Ethan’s story astonished both Captain Bonifast and Gideon.
“The demons seemed to be trying to protect the Anakims from me,” he said. It felt awkward to suggest anyone would be afraid of a fourteen-year-old farm boy, but the facts still stood. “The demons hemmed me in and blocked my way of escape. When I realized these giants intended to fight for Mordred, I knew I had to destroy them somehow. So, I cut through the hull and let the water do the rest while I came back to the Maelstrom.”
“That’s when I saw you reappear on the deck?” Gideon said.
“Yes, but as soon as I came back to the physical world, I felt too weak to even stand,” Ethan explained.
Bonifast scratched the black whiskers on his chin. “Perhaps this going from one plane of existence to another requires more effort than you think,” he suggested. Ethan had been expecting the captain to laugh him to scorn and declare him a lunatic. But he appeared to take the truth in stride.
“You mean you actually believe me?” Ethan asked.
“I knew it wasn’t my gunnery crews that did it,” he said matter-of-factly. Bonifast leaned back in his chair with one arm draped over the back. “Besides, Ethan, I know there are many things which the Almighty does in this world that I can neither explain nor deny. Let’s just say I’ve learned enough in my time to know when the hand of Shaddai is moving.”
Ethan smiled. Captain Levi Bonifast, ex-pirate, was clearly a man of great faith. Someone knocked on the door. “Come in, Cook,” Bonifast said.
The ship’s cook entered the room with a wooden serving cart. On top of the cart sat a covered platter made of pure silver. The cook rolled it over to the head of the table, where the captain sat, and lifted the domed cover. Underneath, sat a roasted suckling pig. The flesh had been glazed with a rich sauce and smelled absolutely mouth watering.
When Bonifast, Gideon, and Ethan had been served, Cook left the room. The captain stuffed a hearty bite of roast pork into his mouth. He had to shut his eyes, savoring the sweet smoky flavor. “That Cook,” he mused, “I wouldn’t trade him for ten chests full of treasure.”
Ethan and Gideon laughed before tasting the delicate, sweet meat. Bonifast looked thoughtfully at Ethan as he chewed. “Ethan, I don’t want you to share anything about your gifts with the other members of my crew. They’re a superstitious lot, and I don’t want to distract them from their duties. We’ll be going into battle in two days and I need them to have their wits about them.”
“I understand, sir,” Ethan said.
Bonifast smiled and grabbed his glass of fruit drink, holding it aloft. “Well then, let’s toast to young Ethan’s conquest. May we enjoy many others like it!”
Ethan and Gideon lifted their glasses to join the toast. It felt good to enjoy a moment of levity, allowing the pressures of the situation to melt away. They all knew the war would return for them, in the morning.
EVIL REPORT
The demon, Jericho, sat hunched on his feet upon the very edge of the highest tower of the king’s palace in the city of Emmanuel. He perched like a gargoyle as still and cold as the white stone beneath his feet. His unblinking eyes, with their ring of yellow iris surrounding a deep pool of black, watched the training maneuvers on the green fields hundreds of feet below.
Thousands of men toiled with swords, staffs, axes, and spears in preparation for the coming army of King Stephen of Wayland. Archers, by the hundreds, ringed the inside of the white granite walls on either side of the palace. They shot at rectangular, straw targets with pictures of men painted upon them-training to kill.
Jericho watched as demons under his command moved unseen among the ranks of soldiers. They were there to foment hatred in the hearts of Mordred’s men, to make them fiercer than they could have been alone. Everything proceeded according to plan-his plan.
The demon turned his gaze downward where Mordred also watched the soldiers from a balcony overlooking the courtyards. When Jericho watched the conqueror, he did not look upon him with love. As far as he was concerned, man deserved no more than his contempt. Even the Wraith Riders, created by demons, were viewed by these fallen angels as mere tools-useful, but still of the low race of men.
Mordred lived under the misguided assumption he was in control of the demons working with him. Jericho knew this well. He had been the very one who had misguided that assumption, supporting it with every bow and scrape of feigned obeisance to Lord Mordred.
A means to an end, he always told himself. Mordred and his kind were a means to the subordination of the human race and the ascension of the fallen to the heights of supremacy. As it should be, he mused.
There came a flicker of darkness. Jericho did not need to see it. The proximity of spiritual beings always brought about a tingling sensation in his body. The flicker grew as another demon approached very fast from the west, over the Azure Sea. He sped toward the palace on dark wings with soiled feathers reflecting their fallen nature.
The demon landed near Jericho and immediately knelt in his presence. Jericho did not remove his gaze from Mordred, neither did his body stir in the slightest. “My lord, Jericho, I bring news of Wayland’s army and from our ships at Sea.”
“And what news of our noble King Stephen?” Jericho said, continuing to look out upon the courtyards.
“Stephen makes progress with the aid of the villages in the north. His army is three thousand strong and growing as they make conscripts of the Nodian villages along the way. He should arrive within two days time.”
“Stephen is a fool,” Jericho said. “He should realize he cannot hope to take this city. By the way, have you been able to get through yet?”
“No, my lord,” the demon said. “The Host of Shaddai is still guarding Stephen’s army.”
“No matter,” Jericho spat. “He doesn’t usually allow his servants to interfere with human affairs. They may escort them, but it is only to Stephen’s doom.”
The demon continued to stand there. “Was there something else?” Jericho asked.
“Yes, my lord. News from the Azure Sea.”
“When will the Anakims arrive?”
“There has been a problem, my lord. The first slaver, scheduled to arrive, has been destroyed.”
Jericho closed his eyes slowly and sighed. “By whom-that rabble of pirates parading around as Stephen’s navy?”
“No, my lord, it was Shaddai’s Deliverer,” the demon said.
Now Jericho stirred. He shot to his feet, furious. “The Deliverer? How could he destroy one of our ships?”
“Apparently, sir, he is swiftly gaining control of his power. The boy entered the spiritual plane and found the Anakims in the cargo hold. A battle ensued and the boy damaged the hull and spine of the ship before escaping. It broke apart shortly after in the storm.”
“And the Anakims?” he asked.
“At the bottom of the sea, my lord.”
Jericho fumed. He held his hands behind his back, considering the situation. “So, even with hundreds of our kind onboard that ship, the Deliverer managed not only to sink it but also elude capture?”
“Apparently, my lord.”
“Apparently, I am surrounded by incompetence,” Jericho said. “Deliverer, or no, I want this boy found and killed immediately. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord, very clearly.” He turned and shot away from the roof of the palace tower, leaving Jericho alone to simmer. This Deliverer is growing more dangerous to our plans everyday, he thought. Whatever powers Shaddai has given him, it seems unlikely that a showdown is going to stop him. Subtlety is required here-discouragement, despair, and betrayal might be powerful tools in this situation.
Jericho looked back at Mordred. The warlord had just called Jericho by his name with the ancient word for summoning. He would have to feign his allegiance yet again and subordinate to the king.