The Bringer shall be slain at the hands of the Thresher,
the prophecy stated. Perhaps Oblivion was enjoying proving it wrong.
“Poor, pathetic fool,” called out a voice that did not belong to Oblivion.
Devlin strode into view, and Oblivion momentarily paused in the thrashing he was giving to Payton. So, the old man had gotten free.
“Did you really think you could kill Death incarnate?” Devlin asked, striding toward them with a smug expression, hands clasped behind his back.
Payton laughed out loud. It was a sound of rebellion, of not giving in. He savored the moment and the way his laughter made both Devlin and Oblivion recoil slightly.
“I didn’t come here to kill him, you arrogant fool,” Payton replied through broken jaws, still laughing. “I came here . . . to take back . . . what doesn’t belong to him.”
His left hand was balled into a fist, but neither Oblivion nor Devlin had yet noticed what he held within it. With every last ounce of strength left, he summoned his speed one last time and burst forward, digging the Dominion Stone fragment he’d been hiding into the giant slash he’d made across Oblivion’s face, hoping against hope that the Stone would find some remnant of blood that still remained inside the body of Grant Borrows.
Alex, Daniel, and the others suddenly stopped. Their Rings vibrated and gave off a shimmering glow. “Did you feel that?” she asked.
“I did,” Daniel replied.
“It was like . . . it was like a surge . . . like something passing
through
me,” Alex explained. She looked around; the others nodded back. They’d all felt it, and though the sensation had passed, all of their Rings were still glowing.
Amiel Yishai was among them now, wearing one of the Rings of Dominion, along with many of his fellow cleanup workers. With the help of Amiel and Wilhelm, every unworn Ring had found a wearer among the good people of Jerusalem.
“This could be it, come on, we’ve got to hurry—” she said.
“Help me . . .” mumbled a new voice.
Alex spun. Stumbling toward them from behind a dying hedge was— “Fletcher!” she shouted.
He collapsed on the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head, his Ring illuminating the area where he lay.
“Hector!” Alex called.
Their round friend bounded his way to the spot where Fletcher had collapsed, and touched him gently on the cheek. Hector closed his eyes and concentrated.
Fletcher’s eyes fluttered, his cheeks filling with color again.
“Alex . . .” he said weakly, “I just—I got free. On my own.”
“No,” said Nora, “you had help.”
Alex stood to her feet and spun in place, taking in the sight of hundreds of bright lights that were shining like tiny stars, dotting the city in every direction. In fact, there were almost
three hundred
of the impossibly bright, shimmering lights . . .
Understanding washed over her at the sight, and her heart began beating faster . . .
“Look!” she cried, smiling and pointing at the lights. It was the first time she’d smiled since Grant died. “I’m guessing there’s no need for us to sneak around anymore.”
The others took in the sight, and as they did, Alex turned to her team. “Time to split up! Find them—all of them! And hurry! Oblivion will throw everything he’s got at us now!”
“I’ll go with Hector,” Daniel volunteered. “If I stay close, I can use his powers to heal, and two of us can work faster than one.”
Alex nodded, turning her attention now to the Old City as the group split and ran off in all directions, and to the storm overhead, which had grown increasingly turbulent and powerful. A torrent of blood rained upon them, but this time Alex smiled.
He did it.
“Looks like somebody’s not happy,” she said to herself with a rush of satisfaction.
Oblivion screamed. He howled and protested in an outraged fury, knowing pain for the first time in his existence. Every muscle within the body of Grant Borrows was clenched as Oblivion bore down and flung his arms as wide as they would go.
Lightning struck at the moment he stood outstretched that way, and the walls of the Citadel tore themselves apart as the ground shook even harder than before.
His true voice broke through the frail vocal cords of Grant Borrows and screeched and clawed and scratched at the fabric of existence until it was heard by every ear across all four corners of the globe.
So potent was the sound that it pierced the veil of reality, and for one single moment the scales fell from every human eye and the true nature of the universe was laid bare. The unearthly glimpse seen in that terrifying moment revealed an unseen world full of beautiful, powerful beings bathed in light, and shadowy creatures that skulked and slithered, drawn to the dark. Like a painting by Bosch, details of surfaces and crevices and devices unknown to man were suddenly everywhere, and there was far more to take in than any human eye could conceive.
Nowhere was this more evident than in Jerusalem, where countless numbers of these beings, both dark and light, were seen locked in an unimaginable battle. Swarms of them filled the skies and tromped across the lands. And everywhere there was a man, woman, or child, a small radius surrounding them held creatures of light and dark clashing against one another.
The moment passed as soon as it had come. Oblivion’s scream ended, the otherworldly vision faded, and once more all that could be seen was what was real and tangible in the mortal world.
Oblivion staggered, weakened by some conflict or reaction taking place within him. He forced himself upright and crushed the piece of Dominion Stone Payton had used on him into powder. But he broke it while Payton’s hand was still clinging to it, so Payton’s hand and all five fingers were crushed as well.
Oblivion flung Payton across the square one last time until the swordsman slammed into another wall, then fell limp onto the ground, face first. Their Rings both glowed, but Oblivion neither noticed nor stopped to investigate.
He had bigger concerns. Inside his head, all was suddenly, deafeningly quiet.
How was it possible?
This feeble human had severed his link with the army he’d called to himself. Those he’d wielded had vanished as if cloaked in the night. He could no longer hear their thoughts, see their movements, or command their actions. He had already dispatched the remaining members of the Secretum himself before entering Jerusalem; they were of no further use to him. They were gone, and now the Ringwearers were gone as well, and he was left utterly, thoroughly alone.
But then, he had always been alone. From the time before time began, he existed as no other could. No one could share this experience with him, no one but he in all the universe would know and appreciate what he was about to do with the intimacy and beauty and attention to detail that he would utilize.
They thought to cripple him with this maneuver. How poorly they understood him.
It was destiny that this happened. The Thresher had done this because it was meant to be. It suited Oblivion to do it this way. He needed no one’s help to fulfill his purpose, his design.
He would kill them all. Butcher them. Slaughter them. Annihilate them.
He alone.
H
OW DO
I
WANT THI S TO END
? Grant echoed the words in his mind.
“Can I go back?”
“There is no going back, not in the sense that you think of it. Another being has taken your place—a creature that does not belong in your world. This creature has caused tremendous harm and suffering, but there is still a chance to end his reign of destruction. You are the one person in all creation capable of ending it. You alone can send him back to where he came from.”
Grant swallowed this. It was a lot of information to take in, and yet . . . A part of him had known this was the case all along. Something tickled the back of his mind the moment he arrived here—wherever here was—and had remained there, tugging at his soul, telling him that the natural order of the world he’d left behind had been disrupted by something unimaginable. Something he had been inextricably linked to, in coming here.
“How do I set things right?”
“If I tell you this, Grant Borrows—if I explain to you how to rid your world of the creature that has been set loose upon it—then you will be committed to that path. And no matter what, you must see it completed. You cannot turn back once you know this one final truth.
“So I give you now a last chance to change your mind, to leave behind the suffering you have known all your life, to remain here, at last, and rest in eternal peace. The choice is yours, just as it has been always.”
“But neither option leads to an easy road, does it?”
“No. If you leave this place to stop the creature, pain and death will follow you. If you remain here, pain and death will be suffered by all the world, including those you know and care about.”
“You already know what choice I’m going to make, don’t you?”
“My prior knowledge of the outcome does not alter the fact that the choice is yours to make.”
“If I stay, will I be with my sister? And my mother?”
“You will.”
“But if I go back . . . Can I be with her? Can I be with Alex?”
“I cannot answer without revealing that which will commit you to this path. But I can tell you this: Regardless of your outcome, you can save her from a fate worse than death.”
Grant looked down, saddened by the thought that he might never be with Alex. But if he could save her . . .
The other man studied him thoughtfully. “Grant, a man named Harlan Evers once told you that when you first experience loss, it feels as though all of the magic goes out of the world. I understand these words better than you might imagine, but I think there might be a little magic left after all. The only question that matters is: Will you fight for it?”
“I don’t want to fight. I don’t like to fight. But this isn’t about what I want, it’s about—”
“It’s about what you’re willing to do.”
Familiar words. Grant had heard them before. So very familiar.
“Then I’ve made my choice.”
But wait . . .
“Wait! Before you tell me, before we do this . . . I have to know: Who am I, really? Am I Grant, or Collin? Am I the Bringer? Guardian?”
His companion smiled patiently. “Those terms are man’s limited means of trying to understand. I see things . . . differently. Like all others, I gave you your real name before I made you. And I alone know it. It is my name for you, and thus it is your one true name.”
Grant paused, gazing around again as if a fly were buzzing over his head. “Are you going to tell me my name?”
“Your name can only be given to you at the end of your mortal journey. But we both know you’re not ready to hear it yet.”
“But why did it have to be me? Why was I made the Bringer?” Grant said, the one question he had wanted to ask more than any other, passing through his lips at last.
“Because there is only one thing that you have ever wanted in your entire life, and it is not power, nor possessions, nor fame. All you have ever wanted, Grant Borrows, is to be loved. But understand—this desire does not make you unique. It does not set you apart, or make you ‘worthy’ or ‘chosen.’ What it makes you . . . is human.
“You are as ordinary as they come, and this fact alone makes you extraordinary. The Bringer was intended to be a man with a lust for power and a willingness to give in to his darkest temptations. These impulses would facilitate the task that was to be placed before him. You have your faults—a strong temper among them—but deep within, in spite of the many terrible circumstances life has heaped upon you, you are still a lost, lonely child who craves love above all else.
“So while the Secretum plotted for a cruel, vicious man to be born as the Bringer, I had other plans. And my plans will not be undone. Not even against seven thousand years of man’s cleverest schemes.
“Take heart, my child. The moment of truth is about to call for you. And if you answer it, you may yet find that there is one thing in this universe more powerful than death.”
“Great one!” Devlin called out. He had climbed to the top of the western edge of the Citadel, and was looking out upon western Jerusalem. “The enemy comes for you! You must end it, now!”
A collection of Jerusalem Stones tore themselves free from the Citadel and formed a slanted walkway from where Oblivion stood over to the western side of the Citadel. Oblivion stalked up the ramp slowly, appearing unconcerned by Devlin’s warning.
But the sight before him gave Devlin great pause. Because what he saw there shouldn’t have been possible.
Oblivion joined him, looking out over the ramparts, to see almost three hundred Rings glowing in the darkness. They were spread out in clumps on all sides of the Old City, converging on the Tower of David.
“Great one, you must unleash the whirlwind!” Devlin pleaded.
Oblivion’s eyeless face, his eye sockets burning with flames that grew in intensity by the second, turned slowly to lock onto Devlin’s. “Never presume to dictate actions to your better.”
Oblivion reached out a hand in Devlin’s direction, and Devlin was certain he was about to die, but the hand passed him by and stretched toward the minaret beyond him.
The tall cylindrical tower ripped itself free from the Citadel and, following the motions of Oblivion’s arm, flung itself in the direction of the approaching lights.
“What is that?” Fletcher asked, pointing to the sky.
Alex looked up. “Look out!” she cried.
She dove for the ground and took Fletcher down with her, rolling over onto her back to see the towering white object soaring down out of the sky straight onto them.
Just at the moment she expected it to crash into them, it stalled, about three feet off of the ground. It was more or less vertical, but wobbling and leaning like the Tower of Pisa, as if supported by a crucible that wasn’t stable.
Alex sat up. Ten feet to her right, Ethan stood, holding the base of the Tower with both hands underneath, like he was lifting a heavy box.