Shattered Destiny (25 page)

“Forka! Come quickly!”

Forka looked at Gerok who raced toward him, his face tight with worry. “What is it? Is the enemy coming?”

“No. Something is wrong with Brok,” Gerok said.

Forka said a silent prayer as he followed Gerok. Brok was lying on the ground, and Mark Halliwell, the closest thing the Jhinn had to a doctor, was helping the man to sit and drink some water.

“What is it? What's wrong, Sawbones?”

Sawbones glanced up at Forka, and the spasm of pain that wracked his face was all Forka needed. “Someone needs to bring the Astrans here.” He ignored the strange look Sawbones gave him and kneeled down next to Brok.

The man's face was grey and sickly, and his eyes were covered with the film of impending death. His breath rattled in his chest, and with each one Brok winced in pain.

“Is there anything we can do?” Forka felt helpless, as helpless as he had felt while watching Amber die so very long ago.

Sawbones shook his head. “It's his heart. It's done in. I don't have any of my supplies so I can't make him the white sleep. All we can do is wait. And pray.”

Brok slipped in and out of consciousness, crying out for his sires, apologizing for his failure as a Guardian, pleading with the good Spirits to take him. Forka could not believe they were about to lose another of their party.
Gerok and I can't do this alone.

“What's wrong with him?” Keera demanded as she ran up. The others stood by her, staring at Brok with wide eyes, hands gripping each other tightly.

“Where are my Chosen? Are they here?”

Gwen hated hearing Brok's voice so feeble. She wanted to hear the strong and sure voice, yelling at them to pay attention to their lessons, or reprimanding some mistake.
He can't die!
She felt as though her world were spinning out of control.

“We're all here,” Saemus whispered sadly.

Brok mumbled incoherently. Saemus leaned in close trying in vain to make sense of the man's words.

“He is fading fast,” Sawbones whispered. “Best say your good-byes.”

“NO!” Jon roared as he shoved past Gwen and Keera. He hit his knees and drew so much of the dark power so fast that he nearly fainted. He placed his hands on his teacher and carefully sent the magic into the man.

Brok sat up, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. His arms flailed and his legs thrummed on the ground, stirring up dirt.

“Jon! What are you doing?” Kaelin wanted to throw up. The magically-animated corpse made her skin crawl and sent an icy shiver of revulsion down her spine.

Come on! Come on!
Jon sent more and more of the magic into Brok, throwing his will to bear on a single act: to force Brok's body to live. Brok's chest rose and fell, and the air wheezed in his throat. But there was no life in his eyes.

“Stop it! He is gone. You can't stop death, no matter how powerful you are.” Keera stood sheltered in Sloan's arms. He had come to the distraught girl, wanting to offer what support he could. He had surprised even himself when he found his arm coming around her shoulders, and he was even more surprised to find her melting against him.
Like Valery and Amber used to do.

Jon did not answer. He continued to send the power into the body of his teacher, his Guardian, animating the corpse and yet unable to give it life. It was a grotesque display.

Forka had had enough. He grabbed Jon's arm in a vice-like grip. “You
will
stop. Now.” Forka did not flinch as the boy stared him down with jet black eyes, nor did he loosen his grip. He simply stared with his piercing blue eyes with a look that had been known to force others to do his will.

Jon cried out in anguish and rage, screaming until Forka was certain the boy's throat was going to tear in two. He rocked back and forth, weeping and crying out that it wasn't fair, it wasn't right for Brok to die.

Forka did not know how to console the boy. He was dealing with the turmoil of his own emotions. Mirka's death has been so quick. The enemy fireball hadn't even left a body to mourn or to bury. But looking at Brok's body left no doubt that the old man's
spirit had left him. His chest no longer rose and fell; his eyes were open and staring at nothing.

“What are we going to do?” Kaelin asked dully. She stared at Brok's body with no expression. Her body felt as though someone else were animating it and she was very far away, a bystander watching the horror unfold. She knew she should feel sad or angry or bitter, but it was as if she understood what the emotions meant but couldn't actually
feel
them.

“We have a cemetery behind the church. Robert can say a few words.” Brad came up behind Kaelin and held her shoulders. He knew she was in shock. He had seen it when the Jhinn had been forced to fight and come face-to-face with death. The mind sheltered the person from the horror so that it could be dealt with later, when things weren't so fresh and painful.

He also knew that the sooner she came to grips with the death of her Guardian, the better. The longer she put off grieving, the worse it would be. Brad forced her to turn to him. “Robert has some nice scripture he can read. But we need to do it now. We still have a job to do.” He touched her cheek, taking some of the harshness from his words.

Her lips trembled as she gazed into his eyes. She blinked a few times, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Whatever you think is best.”

“It is best. Once we have the Jhinn settled, we have to return to Gentra.”

Her eyed hardened. “What is the point? We are obviously lost. We should just all return to our own worlds and enjoy whatever time we have left.” She barely got the last words out before the sobs took over.

Brad took her in his arms, wishing to shelter her from the harsh reality of death. This was the first person close to her that had passed. The dead back on Astra, the deaths of the other Chosen, even the deaths of the enemy were not the same thing as losing someone you knew. It brought up feelings of intense loss and an emptiness that seemed would never be filled.

“Why don't we honor him in the Volgon way?” Gwen spoke up timidly. “He was a fighter, and he deserves to be honored as such.” She wanted to feel that wild abandon again, to dance and revel in
Master Brok's death rather than wallow in it.

“That is a nice thought little one, but I think perhaps burial might be best.” Robert glanced knowingly at the Jhinn moving about them, trying their best to remain unobtrusive in this sad moment.

Gwen nodded in understanding. “You are right, of course. I just wish we could give him a memorable send-off.”

Robert smiled down at her. “I promise I will do my best.”

“Of course you will! I didn't mean to imply…I mean, what I
meant
was…”

Robert laughed. “I was there for the Volgon ceremony. It was quite spectacular. My words won't be, I'm afraid.”

“I am sure that the burial will be just perfect.” Gwen resigned herself to a common burial. But they really couldn't be dancing about in the nude while burning Master Brok's body. The poor Jhinn would think they had all gone mad.

They already look at us with untrusting glances.
Gwen tried to imagine what the rescue must have looked like through the eyes of the Jhinn. It would be frightening and disconcerting to see the enemy struck down with fire and invisible blades. None had brought it up, but she could sense the burning questions boiling just below the surface of their polite gratitude. A part of her thought that they should come clean about who they really were and where they came from. Another part wanted to leave them in their ignorant bliss.

The Sawbones covered Brok's body with a dingy blanket that he found in what was left of his office. He waved some men over, and together they lifted Brok and carried him to the cemetery. The Chosen and the last two Guardians followed.

Feeror and Voilor offered to dig the hole. The two men worked silently, slightly uncomfortable with the idea of burying someone beneath the cold, hard ground but aware of the need for discretion on this planet. The two were sweating by the time they finished. Robert stood nearby, hands clasped in front, head bowed. No one said anything when two Jhinn men lowered Brok's body into the ground. They wordlessly picked up the shovels discarded by the two Volgon warriors and slowly added dirt back to the grave.

To Forka, the sound of the dirt hitting the body sounded much too loud in the silence. Robert waited until the men had covered the
body halfway before speaking. “We are gathered here today to bid farewell to Brok. I wished I could have known him better, but from what I have seen he was a brave man, and dedicated to his duty.

“We do not believe that death is the end of all things. Our souls drift to heaven where we will dwell with the Lord and his only son, Jesus, for all eternity.

“Therefore, do not mourn his passing. Rejoice! For he will be young and healthy in the house of the Lord, throwing off the heavy burden of age and pain. And there he will await you.

“Let us bow our heads.” Robert took a deep breath, taking comfort in the familiar words. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Robert recited the words of Psalm 23 by heart. When he thought of his family Bible, his heart sank. He had not had a chance to look for it, but little else had survived the reaving of the camp; he did not hold out much hope for his treasured book.

He was pleased to hear the voices of Sloan, Brad, and even Forka reciting the verse. It reminded him of happier days, when he would stand at the pulpit and look on the faces of the congregation. Robert had always been proud to hold the station not only of Protector, but also of Reverend. He had been brought up to believe what was written in the Bible, to hold dear the words of God and the teachings of Jesus. His heart swelled when he thought of his Savior's sacrifice on the cross, to shed his blood so that mankind could have a chance at eternal life.

The Astran Chosen seemed uncomfortable. They were talking together and whispering, and Jon was gesturing wildly. Robert wondered what they were arguing about. He moved a little closer. They were so involved with what they were saying they didn't
notice his approach.

“I'm sure the words are fine and dandy for people that believe in this
God
or whoever he is, but Brok isn't from here! We need to say an Astran prayer,” Jon said heatedly.

“Brok wasn't Astran! I think the words Robert said were nice. Astrans believe our spirits live on. I kind of like the idea of this Heaven. It sounds like a good place to be.”

Jon turned to face Gwen, fury evident on his face. “Well, don't you just seem to be embracing everyone's beliefs! How about standing up for your own?”

Gwen's heart broke a little at the look on Jon's face. It hurt that the fury was directed at her. “I'm just saying that what Astrans believe and what the Earthmen believe are similar. What's wrong with that?” She was becoming angry herself. “So what if I am embracing others’ beliefs? Isn't that what we are supposed to be doing?”

“Not at the expense of all we hold dear. Not at the expense of turning your back on your own kind.”

“Aren't you being a little melodramatic? Complimenting Robert isn't exactly turning her back on her own kind.” Keera stood next to Gwen, arms crossed over her chest, red hair in a fiery halo around her head.

“If you would like to say a few words, I welcome it. And I think everyone else would too.” Robert decided to cut in before things got out of hand. He did not take offense at the boy's words. He was grieving and needed to lash out. Robert was curious as to what sort of prayer the Astrans spoke over the bodies of their dead.

Jon turned, waiting with some smart retort, but at the open kindness in Robert's eyes, he swallowed what he was going to say. The voices were trying to lure him into drawing on the dark magic, and they were growing louder by the minute. Brok's death had left Jon shaken. Thus far, the Astrans had escaped the deaths that had seemed to plague the group. If Brok could die, then any of them could perish at any time.

“Do you want me to do it?” Saemus asked.

Jon nodded and turned to face Brok's body. The others, who had been standing awkwardly nearby, cleared throats and stood facing
the mound of dirt. The two men from the Jhinn encampment who had filled the grave had already lashed together two sticks to form a cross and stuck it in the dirt right above where Master Brok's head lay, several feet below the surface.

Saemus looked to his twin. She gave him a smile of encouragement. “Dear Spirits, we ask that you welcome your brother Brok into your fold. He lived a life of servitude, healing the sick and counseling the distraught. He comes to join you in the great dark sky, to watch over those that still dwell here below.” Seamus felt awkward about saying these words on this world. He wondered if Brok's spirit would live in this place Robert called Heaven, or if it would travel back to Astra, there to dwell in the night sky. Or perhaps his spirit would go to wherever Gentran souls went.

When no one else spoke up, the group gathered close. They needed to figure out what to do. They had rescued the Jhinn from the Horde and the Cowboys. A few thought it was time to head back to Gentra, though the idea of entering the portal filled them with dread. They did not want to be lost forever in the painful darkness.

“We need to stay at least a few days, to make sure the enemy doesn't regroup and come back,” Brad said. He also wanted to help the Jhinn begin felling timber for new homes and barns. It would be a huge undertaking and winter would be upon them in a short time.

“I agree. We can't leave them defenseless. We need to build some rudimentary fortifications at the very least.” Sloan was worried about what would happen to the Jhinn if they were to be attacked again. Samson, in his anger, would probably put them all to death for daring to escape.