Apotheosis of the Immortal

Dedication

This book is dedicated in its entirety to my son, Caleb Chaudry, as a small way to thank him for his patience, support, and the sacrifices he has made so this dream of mine could be fulfilled. He gives me the drive and determination to keep trying, even when my shoulders are heavy with disappointment and my outlook is bleak.

Acknowledgements

There are so many wonderful people who have helped me along this arduous yet thrilling journey. So many people I would like to thank, however to name them all would be something like a page of genealogical listings in the book of Genesis—I would be saying so much without truly saying anything at all. Therefore, I have chosen to reserve this page for those few special people whose support and dedication to my life in general have been so huge that I consider them soul mates—people who have directly affected the course of my life in one way or another, and have made me better for it.

I would have to recognize my parents and grandparents, who fight at every turn to get my life on track, yet are always there for me either way; my brother and sister, who have always loved me unconditionally; my niece and nephew, whom I love like my own; my late friend Mathew Rickett, who, during his last weeks of battling cancer, actually comforted me instead of the other way around; and my son, who inspires me to rise from my couch every morning—with his damn alarm clock!

To write is human, to edit is divine.

– Steven King

I would have never understood this quote if not for my editor Faith Freewoman. She has the gift to take my words and transform them into art. Faith has changed me as a writer, giving me the perfect mixture of support and reprieve to allow tremendous growth as a novelist. She picks and prods, asking me the perfect questions, questions poignant enough to bring me to my own solutions. The knowledge I have gained from working with her is absolutely priceless, as it will be with me and show in my writing forever. The most wonderful thing about working with Faith is that she allows you to create a product all your own, brought forth by your imagination and creativity, yet you couldn’t have done it without her. It is, she is, an amazing and beautiful paradox.

I would like to thank Teresa Reasor, an author, and another great artist in the field. She has helped with my edits and her insights are sometimes nearly magical. She has been with me from the beginning and continues to be there for me whenever I need guidance; her help gave me my first big breakthroughs as a writer, and without her graceful interjections I would not have been able to reach my destination.

I would also like to thank Ellen Fox, who has supported me in many ways since the beginning of this project. She is a brilliant writer and has somehow been able to inspire the same in me from time to time.

I would like to thank my father, Dr. Khalid R. Chaudry M.D. for all of his emotional and financial support; without his faith and unconditional love this would certainly have never happened.

Lastly, I would like to thank You & Me Coffee & Tea for providing great coffee and a wonderful working environment.

Prologue

Elijah 2014

He went to sleep next to his little brother Malaki—boys in a castle, exchanging gallant tales of Solomon, the older brother they idolized, and dreaming about the brave knights they might one day become. But the sinister night had abruptly crucified that age of innocence and Elijah emerged a man—full of hate and intent on vengeance.

It seemed like an eternity had gone by, but he remembered every detail, every moment like an hour… the fear and confusion on Malaki’s face, his murderer’s stench and cold stare. He remembered his mother’s dead eyes desperately calling for help. The puddles and splashes of blood covering the walls and floor. The merciless destruction of Sara, the girl he’d loved his whole life.

Revenge was all he had lived for in the hundreds of years since he opened his eyes and raised his head from the cold stone floor of Rothber Castle. Some time during that terrible night he had been baptized in blood and birthed into immortality. His mind and body had solidified with clear and immutable purpose, though his soul had been crushed in its wake. His soulless geste was cold and cynical; everything pure and sacred was dead. All that remained was a hard and implacable shell, an unyielding carapace—immortal, and fully sustained by hate. Nearly a millennium of blood, lust, and dreams of revenge hadn’t been enough to sway his purpose or dull his passion.

A great abyss separated Elijah from his human capacity for love, respect, and peace of mind. The mortals with whom he interacted were mere keys on a piano, striking the strings that dulled his senses and eased his pain.

He was a dead man walking.

Elijah – The Abyss

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He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.

Beyond Good and Evil,

Aphorism 146 (1886). Friedrich Nietzsche

Chapter 1

Noooo! Elijah, help meeeee!

Elijah was jolted from his dream of playing childhood games with his beloved Sara by his little brother’s shrill cries. His pulse thundered as Malaki continued screaming his name.

Lunging to his feet, his eyes still bleary with sleep, he sprinted to the stairwell. Beneath the faint, flickering yellow light of the rushes on the wall, Elijah watched in horror as a burly man descended the stairs with little Malaki thrown carelessly over his massive shoulder.

Elijah was disoriented from his sudden trepidation, and the dim light was making it worse. Rushing forward, he didn’t notice until it was too late that the usually cold, dry floor was now warm and wet. And just as a horrible stench made him gag, his bare feet skidded on the steps, and in the flicker of rushlight Elijah saw they were saturated with a blanket of red.

His shoulder struck the edge of the wooden banister and numbed his arm, making it impossible to catch himself when he tumbled backwards and hit the whetted edge of every stair as he fell to the bottom.

He landed on his aching back, and his eyes fell on a gruesome sight only inches from his face, one so dreadful his mind refused to accept what his eyes were seeing. A surge of horror exploded in his chest.

His mother’s body lay on the stone floor next to him. She was naked, and nearly every inch of her was covered in blood. Her dead eyes were still crying out for help; her face was frozen and distorted with terror. Her chest had been completely ripped open, the wound too hideous to comprehend, and Elijah’s stomach roiled as he gagged again on the stench of blood and death.

Elijah! Malaki’s shriek jerked Elijah’s attention up and away from the horror lying beside him.

The stranger handed his little brother over to a second man. Dressed in dark robes, the second man’s silver hair hung unkempt from his forehead to his jaw, and a ragged beard covered the lower half of his face. He looked like he hadn’t bathed in months, and his putrid stench clouded the room. But when he turned with a struggling Malaki in his arms, Elijah recognized him immediately.

Father! The word was torn from his throat in accusation. His long-lost father’s arms were wrapped tightly around Malaki’s small body, holding him still almost effortlessly.

As soon as he heard Elijah’s exclamation, Malaki suddenly went limp. Elijah saw a flicker of hope in his little brother’s eyes. Until this moment, Malaki hadn’t known it was his father whose grasp was now so strong around his chest.

Malaki’s fear vanished as he realized he was right where he had longed to be, wrapped tightly in his father’s arms.

Elijah shot him a fiercely warning glance. This was not the father they had known all those years ago, and he didn’t want Malaki to give in to that seductive fiction, to believe this man meant him no harm.

Catching the powerful warning in his brother’s gaze, Malaki was brought back to reality. This man’s embrace was different. It wasn’t one of a loving father, but of a vicious stranger bent on causing harm.

What is happening? Where is Solomon? Elijah’s thoughts careened around his brain. He watched with utter disgust as the filthy man lifted Malaki’s head and pressed his lips against the soft warmth of the boy’s cheek. Malaki was innocent; he was sacred, and this defilement was too much. An unholy rage stirred within Elijah; he must end this now.

"Stop this debauchery. I will not let it continue." Elijah’s voice was quietly, intently venomous.

His father didn’t say a word. He just looked directly into Elijah’s eyes for a long moment. Then, without hesitation, he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, bit Malaki on the shoulder, and then snapped his neck.

Elijah’s mind and body blanked, frozen in disbelief. Then he was ripped back to painful awareness when he heard his little brother’s body hit the cold stone floor.

No! The word ripped from Elijah’s very soul. The pain nearly crippled him. What are you doing? Elijah shoved to his feet, bruised and bloody from the fall, his body protesting every movement. He searched his father’s eyes, but found no reason for this devastation, and saw no remorse.

Suddenly Solomon appeared in the doorway between Elijah and their father, and Elijah’s heart leapt with relief. Solomon’s enormous strength could certainly settle this score. Malaki had meant just as much to him, if not more. Elijah’s heart was still wrenched with sorrow over the loss of his little brother, but he found a bit of solace in knowing Solomon would surely make their father pay long and painfully.

He watched his big brother, waiting for him to act, but slowly realized he wasn’t looking at the great man he grew up admiring. The Solomon he knew would never have tolerated this and would not have hesitated to kill in restitution for what had just been done to their little brother.

But now Solomon’s face was sheepish, his eyes apologetic. Far from ferocious, his big brother looked broken—and afraid!

He’s killed Mother and Malaki! Elijah shouted, trying to yank Solomon out of his trance. But his older brother just stood there frozen; he did nothing.

Realizing Solomon’s many years at his father’s side must have made it impossible for him to act, Elijah quickly decided he would relieve his brother of this burden. Solomon had been older than he and Malaki when their father left, and their bond had been strong. Elijah had also loved their father, but the man before them now was not the man Elijah remembered. He was no longer their father.

A thought leapt into his mind. Solomon had just gone to see Sara. Solomon! Solomon! He yelled frantically, but his brother wouldn’t even look up. Just tell me Sara is safe, Elijah begged.

The evil his father had become laughed, but Solomon remained silent, hanging his head.

Panic sank in even deeper now. Solomon! he shouted again. Tell me!

Solomon barely looked up and shook his head slowly to the left and then to the right. Shame was smeared all over his face.

What have you done, Brother? Elijah screamed, overcome with grief.

Looking again towards Malaki’s frail, lifeless body sprawled at the feet of the monster, Elijah’s resolve hardened and his mind filled with rage.

His father stood silent; the look on his face was condescending. None of tonight’s events had disturbed him in the slightest.

Why? Elijah cried.

His father fished out a small pistachio nut from the satchel draped around his shoulder and pried it apart with his teeth. The cracked shell spewed from his mouth and landed in a pool of saliva just inches away from Malaki’s body. He still didn’t say a word.

Elijah glanced again at Solomon, who was still hanging his head, looking defeated, even submissive.

Anger and frustration stormed through Elijah, building rapidly to an explosion. He understood why it would be so difficult for Solomon to stand against their father, and he wouldn’t blame his brother.

This was his father’s doing. His father’s silence and impiety fed his anger as he stalked forward. I’m going to kill you! he shouted.

The need for retribution narrowed his focus to the man standing proudly over his little brother’s broken body. He could already feel his father’s neck crushing beneath his hands; he pictured it in his mind. As he continued forward, he glimpsed a large log hanging from Solomon’s capable hand and was elated and relieved to see Sol had finally regained his composure and was ready to help him.

Lunging for his father, Elijah spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Solomon; he was swinging the piece of wood like a club. It wasn’t until the wood crashed against his own temple and the cracking pain of the blow dropped him to his back that he grasped his brother’s betrayal.

As he lay on the ground, the liquid heat of blood and pain surged from his head and through his neck. He was more confused than ever. What had just happened?

Why? Why? The single word echoed through his mind while everything went black.

Chapter 2

Elijah awoke to the unusual feeling of cold stone on his back. Confused, he raised his head and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Then he sat up and slowly looked to his right and then to his left, his neck and back stiff and aching.

He could tell it was morning. The corner of the kitchen table glowed, as it did every morning, from sunlight shining through a small round window in the wall where he now rested his back. It looked almost like the sun had burned a small hole right through the wall.

His hands, which were still rubbing his face awake, suddenly became rigid as the horrible smell of guts and rotting flesh assaulted his nose.

A deep pain lanced through his heart as a hazy memory of his mother’s broken flesh flashed into his mind. After a moment of confusion, he slammed his hands hard against the floor and shot to his feet. Already spotting his mother’s legs on the other side of the table, he hurled himself forward, hoping that what he had seen was a nightmare.

But it was not a dream. The revolting stench of death and a sickening sense of betrayal swallowed him whole and dropped him to his knees. He looked again at his mother’s chest. She had been gutted, ripped wide from her bellybutton to her neck.

Why had they done this? Why the defilement and mutilation? Why leave me alive? Better to die than have to live the rest of my life haunted by this terrible sight.

Did they mean to leave me alive? Maybe they think I’m dead like Mali… Elijah suddenly remembered how his father’s strong hands had snapped his little brother’s neck. He quickly scrambled to his feet and began to search. But he couldn’t find Malaki anywhere. There was no lifeless little boy lying on the stone floor. A surge of hope gripped him. Could Malaki be alive?

Malaki! he shouted, racing through the corridors, through the servants’ quarters, and the storage room. Malaki! There was no reply, but he refused to give up hope, not yet. When he threw open the kitchen door, the cool morning breeze lashed against his cheeks. Malaki, can you hear me? Still no response. He was losing hope by the moment, but there was still one place to look.

Of course, he thought, racing back through the kitchen. Guilt raked at his spine as he leapt over his mother’s corpse like she was just another obstacle blocking his path, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside. There was no time to pay niceties to a corpse—Malaki could be lying hurt somewhere, and his mother would want Elijah to make that his first priority.

Continuing up the stairwell, he hoped with every step he would find his brother playing in one of the upstairs rooms. For a moment his mind flooded with a beautiful vision. He saw Malaki, as he had so many times before, hunkered down on the floor with a bit of charcoal and a tiny piece of parchment between his knees.

As he burst through the doorway at the end of the corridor, and into their empty bedroom, the last bit of hope and tenderness drained from his body. Falling to his knees, a crushing hopelessness squeezed his chest. He opened a dresser, pulled out a thin blade, and jammed its sharp point hard into his neck.

As the blade pierced agonizingly through his flesh, on the verge of delivering a mortal wound, he thought about what little effort it would take to penetrate his jugular and ease the throbbing in his throat and the unbearable pain in his belly. He wanted so much to shove just a little harder and thrust the blade through to the other side of his neck. His soul was dead and his will was broken. All he wanted was an end.

Just as he was about to set the blade to its bloody purpose, Elijah thought of his mother lying dead and bloodied at the bottom of the stairs. He thought of Malaki, his body no doubt lying broken in some gulley. And Sara. He didn’t want to imagine what horrors she had faced. If he died now, who would avenge this savagery? Who would exact the retribution his loved ones deserved? From where would vindication find its way?

As these questions rolled round in his head, his spirit was vexed. As much as he longed for death, there was no one else to deal out the vengeance and punishment that were owed. Avenging his family was his responsibility, and he knew he must see it through before reaching after the eternal peace he longed for.

Dropping the small and bloodied blade to the floor, he rose to his feet a different man—one with purpose, a single purpose. All he could feel now was rage, an unfamiliar feeling, but one he would come to know all too well. It would stay with him for ages to come.

Elijah couldn’t imagine why his betrayers had murdered his family, their family. The family they lived with and loved for so long. The children they had protected, their cherished wife and dear mother. But it no longer mattered. From this day forward, the hope of vengeance would be his only respite.

Chapter 3

Elijah rummaged through his mother’s room. He was looking for a decent piece of cloth to wrap her body. It didn’t make much difference at this point, but she deserved at least that much effort and much more. Eager to catch up to his father and brother, he moved quickly into his bedroom and grabbed the blanket his mother had made when Malaki was just born. It wasn’t the nicest piece, but it seemed fitting.

Elijah stretched out the woolen cloth on the kitchen floor. Sliding his arms beneath his mother’s shoulders and hips, he gently lifted her. The foul and musty odor of rotting flesh nearly knocked him over as he pulled her close to his chest and then laid her carefully in the middle of the outstretched fabric. He was horrified by her weight; she was far too easy to lift.

Did they remove all of her insides? The thought sickened him. What were they doing here last night? What did I miss? Why? The questions went on and on, but he knew they were pointless; there were no answers available, at least not right now.

As he wrapped her, he noticed a glint at her neck. It was the small, round metal pendant she had worn on a chain for as long as he could remember.

It was etched with a tiny inscription which read, Everything begins and ends with a will, and a purpose is only as strong as the will that propels it. Now spattered with blood, the pendant dangled just off her right shoulder. He gently pulled it from around her neck and gazed thoughtfully at it for a moment before fastening it around his own neck.

An elderly lady named Lilith lived just across the valley, in the old cottage Elijah had once called home. She had been the handmaiden of Lord Jeffrey’s mother. Having been Jeffrey’s wet nurse, his nanny, and his teacher, she had practically raised the man. She loved him as her own and greatly appreciated the help Elijah’s family had given in caring for him during his final months.

Once Jeffrey had sent William away, Lilith had been the only servant left to care for Jeffrey. Elijah’s mother had decided to give their old land and cottage to her when they moved into the castle.

Elijah carried his mother’s body along the worn path that wound alongside the stream and eventually led to the small patch of trees hiding Lilith’s tiny cottage from the main path. The familiar smell of pine greeted him as he cut between the trees. The old cottage appeared in the clearing, and his memories stirred at all the familiar sights and smells of his youth.

His mother’s small herb garden had grown ragged, but he could still detect the fresh thyme, dill, and basil tangled amidst the weeds. Nostalgia warmed his soul, but he had no tears left to cry. Elijah laid his mother’s wrapped body on a soft patch of grass next to the old garden. His body was surprisingly strong; the trip hadn’t strained his muscles, but his mind was weak with anguish.

Hearing him approach, the elderly woman came out to meet him.

What in God’s name has happened, child?

Elijah silently kneeled at his mother’s side and dropped forward, pressing his forehead into her shoulder.

Is this Esmeralda? The old lady’s body was strong and her senses were sharp, but any fool could see Elijah was wracked with grief.

There, there, child, everything’s gonna be all right. Some wounds never fully heal, and some losses will always be near to us, but it does get a little easier with time—you learn how to deal with it, how to move on.

The old woman had suffered much loss of her own and Elijah knew it, but that knowledge didn’t help him right now.

What happened, son? Where’s the rest—where are your brothers, I mean? As she asked, the old lady gently touched Elijah on the shoulder.

He remained silent; he had no idea what to say or where to begin. The entire night seemed surreal.

Well, bring her on in. I’ll put a blanket on the hearth and light some candles. You can lay her down and take whatever time you need to mourn your loss. Her tone was inviting; she was a kind and gentle soul.

Although he still couldn’t bring himself to speak, he was a bit comforted by Lilith’s kindness and warmth. He was grateful not to be alone. Picking up his mother’s body, Elijah followed the old woman through the open doorway and waited while she retrieved a thick woolen blanket from a small cupboard and carefully covered the hearth. He laid his mother’s corpse on the blanket while Lilith lit a few candles and placed them around her. The strong smell of incense filled the small room as she waved the smoke across Esmeralda’s body.

Sit down for a moment. Both her voice and hands were shaky as she pulled over a small wooden stool and shoved it towards Elijah. He dropped hard onto the stool and, putting his head into his hands, he rubbed his eyes vigorously.

Oh! Are you hurt son? Lilith quickly wet a rag and began rubbing vigorously at Elijah’s neck. There’s no wound, so it must have been your mother’s blood.

What? Elijah rubbed his fingers across his neck where he had jabbed the thin blade. Lilith was right, there was no wound. How is this possible? But his thoughts were quickly buried by the stench of his mother’s corpse that penetrated his nostrils and swamped his mind.

It was my father, and Solomon. Elijah finally offered hoarsely, after a long silence.

What do you mean? Are they okay? Lilith didn’t understand.

They killed her, and Malaki. Elijah declared while staring blankly at the floor.

Your father, William, and Solomon did this? Her voice rose sharply with shock. How? Why? Are you sure? She was staring at Elijah in disbelief.

I don’t know. Father just showed up last night, after I had gone to bed. I must have somehow slept through it when they killed Mother. Malaki’s screams woke me up. A large man was carrying him tossed over his shoulder and was running down the stairwell. I tried to rush down to help him, but the stairwell was covered with Mother’s blood. Before I could make it to the bottom step, I hit the banister and tumbled down the steps, ending up next to Mother’s mutilated corpse. He paused for a moment, overcome.

"I stood up just in time to see Father break Malaki’s neck with his bare hands, like it was nothing, like he was nothing. Elijah’s voice was steady now. Tears were streaming down his face, but he didn’t notice. I tried to get to Father. I wanted to kill him for what he had done, but Solomon cracked me on the head with a log and I must have been unconscious before I hit the floor." Elijah spoke while gently rubbing his neck in disbelief.

Your father and Solomon… well, I just can’t believe that. Your father is such a gentle man. And Solomon, well he’s just as fine a boy as I’ve ever met. Her tone was somewhat challenging. Elijah was sure she knew he was no liar, but he also knew his story didn’t make any sense. Still, she couldn’t ignore the lifeless body lying on her hearth.

Elijah rubbed his head and stared down at the floor. He didn’t say a word. He wasn’t even listening; he was lost.

We don’t have much time before your mother starts to stink. You’ll have to get her in the ground soon. She was being kind; the stench of dead flesh was already overtaking the sweet smell of burning incense and making it hard for Elijah to breathe.

There’s a large stone just up the hill, he said. It’s where we played as children and mother used to tell us stories. The old lady was already nodding before Elijah had finished speaking.

Yes, I think that would be perfect. You go put your mother to rest, and I’ll put on some supper. After you’ve eaten, I’ll help you clean off the rest of that blood, make you a bit more presentable.

No, thank you. I’ll be fine. Elijah didn’t feel hungry; he was still too upset to keep anything down. Besides, the old lady had done enough.

What’ll you do? she asked, seeming more curious than concerned.

I’m going to find them, and I need to hurry. Elijah gently swept his mother’s wrapped body up in his arms and headed for the door.

What’ll you do when you find them? she shouted as Elijah walked out the door.

I’m going to kill them. His grit and determination were growing by the moment. His hate grew with every step he took carrying his mother up the steep hill. He was no longer a man. He was a purpose, a cause; he had nothing else, and nothing else mattered.

Chapter 4

He dug a deep grave next to the stone and placed his mother inside as gently as he could. The smell of sod and wet dirt was comfortingly familiar. When he looked over at the huge pile of dirt, it seemed to be climbing its way to the top of the stone, the way he and his brothers used to. Their mother would sit on the stone and tell stories or sing songs while he and his brothers climbed all over her.

She told them wonderful tales of courage and love, heroes and villains, stories that had fired his imagination. He realized now they hadn’t just been stories. Now Elijah had seen villainy and known the deepest of evils, but he was no hero, nor did he want to be. He had no desire for justice or peace. He would not seek recompense or to balance the scales. Nothing could restore what had been taken. So he would bring punishment; he would bring balance; he would bring death.

A nice enough place. She loved it here. He knew his mother would have approved of her eternal home.

After filling in the grave, he said his tearful goodbyes and started walking. He knew he would never see this place again, nor did he want to. It was too late in the day to make it very far before dark, but he didn’t want to stay another night in this place, and oddly, he wasn’t at all tired from the digging.

A small stream stretched both east and west of the small cottage where he grew up. Sara still lived with her parents in a cottage much like the one he had known for so long. It was only about an hour’s walk through the dense forest, following the stream to the east. His steps were quick and light. He wasn’t running, but he moved with an ease and speed that astonished him.

He initially dismissed it as excitement, but he couldn’t explain it away when he saw the small cottage off in the distance in barely half the time it should have taken him to get there.

He could tell it was dark, but he could see with a startling acuity, much deeper into the night than ever before. Staring once again towards the cottage, he noticed something was different. Curiosity and concern set his feet in motion, and he took off at a full sprint. His feet pushed from the ground as if he were weightless; he launched himself forward with every step.

What is going on? How can I be moving this fast? He made it up the steep hill to the cottage with amazingly little effort; he wasn’t even breathing hard. He was barely even breathing at all, actually. Still, his body was stronger than ever! Am I losing my mind? Am I dying? He was frightened and exhilarated at the same time.

The far end of the cottage had been destroyed. The roof and logs were all in ashes, and only a pile of rocks remained. The smell of burnt wood and thatching filled the small clearing. There was also another smell, one Elijah didn’t recognize, but the sickening feeling that stole over him filled him with dread. When he rushed over to look at the destruction left behind, seared flesh and bone sticking from the ashes confirmed his horrified suspicion.

Sara! he exclaimed. Sara! There was no response. Dead silence. Though it had been buried deep, he had hoped his brother might somehow have been wrong, and she might still be alive. That hope was now completely crushed. Clearly she had died with the rest of her family.

Slumping to the ground, he leaned his back against what was left of the stone foundation and wept. Why would they do this to Sara and her family? It makes no sense!

He didn’t know how he could keep going after this, but as his thoughts drifted away from his precious Sara and towards his father and Solomon, hate drove him to his feet. Yes, hate would keep him moving towards his purpose.

He thought briefly about burying what he could find of the bodies in the house, but decided it wouldn’t make any difference. It would only slow him down. The only difference he could make now, for anyone, was to find and kill the ones responsible, those who remained of his family.

Chapter 5

Elijah had never been far from home. He knew there was a small town somewhere on the river to the east; he had been there with his father when he was younger. He couldn’t remember exactly how far the town was, only that it hadn’t taken more than a few days to get there. He didn’t know how yet, but he needed to stock up on some supplies.

Pushing himself up from the broken cottage wall Elijah thought he noticed movement coming from within, beneath the ash and rubble. Maneuvering closer, he spotted a foot sticking out from beneath some thatching. Sara? Could she be alive? His heart leapt as he climbed inside to investigate.

As he lifted the thatching he was aghast at what lay revealed at his feet. Sara wasn’t moving; her withered body looked like a corpse. Elijah kneeled down beside her and wiped the blood and ash-stained hair from her face. She was still beautiful.

Suddenly, a cloud of ash flew into the air as Sara’s body convulsed furiously. She heaved and coughed, and then her body became still once more. How can she still be alive? The thought sent Elijah into a panic; he had to keep her alive, but didn’t know how. Sliding his arms under her, he shoved to his feet, cradling her frail body as he rushed to the riverbank.

Desperate and unprepared, he tilted her head back and poured a handful of water down her throat. There was no response. Elijah searched for signs of life, but found none. She wasn’t breathing, and he couldn’t feel her heart beating.

Unsure of what to do next, he decided to carry her to town, hoping someone there would know what to do for her. It was dark, but Elijah felt there wasn’t much time. He still wasn’t tired, and he urgently needed to get help for Sara.

He ran as hard as he could, never getting tired or weak. He was impossibly fast. What had happened to him? What was the source of this new power? How long would he have it? He didn’t know, but thought his father might.

Elijah was still running towards town when Sara’s body suddenly convulsed again, jerking against his arms as she gasped for air. Looking down, he saw her eyes open for just a moment. His heart practically leapt out of his chest with joy. It was the first time he had seen her beautiful eyes in nearly three years, the first time since his father had decreed that Solomon would be the one to marry her.

He rushed to the nearest tree and placed her gently on the ground beneath it. He propped her head and back against a large, protruding knot. Her breathing was shallow, but pressing the side of his face against her chest, he could feel it gently rise and fall with each gasp for air. Thrilled, he ran back down the path and retrieved another handful of water from the river. This time, as he poured it into her mouth she gagged violently and spewed it back out. That worried him, and he found himself praying for the first time in years, and to gods he no longer believed in. Then he stopped, reminding himself that if the gods did exist, they had already forsaken him.

Sara. Sara. He spoke softly, but received no response. Although he was still unsure what to do, each breath she took was cause for hope. Elijah decided to let her rest awhile beneath the thick canopy of leaves that provided a bastion against the breaking dawn.

Hopefully she would regain consciousness soon. Elijah was anxious to learn exactly what had happened to her and how she was still alive. As the hours passed, he discovered that, although his body was now stronger than ever, his mind was beginning to drift and lose focus.

Perhaps it was a reaction to the tragedies of the past night and day, or something else he didn’t understand, but his mind was somehow undone. He decided to lie down next to Sara. The idea of getting some sleep comforted him, although he knew his gripping concern for Sara would probably make sleep impossible.

He lay there with his eyes closed for what seemed like hours. He thought about his entire life. But brutal images of his mother and Malaki continued to surface, even when he tried to concentrate on something pleasant. There were moments when the clouds seemed to part and he could see his mother’s beautiful face and hear her voice, but those images would soon fade and be replaced by the gruesome scene that had confronted him at the bottom of his stairwell.

Elijah had no idea how much time had gone by when he began to hear voices. Sitting up, he saw five men walking along the river path from the east. His only thought was to hide Sara; he feared what they might do to her.

But there was no time to conceal her, so he decided to try to draw them away. One of the men caught sight of him just as he stepped into the road.

Hey you, boy, what are you doing over there? As the man spoke, he lurched closer, lifting his chin belligerently and narrowing his eyes. The other men followed; they were all approaching fast. Elijah could now tell from their look and manner that their intentions were as vile as their stench.

Just headed to town for some supplies. Elijah smiled awkwardly, quickly shifting his eyes away from the man’s menacing stare.

Are you alone, boy? As the man spoke, he looked around, as if to see for himself.

Yes, I am. Elijah knew they were dangerous, but he didn’t have many options, and his anguish over all that had happened made him feel like he had little to lose.

Well, go ahead, empty your pockets. Hand over your silver. The man stepped closer and the others circled around Elijah. The leader was about Elijah’s height and was wearing all leather, except for a wool tunic.

His speech revealed a nasty set of teeth, some yellow, mostly black. He was perhaps the ugliest man Elijah had ever seen. His fat nose bulged inches from his face, and his long, greasy hair was knotted into patches. His men weren’t as ugly, but shared the same putrid stench.

I don’t think I will. Elijah’s voice was nearly a whisper. He had no silver, but his anger and frustration had reached a boiling point, driving him to taunt the small drove of bandits. Elijah carried no bag, and his clothes were nearly rags. What could they possibly expect to find?

You are on your way to get supplies, so you must have some silver. Now give it to me, boy! He hauled out a knife as the two men behind Elijah grabbed him by the arms and pressed firmly against his shoulders. Elijah didn’t resist. I’ll just gut you and take it myself. Spittle flew into Elijah’s eyes and mouth as the man bawled out his threats.

The men surrounding him now smelled even worse than their leader looked. Elijah could barely force himself to breathe. He thought he might be killed if he struggled, and worried what would become of Sara if he did. Still, his hate drove him on, and he decided to fight anyway. It was selfish and baneful men like these who had just ruined his life. As the man in front thrust his knife forward, Elijah instinctively jerked his right arm free. The man who had been holding it was flung into a tree rooted a few feet from the path.

Elijah’s power still surprised him and, what was even more surprising, these men now seemed to be moving in slow motion. It took little effort to quickly redirect the thug’s knife and shove it straight through his throat. The two men standing beside the knifed man drew swords.

Elijah grabbed the man to his left by the throat and crushed it with ease. Then, as Elijah threw him forward, his flailing body knocked over the man who still stood before him. That man fell hard on his back as the dead man crashed against his chest.

Elijah remembered there was a fifth man behind him and turned quickly, but was met with a sword. The bandit thrust hard, and the sword sank deep into Elijah’s abdomen. The other two men had risen to their feet and stood proudly above the seemingly defeated Elijah.

The three men watched and laughed as Elijah fell to his knees groaning. The men stood there jeering as one man spat on him and another kicked him in the side. Elijah was sure he was dead, but then, after the initial shock wore off, he began