Authors: S L Dearing
"Ian?
Can you and Kaley take Jerry and Liam back to the Keystone House?
I think they need a nap."
Ian nodded and stepped forward, taking his hands out of pockets.
Kaley tried to take one of them, but he reached for his cousins and Kaley felt as though she had been punched in the stomach.
They walked out of the hall and Kaley followed.
Alia motioned to Sean and Myron. They stepped forward and waited.
"Beverly, I leave you to uncover this mystery.
I think I'll let the dignitaries know what's going on.
How soon do you think we'll have those talismans ready?"
Beverly shrugged.
"Sometime tonight, maybe."
Evelyn Tran threw up her hands and let her face drop to the table, rocking it from side to side.
"My goodness, Evelyn.
Nothing was ever accomplished through being negative.
Come on, buck up."
Sean grabbed Brandon and Alia picked up Lisa and took Brian's hand as they walked slowly out of the hall, listening to Beverly rallying the troops.
41
Thomas Blaylock led his men west to an area once known as the Angeles Forest in the San Bernardino Mountains; back to the castle they called home.
As they rode through the heat, Blaylock wondered why they had been sent to kill the Catholics, not that he minded.
It had been several years since he had had that kind of fun.
In the past ten years, he and his men had been relegated to stay close to their castle and keep a low profile and they did, for the most part, with only a few exchanges in between, but he never knew why.
Blaylock had needed last night's recreation.
He felt calm and free now, just like he had right after the War when he had the run of the land.
Now he was a general, the leader of his men, all of them almost as depraved as he was.
He began to smile as he turned his thoughts back to the night before and the Catholic girl.
He reached to his leg and ran his fingers through long strands of hair that were attached to a sporran.
They were tied in knots around the metal ring, approximately eighty to a hundred different strips.
Most were faded and frayed with age and wear, but there was one that he continued to play with that was dark and new.
He smiled at the thought of her young body and pale flesh.
She wasn't more than sixteen and he knew she had never been touched.
He felt himself harden at the recollection of her screams.
Although he had told her not to fight, she had and he was glad of it. She had screamed and scratched, kicked and bitten.
The first time he entered her, her sharp cries resonated in his ears, making him even more excited at the thought of taking her precious innocence.
He didn't need an excuse, but that was when he let loose.
He could still feel the sting of his hand against her skin and the sticky wetness of her blood.
Her pain was exquisite.
She was bloody and disoriented at the end.
Barely breathing, but still full of fight after hours of violation, he could see it in her eyes.
He wasn't sure he could go as long as he did, but she was exciting.
He almost regretted killing her, but that final moment was more precious to him than anything and he closed his hands around her neck.
With each lunge into her, he closed his hands a little tighter.
Her breathing became more and more constricted.
She wheezed and gasped as her tiny hands pounded against his chest.
She had clawed at him and struggled for air.
In her last moments, she had dug deeply into his face and removed a good portion of his skin.
He smiled as he fondly touched his wounded cheek.
He leaned forward and pressed himself against the leather horn of his saddle.
He pictured her face, pale and blue, as she struggled for air, tiny gasps that grew less and less audible as his hands tightened around her throat.
She fought him to the last breath and then she was gone.
He watched her eyes go dark and vacant, still wet from her tears and remembered his release, which caused him to do so again.
He gripped the saddle horn and looked forward.
He reached to the hair again and smiled.
She had been one of the best.
"Excuse me, General?"
Blaylock turned around and saw a young recruit at his side.
He turned back with a frown, disturbed at being brought back to the long hot ride.
"Yes?"
"General, some of the prisoners are having trouble walking, Sir."
"And?"
"I wasn't sure if you still wanted them undamaged, Sir."
Blaylock smiled.
The kid wasn't stupid.
He looked back at the women and the priests who were walking behind several of his men.
Their hands were tied at the wrist and the other end of the rope was attached to a wagon carrying goods they had taken.
They had been traveling for about six hours through the desert.
The prisoners stumbled and barely caught themselves, knowing that a fall might cause them to be dragged.
Monsignor Klaus was haggard and looked to the bright sky, secretly praying for the Lord to spare the women any more violence.
He prayed for their rescue or release, and if that release would be death, then he was glad, at least they would be spared anymore suffering.
Father Leon silently cursed his own weakness.
He wanted nothing more than to be let go.
In his heart, he didn't care about the Monsignor or the women.
He stumbled and every so often cried, mostly at his pain, but sometimes at his cowardice.
Blaylock laughed at the weary individuals he had taken and turned back around.
He looked at the young recruit and then at his second in command, Gary Brollen.
"We'll rest then.
After all, they don't want them damaged."
Brollen held up his arm and the entire squad stopped.
He then looked at the recruit.
"It was your bright idea, so go and tell 'em why we're all stopped.
And tell 'em thirty minutes."
The soldier backed up and rode off.
Brollen sat silently next to Blaylock.
Gary Brollen had been a talent agent before the war and he had always had a sadistic tendency.
He had been at the top of his game and in peak physical shape when the bombing began.
A year into the War he had met Thomas Blaylock.
They fell into mayhem immediately, because like Blaylock, Brollen also had a taste for young girls.
Brollen was six foot five and reminiscent of a gladiator, muscles everywhere.
It was easy to see how he had once been very handsome, but now he was a mass of scars.
The most noticeable was on his face.
It started in the middle of his forehead and ran down the side of his nose and moved right across his cheek, in a deep jagged groove.
Then it abruptly cut left just before it hit his ear and ran down across his mouth, ending midway down his throat.
The white of the scar against his dark brown skin made it appear as if it glowed.
They both smiled and sat silently, staring at the mountain that lay before them.
A screech came from above and a falcon landed on Blaylock's shoulder.
It appeared to be smiling as well.
42
Justin Roberts and Stephan Merganser were sitting in Justin's quarters, listening to the streets.
"Brother Justin?"
"Yes?"
"I believe that Satan is trying to take hold of this village."
Justin turned his gaze to his co-president and sighed deeply.
"I'm inclined to agree with you, Brother Stephan.
The air is thick with his workings."
"What are we to do?
We cannot remove our people without offending the other dignitaries or Alia and her people.
Yet, if we were to publicly pray, we would break the rules of the Gathering and this village."
"I know.
I have asked God's counsel on this matter but I'm afraid that we must wait for Him to send a sign."
Justin rose and walked to the balcony door.
He looked outside and watched the bustling crowds enjoying the bright fall sun.
Justin thought about the glory that was Jesus and how His father had given them so much.
Although Alia and the majority of her people did not follow the teachings of Christ, Justin knew he had to do his utmost to protect them from the dark one.
In his heart, Stephan Merganser could only think of his boys.
Elian so confident and proud, ready to follow in the footsteps of his father.
But Stephan did not understand his youngest son.
Albion had always been quiet and never far from his mother.
When she was taken, a part of Albion was taken as well.
He had retreated into himself and Stephan didn't know how to reach him.
He was so deep in thought he hadn't heard Justin return to his chair.
"You seem preoccupied, Stephan.
What troubles you?"
Stephan shook his head.
"My children."
"They are fine young men, Stephan, strong in the ways of the Lord."
"Elian is yes, but I worry so about Albion.
He has never fully recovered from his mother's death, Justin.
He grows more silent every day and he pulls farther and farther away from me.
I fear he is being tempted."
"How do you mean?"
"I wonder if Satan isn't whispering in his ear, Justin, to do horrible things.
He spends so much time alone."
"He was only eleven when Anne was taken, My Friend.
Perhaps when you find a new wife, he will be better for it."
Stephan smiled and shook his head.
"And where would I find a new wife, Justin?"
Justin smiled and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms in front of him.
"There are many women who would gladly stand in line to be your wife, Old Friend."
"There are many good women of Crystal Shade, that is true."