Chapter 24
Dikaios eyed the village, a collection of modest huts, some with angled thatched roofs, others with flat tops or domes of brown grass. Since most of them had been constructed with crudely sawn logs, it was easy to spot Flint’s home, the only brick-and-mortar structure in the area and the only one with a second floor. Positioned well away from the other homes and close to the water, apparently Flint felt himself superior to his neighbors.
Easing one hoof in front of the other, Dikaios crept toward Flint’s house, listening carefully. Someone chopped wood nearby, yet out of sight, and the breeze provided the usual background hum, but nothing else stirred. Why was no one around? Were they all inside their homes? Out hunting? Did they have children? If so, why were there no sounds of playing or laughter?
As he approached the wooden door, he let out a whinny, then blew through his flapping lips. Surely that would be enough to attract attention. Humans always had a strange habit of running toward a horse’s natural sounds when they didn’t expect such a noble creature to be in the area.
After several seconds with no response, he stomped a hoof on the hard dirt. What would it take to get Flint to notice? Maybe if he snorted, but he would resort to that only if he truly had to. That would be a rather rude way to make his presence known.
Finally, the door swung open, revealing Flint. Dressed in black trousers and a sparkling black tunic tied at the waist, he smiled. “Well, what do we have here? Did Abraham’s horse follow his scent?” He patted Dikaios on the nose. “This is an unexpected addition to our catch today, a fine stallion indeed.”
Now Dikaios wanted to snort. The typical pat on the nose. Such condescension! But at least Flint was a good judge of horseflesh. He scanned Flint for a weapon and spied a sheathed dagger fastened into his belt.
Flint touched Dikaios’s chest. “What happened here, boy? Did the muskrats try to have you for a meal?” He blew a shrill whistle into the air. “Windor! Come here!”
Within seconds, a skinny boy ran from around the house. Wiping sweat from his brow, he slowed as he approached, his head down. Wearing an animal-hide tunic and breeches ripped at the knees, he shivered in the cold wind.
“Have you finished chopping wood for the bonfire?”
“Yes,” came his weak voice in reply.
“Take this horse to the stalls and secure him. Give him a good bath and put salve on his wounds.” As he again set his fingers near Dikaios’s cuts, he smiled. “We will use Abraham’s horse for our wedding processional. With his coat decorated by the stripes of defeat, his presence will be poetic indeed.”
Windor stroked Dikaios’s mane. “Horse needs rest. Not carry you.”
“Did I ask your opinion?” Flint grabbed a shock of Windor’s hair and jerked his head up. “If you do what I say and care for him well, I’ll forget about what you did at the volcano.”
Windor gulped. “I … I saved life.”
Flint released him, then slapped his cheek with the back of his hand. The boy staggered back but held his tongue.
“Whether you saved my life or not,” Flint said, “you rebelled against me.” He pointed across a garden area toward the stalls. “There’s a rope over there. Get it and tie him securely.”
While Windor ran for the rope, Flint clutched a handful of Dikaios’s mane. Even though such a grip exemplified the worst kind of manners, just as it did when he grabbed the boy, Dikaios resisted the urge to break free. Better to play dumb and get all the information he could.
He peeked through the open doorway. Inside, Abraham sat on the floor with his hands in his lap, but they seemed unbound. Angel stood next to him, wearing a silky white dress that fell to her feet, simple, yet shimmering, and a garland of white flowers decorated her neatly braided hair. They both kept their gazes on the floor, apparently not paying attention to the horse watching from outside. A giant of a man sat against the back wall. Carrying a long spear, he stared at Abraham, but he seemed bored rather than menacing.
Dikaios blinked. So they’re planning a wedding. Could that be why the villagers had stowed away in their huts? They were probably making ready for a big event, maybe cooking or preparing their best clothes … if they had any best clothes. Judging from the state of the houses and Windor’s torn breeches, they seemed to be toiling in poverty.
He scanned the area for the two dragons. One trail of dragon tracks scarred a section of mud, ending abruptly near Flint’s house. Tilting his head to the side, he searched the sky, now decorated with puffy white clouds, too small to conceal a dragon for long, yet there was no sign of either of them. And where could the other Nephilim be? They, too, would have a hard time hiding in this village. Had they gone to the Valley of Shadows to gather their forces?
Windor returned with a rope and pushed a loop over Dikaios’s head. Now that he knew where Abraham and Angel were, Dikaios followed the boy obediently, loping along rather stupidly as many of the common horses did. As soon as the boy left him alone, he would go back and work out a rescue plan.
As Windor tied the other end of the rope to a corner fence post, Dikaios surveyed the other animals. Within the fenced area, pigs slept or wallowed, a rather foul-smelling lot, but what could he expect? They were pigs. A small herd of long-haired goats grazed in another fenced section, picking at the sparse grass within. A cow stood in one of four stalls, tied by the neck and eating some sort of green hay, its hindquarters facing him through the open door, not exactly the best view.
One stall lay empty. Perhaps its former resident had become dinner recently. A mule occupied stall number three, his handsome head facing out, but he looked bored and stupid, not exactly a good candidate for conversation. And some kind of four-legged animal stood behind the closed door of the fourth stall. Only the lower third of the creature’s legs were visible in the gap between the bottom of the door and the ground.
Lowering his head, Dikaios tried to get a better look. Could it be? Horse hooves? Whoever this was, his head should have been visible over the door. Maybe he was eating hay from a bin at the side of the stall. In any case, this horse had fine reddish-brown forelegs, obviously a superb runner. He would be of great help if he could be persuaded to aid their escape.
Clapping dirt off his hands, Windor nodded at Dikaios. “Tight. No run away.”
Dikaios blinked at the boy. With a welt growing on his dark cheek and a sad smile emerging on his dry lips, he seemed so pitiful. What would Flint do to the poor kid when a certain “fine stallion” escaped? This was a delicate matter, indeed.
“Good horse.” Windor patted Dikaios on the neck. “Get food.”
As soon as the boy left, Dikaios turned to the stall and let out a short whinny, a friendly greeting in horse language, or at least he thought so. It had been so long since he had used it.
The other horse’s head rose above the stall door, its ears perked. Chewing a mouthful of hay, it stared at Dikaios, its nostrils flaring.
Dikaios stared back. Could this be a mare? The look in her eyes would say so. He dipped his head in a polite sort of way and pawed the hardened mud beneath him. This also communicated friendliness … he hoped.
She just kept staring, neither frightened, nor amused.
Windor set an oaken bucket on the ground, half filled with some kind of grain. “River oats,” he said as he patted Dikaios again. “Back soon.”
Just as he turned, Dikaios grabbed his shirt with his teeth. Windor spun back around, laughing. “No go?” he asked, pulling away.
“I prefer that you stay for a moment,” Dikaios said.
Windor’s eyes grew wide, and his mouth fell open. The mare dropped her hay and kept her stare fixed on Dikaios.
“Close your mouth, Windor,” Dikaios said, keeping his voice low. “Such a gaping expression is unbecoming in a human.”
Windor’s mouth snapped shut.
“Good. I am sure you are aware of the prisoners Flint is holding. Is that correct?”
The boy nodded, his eyes still wide.
“And am I right in assuming that you are not fond of Flint?”
Again, he nodded.
“Excellent. Then if you will help me set those prisoners free, I will take you to Abraham’s village where you will be properly cared for.”
Windor swallowed hard. “Mother? Father?”
“I see,” Dikaios said. “Familial relations.” He looked at the various huts surrounding the garden, the closest of which lay about three horse leaps beyond the pigpen. “Where is your home?”
Windor pointed. “Chimney house.”
With a quick scan, Dikaios spotted the only house with a chimney. A thin curl of smoke rose from within. “If your parents are willing, we will carry everyone to safety.”
“We?” Windor asked.
“The mare looks strong enough to carry two. I will take whomever else I must. Do you think your parents will want to join us?”
He nodded. “But they at wedding.”
“Ah! The wedding. Where is it to take place?”
“Flint’s house.” Windor pointed that way. “In back.”
“Will the entire village attend?”
Windor shook his head. “Feast after.”
Dikaios scanned the area once again. “I have a warrior friend hiding in the marsh,” he explained, nodding in that direction. “But if I summon him too soon, I fear that our opportunity to spirit our friends and relations away by stealth will be gone. If not for the giant, I think the two of us could manage, but I have no idea yet how to avoid him.”
Windor pointed at himself. “I do.”
“Really? What is your idea?”
“You see.” Without another word, the boy dashed away toward his house.
Dikaios flattened his ears. The boy had left a bit too quickly. He could have loosened the knot and saved a lot of trouble. Still, what boy could be strong enough to tie a knot so tightly that a warrior horse couldn’t pry it loose?
As he reached toward the rope with his teeth, the mare blew through her lips. He raised his head and eyed her. Her expression seemed softer now as she continued staring at him over the stall door.
Dipping his head again, Dikaios spoke with a gentle tone. “Good lady, although I doubt that you can speak, your noble brow and sparkling eyes suggest that you possess a great deal of intelligence. Therefore, I am assuming that you understand spoken words. Am I correct?”
When she bobbed her head, her lower jaw hit the top of the door. She shook her mane and snorted, obviously annoyed at herself.
Dikaios suppressed a laugh and continued. “Will you assist us in the escape plan I outlined for the boy?”
Again she bobbed her head, this time backing away enough to protect her jaw.
“Very good.” Dikaios bit the knot at the fencepost and pulled. It was tight, indeed, far tighter than expected. No matter. He set his neck against the post and pushed the loop up over his head. Then, after sliding the stall latch open with his teeth, he bowed. “You are now free, my lady.”
The mare nudged the door with her head and trotted out. After circling back to Dikaios, she let out a little whinny.
Dikaios butted her gently. “Quiet, please, or you will alert your owners.”
She backed away, her ears pinned low, a clear sign of shame.
“I am not angry,” Dikaios said. “I am merely being cautious. I appreciate your enthusiasm, yet silence is of the utmost importance.”
Her ears perked up again, and she began prancing in place.
Dikaios chuckled inside. This young lady had a lot of spirit. “Since you seem ready to get started, may I suggest that you hide in the rushes just beyond the border channel? There you will find a human warrior named Valiant. He is very wise and will understand that I have sent you to him as a vessel to carry our escapees.”
The mare took a step closer and nuzzled him, cheek to cheek. Then, with a quick spin, she cantered toward the marsh, her tail swishing with her gait.
As he watched the muscular sorrel cross the shallow channel, Dikaios let out a low, “Hmmm.” Obviously she was smitten, but he couldn’t allow her emotions to get in the way of their mission. It was time for action.
Turning, he spotted Windor. The boy, his shoulders hunched and both hands carrying a steaming mug, disappeared around the corner of Flint’s house.
Dikaios trotted to the house, and as he circled toward the rear, he slowed. The sounds of human speech reached his ears. Halting at the back corner, he peeked around. Green grass covered the spacious backyard, hemmed in by a low wooden fence. A gate at the far end opened to the area beyond the fence, a muddy strip of land that bordered the marsh. There, a head-high pile of dried reeds lay next to a shorter pyramid of split wood. Beyond that, bulrushes and scrubby trees lined the swamp.
Flint walked toward the gate, followed by Abraham, Angel, Greevelow, and a stocky woman who seemed to have many of Greevelow’s features, a kind face, yet just as stoic. The giant stood at the house’s rear entrance, holding the spear at his side and sipping from the same mug Windor had carried.
Pointing at the ground, Flint spoke clearly and without emotion. “Then we will dismount the horse at this point.” He took Angel’s hand and guided her to his side. “And Father Abraham will stand in front of us and conduct the ceremony while Greevelow and Mantika watch as the two witnesses.”
Still dressed in her shimmering white gown, Angel held Flint’s hand loosely while the breeze flapped her hair and the flower garland, apparently woven into her locks tightly enough to keep it in place. In spite of the cold wind, she didn’t shake at all, though her garment seemed made only of multiple layers of thin silk. A slender belt of white satin encircled her waist and fastened a satin pouch at her side. She stared at the ground. Her lips moved, but if she said anything, Dikaios couldn’t hear her words.
Abraham stood at the spot Flint had indicated. “If you plan to follow the ways of the people on Earth, then do you have a ring to give her?” Although his voice seemed strong and lively, his drooping face and shoulders gave away his sadness.
“A ring?” Flint blinked at him. “Why a ring?”
Abraham drew a loop in the air with his finger. “Since a ring makes a circle, it is the symbol of an eternal bond. On Earth, the groom gives it to the bride as part of his vow.”
Flint looked at his own hand. “The only ring I have is the one you gave me years ago.”
“That will do.” Abraham held out his palm, still marred by his earlier wound. “May I?”
While keeping his narrowed eyes on Abraham, Flint slid off the ring. “I kept this, because I thought it might have some kind of power, but I now think it’s nothing more than gold metal and red glass.”
“Whether or not it has power, I cannot say. I have never seen it display any.” As soon as Flint laid the ring in his hand, Abraham enclosed it in his fist. “Shall I use the traditional Earth vows?”
“Yes. Of course.” He turned toward Angel and let his gaze move slowly from her head to her feet. “Everything will be as it is on the Earth.”
“I see.” Abraham paused for a moment before raising a finger. “I hope you realize that a vow of eternal fidelity includes a promise not to harm Angel in any way.”
Flint’s cheeks reddened. “That is not an issue. Once we are united, I will want to keep her safe. I cannot start a new race of free people without her.”
“That is agreeable.” Abraham’s features sagged further. “I assume, then, that we should proceed.”
Dikaios turned and soft-stepped toward the front. Whatever Abraham had planned, it sounded like a last resort. Obviously Angel was being forced into this marriage. It was time to sweep the bride away and leave the groom standing at the altar.
When he reached the main door, he gave it a hefty kick with both rear hooves, then hurried toward the back again. He arrived just in time to see Flint and the giant running into the house.
Dikaios loped into view and stopped next to the fence. “Abraham!” he hissed. “Let us fly!”
Raising his hand to keep Angel from following, Abraham limped toward him and whispered, “Wait through the ceremony. You will know when it is time to escape.” He reached a finger behind his belt, withdrew a bone fragment, and showed it to Dikaios. “Pray that Flint’s distrust of me will work to our advantage.”
Just as Dikaios hid himself again around the corner, Flint walked into the backyard. “Look who was pounding on the door. The little wood chopper.” The giant followed, dragging Windor by the hair. The boy, carrying an axe, grimaced, but he didn’t cry out or even whimper.
Mantika took a step toward him, but, with a quick hand, Greevelow held her back. “Flint kill,” he said.
The giant snatched the axe away and slung Windor to the ground, sending him sprawling. Flint shook a finger at the fallen boy. “Why did you knock at the door and run? And the horse is missing. Did you let him go free?”
Cringing, Windor raised his hand, apparently to block an expected blow, but said nothing.
Flint shoved him with his foot. “Stupid boy! Just go home and wait for the feast.”
As Windor struggled to get up, Abraham stepped forward and helped him rise. “May I suggest, Flint, that the boy stay and be our third witness?”
“A third witness? Why?”
“The tradition calls for two or three witnesses.” Abraham raised a trio of fingers. “With three, no one could ever doubt the veracity of this ceremony.”
Flint maintained his doubtful glare. “I get the impression that you’re engaging in stealth.”
“Is that so? What stealth could be behind wanting the fine young man to stay here with us?”
He aimed a finger at Abraham’s face. “As usual, I know you won’t lie to me. Do you have a plan that is designed to subvert my intentions?”
“I assure you,” Abraham said, laying a hand on his chest, “that I will do everything in my power to stop this wedding, but since I have no such power, I am at the mercy of the Father of Lights.”
“If there is a Father of Lights.” Flint eyed Abraham for a few more seconds, then swatted Windor on the back of his head. “Go home until the feast.”
Windor dashed out the back gate, around the fence, and right by Dikaios without offering a glance or a word.
“Since we no longer have our stallion,” Flint said, “everyone stand in their places. We will conduct the ceremony before Father Abraham’s doubtful deity can stop us.” He took Angel’s hand and faced Abraham, while Greevelow and Mantika stood at the side.
Abraham’s eyes darted all around, pausing for a brief second in Dikaios’s direction. “Because of your hurry,” he said, “I will dispense with formality and speak only the essentials, at least as well as I can remember them.”
Flint glanced at the sky, now fidgeting. “I am in agreement.”
Dikaios looked up. What was Flint worried about? Ah! Dark clouds in the distance, coming this way.
Abraham raised a hand, his palm toward the bride and groom. “Do you take Angel to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and cherish as long as you both shall live?”
After a short pause, Flint asked, “Am I supposed to say something now?”
Abraham nodded. “I do.”
Dikaios studied the great prophet’s face. He wasn’t even looking at Flint. He was staring straight at Angel. Why would that be?
“I do,” Flint repeated.
Keeping one hand closed in a fist, Abraham handed the ring to Flint with the other. “Put this on her finger. I will give you the words to say.”
Flint took the ring. “I expected her to speak vows similar to mine.”
“Her vows will follow the ring ceremony. The order is unimportant.” Abraham reached for Angel’s hand, grasped it for a moment, then drew back. Even from where Dikaios stood, he could tell that Abraham had slipped something into her grip.
Abraham nodded at Flint. “Put the ring on her finger.”
A scowl bent Flint’s brow. “What are you plotting?”
“Plotting? I merely gave Angel a symbolic token. She will know what it means.”
Flint grabbed Angel’s wrist. “Open it! Let me see what it is!”
As soon as she opened her hand, Flint snatched its contents and held it up, a small white object that glinted in the sunlight. “Is this the bone you found in the tunnel?”
“I consider it a keepsake,” Abraham said. “I wanted Angel to have it.”
Flint looked at his hands, first at the bone in one, then at the ring in the other. “There is stealth in your mind, Father Abraham. Tell me what your plan is.”
“If you ask me a question, I will tell you no lie, but I will keep all secret counsel to myself.”
“We will see about that.” Flint shoved the ring and bone into Abraham’s hands. “Hold the bone while putting the ring on. I want to see what happens.”
Abraham shrugged his shoulders. “Very well.” He slid the ring over the index finger of his right hand. When the ring slid down as far as it could go, he moved the bone to the ring hand and balled his fist. “I am the very first dragon,” he said with an air of nonchalance.
“I already knew that.” Flint tilted his head toward the sky. The cloud had boiled to a dark and menacing storm, covering the descending sun and rolling toward the village. “Why do you bring it up now?”
As a shadow drifted over them, Abraham gave him a weak smile. “I am the father of a race that has suffered greatly and has also caused the suffering of many.”
Flint’s lips twitched. Still glancing at the darkening sky, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I think we should proceed. I don’t see how this is relevant.”
A rumble sounded from above. A flash of light shot through the clouds, followed by a clap of thunder.
Flint ducked his head, as did Greevelow and Mantika, while Abraham and Angel stood tall.
“My words are relevant,” Abraham said, “because my life on Earth ended too soon to stop the suffering there, but I will sacrifice everything to prevent my children from going through the same tragedies.” He spread out his arms as if to embrace Flint. “As a dragon, I wait for the Father of Lights to make me a flame.”
Lightning crashed down from the sky and struck the top of Abraham’s head. Flint and Angel fell backwards. Greevelow and Mantika dropped to their knees. Dikaios flinched but kept watch. Too much was at stake to do otherwise.
His arms still spread, jagged arcs of current snaked all over Abraham’s body until he became as bright as the sun itself.
Flint slid away on his seat. Angel tried to look at Abraham, shielding her eyes with her arm. Suddenly, his clothes burst into flames, then his face and hands. As tongues of fire melted away his skin, he turned to Angel and said in a pain-streaked voice, “Your time of widowhood has expired.”
Clutching her dress at her chest, she gasped. “I … I don’t understand.”
“I have already spoken my vow to you,” he said, extending a flaming hand. “If you wish to become one with me, I would be honored. I might not have enough fuel to finish my journey.”
“Fuel? Finish your journey?” She scooted back. “Good Father, you speak in riddles.”
“If you do not understand, then you are not ready to join me.” With his face now completely engulfed, Abraham turned and walked out the back gate, leaving a skinny trail of fire in his wake. As he passed by the piles of reeds and split wood, they ignited and exploded into a huge blaze. After circling the fence, he strode by Dikaios, seeming to float across the ground as he called out from the midst of the flames. “Make haste! Get Angel and go to my village immediately. Do not even take the time to look back!”
With a mighty kick, Dikaios vaulted the fence and landed in the backyard. Biting the back of Angel’s dress, he jerked her to her feet. “Mount and hang on as tightly as you can,” he said, lowering himself to his knees. “Whoever else seeks safety, follow me!”
Flint shouted, “Where is my giant?”
Dikaios looked at the back door. The Naphil lay sprawled on the ground, the mug again in his grip.
Just as Angel lifted her leg to mount Dikaios, Flint withdrew a stiletto from its sheath and dove for her. “No!” he shouted, grabbing her ankle. “You will stay!”
Angel pulled against the prostrate Flint, but she couldn’t budge. Greevelow pounced. He threw his body over Flint and jerked Angel free. As she leaped onto Dikaios, Flint threw Greevelow to the side, rolling him face up with the stiletto protruding from his chest. Mantika rushed to Greevelow’s side and knelt. With a cry of anguish, she wept over his lifeless body.
Flint yanked his weapon out and stalked toward Angel. Just as he lunged with the blade, Dikaios jumped out of the way, taking Angel with him. Flint wheeled around, grabbed Mantika from behind, and held the blade to her throat, panting. “If you do not stay with me … before this creature draws five breaths … she will join her mate.”
With his eyes darting, he began a rapid count, matching Mantika’s frantic respiration. “One, two, three …”
Mantika held her breath. Angel whispered to Dikaios, “What should I do?”
“Pray.” Dikaios swung around and aimed his rear hooves at Flint. Should he risk a kick? Or would Flint slice her throat before he fell unconscious?
Flint swatted Mantika’s head. “Breathe, you fool!”
Suddenly, Flint arched his body. A long dagger protruded from between his shoulders. As his arms drooped, another horse leaped over the fence and charged into the yard. A rider reached down, snatched Mantika up by her clothes, and dragged her away. “Let us fly!” the rider shouted as the horse slowed to a stop.
“Valiant!” Angel cried.
Windor jumped down from behind Valiant and helped his mother to her feet.
As Flint wobbled in place, Dikaios kicked him in the back, knocking him headlong. “Valiant, help the boy remount! I will take his mother!”
When the two had climbed aboard, Dikaios galloped ahead and leaped over the fence. Listening to the pounding hooves behind him, he followed Abraham’s fiery trail. With the failing light of evening dimming his vision, he plunged through the channel, then into the shallower marsh. Flames crawled up and down the reed stalks and crackled at the ends of skinny branches on nubby trees, illuminating the path. Soon, the fire grew brighter, the flames healthier. Was this a sign that they were catching up with Abraham?
Finally, in the distance, a striding column of fire came into view, surging through the marsh like flames following a trail of lamp oil. When Dikaios caught up, he slowed and trotted at the side of the column.
“Abraham?” Dikaios called, breathless. “Is that you?”
A raspy voice replied. “It is I … or what is left of me.”
As the sorrel mare galloped to join them, Valiant shouted, “Father! What are you doing?”
The voice, weaker than before, sounded again. “Protecting my people. You will understand soon enough.”
The column of fire turned and began a new course. “The boundary starts here,” Abraham continued. “Remember it well. My journey will take all night. If I have enough fuel, I will enclose the Valley of Shadows. Goliath, Roxil, and the Nephilim are there.”
With every inch he pressed forward, his body of fire seemed to shrink ever so slightly. Now, instead of dying out, the trail of flames behind him grew into a towering wall, rising higher and higher until the top reached out of sight. Reeds and trees crackled. Water boiled and sizzled, shooting plumes of steam into the sky.
With heat singeing his hide, Dikaios backed away. “Valiant!” he shouted. “What is your counsel?”
Valiant stared at the rippling orange wall, his eyes wide and gleaming. His voice was barely audible over the crackling fury. “We must obey Father and return to the village.”
“Then let us go.” Dikaios turned, but before he could leap away, something splashed at his side and jerked a passenger from his back. Angel’s white gown swept past his eyes, clutched in the arms of a mule-riding man.
Dikaios and the mare turned as one and gave chase. The mule galloped to Abraham’s flaming form, and the rider dismounted with Angel still in his arms, his stiletto again in hand.
Abraham stopped and turned toward them. His flames illuminated their faces. Flint, his teeth clenched, pressed the dagger against Angel’s throat. Her eyes wide with fear, she stayed silent and kept her body stiff.
“Flint!” Valiant shouted as the mare came to a stop. “If you harm her, I will feed your flesh to the muskrats.”
Dikaios joined him. “If there is any left after I trounce you to pieces.”
“I will not harm her.” Flint eased the dagger away. “She only needs to complete the vows.”
“Is a forced vow a true one?” Valiant splashed to the ground and marched toward them. “Give her back to me now, and I will let you live.”
“Stop!” Flint again pressed the dagger, this time drawing blood. “I will accept a forced vow. I want her womb, not her devotion.”
Valiant halted within three steps of Angel, his fists clenched, but he said no more.
“Flint!” The crackling voice came from the leading edge of the fiery wall. “Let Angel stand freely, and I will finish the ceremony.”
Flint glanced between Angel and the fire. “If Valiant gives us room.”
Patting Dikaios on the flank, Valiant backed away. “Let Father Abraham do what he must.”
When the two horses and their riders had retreated a distance of fifteen horse lengths, Flint released Angel but kept the stiletto flat against her back.
The flames spoke again. “Angel, it is time for you to make your vow.”
“Father Abraham?” She lowered her head. “My time of widowhood has expired, and I do not wish to die, so it seems I have no choice.”
The head of the flaming figure dipped a few inches. “I am in agreement.”
“I now understand what you said earlier, but if I make the vow you request of me, who will care for my children?”
“Mantika will be welcomed into our village, and she will love Candle and Listener as her own.”
“Very well. I have seen the heart of a mother in her eyes.” Angel withdrew the dead companion from the pouch at her side and threw it underhand toward Valiant. When it splashed near his feet, he reached down and plucked it from the water.
Keeping her gaze on the wall of fire, Angel straightened her shoulders. With tears streaming, spasms punctuated each word. “I take you … to be my lawfully wedded husband … to have and to hold … in sickness and in health … to love, honor, and cherish … as long as we both shall live.”
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
After a moment of silence, Flint pushed his stiletto into its sheath. “Is that it? Are we married?”
“That depends.” The flames crackled louder than ever. “To whom was Angel speaking?”
Angel lifted her head. She looked at Flint, then at the fire. Finally, she leaped ahead and ran. “To you, Abraham! My forever Adam!” She collided with the wall, her arms spread wide.
In the midst of the flames, Angel’s form ignited from the garland of flowers in her hair to the hem of her silky dress. As arms of fire wrapped around her, she and the wall became one. The inferno billowed and brightened, and dozens of fireballs shot out and arced to the ground.
Flint dropped to his knees, his mouth agape.
A new voice emanated from the flames, now sounding like two in perfect harmony, a blend of male and female. “Flint, if you leave now, Valiant will allow you to go home without harm.”
Flint rose slowly, his legs shaking as he looked at Valiant. He jumped aboard his mule and slapped it on the rump. With firelight dancing on their forms, the mule trotted off toward home, making a wide berth around the edge of the flaming wall.
As they faded in the darkness, Valiant slid his feet toward the raging fire. “Father.” His voice faltered. “What shall we do?”
Again the blended tones rose above the crackling flames. “You and the warrior chief must make ready for the greatest conflict our world has ever seen. We will try to keep the enemies hemmed in long enough for you to prepare a mighty army.”
Valiant backed away. As the warrior’s tears dripped down his cheeks, his voice strengthened. “We will do your bidding, Father. Every able man will fight, and every woman and child will lend support. We will truly be as one.”
“Then you honor us well.” The fire marched on without another word.
Valiant remounted and extended the dead companion to Mantika, still seated on Dikaios, with Windor now standing at the horse’s flank. “Will you care for her children?” Valiant asked.
With tears sliding down her dark cheeks, she took it and gave him a quivering smile. “I care.”
He used his thumb to wipe away one of her tears. “Angel passed the authority over her children to you. Take her companion to them in remembrance of their beautiful mother.”
Reaching for Windor with one hand, she raised the crystal egg to her lips and gave it a tender kiss. “We remember.”