Chapter Ten

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Awakening, The Prophet

Moses dreamed of a dragon, and a sword. A shield and a breastplate. He dreamt of battles between magic and magic, between the free and the slaved. Moses dreamt of Sara, the Unloved. She came towards him, her front teeth growing into long thin fangs, her eyes contracting like a cat’s. Again and again he ran, but she kept coming.

“I am your bane, your dearth. Let me finish it Prophet, or things will turn out much worse, much worse.”

He fell, scrambling backwards, and the dragon came, burning all in it’s wake, including Sara.

Dreaming again, he was on the battlefield once more. A lone drum beat somewhere in the distance. He couldn’t hear the sound of the song within his head, or anywhere else. Moses came across a tall figure standing on a hill. A stone rolled down the hill, never stopping. By some trick of the mind, it continued rolling down the hill, over and over.

The figure watched him, a large hat adorning it’s head. Long hair rustled in the breeze.

“Moses.” The figure spoke, and it was the voice of the song. “You must go down. Tell Pharoah to let my people go.”

Sweat beaded his forehead as Moses pushed himself up from the pillow. He was in bed, within the room again. They had moved him from the torture chamber. He wasn’t in any pain.

Not much torturing went on.

Moses woke a little more.

The song.

Gone. Not even an echo. There was nothing. When he tried to listen harder, it hurt. As though pushing against an electric fence.

Perhaps not gone, but closed off.

Without the song Moses felt empty. It had been so present in his mind over the last few days.

Moses could barely remember the dreams that haunted his sleep. Something about a hill. And Sara.

The door opened and Sara stepped into the room, followed by the twins. She had changed. Her walking stick was in her hand, but no longer did she shake and limp.

My blood gave her something. Life. Health.

She didn’t speak to him at first, but stood watching. Finally, in a voice stronger than yesterday, she addressed Moses.

“Prophet. You know me now. Today the real pain begins. Your first blood has given me new life, new power. I am more than I was. Mutant. Magic. It is melded in me with your blood.”

Sara turned and walked out the door, nodding to the two giant-men.

Samson moved forward and stood beside him. It came to Moses, information from his memory, that Samson had a birthmark above his right eye. It was in the shape of a flame. It meant something important, but he was pulled to his feet and the thoughts scattered. Not roughly, but there was a strength behind the action that brooked no physical argument. Samson pointed to the door. Heracles led the way.

Instead of going further down towards the torture chamber from the previous night, they arrived into the throne room. Joshua King sat there but didn’t move. The twins continued walking, and shortly they came out into the sun. It was almost noon.

Moses wondered whether the twins felt the heat in their black suits, and thought probably not.

They walked to another small building, behind the house, which turned out to be a garage. Within it was no one, but three of the same black wagons he had seen on the day, yesterday it was, unless he had slept longer, when the older Mischa had come to his door.

There is too much parallel for this to be coincidence.

Heracles got into the driver’s seat, while Samson joined Moses in the middle row of seats. Sitting in the enclosed space, Moses was acutely aware of just how big the twins were.

The black wagon started, and they moved off. They travelled towards the center of the city. Towards the heart of Jericho. Jericho. So much had gone on there in the Jesse King stories. Sara had been all white and power in the last book. Bringing down many of the dark. The Sarvant was the only one who could stand before her. Jesse King saved her life. The Sarvant was defeated, presumed dead. And Sara had been joyous. There was John, a rebel. They were in love.

What happened? The city of Jericho was full of joy. What has happened?

Deep inside a small voice whispered to Moses. He knew what had happened. Jesse King was dead, or gone. Whether it was a writer’s bad plot twist, or something deeper, Jesse King was the key to peace and harmony within the lands. Moses had wanted it that way. The land was tied to King, and he was tied to the people. In the last book Jesse King had embraced the beginning of his destiny.

And his city was Jericho.

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