Eve of Redemption (18 page)

Burke laughed like he had not laughed in years. He was still laughing when he tore off the last vestiges of death and crashed through the light.

KATRINA FELT THE killer draw closer. Over the past couple of days, the room had become familiar to her, and she moved to its center. There she stopped and waited. She knew her time had come. The good Lord was calling her home. Her heart broke for Dave. He would take her death hard. She knew Dave had come to believe she was somehow stronger than the cancer, stronger than the death that had been awaiting her for so long. But she knew the truth. Most of the truth, at least. She had remained alive for one purpose—to get John Burke to this point in time. She knew the future of God’s children somehow depended on it.

“You’re about to die, old woman.”

The words had little effect on her. She knew her cancer had returned with a vengeance. She could feel it, like something eating her alive from the inside. One way or another, she would be with Jesus in the next few minutes.

She smiled at the thought.

Then pain sliced through her. Her hands clutched her abdomen, her fingers feeling warmth as her life flowed out over them. So this was it then, she thought. But she had one more thing to do—one more task.

“I…I forgive you,” Katrina gasped. And in that instant, she felt all pressure of responsibility slip from her.

The last thing on Earth Katrina felt was a moment’s agony as something buried itself in her chest

The light beckoned, and she let it draw her in.

THE SERPENT EXALTED in his power as he brought the knife arching down. At the moment the blade penetrated her flesh, his head snapped back, and a shriek of pure agony ripped through his body. Then, something else screamed as well—something inside him, tearing him apart in its desperate effort to get out.
Lord Denizen?
The Serpent fell to his knees with his hands on his head, trying to keep it from exploding and plastering the rotting walls with his brains. He realized he was staring at the woman’s knees. For one awful moment, he feared she was going to pull the knife from her chest and slam it down in terrible retribution.

The Serpent threw his head back again, the pain so great he could not even make a sound. A gagging noise sounded from his throat. Finally, he opened his eyes to see the woman glaring down at him. He scuttled back, away from the disease-ridden wretch, terrified she was coming after him.

The Serpent felt another horrible rip in his mind. He felt it stretch as Denizen tore free with a piercing scream the Serpent knew must have been heard around the world. Then, the pain faded. But, in a terrifying moment, he knew his power was gone as well. He felt very small, very…normal. It had been so long since he’d felt so scared and alone.

The Serpent scrambled to his feet and, without looking back, ran from the cabin.

S
ara clenched her teeth as the force of the blow ran up her arms. A loud
clack
echoed across the yard as her staff connected with her opponent’s, but she barely heard it. She was lost in the battle, aware of nothing but the figure dancing before her and the weapon that wanted to slam into her body. Two quick moves of her wrists, another two clacks. Forward, back. Attack, parry, anticipate, respond, and attack again. Sweat poured down her face as she blew away a strand of chestnut hair that had come loose from her ponytail. She felt almost invincible as she spun and leapt in the air, twirling her staff, bringing it down toward her opponent’s uplifted weapon. At the last moment, she changed direction and brought the butt end of the staff toward his unprotected groin.

He’s coming.

Sara’s attack faltered. She blinked, and her opponent nearly brained her as she forced the words from last night’s dream out of her mind. Shaking her head, she refocused her attention and began setting up her next attack. Though she’d picked a common and expected move, she knew her opponent was no match for her skill.

He’s coming for you.

Sara stumbled, again barely managing to spare herself a blow that would have taken a week to heal. The heat of the sun bore down on her, and she became aware of her gasping breaths. Curse that stupid dream. She was out of rhythm, all focus lost. Ignoring training etiquette and style, she lashed out with the speed and accuracy that made her one of the top students under Master Eleazar’s tutelage. Again she feinted with the leading tip of the staff, only to sweep the butt under the leg of her opponent. With a grunt, he hit the ground, bulging eyes staring up at the tip of Sara’s staff hovering just over his nose.

“Halt!” Master Eleazar’s voice rang through the training yard. Sara pulled her staff back and reached out to help her fallen opponent to his feet. Both students turned and bowed to one another, and then to the master. “That was not your best work. Distraction will kill you when the time for real battle comes.”

Sara sighed. Master Eleazar often spoke in proverbs, and that was one of his favorites. Normally the mild scolding wouldn’t bother her, but today she knew he’d directed it solely at her. She worked hard to be the best, and it pained her to be on the receiving end of the rebuke.

“You almost let me get you there,” Sam said, smiling.

“Yeah, well, I wanted you to feel good about yourself,” Sara answered. She and Sam had been friends for as long as she could remember. Though her fighting skills outclassed his, he never acted as though it bothered him. She wished she could say that for all the guys she bested in the training yard. Some of them really hated being beaten by a girl, though many held her in grudging respect.

Sam quickened his pace until he stood in front of her and stopped. “Seriously, Sara. At breakfast you looked like you’d hardly slept at all last night. Besides, you could be so sick you’re puking pancakes and still whip me. What’s up?”

Sara forced a smile. “Like I said, I wanted to make you feel good, so I stayed up all night just to make you look better.” She punched his arm and moved around him. “I’m going to clean up. See you at lunch.”

She hurried into the women’s changing area, to the shelf that held her clothes and few personal items. Plopping down on a wooden bench, she let out a breath and tried to relax. She had swallowed the urge to point out to Sam that it would have taken more than one night of lost sleep for her to perform so badly. Truth was, she had slept little during the three nights since the nightmares began. She stripped off her sweat-soaked fighting clothes and hurried to the baths to clean up. Tired or not, the workout had left her famished, and she had no desire to miss lunch.

The baths hardly lived up to their name. A few buckets of cold water, a rough bar of soap, and several threadbare towels sat in a small room to the right of the shelves. Another room off of the changing area held an actual stone bath that filled with steaming hot water once a week. Sara had heard the guys complain about their weekly bath, but she and the rest of the girls looked forward to bath day like little else. The Keep offered so few luxuries that a hot bath—and the clean feeling she gloried in afterward—seemed a genuine pleasure.

Sara dressed in loose-fitting cotton pants and a tunic belted at the waist—the standard uniform of the students in the Keep. Her footsteps were silent in her soft leather boots as she hurried toward the meal hall. As she passed through the back entry of the Keep, she couldn’t help but wonder at her own presence there. After all, religion had never played a significant role in her life. Her parents had never expressed any real devotion to Ash-Shaytan. Not that they disrespected the god. They just weren’t zealots, as so many seemed to be. For Sara, her life—training under monks of the great god to defend the realm in the name of Ash-Shaytan—still sometimes seemed surreal.

The sudden appearance of her best friend, Dana Hunter, pulled Sara from her musings. Dana skipped up alongside Sara, her face wearing her trademark smile. Dana’s always-cheery attitude starkly contrasted with Sara’s normal moody demeanor. Slightly taller than Sara, with nearly the same color hair, Dana was often mistaken for Sara’s sister, though the two girls had not actually met until they arrived at the Keep on the same day. Though quite different in personality, they had formed an instant connection.

“I hear Sam almost scored on you this morning,” Dana said, her grin turning sly. “You must be getting old.”

“Wow, word travels fast.” Sara put on her best scowl, but couldn’t maintain it around her cheerful friend.

Dana chuckled. “Would you expect anything else from Sam?”

Sara smiled in spite of herself. Sam Stewart’s mouth, which was always moving, had become a punch line throughout the Keep. If he wasn’t embellishing stories, he was telling jokes. If he wasn’t telling jokes, he was eating. Dana’s twin brother, Ryan, swore Sam even talked in his sleep. Short and skinny, with bright red hair and a face covered in freckles, he used his wit to cover for any perceived disadvantage of his small physical stature.

Sara sighed. “Well, I guess by now the entire Keep knows I’m getting old and slow. Guess I’ll just hang up my sword and staff and take up knitting with the Sisters.”

“Yeah,” Dana said. “Probably for the best.”

Sara shoved her friend into a wall and took off down the hallway to the large dining room where the midday meal awaited. She almost turned away when she saw the rotund form of Sister Maggie at one end of the serving table, removing empty bowls and platters. Though the sister was round, she was anything but soft. Her jowls hung like granite slabs, pulling her lips into a permanent frown. Unlike the other Sisters, Maggie was a sourpuss even on a good day—and even worse when trainees arrived late for a meal.