Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(50)

He reached for her, and she took his hands in hers. In his delirium, Martinez struggled to his feet.

The demon is wily, Rosa warned him. You must close your eyes and ears to him. Purge yourself. Reject him and his power, for if you let him free, he will consume you, and all is lost. Go forth, go forth and teach the word. Go forth and gather the flock of the damned. Cleanse them, anoint them, bring them into the peace. Lead them into the valley, show them the mountaintop, cloister yourselves from the evil of man and demon so on the day of final reckoning, you are pure.

Tears burned out of his reddened eyes. “Stay with me, Rosa.” His voice croaked out, the words like razors in his throat. “Show me the way.”

You will find the way when you are cleansed, when you are pure. I will protect you as I have through your terrible trials. Repent and be saved. Be saved and save all.

Sick in body, sick in mind, Javier Martinez stumbled out to cleanse himself with snow under the cold, slitted white eye of the moon.

And so began his new journey.

He fasted, he found gloves to cover the fingers cursed by the demon. He raged and prayed as he limped on frozen feet. Feverish, delirious, he stumbled into a small settlement. Lights blinded him, shadows moved around him. As he fell unconscious, he heard Rosa say again, Repent and be saved. Be saved and save all.

For days he hovered between life and death, even with the care of a healer. His hair, gone gray, fell around a face honed by sickness and starvation to prophet’s point.

But he survived.

In the weeks that followed, he regained his strength and his mind cleared. He explained kindly, gently, to the healer who’d saved him with her gifts that her powers were ungodly, urged her to repent, felt sorrow when she refused to reject her demon.

He preached in that same gentle way to all who would listen, and to many who wouldn’t. When he was strong enough, he walked among them, a thin man with kind, compelling eyes who spoke of a world without weapons, without death, a world of peace and prayer.

Of a valley blessed and a holy mountaintop where those who followed him would live forever.

When he walked away from the settlement, two went with him.

By the time he reached Tennessee, he had twelve apostles, and created the commandments told to him by angels in his dreams.

Only those infected by demons who repented would be allowed to enter onto the blessed land.

No member of the faithful would own or use a weapon of any kind. A knife used for harvesting roots or in preparation of food would be sanctified.

No animal flesh would be consumed, nor any part of a living creature used by the faithful.

What belonged to one, belonged to all.

Women, from the age of twelve, would fulfill their divine duty and seek to conceive and so propagate the earth with the faithful.

None would lift a hand in anger or strike a blow.

Any who used the power of the demon would be banished from the holy land.



As he walked east (his angels forbade the use of any motorized vehicle) his flock ebbed and flowed. Of the thirty faithful who rested for two weeks near Shelbyville for a birthing, only eighteen escaped an attack by a scouting party of Raiders.

Those left behind, living or dead, had gone to glory, Javier explained. The sacrifice demanded by the divine was for the others to walk on.

Some died of illness or in birthing. Some fled in the night. Others joined simply for the safety in numbers, and most of them fell away.

On a day green with spring, three years after his redemption, he led his flock of twenty-three—to the mountaintop.

And there, his gray-streaked hair flowing, his sunbaked face luminous, his eyes kind and crazed, he opened his arms to the valley below.

In this sacred valley, we will live, he told them. In this cup of holy ground we will worship. And with our prayers and with our faith, the world will be cleansed as we are cleansed, and made worthy for the coming of the divine.

It took days to reach the valley, and there the river flowing through it swelled with the beat of spring rain. They built their fires, pitched their tents.

Women, as their hands and hearts were more pure, prepared the meal of berries and oats. Men, as their backs were stronger, their minds keener, gathered stones and twigs and mud to build stronger shelters.

There in that quiet valley, a devout madman created his image of peace.

Eight years later, Duncan crouched on the snow-covered ground. Dusk sighed down, thin and gray. Through it he studied the commune.

“No defenses. Nada,” he said in amazement to Will. “No guards, no checkpoints. Jeez, Suzanne tried to warn them, and they ignored her, preached at her. They didn’t listen, so now the enemy could settle down on one of those ridges, pick them off like flies.”

Will nodded, shifted slightly while his eyes, dark blue, scanned the ridge. “I figure they’ll put some up there, pick off runners. They’re going to want to capture plenty. Executions are their big show.”

Beside them, Eddie grunted. His straw-colored hair straggled out from under the black ski cap Fred had knitted for him.

“They got themselves a freaking carnival ride here, man. Not only no defenses, but who the hell camps where you’ve got no way out? You make it to the river, then what the fuck? Can’t swim across this time of year for sure. Cold’ll kill you sure as a bullet. You got the mountain blocking that way. Head for the woods, okay, how far you gonna get? Not a one of them wearing decent boots. And, dude, what’s up with those weird-ass robes?”