home from the war games she’d played with her brothers and neighborhood kids.
She hadn’t seen her brothers in years—God knew where Ted had gone this time, Indonesia, she thought, to teach farming. Randy didn’t stay in touch even that much—he had his own family, his own worries over a growing practice in Seattle. The bonds between them had passed on along with the old man. But she wondered if she’d see them again—or if they wanted to see her. Maybe if she got home and...
Turning a corner, there it stood, fractured against the sky. The church. Or whatever that tall, half-shattered building with the arched windows and holy ground was. Mountains loomed in the distance behind it, dusky in the cloud-blurred light of this world’s day. Had Temple made it back?
Closing her eyes—just for a second— she could almost hear a sound in her head. Temple? It wasn’t Gideon’s voice, but an image of him formed. Here and hurting. She wanted that to be real so much that the wanting of it cut like glass shards pressed into her heart.
Shutting down the idea, she opened her eyes, and pointed with Gideon’s blood-stained knife. “Here. We’ll be safe here.”
Jakes nodded and he still had heat in his eyes. He also sent Shoup in first and followed with his gun lifted.
The two airmen went in crouched low, looking for trouble. Carrie waited to a count of five and eased in behind them. In the cool darkness, she leaned against a wall and closed her eyes. Maybe she could fall down for a few hours now. But soft steps on stone echoed, safety switches clicked on automatic weapons and she opened her eyes, panic flaring, hot and bright. She would find the energy to beat these two military idiots to death with their own guns before she’d let them take Temple out.
But it wasn’t Temple who stood by the altar. Well, it was. His dark, bulky figure blended with shadows. More shadows darkened his expression into something wary and fierce. She could see why Jakes and Shoup had switched off their safeties. But Temple only stood there, very still in the gloom. He’d shucked off the tatters of his dusty robe. A sleeveless tunic and loose pants hung on his muscles, but her stare moved to the other man Temple held upright. She couldn’t blink, or find words, or even fill her lungs.
Next to Temple, stood Gideon.
He had lost his robes and his black t-shirt, but he still wore his even-sided cross, dangling from a thin black cord. The skin on his shoulders and chest gleamed pale and smooth in the dim light. He still had his jeans on and colorless cloth wrapped his ribs and he leaned on Temple like he needed the support. But he had his eyes open and his chest lifted and fell again with labored but regular breaths.
“Gideon?” she said, taking one startled step, the word spilling out with a flood of giddy relief. She took two steps more. Fists clenching on air, she stopped. She glanced at Jakes and Shoup, crouched low to her left, guns aimed. Something cracked in her, fractured clean like stressed metal. No more . And she let out the fury and the misery of the day in fast, tight words. “Dammit, Jakes, wasn’t shooting him once already enough?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
No, I didn’t rise from the dead. Shoup got it wrong, but I—well, yes, I was hurt. I don’t know how badly—it there such a thing as a good gunshot? But my recovery wasn’t miraculous. It’s…Temple knows…they’ve evolved a different approach to healing, what I think we’d call a holistic approach and it’s probably closer to Chinese ideas about chi. It’s their main advantage… interesting how the universe seems to need to even the balance. Like with extravagant flowers in a desert. — Excerpt Interview with Gideon Chant
Gideon saw Carrie and two men with guns and everything else—even the pain—stopped mattering. He pushed away from Temple and something sharp pulled in his back, but it wasn’t enough to slow him. The burn in his veins told him he’d
She hadn’t seen her brothers in years—God knew where Ted had gone this time, Indonesia, she thought, to teach farming. Randy didn’t stay in touch even that much—he had his own family, his own worries over a growing practice in Seattle. The bonds between them had passed on along with the old man. But she wondered if she’d see them again—or if they wanted to see her. Maybe if she got home and...
Turning a corner, there it stood, fractured against the sky. The church. Or whatever that tall, half-shattered building with the arched windows and holy ground was. Mountains loomed in the distance behind it, dusky in the cloud-blurred light of this world’s day. Had Temple made it back?
Closing her eyes—just for a second— she could almost hear a sound in her head. Temple? It wasn’t Gideon’s voice, but an image of him formed. Here and hurting. She wanted that to be real so much that the wanting of it cut like glass shards pressed into her heart.
Shutting down the idea, she opened her eyes, and pointed with Gideon’s blood-stained knife. “Here. We’ll be safe here.”
Jakes nodded and he still had heat in his eyes. He also sent Shoup in first and followed with his gun lifted.
The two airmen went in crouched low, looking for trouble. Carrie waited to a count of five and eased in behind them. In the cool darkness, she leaned against a wall and closed her eyes. Maybe she could fall down for a few hours now. But soft steps on stone echoed, safety switches clicked on automatic weapons and she opened her eyes, panic flaring, hot and bright. She would find the energy to beat these two military idiots to death with their own guns before she’d let them take Temple out.
But it wasn’t Temple who stood by the altar. Well, it was. His dark, bulky figure blended with shadows. More shadows darkened his expression into something wary and fierce. She could see why Jakes and Shoup had switched off their safeties. But Temple only stood there, very still in the gloom. He’d shucked off the tatters of his dusty robe. A sleeveless tunic and loose pants hung on his muscles, but her stare moved to the other man Temple held upright. She couldn’t blink, or find words, or even fill her lungs.
Next to Temple, stood Gideon.
He had lost his robes and his black t-shirt, but he still wore his even-sided cross, dangling from a thin black cord. The skin on his shoulders and chest gleamed pale and smooth in the dim light. He still had his jeans on and colorless cloth wrapped his ribs and he leaned on Temple like he needed the support. But he had his eyes open and his chest lifted and fell again with labored but regular breaths.
“Gideon?” she said, taking one startled step, the word spilling out with a flood of giddy relief. She took two steps more. Fists clenching on air, she stopped. She glanced at Jakes and Shoup, crouched low to her left, guns aimed. Something cracked in her, fractured clean like stressed metal. No more . And she let out the fury and the misery of the day in fast, tight words. “Dammit, Jakes, wasn’t shooting him once already enough?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
No, I didn’t rise from the dead. Shoup got it wrong, but I—well, yes, I was hurt. I don’t know how badly—it there such a thing as a good gunshot? But my recovery wasn’t miraculous. It’s…Temple knows…they’ve evolved a different approach to healing, what I think we’d call a holistic approach and it’s probably closer to Chinese ideas about chi. It’s their main advantage… interesting how the universe seems to need to even the balance. Like with extravagant flowers in a desert. — Excerpt Interview with Gideon Chant
Gideon saw Carrie and two men with guns and everything else—even the pain—stopped mattering. He pushed away from Temple and something sharp pulled in his back, but it wasn’t enough to slow him. The burn in his veins told him he’d
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