Immanuel's Veins

IMMANUELS VEINS

One
My name is Toma Nicolescu and I was a warrior, a servant of
Her Majesty, the empress of Russia, Catherine the Great, who by her own hand and tender heart sent me on that mission at
the urging of her most trusted adviser, Grigory Potyomkin, in the year of our Lord 1772.
It was a year of war, this one the Russo-Turkish War, one of so many with the Ottoman Empire. I had slain the enemy with more ambition than most in the humble service of the empress, or so it has been said, and having earned Her Majesty’s complete trust in my loyalty and skill, I was dispatched by her to the south and east, through Ukraine to the principality of Moldavia, just north of the Black Sea and west of Transylvania, to the country estate of the Cantemir family nestled up against the base of the Carpathian
Mountains.
To my understanding, the family descendants of Dimitrie
Cantemir, the late prince of Moldavia, were owed a debt for his loyalty to Russia. Indeed, it was said that the path to the heart of Moldavia ran through the Cantemir crest, but that was all politics— none of my business.
On that day my business was to travel to this remote, lush green valley in western Moldavia and give protection to this most important family who retreated to the estate every summer.
Russia had occupied Moldavia. Enemies were about with sharp knives and blunt intentions. The black plague had mercilessly taken the lives of many in the cities. A ruler loyal to Catherine the Great would soon be selected to take the reins of this important principality, and the Cantemir family would play a critical role in that decision
as they held such a lofty position of respect among all Moldavians. My charge was simple: No harm could come to this family. These Cantemirs.
The sun was sinking over the Carpathian peaks to our left as my friend in arms, Alek Cardei, and I sat atop our mounts and stared down at the valley. The great white castle with its twin spires stood on emerald grasses an hour’s ride down the twisted path. A tall stone wall ran the length of the southern side where the road ran into the property. Green lawns and gardens surrounded the estate, encompassing ten times the ground as the house itself. The estate had been commissioned by Dimitrie Cantemir in 1711, when he was prince of Moldavia for a brief time before retreating to Turkey.
 “I see the twin peaks, but I see no gowns,” Alek said, squinting down the valley. His gloved hand was on his gold-busted sword. Leather armor wrapped his chest and thighs, same as mine. A goatee cupped his chin and joined his mustache but he’d shaved the rest of his face in the creek earlier, anticipating his ride into the estate, the
arriving hero from abroad.
Alek, the lover.
Toma, the warrior.

Excerpt from IMMANUEL’S VEINS by Ted Dekker. Copyright ©2010 by Ted Dekker. Published in Nashville, TN by Thomas Nelson. Used with Permission.  All Rights Reserved.