The Blessed Blade: Wielders Saga: Book 1

By Jason Gallaway

Jeremiah hasnt spoken to his family in years. When he hears that his father has been killed and that his younger brother is in a coma, his rage drives him to discover why someone would do something so atrocious.

He returns home to be with his grieving mother and hopes to discover the truth of why his family has been tormented. During his investigation, he comes across a sword left here on Earth by an angel, called a Blessed Blade, and intends to use it to avenge his fathers death.

But this is no ordinary weapon. The sword speaks to him, telling him about Gods grace and that one should forgive his enemies and not seek retribution. In the end, Jeremiah discovers the individuals who killed his father and comes to a crossroads of humanity and faith. Will he choose revenge or redemption?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Aug 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490803708

Jason Gallaway

In 2003, Jason actively partied, drank, and lived out of wedlock with his girlfriend. When his father died that year—-on the morning of his birthday—he decided he needed to make immediate changes. He stopped drinking, separated from his live-in girlfriend of four years, and started the slow process of finding God and changing his lifestyle. Struggling to find sleep in the months after his father’s passing, he decided to write to pass the time and eventually began to pen the manuscript that would become The Blessed Blade. Years later, he is now married and he and his wife Amanda have adopted two beautiful children, Alexander and Evelyn. He volunteers for Special Olympics and works as a Direct Support Professional, where he has helped the physically and mentally disabled for over a decade. Jason feels that God has blessed him greatly and hopes he can give back by spreading God’s word through his writing.

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Copyright © 2013 Jason L. Gallaway.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-0371-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-0372-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-0370-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013913917

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/1/2013

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

—Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

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PROLOGUE

H e had always hated the rain.

As he crawled closer to his father’s unconscious form, he squinted and wiped at his brow to make the tiny droplets go away, and yet they persisted to no end. He felt warmth and noticed light coming from the corner of his vision. As he looked around, he saw a car—his father’s car?—on fire. He turned away from it and continued his movement toward his father’s motionless body.

He realized he wasn’t moving very fast, and it felt as if a lifetime had blossomed into creation and was snuffed from existence in the time it took him to reach his father. He would have been walking if only his right leg wasn’t broken. Or was it his left? He couldn’t tell up from down within this surreal dreamlike state.

He tugged at his father’s coat sleeve. He pulled his arms mightily. He screamed into his ear. He punched his side. He begged him to move.

Nothing.

He began to cry, slowly at first, and then with a monstrous howl of agony.

Through his misery, he heard something peculiar. It was laughter. Someone was laughing. Either at him or his father, but it did not matter. He lay on his back and attempted to look up at the stars. The cursed raindrops shelled his face and made him squint. He pretended that it was just the rain streaming down his face, but he knew there were more tears than raindrops.

Some unseen form blotted out the car fire to his right. Then another one blocked his already obscured view of the stars. Suddenly something caught his eye.

God? He asked ever so softly.

The laughing around him increased and he noticed more blurred images around him. The last sound he heard was the clicking of a pistol’s firing hammer as it set into place, and for some reason he felt at peace even as he heard that sound. The last thought he had was how much he hated the rain.

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CHAPTER 1

He unleashed against them his hot anger, his wrath, indignation and hostility—a band of destroying Angels.

—Psalm 78:49 (NIV)

People are always saying that angels did this or angels did that. Angels saved me here or spoke to me there. I mean seriously, if they were always jumping here and there and everywhere doing God’s will, then they wouldn’t be lumped in the same section as UFOs in bookstores. Never seen because they don’t exist.

—Jeremiah Baile

T he angel Jor’lin sat quietly in the corner of the kitchen waiting for Mabel to finish making her tea. He had watched her do this countless times since becoming her Protector ten years ago. As she shuffled across the tile floor cupping her warm mug, Jor’lin stealthily made his way over to the stove to turn off the gas burner, which seemed to be perpetually left on.

Jor’lin.

He froze at the sound of his name. His hand still hanging just above the burner knob, he turned slowly and looked at the individual who had spoken. It was another angel. Where Jor’lin was the epitome of what humans think an angel should look like, with flowing brown hair, gleaming white robe, gold sandals, and spotless white feathers in his wings, this angel looked the exact opposite.

Standing over seven feet tall, he was an imposing figure, with black hair, black wings, and a black robe that flowed down around his ankles. In his left hand he held his Blessed Blade, a spear whose haft was a dark wood; its blade about eighteen inches long and slightly curved. Its metal was dark and did not glow with the tell-tale green edge of most Blessed Blades. Instead, what appeared to be blood vessels flowed through the metal at random intervals, pulsing with the green illumination that was so familiar with the weapons. This particular weapon is what this angel was most known for. Those whom had seen this angel and lived to tell about it almost always described it as a scythe, an outdated piece of farm equipment used to reap crops. His name was Sariel. This angel had one job and one job only—he was the Angel of Death.

I don’t suppose you’re here for tea? Jor’lin was trying to keep calm. He knew exactly why Sariel was there. It was time for Mabel to die.

Sariel didn’t even smile at the comment. Angels were, mostly, a dry-humored lot. Sariel obviously wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. As Jor’lin watched, the dark angel turned and headed toward Mabel’s bedroom. Jor’lin quickly followed, but he honestly wasn’t sure what his part in this whole situation was supposed to be. As a Protector, Mabel was his first assignment. He had been with her for so long he wasn’t sure what he was going to do next. Sariel seemed to read his mind.

You are to report to Archangel Raphael. You are to be promoted to Advocate and receive your Blessed Blade. Sariel entered Mabel’s bedroom and stood next to her bed as she lay there, propped up and reading a book. Sariel gave her a blank stare. Congratulations. he told Jor’lin without emotion.

Next to her bed on a nightstand sat an old lamp, antique by anyone’s standards. She turned it on every evening before she lay down to sleep. For the past ten years, Jor’lin had turned it off as it had a faulty plug and tended to spark. Thinking of how many times he had protected her, Jor’lin felt an odd mix of excitement and sadness. He was to be promoted! He could hardly wait to make the flight back into Heaven’s plane and meet with Archangel Raphael. At the same time, he was sad that Mabel had to die. Once again, Sariel seemed to be able to hear the thoughts in his mind.

This is a good day, Jor’lin. Sariel grasped his Blessed Blade with both hands. Even though that scythe was what most mortals knew him for, the angels of Heaven were more aware of another piece of equipment he wore—his bracers. They covered his entire forearm from wrist to elbow and were as black as every other article of clothing he had. They continually exuded wisps of almost imperceptible black smoke. As Jor’lin watched, the smoke became more substantial and began to fill the room. It did not touch Mabel or her bed but instead formed a protective circle around her.

Lucifer had a knack for sending demons to mortals who were about to die in an attempt to keep them from their salvation. They caused people to harbor fear of dying and ill will toward God for taking their lives, or regret for things left undone. All mortals feared death; it didn’t take much for Lucifer or his Fallen to manipulate the situation and cause righteous men and women to falter in the last seconds and be sent to Hell. They called it Soul Stealing, and they were very good at it.

The bracers Sariel wore exuded a smoky vapor that surrounded the dying person so that no demons could swoop in and deny the righteous their eternal joy in Heaven. Jor’lin watched as the smoke became thicker and more difficult to see through. Sariel looked over his shoulder at him.

Time to go. Do not fret; soon she will be in the presence of the Almighty. I will escort her to the Gates myself. He then looked back at the bed holding Mabel as more smoke poured into the room. Jor’lin could smell the buildup of natural gas from the stove. Very soon the lamp would spark, and an amazing explosion would kill Mabel and destroy her home of more than fifty years. Giving one last look at the woman he had watched for over a decade, Jor’lin flexed his wings and shot up through the ceiling, ethereal as a ghost so to not damage the structure, and began his flight back into Heaven. He said a silent prayer for Mabel and hoped that Sariel would take her before she burned to death in the fire.

* * *

Jolt nightclub

Downtown Indianapolis, IN

Jeremiah stalked through the dancing crowd knowing that not a single person noticed his movements. Being short meant that almost everyone he came into contact with would certainly not see him as anyone significant, regardless of the fact that he was the most important person in the room. That’s how he wanted it, for that which a man does not fear he does not consider a threat. And as he neared his prey, Jeremiah thought of the countless times someone had failed to take him seriously and had later regretted it. He felt calm and alert as he moved across the dance floor, like a hunting cat creeping across the tall grass of a prairie, or the wind blowing through the trees of a jungle. There was only he and that which he hunted. His body had been honed to perfection years ago. Muscles relaxed and calm, unlike the constant clenching and unclenching movements of a man who was trying to loosen himself up because he was nervous about the conflict about to be unleashed. Years of fighting had long ago told him what he was made of and how his body would respond in any situation. More important than the fact that he was aware of the list of things that he could do, he was even more aware of the list of things that he could not do.

That was a short list.

It had been a busy evening so far. He had found a patron sneaking money out of the tip jar, and rather than involving the police, Jeremiah just banned him from the club. If he was smart—which Jeremiah doubted very much—he wouldn’t come back. Later he had discovered a young woman selling Ecstasy. After he had busted her, she begged him ten ways to Sunday not to turn her in to the police, muttering something about too pretty for prison.

Oh well. Should’ve picked a less illegal line of work.

Now he had a report of a possible fight about to break out. He had been snaking through the crowd for about three minutes until he finally found who he was looking for. His target was within about fifty feet of him, a burly man of about two hundred and fifty pounds by the look of him, a full fifty pounds heavier than Jeremiah, who now eyed him from across the dance floor. The man also appeared to be about a foot taller than him. That meant little to Jeremiah, though, as men twice his size had regularly fallen at his feet broken and beaten. He was closer now, within about twenty-five feet, and he could begin to see why the other bouncer, Damon, had pointed out the situation to him. The tall man was towering over a group of four ladies sitting at a table, and he was quite noticeably pointing one of his large digits at a petite brunette who was cringing in fear and cuddling up to her friends in the hope that they would protect her from this brute. It was a false hope, and Jeremiah knew it, for he had seen it all too many times in his line of work. Jealous husbands, rejected boyfriends, psychopathic stalkers. The list went on and on of males who just didn’t get it and more than likely never would.

As he moved closer, Jeremiah glanced briefly to his right and then to his left to see if the other bouncers had moved into position. He was pleased to see that Damon, a long-time employee, had moved within about fifteen feet of the man about to cause a scene. He was not pleased, however, to see that Robbie, a new guy of less than a month, was smiling at some scantily clad female rubbing up against one of the side railings doing what she probably considered a dance move. Jeremiah could never understand why some men were attracted to that kind of display. Near as he could figure, the girl just had an itch she couldn’t get at to scratch, and if she had itches in those places, who would be interested? A shriek from in front of him let him know that his mind had wondered yet again as it had so often as of late. The brute had taken bold steps and was now in the process of moving the ladies out of the booth to get at the little brunette cowering in a fear so encompassing that she just sat there quivering and sobbing.

Damon moved in just before the brute could grab at the girl, but another huge man tackled him from behind and the two tumbled to the ground in a mass of flailing arms and legs. Apparently the big guy had brought along a friend. Jeremiah bolted into action, covering the distance between himself and the man rolling around with Damon in the blink of an eye. The man whom he instinctively named Tweedle-Dee had Damon face down on the ground and was crouching over him, attempting to subdue him. Jeremiah moved up to him and grabbed the man’s left ear and, before the big oaf could even acknowledge the action, flicked his wrist with a practiced motion, snapping the cartilage and leaving what was left of the ear hanging at a grotesque angle that should not have been anatomically possible. The man wailed in absolute pain and fell to the ground thrashing about. Damon rolled on top of the man and proceeded to cuff him with a zip tie.

Without even slowing down or looking over his shoulder to make sure the man would not or could not come after him, Jeremiah was already heading to engage Tweedle-Dumb. The big guy had the poor girl by the hair with one hand and with his other hand he was tossing aside Robbie, who had finally decided to join in the fray but quite obviously to no avail. Two quick steps had Jeremiah up to attack speed, swooping in with all of the lethality of a bird of prey to a church mouse. Falling to one knee, Jeremiah swung with his right elbow into the back of Tweedle-Dumb’s left knee. The loud pop that followed the strike told Jeremiah he had swung true, as he knew he had, as he always did. The big man buckled under the ferocious blow, and without slowing Jeremiah stood with a swinging left-hand chop to the man’s throat. Tweedle-Dumb hit the ground in a heap, letting go of the girl as his hands now clutched the wounds he had so quickly and painfully received. Looking around, Jeremiah noticed that all the dancers in his area had, understandably, stopped and were watching the conflict. Herd instinct had taken over, and Jeremiah now had plenty of room to work with as the crowd gave him a wide berth. Over to his right, Jeremiah saw Damon and another bouncer by the name of Big Al taking Tweedle-Dee to the back room where they took all those idiots who fought back with the bouncers to wait for the police to arrive. The man was gibbering something about just trying to help.

Yeah right.

Jeremiah looked around and saw that the girl had regained her composure by then and was surrounded by her friends and, much to his chagrin, Robbie, who as usual was paying more attention to his hormones than the situation at hand. Jeremiah just sighed to himself and looked down at the man he had leveled. At this point he had rolled over to his stomach and was writhing in pain. Jeremiah signaled to another set of bouncers to come collect the guy. They walked over to pick him up, but the big man suddenly burst into action. Standing up as best as he could on his one good leg, he pulled out what appeared to be a knife with this right hand and quite skillfully thrust it in Jeremiah’s direction hoping to impale the much smaller man who had so rudely interfered in his love spat. Not the slightest bit surprised, Jeremiah dodged the thrust and grabbed the man’s wrist with his right hand and placed his left hand on the big guy’s elbow. Normally such a big man might give him problems, but with only one working leg, the guy had no leverage. The man’s arm instantly locked, and as he struggled to get it free, Jeremiah applied pressure to his elbow joint. Many people had stopped dancing and had witnessed the fight almost from the beginning. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, he gave the big guy an ultimatum.

Drop the knife and I promise that I won’t give you an arm to match your leg.

Perhaps he could have made that phrase a bit less condescending, but from the look in the man’s eyes he could tell that if he had offered to pay him money to calm down, the big guy would have still told him to go to hell. He was not at all surprised when the man responded.

Go re-tool yourself shorty, I’ll let go of this knife when you make me and not a second sooner so you can just kiss my- Between nobody talking and the fact that the music had also stopped, it was quite easy for everyone near to them to hear the crack as Jeremiah folded the unfortunate man’s arm into an awkward L shape. Everyone within ten feet let out a gasp or hiss of pain as Tweedle-Dumb, aptly named at this point, dropped his knife and hit the deck once again.

Re-tool myself? Jeremiah shook his head as the other two bouncers quickly moved in and scooped up the now crippled man. Robbie was cradling the woman who had just barely avoided an extremely bad night. Jeremiah slowly looked around as he made his way over to where they were standing.

Is she okay? He asked Robbie as he neared them. Surprisingly, it was not Robbie that answered him but one of the girl’s friends. That jerk has been harassing us all night. It’s not Jamie’s fault that guy can’t take no for an answer! I’m glad you did what you did, somebody needed to teach that guy a lesson! Jeremiah looked at Robbie and silently motioned with a head nod for him to go back to work. After hesitating only slightly, he nodded and went back out onto the dance floor. Jeremiah then looked back at the girl who had been assaulted by the big man. You’ll have to come with me and give the police a statement when they arrive. Gently he reached out his hand and took her by the arm. He lead her across the club, picking up the knife along the way, and headed to the back with the girl to wait for the police to come and collect these moronic individuals.

Later, after the police had left with the troublemakers and the ladies had gathered themselves up and headed home, the club was jumping again as if nothing had ever happened. Jeremiah sat in the employee lounge with Damon, who was drinking a cup of coffee, and Big Al, who was eating a pizza that had just been delivered. Al had paid the delivery guy, walked to the table, opened up the box, grabbed the pizza, folded the thing in half and then in half again, and proceeded to eat the whole pie like a sandwich. Damon and Jeremiah just looked at him, confounded, as he quickly devoured the whole thing in about two minutes. After he was done he let out a belch that could have been measured on the Richter scale. Damon and Jeremiah looked at him slack-jawed.

Oh, um, excuse me I guess. Al looked down at the empty pizza box like a kid who had no more presents to open on Christmas morning. He got up and went over to the fridge to rummage around for some leftovers, eventually he decided on someone’s leftover chicken and brought it to the table and began eating again.

They were all chuckling when Richard Ayers, the owner/operator of the club, walked in and poked a piece of folded paper in Jeremiah’s chest.

I told you no personal calls while at work. Next time I won’t take a message; are we crystal? Without answering his boss, Jeremiah took the paper and unfolded it to read its contents. Ayers walked away, not even trying to pretend he didn’t care that his best employee kept embarrassing him on a regular basis. Jeremiah didn’t care. Ayers had opened the club with his daddy’s money. He was no businessman, and as far as Jeremiah was concerned, the only smart move he had ever made was hiring him as the club’s cooler.

Damon looked up at Jeremiah with the unasked question on his face. Eventually Jeremiah looked away from the paper and caught Damon’s expression, his curiosity obvious. Jeremiah folded the paper and put it in his pocket.

It’s from my mother, he said as he grabbed his unopened soda can and headed out the door toward the dance floor. Damon watched him go and after a moment of thought looked over to Al, about to say how surprised he was that Jeremiah even had a mother, but stopping when he saw that Al had lodged a chicken leg sideways in his mouth and was trying, unsuccessfully, to get it free. Damon just stared at Al as he gave up and simply crunched down very hard with his jaws and crushed the chicken leg into little pieces, chewing the thing into mulch. Damon shook his head and went back to his coffee.

* * *

Marion, IN

Jor’lin had been alive for only a short time. Four decades was not long considering the lives of some of the other elder angels. In all honesty, he enjoyed what he did for his God’s children. It was his reason for being, really, to serve his Lord God and to protect the innocent of his flock as they aged and needed his protection more than when they were able to fend better for themselves. He was teeming with energy this day as he began his new role in God’s universe, that of an Advocate. While Protectors watched over the Lord God’s flock on Earth without materializing on Earth’s plane of existence and seldom ever being seen, Advocates intervened physically. They were given permission by their archangel advisors to appear on earth’s plane to prevent outside influences from changing the events God had set forth on earth. Sometimes these influences were humans who had achieved power not meant for mortals. Mostly, however, the interlopers of God’s plan were the angels of Lucifer, known as the Fallen. They acted on Lucifer’s orders in his never-ending attempt to start the end times. Jor’lin shook his head at the thought. Even after being cast from Heaven, Lucifer still did not understand. God would bring about the end times when he chose to do so, and no mischief by a fallen angel could change the will of our Lord God, ruler of the Earth and Heaven.

Jor’lin had to wake himself from his contemplations; he was given an important mission this night. One of Lucifer’s minions, a demon by the name of Hielzon, had killed a group of God’s flock by wrecking their bus as they traveled to a Bible camp. The thought brought about a holy anger in Jor’lin. They were just children! This vile creature was, as with most demons, attempting to gain Lucifer’s favor by striking a blow to the favored of God. Jor’lin flew faster, his wings beating with a great fervor of determination as he approached Earth. His archangel advisor had sent him to seek and eliminate this creature of evil. Normally God did not allow these creatures to be destroyed but instead banished them to a lower level of Hell that even Lucifer could not find. But this was not the first time Hielzon had caused trouble. This time he had not only killed innocents but had also murdered two Protectors, neither of which had seen a full decade of life yet.

Jor’lin reined in his wings closer into his shoulders and, much like a swooping falcon, accelerated toward earth with renewed purpose. Picking up speed he concentrated and let his consciousness fall into Earth’s plane. As he began to do so, he could feel the wind begin to rush around him, his