The Guardian

Celebration

Final Declaration

I declare order!

Markus Dara stands tall in front of the great council with a presence of gifted authority. He knows his brethren well; however, the dark times they have experienced on earth have caused them to become less connected. This division has never been more evident than now. He bangs his gavel loudly against the hard wood podium, his dark brown eyes casing the audience, ready to pull their attention back to the important matter at hand. The fate of humankind is riding on the outcome of this meeting; needless to say, he is prepared to rein all of the members in quickly.

The world was falling, so far and so fast, and hence the thought of any more innocent lives being lost causes great anguish to simmer in his spirit. Markus has known this day was coming; however, the gravity of the situation is causing him abundant heartache. The Lord’s promise of deliverance is of great comfort, but Markus can’t help but feel the responsibility on his shoulders. Silently he fears the weight will be too much to bear. What if I can’t make them see? Shaking his head slowly, he breathes deeply, refusing to allow the spirit of fear to take up residence. Turning his attention back to the present challenge, he prepares to address the crowd again but then stills as the unwelcomed voice of the man he once thought of as a brother bellows over the crowd.

Who declared you ruler over us, Markus? Last I checked, your status of elder was being challenged. The silence that comes after his insulting remark is louder than the sneers that were echoing before.

Markus searches the crowd until he sees the face to the voice he was looking for. Niem, I’m not surprised you are misinformed about my status. Last I heard the Guardian no longer trusted you with information pertaining to the great council. Why are you here?

Crossing his strong, tanned arms Markus purposely relaxes his body as he waits for a reply. The last thing he wants is to show the anger brewing inside. A small trickle of sweat starts to form on his broad chest as the aching of his warrior markings start to pulse with heat. The feeling is more than distracting. Not allowing the intense feeling to cloud his judgment, Markus leans his hip against the podium, keeping his eyes pierced on Niem. The closer he gets, the stronger the urge to fight starts to bubble. Markus knows better than to succumb to this temptation. However, although God teaches us to love our enemies, Niem pushes this principle to point of daily prayer. The other members turn their attention away from Markus as they look between the two men.

Slowly making his way down to the atrium, Niem bends his head back in laughter. Why am I here?

Niem takes his index finger and places it on his chiseled chin. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his face causes him look older than his actual years. Cocking his head to the side, he attempts to show a look of great thought; however, his black eyes display nothing more than amusement.

Ensuring his boisterous voice echoes through the hall, he says, I am here to make certain the council does not fall victim to your lies. God did not send you here. I know for a fact the only authority you stand on is your own. Niem continues his descent and pays no regard to the murmurs that arises after his malicious accusation.

Markus wishes he had been shocked by his outburst; nonetheless, the sad truth is Niem is nothing but the Satan’s gatekeeper. Deceit is part of who he is. Regardless of this insight, Markus can’t help but take Niem’s comments as a blatant challenge to his position. Once upon a time Niem was his greatest confidant. The bond between warriors is strong, and the day that bond was broken was the day Markus lost a piece of himself. It could actually be labeled as one the saddest days of his life. The Niem he loved and trusted died; unfortunately, he was never coming back. Buried secrets always have a way of resurrecting themselves.

Shaking his head in disgust, Markus looks over Niem with disdain. Fighting his anger down, he evenly states, The Lord Almighty has called me here, and on his authority I demand this meeting come to order. Standing upright, he takes a step forward. You are nothing more than a coward. Any warrior who would stand in the way of keeping innocent blood from being spilled doesn’t have the right to be here. Markus keeps his tone even but firm.

Never one to show reverence Niem strides self-assuredly toward Markus until he invades his personal space. The tension is palpable; each man can feel his warrior instinct itching to surface. Slowly Niem’s hand touches the handle of his sword as his black eyes cast over Markus. Raising his eyebrows, he gloats, You still want to lie and say God sent you here? Why would the Most High send you? You’re nothing but a Stora now. You lost your status of warrior when you lost your Beings. The hint of amusement in his voice is evident. Niem grins condescendingly, unashamed of openly pouring salt into old wounds.

Markus takes a step back, trying to rein his temper in. The tongue is a weapon he learned to tame long ago, but during times like these he finds it hard to keep his peace. Through gritted teeth, he exclaims, Now is not the time for your games, Niem! The war we face as a people is greater than any propaganda you toss around. The humans are in need, and no matter what filth you claim as truth, I will keep this meeting in line, as I was called to do by God. Spiritually Markus knows this meeting is not about old battles or old wounds. It’s about God’s will and nothing, and no one, is more important than the will of God.

Crossing his thin olive arms, Niem huffs. You’re right, Markus, now is not the time for games. Now is the time for a true warrior to step forward and address the council.

Fisting his palms tightly, Markus feels his fingers become numb. His brown eyes glare at Niem as he slowly asks, Do you dare question my heritage? Trying to control the desire to unmask his sword, Markus pushes down his ire yet again, but his pride is ready to show how great a warrior he truly is. On instinct Markus’s fingers slowly edge toward his weapon until they happily find the handle.

Niem catches sight of Markus’s slow movements and steadies himself, ready and hoping for a fight. Yes, I do dare. A true warrior never would’ve allowed his wife and daughter to be taken and killed by the Karzi. Because of you Davidians died trying to save their lives since you failed to do it yourself. Now you have the audacity to make a bold statement that God called you to send his mighty Davidian warriors to battle for the humans.

Markus begrudgingly forces his hands off the handle of his weapon. His blade is ready to taste the blood of his enemy, but today is not the day his justice will be served. No one knows the weight he bears from of outcome of the Gathering. Not a day goes by he doesn’t blame himself for the loss of his wife and daughter. The fact that it’s being thrown in his face deeply angers him. In true warrior fashion, he focuses on the situation in front of him and not on the past. Only God can know how tempted he is to act on emotion. Just as he feels his flesh trying to out will his spirit, Markus feels a prickling in his spirit calling him to still his rage. Anna. Even though his wife, his Amora, is dead, she is still there when he needs her. She always knew how to calm his rampant seas by bringing peace to his heart. He’s not worth it.

Markus stands tall and silent. His broad shoulders bend back, making his impressive size look even bolder. Beads of sweat start to form on Niem’s brow as Markus withdraws even further. Unable to let his wrath pass, Niem refuses to let the heated moment melt away. Narrowing his eyes, Niem starts pressing further as he asks, Were their deaths not enough for you? Now you want more to die for you and your last Being? Niem’s hands are firmly fisted at his sides.

The mention of his son causes Markus to think about his next words carefully. Walking to the center of the room, he smiles discreetly. Markus knows he is here by God’s order, but he dreams of the day when Niem Beriah’s dark secrets will be exposed. When that day comes, the truth behind the Gathering will come to light, and Niem will pay for his sins. Markus takes comfort in the justice that will soon come. I’m done with your games, Niem. These are the only words he speaks, knowing anything further will bring more distraction. He is here to yield order, not create chaos.

Becoming frustrated by the lack of action, Niem searches Markus’s face. Reaching into the pockets of his black robe, he pulls on the fabric as he wipes the sweat off his palms. Noticing a small twitch in Markus’s jaw, the corners of Niem’s mouth turns up; some habits never die. You can’t hide your anger from me, old friend. The amount of hatred he feels for Markus is almost exhilarating. The idea of plunging his blade deep into his gut is pleasurable.

Laughing inwardly, he slowly walks in a circle around Markus as he asks, Why should we give our sons to fight for the human race when they do nothing for our Lord but blaspheme his name? We see what destruction and turmoil they have caused because of their free will. Why not let them live with their choices? It’s no concern to me. Turning his back on Markus as a purposeful sign of disrespect, he raises his voice, Just like man, the Davidians were given free will, and look what wonders and power we have gained through our choices. Loudly he smacks his palm against his chest. I will not give my son, my life, or my freedom for such a race.

Turning around to face Markus, he spits on the ground. You, Markus, are no better than that filthy human race, and I would sooner die by my own blade than follow you. Raising his arms, he petitions, My fellow elders, why put your faith in a washed-up Stora who can’t even protect his own Beings? There is no victory in fighting the Karzi. Why should we pledge our lives, and the lives of our last living Beings, to fight for a lazy, cruel, and arrogant race?

Raging revulsion is boiling inside Markus’s soul. He breathes deeply to calm his vehemence for Niem. Deliberately his hand inches back toward his blade. When he reaches the handle, he feels the Lord’s Holy Spirit pull him back in. A true elder does not live by emotions but by conviction. Niem’s remarks show how similar Davidians are to humans. It’s amazing how pride can make anyone blind and arrogant. Pushing his thoughts aside, he turns away from Niem and takes his place in the center of the hall. His rich brown eyes regard his fellow seniors as he watches them avoid eye contact. Shaking his head slightly, he walks behind the podium. The Davidians have been handed a big responsibility by our Savior. We have been charged to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Pounding his fist against the thick wood, he continues, The human race needs us. We are all his children, and he loves us. I am giving my son to help them fight the war against the Karzi. Pushing his broad shoulders back, he clears his throat to force down the sadness of the sacrifice facing him. Our Lord commands the psyche of a person will plan his ways and God will lead his steps. Our steps have been directed, and I will follow God before man. Moving away from the podium, he gently places his hand on his heart. We all need to remember it’s not about cherishing our own lives but the lives of others. His voice is shaky with emotion, but his presence is sincere and firm. The Most High sent me to present the case of the humans to you; nevertheless, he told me I would be met with many to selfish and unwilling to fight. The pounding of his heart is strong. Slowly he removes his hand, letting it fall to his side. I stand here ready to give my life and the life of my son. My sacrifice is great, but I do it willingly. Not allowing his grief to tremble his voice, he strongly asks, Who here is willing to follow God’s will and not their own?

The room breaks out into wild cries of unwillingness to follow Markus’s lead. Angered and saddened by their feelings, Markus realizes he can do nothing but mourn for the men he used to know. Centuries of living among humans, watching their constantly destructive nature, has hardened them.

Niem stands and coldly replies, I’m not willing to give my life or the life of my son for the humans…or you. With a half bow, Niem keeps his eyes locked on Markus and smirks. Turning on his heel, he heads out of the great hall, patting his fellow elders’ shoulders as he leaves.

Markus takes a deep breath and then motions his arm toward the door. All those who feel Niem is right, then so be it, but when the wrath of God comes down, do not fault me. My prayers will be with you.

One by one the elders stand, bow in respect, and leave. Markus watches, and prays, as all but three depart. Markus knows the price each elder will pay for following their own will; his heart feels heavy because of it. Closing his eyes, he softly says, God, please forgive them for not trusting in your ways. These were once his people, but now they are strangers. Turning to face the remaining elders, his heart softens. He recognizes the journey will not be easy, but by the looks of determination staring back at him, Markus knows God is with them. If they don’t win then they will die trying.

Wake-up Call

Clawing at her throat, Ariel wakes up with a start. Her heart is racing, and her caramel skin is covered in sweat. The feeling of strong hands griping her throat has her gasping for air. Looking around the room, she begins to calm her overwhelming panic. Just a dream. Yanking off the covers, Ariel sits up and then runs her wet palms over her face. Glancing at her cell phone, Ariel takes note of the time: 2 a.m. This is so old. The shadows that haunt her dreams are intensifying in strength. Running her fingers slowly over her throat, she flinches. Taking her hands off her sensitive skin, she feels a cool, wet liquid running down her finger. Blood.

Their attempts to pull her into their dark abyss are both frightening and annoying. Needless to say, waking drench in sweat, calling for Jesus to save her, has begrudgingly become the norm. Ariel prayed for the day she was no longer plagued with the devils seeking her in the darkness. Until that time comes, a lack of sleep mixed with over-caffeinated beverages will continue to be part of her daily grind. Plopping back down on the bed, she swirls a lock of her curly auburn hair between her fingers as her gray eyes focus on the ceiling. Silently she wills her spirit to bring her comfort. Unexpectedly a flash of hazel eyes configure in her mind, causing her to catch her breath. Slowly a deep male voice whispers, Find me. Focusing on the image, she watches as a figure of a man starts to form in front of her. She feels her breath start to quicken. Strangely drawn to the figure, she lays still, curious as to what will happen next.

Her mouth feels dry and she whispers, Who are you?

Just as the figure of the man has almost fully developed, she feels their connection suddenly broken. Before he fully dissipates, she hears the faint murmur of his plea: Find me. Just as quickly as the image appears, it vanishes. Seriously. Not in the mood to go further into the rabbit hole, Ariel rolls onto her side as she prepares to start her day.

Slowly slinking onto the floor, Ariel blindly searches the floor for clothing. The sound of Myra scolding her for not putting her clothes away echoes through her mind. Given her current predicament, she agrees it would be a lot easier to find what she needed if her wardrobe weren’t littered across the floor. Finally she takes hold of a T-shirt. Tossing her sweaty clothing into the hamper, she makes her way to the separate sitting area. Looking for the light, she stills as a figure of man appears before her again. She can’t make out the details of his face but can tell he is a well-built, tall man. His hand reaches out to her as he calls, Find me. Ready to take a step forward, she stops and then quickly turns on the light. Ariel looks around the room. She’s alone.

Rationalizing the lack of sleep is obviously making her delusional, she brews a fresh pot of coffee and then pours herself a cup. Feeling drawn to take a sip of the black brew, she takes a hefty gulp and then puckers her lips in disgust. Despite the bitter taste, she again feels an overwhelming desire to take another sip. Yuck. Not wasting time she opens the refrigerator and pulls out her favorite white chocolate coffee creamer. Hearing voices and