Mordecai had difficulty ascertaining how long he had been lying there on the ground. He was surprised to wake up alive at all. His body felt so cold. Numbness was overtaking him. He no longer felt his arms or legs. The monolithic sword protruding out of his belly filled his view, but he could no longer feel it.
I’m dying. He searched around him through dimming vision. He could not find Gideon or Shaddai’s Deliverer. Fear gripped what was left of his mind. He had only one chance.
Mordecai recalled the ancient, forbidden word for summoning. He spoke it along with the name Jericho. He kept repeating the phrase, using the last vestiges of his strength, casting a grappling hook by a thread, hoping to hold on to life just a little longer. Mordecai felt weaker by the second though how much time actually passed he could not tell. He could not even hear his own voice anymore. The sound of wind through grass faded.
“Mordecai?” a deep voice asked.
Hearing his name, Mordecai snapped back to consciousness.
“Mordecai, why have you summoned me?” the voice said.
Mordecai heard the fallen angel’s voice, rich with power. He opened his eyes. Over him stood the form of a man. For just a moment, Mordecai thought he saw a trailing glimpse of two large wings-the feathers soiled. Then the image disappeared, leaving just the man.
He bent low, examining the sword protruding out of Mordecai’s belly. The angel reached out, flicking the pommel with his long index finger. The sword vibrated, sending a shimmer of pain coursing through Mordecai’s body again. I’m not dead yet. Despite the pain, that knowledge relieved him.
The angel’s face appeared quite beautiful-the way a snake or deadly spider is beautiful. Jericho’s fearsome countenance might have been radiant at one time, but somehow the light was missing, leaving only a sad emptiness behind. Jericho peered into Mordecai’s face, smiling.
“I’ll bet you never expected to end up like this, did you Mordecai?” The whole situation seemed very amusing to the angel. “Your friends from the temple don’t look so hot either, but you look the worst. Oops, I’m not much of a comforter am I?”
“Help me, Jericho,” Mordecai strained.
“You’re as good as dead. Poor Mordecai,” Jericho said, shaking his head with mock concern.
“I’m not dead yet,” Mordecai spat through the renewed sensations of pain.
“True. But I have no reason to help you,” Jericho said. “You will be in Torments soon enough. I have no reason to delay it.” He stood, turning away from Mordecai’s body, disinterested now.
Mordecai’s last hope was fading away. “Wait!” he pleaded.
Jericho’s disappeared.
“Shaddai’s Deliverer is alive!” Mordecai used his last breath to say the words. He teetered on the brink, crossing into the spiritual realm for good-into the abode of the dead.
Jericho hastened to Mordecai’s side instantly. His hand gripped the sword, removing it so he could work quickly. The blood pulsed through the wound with each fading heartbeat. Jericho placed his hand into the wound and began to mend the worst damage.
After several tense moments, Mordecai breathed again like a man coming up from the depths-sucking in precious breaths of life. His heart rate increased steadily. Blood flow began to pick up with each contraction of his atria and ventricles. Blood pressure rose to acceptable levels. Jericho eased off the wound. Mordecai had not yet regained consciousness, but he would live.
Jericho watched the unconscious man as he inhaled and exhaled with regularity. He laughed within himself. How could they have been so foolish-to think it would be so easy to defeat the purposes of the Almighty. It made perfect sense now, just as it had when Mordred had announced victory nine years ago. Jericho had held his own misgivings then. It seemed those doubts had been confirmed. The chosen child had survived.