Shadow of Hope (4 page)

Chapter: Three

The woman made a beeline straight down Milwaukee Avenue, screaming and attempting to draw attention to herself and, Lucian presumed, the fact she was being chased. The foot traf
fic was light…for the time being. He needed to cut her off before she got into the more densely fronted business areas, but she was outpacing him on fear alone. If he could keep her in line-of-sight, and make her focus on his pursuit, he hoped she would be too frazzled to attempt ducking into any of the establishments she passed.

He put on another burst of speed, closing the distance between them. As he hoped, she kept looking over her shoulder and then continued screaming and trying to attract attention. This was definitely not how Lucian planned to spend his day.

He cursed himself as he ran. One time, ages ago, he was a shadow among men. Now the powers granted him by Aries, no less the ability to pass his soul down from incarnation to incarnation, had made him less wary and more complacent to rely on a source of power beyond his own ken. Now he would pay the price for such complacency. Aries was fond of the bold spirited, but
not
the incompetent. This mistake would be sorely punished, of that he was sure.

She zigged and he zagged as she rounded a corner. He came out where she would have had to have emerged, but saw nothing or no one nearby. She
should
have been there somewhere. She was not some mysterious Nymph who could prank others and vanish at will. She was flesh and blood, and as such,
she was
there somewhere. He paced up and down the block three more times. Nothing. He would have to report this folly to Aries, a thought which did not imbue him with much hope at present.

****

Evan laid Zoe on a beat up old couch in the gym. He grabbed the canvas backpack he had set down when he was locking the gym up before the…witch…smashed into him. She’d hardly unbalanced him, but Evan did note there was some firmness to her supple form. Perhaps he could train her to defend herself, and he wouldn’t have to waste time watching her from the shadows, leaving him to do something
useful
with his life for a change.

He plopped in a matching lounge chair and pulled out an old leather-bound book. He looked up at Zoe’s sleeping form. Her breathing was regular, deep and full. Her long brown hair hung loosely over her closed eyes. Her plump lips looked pouty to Evan, like those of a spoiled little
two-year-old, but more womanly, almost luscious.
How many men have you enticed to damnation with those accursed lips, witch?

He found himself wondering why he had taken the Knight’s Mantle to begin with. The
Templars were dead an institution whose glory was now relegated to the days of fairy tales and dragons. It’s not like it was a glorious calling in this day and age. In fact, his father had denied the Legacy altogether, distancing himself from
his
father, Evan’s grandfather, who was full-blooded Templar from start to finish.

Gramps had always been like a
fully-fledged hero when Evan was growing up. He told Evan and his sisters, Missy and Sarah, tales of the Old Days, when the Templars fought evil and protected the innocent. Evan always wanted to take up the Red Cross as his herald.

But his father had far different ideas. Especially after Missy died in a car wreck and Sarah had been kidnapped two years later. Evan knew he would never see either of them ever again.

Father should have lost faith, but he found a new faith. One similar to, but more undisciplined than what the Templars adhered to, The Faith of Forgiveness. The Templars were the Sword of the Church, but this doctrine of Christ had no place in a Templar household. This only furthered the expanding gulf between Evan’s father and his grandfather.

Evan’s father tried making him go to seminary instead. He said if Evan did so with open eyes, he would see the
world as God did, a world full of suffering sinners who needed the love of Christ to make them whole again. Evan refused. It seemed to be the one thing his father couldn’t forgive, causing a rift between father and son, Generation 2.0.

Gramps took Evan and secreted him away, which was the nail in the coffin. Gramps raised Evan in the ways of the
Templars. He trained him in the fighting arts, matters of spiritual warfare, cleansing himself and purging evil from others with the Edge of God, Evan’s five-foot, two-handed, long sword. Gramps trained him to use it one handed, should the need ever arise in the field of battle.

The battlefield is never kind to handicaps, Evan
;
he told him. He trained him to fight under every possible adversity and condition which could be imagined: without air, while partially immobilized, under duress of immolation, fatigued, starving…any real life scenario that could be staged with psychological stressors associated with field combat. They had a name for it now; simulated battlefield training.

Just like her father,
Evan mused. For over a decade now, he alone has watched her, ever since his grandfather passed onto the Crypts of the Ancients. He knew of her mother’s car accident, her grandmother’s mysterious death before that and her father’s estrangement from her. And now
they
were moving against her and he had to intervene. He was bound, above all else in this one regard. He opened the book to a well-worn passage. The pages had yellowed with time, but there was a particular preservative used by the Templars to keep it through the ages. Evan knew not where the process originated, only that it involved beeswax and other natural ingredients.

The Edge of God hung over his head on a decorative mantelpiece placed above his
chair serving as his reading chair.  This, his only concession to ornamentation in his entire life. The sword had served well, but was obsolete in an age of C&C permits covering most any type of handgun and knife, but ironically, not five-foot swords.
Okay,
Evan thought looking up at his sword.
Maybe less conceal and more carry would have been a better law.

Evan
despised
those who fought by underhanded treachery. A man should be willing to face his enemy and watch the life drain from his eyes as he destroyed his very body. Only a coward could do less than that.

He returned his attention to the book lying open in his lap.

Sir Rhodan fought for his life. His body riddled with arrows from the dark cloaked sorcerers, left for dead by the side of the road, he contemplated his warrior’s death.

     His ponderings were interrupted by a strange glowing light. Before him appeared a beautiful woman with dark hair. She knelt beside him. “It’s almost over, misguided one.”

    
Her utterances were soft, her voice melodious, and the words themselves confusing. Rhodan was not ‘lost’. He was one of God’s chosen warriors, the Knights Templar.

     “Are you an angel?
” he asked her. “Please grant me absolution.”

     She shook her head, and her eyes seemed sad. “I am called Mother Earth by many. I am the Goddess Gaia.”

     Rhodan gripped his sword and strained to lift it. “Demon!”

     The woman, this Gaia, snorted. “How many shall fall to the ignorant new teachings? The Old Ways are here for a reason. I am just another face on something far greater than human understanding.”

     Her words confused him, and made him angry. “No. There is one God, and He alone deserves our worship.”

     “Silly child
, I ask not for your worship nor your faith. However, I am willing to heal you, in return for a favor.”

     Rhodan spat blood upon the ground. “No. I will die free from sin.”

     Gaia’s eyes fixed him with a hard, piercing stare. She pulled out a portrait of a woman. “Do you think it sin to save her life from those who would take it?”

     Rhodan blinked. Dry blood flaked from his eyes. His vision blurred, but not so much that he could not make out the woman’s features. She was beautiful. “You seek to divide my loyalties.”

     Gaia’s voice softened. “I seek to save a life. The life of my own flesh and blood.”

     Rhodan’s eyes widened. “You have known mortal man? No good can come of such a consummation.”

     The woman gripped his neck and raised his head. By God how it hurt. She shoved the portrait in his face. “Then you vouch for her very damnation? Who are you to so easily grant life and death of the soul?”

       The question caught him off guard. It should be an easy answer. One his mind knew clearly from the very days of his youth. Yet his heart found the answer more difficult than that
, more elusive. In the end, he asked himself what right he had to pass such judgment.

     “You cannot answer, or will not. Your wisdom sees past the seeds of your bias. Your heart is good, and noble. I believe you will make the right decision.”

     “Only God can see into a man’s heart. How would you know the condition of mine?”

     Gaia smiled. “It’s a gift I have
, perhaps given by your own god for precisely this moment in time.”

     The darkness closed in, but Sir Rhodan was not afraid. He coughed up more blood, and his pierced ribs sent searing shards of pain through his sides. He prayed to his god for absolution.

     YOU WILL HELP HER MY SON.

     But my lord, she is of the enemy.

     SHE IS MY CHILD, AS ARE ALL WHO LIVE UPON THIS EARTH. YOU HAVE A CHANCE TO SEE WHAT YOUR BROTHERS CANNOT. THEY ARE GOVERNED BY HONOR, BUT LACK VISION. SEE HER AS I SEE HER; NOT A GODDESS SET AGAINST MY THRONE, BUT A MOTHER CRYING OUT FOR HER CHILD.

     Sir Rhodan was blinded by a flash, and before him stood a woman in peasant’s attire, on her knees, her hands clasped and tears running down her eyes as she prayed for the safety of her daughter.

     Very well, my Lord, for your word, I shall help her.

     He raised his head towards her, meeting her gaze, and seeing her different than before. Still very beautiful, but her eyes were now puffy and red from crying. The gentle hands of a mother now cupped his
head. “You have my oath, my Lady. I swear on my God’s honor I shall protect your daughter with my life and sword.”

     He saw doubt and surprise fighting in her eyes,
she smiled. “Thank you.”

     Her hands glowed, and his pains left on that very instant.
Weariness succumbed to intense vigor, and his heart was lifted as of a millstone’s burden. He stood, but the woman was already fading from his sight. “She is in a cabin on the outskirts of the woods. Go to her, protect her.”

     Sir Rhodan raised his blade and saluted. “Godspeed my
Lady and well met.”

     He turned and ventured in the direction of the cabin. His promise would not die with him, but be passed on
to his heirs, as long as Gaia’s descendants needed a sword to be their shield.

     He looked at Zoe’s slender form, as she lay unconscious on the couch.
Curse you, Sir Rhodan. Curse you for damning your entire lineage.

Chapter: Four

Her name was Lyssa. As Lucian supped at an out-of-the-way alehouse, the serving girl caught his eye. Apparently, he also caught hers. Whenever he was around, he frequented the establishment to see her.

As they got to know each other better, Lucian pondered a life besides one of servitude to Aries. One night they lay under the stars, talking about the life that could be theirs.
Lucian could see himself spending eternity just like this.

Lucian awoke to rough leather digging into his back repeatedly. Aries was waking him for the morning exercises the gentlest way he knew how; with several solidly placed kicks.

“Awaken, dog. I have a gift for you.”

Lucian struggled to his feet, wiping the slumber from his eyes. Aries pointed to an Ash behind him, one which Lucian meditated under frequently. The one under which him and Lyssa would spend great amounts of time talking while Aries was off waging wars in other countries and provinces.

As he turned, the hope flooding his soul quickly turned to dread. Hanging on the tree, crucified, was Lyssa’s body, headless. Lucian turned to his master, enraged. He pulled his knife and threw every attack and strike he could muster at his master. Aries sidestepped or dodged them all. As Lucian came in with an overhanded swing, Aries swept his legs out from under him, causing him to fall onto his face. Aries pushed his face into the ground and stabbed the knife downwards with a violent thrust. The blade slashed Lucian’s cheek and embedded in the earth next to him. Aries knelt and yanked a fistful of Lucian’s hair, raising Lucian’s head to meet his gaze. Pain flared in Lucian’s skull as the tendrils of hair in Aries’ fist were stretched to almost their breaking point. Some, in fact, were as they tore freely from Lucian’s head. “The humans have a saying. I believe it goes like this; never bite the hand that feeds you.”

Aries dropped Lyssa’s head in front of Lucian. “A reminder
, I was gentle this time. Those who serve War cannot divide their loyalties. Others have paid a far greater price for their…indiscretions…than this. Don’t ever cross me again, Lucian. You will not like the result.”

It was from that day on that Lucian realized he had condemned his soul to a living hell.

****

“Forgive me, Master. I have failed.” Lucian knelt on the dust caked concrete floor of the old printing warehouse. Dim light entered the barred windows, casting ghoulish fingers dancing on the darkness within. Sheaves of yellowed paper rustled with crisp protest under Aries approaching boots.

Though he couldn’t see it with his head bowed, Lucian caught the raw stench of well-used horsehide.
The Cat then,
he thought with distant approval. He earned this. He failed his Master, and the punishment should fit the offense.

“Lucian, I fear you have grown soft in this new age. Make no mistake. I’ve never been a big fan of your mother’s underhanded method of fighting. A man should savor the joy of watching another’s life flee from his dying body.

But your tricks and subtlety have proven their worth when the need so arises. But even in this, tonight, you have failed me. I ask you to steal a trinket from a twenty-odd year old Vet Tech. And you let her escape. Remove your shirt and coat.”

Lucian did as he was commanded, exposing lean, corded muscle with all manner of scar tissue, burn marks and age old bruises. The musty scent of burlap reached his nostrils. Another scent beneath that-

The glass, nails, and razors of the Cat bit deep into his flesh, each element a whole new dimension of pain. The nails bit more lightly than the others, and left a cold sting where they penetrated his flesh. The glass cut swiftly, and he could feel the coarse bits edging the wound, like some insatiable rash, which could never be salved. Then the razors, which cut deep and slow and as they embedded in his skin, the initial sensation of cold quickly gave way to a searing heat as his torn tissues protested the violation of his flesh.

Lucian gritted his teeth and stifled his cries. Aries would
not
see his weakness. Weakness was shown to the more foolish gods who cared not for efficiency of strength. Aries would not,
could not
, tolerate weakness. It was not in his very nature to do so. Lucian would bear it out to the end without complaint or cry. It was what made him better, faster…
stronger.
And this strength would make him
immortal.

But this time, it didn’t stop there. After the lashings came a new burst of pain as Aries shuffled around with the musty scented item. He then threw crystalline fire at Lucian’s raw back. Grabbing handfuls of substance from the burlap bag,
Lucian figured Aries was throwing, shoving and pressing coarse salt into every open wound on Lucian’s back. Blood streamed from Lucian’s lips as he bit them to avoid crying out.

The pain saves us, Lucian,
Aries once told him.
By overpowering pain, we are indestructible.

And I
will
be indestructible,
Lucian repeated over and over again with each new burst of fiery torment. It was his mantra and he believed it with every fiber of his being.

Aries moved into Lucian’s line-of-sight and crouched down before him. He placed the butt of the Cat under Lucian’s chin and raised it until Lucian’s eyes met his
, much as he had that day so long ago. So long ago. “We will deal with Gaia’s trinket later. You need to start breaking the threshold. Am I understood?”

Lucian stared into Aries’ deep, dark eyes. “Yes, my Lord.”

Aries stood. “Do not fail me again, Lucian.
This
lesson was gentle chastisement indeed.” 

For all his discipline and understanding of what he went through, a slow, cold shudder coursed through Lucian’s frame
as he remembered the last time Aries was ‘gentle’.