Blessed Child by Ted Dekker Read Free Book Online

from him and stared at the passing hills. They fell into an awkward silence.
    Jason considered apologizing. She hardly deserved the cold shoulder he was dishing out. Thing of it was, he didn’t even know why he was so bothered by her. She’d done nothing to hurt him or the boy. She was strong willed; that much she couldn’t hide if she wanted to. But then he was usually attracted to strong women.
    It’s the boy, Jason.
    They rolled on to the hum of the road. Jason looked back once and met the boy’s eyes. They stared large and innocent. His dark, wavy hair fluttered in the wind. He sat with his hands limp in his lap, and it occurred to Jason that he was in shock.
    Jason smiled. “Tadius.” Hello, friend.
    â€œTadius,” the boy returned, smiling sheepishly.
    It was the first smile since leaving the monastery, Jason thought. His heart suddenly felt heavy staring into those innocent round eyes. He faced the road and swallowed. Maybe it was the boy.
    Beside him Leiah had nodded off with her head against the roll bar. Her hair lay against her cheek in delicate black strands. Her complexion was smooth over her nose and her lips, down past her chin to the base of her neck, where the burn scars began. Looking at it now, Jason blinked at the sight. Judging by the scarred tissue at her wrists, he surmised that her whole upper torso had been baked in a fire. The fire had either missed her face, or reconstructive surgery had given her a new one.
    Either way, the result was a stunning display of contrasts. Watching her at any distance in her tunic, you would see only a beautiful woman with a silky tanned face and the eyes of the sky. But under her garments lay a mangled mess of skin.
    Jason removed his eyes and studied the asphalt rolling to meet them. He had been too hard on her. Whatever had brought her to this rugged land was no less than his own reason for coming. What are you running from? she had asked. And what are you running from, Leiah?
    She was right about one thing: they were now both running with the boy . . . this enigma behind them, who had never before today seen an automobile, much less fled for his life in one. Who did not hesitate to run into the field of fire to see a wounded man up close. The boy was either badly disturbed or so totally innocent he simply could not understand even the most obvious threat. He would be lost in a UNHCR refugee camp.
    They rolled into the outskirts of Woldia with the sun nudging the western slope of the Great Rift Valley. The dusty concrete streets were a maze of activity, filled with more than the usual fare of drawn carts and old automobiles spewing plumes of gray smoke. News of the attacks farther north had obviously quickened the pace even this far south.
    â€œWe’re here?” Leiah looked around, dazed by sleep.
    â€œWelcome to the lovely metroplex of Woldia.”
    She chuckled. Jason braked for a crossing horse-drawn cart loaded with bulging gunnysacks. Wheat. The driver shot them a stern glare and pulled in front of the Jeep without concern for his own safety.
    They pulled into a dilapidated BP gas station five minutes later. An attendant ran out, eager to service them. Even as far south as Woldia, jean-clad Europeans were immediately branded as tourists loaded with cash. Jason asked for a full tank of fuel and an oil check and climbed out. Leiah was already out, extending a hand for the boy, who sat gazing about from his rear-seat perch.
    â€œCome on, Caleb,” Leiah urged. “Stretch your legs.”
    The boy had settled his stare across the road where a street merchant dressed in a bright red tunic sat surrounded by his caged birds. Jason saw the boy’s interest and motioned to Leiah. “You go ahead and visit the rest room. I’ll take the boy across the street to see the birds.”
    Leiah hesitated before dropping her arm and heading for the small tin shack labeled “Rest Rome” in broad black letters on a