Warrior

By Janna Lafrance

For nearly two generations, the world has been free from war, from religion—and from freedom. A remnant of believers of the ancient god, Bära, has arisen. They have been awakened and are experiencing supernatural power never before seen. They are hunted, tortured, and killed—yet they grow stronger.

One man has been chosen to lead them, whose passion is not for power. He must choose to follow his desire or to trust an unlikely path and become: the Warrior.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9780988047631

Book preview

Acknowledgments

JUNE

RAYAH’S HEAD BOBBED SOFTLY AGAINST NESTOR’S thickly muscled forearm as he carried her quickly through the forest. She knew it was Nestor by his familiar scent, and because whoever carried her did so as though she were no heavier than a small child, although she was a woman grown. Only her giant spirit-brother could pull that off. Her left leg screamed at her with each thud of his enormous feet, especially when they found rock instead of the mossy soil that covered much of the forest floor. She realized her leg must be severely damaged.

As he broke into a clearing, she could see through her pain-induced, blurred vision that they ran along high cliffs next to the shore of the great lake. The slabs of rock here jutted up from the earth in massive chunks of limestone and shale, some of which were eighty and even a hundred feet above the crystal-clear water. The Creator had seen fit to paint the sky with unusually rich strokes this evening, and Rayah found herself blinking to try to soak it in. She had always loved the look of the sunset.

She closed her eyes to try to access her spirit vision and to master the pain that ravaged her consciousness, but she only fell back into the darkness. Hours later, she awoke by a small fire in the cleft of a massive cliff. It opened up to a clearing that stretched only a dozen feet in either direction before disappearing into thick wood on either side. To the front and about twenty feet ahead, the rock platform ended abruptly and met only sky. The firelight danced against the crevices and odd boulder, disappearing when it hit the empty air.

Rayah’s leg throbbed with a rhythm of its own as she tried to prop herself up to survey her surroundings. Her clothes were badly torn and barely covered her body. A plaid cotton shirt, which she presumed to belong to Nestor, was wrapped around her shoulders like a thin blanket. The left leg of her jeans had been torn off, and thick bandages had been wrapped tightly about her thigh. She was glad for the warmth of the fire.

Rayah slowed her breathing and tried again to focus with her spirit eyes. Her concentration was broken off when Nestor moved closer and brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

Hey, sis, Nestor said gently as he moved to pull her to his side. He rubbed her arm affectionately with the hand that had drawn her in and offered her water from a flask he held in his other hand. As she took it and tried to open her mouth to drink, a sharp pain shot from her lip and down her neck. She licked her lips gingerly and found they were cracked and swollen. She managed to take a few long draws from the flask despite the pain. Her throat was parched, but her stomach threatened to reject even the water.

Take it easy, hun, he whispered as he set the flask down and stared into the fire.

Nestor had always been a man of few words. He wasn’t a natural brother but he was a spiritual brother all the same. They shared the same father—Bära the Creator—and their kinship was as solid, if not more so, as any natural brother and sister could claim.

Where did you find me? she asked quietly, unsure of where they were or how safely they were hidden.

The Teacher sent me to the mainland to find you. You were exactly where He said you’d be, he answered, without moving his gaze from the orange and yellow dance of the flames.

After a moment, Rayah continued, Which was where exactly?

They had you in a small caravan heading north to the Pits, he answered, and squeezed her arm gently.

She knew what that meant. Some members of the captured Remnant were kept in the city jails, left with common criminals; others, if they promised to have relevant intelligence as to the location and undertakings of the rest of the brotherhood, were kept in solitary confinement, tortured, and questioned-sometimes for days or even months. If they didn’t break, and particularly if they were considered a threat to the carefully guarded society, they would disappear to the Pits. No one ever returned from the Pits.

The Remnant had led several expeditions to find these death chambers, which were rumored to be in the north, but so far they had been unsuccessful. Visions had shown them that dark magic was used to try to extract information there, and that it was where some of the high spirit lords of the dark realm held their seats.

But Eli, the Teacher, only said, It isn’t time.

And so they waited. And trusted.

Rayah closed her eyes and tried to remember the jails where she had been held captive. She could recall only fragments. She remembered being captured and thrown into an isolated cell. She remembered shivering in the corner for what seemed like days. Dunamis was with her, his massive wings pushing through the cold ceiling, even while he was seated by her side. The soft blue-white light that always emanated from his core had lit the cell like a jar of fireflies, but he had been silent except to say, Believe, young one, again and again.

Rayah’s fear had made it difficult to maintain awareness of the Arafel—dark spirits that moved through the walls and door. She could hear the odd scream echo through the dungeon, and often the sound of persistent shouting or the sound of metal hitting wood. Or perhaps it hadn’t been wood at all.

Then Rayah remembered Eli. He had been irresistible to her, ever since the first moment she had seen Him, years before, when He had enveloped her in His unearthly love and she had been lost there. When He walked into her cell and crouched before her, His dark eyes drew her into His eternal sea of calm. She remembered entering that water. Rayah came out of her body, only vaguely aware of being dragged from the cell and beaten.

Rayah had only glimpses of a giant interrogator threatening her and taking the iron rod to her thigh. She remembered seeing one of the Arafel coaxing him, suggesting methods for how to extract information. She remembered flashes of rope…menacing threats…metal. None of the methods had worked. She is not here, one of the other interrogators had said, exasperated. The giant had tried a few more tricks before finally conceding and leaving the chamber.

She couldn’t remember much else, until she’d woken up in Nestor’s arms.

Where is Dunamis? she asked, as she opened her eyes again and tried to sit up. Pain shot from her thigh down to her toes and she winced.

He’s here, standing at the edge of the rock. Nestor motioned with his chin toward the edge.

Nestor had the gift of Sight. From the moment his spirit had awakened, he could see with unmatched clarity the unseen realm around him. Nestor could see the guardian angels, whom they called Azar, and the resonant colours that surrounded the people of the Way. He could see Eli and speak to Him plainly. He could see the brilliant light of Bära when He would make Himself manifest to the people. And he could see Neshamah— the Nurturer—who was always present, encircling the survivors and moving hearts and life.

Nestor’s unearthly perception had made him a quiet, pensive man. Although Rayah suspected he had probably always been a thinker.

Rayah looked out toward the rock. The pain continued to keep her spirit eyes blurred but she could make out the silvery outline of her guardian, Dunamis.

Rayah had first met Dunamis when she had been awakened, only two years before. Before that, she had always known he was there, but she had never seen or spoken with him. Assigned to her by Bära when she was conceived, he had never left her side. He stood more than eight feet tall and had enormous wings that were normally folded behind him, the peaks reaching several feet above his shoulders. She loved his wings. They were translucent silver, almost jagged, and edged with something resembling soft bone or cartilage, and they glowed in a blue-silver sheen.

Dunamis served under Michael, the angel of war. At first, it had seemed strange to her that Dunamis was of the war guard, since Rayah’s gift had quickly shown itself to be the gift of Love.

Rayah had learned, though, that Love was the most powerful of all the gifts—more powerful than those of the Protectors, Seers, Flyers, Healers, Readers, or even the fabled Prophets. If any man or woman, boy or girl looked in Rayah’s eyes, if there was any measure of openness at all to the Creator, they would be overwhelmed by His Love. Rayah’s gift had the power to make them forget pain and forgive horrible wrong. It was an invitation—always an invitation—into the reality of His life and love.

Rayah had soon learned that some people, who had once been friends, would avoid her at all costs. It seemed Love would make them aware of their own inadequacy apart from Bära, forcing them into the uncomfortable position of having to make a choice. And people did not like to make that choice.

The Seers, like Nestor, could see translucent colours surrounding all living things. These colours would vary in their intensity and their fluidity. Nestor had described that the moving colours surrounding Rayah would often change. Sometimes they were fiery red, and sometimes a warm blue. Sometimes the blue itself would change to an icy blue that could reach its fingers into the very heart, shattering carefully constructed walls and illuminating forgotten pain.

Rayah’s gift was most active when she was living inside what she called His sea. She would often encounter Eli, Bära, and Neshamah and would sit quietly in their presence and listen to their voice. As long as she was aware of their presence and their purposes, she knew what they were communicating through her with any soul she met.

Although she knew it was not possible, on days like today, with her flesh in agony, it felt as if her spirit were asleep.

Once a human spirit had been awakened, there was no going back to dormancy. Unbreakable, luminescent chords of light would bind them to Eli in the moment of their awakening and they would become acutely aware of the battle between light and darkness, not just in the world but also within themselves.

Dunamis, she called over to him. As Dunamis turned his head toward her, he came more into focus. His face was like a man’s face. Strong, square features and piercing, impossibly blue eyes. Dunamis, what are you watching for? she asked.

I am only watching the night, young one, Dunamis answered and stepped forward. He looked up the cliff and from side to side. His hand rested in a casual way on the hilt of his sword. She had seen him wield that sword dozens of times, and there was nothing casual about his skill.

Thank you. She smiled at him and rested her head back onto Nestor’s chest.

After a few moments, she looked up at Nestor and asked, Have we found him yet?

Nestor looked back into her dark blue eyes and smiled sadly. Not yet, sister. Not yet.

THE MORNING CAME EARLY AND FOLLOWED A restless sleep. Nestor had left several times during the night to check their surroundings, and each time, Rayah had woken up and struggled to ignore the pain in her leg and to fall back to sleep. Half the time she thought it was more likely she had passed out than actually fallen asleep.

Rayah pushed herself up on to her elbows and tried to stretch out the relentless kinks in her neck.

Where are we going now? she asked as she watched Nestor start a new fire.

To find a Healer, he answered before crouching low to blow on the small embers he had found. He must have been cold, having given up his outer shirt for her, leaving him with only a thin T-shirt to protect him from the chill. Rayah was grateful.

Nestor added some twigs and dry leaves, and eventually the flames began to crackle and lick at the larger pieces of wood. Nestor had found some river fish on one of his outings, and now began to cook them over the fire. Rayah found the flask of water close to her arm and picked it up to pry the cork out. This time the water went down better than it had the night before and she swallowed half of it.

I know there are some people not far from here who will help us, Nestor said as he turned their breakfast to roast the other side. The Teacher says it’s safe to go whenever we’d like. He looked up at her and smiled warmly. He always called Eli the Teacher. He had a deep affection for Him; an awed respect that exuded from him whenever he talked about Eli.

Rayah eased herself down to lie on her back. There was no comfortable position to lie in upon this rock. She’d just as soon be back in Nestor’s bulky arms on the way to possible help—although the thought of the jostling made her want to pass out again.

Rayah ate a small amount of fish and Nestor polished off the rest. After Rayah had managed to relieve herself in the brush, they set off to find Nestor’s friends. Nestor had always been a bit of a wanderer, and she wasn’t surprised he actually knew people out here, in the middle of nowhere.

Rayah hadn’t spent a lot of time in this part of the continent. From the landscape, it seemed they were on the big island that lay hours north of the city. She didn’t know many of the people who lived here. She had spent most of her time in Alexandria, a city that had been named after her great-grandfather, who had been one of the prominent leaders after the Great War. Alexandria, the only home she’d ever known, was more than 500 kilometres away. In the city, after her awakening, she had attended secret meetings in homes and spent time with other Believers at non-official social gatherings, sharing their passion and all the incredible things they were learning about their Creator and themselves.

Nestor had arrived one day, not long after she had first joined the Remnant, to see Aiden. Her Aiden. Nestor and Aiden had been friends on the streets for years, but hadn’t seen each other in a long while. Nestor had wanted to catch up and make sure Aiden was okay. Rayah had instantly loved Nestor—his kindness and gentle spirit were a great comfort and, after their first meeting, Rayah had always welcomed him to their home whenever he was in town.

RAYAH HOPED THESE FRIENDS OF NESTOR’S COULD BE trusted. She wasn’t sure she could endure being recaptured.

The journey turned out to be as painful as Rayah had expected, although Nestor tried his hardest to be gentle as he walked hurriedly along the paths through the woods and up and down the valleys and riverbeds. Dunamis flew just overhead as they made their way. Rayah found herself wishing it were Dunamis who carried her and not her friend. The journey would be less tumultuous in the air.

But she knew her place was here, on the ground. Not because Eli required it, but because He had asked her if she would stay. Earthbound. She could remember Him asking her when she had first been captured, and she could remember Him asking a time before that as well—maybe even more than once. Will you stay, my beloved? He had asked, looking at her with His deep brown eyes. She couldn’t resist Him. She couldn’t help but trust Him.

And so pain wasn’t as final as it seemed…although at the moment, it was difficult to see much beyond its constant badgering.

Nestor and Rayah came upon a small village near the water around noon. Nestor was still carrying her, but Rayah could tell that he was nearly at the end of his strength. Large beads of sweat hovered around his hairline, and the back of his neck where she clung was drenched.

Rayah looked uneasily at the houses and small buildings that met them as they approached. She could see a few old paved streets lined with cottages. Nestor approached with an air of familiarity and walked down a street to the right and made a left turn at the end. Tall pines were scattered everywhere and intermingled with aspen, oak, and maple trees. The small homes rested safely under their branches, shaded from the sun; they watched the pair of intruders lumbering down the side of the street with expressionless windowpane eyes that sat stoically under weathered cedar lintels. Rayah felt that even the ancient coniferous giants were aware of them as they walked. She rested her head between Nestor’s shoulder and chest and thought about how happy she was that she had him. She couldn’t bear to think where she’d be now if he hadn’t found her.

He carried her past a shop that looked like it had probably been there since the late twentieth century, and a fuel station that had two old gas pumps and several large charging stations. Not many people on the big island drove cars, and of those who did, most drove electric ones. The gas pumps were remnants of the world that had existed before the war. Two old men sat on a bench in front of the shop smoking tobacco pipes and watching them with mild curiosity as they passed.

About half a kilometre more down the road, Nestor set Rayah down onto her feet and waited to see if she was steady enough to stand. She leaned into him with her right arm around the small of his back and grasped his T-shirt. How much farther? she asked as she leaned her head into his side.

We’re nearly there, he answered and motioned down the street with his chin.

Rayah tried to take a step with her left leg and nearly fainted from the pain. It was obvious she would still need his help. He helped her sit down on the dusty road, and then he found two sturdy sticks nearby and tied them to her thigh and calf to try to brace her broken leg. He helped her up and then supported her as she hobbled beside him to the door of one of the cottage-homes. She marveled at the enormous strength he had, even after such an arduous journey. He rapped a few times on the old wood-framed screen door.

Nestor, my boy! The door squeaked on its hinges while an old woman opened it and stood aside to let them in. She acted as though nothing at all was strange about Rayah’s appearance. In fact, it seemed like she knew they were coming.

Come in, dear, come in, the old woman said as they walked past her, and she patted Nestor’s back affectionately. Come into the back room, my dear, and let’s see if we can help you with that leg, she said, walking past them through the small sitting room toward a wide oak door at the back of the room.

The fact they would follow was a foregone conclusion.

Rayah clung to Nestor and hobbled after her, taking short, laboured breaths and trying not to pass out. They followed the woman through the large door into the back room. The ceiling was high and an overhead fan spun silently above, pushing a welcome cool breeze through Rayah’s matted hair. Ornate tapestries hung on several walls and silk fabrics were draped in front of the two large windows. The air smelled fresh with a hint of spikenard.

Rayah remembered the scent from her wedding ceremony. An image of Aiden standing in front of her, his hands on her face, surfaced in her mind. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

I promise to love you all my days, Aiden had said. I will honour you, I will uphold you, I will cling to you as I cling to Eli, no matter the cost. For all time.

The memory was sweet but carried with it bitter sorrow. Please let him live, Bära. Please bring him back to me.

The old woman led Rayah to a chaise longue in the corner of the room. Lanterns hung above it and small candles burned on several tables to one side, although their light was swallowed by the noonday sun that cast orange and fuchsia light through the silken window coverings. A mottled blanket lay across the chaise, rich with colours similar to the window coverings and intertwined with sky, cobalt, and midnight blue. A small table that sat on the other side of the lounger held jars of oil of different shapes and sizes; some had labels that read Myrrh, Hyssop, Cassia, Spikenard, and Cedar. Others bore no label but all appeared to be well used.

Nestor helped Rayah to the chaise and fixed some of the many pillows so they propped her up against the back. He carefully untied the crude brace and set the sticks to the side.

The old woman sat on the edge of the chaise and rested her hand gently on Rayah’s good leg. A surge of heat spread from where her hand touched and crept up Rayah’s leg to her hip and down to her toes.

Rayah, I am Zamar, she said as she gently and affectionately rubbed her right knee. I see you are awakened, she said with a warm knowing smile.

Rayah was drawn into her crystal blue eyes and felt her own eyes welling up with unexpected tears. Zamar had seemed unique from the moment she’d opened the door; but now, Rayah was overwhelmed by the sense of nurturing and strength that exuded from her.

Neshamah’s presence intensified in the room as Rayah looked back at Zamar and tried to put together a sentence.

Yes, she said in a scratchy voice, and then cleared her throat to try again. Yes, I am awakened. She didn’t know what else to say. She could only look into Zamar’s eyes and return the warm smile.

It appears Eli wants to keep you around here for a while, beautiful one. Your love is very…precious to Him.

Yes, Rayah answered. He’s asked me to stay.

Zamar smiled at her with a knowing smile. Rayah, I’m a Healer, as you may have guessed. Her eyes danced when she said it. Today, Bära will heal your physical wounds. In time, though, I sense He is after something much deeper. She smiled again and then looked at Nestor as though he knew what she was talking about.

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. The air from the fan blew more intensely then, although the fan wasn’t spinning any faster. Rayah closed her eyes and listened. She heard a resonating note as if from a violin, or maybe a cello. It was quiet but persistent. Then she heard many whispering voices, all repeating similar words: You are lovely. You are beautiful.