Join Christy’s email list to get this story free! A notorious gang puts a bounty on Detective Cady Matthews’s head after she takes down their leader, leaving her no choice but to hide until she can testify at trial. But her temporary home across the country on a remote North Carolina island isn’t as peaceful as she initially thinks. Living under the new identity of Cassidy Livingston, she struggles to keep her investigative skills tucked away, especially after a body washes ashore. When local police bungle the murder investigation, she can’t resist stepping in. But Cassidy is supposed to be keeping a low profile. One wrong move could lead to both her discovery and her demise. Can she bring justice to the island . . . or will the hidden currents surrounding her pull her under for good? Hidden Currents is the first book in the six-book Lantern Beach Mystery series. Each book contains a standalone mystery, but there are overarching mysteries within the entire series. Get it now for
Camy here: I'm really mad because I wanted to read this book before posting about it and just haven't had time! I've met Ted and chatted with him a couple times, and he's a very fun guy. It's also refreshingly normal--LOL I guess I had expected a best-selling author to be different somehow, but he's very down to earth.
We're supposed to answer the question, "What is sacrificial love?" My first (and obvious) answer is Jesus. "Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends." John 15:13 (TNIV)
But yesterday we had college group Bible study at my house, and our pastor led the discussion after we watched a video clip of Chuck Colson (from a Q society video Bible study).
I have to say, first off, that I love watching/listening to Chuck Colson speak. But was even cooler was his topic, which talked about "What is Christianity?" He went into four questions people ask of any religion and the fourth question is, "What is my purpose in life?"
The Purpose Driven Life was a bestseller I think because it really answered that question well. Our pastor went deeper into the topic and talked about how some people only want to stay in their "Christian bubble" and not interact with the world and fulfill their purpose in life.
I didn't really figure out who I was until my thirties, but I now have more confidence in what I am doing and why. I know my purpose is to follow whatever God leads me to. I write fiction for the Christian market and not the secular market because God made it very clear to me that he wanted me to write for the Christian market.
At first I was confused because isn't that like preaching to the choir? But now even though I still don't know what He's doing with my books, I'm trusting that He knows what He's doing, and even though I'm writing for Christians and not to nonbelievers, He's using my books for His own purposes. I am being used for His purposes.
God has also called me to youth work, as opposed to teaching children or doing adult Bible studies. This is what He wants me to do, and so I do it and know that I'm fulfilling His purpose for me.
I think that the small things I've gotten into lately have been part of His plan to draw different people to me. I've gotten into knitting and spinning wool, and more recently running. In fact, I'm training for a marathon. (Why? Because I'm about to hit 40. I think that's a good enough reason. :)
I've met different people--mostly nonbelievers--who also like knitting and spinning and running. It's drawing me out of my writing world and my church world into new different worlds and new, different people. And I know that in meeting and interacting with those people, I'm fulfilling His purpose for me.
And isn't that sacrificial love? To do what God wants of us no matter how confusing or hard? Or even if it's fun and easy! I think God honors our willingness to be used.
And for most Christians, we're willing to be used because we love Jesus. It's a very simple equation:
Jesus: I love you. Will you do this for Me?
Me: I love You too! Sure!
I'm not sure if that really addresses the question, but that's where my head is going today, so that's where I took you all. :)
Camy
This week, the
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
Immanuel's Veins Thomas Nelson (September 7, 2010)
by Ted Dekker
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Ted Dekker is a New York Times best-selling author of more than twenty novels. He is best known for stories which could be broadly described as suspense thrillers with major twists and unforgettable characters, though he has also made a name for himself among fantasy fans.
Early in his career he wrote a number of spiritual thrillers and his novels were lumped in with ‘Christian Fiction’ a surprisingly large category. His later novels are a mix of mainstream novels such as Adam, Thr3e, Skin, Obsessed and BoneMan’s Daughters, and fantasy thrillers that metaphorically explore faith. Best known among these is his Circle Series: Green, Black, Red, White and The Paradise Books: Showdown, Saint, and Sinner.
Dekker was born to missionaries who lived among the headhunter tribes of Indonesia. Because his parents’ work often included extended periods of time away from their children, Dekker describes his early life in a culture to which he was a stranger as both fascinating and lonely. It is this unique upbringing that forced him to rely on his own imagination to create a world in which he belonged.
After leaving Indonesia, Dekker graduated from a multi-cultural high school and took up permanent residence in the United States to study philosophy and religion. Upon earning his Bachelor’s Degree, he entered the corporate world and proceeded to climb the proverbial ladder. But his personal drive left him restless and, after many successful years, he traded corporate life for wide range of entrepreneurial pursuits that included buying and selling businesses, healthcare services, and marketing.
In the early nineties while visiting a friend who had just written a book, Dekker decided to pursue a long held desire to be a novelist. Over the course of two years he wrote two full length novels before starting from scratch and rewriting both. Now fully enamored by the the process and the stories, he realized that storytelling was in his blood and a new obsession to explore truth through story gripped him anew.
He sold his business, moved his family to the mountains of Western Colorado and began writing full-time on his third novel. Two years and three novels later his first novel, Heaven’s Wager, was published.
Now, Dekker’s novels had sold over 3.4 million copies worldwide. Two of his novels, Thr3e and House, have been made into movies with more in production. Dekker resides in Austin, Texas with his wife Lee Ann and two of their daughters.
ABOUT THE BOOK
This story is for everyone--but not everyone is for this story.
It is a dangerous tale of times past. A torrid love story full of deep seduction. A story of terrible longing and bold sacrifice.
Then as now, evil begins its courtship cloaked in light. And the heart embraces what it should flee. Forgetting it once had a truer lover.
With a kiss, evil will ravage body, soul, and mind. Yet there remains hope, because the heart knows no bounds.
Love will prove greater than lust. Sacrifice will overcome seduction. And blood will flow.
Because the battle for the heart is always violently opposed. For those desperate to drink deep from this fountain of life, enter.
But remember, not everyone is for this story.
Watch the book trailer:
Excerpt of chapter one:
Chapter 1
My name is Toma Nicolescu and I was a warrior, a servant of Her Majesty, the empress of Russia, Catherine the Great, who by her own hand and tender heart sent me on that mission at the urging of her most trusted adviser, Grigory Potyomkin, in the year of our Lord 1772.
It was a year of war, this one the Russo-Turkish war, one of so many with the Ottoman Empire. I had slain the enemy with more ambition than most in the humble service of the empress, or so it has been said, and having earned Her Majesty’s complete trust in my loyalty and skill, I was dispatched by her to the south and east, through Ukraine to the principality of Moldavia, just north of the Black Sea and west of Transylvania, to the country estate of the Cantemir family nestled up against the base of the Carpathian Mountains.
To my understanding, the family descendants of Dimitrie Cantemir, the late prince of Moldavia, were owed a debt for his loyalty to Russia. Indeed, it was said that the path to the heart of Moldavia ran through the Cantemir crest, but that was all politics— none of my business.
On that day my business was to travel to this remote, lush green valley in western Moldavia and give protection to this most important family who retreated to the estate every summer. Russia had occupied Moldavia. Enemies were about with sharp knives and blunt intentions. The black plague had mercilessly taken the lives of many in the cities. A ruler loyal to Catherine the Great would soon be selected to take the reins of this important principality, and the Cantemir family would play a critical role in that decision as they held such a lofty position of respect among all Moldavians.
My charge was simple: No harm could come to this family.
These Cantemirs.
The sun was sinking over the Carpathian peaks to our left as my friend in arms, Alek Cardei, and I sat atop our mounts and stared down at the valley. The great white castle with its twin spires stood on emerald grasses an hour’s ride down the twisted path. A tall stone wall ran the length of the southern side where the road ran into the property. Green lawns and gardens surrounded the estate, encompassing ten times the ground as the house itself. The estate had been commissioned by Dimitrie Cantemir in 1711, when he was prince of Moldavia for a brief time before retreating to Turkey.
“I see the twin peaks, but I see no gowns,” Alek said, squinting down valley. His gloved hand was on his gold-busted sword. Leather armor wrapped his chest and thighs, same as mine. A goatee cupped his chin and joined his mustache but he’d shaved the rest of his face in the creek earlier, anticipating his ride into the estate, the arriving hero from abroad.
Alek, the lover.
Toma, the warrior.
I looked down at the golden ring on my finger, which bore the empress’s insignia, and I chuckled. Alek’s wit and charm were always good friends on a long journey, and he wielded both with the same ease and precision with which I swung my sword.
I nodded at my fair-headed friend as he turned his pale blue eyes toward me. “We’re here to protect the sisters and their family, not wed them.”
“So then you cannot deny it: the sisters are on your mind. Not the mother, not the father, not the family, but the sisters. These two female frolickers who are the talk of Ukraine.” Alek turned his mirthtwisted face back to the valley. “Heat has come to the dog at last.”
To the contrary, though Alek could not know, I had taken a vow to Her Majesty not to entangle myself while here in Moldavia.
She was all too aware of the sisters’ reputation, and she suggested I keep my head clear on this long assignment that might too easily give us much idle time.
“One favor, Toma,” she said.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Stay clear of the sisters, please. At least one of you ought to have a clear mind.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” But Alek was a different matter, and there was hardly any reason to deny him his jesting. It always lifted my spirits.
If I were a woman I would have loved Alek. If I were a king I would have hired him to remain in my courts. If I were an enemy
I would have run and hid, because wherever you found Alek you would find Toma, and you would surely die unless you swore allegiance to the empress.
But I was the farthest thing from a woman, I had never aspired to be a king, and I had no mortal enemies save myself.
My vice was honor: chivalry when it was appropriate, but loyalty to my duty first. I was Alek’s closest and most trusted friend, and I would have died for him without a care in the world.
He blew out some air in exasperation. “I have gone to the ends of the earth with you, Toma, and I would still. But this mission of ours is a fool’s errand. We come here to sit with babies while the armies dine on conquest?”
“So you’ve made abundantly clear for a week now,” I returned.
“What happened to your yearning for these sisters? As you’ve said, they are rumored to be beautiful.”
“Rumors! For all we know they are spoiled fat poodles. What can this valley possibly offer that the nights in Moscow can’t? I’m doomed, I tell you. I would rather run a sword through myself now than suffer a month in that dungeon below.”
I could see through his play already. “From frolicking sisters to suicide so quickly? You’re outdoing yourself, Alek.”
“I’m utterly serious!” His face flashed, indignant. “When have you known me to sit on my hands for weeks on end with nothing but a single family to occupy me? I’m telling you this is going to be my death.”
He was still playing me, and I him. “So now you expect me to give you leave to exhaust your fun here then go gallivanting about the countryside seeking out mistresses in the other estates?
Or would you rather slip out at night and slit a few evil throats so you can feel like a man?”
He shrugged. “Honestly, the former sounds more appealing.”
His gloved finger stabbed skyward. “But I know my duty and would die by your side fulfilling it.” He lowered his hand. “Still, as God is my witness, I will not tolerate a month of picking my teeth with straw while the rest of the world fights for glory and chases skirts.”
“Don’t be a fool, man. Boredom could not catch you if it chased you like a wolf. We’ll establish a simple protocol to limit all access to the estate, post the sentries, and mind the women—I understand that the father will be gone most of the time. As long as our duties are in no way compromised, I will not stand in the way of your courting. But as you say, they may be fat poodles.”
A sound came from behind us. “Who has business with the Cantemirs? Eh?”
I spun to the soft, gravelly voice. An old shriveled man stood there, grasping a tall cane with both hands. His eyes were slits, his face was wrinkled like a dried-out prune, and his long stringy gray hair was so thin that a good wind would surely leave him bald. I wasn’t sure he could actually see through those black cracks below his brow.
Alek humphed and deferred to me. How had this ancient man walked up on us without a sound? He was gumming his lips, toothless.
Silent.
I held my hand up to Alek and drew my pale mount about to face the man. “Who asks?”
A bird flew in from the west, a large black crow. As I watched somewhat stunned, it alighted on the old man’s shoulder, steadied itself with a single flap of its wings, and came to rest. The man didn’t react, not even when the crow’s thick wing slapped his ear.
“I don’t have a name,” the old man said. “You may call me an angel if you like.”
Alek chuckled, but I was sure it was a nervous reaction without a lick of humor.
“Who inquires of the Cantemir estate?” he asked again.
“Toma Nicolescu, in the service of Her Majesty the empress of Russia, Catherine the Great, who now rules Moldavia. And if you are an angel then you may vanish as all angels vanish, into the air of superstition.”
“Toma?” the old man croaked.
“What business do you have with this estate?”
“Eh, that is you? Toma Nicolescu?”
His demeanor now bothered me more than I cared to admit.
Was this my elder, whom I should honor, or a wandering lunatic?
“Watch your tongue, old man,” Alek snapped.
The crow cocked its head and lined up one of its beady eyes for a hard look at Alek; the old man did the same.
“Eh? Is that you too, Toma?”
Alek’s brow furrowed. “Stop playing the buffoon. And get rid of that cursed bird.”
“State your business, old man,” I demanded.
He lifted a boney, scarcely fleshed hand and pointed to the west.
“There is evil in the wind. Beware, Toma. Beware the evil.”
“Don’t be a loon . . .”
I held up my hand to stop Alek, interested in the oddity before us, this ancient blind prune and his all-seeing crow.
“What makes you think there is evil to beware?” I asked.
“Eh? The crow saw it.”
“The crow told you that, did he? And does your crow speak as well?” Alek’s voice wrung mockery from each word. Lightening stabbed at the plains in the east. I hadn’t noticed the clouds on the horizon until now. A muted peal of thunder growled at us, as if in warning I thought, and I wasn’t given to superstition.
The devil wasn’t my enemy and God wasn’t my friend. Nothing I’d experienced in my twenty-eight years had moved me to believe in either.
The old wizard with his crow was staring at me through slits, silent. I wanted to know why the man seemed to sense the threat— it was my job to know. So I dismounted, walked up to him, and dipped my head, an easy thing to do considering his age, for I had always been given to respecting the aged.
The black bird was only three feet from me, jerking its head for a better look, sizing me up, deciding whether he should pluck my eyes out.
I spoke kindly, in a low voice. “Please, if you feel it wise, tell me why your crow would warn us of evil?”
He smiled a toothless grin, all gums and lips. “This is Peter the Great. I can’t see so well, but they tell me he’s magnificent bird. I think he likes me.”
“I would say he looks like a devil. So why would a devil tell an angel that evil is near?”
“I’m not the devil, Toma Nicolescu. He is far more beautiful than I.”
I was sure I could hear Alek snickering, and I had half a mind to shut him up with a glare.
“And who is this beautiful devil?”
“A man with a voice like honey who flies through the night.”
The old man removed his right hand from the staff and used it like a wing. “But God was the one who told me to tell Toma Nicolescu that evil is in contest with you. He said you would come here, to the Brasca Pass. I’ve been waiting for three days, and I do think one more day might have claimed my life.”
“So the crow saw it, and then God told you, his angel, to warn us,” Alek scoffed. “How is that possible when we didn’t even know which route we would take until yesterday?”
“Perhaps God can read your minds.”
“Our minds didn’t even know!”
“But God did. And here you are. And now I have done my thing and can live a little longer with my crow. I should go now.” He started to turn.
“Please, kind sir.” I put my hand on his. “Our mission is only to protect the estate. Is there anything else you can tell us? I don’t see how a warning of evil given by a crow is much use to us.”
The man’s gentle face slowly sagged and became a picture of foreboding. “I can hardly advise you, who thinks the devil is only hot air, now can I?”
I was surprised that the old man knew this about me. But it could as easily have been a lucky guess.
“As for your oversexed friend, you may tell him that this valley will certainly exhaust his feral impulses. I suspect that you are both in for a rather stimulating time. Now, I must be going. I have a long way to travel and the night is coming fast.”
With that he turned and walked away, a slow shuffle that made me wonder how he expected to reach the path much less the nearest town, Crysk, a full ten miles south.
We're supposed to answer the question, "What is sacrificial love?" My first (and obvious) answer is Jesus. "Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends." John 15:13 (TNIV)
But yesterday we had college group Bible study at my house, and our pastor led the discussion after we watched a video clip of Chuck Colson (from a Q society video Bible study).
I have to say, first off, that I love watching/listening to Chuck Colson speak. But was even cooler was his topic, which talked about "What is Christianity?" He went into four questions people ask of any religion and the fourth question is, "What is my purpose in life?"
The Purpose Driven Life was a bestseller I think because it really answered that question well. Our pastor went deeper into the topic and talked about how some people only want to stay in their "Christian bubble" and not interact with the world and fulfill their purpose in life.
I didn't really figure out who I was until my thirties, but I now have more confidence in what I am doing and why. I know my purpose is to follow whatever God leads me to. I write fiction for the Christian market and not the secular market because God made it very clear to me that he wanted me to write for the Christian market.
At first I was confused because isn't that like preaching to the choir? But now even though I still don't know what He's doing with my books, I'm trusting that He knows what He's doing, and even though I'm writing for Christians and not to nonbelievers, He's using my books for His own purposes. I am being used for His purposes.
God has also called me to youth work, as opposed to teaching children or doing adult Bible studies. This is what He wants me to do, and so I do it and know that I'm fulfilling His purpose for me.
I think that the small things I've gotten into lately have been part of His plan to draw different people to me. I've gotten into knitting and spinning wool, and more recently running. In fact, I'm training for a marathon. (Why? Because I'm about to hit 40. I think that's a good enough reason. :)
I've met different people--mostly nonbelievers--who also like knitting and spinning and running. It's drawing me out of my writing world and my church world into new different worlds and new, different people. And I know that in meeting and interacting with those people, I'm fulfilling His purpose for me.
And isn't that sacrificial love? To do what God wants of us no matter how confusing or hard? Or even if it's fun and easy! I think God honors our willingness to be used.
And for most Christians, we're willing to be used because we love Jesus. It's a very simple equation:
Jesus: I love you. Will you do this for Me?
Me: I love You too! Sure!
I'm not sure if that really addresses the question, but that's where my head is going today, so that's where I took you all. :)
Camy
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Ted Dekker is a New York Times best-selling author of more than twenty novels. He is best known for stories which could be broadly described as suspense thrillers with major twists and unforgettable characters, though he has also made a name for himself among fantasy fans.
Early in his career he wrote a number of spiritual thrillers and his novels were lumped in with ‘Christian Fiction’ a surprisingly large category. His later novels are a mix of mainstream novels such as Adam, Thr3e, Skin, Obsessed and BoneMan’s Daughters, and fantasy thrillers that metaphorically explore faith. Best known among these is his Circle Series: Green, Black, Red, White and The Paradise Books: Showdown, Saint, and Sinner.
Dekker was born to missionaries who lived among the headhunter tribes of Indonesia. Because his parents’ work often included extended periods of time away from their children, Dekker describes his early life in a culture to which he was a stranger as both fascinating and lonely. It is this unique upbringing that forced him to rely on his own imagination to create a world in which he belonged.
After leaving Indonesia, Dekker graduated from a multi-cultural high school and took up permanent residence in the United States to study philosophy and religion. Upon earning his Bachelor’s Degree, he entered the corporate world and proceeded to climb the proverbial ladder. But his personal drive left him restless and, after many successful years, he traded corporate life for wide range of entrepreneurial pursuits that included buying and selling businesses, healthcare services, and marketing.
In the early nineties while visiting a friend who had just written a book, Dekker decided to pursue a long held desire to be a novelist. Over the course of two years he wrote two full length novels before starting from scratch and rewriting both. Now fully enamored by the the process and the stories, he realized that storytelling was in his blood and a new obsession to explore truth through story gripped him anew.
He sold his business, moved his family to the mountains of Western Colorado and began writing full-time on his third novel. Two years and three novels later his first novel, Heaven’s Wager, was published.
Now, Dekker’s novels had sold over 3.4 million copies worldwide. Two of his novels, Thr3e and House, have been made into movies with more in production. Dekker resides in Austin, Texas with his wife Lee Ann and two of their daughters.
ABOUT THE BOOK
It is a dangerous tale of times past. A torrid love story full of deep seduction. A story of terrible longing and bold sacrifice.
Then as now, evil begins its courtship cloaked in light. And the heart embraces what it should flee. Forgetting it once had a truer lover.
With a kiss, evil will ravage body, soul, and mind. Yet there remains hope, because the heart knows no bounds.
Love will prove greater than lust. Sacrifice will overcome seduction. And blood will flow.
Because the battle for the heart is always violently opposed. For those desperate to drink deep from this fountain of life, enter.
But remember, not everyone is for this story.
Watch the book trailer:
Excerpt of chapter one:
My name is Toma Nicolescu and I was a warrior, a servant of Her Majesty, the empress of Russia, Catherine the Great, who by her own hand and tender heart sent me on that mission at the urging of her most trusted adviser, Grigory Potyomkin, in the year of our Lord 1772.
It was a year of war, this one the Russo-Turkish war, one of so many with the Ottoman Empire. I had slain the enemy with more ambition than most in the humble service of the empress, or so it has been said, and having earned Her Majesty’s complete trust in my loyalty and skill, I was dispatched by her to the south and east, through Ukraine to the principality of Moldavia, just north of the Black Sea and west of Transylvania, to the country estate of the Cantemir family nestled up against the base of the Carpathian Mountains.
To my understanding, the family descendants of Dimitrie Cantemir, the late prince of Moldavia, were owed a debt for his loyalty to Russia. Indeed, it was said that the path to the heart of Moldavia ran through the Cantemir crest, but that was all politics— none of my business.
On that day my business was to travel to this remote, lush green valley in western Moldavia and give protection to this most important family who retreated to the estate every summer. Russia had occupied Moldavia. Enemies were about with sharp knives and blunt intentions. The black plague had mercilessly taken the lives of many in the cities. A ruler loyal to Catherine the Great would soon be selected to take the reins of this important principality, and the Cantemir family would play a critical role in that decision as they held such a lofty position of respect among all Moldavians.
My charge was simple: No harm could come to this family.
These Cantemirs.
The sun was sinking over the Carpathian peaks to our left as my friend in arms, Alek Cardei, and I sat atop our mounts and stared down at the valley. The great white castle with its twin spires stood on emerald grasses an hour’s ride down the twisted path. A tall stone wall ran the length of the southern side where the road ran into the property. Green lawns and gardens surrounded the estate, encompassing ten times the ground as the house itself. The estate had been commissioned by Dimitrie Cantemir in 1711, when he was prince of Moldavia for a brief time before retreating to Turkey.
“I see the twin peaks, but I see no gowns,” Alek said, squinting down valley. His gloved hand was on his gold-busted sword. Leather armor wrapped his chest and thighs, same as mine. A goatee cupped his chin and joined his mustache but he’d shaved the rest of his face in the creek earlier, anticipating his ride into the estate, the arriving hero from abroad.
Alek, the lover.
Toma, the warrior.
I looked down at the golden ring on my finger, which bore the empress’s insignia, and I chuckled. Alek’s wit and charm were always good friends on a long journey, and he wielded both with the same ease and precision with which I swung my sword.
I nodded at my fair-headed friend as he turned his pale blue eyes toward me. “We’re here to protect the sisters and their family, not wed them.”
“So then you cannot deny it: the sisters are on your mind. Not the mother, not the father, not the family, but the sisters. These two female frolickers who are the talk of Ukraine.” Alek turned his mirthtwisted face back to the valley. “Heat has come to the dog at last.”
To the contrary, though Alek could not know, I had taken a vow to Her Majesty not to entangle myself while here in Moldavia.
She was all too aware of the sisters’ reputation, and she suggested I keep my head clear on this long assignment that might too easily give us much idle time.
“One favor, Toma,” she said.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Stay clear of the sisters, please. At least one of you ought to have a clear mind.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” But Alek was a different matter, and there was hardly any reason to deny him his jesting. It always lifted my spirits.
If I were a woman I would have loved Alek. If I were a king I would have hired him to remain in my courts. If I were an enemy
I would have run and hid, because wherever you found Alek you would find Toma, and you would surely die unless you swore allegiance to the empress.
But I was the farthest thing from a woman, I had never aspired to be a king, and I had no mortal enemies save myself.
My vice was honor: chivalry when it was appropriate, but loyalty to my duty first. I was Alek’s closest and most trusted friend, and I would have died for him without a care in the world.
He blew out some air in exasperation. “I have gone to the ends of the earth with you, Toma, and I would still. But this mission of ours is a fool’s errand. We come here to sit with babies while the armies dine on conquest?”
“So you’ve made abundantly clear for a week now,” I returned.
“What happened to your yearning for these sisters? As you’ve said, they are rumored to be beautiful.”
“Rumors! For all we know they are spoiled fat poodles. What can this valley possibly offer that the nights in Moscow can’t? I’m doomed, I tell you. I would rather run a sword through myself now than suffer a month in that dungeon below.”
I could see through his play already. “From frolicking sisters to suicide so quickly? You’re outdoing yourself, Alek.”
“I’m utterly serious!” His face flashed, indignant. “When have you known me to sit on my hands for weeks on end with nothing but a single family to occupy me? I’m telling you this is going to be my death.”
He was still playing me, and I him. “So now you expect me to give you leave to exhaust your fun here then go gallivanting about the countryside seeking out mistresses in the other estates?
Or would you rather slip out at night and slit a few evil throats so you can feel like a man?”
He shrugged. “Honestly, the former sounds more appealing.”
His gloved finger stabbed skyward. “But I know my duty and would die by your side fulfilling it.” He lowered his hand. “Still, as God is my witness, I will not tolerate a month of picking my teeth with straw while the rest of the world fights for glory and chases skirts.”
“Don’t be a fool, man. Boredom could not catch you if it chased you like a wolf. We’ll establish a simple protocol to limit all access to the estate, post the sentries, and mind the women—I understand that the father will be gone most of the time. As long as our duties are in no way compromised, I will not stand in the way of your courting. But as you say, they may be fat poodles.”
A sound came from behind us. “Who has business with the Cantemirs? Eh?”
I spun to the soft, gravelly voice. An old shriveled man stood there, grasping a tall cane with both hands. His eyes were slits, his face was wrinkled like a dried-out prune, and his long stringy gray hair was so thin that a good wind would surely leave him bald. I wasn’t sure he could actually see through those black cracks below his brow.
Alek humphed and deferred to me. How had this ancient man walked up on us without a sound? He was gumming his lips, toothless.
Silent.
I held my hand up to Alek and drew my pale mount about to face the man. “Who asks?”
A bird flew in from the west, a large black crow. As I watched somewhat stunned, it alighted on the old man’s shoulder, steadied itself with a single flap of its wings, and came to rest. The man didn’t react, not even when the crow’s thick wing slapped his ear.
“I don’t have a name,” the old man said. “You may call me an angel if you like.”
Alek chuckled, but I was sure it was a nervous reaction without a lick of humor.
“Who inquires of the Cantemir estate?” he asked again.
“Toma Nicolescu, in the service of Her Majesty the empress of Russia, Catherine the Great, who now rules Moldavia. And if you are an angel then you may vanish as all angels vanish, into the air of superstition.”
“Toma?” the old man croaked.
“What business do you have with this estate?”
“Eh, that is you? Toma Nicolescu?”
His demeanor now bothered me more than I cared to admit.
Was this my elder, whom I should honor, or a wandering lunatic?
“Watch your tongue, old man,” Alek snapped.
The crow cocked its head and lined up one of its beady eyes for a hard look at Alek; the old man did the same.
“Eh? Is that you too, Toma?”
Alek’s brow furrowed. “Stop playing the buffoon. And get rid of that cursed bird.”
“State your business, old man,” I demanded.
He lifted a boney, scarcely fleshed hand and pointed to the west.
“There is evil in the wind. Beware, Toma. Beware the evil.”
“Don’t be a loon . . .”
I held up my hand to stop Alek, interested in the oddity before us, this ancient blind prune and his all-seeing crow.
“What makes you think there is evil to beware?” I asked.
“Eh? The crow saw it.”
“The crow told you that, did he? And does your crow speak as well?” Alek’s voice wrung mockery from each word. Lightening stabbed at the plains in the east. I hadn’t noticed the clouds on the horizon until now. A muted peal of thunder growled at us, as if in warning I thought, and I wasn’t given to superstition.
The devil wasn’t my enemy and God wasn’t my friend. Nothing I’d experienced in my twenty-eight years had moved me to believe in either.
The old wizard with his crow was staring at me through slits, silent. I wanted to know why the man seemed to sense the threat— it was my job to know. So I dismounted, walked up to him, and dipped my head, an easy thing to do considering his age, for I had always been given to respecting the aged.
The black bird was only three feet from me, jerking its head for a better look, sizing me up, deciding whether he should pluck my eyes out.
I spoke kindly, in a low voice. “Please, if you feel it wise, tell me why your crow would warn us of evil?”
He smiled a toothless grin, all gums and lips. “This is Peter the Great. I can’t see so well, but they tell me he’s magnificent bird. I think he likes me.”
“I would say he looks like a devil. So why would a devil tell an angel that evil is near?”
“I’m not the devil, Toma Nicolescu. He is far more beautiful than I.”
I was sure I could hear Alek snickering, and I had half a mind to shut him up with a glare.
“And who is this beautiful devil?”
“A man with a voice like honey who flies through the night.”
The old man removed his right hand from the staff and used it like a wing. “But God was the one who told me to tell Toma Nicolescu that evil is in contest with you. He said you would come here, to the Brasca Pass. I’ve been waiting for three days, and I do think one more day might have claimed my life.”
“So the crow saw it, and then God told you, his angel, to warn us,” Alek scoffed. “How is that possible when we didn’t even know which route we would take until yesterday?”
“Perhaps God can read your minds.”
“Our minds didn’t even know!”
“But God did. And here you are. And now I have done my thing and can live a little longer with my crow. I should go now.” He started to turn.
“Please, kind sir.” I put my hand on his. “Our mission is only to protect the estate. Is there anything else you can tell us? I don’t see how a warning of evil given by a crow is much use to us.”
The man’s gentle face slowly sagged and became a picture of foreboding. “I can hardly advise you, who thinks the devil is only hot air, now can I?”
I was surprised that the old man knew this about me. But it could as easily have been a lucky guess.
“As for your oversexed friend, you may tell him that this valley will certainly exhaust his feral impulses. I suspect that you are both in for a rather stimulating time. Now, I must be going. I have a long way to travel and the night is coming fast.”
With that he turned and walked away, a slow shuffle that made me wonder how he expected to reach the path much less the nearest town, Crysk, a full ten miles south.
Comments
I agree with your pastor that ministry needs to happen outside our church communities, as well as inside. And congratulations on your running!
I can't wait to have time to read this book!
Camy