selfishness and anger in these children, and, unchecked, it will only get worse. Leave them to themselves and these children will kill each other. It's child abuse and unethical to experiment on humans."
"Ah." Kay's sarcastic tone elicited a chuckle from the audience. "So you would site your antiquated worldview as proof of a problem. Have you considered that, maybe, you might be wrong? As for the children, this experiment is completely legal. They are not being experimented on like lab rats, but rather snatched from the streets of third world countries and troubled homes to be raised in paradise. There is nothing they need or want that is denied them. The ethics committee have cleared everything ten times over. And as for their behavior, they are toddlers. They are spirited and curious as any other children. And, as in other children, this will pass with time. Little Lord Fauntleroy doesn't exist."
"But what is I am right, Kayla? What if the evil of society comes from within individuals rather than a collective ideology? We began this experiment to create perfection. What if the end result is a monster?"
"Have you been reading Frankenstein again? I warned you that it would give you nightmares." Kay relished the burst of laughter from the crowd. "At worst, we may end up with influences breaking through and rendering this experiment ineffective. Martin Fanter, you called us here. If you have nothing better to say, we have full right to ask you to pay us for wasted time."
"I do have more to say--and I am paying for this event." Martin turned to the audience. "You all need to know what changed my mind on all this. Last summer, my daughter, after all these years, finally contacted me again. The mess she made of her life was what first got me involved in this experiment. She told me she had found a cure for society that she swore would work. I was skeptical, but I am no longer.
"Jesus Christ is the only answer." A scoffing murmur ran through the crowd. "Please hear me out--I know it sounds cliche, but He turned my drug addict daughter around completely. Then He changed me. Two thousand years ago, the God who created heaven and earth sent Jesus Christ, God in human--" The murmur rose to a roar as people stood to their feet. "Friends--colleagues--listen for a moment. Jesus said that murders and hate and lies come from within the heart, not social pressures--that we are born with a nature bent on evil. That is why the experiment will fail. All good comes only from God--and this God sent His Son," Martin was speaking faster and faster as people began to walk out. "Christ Jesus was the only man who ever lived without that sinful nature, but He died our death for us so that all who turn to Him can be freed from that sin nature and given a new nature. This is our world's only hope. Please, I am begging you to listen."
Kay smiled patronizingly. "If that is the best you can do, Fanter, you are no great loss to our experiment." She paused for a second, then raised her mic again. "The experiment goes on. Goodbye, Martin." She dropped her mic to the ground with a boom, then left the stage and followed the scattering crowd out of the hall. She hadn't even needed to say anything. Martin had ruined his credibility on his own.

Eleven years later, 1,000 miles from Hawaii, on Transcendence Island, formerly known as Palmyra Atoll, a young teen strolled the beach. His name was Tyson Vrede. And this was his kingdom. He smiled at the setting sun. The day had been well spent. The tide gently rose and fell, distant shapes still visible, floating away to be lost forever. They had taught him well. He knew he was accountable to none but himself. This was freedom. This was his purpose. They had the ship. They had the world before them. Tomorrow, they would see if any could stand against them. The professors couldn't. Ms. Everett lay  on the sand, where she had finally fled. She had almost reached the ship. It was a close call. They could have been left stranded. Tyson knelt down and picked up a handful of blood-caked sand. He liked the smell. He turned to the pristine complex they had been imprisoned in. The other teens stood on the walls, splattered with red from the night's play. It was time to change the world. They had tasted what they were capable of. And now they wanted more.

Chapter 7

The servant had spoken true. The temple was unmistakable. It rose in a single spire of black stone, set with red crystal, shining like fresh blood running down its sides. The great double doors were white maple, set with gold, facing the North-East--toward Fellyre. Jaened strode up to the door.
"What are you doing?" Eldan demanded in a sharp whisper.
Jaened stared back at her. "I am getting my sister." With that, he seized both door handles and flung the door open. A blast of foul-smelling smoke poured out into the courtyard, choking and momentarily blinding them. Through the haze, they saw two figures standing before a low-burning fire.
One turned while the other remained still as a statue. Kalen scarcely recognized the woman who had entrapped them. Her hair was bound up with gold and her neck and face, above her flowing scarlet robe, were painted with curling black designs. Her right hand clutched a long, ornate knife. Jaened started forward, a murderous hate in his eyes, only to be stopped in his tracks by Symorkhel's mocking laugh.
"Are you three so eager for death? I would have come for you presently."
"The only one who will die here is you, witch. You are alone against us all. What chance do you think you have?" Jaened demanded
"Foolish boy. You underestimate my power. I serve Lord Zerak, of whom you all have doubtless heard much."
"Zerak is not here," Eldan spoke up, "But you can still live. Give us his sister and we will not kill you."
"Sheela!" At Symorkhel's word, the other figure stiffened and turned sharply to stand beside the priestess. Blank, depth-less light brown eyes stared out of a face so white it seemed inhuman.
"Erissa?" Jaened's voice was barely above a whisper. If the pale woman even heard him, she gave no sign of it.
"Sheela, do you know this man?" Symorkhel asked softly. Erissa, if it really was her, shook her head. "They have come to desecrate our temple. What shall we do to them?"
"They must die." It was said indifferently, with no hint of concern or malice. Symorkhel let out a low laugh that sent shivers up the back of Kalen's neck. Erissa turned her back and silently returned to face the flames as the shadows beyond the fire began to stir. A low, unearthly growl shook the ground. Kalen took an uncertain step back, and Eldan grabbed his arm.
"Run! It's Naresh!" Eldan's voice was almost drowned out by Symorkhel's laughter as two great dark shapes slunk into the light. The death-wolves were as large as horses, their blind white eyes only strengthening their sharp sense of smell. Kalen turned to run and almost collided with Jaened who just stood, staring at the long fangs and mangy brown bodies.
"I won't leave without Erissa." Kalen saw the creature crouch to spring and, on instinct, slammed into Jaened, knocking him to the ground. The Naresh leapt harmlessly over them and, in the moment it paused in confusion, Eldan pulled them to their feet and they took off into the courtyard, not daring to look back as the Naresh's claws grated on the flagstones in pursuit.
Eldan reached the steps to the parapet first and paused just long enough for Jaened and Kalen to pass her, then followed, almost shoving them in her haste. Below them, the first Naresh checked its pace to late and slammed into the wall. The other sniffed around, then began pacing by the base of the stairs, snarling and slavering. As they reached the top of the wall, Kalen's adrenaline gave out. He sank to his knees, clutching the bandage, feeling fresh blood leaking through. Eldan and Jaened hauled him to his feet between them.
"Leave me. I can't make it." It wasn't heroics. It was simply the truth.
"Can't make it where?" Jaened gave a despairing laugh. "We're trapped." Symorkhel had stepped out into the courtyard, watching them with an amused smile. It crossed Kalen's mind that he would rather have died on the battle field.
Eldan turned to them. "We have to jump."
Jaened glanced over the wall. "We can't--we'll kill ourselves!" In answer, Eldan lept nimbly up on the edge and let herself drop. Kalen did not see her land, but Jaened hauled him to his feet as Symorkhel began calling out orders to her guards. Before he even knew what was happening, he was on the ground trying to catch his breath from the impact. Eldan was standing over him, yelling for Jaened to follow. Just as the gates began to creak open far down the wall, he landed in an awkward half-roll beside them.
Kalen was still gasping as they hauled him to his feet again and set off at a run. The terrain was rough with the broken stones and rubble of an ancient village. Kalen could scarcely gain his footing before he would lose it again. The sound of pursuit was ever growing, but Eldan kept saying over and over again, "We are almost there."
Finally they stopped, though the Naresh's howls were close behind. Kalen fell to his knees as the world reeled around him. Eldan and Jaened seemed to be arguing, but he could not hear them over the high pitched ringing in his ears. Then they had him up again, forcing him up a nearby tree. He made it to the fourth branch before fatigue won out. But the others were up before he could fall. Eldan climbed past them as nimbly as a squirrel and disappeared into the higher branches.
Seconds later, the whole tree swayed as the Naresh jumped at the lower branches. Jaened dragged Kalen up a little farther, beyond the beasts' reach. Eldan swung down to a branch just above them and, hooking one elbow around another branch for balance, knelt and drew back a bow. At least, that was what Kalen thought he saw. He was so light-headed that he did not dare to trust his eyes. And He knew she didn't have a bow, yet she set and reset until finally, she found her spot and released the arrow. The Naresh dropped like a stone without even a yelp. The other, ignoring its fallen comrade, renewed its attack. Eldan leaned back, her bow slack in her hands.
A scuffle and a snarl from below brought their attention downward. Three hooded figures in dull brown and green were attacking the furious beast with spears, nimbly dodging its claws and fangs. Finally, two distracted it as the third backed up to throw his spear. Then it was over. The Naresh lay on its side weakly writhing through its death throws, and the spearmen were reaching up to help them down from the tree.
A man with a ragged blond beard set against a darkly weathered face leaned Kalen against the tree and began silently unwrapping the bandage from his shoulder. Eldan was brandishing the bow in one of their faces.
"Who is in charge of this post? One arrow--I'd be dead if you hadn't come. When was it last stocked?" She continued her angry tirade for a few moments, but, when she stopped for a breath, the third newcomer, a tall, big-boned woman with braided iron grey hair, enveloped her in a hug. Then the renewed pain in his shoulder tore Kalen's attention away again.

Chapter 6

What's wrong with the sky? Kalen stared upwards at the pale, silvery blue above him. He felt sick and dizzy. Maybe he was seeing wrong. He closed his eyes then looked again. It looked the same.
"That's not the sky." He said aloud as if that made it official.
"No. It's not." Kalen turned to see Eldan crouched a few feet away. Seeing her clearly for the first time, he realized that she was about his own age. Also, she was chained hand and foot to the white stone wall behind her. He looked back up. It was glass--or crystal. What kind of prison has a crystal roof?
"Did the army catch us? Is this Fellyre?"
"No. This is Terraphel. And our captor isn't Fellyrian, whatever she may be."
"She? You mean that woman we met in the forest?"
"Yes. Right after you fainted, she set her men on us. They locked us in here. At least we've got company, though all he seems able to do is tell us how hopeless our situation is."
"It's just the truth." A voice came from behind Kalen and he turned to see a ragged, bearded man with a mane of shaggy rust-colored hair. "It's just the way things are. You are both going to die. I've seen sixty-four people through here and not one got out alive. There is no escape. I've been here for eight years."
"Eight people a year?" Kalen did the math quickly in his head. "So then we're here for something--not just prisoners, but two of this year's eight."
"You're smart. It's a shame you'll never be able to put that mind to any great cause. But yes--there are eight a year. Two each solstice, and one every third month. You're sacrifices. Your captor is Symorkhel, High Priestess of Zerak. And, before you ask, if there was any chance of escape, I would not be here any more."
"There is always a way out." Eldan said calmly. "Tell me which ways you have tried."
"I have tried every way. I've tried the guards--fighting, bribing, appealing to their humanity--I've tried the door from every angle. I've tried every stone in this room and none will come loose. I've tried to climb up to the glass roof a thousand times. The walls are sheer. You can't climb them."
"Have any of the girls who have been through here tried to get at the guards?" Eldan asked casually.
"If you try it, you'll be sorry. They have a  way with women. Besides, you wouldn't be enough to tempt them. This castle is teaming with women."
"Tell me, do you do this to everyone who comes into here?" Eldan asked.
"Do what?"
"Give your little talk. Tell them how hopeless it is. Tell them not to try. If I didn't know better, I would think that you wanted us to give up--to simply resign ourselves to our fate."
"No--I merely want to discourage false hope." Kalen caught a slight betraying falter in his voice.
"Why have you been here eight years when everyone else is sacrificed? Are you here to prevent our escape?" Kalen demanded
"Do I look like a friend of the Priestess? Ive been rotting in here for a quarter of my life. Death would be welcome."
"They have someone, don't they?" Eldan asked. "Who?"
He turned pale. "They have my sister."
"And if any of us escapes, they kill her?"
He nodded miserably.
"What if we all escape? We could take her with us. Where are they holding her?"
"No--it would never work. She serves Symorkhel as a handmaid and sleeps in an adjoining chamber--we could only get to her if we got past Symorkhel."
"Then we just need to kill this Symorkhel," Kalen put in. "With her gone, we're all free and this hideous practice is put to an end."
"She is a priestess--trained in black arts by Zerak himself. I've seen her power. She can sense threats before they even get close. She sleeps with a Naresh on either side of her bed. She tamed dozens of the beasts. I would almost say she's fond of them, if a witch like her can be fond of anything."
"She is but human. No one is invincible. Besides, what power can Zerak's sorcery hold over us who follow Ithien? And Naresh are just beasts. I've killed Naresh before." Eldan stood. "Our first problem is how to get me out of these chains. When is the next sacrifice, Jaened?"
The bearded man--Jaened--sighed. "It's too late. You have only two days. We couldn't possibly get out in that time even if we had a plan."
"We do have a plan. And that plan is to get out of here. We also have a deadline: two days from now, because we are all getting out--your sister included." Kalen tried to sound encouraging. "Now, please, tell us honestly, what is our best chance to get out of here?"
"I really don't know. What I told you is true."
"If there's no chance of escape, then why would they need you to prevent people from escaping?" Eldan demanded.
"The guards are our best chance, but it's a slim chance."
"Better a slim chance than just sitting here and waiting to die."
"The guards only come into the cell if they're bringing a prisoner in or if it's time for a sacrifice."
"Two days then. We have two days to plan our attack, and then we cannot fail." Eldan sat down. "Now, I imagine you know almost everything there is to know about this place."
"My sister knows it better than me, and I won't help you unless you swear by Ithien that she will get out of here alive. Symorkhel has said that if any prisoners escape, she'll sacrifice my sister in their place."
"I don't dare to swear by Ithien, but I swear on my honor I will do all that is in my power to save her."
"Not good enough."
"I swear on the grave of my mother, Hallise" Kalen tried.
"The dead won't hold you to your oath."
"Look, Jaened, all we can give you is our word. If we fail in getting her out, you can kill me, okay?" Eldan half-shouted. "Is that good enough?"
"Don't be daft! I couldn't kill you."
"But you could keep us locked in here to ensure our deaths? Is that so very different?"
Jaened dragged his hands across his face. "It is different. But I will help you get out. Ask what you will." Eldan sat back thinking, so Kalen asked the first question on his mind.
"If Symorkhel is a priestess, why isn't she in Fellyre? What does she hope to accomplish by hiding out here and killing a handful of people a year? I doubt it would do much for their war effort."
"She seeks to be made High Priestess. Zerak has promised her that position when she has made two hundred sacrifices."
Eldan coughed. "And she hopes to get there at this rate? At eight a year, it would take over twenty years!"
"Twenty-five years. She has only two days left. You are the last."
"What? Did she start as an infant? That woman could not be a day past thirty."
"It's witchcraft. She doesn't age. I've been here eight years, and she hasn't aged an hour. Even her hair doesn't grow. It's like she's frozen in time. She has a daughter--I caught a glimpse of her once--who looks older than her."
"So what will Zerak do if she fails to give him these last two sacrifices?" Kalen asked.
"I couldn't say--maybe she'll just have to get some others. Or maybe Zerak will have her start over."
"Well, that's a lovely thought." Eldan gave a nervously sarcastic laugh. "So she needs us to become priestess--or, rather, needs to kill us--so she'd want to make doubly sure that we won't escape."
"Say, didn't you mention that she has you and your sister prisoner here?" Jaened nodded and Kalen went on, "So why didn't she just sacrifice you two? Why did she go to so much trouble to capture us?"
"Well, how am I supposed to know? I've told you all that I do know--and it's quite a bit, considering I haven't been outside these four walls in eight years. Just before they threw you in, Symorkhel came in and told me that you were the last two--exactly those words--the last two, for summer solstice."
"But there are still two months left in the year. I doubt you and your sister are safe from their temple."
That silenced Jaened for a while.

When the guards finally came for them, they were ready. Jaened stood by the door when the men opened it, but they paid him little enough attention. The head of the guard stood in the doorway as the other two fastened chains to Eldan and Kalen's wrists.
Eldan let out a short, sharp whistle through her teeth, and, before the captain had a chance to wonder what she was doing, the iron door slammed full force into his face. Kalen was on one guard's back, the chain between his hands around the man's neck, gritting his teeth against the throbbing of his shoulder. Eldan was wrestling with the third guard; he was at least twice her size, but she had speed and agility on her side. As Kalen's man finally sank to the ground, she sent her's reeling back with a swift kick to the face. Jaened was yelling for them to follow him. As soon as they were out of the cell, he locked the guards in with a key  he had stolen from the man who was slumped dead at his feet.
"What's the quickest way out?" Eldan demanded.
"We're not taking the quickest way" Jaened shot back. "We're going nowhere without my sister." He started towards the stairs. "This way."
"Where is she?" Kalen asked
"Either the servant's quarters or Symorkhel's chambers. Hopefully not the latter. And even if she isn't there, we'll get servant's dress from their quarters which will make it easier to get around the great hall undetected."
Kalen barely dared to breathe as they ran on their toes down the hall. They were insane. They would never get out alive. Rounding a corner, they almost collided with a thin, grey haired serving woman. Before she could cry out, Eldan had her in a choke-hold against the wall.
"Do you want to live?" The woman nodded as best she could, eyes wide with terror. "Then come with us. Take us to the servants chamber and you'll be a free woman."
Within minutes, the maid had them in the servants chamber, rifling through piles of rags and old clothes. Eldan quickly donned an old grey dress with a white and tan head rag to hide her conspicuous black hair and Jaened found a simple white tunic and jacket. Kalen had to settle for a long vest that stank of many days hard work without wash.
Jaened turned to the serving woman. "Where is Lassina?" The woman stared back blankly. "Where is my sister? Where is she?" Her only response was to shrink against the wall, hands in loose fists, protecting her face. Jaened soften hs tone marginally. "Where is Symorkhel's peronal servant?  Tall, brown hair?"
"The Sheela is in the temple." The woman said slowly, pausing as if to take a breath between each word. When Jaened demanded to know where that was, she pointed a pale, trembling hand down the hallway. "Across the courtyard. You will know it when you see it." She whispered, eyes on the floor.
Jaened was down the hallway before she finished speaking. When Kalen  and Eldan moved to follow him, the woman saw her chance and disappeared.

Ladies, we have a problem

Here, I shall take a break from my typical writing for a little rant.

It was inspired by something I saw on Facebook today:

It is hard to be a woman. If this came from a Muslim country or India or somewhere else where women are genuinely oppressed, I would agree, But this is a bad case of Modern, Western, White People's Problems. Here, we have women taking a victim mentality in a culture where they are as far from victims as is humanly possible. 

For years, I have seen post after post complaining about how hard our world is on women. The first and most obvious problem with this can be seen in the fact that I, as a woman, can make this post while a man could not.

If I were to write on how men are better off than women, my article would be embraced. In fact, that is what most of the posts I have seen were: Women saying that men have it way easier than we do.

Now if a man were to assert that women have better lives than men, he would be called a chauvinist pig and unceremoniously blocked from several portions of social media. Far be it from a man to be anti-women, yet society insist that a woman ought to be anti-men.
And if you are rising up in arm saying "To be pro-women is not anti-men!", I must ask what war you are fighting. Why do you need to be pro-women if you have no enemy?
The direst manifestation of this anti-men sentiment is the pillaging of masculinity. Gender roles, an essential for the survival of society as a whole, are being broken down and destroyed. Women expect men to be the tender, delicate ones. The whole idea of fatherhood is viciously assaulted as a thing of time past. The bread-winner and the protector are demonized in preference of the gamer and the sissified mommy's-boy. The woman fights to be the boss, the tough one, and the head of the family while the man quietly sinks into the background.
Thus, I would argue that being a woman is easy. A woman can speak her mind. A woman can pull the oppression card whenever things don't go her way. A woman can manipulate without being seen as evil. A woman can be whatever she wants to be, at home and at work.
It's the men who are in trouble. Men must filter their speech for the feminists' sake. A man is always the one labeled the oppressor. A manipulative man is the evil of all evils. A man must watch his words and moves wherever he goes.

Thus, though I have no experience, I suspect it is considerably harder to be a man today--a real man, who stands up when others fall, who protects and provides, who leads by example. This is not the oppressive patriarchy. This is what we need today--this may be society's only hope.

So, ladies, do not look at yourself as oppressed and a victim of chivalry. You are a woman. Embrace that--you do not have to strive to be the "empowered woman".
Secondly, challenge the men in your life. Don't push them down and let them fall. Be the helper you were designed to be and help them rise. End this assault on manhood.

And if this made you mad, please take a deep breath and count to ten before commenting.

WAR: The Spirit and the Flesh

“Hey, girl, listen, it’s me, your friend
I know that I just saw you bend.
So I thought I’d come to call
I’d come to see you fail and fall.”

“You are my friend no more—I’m free
Sin, you are my enemy.
I have stumbled, yet I stand.
I’m upheld by my Saviour’s hand.”

“Enemy? What’s wrong with you?
You know that this, at least is true:
You’ve failed your Lord every day,
You’ve broke His law in every way.”

“You’re right—I admit this freely—
But though I fail, He will not fail me.
Accuser, tempter, child of hell
You are the king He came to fell.”

“I will not stop, I will not leave
I will fight what you believe.
I will revive the sin you slew
I will win, for I am you.”

“You were me, but you are dead.
Christ has crushed your master’s head.
Christ has come in and locked the door;
You are finished—this is war.”

“So you think you’re really strong?
You may stand, but for how long?
I’ll pull you down—you know I can
I’ll break your grasp on your God’s hand.”

“Ah, foolish sin, don’t play with me
Christ’s blood has bought my victory
No plot of hell, no mighty foe
Can ever make Him let me go.”

You have not yet resisted to bloodshed, striving against sin. 
-Hebrews 12:4

Regeneration, Transformation, Restoration...

I have this thing about "ation" words. I simply had to write a poem with them.

Children of men, do not delay
This is the time, this is the day
We are the lost, He is the way
For this is the day of His Salvation

But we have sinned and sin has cost
We are the damned, we are the lost
God drew the line, but we have crossed
This is the night of our damnation

And yet the God who gave us breath
Paid our sin-debt with His death
To make the cursed become the blessed
For Christ will have His holy Nation.

Now sinners rise, saved by His grace
By faith to run this holy race
To one day look in our God’s face
At the dawn of glorification.

Chapter 5

The next morning, well before dawn, Kalen woke to hurried battle preparations. Dallaris and Aethan snuck off with their assigned regiments, and, by the time the first grey streaks of dawn were showing, Kalen found himself at the head of forty archers, hidden in the trees just in range of the Fellyrian encampment.
Kalen felt sick at the sight of the force before them. The Fellyrian camp seemed to stretch out for miles. Syxel was surround by a sea of grey tents and smoldering campfires. every hundred yards, a great seige tower or heavy catapult stood, waiting for the final assault. sixty to one. The odds were absurd. Even if all of Syxel took up arms, they didn't have a chance. One glance at his archers' faces told hm that he was not in command. He prayed that they would listen to his orders even if they saw him as no more thn a common soldier. They were more likely to flee. He could see it in their eyes--they were looking for a chance to desert. Kalen looked back towards where he knew Taldyr and the other horsemen were concealed in the denser woods. They were depending on him, and he hadn't a clue what he was doing. Sure, he was good with a bow, but he had never led anything, let alone a surprise attack.
"Kalen," a voice by his ear whispered. He turned back to the enemy camp and saw the first few soldiers emerging from  their tents. That was the signal. He took a deep breath, nocked his first arrow, and stood. The men saw him and followed his lead. They fired as one.
"Fire at will!" Kalen commanded trying and failing to sound more like a general than a frightened boy.
The enemy quickly recovered from the initial shock. Kalen saw archers taking positions on their side of the camp. He called the retreat and they began to circle around to the right and a rain of arrows came down on where they had been concealed but minutes earlier. A short while later, a commotion arose on the far side of the camp. Kalen could see the glow of flames in the distance. This was too soon! The distraction was supposed to come after Taldyr's men engaged.
Kalen called a halt and they fired down on the camp again, trying to make the best of this error. Another blaze roared up far to the right of the first. Kalen moved his men back to their original position, but not before the return fire caught three of his men. Two stumbled back, cursing, and one fell instantly without a sound. They fired twice, then ran to the right again, much further this time and began again. At that moment, Taldyr and his men came. They shouted as they rode down on the camp, spears lowered. They plowed into the enemy like a battering ram. But the enemy swarmed in behind and beside them, forming a massive death trap. Desperate, Kalen tried something new. He divided his men into pairs of two and told them to spread out and surround the perimeter and fire constantly from all directions.
Kalen found himself with one of the less-skilled archers, a thin youth with barely enough muscle to draw the bow fully back. He was going on adrenaline, though, so he managed to keep pace with the others.
The Fellyrian archers quickly caught on and began returning fire in all places where arrows came The next morning, well before dawn, Kalen woke to hurried battle preparations. Dallaris and Aethan snuck off with their assigned regiments, and, by the time the first grey streaks of dawn were showing, Kalen found himself at the head of forty archers, hidden in the trees just in range of the Fellyrian encampment.
Kalen felt sick at the sight of the force before them. The Fellyrian camp seemed to stretch out for miles. Syxel was surround by a sea of grey tents and smoldering campfires. every hundred yards, a great siege tower or heavy catapult stood, waiting for the final assault. sixty to one. The odds were absurd. Even if all of Syxel took up arms, they didn't have a chance. One glance at his archers' faces told him that he was not in command. He prayed that they would listen to his orders even if they saw him as no more thn a common soldier. They were more likely to flee. He could see it in their eyes--they were looking for a chance to desert. Kalen looked back towards where he knew Taldyr and the other horsemen were concealed in the denser woods. They were depending on him, and he hadn't a clue what he was doing. Sure, he was good with a bow, but he had never led anything, let alone a surprise attack.
"Kalen," a voice by his ear whispered. He turned back to the enemy camp and saw the first few soldiers emerging from  their tents. That was the signal. He took a deep breath, nocked his first arrow, and stood. The men saw him and followed his lead. They fired as one.
"Fire at will!" Kalen commanded trying and failing to sound more like a general than a frightened boy.
The enemy quickly recovered from the initial shock. Kalen saw archers taking positions on their side of the camp. He called the retreat and they began to circle around to the right and a rain of arrows came down on where they had been concealed but minutes earlier. A short while later, a commotion arose on the far side of the camp. Kalen could see the glow of flames in the distance. This was too soon! The distraction was supposed to come after Taldyr's men engaged.
Kalen called a halt and they fired down on the camp again, trying to make the best of this error. Another blaze roared up far to the right of the first. Kalen moved his men back to their original position, but not before the return fire caught three of his men. Two stumbled back, cursing, and one fell instantly without a sound. They fired twice, then ran to the right again, much further this time and began again. At that moment, Taldyr and his men came. They shouted as they rode down on the camp, spears lowered. They plowed into the enemy like a battering ram. But the enemy swarmed in behind and beside them, forming a massive death trap. Desperate, Kalen tried something new. He divided his men into pairs of two and told them to spread out and surround the perimeter and fire constantly from all directions.
Kalen found himself with one of the less-skilled archers, a thin youth with barely enough muscle to draw the bow fully back. He was going on adrenaline, though, so he managed to keep pace with the others.
The Fellyrian archers quickly caught on and began returning fire in all places where arrows came from. An arrow suddenly whistled through the bush past Kalen. His companion yanked him down flat on his stomach on the turf. They lay still until the shooting stopped, then got up. Kalen fired two arrows before any came their way. Kalen dropped again, just in time to see the youth lurch backwards and topple with a feathered shaft in his throat. He crawled over, but there was nothing he could do. The boy was writhing in agony, trying to gasp for air while blood bubbled up in his throat.
Kalen looked away, but the boy seized his hand. He looked back into those wide, frightened eyes, and they locked with his and held. Kalen lay beside him, silently absorbing every spasm in the hand and all the pain and fear in those vividly blue eyes. A thought whispered around the corners of his mind He's a she. She's a girl. It didn't matter. It was too late for anything to matter. She was dying. He searched his mind for some words of comfort for a dying soldier.
"It's okay. I'm here." He began, then shook his head. "I'm sorry. I wish I knew your name. I guess I never will." A certain calmness began to grow in her eyes, so he continued, slowly, in a whisper. "I wish I could carry a message to your friends or family, to tell them how brave you were. But I'll follow you soon. We all will. Most probably already have. I mean they've already gone." He felt her hand go limp. "And you're gone too." He reached out and closed her eyelids. She looked peaceful enough, and there was no time to do her any further honor. He fought to silence the voice in the back of his head saying that she could have lived if they had only switched positions.
Taking up his bow, he crawled back to where he could see the camp. Taldyr and his men were gone. A few riderless horses were still rearing and galloping in the excitement of the battle, but most lay in ruin with their masters. Kalen could see Taldyr's banner, the black hawk on a green field, lying trampled in the carnage, and, a few feet away, Taldyr's black horse, lying twisted and bloody. He had no doubt that Taldyr was with it. The Fellyrian army had turned its attention back to the city. They left their dead and wounded and set to loading the catapults. Horses were being harnessed to the siege towers and the archers had turned their volley to Syxel.
Kalen bent his bow and fired. It was pointless--what could he alone do against so many? But if he was to die here, he would bring as many of them as possible down with him. A few archers returned fire, but he didn't bother ducking or changing position. He didn't take time to aim, but shot as fast as he could in the general direction of the thickest part of their force. They had killed the girl behind him and they had killed Taldyr. He would have revenge if it was the last thing he did.
A powerful blow to his shoulder knocked him off his feet. He caught himself only to collapse again at the searing pain racing through his right arm. He clutched his shoulder; arrow fletches brushed his fingers. He tried to think clearly. The other end of the arrow had to be sticking out his back. He'd bleed to death if he tried to pull it out, but he couldn't move his arm, let alone draw his bow, with it in. He crawled backwards into the brush until his back was to a tree, gritted his teeth and grasped the shaft.
"Stop! You'll kill yourself!" He started and turned at the voice by his ear. The back of the arrow hit the tree and a hand clapped over his mouth to stifle his scream of agony. "Quiet. I'm a friend." The hand freed his mouth and its owner crept over to kneel in front of him. It was a dark haired woman dressed in thick blotchy brown leather. She quickly took off her glove, revealing two missing fingers. "Bite down on this and I'll get that arrow out."
"Why? I'm dead anyways."
"No. It's just your shoulder. Now bite." She stuffed the glove between his teeth. She deftly snapped the tip off the arrow, sending another shock of pain through his arm, then grabbed the shaft. "Ready?" Kalen nodded and closed his eyes. Coming out, the arrow was a thousand times more painful than going in. It felt like his arm was being torn from his body. Involuntarily, he screamed past the glove, only to get the girl's hand over his mouth again. "It hurts like hell, but if you love your life, don't make a sound." She hissed in his ear. "I'm going to bandage you up now. It won't stop the bleeding, but it will slow it until I can get you to somewhere that we can tend it properly. And shut your eyes." Kalen obeyed and, a moment later, he felt the aching, scraping pain of cloth being stuffed into the wound on both sides. A few more stips were bound fast around his shoulder to hold the others in, and a last strip formed a sling. He waited a moment or two after she finished, then opened his eyes. She was lacing up her overcoat over her vest. Her shirt. No wonder she had asked him to close his eyes.
"Don't look at me like that. I just saved your life. We have to go. Here," she placed one arm under his left shoulder and helped him to his feet. "Lean on me as much as you need to. It's not far from here." She was close to Kalen's own height, which helped, and at least as strong. "Who are you? And why are you helping me?" He asked after they had gone a short ways.
"Eldan. My name is Eldan. I'm a Syxelite, and I just saw an Elinite army give their lives for my people. This is the least I can do." She stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."
"What? What's wrong?"
"We're surrounded." Kalen looked around and saw nothing but trees and brush. "Can't you hear them?" Kalen listen and heard nothing until the bushes right in front of them rustled and parted. A slender woman with long blonde hair, dressed in white, stepped out in front of them.
"Did I frighten you?" She asked gently. "My servant heard your approach and hid. We thought you might be Fellyrians. My lands! Is he wounded?"
"Yes. And I'm taking him to safety, if you'll excuse us."
"One of my ladies is a healer. Come with me. You can stay at my house tonight." When Eldan hesitated, she added; "He needs immediate help. Come." She raised her voice, "Dessa! Lerranda! Aeddiss!" Two young women and one older, all clad in long, simply cut blue tunics, stepped out of the trees beside them.
"Where are the others?" Eldan asked sharply.
"Others? I and my ladies are alone. If there are others near, they must be..." The woman's voice gradually faded from Kalen's hearing. The last thing he saw before the the black mist gathering at the corners of his vision rolled up and covered the world was Eldan looking at  him. Her mouth was moving, but he heard nothing.
. An arrow suddenly whistled through the bush past Kalen. His companion yanked him down flat on his stomach on the turf. They lay still until the shooting stopped, then got up. Kalen fired two arrows before any came their way. Kalen dropped again, just in time to see the youth lurch backwards and topple with a feathered shaft in his throat. He crawled over, but there was nothing he could do. The boy was writhing in agony, trying to gasp for air while blood bubbled up in his throat.
Kalen looked away, but the boy seized his hand. He looked back into those wide, frightened eyes, and they locked with his and held. Kalen lay beside him, silently absorbing every ever spams in the hand and all the pain and fear in those vividly blue eyes. A thought whispered around the corners of his mind: He's a she. She's a girl. It didn't matter. It was too late for anything to matter. She was dying. He searched his mind for some words of comfort for a dying soldier.
"It's okay. I'm here." He began, then shook his head. "I'm sorry. I wish I knew your name. I guess I never will." A certain calmness began to grow in her eyes, so he continued, slowly, in a whisper. "I wish I could carry a message to your friends or family, to tell them how brave you were. But I'll follow you soon. We all will. Most probably already have. I mean they've already gone." He felt her hand go limp. "And you're gone too." He reached out and closed her eyelids. She looked peaceful enough, and there was no time to do her any further honor. He fought to silence the voice in the back of his head saying that she could have lived if they had only switched positions.
Taking up his bow, he crawled back to where he could see the camp. Taldyr and his men were gone. A few riderless horses were still rearing and galloping in the excitement of the battle, but most lay in ruin with their masters. Kalen could see Taldyr's banner, the black hawk on a green field, lying trampled in the carnage, and, a few feet away, Taldyr's black horse, lying twisted and bloody. He had no doubt that Taldyr was with it. The Fellyrian army had turned its attention back to the city. They left their dead and wounded and set to loading the catapults. Horses were being harnessed to the seige towers and the archers had turned their volley to Syxel.
Kalen bent his bow and fired. It was pointless--what could he alone do against so many? But if he was to die here, he would bring as many of them as possible down with him. A few archers returned fire, but he didn't bother ducking or changing position. He didn't take time to aim, but shot as fast as he could in the general direction of the thickest part of their force. They had killed the girl behind him and they had killed Taldyr. He would have revenge if it was the last thing he did.
A powerful blow to his shoulder knocked him off his feet. He caught himself only to collapse again at the searing pain racing through his right arm. He clutched his shoulder; arrow fletches brushed his fingers. He tried to think clearly. The other end of the arrow had to be sticking out his back. He'd bleed to death if he tried to pull it out, but he couldn't move his arm, let alone draw his bow, with it in. He crawled backwards into the brush until his back was to a tree, gritted his teeth and grasped the shaft.
"Stop! You'll kill yourself!" He started and turned at the voice by his ear. The back of the arrow hit the tree and a hand clapped over his mouth to stifle his scream of agony. "Quiet. I'm a friend." The hand freed his mouth and its owner crept over to kneel in front of him. It was a dark haired woman dressed in thick blotchy brown leather. She quickly took off her glove, revealing two missing fingers. "Bite down on this and I'll get that arrow out."
"Why? I'm dead anyways."
"No. It's just your shoulder. Now bite." She stuffed the glove between his teeth. She deftly snapped the tip off the arrow, sending another shock of pain through his arm, then grabbed the shaft. "Ready?" Kalen nodded and closed his eyes. Coming out, the arrow was a thousand times more painful than going in. It felt like his arm was being torn from his body. Involuntarily, he screamed past the glove, only to get the girl's hand over his mouth again. "It hurts like hell, but if you love your life, don't make a sound." She hissed in his ear. "I'm going to bandage you up now. It won't stop the bleeding, but it will slow it until I can get you to somewhere that we can tend it properly. And shut your eyes." Kalen obeyed and, a moment later, he felt the aching, scraping pain of cloth being stuffed into the wound on both sides. A few more stips were bound fast around his shoulder to hold the others in, and a last strip formed a sling. He waited a moment or two after she finished, then opened his eyes. She was lacing up her overcoat over her vest. Her shirt. No wonder she had asked him to close his eyes.
"Don't look at me like that. I just saved your life. We have to go. Here," she placed one arm under his left shoulder and helped him to his feet. "Lean on me as much as you need to. It's not far from here." She was close to Kalen's own height, which helped, and at least as strong. "Who are you? And why are you helping me?" He asked after they had gone a short ways.
"Eldan. My name is Eldan. I'm a Syxelite, and I just saw an Elinite army give their lives for my people. This is the least I can do." She stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."
"What? What's wrong?"
"We're surrounded." Kalen looked around and saw nothing but trees and brush. "Can't you hear them?" Kalen listen and heard nothing until the bushes right in front of them rustled and parted. A slender woman with long blonde hair, dressed in white, stepped out in front of them.
"Did I frighten you?" She asked gently. "My servant heard your approach and hid. We thought you might be Fellyrians. My lands! Is he wounded?"
"Yes. And I'm taking him to safety, if you'll excuse us."
"One of my ladies is a healer. Come with me. You can stay at my house tonight." When Eldan hesitated, she added; "He needs immediate help. Come." She raised her voice, "Dessa! Lerranda! Aeddiss!" Two young women and one older, all clad in long, simply cut blue tunics, stepped out of the trees beside them.
"Where are the others?" Eldan asked sharply.
"Others? I and my ladies are alone. If there are others near, they must be..." The woman's voice gradually faded from Kalen's hearing. The last thing he saw before the the black mist gathering at the corners of his vision rolled up and covered the world was Eldan looking at  him. Her mouth was moving, but he heard nothing.

The Hated Love

There was a tree long, long ago
With the power to make men know
Or so they were told, so the devil said
And so they ate, and we're born dead.
Thus man fell under the curse
And our good deeds just make it worse.

We founder in a hopeless state,
Hating love and loving hate
Ever deeper, darker we fell,
Seeking heaven to make it hell.
Forming gods that look like us,
Crooked, corrupt, mad with lust.
We call day night and night is day
But there will be a price to pay.

Evil is slow poison and it will kill
Long after the fun, beyond the thrill,
There comes the wave, then rise the flames,
And our souls fall in heavy chains.
When terror comes, when fails desire
Then death will drag us to the fire.

Oh, hopeless state!
Oh, hateful hate!
Dragged, dragged down
To darkest fate!

But who is that? Where is He from?
That stranger there--whence did He come?
He is different; He is good
So we hate Him, as haters should.

He bears with Him the hated love,
A freeing gift come from above.
He calls us wrong; He calls God just.
He reminds us we are only dust.
He is truth, but we love the lie,
So we hate Him; so He must die.

Our world is turning upside down;
Night is fading. Day must dawn.
And so we act, so we rise
And so the truth drowns in our lies.
Mercilessly, cruelly, this man we slay
Lest He bring a strange new day.

But then--what's this?
Poison, the fire's hiss--
On Him they fall, on Him, the flame,
The fear, the pain, the wrath, the shame--
Our punishment burns in His soul
The agony, the death, He bears the whole!

Over the hills breaks the daylight
Brilliant, blinding, the sun in its might.
And He returns to stand o'er His foe:
Conquered is death and hell below.
The abyss is filled, we see His face
Bringing peace, full of grace.

We are drawn up from the grave
By a God mighty to save
The hated Love is lovely now,
As before His throne, we bow.

The broken chain,
Forgotten pain,
Heaven's love:
Infinite gain.

Chapter 4

Taldyr took the news surprisingly calmly. He asked no questions but, when Kalen had finished, he nodded and said, quietly, "Bring Aethan and Dallanis here. It is time we traced out our plans for the battle."
"But they're in on this desertion plot! You need to confront them," Kalen protested.
"We don't know that they agreed to it in the end. And, if they did, I will speak to them as I see fit."
Kalen bowed. As he left, it occurred to him that that was the first time Taldyr had spoken to him since Elni.
He found Dallanis working at trimming a horse's damaged hoof, and Aethan, he found still asleep by the dead ashes of the fire. He was hard to rouse, and the unusually bad mood he woke up in left Kalen wondering if someone had been overly generous with their limited wine supply. He would not have expected Aethan to be a heavy drinker, but then, he had never been a very good judge of character.
Taldyr was leaning against a tree, eyes to the sky, when they returned. He noticed saw them immediately and stood and invited them to join him on the logs around one of the smoldering fires. They sat in a small circle, Aethan slouching, still rubbing his eyes and head; Dallanis sitting with her back straight and shoulders back, looking almost defiant, and Taldyr crouch with his elbows on his knees and his sword hilt in his hands, the tip buried in the turf. Kalen was sure he looked as nervous and uncomfortable as he felt.
"We are within a day's ride of Syxel," Taldyr began, "But we will not attack today-not with the men weary from a long day's ride. Tonight, we will pitch camp in the outskirts of the mountains. We will be out of sight of Syxel, but not far enough to risk lighting fires. We will attack just before dawn--a night attack would be ideal, but if we can't see our foe, the disadvantage will be both of ours. Our only hope is that the people of Syxel will see our attack and come out to join the fray." He fell silent, then let out a weary sigh. "Beyond that, my plan is thrown into chaos by a rumor I have heard. The men are considering desertion." Kalen saw feigned astonishment on Dallanis's face, and Aethan let out a low moan. "I hardly blame them for considering such a thing. We may be going to our deaths, but they will die anyways if they return to Elni as deserters. If they were wise, they would ride with the army and fight. If they pulled out if the battle goes ill, none would blame them, and they would still have the scars and wounds to show that they had been in the battle." Kalen raised his eyebrows. Was Taldyr actually giving the deserters advise to help them desert?
"What's the plan, then? We don't know that there will be deserters. Let's assume there aren't any." Dallaris said.
"If the whole army is still here by dawn tomorrow, we will split into four companies. Each of us will lead one--"
"But the orders called for only two." Kalen interupted.
"Indeed. But the king cannot touch us now. I will fight this battle in whatever way I find most likely to succeed. As I was saying, four companies..." Kalen tried to pay attention to the full battle plan, but he could not quite picture how it would all work together. Taldyr was going to lead the soldiers on horseback in a charge straight into the Fellyrian camp. Dallaris was to take a smaller company through the the woods to the north of the city and light their tents on fire while they were distracted by Taldyr. Aethan was to circle around to the camp from the other side and do the same.  Kalen was to stay back with the archers and fire a rain of arrows into the enemy camp as soon as the soldiers emerged from their tents in the morning and continue until Taldyr's men engaged them. Then the archers were to leave their positions and circle around to the other side of the city and shoot at the enemy from behind. He and his men were to stay out of the hand-to-hand combat unless absolutely necessary. Taldyr was obviously working to preserve his men's lives if the attack failed, but it was a good plan--provided no one deserted.
"And if some men do desert? What's the plan then?" Aethan asked.
"I have no other plan. That is why I called you all to counsel. If, let's say, a third of the army deserts, what would you advise?"
"A third! Surely not so many would consider such a thing." Dallaris's tone lacked a little of its typical confidence.
"I do not see a third as unlikely. But it could wreak havoc with my plan, especially if they take the horses. The men are uneasy as is. A desertion would crush what little hope they have left. Have you ever tried to win a war with hopeless men? It's impossible."
"But this is a hopeless mission. We all know that." Aethan put in.
"It is risky, but not hopeless." Taldyr glanced around that their skeptical faces. "Look: If the commanders despair, how can the men do otherwise? You have not fought as many battles as I, but we all--all but you, Kalen--fought at the Valley of Daishen when the two hundred turned back over a thousand. Likewise, we stood together on the ridge at Irridon and watched as the flash flood destroyed half the enemy army without us even lifting the sword. Do not speak to me of hopeless situations. There is no such thing."
"Commander, you know more of this army than any of us. Tell us this at least: What are our chances? How any men do they have to our every man?" Dallaris demanded. Taldyr looked away. "Taldyr. We are riding to our deaths because of you and your daughter. This is your fault. You owe us a little honesty. You owe every man here. They are going to die tomorrow--all because of you."
"Leave it, Dallaris. The king is to blame." Aethan said sharply.
"No." The weight of weariness in Taldyr's voice was almost unbearable. "She's only speaking what everyone in the army has been thinking since we left Elni. I angered the king. I am under a death sentence and all of you are being dragged down with me. So I'll tell you. We are attacking an army of twelve thousand. The odds are fifty to one against us. I don't want the men to die for me any more than they want to be massacred. If I fall in the battle tomorrow, sound the retreat. The people will forgive the retreat for relief to see those they love still alive, and the king will be satisfied with my death."
"Our deaths." Kalen forced the words out against a great dry lump in his throat. "He wants us both dead--and he won't accept the army's return unless we're gone. I mean, I don't want to die, but I don't think I can get out of this alive any more than you can.
"Kalen, there is hope--"
"Don't tell me that, Taldyr. What hope do you have for yourself? I have the same amount of hope. And with us dead, the army can go home. We should lead the charge and--" Kalen cut off abruptly and left the circle. He knew the feeling in his gut. He was about to start crying. He hadn't cried  in years, and this was no time to start over. He was a soldier now--a captain--and what kind of soldier cries when faced with death?
He returned a few minutes later, once his eyes and throat were clear enough that he was sure he would not tear up again. Dallaris gave him her scornful you-have-a-problem look, but Aethan just nodded. Taldyr had his head down, but he looked up when Kalen sat down.
"Our council is over. We go with the plan I described. Now, if you'll excuse us, I would like some time alone with my second in command." Dallaris and Aethan stood, bowed, and left. Taldyr turned to Kalen.
"Don't be ashamed, Kalen. Many more weep in the face of death than you would expect, and you are younger than most. And you're right. I should not give you false hope. Unless Ithien works a miracle, you will never see Elni again. But I promised your father that I would do everything in my power to protect you. This is your last chance, Kalen. Leave. Go to the Dinab Forest. You are young, strong, and brave; I have no doubt you will find a place and life among the Tassin."
"No! I can't just run off on the eve of battle! And how could I live among the Tassin? They are cowards, traitors, and outlaws."
"There are such among the Tassin, but most are not unlike us. They fight Fellyre is small bands. They are wary and wood-wise. You could learn much from them."
"I'm not going. I won't be a deserter."
Taldyr smiled sadly. "That's the Kalen I know. If you will stay, then so be it. May Ithien protect you."

Biblical Fiction Inspired by The Nail Man by Steve Turner

My work. How can I describe it? I suppose I'd have to start at the beginning for you to understand. I was born in Lebanon--yes, Lebanon of the great forests--but I am a Roman citizen. My father worked all his life to buy that citizenship, and I  inherited just like I did his trade. I was a carpenter--skilled with wood and nails. I suppose that's why they chose me. I took pride in my citizenship. I left my home and my work to enlist in the army, to taste the power of a Roman soldier, to see the world, to learn the sword. And I did. I served four years before we came here. All they asked for was a man who could drive nails. I volunteered. The first time, I hated it. I had killed with the sword and spear, but this was different. I was a soldier, not a torturer. But they had me do more and more until I no longer cared. It was my job. My ears grew deaf to the screams. I no longer looked at the faces. They were criminals, not men. They deserved it.
I suppose you are disgusted. You think I must be a beast to drive a nail through human flesh without shuddering. But I was no different from any other man. I laughed and drank with my friends. I even had a Samaritan mistress, Hadassa. I had simply learned to disconnect from myself--to let my hands do what they are trained to do without involving my mind or emotions. Years passed and it became routine.
Life went on. Hadassa left me because of the teachings of some man from Nazareth who was supposed to their Messiah. You've probably heard that term before. The first time I heard it, I thought it meant trouble and reported it, but now I know it's common. Messiahs come and go. Maybe someday a real one would come, but none of us Romans believed it, and the Jews were far too eager to believe it every time an agitator arose. I didn't really miss Hadassa. There's no shortage of beautiful women in my current post, Jerusalem.
The army was exciting. Being an executioner was simply monotony. Until they killed Him. Until I killed Him.
It seemed an ordinary Passover. I'd learned the names of their holy days and what to expect. Passover meant unrest. It celebrated being freed from past oppressors. Hardly a celebration Rome approved of, but if it were outlawed, every Jew from Cyrene to Macedonia would rebel. So the festival went on. Crowds teemed the street, people from all over Judea and all over the empire swarmed Jerusalem. For what? To eat lamb, unleavened bread, and bitter herbs? Jews did not define "feast" the way we Romans do. But the larger the crowds, the more troublemakers. We had already arrested several, including one of their ring leaders, Barabbas.
I was at the Judgement Hall when they brought Him in. He'd been taken in by the Sanhedrin for violating their religion or some such thing. Perhaps it was because of the Passover that they didn't kill Him themselves. They weren't supposed to take the law into their own hands, but mobs stoning people was such a common sight that the soldiers rarely bothered to intervene. Pilate sent Him to us to flog. If you think me cruel, what would you think of the men who wield the scourge? The first time I saw it, as a new soldier, I was sick. They are masters of their art. They bruise at first, then shred the skin; soon chunks of flesh fly with the whips. They seldom stop before they can see white bone through the gore.
When they stripped Him, I saw this was not His first beating. Bruises and swelling were already visible on his back and chest, and He showed no sign of fight. I am not proud to say I put in a bet that He would not survive the lash. I lost anyways. I knew I had misjudged Him the moment the first blow fell. He made no sound, though his hands clenched with pain. He was strong, and His torturers saw it as a challenge. I could see the triumph on their faces when they finally illicited a cry of pain. But the cries were few, so they were not satisfied when He hung limp, ribs exposed, blood pooling at His feet. They loosed the chains and began a new form of torture--mockery. Shame. It was my cloak they borrowed. I am looking at it now. Why did I let them do that?
He had claimed to be a king, apparently, and they thought it a wonderful joke. They. I need to stop saying that. We. I thought it was a great joke. We spread my cloak on Him like a royal robe and put a long reed in His hand, but we weren't content with that. There had to be pain in it--we Romans are masters of pain. One of us went and found a thorn bush and twisted a crown--a crown of four-inch thorns--and forced it on to His head. He had fully regained consciousness, so we made Him stand and bowed down, saying "Hail, King of the Jews!" Then we took the reed and sent Him sprawling with a few blows to the head. I make no excuses for what we did there. It was cruel. Merciless.
They took Him away again. When I was summoned, by name, I knew what it was for. He'd been condemned, so I had a job to do. I still didn't know the exact charges, but I figured that title, "King of the Jews" had something to do with it. They gave me back my cloak, but I did not put it on as it was wet with blood. I was near the back of the procession, so I didn't see everything. I saw them lay the cross beams on the prisoners' shoulders. There were  two others besides Him, but He was in a far worse condition than them. He did not make it far carrying the cross before He fell forward, landing hard on his battered chest and face. We hauled Him to his feet, only to see Him fall to one side as the beam over balanced. I went on ahead, so I did not see what happened next, but when the procession arrived at The Place of the Skull, our  standard execution site, another man was carrying the cross as the Man stumbled along behind him. Then began my part.
I barely remember the other two--I recall they were thieves or some such ordinary offenders, and I daresay they put up a fight like most do, but He was different. They already had Him laid out on the cross when I came there. He didn't fight. We held His arms as we always did, but we didn't need to. His muscles spasmed as I drove the nails, but He never pulled away. He was fighting his reflexes, letting us crucify Him. We didn't even hold His legs. As I drove the nail through His feet, I did what I had sworn to never do: I looked at Him. Our eyes met. My hammer stopped in midair. His eyes, so full of pain and tears, held no anger, no blame. I saw a sort of pity--deep grief and, what else can I call it--Love. But then the moment passed. I shook myself and swung again, driving the nail its full depth. Then the cross was erect and I was nailing the next man. I was wiping my hands, putting away my tools, when that "King"  spoke. People don't say much when hanging from a cross, so when they speak, you listen.
The words cut right through me. They turned my world upside down. I am an old and hardened soldier, but I cannot hold back tears to think of it. "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." He said it from the cross. He dragged Himself up on the nails I had driven but moments before, scraping the flesh we had shredded with the scourge against the cross that we had made Him carry, and spent His hard-won breath to cry those words. Forgiveness. What could motivate a man to forgive us from such a place?
Usually, I leave after I've done my job, but this time, I couldn't. I had to watch. I had to understand what kind of man this was--this Jesus of Nazareth. The crowds who had condemned Him had plenty to say. They mocked Him cruelly, but much of what they said raised questions in my mind. "He saved others, Himself He cannot save!" How had He saved others? What did He save them from? They said He could rebuild the temple in three days, but before I could even try to figure that out what that could mean, the most stunning accusation came. They called Him the Son of God. You probably don't see the significance--if you are Roman or Greek or Egyptian, you are accustomed to gods having children, but it's different in Judea. They hold to one God here, and their God doesn't beget children. To say "Son of God" here mean that He is equal with God--same in nature, same in essence--essentially, that He is their God. Some laughed over that claim, but I trembled. Truly, whatever else He might be, this was a righteous man.
He spoke five more times from that cross. I remember them all. The first did not mean so very much to me--though it showed much of the kind of man He was; He told one of His followers to care for His mother, who was crying at the foot of the cross.
The mocking continued, and the other two on the crosses joined in. It was ridiculous--who mocks someone else when they themselves are dying the same death? Finally, one of them seemed to see how foolish it was and rebuked the other, saying something about them deserving this and Him being innocent. Then the thief asked Him to remember him when He came into His kingdom, and He said "Today, you will be with Me in paradise." It was an audacious claim--not only was He certain of paradise, but the assertion was that paradise was His kingdom.
Then the sky became dark--I had no doubt the sun hid its face for Him. It was like a great cloud came over Jerusalem, but it came on faster and darker than any cloud. Some people panicked and began screaming and running away, but I just stayed there. I couldn't move. It was like there was no one and nothing else there but me and the Man on the center cross. I couldn't take my eyes off Him.
It was three or four hours before He spoke again, and when He did, it was terrible. He cried out in agony--not pain, agony. Torment. I have never heard such a tortured cry, not when I drive the nails, not under the scourge--never. "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?" It wasn't despair like you would expect--like I said, it was agony, like this forsaken state brought on a torture of its own. He, who had borne the lash and nails with barely a sound, was in a state of torment like I have never seen. It made your blood run cold.
He hung there, gasping for breath, tortured, and exhausted for ten to fifteen minutes, but it felt like an age, watching His tattered muscles spasm and His face contort with pain. Then, barely audible, He whispered, "I thirst." We had wine--cheap wine, soured from long time in the sun, in a jug, so I took a sponge and soaked it in it and put it up, on my spear, to His mouth. I suppose I had some foolish notion that that small mercy might in some way make up for the evil I had done him.. He sucked up a little bit, then leaned His head back against the cross. I lowered the spear, thinking He might be dead, but then He took a deep breath, pulling Himself up with all His flagging strength, back arching, muscles trembling with effort, and cried out, loud and clear, "It is Finished!"
It was almost triumphant--a stunning contrast from His last tortured cry. There was no despair or defeat here. It was relief, like a man return from a long war, finally victorious. Like when a man finally pays off a debt. Then, wearily, but still clearly, He said, "Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit." And His head fell forward, and His body sagged and I knew it was over. No, not over. Finished. There is a difference. Over is loss. Finished is gain.
I don't know how or when I sank to my knees, but I was kneeling when He said that. Then I was on my side as the ground rippled and heaved beneath me. There was thunder and lightning, and the ground was tossing and churning like sea waves. It began the moment He bowed His head. No one can tell me that there was no connection between the earthquake and His death. My commander saw it too, and I heard him say it--a cry of fear and awe amid the crashing and crumbling--"This truly was the Son of God!"

There is little to say of the rest of the day--We made sure they were all dead. One of my fellow soldier stabbed a spear through the King's side and into His heart. Blood and water streamed out, confirming his death. Some wealthier Jews took His body to bury. But here's the crazy part: the Jewish rulers asked Pilate to set a guard on the tomb. To guard a dead man. How afraid were they of Him?
I soon learned they had good reason to fear. He came back. He rose from the dead, I'll swear it on my honor as a Roman. You say it's impossible? After that crucifixion day, I will never again believe in anything being impossible.
Fifty days later, His followers were preaching His resurrection in the streets of Jerusalem. They had nothing to gain by making such a claim, and so much to lose, but they stood by it. They said they had touched the nail-prints. And I am not speaking of a handful of people. There were hundreds making these claims. Some even died for preaching that He had risen, and that He was the Son of God.
I didn't want it to be true. Every day, every hour since His death, I had battled the guilt of it. I had almost convinced myself that He was no one special when word of the resurrection reached me. I had never know fear like this before--fear of the supernatural, fear that He whom I killed might truly have returned. I knew His death had been unjust, and, worse, I knew that if He truly was the Son of God, I had damned myself that day. I left Jerusalem the first chance I had. I returned to Rome, where the name of "Jesus" was not yet known. I suppose I was fleeing--trying to escape my conscience. No amount of pleasure or wine could drown my guilt.
Then these "Christians", as they were called, reached Rome with these teaching of Jesus Christ and His resurrection. Almost overnight, it became the talk of the city. Most laughed at it or regarded it as a threat. I kept my own council. "Father, forgive them"--those words haunted me day and night. I wanted to escape--I wanted to return to my old life, but the cross pursued me like a curse. Finally, I could endure it no longer. I had to seek out the Christians.
They were not hard to find. I had but to go to the cells below the Colusieum, where they were kept for the games. Games! How was it sport to see a man torn apart by a lion? And the calm courage they showed in the face of death reflected so clearly what I had seen on the cross that I could not bear it.
They had one of the Christian leaders in a cell alone. They let me in to see him, no questions asked. He was younger than I expected, not past forty--just like Jesus. I could not look him in the eyes. I told him everything of my part in his Messiah's death, and of my crippling guilt. He took my hand through the bars and told me the whole story, putting together all the parts that confused me, explaining why Jesus had died.
I killed the Creator of life. Can there be a greater crime? But the Creator gave His life in exchange for mine. He died for His murderer. The guilt I had fought, the memory of His words, were all His mercy, drawing me to Himself. There, kneeling with a condemned man, under the bloody sands of the arena, I finally repented and believed in the gospel of Him whom I had slain.
The next day, I saw the man who had taught me the way of life die a bloody death for the amusement of our sophisticated Roman nobles. It grieved me, but I saw the joy of paradise in his face as he waited for the beasts to descend, and I know death was but the door to his Redeemer's presence.
My time is coming. I sit alone in my home. Two hours ago, I made my faith public. I spoke of my Lord before my men and before Caesar himself. I am under house arrest. A Roman citizen cannot die a public death. They are coming. Any moment now, that door will unlatch and they will lead me away quietly. I am not afraid. As my Savior did not fear the cross, how can I fear the sword? The Father has forgiven my sins. Today, I will be with my Lord in paradise.