Chris Kuzneski - Payne & Jones 03 Sword of God

SWORD OF GOD

Chris Kuzneski

JOVE BOOKS, NEW YORK

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

SWORD OF GOD

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Jove mass-market edition / October 2007

Copyright 2007 by Chris Kuzneski, Inc.

Cover design by Steven Ferlauto.

Interior text design by Stacy Irwin.

Maps on pages x and 18 provided by the author.

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ISBN: 978-0-515-14356-0

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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, I'd like to start off by thanking my parents, Andrew and Joyce Kuzneski. They've been with me from the very beginningliterallyand their love and support have never faltered. I feel truly blessed to be their son.

Professionally, I'd like to thank Scott Miller, my remarkable agent. Before we teamed up, I couldn't find a publisher. Now my books are available around the world. While I'm at it, I'd like to mention Claire Roberts, my foreign agent, and the entire staff at Trident Media. Every time I hear from them, they have more good news.

Speaking of which, the best news I've received so far was my deal with Berkley. It's been a pleasure to work with my editor, Natalee Rosenstein. She took a chance on my last book, Sign of the Cross, and I'll never forget it. Thanks for all you've done. The same can be said for Michelle Vega and everyone at Penguin. I have nothing but compliments for the entire Penguin Group.

Next, I'd like to thank Ian Harper for living in L.A. When I'm writing, I tend to call him in the middle of the night with all kinds of strange research questions, and that three-hour time difference means he's actually awake. Thanks for being there!

Finally, a big thanks to all the readers, booksellers, and librarians who have read my books or recommended them. Obviously, at this stage of my career I need all the help I can get, so I truly appreciate your support.

He who leads a holy war wields the sword of God.

Paccius, Roman general (circa 27 ad)

South Korea

Saturday, December 23

Jeju Island, South Korea

(sixty miles south of the Korean Peninsula)

The boy could smell the blood from fifty yards away. A strong, pungent odor that made him gag yet piqued his curiosity. Common sense told him to turn around and get some help. His father. His mother. One of his neighbors. Anyone who could protect him from what he was about to discover. But common sense rarely mattered to an eight-year-old.

Especially when he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.

The valley to his right was lined with camphor trees, many seventy-five feet tall and a hundred feet wide. The path in front of him was rugged, made of black volcanic rock that dominated the subtropical island and formed its very core. The temperature was cold, in the low forties, but would climb steadily as the day wore on, a by-product of the nearby Kuroshio and Tsushima currents. The sun was still rising over the eastern sea when he made his choice. He zipped his jacket over his nose and inched forward, following the stench of death.

For years his family had warned him about this place, claiming it was built for evil. It was a story that wasn't difficult to believe. Sometimes, late at night, he could hear the screamsbloodcurdling shrieks that oozed down the hillside and jostled him from his sleep. The first time he heard them he assumed he was having a nightmare, but the sounds didn't stop when he sat up in bed. In fact, they got louder. This went on for days, weeks, until he could take no more.

He had to know the truth.

Ignoring his family's wishes, he snuck into town and asked one of the village elders about the sounds from the hill. The old man laughed at the boy's audacity. He, too, had been a curious child and felt this trait should be rewardedbut only if the boy could understand the truth.

"Look at me," the old man ordered in Korean. "Let me see your eyes."

The boy knew he was being tested. He stared at the old man, refusing to blink, hoping to prove his courage even though his palms were sweating and his knees were trembling.

Tension filled the hut for several seconds. The entire time the boy could barely breathe.

Finally, the old man nodded. The boy was ready for the truth, if for no other reason than to keep him afraid of the place on the hill, to keep him alive. Sometimes fear was a blessing.

With a grave face and a gravelly voice, the old man whispered a single name that was known throughout Jeju, a place that sent shivers down the boy's spine and woke the hairs on his neck.

Pe-Ui Je Dan.

The boy gasped at its mention. The place was so infamous, so ominous, that other details weren't necessary. He had heard the stories, just like everyone else on the island. Yet until that moment he had thought they were just a myth, an urban legend that had made it across the Sea of Japan for the sake of scaring children into doing their chores. But the old man assured him that wasn't the case. Not only was it real, it was close. Just up the path.