by Josh Raymer
“The programming you mentioned—it was fighting styles,” I say.
“The means to execute, too. It’s one thing to know the moves for each fighting style. You also just got decades of muscle memory on top of all that.”
“Is that why my brain feels like it went through a mental marathon?” I massage my brow as I speak. My brain feels fried, like it did after I finished the LSAT.
“Yeah, I suppose that would be a side effect of receiving the programming like that. Typically nephilim are programmed the first twenty-five years of their life. Then, on their birthday, the program activates. Like a trojan horse, only good.”
I shake my head to clear the brain fog. It doesn’t work, but we don’t exactly have time for me to take a power nap, and I’m sure Heaven is fresh out of coffee.
The sparring session must continue, even if I feel less than 100 percent.
“Can I try to hit you again now?” I ask Augustus. At this, his face lights up.
“I would love nothing more,” he says. “Please, be my guest.”
This time, I spread my feet shoulder-width apart, then squat, so my thighs are parallel with the ground. I extend my left fist out and raise my right hand above my head, my hand pointed toward Augustus. Rather than feeling forced, the stance feels natural, like I’ve done it for decades. Augustus mirrors my stance.
“Do you know what this stance is called?” he asks.
Of course not. I have no idea what this is called.
“The horse stance,” I tell him with the utmost certainty. “It’s the first stance you learn in Shaolin Kung Fu because it lowers your center of gravity.”
As soon as I finish speaking, I stare at Augustus, utterly perplexed.
“You’ll get used to it,” he tells me. “I never learned that Shaolin Kung Fu started in the year 527 in the Henan Province of China, but by God, I know it now.”
I laugh, then take a deep breath to clear my mind and steady my nerves.
When I lunge forward, it’s a gliding motion that’s totally new for me. And whereas before, my punches were long and looping, now they’re short and quick.
Augustus and I dance atop the bastille, advancing forward and back, each throwing punches that the other deflects with a wrist flick. After several unsuccessful flurries of punches, I retreat backward and switch to a different style: Keysi.
I bend my arms at a ninety-degree angle and raise them up by my ears, similar to how I’d hold my arms if I ever did sit-ups. Augustus, still in his Kung Fu stance, springs forward with several quick punches, which I block with my elbows.
I fire back at him with my forearms, just missing on a couple of hammer fists. He backs up, smirking, and then lunges at me again, firing even more punches my way. I manage to swipe away each one. Right before he throws another combo, I quickly step back, taking myself out of his punch radius. Augustus tries to course-correct mid-punch, but his momentum propels him right into me.
I block his wayward punch with my right elbow, then bring a left hammer fist crashing down toward his face. Like he did for me, I stop inches from his jaw.
I don’t mind punching angels in the jaw, but I’m not going to deck Augustus. He claps his hands together and lets out a joyous “whoo!” I can’t help but smile.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaims. “You’re starting to think about the fight rather than just reacting to what your opponent is doing.”
That did feel different. I switched my style and waited for Augustus to make a mistake, whereas before, I’d charge in blind and hope for the best. I don’t know if it’s the programming I received or the confidence I now have, knowing I no longer need to wing it during battle. Most likely, it’s a mixture of both.
But there’s no denying it: something inside me has changed.
“Alright, now I’m going to take the training wheels off,” Augustus says, backing up. “I’m going to try to make you angry. Your job is not to stop me from kicking your ass—” he pauses as we both laugh, “but to keep your emotions in check.”
I nod, assume the Keysi stance, and the dance begins again. Augustus is a blur of motion this time. It’s all I can do to swing my elbows down and block his tornado of punches and kicks. I lean back to avoid a roundhouse punch and stumble, giving Augustus an opening to strike while I’m off-balance. I can’t get my elbow up in time to block a punch flying in from my right, so I let off a small cleansing flame that redirects his fist away from my face. Instantly, his face contorts.
“No powers!” he yells.
He launches into another attack, which is somehow even more furious than before. I’m no longer able to keep up as his punches stop inches from my chest and face.
Thump! Shot to the jaw.
Whack! Punch to the chest.
Snap! Roundhouse kick to the ribs.
The confidence I had moments earlier is gone. I’m a mass of flailing limbs while Augustus ruthlessly wedges a punch or kick into any window he finds.
I overcompensate during an attempted block and lose my balance, falling onto both knees. Augustus jumps in to rain punches down, so the breeze generated by his fists tickles the back of my neck. I can’t stand up, anger building like a fire being fed by gasoline. I try to spin away, but Augustus cuts me off and keeps pounding.
Wham, wham, wham, wham, wham!
The punches aren’t landing, but I feel them all the same. I try again to escape his avalanche of punches, but he blocks my path for a second time.
That’s when I lose it. A cleansing flame erupts from my body.
Except Augustus doesn’t go flying. Instead, the force of my blast pushes back down onto me, knocking me flat on my face, skin pressed against the cold stone of the bastille. Augustus straddles me now, raining punches and elbows upon me.
“I said no powers,” he roars. “So I blocked your flame with one of my own!”
I try to press myself up, but Augustus’s weight keeps me pinned. I try to flip over onto my back, but it’s no use. That’s when I look up and see I’m lying next to a wall, so I raise my hand and let off a short cleansing flame. Before Augustus can react, I’m propelled out from under him and come to a stop three feet away.
I jump to my feet and ready myself for an attack, but none comes. Augustus climbs to his feet and turns to face me, a look of consideration on his face.
“I know, I cheated,” I say preemptively. “But you were kicking my ass.”
“I told you I was going to do that,” Augustus replies. “I’m more disappointed that you fell back into reactionary mode instead of remaining engaged.”
“I’m still learning the ropes here, Augustus,” I shoot back, heat rising up my cheeks. “Before Malphas kidnapped Peter, I’d never thrown a punch before!”
“I understand,” he says in a slow, measured voice. “But we don’t have time for training wheels up here. An angel could come swooping in any second, hell-bent on killing you. And if you fight with this,” he pauses, pointing at his heart, then up at his head, “instead of this, they’re going to rip you a new one, son.”
I sigh and rub my face. “I know what you’re saying is true, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me. I’ve been nothing but angry ever since I left Tully’s Tavern a few nights ago, when this all started. Scared, too, but mainly just pissed off.”
Augustus’s expression has softened. “I know what you mean.”
“Do you?” I ask him, frustration seeping into the words. “From what I’ve seen, you’re cool as a cucumber when the bullets start flying.”
“‘From what you’ve seen’ being the key phrase,” he tells me. “Why do you think I kept fighting to the age that I did, going decades past the end of a natural life?”
“You were angry over Marianne’s death,” I say softly.
“Right,” he whispers. “But not at the demons. At myself.”
Augustus points at his chest, tears glistening from the edges of his eyes.
“I raged up and down both coasts and everywhere in between, hurling myself into demon pits and ripping deadeyes limb from limb for decades without stopping,” he continues. “Death wasn’t a punishment. I clocked back in just as fast as I clocked out. My pittance for her death was endless toil, blood, and suffering.”
I don’t speak. I just stare at Augustus, who’s gazing off at the horizon, lost in his recollection. The tears are flowing freely now, like two tiny rivers.
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. I let the silence stretch on before a question bubbles into my conscious mind, one that’s been lurking just below the surface ever since I arrived in Heaven and found my great-great-grandfather waiting for me. I don’t know if he’ll answer—but I have to ask him.
“You chose to quit fighting,” I say slowly. “But you’re not in the throne room. You’re here with me, trying to stop a war between angels. Why is that, Augustus?”
Now Augustus is sobbing. It’s a jarring sight, hands covering his face as his whole body heaves. I don’t push him for an answer. Instead, I walk over and place a hand on his shoulder, like he did for me back in Bron’s canyon. When he lowers his hand and turns to face me, his eyes are red, and his cheeks are splashed with tears.
“I don’t want to go there,” he says in a choked whisper.
“Why not?” I ask him.
“I can’t face her.”
“Face who?”
“Marianne.”
“Why not?”
Augustus lets out a long, low cry, like that of a wounded animal. Whatever the reason, it’s a painful one. As he stares at me, his lip trembles.
“It’s my fault she’s dead.”
Chapter 12
12. Reunited and It Feels So Good
This is, of course, ludicrous. Augustus is no more responsible for Marianne’s death than I was for Peter’s kidnapping. But I know where he’s coming from. When it’s your family, the burden you place on yourself is much heavier. If something bad happens, logical or not, you believe you could’ve done something to stop it.
I don’t know if it helps us cope or grieve or if we do it simply to feel something other than sadness. Guilt, as much as it drags you down, stings a lot less.
“I don’t know Marianne,” I admit. “But I feel pretty confident saying she’d kick your ass if she could see you right now, blaming yourself for her death.”
A watery smile tugs at the edges of Augustus’s mouth.
“She was as tough as she was sweet,” he says. “I really miss her.”
“When this is over,” I say, grabbing him by both shoulders, “you need to go to her. You’ve fought and sacrificed enough. It’s my turn now.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he whispers, staring at the ground.
“When you see her, all these worries are going to melt away,” I say. “There won’t be any tears or anger or accusations. You’ll be reunited, and you’ll be happy.”
“You’re right,” he says. “I know you’re right. I’ve just spent so long running from her. It’s almost an instinct at this point. Isn’t that sad?”
“I get it,” I tell him. “But you don’t have to run anymore. Just because you’ve been doing something for a long time doesn’t mean you can’t change. Look at me. I used to be the world’s worst fighter. But now…”
“You’re a Kung Fu master,” Augustus finishes.
“Exactly.”
Augustus smiles big this time, his red eyes lighting up.
“Thanks, Silas,” he says, pulling me in for a hug. “I needed this.”
“You’re welcome,” I tell him, and I mean it. He’s been there so much for me already. This was the least I could do for him. As we pull apart, I continue: “Now, let’s go find Moses so I can get out of here and save my hometown.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asks me concernedly. “We didn’t exactly get to finish your training. You’re like Luke running off to fight Darth Vader.”
I laugh, totally caught off guard by this comment. Wasn’t this man just talking about the opportunity he had to run off and fight in the Civil War?
“What?” he asks upon seeing my open-mouthed reaction. “I was still alive when it came out. The first one was amazing; I had to see what happened next!”
“You are full of surprises,” I say. “But you’re not wrong. I have no idea if I’m ready to go toe-to-toe with an angel and not lose my cool. But what I’ve learned about myself these past few days is that if you put an obstacle between me and my family or my town, I will destroy it or die trying. Or both, as it turns out.”
Augustus nods. “Good enough for me,” he says. “Let’s go find Moses.”
***
When our feet touch down in Bron’s canyon, he’s waiting for us. I can tell he’s got news to share. Even with a face that’s nearly impossible to read, there’s a glint of nervous excitement in his big, sparkling eyes.
“Whatcha got for us, Bron?” Augustus asks, no doubt sensing what I did.
“Hello Augustus, hello Silas,” he says politely. “Welcome back. While you were off at the bastille, I have been hard at work. As you requested, I located Moses.”
“That’s great,” I interject. “Where is he?”
“In the throne room, as we expected,” Bron replies. “Augustus and I will be able to enter and hopefully find an audience with him. You will have to wait outside, I’m afraid, as your sin nature prohibits you from being in God’s presence.”
“Wait a minute,” Augustus chimes in. “What are you talking about? I can’t enter the throne room. I’ve still got sin all over me. That disqualifies me, doesn’t it?”
“I did some more research into that,” Bron tells him. “You’re a special case, Augustus Shaw. You’re still in your human body, it’s true, but you’re no longer alive. You exist solely in Heaven now, not on Earth. So, while it’s true that your sin is still attached to you, it’s inert. If you want, you can enter the throne room.”
“Are you sure?” Augustus asks. “I won’t get vaporized once I step inside?”
“I checked, and I’m sure,” is all Bron says.
Augustus ponders this for a moment, his gaze fixed on the ground. Then, he looks up at me, a mixture of surprise and anxiety painted across his face. I know what he’s thinking: if he goes into the throne room, there’s a chance he’ll see Marianne.
As good as our conversation was, I’m not sure he expected to see her quite this soon. Granted, he might not see her at all, but that’s not what his brain is telling him right now, judging by the look on his face.
The next voice, shockingly, is Bron’s.
“There is a chance you’ll see her,” he tells Augustus. “But it will be her spirit, not her body. You’ll recognize her once you get closer, but from a distance, what you’ll recognize is a feeling deep inside you. Something intangible. Like how your heart would skip a beat when you heard her voice on the telephone.”
I have to give the bronze giant some credit. I pegged him as an aloof, stumbling goofball when I first saw him. But he’s shown a surprising grasp of human emotions since then, and although his attempts to connect with us have been awkward at best, I know we both appreciate the effort he’s making.
We stand a better chance of getting what we need from Moses if Augustus goes in with Bron, but I can’t ask the old man to go into the throne room if he’s not ready to see Marianne. If our roles were reversed, I know he wouldn’t ask that of me.
“Augustus, you don’t have to go in if you don’t—” I start.
“I’ll do it,” he says quickly, cutting me off. “I’ll go in with Bron.”
He looks at both of us, resolute. We nod our agreement with his decision. I shift my attention to Bron to hear the gam
e plan before we disembark.
“The plan is a simple one,” he says. “We will meet with Moses, get the information we need, and then do what needs to be done to activate Lightfall. All the while, we will maintain a low profile to avoid attracting the attention of the angels.”
“Keeping a low profile should be easy,” Augustus says with a laugh. “We’ve got a twelve-foot-tall giant and two nephilim. Incognito is our middle name!”
I laugh, both at his comedic timing and his astute observation. The closer we get to activating Lightfall, the more difficult it will become to stay off the angels’ radar. The angel who ambushed us will likely be the first of many before this mission is complete. Our only hope is that their civil war is an all-consuming distraction.
“If you’re ready, I’ll transport us to the area right outside the throne room, where Silas can wait until our business with Moses is concluded,” Bron says.
“Yeah, that reminds me,” Augustus begins. “You’re not going to like the place where you have to hang out while we’re inside. It’ll bring up some bad memories.”
“Are we going back to Heaven’s lobby?” I ask.
“Yeah…” Augustus says sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “It’s not like an angel strangled me there or anything.”
Another round of laughs, even from Bron. Augustus and I fall in line behind him as we walk toward the compression tunnel at the entrance of his canyon. He asks if I want to blackout again, and I tell him “no.” I can’t stomach the thought of seeing Colin and Peter again. It’s better to endure this discomfort than that one.
***
Returning to this place is strange. We land just a few yards away from where Gregori tried to kill me, but as I stare at that spot, I feel oddly disconnected from the memory of that event. It feels like it happened to another Silas who lived a hundred years ago, not the version of myself standing here right now.
I wave goodbye to Bron and Augustus as they set off for the throne room, disappearing in a pop of white light. As I stroll over to the spot where I stood when I first arrived in Heaven, I stare up at the sky above the platform I’m on.