Seeing Genevieve rush forward spurred the fortress troops into action.  Even as she and I sprinted across the fields of snow, they were mounting horses and charging out from the city.  In front of us the Citadel army was marching towards us, intent on attacking.  I saw the figure in white help Neal to his feet and together they mounted Alexander’s abandoned horse. 

            Genevieve roared her frustration as they rode back into their lines.  I felt relief, grateful that my vision had not come to pass.  Though that didn’t stop me from trying to catch up to her.  When I did reach her side, I grabbed her arm.

            “Come on Eve, we have to get back before their army hits us!” I said, urging her to run back to the city. 

            Instead of listening to me, Genevieve waved at the troops spilling out of the city gates and the breach in the wall.  One of her men rode up and she ordered him to get down.  She took his horse by the reins and prepared to mount upon the charger.  I hurried to her side.

            “What are you doing?”  I asked, trying to get her attention.

            She didn’t even look at me, Genevieve just pushed me as hard as she could and climbed onto the back of the horse, spurring it forward so she could chase her enemy.  By this time they had vanished amidst their approaching troops, so Eve doubled back to join the cavalry.  Together they collided with the enemy line, restarting the battle.  I drew my sword and rushed to catch up.

            I fought diligently, using my sword to defend against the tide of soldiers washing down on me like a wave.  Parry, feint, counter, retreat, strike, duck; my motions became an intricate dance for survival.  Whenever there was a pause, a gap, I would look for my sister in the maelstrom of violence.  Pushing past fighting men, straining to see her as a sailor quests for land in a storm, I would catch glimpses through the crowd.  She fought with determination, but I could see a quiet rage in her eyes.

            Everywhere she went, men died.  She struck with a fury I would never have guessed possible in our childhood.  Genevieve had always been one of the most peaceful and loving people I had ever known.  Now she was a whirlwind of bloody action, riding through the enemy line like they were grass.

            Everywhere I went, I used my sword to heal and convert, saving men from themselves and restoring them to sanity.  Citadel soldiers and Outlander rebels alike fell back from the battle, stunned that they had been trying to kill each other.  I was reminded of the story of Saul on the road to Tarsus, and how the scales had fallen from his eyes when Christ spoke to him from Heaven and made him Paul.  These men were seeing with the clarity of vision one could only possess after an encounter with God.

            I don’t know how long the battle raged.  I simply fought, and by some miracle received no wounds.  I guessed that my holy sword was responsible for this, but it did not prevent me from feeling aches in my arms and legs as I waged battle.  Only tenacity and drive kept me going, and the grace of God.  It was like walking upstream in a powerful river, as the Citadel army kept pushing towards the city and I kept trying to go past them.

            After an agonizing lifetime of struggle, chilled to the bone by winter wind, all my muscles throbbing, I finally broke through the line and found myself standing on a small hill.  I realized the entire day had gone by since the beginning of the battle, as the stars were coming out in the violet sky above.  I realized with a cold chill that, if my vision were to come true, it would be now.

            I looked to my side and saw Genevieve knocked from her horse by a Citadel soldier.  She rolled as she fell and got back on her feet quickly, kicking him in the groin and then cutting off his head as he bent over in pain.  Blood sprayed on her armour, but she was already in motion.  Evie looked onto the field below the hill, where the enemy campsite sat.  I followed her gaze and saw the white figure that had murdered Alex emerge from a red tent.  Genevieve bellowed to get his attention and ran down the hill.

            The masked killer launched himself forward, the two of them moving like ballistic missiles to intercept each other.  I chose an angle that would put me dead centre between them if I was fast enough, and sprinted for all I was worth, feeling the air burning in my lungs.  My fatigued muscles scream in protest.  I could not let my sister die.  I had to stop it.  No matter that I had been given a vision, no matter that God had given me a mission, I had but one thought.  Save Evie.  I remembered how in my dream the stars had looked down on her death like it did not matter, and I would not let that happen.

            I looked up as I ran and saw Genevieve preparing her sword swing, and I saw her target drawing his knives as he moved like a pouncing tiger, his entire body a weapon set on destroying Eve.  I had one chance, and I had to take it now.  Else they would collide and my sister would die.

            I pushed as hard as I could with my legs, leaping forward in a flying tackle, saying a silent prayer:  “Please God, let me change the future, if it be your will.  Don’t let my sister die.”  I hoped against hope that I could change the destiny of my vision, that I could prevent Fate from coming to pass.  Moving with a speed that I did not know I possessed, holding back nothing, using my muscles to their utmost, I took a leap of faith.

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