The Crest, Adam noted as it expanded and contracted on Adnihilo’s neck, a white scar on bronze skin—three divine symbols: the serpent, the crown, and the holy throne. Ba’al had explained their meaning on the morning of his and Adnihilo’s fight. They were Rebirth, Dominion, and the Right to all Land touched by the light. They were older than Messaii cross, older even than the patriarchs of the Tsaazaar. And together, they were an omen of Armageddon.
“‘It was God’s mark in the very beginning,’” the bishop told him, “‘and it shalt be his mark at the very end, when the Messiah comes to redeem his church which hath fallen under the spell of the false prophet.’”
“The trumpets shalt blast and call up the dead, then every faithful soul will be like him. Resurrected, reborn in the image of God.” Adam remembered the verse as his father had taught him. He thought to himself, Resurrected… we’ll be together again.
Then another voice spoke up from a reverie, not in words, but in grunts and heaves. Venicci’s voice. The fear of falling asleep tore through Adam’s body. He became suddenly aware of the weight of his eyelids—the ebb of his consciousness. With all his might, he fought back the nightmare which haunted him across the ocean and atop the mountain peak. He had killed the smuggler believing he could be free, but now it seemed to him that the demon was not a man. It was part of him, something within, Who I am, he feared becoming the very predator that had predated him. He thought of what he’d done to Magdalynn in that night terror and questioned, Which self is real, and which is the dream?
Quietly, he set Magdalynn aside, beside Adnihilo as close as he could without risk of waking him. Whatever cold had come between him and his friend was not near enough that the half-blood would allow the pastor’s son to venture out into the squall alone, but he had no choice. There was no other place for him to go to keep her safe from him but to brave the snow and frost-fang winds. Except, maybe Ba’al can help, Adam concluded, crawling from beneath his canvas barrier to be bitten by the chill.
He groped, blind in the white, unable to recall where he pitched the bishop’s tent. And it wasn’t long before his other senses left him. His touch went first from his hands and feet, then the smell and feeling from his nose; then finally it was his will which abandoned him, taking with it his memory and his reason, leaving only his guilt and fear. Tears froze on his cheeks. He tried to scream, but when he breathed the air, it numbed his lungs, and he choked and coughed till he was on his knees praying for mercy.
“You are forgiven,” Ba’al voice sounded. Adam could just make out the bishop’s shape not far in front of him. “You carry many sins, yet the King shall always show mercy to those who come to him. But you must confess, and you must offer yourself willingly.”
The pastor’s son struggled to his feet, the whole of him numb. “Murder. I killed a man out of revenge. I was convinced it was just. It was, but that’s not why I did it.”
“Very good, Adam, but isn’t there something else you want to say? There is no shame—He is already aware. It is only for your sake.”
“Lust,” he answered after a long pause. His teeth were chattering. He had to bite his tongue to hold them still. “I used to look at the whores with Adnihilo after we finished fighting behind Amsah’s in Babylon.”
The bishop stepped closer, his figure distorted in the snow. “Is that all you wish to confess? Coveting women and killing a rapist slaver? Are you truly so clean?” He took another step and became a shadow in the snow, his amber eyes glowing, phosphorescent. “There is no hiding from Him, you know it. Confess your sins. Make the offering.”
“I, I can’t.”
“So you’re going to let yourself die out here instead? That was your plan, wasn’t it, if not to confess? Are you truly so selfish? What will happen to Magdalynn without you? What will become of Adnihilo? They need you, Adam. He needs you.”
“But the dreams—”
“Yes, yes. What of your dreams, Adam? This is your chance to ask for absolution.”
And so the pastor’s son begged on his bloodless knees to be forgiven for the fantasies he harbored, for the demons he invited to reside in his heart. He had not realized it until he spoke the words aloud that his sins belonged to him, that he alone had power over them, and that they were his to offer to the Lord if he so wished to exchange them for merciful judgement come the end of days. “I am his lamb,” Adam said according to the bishop’s instructions, “My blood is his for the day of final judgement. It shalt fill the baptismal font. It shalt usher forth the one whom will stand for us at the end.”
“Rise,” commanded Ba’al, and when the Messah rose, the veil of winter vanished. What he saw behind it belonged to no human; not his compound, amber eyes; nor his green, almost black, iridescent skin—like the carapace of a fly—nor his
