The three soldiers rush out of the doorway into the street, drawing their swords as their leather boots tromp over the cobblestones, but the girl isn't there. To my amazement she has moved with the opening of the door, following behind it, so that she now stands in its shadow as the three soldiers on the street look about them to find the snowy white girl, who has disappeared. When one of the soldiers reaches for the door to check behind it, it is suddenly kicked open in his face. The edge of the door creases his face, knocking his head backward. Staggering, the soldier tries to swing his saber, but the door is in his way. I see this as my chance to strike.

I leap from the rooftop, sail through the air, and seize the helmet of the closest soldier with my snout. I throw him to the ground as I spin, whipping my tail into the calves of the third soldier, causing him to sprawl forward. I spit the helmet out of my mouth—copper tastes awful—and cringe at the noise of the soldiers' helmet, saber, and metal knee guards striking the stones. The helmetless soldier starts to rise, but I butt him with my snout. The combined impact of my snout on his forehead and the back of his head striking the stony street knocks him out.

I see the albino girl duck under the swing of the soldier's sword while moving to his back. As he tries to cut at the girl behind him, he wraps himself up. She passes to his back, drawing his dagger from his left hip as she circles. I fling the sword of the unconscious soldier at his companion, and he stands stunned, not expecting a gecko to throw something at him. The sword strikes him with its blunt spine, bouncing off of a brass breastplate. He opens his mouth to laugh, but his expression freezes before turning to one of unbearable pain, and I know that the girl has sunk his own dagger up into his kidney from behind.

The third soldier rises, drawing a silver whistle from his waist, which he brings up to his lips. His chest expands in preparation to blow the whistle, sounding the alarm. If he blows that whistle, we'll be surrounded and cut off as soldiers come running or galloping on their horses from every part of the city.

The silver whistle is at his lips, and his cheeks bulge with the air he's inhaled. At that moment my tongue shoots out, slamming his fist into his mouth and knocking his head backward. I retrieve my tongue in an instant, but have somehow missed the whistle that I'd hoped the sticky end of the fleshy grapefruit would snag out of his hand. He stumbles forward, and is clawing with both hands at his throat. Now I realize that my tongue knocked the whistle into his throat, and he's choking on it. He drops to his knees, making gurgling noises and swiping at his throat, when the albino girl rushes up to him and plunges the bloody dagger up under his chin, shutting out the lights. She yanks out the dagger and his helmet clangs on the stones as he limply falls face-first.

I whisper to the girl, “God does not hear the shrill cry of the wicked, and their shouts of victory shall be strangled.”

The albino girl whips the knife downward to throw the excess blood onto the cobblestones, and points the tip of the dagger to a building up ahead. I quickly drag the soldiers out of the street and back into the doorway where they came from, thinking that if the girl is that good with a knife she must have come from one hell of a tough neighborhood. She's helpful, picking up helmets and swords that have fallen, or lifting an arm so a gauntlet doesn't screech as it's dragged along the street.

Closing the door on the soldiers, the girl and I move down the street, passing along the walls of the buildings. She looks at me and nods before opening a door. Quickly passing inside, I see that we are in a carriage construction and repair shop, with wooden wheels and upholstered seats resting on benches, and a long wood hand brake is being refinished. I can smell the stables next door.

We move up the stairs to the second floor. Liana uses the blade to jimmy the door open so we can quietly slip inside. Staying back inside the room and away from the windows, I look outside and am pleased that no one appears to have been alerted by the confrontation with the three guards. I draw the drapes on the windows.

The girl is sitting with her back to the wall, cradling the dagger in her lap. I'm relieved, because I always hated those scenes in the movies when the girl knocks the killer unconscious and then runs off without taking any of his weapons, or somehow manages to get her hands on his gun, but then shrieks and throws it onto the ground before running. Don't worry, Vic, you won't be seeing any movie clichés ever again. Looking on the bright side, that also means no more Star Wars.

“What was that you whispered to me back there?” the girl asks with her voice low.

I drop to my belly and lie on all fours next to her. “'God does not hear the shrill cry of the wicked, and their shouts of victory shall be strangled.' It's a scripture, a line from the holy psalms, and they have a way of coming true. That's why the soldier was unable to blow his whistle.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The girl stares at my mouth, craning her neck to get a better look. “Doesn't your tongue get in the way when you eat or talk?”

“No, it coils up, and my mouth is designed to hold it.” I open my mouth to show her, causing her to let out an “ooh” in appreciation. “How did you disappear behind that door as it was thrown open? Nobody moves that fast.”

“Sometimes my gift is I see big events in the future, or know things I shouldn't know, like this room, but most often I see several seconds ahead.” She puts the point of the dagger onto the wooden floor and spins it like a ballerina. “I know what card will be drawn before it is dealt, or what will show up on the dice just before they are thrown. I knew that door was going to be thrown open.”

She is an incredible girl, who looks to me like someone who is suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning, with her pale skin and colorless lips. Frankly, I've got a death wish. I wanted nothing more than to be able to die for the whole, uh, well, for however long I was in purgatory. Throw a guy into a furnace and he not only loses the will to live, but also loses all track of time. But this girl is another matter. She's tough, with a unique gift, but I have no idea how this is going to end. God the Empowerer will prevail in the end, that much I'm sure of, but I have no way of knowing who's going to die along the way.

“Liana, I haven't told you the whole story of Lord Riyel.” I see her looking up at me with her eyes wide. “After he performed all his miracles and told the people about God the Empowerer, the Healer, and the Protector, the rulers of the world decided to kill him.”

“Why would they do that?” she asks in a whisper as she starts to spin the knife on the floor like a wheel of fortune.

“Kings tend to think they're God, and they don't like the competition.” I pause and listen for a moment for signs of intruders. “One stormy night they took Lord Riyel to the highest mountain, Mt. Regent, and fastened him to the lightning rod. When the lightning struck, it was the fiercest bolt they had ever seen. But the power that killed him also spread throughout his body, becoming the power that resurrected him. He now gives that power to his followers.”

She stops the knife as it spins and thinks for a moment. “I could use that power; so could everyone who lives in the albino village.”

“That power is used to accomplish the will of God, but I'm telling you this because it's dangerous. If the followers of Baal killed Lord Riyel, they'll kill anyone who follows Him, albino girls included.” I gesture to the door with my snout this time. I'm gradually learning that my pudgy fingers and short arms are pitiful at pointing. “You should slip out the door and go back home. Thanks for your help.”

“Am I here on accident?” She begins to clean her fingernails with the tip of the dagger.

I'm stunned by her wisdom. “Hah, no. The followers of Baal believe in a random universe, but to the followers of Lord Riyel, everything has a purpose—that's why you can foresee the roll of the dice, because it's not purely chance. You are attuned to the underlying purpose.”

“Then I'm meant to be here,” she replies simply, without looking up from her nails as she cleans them. “They're here.”

I back away from the door and rise to my feet, but the girl remains seated with her back to the wall, toying with the knife. Footsteps pad softly across the shop, then up the stairs. The door slowly eases open, and a man in a robe and hood lets out an “oh” in his surprise. Upon seeing me, he falls to his knees and bows his head to the floor.

“No!” I exclaim, dropping down to my belly. “You mustn't worship me. I'm the lowest among you.”

The man looks down at the girl, and appears confused.

“We'll wait for the others,” I tell him.

In time, two more men arrive, several minutes apart. Each man arrives at the door, and makes as if to bow to me, but is stopped. The three of them wear robes which suggest to me that they are trying to conceal their wealth. The leader throws back his hood, causing the others to follow. They begin to chant in unison, keeping their voices low.

Holy Gecko, dispassionate one,

slow in motion, slow to wrath.

In the hour of judgment

you will strike the enemies of God

as the lightning shakes the palm,

As the gecko seizes its prey,

and dashes it against the rock.

Your tongue will cut them down

with the word of God.

“Thank Lord Riyel that I have seen the scripture fulfilled today,” the leader says, while staring at me in disbelief. I suppose one seldom sees a walking six-foot gecko. “And what of the colorless one? Should she be here?”

“No man would have chosen us,” I reply, “but God the Empowerer has his ways.”

“Earthen pots, not those of silver or gold, shall contain the glory of the Lord.” The leader says, and the two men at his side nod. The scripture is a reference to God the Healer creating humans from clay.

“I've started to cleanse the temple,” I tell them, “but next I must kill the king. The taller the crown, the longer the shadow. You must prepare everyone to take up arms and fight in the streets.”

A man at the leader's right clears his throat and speaks. “We are forbidden to resist, and must not fight under the banner of Lord Riyel.”

What the man says is true with regard to Riyelan doctrine, but things have changed. The third man says nothing. I look at the three of them to let them know I mean business. “That was true until I showed up at the gates. The scripture says that in the hour of judgment I will strike the enemies of God. That hour is now. Anybody who doesn't have a blade needs to get one.”

The men look at each other, and nod in agreement.

The albino girl has sat on the floor the entire time, toying with the dagger. She snaps her arm out to point at one of the men. “He's a traitor! Stop him!”