Fire and Flood Page 2

  I stared at the wild mass of people around me. The heat and smell of the crowds were overwhelming. Women and men openly fondled each other; many were already drunk. Music, played by the orchestra sitting on the center stage, mingled with the shouts of the multitude as the Magistrate entered into the stadium on a chariot. The racetrack wound around the stadium in an oblong circle, with the rectangular stage in the middle.

  Father stood up and applauded enthusiastically along with the crowd. He pulled Mother up to her feet. “Both of you, show respect!”

  Clapping obediently, I strained to see the most powerful man in the world. The crowd roared in approval as the Magistrate neared the great podium. To my left was his massive throne under a golden awning. A table piled high with delicious-looking food had been placed within reach on the right side of the chair. I turned back to the spectacle before me just as the Magistrate’s chariot stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

  Women, naked from the waist up, stood at the bottom of the stairs, tossing blood-red flower petals as he walked up the stairs, shouting, “Our king!”

  “He’s not a man but a god!” the crowd yelled in reply.

  The Magistrate was a Nephilim, hundreds of years old. As he strode by us proudly, dressed in golden robes and wearing a jeweled crown, it was difficult to believe how ancient he was. I’d imagined him wrinkled and white-haired, but he looked like a man in his prime.

  After seating himself on his throne, the Magistrate nodded to us, his eyes narrowing a bit as he looked at my mother. “Smile and bow,” my father hissed, while bowing. Mother and I bowed. Trumpets blared, and the crowd took their seats.

  The crowd shouted with glee as the dust swirled on the track. The participants entered, each contestant on a vehicle he had built himself; the only parameter was that it had to be pulled by four horses. Everyone in the audience had a favorite challenger, and many wore the colors of their chosen heroes to show support during the festival. The race was the main event, the finale of the festival.

  That was when I noticed him. He was taller than the other young men, well-built and strong. Even though it was my first time in the city, I knew most of the challengers. Since my father was the director, many of the competitors trained on our estate. But the handsome blonde-haired man in front of me now—he was new.

  As the men circuited the arena, I turned to my father, “Who is the young man in white?”

  “That’s Japheth. He comes from a reputable family outside of the valley. His family owns a large farm somewhere, has orchards, sheep, cattle . . . they’re quite wealthy.”

  Japheth stood apart from the other contestants, checking on his horses. Methodically, he stroked each one along its well-arched neck before checking all their harnesses and mouth bits. His arm muscles rippled as he went from horse to horse, checking their gear. They were the color of cream—powerful beasts, broad chested with flowing manes and tails, perfectly matched. I stared, mesmerized by their impressive beauty—and his.

  “What does the winner of the race receive as his prize?” I asked my father. Surely those powerful horses would give this Japheth an excellent chance of winning.

  Father peered at me bemusedly. “The custom is for the winner to claim whatever reward he desires, my dear. Often, it involves a great deal of gold and silver.” Mother asked him a question, and he turned back to answer her.

  Japheth jumped onto the back of his chariot-style vehicle and moved the horses to the starting line in preparation for the opening ceremony. Stunningly handsome, Japheth embodied masculine virility. The crowd, hazy with lust and liquor, responded wildly.

  My mother shook her head in disgust at the leering crowd, and I saw my father place one of his hands over hers in a silent warning. Displaying any sign of judgment or disapproval was suspect. Only those sympathetic to the Old Ways found anything wrong with expressions of strong desires.

  Since my childhood, my mother had taught me about the Old Ways. Before the Magistrate’s rule, hundreds of years ago, there had been respect for the Creator and His ways. Now, anyone who spoke up about immoral behavior, who disliked the Nephilim, or who questioned the Magistrate or his men in any way, would find themselves before the court and sentenced to death. That is, if they even lived that long.

  Carefully, I kept my expression enthusiastic and clapped wildly, hoping to draw attention away from my mother’s obvious disapproval. I wore reams of silver bangles that tinkled and glittered in the sunlight as I clapped. The crowd roared in anticipation of the race beginning; the competitors were lined up on the starting line. Excitement was building.

  I was startled by a tap on my shoulder. One of the Magistrate’s Nephilim guards stood behind me and indicated he wanted me to follow him. Mother grabbed at my dress, but Father pulled her hand away.

  “The Magistrate would like to see you as well, Director, and your wife.” The guard’s tone was ominous. Since the Magistrate was only a few feet away, we arrived before him quickly—too quickly.

  “Turn your face to me, girl,” he commanded. His voice was entrancingly melodious, beautiful, and compelling. I lifted my eyes and stared into his and was caught in the flinty depths of dark obsidian. Beauty and evil melded together in an expression of great intelligence and cunning. My heart froze in terror, and I tried to keep myself from trembling.

  My father bowed lowly before the Magistrate on his hands and knees. “Your Excellency.”

  “You’ve kept your wife and daughter away from the Capitol until now. I can appreciate your reasons, Director. Your daughter—what is her name?”

  “Ariana,” my father stuttered.

  “She’s magnificent. I find her enticing.” The Magistrate continued to stare into my eyes, and despite my fear, I found myself drawn to him.

  He turned his gaze from me and looked with frank interest at my mother. She was not bowed before him but was looking at me. Mother smiled at me reassuringly before turning her attention to the Magistrate.

  “I presume by your manner that you disapprove of me.” He smiled cruelly and hissed, “If you renounce the Old Ways, I may take pity on you and show you mercy.”

  Silent, she stared at him unflinchingly.

  “I denounce her, my Lord!” My father sat back on his knees and pointed at my mother. How could he so easily betray her?

  The Magistrate looked bored. “And yet, you allowed this to go on in your own home, Director. Take them both.” One of the Nephilim guards yanked my father to his feet and led him off, while another pulled my mother away. I knew I’d never see them again. I swayed as I watched them disappear from my sight.

  “Look at me,” the Magistrate commanded. The shouts of the crowd applauding the entertainment going on behind me sounded surreal. I steadied myself and turned. Caught again in his dark regard, I found myself wanting desperately to escape. Then his voice spoke into my mind. I knew this was possible; Nephilim had the powers of the Fallen Ones, but I was shocked and horrified by his lurid words in my mind.

  The words he spoke aloud were much more pragmatic. “You will stay with me now, Ariana. Sit here by my side.”

  Silently, I obeyed. A cup of wine was thrust into my hands by one of the serving women. “This will help,” she whispered. I gulped the wine. The taste was strange. She must have drugged the wine, I thought briefly before I lost consciousness.

  I am not sure how long I was unconscious; the roar of the crowd woke me. It couldn’t have been long. Struggling to order my thoughts, I opened my eyes and saw the final race was about to begin.

  “Welcome back,” the Magistrate whispered seductively in my ear. Startled, I realized I was leaning against his shoulder. I sat up quickly and moved away from him, which made him laugh. Revulsion and longing warred inside me as we watched the race. Closing my eyes, I silently begged the God of my mother to help me.

  The roar of the crowd interrupted my plea as the whole amphitheater reverberated with their shouts. I opened my eyes and saw that Japheth led the pack. Watching him round the cu
rve of the dirt track, I sensed that somehow this was more than just a race. Four powerful grey dappled horses surged just behind him, driven by one of the massive Nephilim. As the track straightened out, the Nephilim closed in on Japheth until they were side by side.

  The race continued. I saw the seventh marker as Japheth pulled into the lead on the last lap of the race, holding my breath as he crossed the black line in the sand. Japheth had won! He was escorted from the track and brought before the Magistrate, and me beside him, to claim his prize.

  Japheth stood in front of us, the sweat glistening on his face, his eyes defiantly flashing.

  “I’m surprised you dare come here,” the Magistrate jeered viciously at the young man.

  “I thought nothing could surprise you,” Japheth responded quietly, firmly. “I am here to claim my prize.” He turned his gaze from the Magistrate to me. “I’ve come for her.”

  The people around us gasped. Who was this man to claim what the Magistrate clearly desired?

  “The Father has sent me for you,” he said kindly to me with a smile, holding out his hand to me.

  “She is mine!” The Magistrate screamed for his men to take Japheth.

  “You forget yourself, Magistrate! The victor of the race has the right to choose his prize. You can’t violate your own law!” Japheth shouted back. There was a strong authority about him, even as a young man. Incredibly, the Nephilim guard staggered back from him, compelled by some unseen force.

  “Ariana,” he said, “You must choose now.”

  I wish I could say that I went with him wholeheartedly. Surprisingly, the dark beauty and power of the Nephilim was strong, and it was a great struggle to speak the words that freed me. “I . . .” Closing my eyes, I pushed the words out with effort, “. . . choose to go with you.” Immediately, the darkness lost its grip on me.

  Japheth caught me up in his arms and carried me out of the amphitheater in his chariot, away from the Magistrate. No one challenged him. Once outside, he smiled down at me. “We have a long ride west.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “We’re going to my family home. Just east of Eden.”

  FIRE

  Chapter 3

  Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has born?

  Isaiah 49:15

  I’m not sure how long I was in the car with the men in suits as we drove away from the Compound. No one said a word. I looked out the window, frantically trying to figure out where we were. I thought of the map of the area from before the Vanishing, hanging in Jack’s office. It was all marked up with areas where other people had been seen or the location of small settlements with which to trade for food or supplies. I’d studied it, trying to memorize the marks in case Daphne and I finally had a chance to escape. Now, I was leaving, and she had been left behind. I wondered if someone had already buried her by the back fence with the others.

  I also wondered where these men were taking me. Recalling the look in my mother’s eyes, I was sure it wasn’t anywhere good. One by one, I thought of different scenarios, my speculations fueled by the deviant stories the Prophet loved to tell of the post-Vanishing world outside the Compound.

  The morning sunshine streamed along the base of the mountains we were passing. Covered by massive evergreens, the mountains stretched up, their summits still shrouded in darkness. There was a lake next to the road we sped along. Sunlight dappled its smooth surface.

  With a start, I realized that most of the trees growing along the banks of the lake were ashy grey or brown. As the sunlight increased, it revealed the red, sludgy-looking water of the lake, with hundreds of dead fish and trash floating on its surface. The smell of death wafted into the car, and I covered my nose. None of the men responded to the smell or the sight of death as we rolled alongside the lake.

  As we drove on, there were more signs of devastation. The entire sides of the hills and mountains looked as if they’d melted, like wax running down a candle. Trees and dirt were heaped up in piles, and there were places in the road blocked with rocks, fallen trees, and dirt. The driver seemed familiar with the obstructions as he skillfully turned the wheel, navigating around the obstacles. Finally, we came out of the maze, and the road wove through a valley with fields fenced in with wire.

  I was anxious, certain somehow that we were nearing our destination. The driver barked at the man sitting next to me to wake up. He sat up quickly and glanced over at me. I didn’t like the look on his face.

  The car sped up a small hill. As we crested it, I saw a town ahead—large vehicles and piles of debris blocked the entrance. About twenty men guarded the perimeter, all armed with rifles.

  “Let us pass; we’ve got a volunteer for His Excellency,” the driver ordered through the open window. Too soon, we pulled up to our destination.

  “Get out,” the man in the front seat ordered, as his partner opened my door. Clasping my bag to my chest, I climbed stiffly out of the car.

  The guy grabbed my arm and pulled me in front of the car toward the building’s entrance. No sooner had we reached the door than the car squealed away.

  “What’cha got there, Stan?” A uniformed man stood next to the door, holding an automatic rifle like the ones our scouts carried back at the Compound.

  “A volunteer,” the guard smirked. He smiled weirdly and looked at my body with a look I knew to be lust. I felt sick to my stomach.

  We entered a sunny room. I was stunned by how beautiful it was. Big windows framed the mountains in the distance along each wall, except one. That one had a massive fireplace constructed of large, smooth rocks. In front of the fireplace was an old woman sitting at a desk. Stan ordered me to sit in one of the chairs and stood behind me with his arms crossed, glaring down at me.

  “Well, Stan,” the old woman crowed up at him. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “Yeah, it’s getting harder to find premium stock,” he muttered. “Took us quite some time to get this one. We expect a lot for her.”

  The old woman ordered me to stand up and turn around for her. “If she is pure, you will get your pay. His Excellency needs his volunteers. Take her to a room and have her clean up. She stinks.” She waved her hand in the air dismiss us.

  The guard grabbed my arm and pulled me along a hallway. “You’ll be here for a few days,” he muttered grimly, opening a door to a small room and pushing me in. “We’re waiting on a couple of others to send along. The sooner you realize that no one here cares, the better. Behave and you won’t get hurt. Cause any trouble, and you will.”

  The guard left the room, locking the door behind him.

  The room was furnished as a bedroom, and I fell onto the bed. Curling back into a ball, I hugged my legs tightly and sobbed. I cried for Daphne, the only real mother I’d known, while my “real” mother’s mocking voice played over and over in my mind. Surely my mother knew what she was sending me into—no, selling me into.

  Shrill shrieks interrupted my thoughts. A woman was screaming for someone to stop. I put my hands over my ears to shut out the sound. Looking out of the window, I could see it was still dark outside.

  I thought of all the things Daphne had taught me, then noticed my bag on the floor by the bed. The little Bible she loved was in there. We had not been allowed to read the Bible at the Compound; Dominic was the only one with that privilege. But Daphne had hidden this small copy in her shed.

  “How can any of it be true? She loved You, God, and look where it got her! She always told me to trust You, and this is where I am!” I muttered, sniffing back my tears.

  I put my head in the pillow on the bed and screamed into it in rage and fear. I was unloved, alone, and at the mercy of evil people who wanted to use me. I screamed until I had nothing left in me.

  Finally, I got up and went to the bathroom. It was beautiful, with brown and cream-colored tiles lining a massive shower. I wondered for a second what kind of place this had been before the world went crazy. Daphne ha
d told me stories about what life was like before the Vanishing. There were stores you could drive to and buy all kinds of food or clothes. She and her husband would go to restaurants for dates or to theaters to watch movies where they ate popcorn and drank sodas. She would have been able to tell me what this place had been. Now, it was just a prison.

  After my shower, I sat in the deep leather chair that faced the cold, dark fireplace. I had no idea where they were going to take me. I didn’t know a lot about the outside world. Information was closely restricted at the Compound. Without being told, I knew that my father and Dominic Webb parceled out only what they wanted us to know. Knowledge was power.

  According to Dominic, he was a prophet sent by God to rescue the faithful remnant. The Compound was our refuge from the coming Apocalypse. What if he was right? I recalled Dominic’s railing condemnation.

  “America was never great!” he’d yelled, eyes blazing with righteous indignation. “America only had a veneer of greatness. Under its fake surface, it was full of sewage, its soul diseased. Its government was totally corrupt; its churches filled with evil men peddling false religion.”

  Jack had shouted loudly, “Amen, preach it, brother! Only the Chosen are safe from that evil because of godly men like you!”

  I pulled the small book out of my bag, rubbing the old brown leather. Many sweet memories were tied to it. Daphne had taught me to read using this Bible. Nothing my father or Dominic ever said or did fit with what I’d read in its pages. But Daphne did. Everything Daphne said and did fit with what was written in this book, almost perfectly.

  “Daphne fit,” I whispered.

  “Wake up! Wake up!” Someone was shaking me hard. Opening my eyes, I looked around, confused. I was alone in the room, still sitting in the chair, holding the leather book, and everything around me was pulsating.

  Before I could move, the entire building shuddered around me and dropped. The chair I was in fell over less than a second later, and I was tossed onto the floor. I screamed as the shaking continued, putting my arms over my head as bits of debris crumbled around me. It seemed like it went on forever, but eventually the building stopped moving and everything was still.