Amaros (Knights of Order #1)

Chapter One

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COLD MIST SWIRLED AROUND Zoe’s ankles as she peered at the old church she knew all too well.

Her usual mixture of anxiety and weary resignation was missing.

Instead, dread had taken its place. Light spilled through the windows, beckoning her to enter.

People were singing inside with voices full of yearning and holy zeal.

It was pitch black, thanks to the clouds that were concealing the moon.

Zoe could barely see the headstones of the graves in the small cemetery that surrounded her.

A night bird called out, startling her. Her head whipped around, but she didn’t see anything alarming.

The church was isolated, yet there should have been cars in the parking lot. Instead, it was strangely deserted.

“I’m dreaming,” she realized. The church was a few miles away from her small town. No one would endure the cold and dark to walk all the way out here in the dead of night.

Zoe was drawn towards the building despite the sense of doom that was rising. Her feet carried her around the graves and over to a window. She grabbed hold of the sill and went up onto her tippytoes to peer inside. Instead of seeing the familiar townsfolk, the pews and pulpit were empty.

“What the hell?” she murmured, shaking her head at her weird dream. It felt so real that she shivered when a breeze stirred the low mist.

“It’s time, Zoe Zayden,” someone said from directly behind her, yet the voice sounded like it was coming from the far end of a tunnel at the same time.

Gasping in fright, she whirled around, but no one was there. The voice had been female and unfamiliar. Just the sound of it had sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“Wake up!” she ordered herself, hoping to end the dream. It was tame compared to some of the nightmares and visions she usually had, but it still left her feeling unsettled.

A hand came down on her shoulder, but no one was there when she spun around again.

“Wake up, Zoe,” her mom said, shaking her out of the dream. She’d turned on the lamp and was fully dressed. Her voice was frantic and excited.

“What’s going on?” Zoe asked, feeling alert rather than groggy. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told her it was almost midnight.

“It’s time,” her mom said and tugged her upright.

“Time for what?” Zoe asked warily, eyeing her mom’s Sunday dress and best shoes.

“The First Resurrection is upon us,” Ms. Zayden said, clutching her thick bible and cross to her chest. Her dark brown eyes that matched Zoe’s shone with religious fervor.

They looked a lot alike, with the same olive skin and brunette hair.

Zoe had no idea who her father was, but she hadn’t inherited much of her looks from him.

She towered over her mother, so she guessed she had his height.

“Again?” Zoe asked, suppressing a groan even as she tossed the covers back.

“Don’t be flippant,” Ms. Zayden snapped, turning her back so Zoe could hurriedly pull on the dress she’d laid out for her. “No one knows the exact time or day our Lord will arrive,” she reminded her daughter.

“So how does Pastor Robert know it’s time now?” Zoe asked skeptically. This was the third time she’d been dragged to church for the supposed Rapture, as other religions called it.

“He saw it in a dream,” her mom said. Her tone was firm and warned her not to argue.

Heaving a silent sigh, Zoe pulled on her church shoes.

They grabbed their purses and coats on the way out of their small, two-bedroom home.

Their car was twenty years old, only five years younger than Zoe, but the rusty light blue sedan still ran well.

Zoe took the wheel, so her mom could pray during the drive.

Vanity wasn’t allowed in their home, so Zoe did her best to finger comb her hair.

Her upbringing had been strict and she’d been homeschooled.

That wasn’t the reason why she didn’t have any friends.

She’d always been different from everyone else.

She had talents that set her apart. One was her prophetic dreams. Zoe saw what would happen before it occurred far too frequently for it to be a coincidence.

Mary Zayden claimed Zoe’s father was an angel.

She believed he’d been sent to impregnate her so Zoe could assist humanity with the First Resurrection.

Their entire town was deeply religious. Pastor Robert said Zoe was a prophet and everyone treated her like she was a holy relic.

All she’d ever wanted was to be normal, but that had never been possible.

Instead, she’d grown up feeling like a freak and an outsider.

Self-pity had Zoe firmly in its clutches as they reached the church grounds. Her mom mumbled prayers as she held her cross to her chest. Seven inches long and made of pewter, the antique holy symbol was heavy.

The parking lot was full rather than empty, but Zoe was shaken by how similar the scene looked to her dream. Voices were singing inside and light shone from the windows. A nightbird called out and Zoe’s shoulders hunched in reaction. “I don’t like this,” she muttered.

The back door was always locked, but she didn’t know why.

Damp mist swirled around them as they took the side path to the front door, passing through the cemetery.

Feeling eyes on her back, Zoe paused and looked over her shoulder.

She could just make out two figures lurking in the distance.

One was dressed in a black robe, but her face was completely shadowed.

Long black hair reached out to her companion, curling over his shoulder.

About Zoe’s height and size, she was taller than her friend by a few inches.

Squinting at the pair, the man wore a strange tight suit that was red on one side and green on the other.

A weird spikey hat with bells on the ends was perched on his pale hair.

The bells were silent even though a slight breeze had picked up.

Clouds moved in to obscure the moon, snapping Zoe out of the slight daze she’d fallen into.

“Zoe!” her mom called out from the front steps of the church. “We’re waiting for you!”

“Good luck, lass,” the short, slender man called out softly from the shadows.

“Humanity is counting on you and your companions to save them, Zoe Zayden,” the shrouded female said.

Another shiver wracked Zoe when she recognized the woman’s voice from her dream. She hurried down the path before either of them could speak to her again. Even from a distance, she could sense they weren’t normal. Obviously, they were both crazy.

Pastor Robert stood at the pulpit at the far end of the room as the Zaydens entered the church.

In his late seventies, he was tall, thin and bald.

Seeing Zoe, he broke off from his song and lifted his hands in the air.

“The time has come at last!” he proclaimed as her mom gave her a light shove to get her moving.

Zoe stumbled and caught her balance as her mom sat down on a pew at the back of the room.

“Come, Zoe,” the pastor said. “Do your duty to help shepherd my flock to heaven.”

Flushing at being the center of attention, Zoe kept her head down and hurried down the aisle.

She stood near the gigantic cross with a life-sized Jesus nailed to it, then pretended to sing along with the others.

Her mom wasn’t the only one who was caught up in the excitement.

Most eyes were shining with tears. Hands were lifted in praise and hope that they would be chosen to ascend.

Apparently, Zoe’s role was to stand there like a lump, which was fine with her.

“Holy Father, I beseech you to take my flock unto heaven!” Pastor Robert called out. “We have been faithful to you, Lord! You are our light and our reason for being! We are ready to do our bidding in heaven with your other willing servants!”

The sense of doom Zoe had felt in her dream came rushing back.

Pressure built and a high-pitched sound came from everywhere at once, making her cover her ears with her hands.

The singing was drowned out as the whining noise rose in volume.

No one else seemed to hear it. Pastor Robert was shouting something, but his words were lost as a bright light burst into being.

Ms. Zayden caught Zoe’s eye. She smiled beatifically as she and everyone else in the building suddenly vanished just as the light intensified. It only lasted for a split second, but it had been almost bright enough to blind Zoe.

Blinking rapidly, she tried to tell herself she was still dreaming as she stared at the now empty pews. Not even her imagination was good enough to conjure up all the clothing, jewelry and other items that now littered the pews and the wooden floor.

A black suit, white shirt, shiny black shoes and a watch were piled next to the pulpit where Pastor Robert had been standing. In a daze, Zoe crossed the floor and spotted small lumps of metal among his clothes. “They’re his fillings,” she said incredulously.

Feeling sick and bewildered, she made her way back along the aisle, glancing at the items that had been left behind.

Some had been internal, like pacemakers and artificial knees.

Two orbs full of some kind of liquid caught her eye where a woman her age had been sitting.

“I knew Betty’s boobs weren’t real,” she murmured, still in shock.

Reaching her mom’s seat, Zoe’s heart clenched when she saw her bible, purse and large cross that she’d dropped. She bent down and picked up the items. Her shock and terror began to change after a few minutes of standing there in silence. Betrayal and anger took their place.

Placing her mom’s belongings on the pew, Zoe held the cross tightly and turned to face the pulpit again.

Her gaze landed on the cross and the figure that peered down at her in eternal suffering.

“I was good!” she shouted, anger escalating at the injustice.

“I did everything I was supposed to do! I hardly ever broke the rules and this is how you repay me?”

Pure rage suffused her as she succumbed to the simmering emotions she’d suppressed for half of her life.

Bringing her arm back, she screamed in anger and threw the cross as hard as she could.

The windows in the church shattered from the force of the emotions that emanated from her.

The cross flew the length of the room and pierced the statue’s heart.

Slapping her hands over her mouth, Zoe’s rage faded at her blasphemy. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” she moaned, wondering how God was going to punish her. Then she realized He already had. Everyone who was innately good had ascended to heaven. The unworthy had been left behind.

Collapsing onto the pew next to her mother’s belongings, she put her hands over her face and began to weep. Distantly, she heard bells chiming. They should have sounded merry, but instead rang sorrowfully before fading away into silence.