Centuries ago, those six-hundred-and-sixty-six spirits had been woven by that black angel, securing Legion inside that gemstone. He was left there as a harbinger for what was to come, a dark seed waiting to take root in this new world and spread.
When he was finally freed from the gem, he attached himself to the creature who broke that stone. Leopold. Legion rooted himself deep into his new vessel, attaching himself to Leopold, taking possession, the two becoming one. The vessel was the pot from which he could grow into this world, spreading his branches far and wide, claiming others, branding them, enslaving them. And while his foothold in this world depended on Leopold living, he could still travel along those branches and control them from afar.
His duty was to open the way for his master’s return, to ready this world for its purification, when the vermin known as mankind would be purged out of this earthly garden. The dark angel had promised Legion this paradise, but before he could be awarded this prize, he must first complete his task.
And now he knew there were forces aligned against him.
That he also learned from the flickering flame inside him.
Legion did not fully understand that threat, but he recognized that his vessel fought to keep certain scraps hidden from him. Moments ago, he felt that flame of Leopold’s spirit flare brighter with shock, saw it shudder in the darkness, drawing his attention. From that smoke, he learned a name, put a face to it.
The Warrior of Man.
But not just that name. Others slipped free, too, as memories burned away to smoke.
The Knight of Christ.
The Woman of Learning.
Whispers of prophecy rose with that smoke, along with an image of a book written by the very Son of God. He studied that flame now, trying to learn more.
Who else stands in my way?
6
Talk about an exercise in futility…
With gritted teeth, Tommy shinnied up another couple of inches on the knotted rope that hung from the center of the gymnasium. Below his toes, his classmates yelled either words of encouragement or insults. He couldn’t really tell which from up there, especially past the pounding of his heart and gasping of his breath.
Not that it would matter anyway.
He had always hated gym, even before his cancer diagnosis. Uncoordinated and not particularly fast on his feet, he was usually picked last for most sports. He also quickly discovered that he would rather stay away from any ball than jump after it.
I mean what’s the point?
Only one activity truly interested him: climbing. He was actually good at it, and he liked the simplicity of it. It was all about him and the rope. Whenever he climbed, his worries and fears faded away.
Or at least most of them.
He clamped his knees on the rope and tugged up higher. Sweat trickled down his back. The weather was always warm in Santa Barbara, and almost always sunny. He liked that. After spending time in Russia and aboard an icebreaker in the Arctic, he never wanted to be that cold again.
Of course, after being frozen solid in an ice sculpture of an angel, anyone would appreciate the Southern California sunshine.
He stared up toward that sunshine now, where it flowed through a row of windows at the top of the gymnasium.
Almost there…
In another two yards, he should be able to touch the wire cages that protected the lights that hung from the ceiling. Touching the dusty wires was a badge of honor in the ninth-grade class, and he intended to reach them.
He stopped for a moment, readying himself for the last bit of the ascent. Lately, he got out of breath so easily. It was worrisome. Half a year ago, he had been touched by an angel… literally. Angelic blood had flowed through him, curing him of his cancer, strengthening him, even making him temporarily immortal. But that was gone, burned away in the sands of Egypt.
He was just an ordinary boy again.
And I plan to stay that way.
He hung for a moment, staring upward and taking a deep breath.
I can do this.
A sharper shout reached him from below. “That’s far enough! Come back down!”
That would be Martin Altman, Tommy’s only friend at the new school. He’d lost his old friends when he had moved in with his aunt and uncle. After Tommy’s parents had died, they were his only blood relatives.
He pushed that thought away before dark memories overwhelmed him. Glancing between his toes, he saw Martin staring up at him. His friend was tall and lanky, with long arms and legs. Martin was always ready with a corny joke, and laughter came easily out of him.
Of course, Martin’s parents hadn’t died in his arms.
Tommy felt a flare of anger at his friend, but he knew it came from a place of petty jealousy, so he stamped it back down. Still, the rope slipped between his sweaty palms. He clutched tighter.
Maybe Martin’s right.
A wave of dizziness further convinced him. He started back down, but everything grew steadily fuzzier. He struggled to hold on as he descended more rapidly, sliding now, burning his palms.
Whatever you do, don’t let—
Then he was falling. He stared up at the sunshine flowing through the windows above, remembering another time he had plummeted through the air. Then, he had been immortal.
Not so lucky today.
He slammed into the pile of mats at the base of the rope. Air burst from his chest. He gasped, trying to refill his lungs, but they refused to cooperate.
“Move!” shouted Mr. Lessing, the gym teacher.
Everything went gray — then he found his breath again. He heaved in great gulps of air, sounding like a hoarse seal.
His classmates stared down at him. Some were laughing, others looked concerned, especially Martin.
Mr. Lessing pushed through them. “You’re okay,” he said. “Just got the wind knocked out of you.”
Tommy fought to slow his breath. He wanted to sink through the floor. Especially when he spotted Lisa Ballantine’s face among the others. He liked her, and now he’d made a fool of himself.
He tried to sit up, tweaking a spike of pain up his bruised back.
“Go slow,” Mr. Lessing said, helping him to his feet, which only made Tommy’s face heat up even more.
Still, the room tilted a little, and he clutched the gym teacher’s arm. This day couldn’t get any worse.
Martin pointed to Tommy’s left hand. “Is that a rope burn?”
Tommy looked down. His palms certainly were red, but Martin pointed to a dark mark on the inside of his wrist.
“Let me see that,” Mr. Lessing said.
Tommy shook free and stumbled away, covering the blemish with his other hand. “Just a rope burn. Like Martin said.”
“Okay, then everyone clear out,” Mr. Lessing ordered. “Showers. Double time.”
Tommy hurried away. He was still light-headed, but it wasn’t from the fall. He kept the lesion covered. He didn’t want anyone else to know, especially not his aunt and uncle. He would keep it secret for as long as he could. While he didn’t understand what was happening, he knew one thing for sure.
No chemotherapy this time around.
He rubbed the spot on his wrist with his thumb, as if trying to erase it away, because he knew he was out of miracles.
His cancer was truly back.
Fear and despair welled through him. He wished he could speak to his mother or father, but that was impossible. Still, there was one person he could call, one person he could trust with his secret.