Chun completed his second lap of the base and coasted to a walk. His escorts idled up beside him in their scout car.
“Two hours and thirteen minutes,” said Captain Smith.
Chun understood their divisions of time in theory but had made no effort so far to make them part of his deeper understanding of the world. He had competed in some running events long ago, but his training was in swords, and his body style was meant for heavy lifting.
“Is that good?”
The captain turned to the sergeant behind the car’s steering wheel. “Is that good, he asks. Chun, our premier distance event is twenty miles. The world record is 1:23:20. You just ran thirty-two miles in 2:13:52. I can’t do the numbers in my head, but my guess is that you’re pretty close to a world-record pace.”
That’s good. I’m recovering enough to avoid embarrassing myself in front of the children.
A plane passed low overhead, growling toward a landing. For the second it was directly overhead a tingle shot through Chun’s breath.
Nephilim.
He turned to face the runway and ran.
“Hey,” Smith shouted. The scout car started up and followed.
He prepared for battle as he ran. He didn’t have a weapon. He would have to keep an eye open for something. Chun pulled his breath together, tying off threads and suppressing the normal spill that lit the world around him. The nephilim would have sensed him as it passed over. It would be expecting him now, but that didn’t mean he had to give it a beacon to follow.
The aircraft hangers were between him and the runway, arranged in a massive U-shape with the open end pointed south to the runways. He heard the wheels touch down somewhere on the far side of the hangars and picked up the pace.
The scout car pulled up beside him, and the captain shouted, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Nephilim,” Chun shouted back.
“Stop!” Smith screamed.
Chun coasted to a standstill.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Evil. On the plane. He’s coming. Must be ready,” Chun panted.
“Nephilim are just legends, Chun. They’re not real.”
Clearly talking wasn’t going to help, and time was short. Chun turned to go and heard the sound of something being drawn from a leather sheath. He turned back in time to see the captain do something to his sidearm.
“Stop right there, Chun. I don’t want to shoot you, but I believe you’re about to attack someone from that plane, so you just stay. Put your hands behind your head.”
I should learn about modern weapons. It doesn’t look dangerous, but neither does a blow dart.
Chun put his hands behind his head. “Get the general, please. Quickly.”
Smith stepped out of the car. “Sergeant, please go to headquarters and tell the officer of the day that Chun wants to see General Archibald. Tell them I am holding Chun at gunpoint. Once you have made your report, return here and reinforce me.”
“Yes, sir.” The engine revved and the car sped away.
Chun turned to face the hangars. There were at least two hundred paces between him and the buildings. The next closest cover was at least four hundred paces.
Damn them and their huge expanses of grass.
“Calm down, Chun. Nobody here wants to hurt you.”
Through the gap between the hangars Chun saw the plane pull to a stop. It would get off of the plane, and it would come here.
“Captain, we should retreat. This is not good ground.”
“I said to calm down. There’s nothing wrong.”
Chun dug his fingernails into the back of his head. “If I run away from it, I can’t be planning to attack it. Let me go to headquarters.”
“Fuck,” Smith spat. “You’re not listening to me. Stand the fuck still. We’re waiting right here until someone comes to sort you out.”
“Captain, a nephilim is half demon, half human. They cannot be trusted--”
“God dammit, Chun. I’m not having this conversation with you. There’s no such thing as demons, so there’s no such thing as a nephilim.”
A soldier walked into the space between the hangars. It was difficult to judge his size from here, but he looked big.
“That’s him,” Chun said, and pointed.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Bullshit, Chun. That’s Major Heyerdahl. He’s big, he’s mean, and I’ve worked with him for months now. If he had any horns, I’d have noticed.”
Chun edged sideways, trying to change the angle of Smith’s shot, so that it could potentially hit the nephilim.
“I said stay put!” Smith screamed. He shifted sideways to keep his shot clear.
The nephilim broke into a run. Chun looked at it, then at Smith.
I can’t outrun it on open ground, but I may be able to stay ahead until I reach the motor pool. With cover I might outmaneuver it.
Chun shifted breath from his abdomen into his left leg and surged into motion. He shifted it to the other leg and pushed off with that foot. Back and forth, back and forth. His lungs filled and emptied as fast as he could force them. There was no longer any point in trying to obscure his breath from it. He pushed it outward and behind him. It was still too far behind for him to sense. He risked a glance over his shoulder.
It had stopped to talk to Captain Smith.
He slowed to a normal run but kept going in the direction of headquarters.
* * *
“You’re going to have to change the way you think,” Archibald said. “Times are different now. We don’t shoot them on sight.”
Chun felt his eyes get big. “You know what he is, and you keep him here?”
“He’s a model soldier. Never gets sick, never complains, accomplishes his assignments, gets along with his teammates. What do you expect me to do? Shoot him, just because of some old superstition?”
Chun shook his head. “They cannot be trusted. They act in their own interests, at all times. They do not feel mercy, or love, or loyalty. The instant he believes there is an advantage to it, he will turn on you.”
“Horseshit. I’ve seen him take big risks for me and other soldiers.”
“I did not say he is a coward. I said he is selfish. Always.”
Archibald slammed his hand down on his desk. “And I said I’ve seen him do altruistic things. We need him. He’s smart, he’s fast, and he’s ridiculously strong. Stronger than you, even. He can go places ordinary men can’t go, touch things ordinary men can’t touch. In his way he’s as important to my program as you are. Now go back to your room, get some sleep, and start getting used to the idea that sometimes you have to work with people you don’t like.”
Chun left Archibald’s office in a state of near panic. There was no way he was going back underground with that thing around. He had no weapons, no tools, no fortress, and his only friends were pacifists. If Archibald was willing to work with a nephilim, what else was he willing to do?
“What troubles you, my son?” a friendly tenor voice asked.
Chun looked over his shoulder and found the priest they had brought to him before. He turned, took the man’s hand, knelt, and pressed the priest’s knuckles to his forehead.
“I have a great burden. General Archibald consorts with evil. I cannot stay, and neither can I go.”
The priest extracted his hand and patted Chun on the head. “I’m Father Hamlin. I know your name is Chun. Is that your first name?”
“I am Chun Fan. Chun is my family name.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“Chun, Father.”
He held his hand up and gestured toward the chapel. “Walk you with me?”
They walked down the road and into the chapel. Father Hamlin told him about growing up in the north, being called to the faith, and then drawn to the military.
The chapel was the same as the other structures at Fort Battering. Block walls with wood rafters, and a moderately pitched roof. It was white, outside and in. The only thing that distinguished it from the other buildings Chun had seen were the long wooden benches in the main area.
Father Hamlin led him to an office with a few religious texts, and a copy of the army air force code of conduct. He sat down in a guest chair in front of his desk and motioned for Chun to take the other.
The chair creaked alarmingly under Chun’s bulk, but it did not break. Chun resolved to sit still until he stood up again.
“What do you mean, General Archibald consorts with evil?”
“Have you met Major Heyerdahl?”
“A couple of times. He doesn’t come to services, but then most of the men don’t.”
Chun started to lean forward, remembered that moving might break the chair, and then said, “Major Heyerdahl is a nephilim.”
Father Hamlin sat back in his chair and studied Chun. “Are you certain? That is quite a claim.”
“I’m certain.”
“How?”
“I’m a wizard. I can sense it.”
Father Hamlin tipped his head to the side. “Are you now?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
Chun held out his hand, palm up, and spun threads of breath into it. He drew heat from the room, ley from the earth, and a bit of lightning floating free in the air around them. Those ingredients went into a sphere, constructed layer-by-layer until it grew from the size of a pea to the size of Chun’s fist. Then he tied the threads off and let the ball float toward the ceiling.
It took a few seconds, but the ball glowed progressively brighter until it flooded the office with pleasant white light.
“If no one disturbs that, it will last for a couple of weeks,” Chun said.
“And if they do disturb it?”
“They’ll get burned.”
Father Hamlin looked at the ball, then at Chun, and rubbed his chin. “We can’t just take your word for it. We need confirmation. I can’t give that to you, but I know someone who can.”
* * *
Jhon sipped his whiskey and looked at the pair of candles in the fireplace. It was too warm for a fire, but he’d complained about wanting one, and the candles were Annabeth’s solution. She meant them as a prank, but he enjoyed them.
Someone knocked. Then knocked again. Then again.
“What the hell?” Jhon asked. “I just sat down.”
Knock, knock.
“All right, I’m coming.”
Knock, knock.
He stood up and took a few steps toward the door. Annabeth skidded across the entryway in her sock feet and pulled the door open.
“Archbishop,” she said, and pasted a smile on that made Jhon’s skin crawl. “Won’t you come in?”
A tall, lean man stepped inside. He wore long, black robes, and a black skullcap with a triangle of felt sticking up on the front. He held out his hand. Annabeth struggled visibly between running back to whatever she’d been doing before or retreating behind Jhon. Then she went to one knee and kissed his ring.
Archbishop Sabin. I thought he was gone. What’s he doing back in Solomon? What’s he doing in my house?
“Rise,” Sabin said in a thrumming baritone.
He turned toward Jhon, took a step forward, and extended his hand. Jhon took a knee and kissed the ring.
“Rise, my son. Have you been faithful?”
“I have, your grace.”
“What about Annabeth?”
Jhon tried to swallow. “Annabeth is faithful, you grace.”
“I have dire news. A chaplain from Fort Battering says the base commander may be working with a nephilim.”
Jhon frowned. “May be?”
“Father Hamlin is reliable. He says there is a wizard on the base who made the identification. He cannot personally verify it; he does not have the requisite skills.”
Jhon cocked his head. Sabin hardly needed him to verify it. The archbishop was an authority on the supernatural. “How may I help, your grace?”
Sabin smiled, and Jhon swallowed again. “The church has critics who do not want us involved in matters of government. However, your new agency was created specifically to investigate such things. I have the political connections and air of authority to get in, and you have a badge.”
“You want me to legitimize a church raid on Fort Battering?” Jhon asked.
Sabin’s smile widened. “You say that like it is a question, Jhon Bonga. Get your overnight bag. We have a schedule to keep.”
Annabeth stepped around the corner. She was back in her field uniform, and had Jhon’s bag in one hand, and her bag in the other.
“You are not going,” Sabin said to her.
“Nephilim are dangerous,” she said. “Jhon might need me.”
“No,” Sabin said. “This is a time to fight fire with water. You will stay here.”
Annabeth glowered at him. “If you let anything happen to him--”
“Do not threaten me,” Sabin rumbled. “It will not end well.”