Hack didn't believe Ben's eyes would ever open again.
I can't cling to hope like Ruthie. Am I being disloyal?
I know more than she does. I know that on top of everything else, whenever he's been conscious, he's had to struggle against his self-healing. There's no way anyone can survive an ordeal like that.
When he dies, will the role he was meant to play revert to me?
Down the road, Hack knew, he'd feel white-hot anger at the Enemy. He'd stir himself to action, regain the will to fight.
But for now he could only mourn.
He didn't react to the knock on the trailer door. Just some carny making a polite inquiry - if Gabriel didn't turn the caller away, Ruthie would.
They could hear Gabriel in the doorway, saying, "Ben ain't got no use for nothin' like that, Appy. He's sick."
That brought Ruthie to her feet. "Appy? I'd better see what she wants." She'd told Hack how the shock of the fire in her bus had brought the psychic out of her catatonic state.
He still wasn't interested, paid no attention to the low murmur of women's voices on the trailer steps. It ended, the door closed, and Ruthie came back. He didn't even look up.
"What do you think o' this, Hack?" Ruthie sounded puzzled. "Appy says she dreamed that Ben needs it, an' she has no idea why!"
That finally got his attention. "Wh-what?"
Ruthie was holding a Tarot card. "She said it may have been one of those random, crazy dreams that mean nothin' at all. It ain't even the card she's always associated with Ben. But she was afraid not to bring it over, in case it really was important."
She handed it to Hack, and he looked at it dubiously. "The King of Swords? What card did she associate with Ben?"
"The Magician, she says."
That at least made sense.
Hack turned this card over in his hands, inspecting it. It came from the common Rider-Waite deck, showing the king in a sky-blue robe, as befit the association of Swords with the element of air. The King of Swords symbolized - what? A general?
No connection with Ben, as far as I can see.
He found himself remembering a different, more elaborate deck used by the Templars. That deck used famous works of art...and the image chosen for the King of Swords was of a "general" honored as a saint. Could that be the tie-in? A dedication to the saint, comparable to giving someone a St. Jude or St. Christopher medal?
Seems too far-fetched. More likely the dream meant nothing at all.
"I don't see any point to it," he said. "But it can't hurt to put it in his hand."
Ruthie nodded. "Right. Maybe he'll know a friend was thinkin' of him an' tryin' to help him, an' that will do him some good."
Oh, Ruthie. You want desperately to hope, don't you?
Hack leaned over the bed and placed the card in Ben's right hand, trying to close the limp fingers around it. "The King of Swords card, Ben. Apollonia brought it over because she thought you needed it."
"He didn't have feelin' in his hands," Ruthie said anxiously.
But at that moment Ben's hand moved, his fingers seeming to explore the surface of the card.
"He knows it's there," Hack assured her.
It made no sense at all, but he himself felt oddly relieved.
x
x
x
Ben found himself back in the fiery hurricane with the distraught young couple. The demon lunged at them. But this time he knew what to do.
Do I "know what to do," or am I rememberin' somethin' I did?
Either way, he reached for his sword. He held it up, confidently asserting his authority, and saw that the blade he wielded was not metal but flame.
The demon roared, shrieked, flailed about in impotent rage...and melted away. Ben covered the young husband and wife with his shield as the storm abated.
Then he reached out with his mind and confirmed that the guards he'd posted around the Forbidden Zone were still there, armed with their own flaming swords. He turned to the awestruck couple. "Come, follow me," he told them. "No harm will befall you."
The husband glanced back regretfully in the direction from which they'd come. Ben laid a hand on his shoulder and said kindly, "Don't look back. What's done is done.
"You've lost something, but you've gained something as well. It's not a bad trade. A new life awaits you in a new land."
The man and wife looked up at him and smiled, and he was sure he'd never forget those grateful, trusting young faces...
x
x
x
Then the scene changed, and he was back in the desert, contending with a demon over the location of a grave.
This time he understood what was at stake.
"He was a good man, a holy man!" the demon insisted. "He surely deserves to be honored in death!"
"He was one of the greatest, noblest men who ever lived," Ben said quietly. "He deserves that his burial site not become a bone of contention among nations, the cause of a war that will one day be fought with horrific weapons."
"That will never happen."
"It will. You see the future as clearly as I do, and you want it to happen!"
The demon sneered, then took another tack. "In any case, you can't suppress the knowledge."
"I can and I will. I'll move his remains as many times as necessary. If mortals learn the secret, I won't harm them, but I'll assure that they die without passing it on."
"In the far future, we'll be able to claim his burial site has been found, falsify evidence - we can place it anywhere!"
"No. Any false evidence will be proven false before serious harm is done."
But if they find the actual site it will be a place of miracles, and no other evidence will be needed.
I won't let them find it.
He drew his mighty sword, drove the demon away, and proceeded to move the grave...
x
x
x
Then he found himself on a hilltop, looking down on a battle-ready army. Soldiers spotted him and spread the word; faces turned upward, eager, yet hardly daring to believe.
He smiled down on them...and held aloft his famous shield.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Now they'd recognized him, beyond a doubt. They were ready to welcome him as their savior, to follow him anywhere.
He smiled again to himself.
All too often, it truly is necessary that men fight and die.
But not today.
On this day he planned to send them - unbeknownst to them - rushing not toward the opposing army but away from it. Then he'd visit the other side, which held him in equally high regard, and send them in the "wrong" direction as well.
And all involved will have muddled memories of a "great victory"...
x
x
x
Suddenly, he was looking down on a gathering in 10th-century Rome - a grieving procession led by Pope Gregory, to pray for relief from the plague. The townspeople caught sight of him and recognized his shield. They began shrieking, some falling on their knees, others rising on tiptoe and straining upward in desperate supplication.
Oh yes. What I love most is to heal.
I don't understand why God has allowed the plague to ravage Rome, or why He's given me the power to end it. I only know that He has, and I'm deeply grateful to be the instrument of His mercy.
x
x
x
Ruthie woke from the nap she'd been taking in her chair, and moved immediately to check that Ben was still breathing.
"He is," Hack said softly. "I told you I'd wake you if anything happened."
"Yes, I know." Looking at Hack, she wondered, Does the man ever sleep? The two of them had encouraged Gabriel to keep regular hours, and ignore their sleeping at odd times. But whenever she'd urged Hack to take his turn, he'd said he wasn't sleepy.
Then she looked more closely at Ben. "Hack! He's breathin' easier. There's no fever. An' I think his color is better, don't you?"
"He does seem more peaceful," Hack said cautiously. "I'm not sure what that means."
You're afraid to let yourself hope.
She knew Ben's father had been praying. She'd heard him. But hope was something else again, a luxury he evidently wouldn't allow himself.
She, on the other hand, clutched it as a drowning woman would a life preserver.
x
x
x
She was still clinging to it four hours later when Ben stirred slightly, opened his eyes, and whispered, "It's over."
"Wh-what?" What does "over" mean? She looked at Hack, and saw uncertainty and fear written on his face.
" 'S all right," Ben mumbled. "I ain't gonna die. Jus' weak now, gotta get some sleep..." With a seemingly mighty effort, he added, " 'Splain in the mornin', okay?"
"Okay." She was crying, giddy with relief, as she leaned over to kiss his forehead. This is real, I know it is, it has to be!
Another look at Hack showed him to be weeping too.
Ben began trying to turn on his side, and they rushed to help him - Hack turning him, Ruthie finding pillows to put at his back. He murmured drowsily, "Love you...both...so much."
"We love you too," they said in unison. They looked at each other and smiled, with tears still streaming down their faces.
The King of Swords Tarot card had slipped out of Ben's hand. Hack picked it up and tried to give it back to him. "Do you want to hold onto this, Ben?"
Ben's eyes were closing, but he blinked and got them open again. "Don't need a sword right now," he said. "I foun' my shield."
Hack gulped and said, "Oh." Then, "You still have it?" He seemed to be trying to imagine what kind of shield would accompany a sword that was merely a picture on a Tarot card.
"Warrior always sleeps un'er his shield," Ben said firmly. Then he patted the space in the bed beside him and said, "Ruthie? Come...sleep wi' me...un'er my shield?"
Oh God. What should I do? She wasn't embarrassed about their relationship, or unwilling to go through the motions of crawling under an imaginary shield. Does he think he's a knight in armor? But...
"Hack?" she pleaded mentally. "I'm still afraid of jarrin' him! Do you think it's safe?"
The answer came immediately. "I think so, Ruthie. He was willing to turn on his side now - that didn't seem to hurt him. And it's a good sign that he's lucid enough to know which of us he wants in bed with him!"
Ruthie stuck her tongue out at Hack, then grinned and crawled into bed.
But I'm not gonna sleep. I'll be listenin' to every breath Ben takes, all night...or all day, or whatever time it is.
She hadn't been sure he was still awake. But he reached out to pull her closer, and muttered, "Will you marry me?"
Ruthie almost choked.
Then she said, "If you remember this in the morning...yes."
x
x
x
For a few minutes, Ruthie's optimism had been infectious. But as soon as she and Ben dropped off to sleep - which they did at almost the same time - Hack's fears returned.
That may have been nothing more than a burst of false strength before the end.
If he's not in pain, it may mean only that his body is shutting down and he's lost sensation.
If he seems to be breathing easily, it may be that he's stopped struggling to breathe deeply.
And if he really is going to live, Ruthie was right in what she said before: not even he can make a full recovery from this. He'll be an invalid all his life. She'll have a harder time than she thinks, adjusting to that. He may not be able to adjust at all.
Hack wasn't used to spending this much time in a corporeal form. Now, worn out by worry, he did something he hadn't done in years.
He slept.