Shrouded Destiny

by Richard William Bates

  "I'm having a drink.” Then to the bartender he said, “Make that two.” He turned back to Cassidy. “This one's on me. You get the next round."

  Cassidy finally decided to just give in and play along. He was in Angelino's hands and was about to find out if his trust was justified.

  The bartender felt compelled to continue his stare for an extra moment before he produced two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He poured two drinks and started to turn around.

  "Leave the bottle,” Angelino said. Cassidy just about choked.

  The bartender regarded Angelino suspiciously. Angelino produced a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and laid it on the bar. The bartender seemed to be calculating the volume remaining in the bottle and the amount offered. Deciding the transaction worked to his advantage, he placed the bottle on the bar, swept up the twenty before Angelino could change his mind, and then walked over to the far end of the bar. He began mumbling to one of the men sitting at the end of the bar. They both continued watching Angelino and Cassidy.

  Angelino turned around, leaning back against the bar with his arm resting on it. My Goodness, he's enjoying himself! Cassidy realized. He almost allowed himself a smile.

  He turned to his left. A man was sitting two stools away. Angelino called out to him, so everyone could hear him, “Cold day, huh?"

  Cassidy muttered a prayer, just for insurance.

  The man grunted.

  "I said, sure is a cold day, don't ya think?” A little louder, “I said, sure is..."

  "I heard ya the firs’ time, mis'er,” the man slurred back at him. It was apparent he had been drinking for a considerable period of time.

  A voice came from one of the men at the poker table. “What brings you two old men to our friendly establishment?” The rest of the patrons chuckled.

  "We're looking for somebody."

  "Aren't we all?” another of the men said to soft laughter. Angelino smiled.

  "Well, I imagine you're right there, son.” He scratched his head and said casually, “The man we're looking for is a Sioux shaman. Do any of you know where I can find him?"

  The drunk two stools away leaned over toward Angelino, eyes squinting, “Y'mean yur lookin’ fer an injun medicine man?"

  Angelino pretended to be regarding the question and said, “Yeah, I suppose you could say that. Do you know where I can find him?"

  "Wuddya want with him?” a tall, bearded man at the poker table snarled.

  Angelino met his gaze without flinching.

  "I believe that is our own business."

  Perhaps it was the fact Angelino did not wilt, or perhaps it was simply because he had not answered the question, but whatever it was, the tall man stood and walked over to Angelino and Cassidy menacingly.

  "Perhaps you don't hear too good, old man,” he glowered, as he drew closer. Cassidy grew tense, but noticed Angelino remained poised and calm as he stood up to face the man.

  "My hearing is just fine, young man. Perhaps you should show your elders a little more respect. We have done nothing to offend you,” Angelino said calmly.

  "Perhaps I should show your butt to the bottom of my boot, old man. You have a smart mouth."

  "Can I buy you a drink?” Then, without waiting for an answer, Angelino shocked Cassidy by lifting his drink and emptying it with one quick flick of the wrist into the tall man's face.

  A look of shocked disbelief covered the tall man's face as the whisky dripped onto his shirt through his beard. Cassidy thought to himself this was the part where they should run like hell, but Angelino merely stared softly into the eyes of the startled giant.

  The expression of shock was quickly replaced with one of rage. He drew back a large fist and began to swing it toward Angelino's face. A hand appeared from out of nowhere and caught the powerful fist, stopping it in mid-air.

  Cassidy swung his eyes to his left and saw the saving arm was attached to a tall, handsome young man, with long dark hair flowing out from under a dark-brown, weathered cowboy hat. This must have been the figure he thought he had seen when they first entered the saloon

  "I believe the old man asked you for a little respect, Jake.” The young man spoke with a calm voice of authority. He retained his grip on the tall man's fist. Cassidy observed that the long-haired young man stood a bit taller than Jake.

  Jake's face grew ashen as he recognized the young man gripping his fist.

  "I ... I ... didn't mean anything by it Billy,” Jake stammered. It was clear he did not want to cross this young man. Nor did any of the other patrons in the saloon, judging from the way they all lowered their eyes into their drinks, pretending nothing was happening in front of them.

  "Go home, Jake,” the man he had called ‘Billy’ said firmly.

  Angelino and Cassidy exchanged a look that said, “very impressive.” Jake finally lowered his fist, bowed his head and said, “Yes, Billy.” He grabbed his worn-out cowboy hat, pulled on a lined denim jacket, and walked out the door into the cold afternoon.

  "Allow me to apologize for the lack of manners everyone has displayed here,” Billy said to Angelino, while his eyes scanned the rest of the room with disapproval.

  Cassidy exhaled loudly and said, “I guess we should thank you."

  "I'm Father Angelino and this is my associate, Monsignor Cassidy,” Angelino introduced them.

  "Billy Red Deer,” the young man said, offering his hand in friendship. Angelino and Cassidy both shook the powerful hand which had moments ago stopped a hammer-like fist in mid swing.

  "I know who you are, Father Angelino ... and why you are here."

  Angelino nodded. Slowly, the situation dawned on Cassidy. “You mean he's...?"

  "Yes, Monsignor Cassidy. Meet Billy Red Deer, Sioux shaman and member of the Knights of the Ascension."

  "You're kidding."

  "He's not kidding,” Billy said without smiling.

  Cassidy regarded the tall young man for a moment and smiled, “No, I guess he isn't. I'm happy to know you."

  Billy nodded his acknowledgment.

  "Can we sit down and talk for a few minutes?” Angelino asked, looking around for an empty table.

  "Follow me,” Billy commanded, and led them to a table in a dimly lit corner of the saloon. The rest of the patrons went back to their own business now all the excitement was over.

  Angelino had carried their drinks over and set them in front of them on the table.

  "I didn't realize Catholic priests drank whisky,” Billy said, with the first hint of a smile they had seen. “Has something changed in the communion service that hasn't made its way out to the sticks?"

  Angelino smiled and shrugged. Then he lifted his glass in a toast, and with one swift move, downed the whiskey as if he had been doing it every day of his life.

  Cassidy simply shook his head and smiled. He was beginning to get used to Angelino's flair for the unexpected. He was also beginning to understand Angelino never did anything without some deeper purpose behind it.

  "Some people seem to think the way to avoid the evils of drink is to expend a great deal of energy avoiding exposure to it.” Angelino said lightly. “What they fail to realize is they are controlled just as much when they exert effort to avoid its effects as they are when they yield to them. Temptations hold power over us only when we endow them with that power, by our own fear of them."

  "Wisely spoken, my friend,” Billy said.

  Angelino got back to the matter at hand. “Billy, as you know, it is time for the Gathering."

  "Yes. I have been preparing for your arrival. I am ready to leave with you."

  "Good."

  "There are dangers, I assume?"

  "Yes, my young friend. Many dangers. The outcome of our mission is by no means certain. We managed to remain hidden from The Council for two thousand years, but they know of our existence now and will stop at nothing to destroy any or all of us. Our greatest strength is also our greatest vulnerability."

  "And what is that, Father Ange
lino?” Cassidy asked.

  "Our unity is the source of the Christ power we embody. But that power depends on the complete unity of all twelve of us. If any of us should be removed from that unity, that power is lost. Our power is all or nothing."

  Breaking the silence that followed Angelino's statement, Billy finally said, “Well, then I guess we'd better all stay alive."

  "Sounds like a plan to me,” Cassidy said, lifting his glass and throwing the sharp whiskey down his throat, imitating the movement Angelino had made a few moments earlier. It was about five seconds before he regretted it. His eyes began watering and he started coughing like the amateur drinker he was. Billy and Angelino laughed loudly as Cassidy continued to cough

  "My friend,” Angelino said through his laughter, “it might be best if you stuck to communion wine."

  After Cassidy's coughing attack had subsided, Angelino stood and said, “Come. We must get started."

  "Where are we off to this time, Father Angelino?"

  "Mexico,” he said. He walked out the door into the cold South Dakota afternoon with Billy Red Deer and Raul Cassidy trailing behind him.

  * * * *

  NICOLE CHAMBLEAU HAD only been to America a few times with her parents when she was a small child, hence she did not have many firsthand memories of it. She was immediately surprised at how cold the air was in Washington, D.C. France experienced winter, of course, but nothing like the bone-chilling cold the damp eastern air drilled right through the skin.

  The Council had issued one simple order ... “Destroy Angelino.” How she was to accomplish this was left up to her. Nicole felt a surge of pride her peers would grant her this honor, and further enhance the honor by allowing her to act at her own discretion. She would not fail them. She could be assured of all the legal protection—and the amount of legal protection was considerable—The Council could command, if by some quirk she should be caught. That did not mean she must not be discreet. The Council had been stripped of its greatest asset—its secrecy—and consequently could not afford to shine any additional light on itself.

  On the plane ride she had mapped out her plan of attack. She would make contact with the young female friend of Angelino, Susan Morgan. It would only be a matter of time before she and the renegade priest would be reunited. This would have the added benefit of placing her in a position to observe Jesus as well. Even though The Council had not included intelligence-gathering in her mission, Nicole knew the Most Highs needed the information. Jesus was a wild card and the key to everything, or rather he would be after Father Angelino was dealt with. If Angelino were allowed to complete the great Gathering, centuries of meticulous planning, on a scale too enormous for anyone to believe possible, would crumble and their mission would be a failure. And it would be a failure of cosmic proportions, altering forever the ultimate destiny of all Mankind.

  Nicole shivered, as a strong wind penetrated the winter coat that was totally under-engineered for the task of keeping its wearer warm. Why were American cabs so damn slow? After what seemed like an eternity in the cold, a Yellow cab pulled up. The driver assisted her with the bags and she got into the warm vehicle quickly.

  "Take me to the Radisson,” she said.

  The cabbie looked at her in his rearview mirror. He was a middle-aged black man whose face was etched with lines of quiet dignity, carved by a hard lived life.

  "Your first time in America, Miss?” he called back to her.

  "Excuse me?” Nicole was surprised at being addressed so familiarly by a person of his station. That would not have been tolerated in France.

  "I said, is this your first time in America?” he repeated, with a friendly smile.

  "Yes it is."

  "Here on business?"

  "Business ... and pleasure."

  "Enjoy your stay, miss."

  "Thank you. I intend to."

  "How long are you planning on staying?"

  "I'm not certain. That depends on how well my business here goes and how much pleasure America presents to me."

  "Well, we have our fair share of problems in this country. But by and large, it's a pretty damn good country. I think you will enjoy your stay."

  "Thank you."

  They rode for a while and Nicole was grateful the driver seemed to have taken the hint she was not interested in conversation. She saw his eyes dart up to the rearview mirror from time to time. She always noticed when men were drawn to her. Her thoughts returned to her mission. She did not have an easy task. She hoped she had not promised more than she could deliver. Nicole knew all too well the penalty The Council delivered for failure. A shiver rippled through her. She pulled her jacket tightly around her but then realized she was not shivering from the cold.

  * * * *

  DARK CLOUDS BILLOWED in over the horizon. Bolts of lightening shot like bony fingers earthward, followed by crashes of thunder as Nature lashed out with unbridled fury.

  Susan leaned into the wind as a heavy rain pelted her, soaking her to the skin almost instantly. She ran, filled with a sense of desperation, not knowing what she feared or why she was running. Was she running away from or toward something? She did not know. All she knew was that her soul was empty, dark, and in turmoil, much like the conditions in which she now found herself, and she needed to run.

  At last, realizing that to run when she did not know why she was running was as likely to take her further from what she sought as it was to take her closer, she stopped. The torrential rain splashed against her face. All around her stood a flat, barren landscape, stretching out to the horizon. What was it she wanted? What was the desperate need, which wrenched her soul? How could one burn with so much desire and yet not know what the object of that desire was? Tears began to flow, mixing with the rain dripping down her face. She fell to her knees, lifted her head to the dark sky and let a loud, agonizing cry escape from the pit of her being. The cry was swallowed by the crashing of thunder all around her. She collapsed, prone, onto the mud.

  After a while, weak, exhausted, devoid of all hope and filled with despair, she lifted her head. Off in the distance at the edge of the horizon, she spotted a soft light that stood out all the more for its contrast to the deep darkness that enveloped her. The winds continued to rage, the torrential rain fell relentlessly. She was covered in mud ... wet and cold. The light beckoned to her. Although it seemed brilliant, she soon realized the brilliance was an illusion. In the sea of darkness all around her, the light called out to her.

  Suddenly, she knew all depended on her reaching that light. In some strange way, she and the light were connected; the light sought her, as she sought it. She knew if she did not get to the light in time, she and the light would both cease to exist. They would become part of the void that engulfed her, never to be rekindled again.

  She began to crawl toward the dimming light. “I'm coming. Hang on,” she managed to gasp. The wind howled and increased as if it wished to impede her progress. Susan understood all the forces of Nature itself ... all the physical elements that existed ... conspired to keep her from that light. She would not be deterred. She knew all was lost without the light, without knowing how she knew, thus no effort was too great.

  The light seemed to grow dimmer, weakening without anything to sustain it. Susan saw this with horror. “No! Do not go out!” she commanded. “You cannot go out.” Her eyes widened with terror. The light grew dimmer.

  Summoning up a will she did not know she possessed, she rose to her feet. She stumbled as she ran toward the light. Time was short. She fell to the ground, got up, and continued her staggering rush toward the light. As every step drew her closer, she imagined the light was moving from her. She was not wrong. The light was dimming with every step. She drew deep within herself and found the strength to run. For the first time she understood the meaning of total commitment as she became empowered with determination of her own. She ran faster and faster.

  At last she was upon the light, all but extinguished. She saw it was the flower .
.. wilted and limp.

  "Oh, no ... no ... no,” she wept and draped her body over the flower to protect it from the cold driving rain. “You must not go out,” she whispered through her tears. “You must not go out. You must not..."

  She bolted upright, short of breath and sweating profusely, to find herself in her room at the Radisson Hotel. Unconsciously, she turned on the light on the nightstand and then sat, resting her face in her hands.

  Her heart was pounding. She wrapped her arms around herself, trembling. The sense of despair she felt within her dreams did not leave her in her waking hours. She was like a prisoner, trapped within her own private hell of desolation. Why this terrible dream? She had never dreamed much. She realized all people dreamed several times every night, but only remembered them occasionally. She never remembered hers. Now they were not only coming forth with a realism that shocked her, they were also intruding on her waking thoughts. She could not get the flower out of her mind.

  What did it mean? Was the flower some part of her that was slowly being swallowed in darkness? She smiled wryly. That was a no-brainer. Of course she was dying inside. She had ceased being the woman she once was many weeks ago. But the flower symbolized much more, she knew. What that was continued to elude her.

  Suddenly, she became aware of a presence behind her and turned abruptly to face it.

  "Father Angelino!” she exclaimed.

  He stood there, surrounded by a blue-white aura that seemed to shimmer with its own life. He smiled at her.

  "Is it really you?” she said excitedly, standing up and turning toward the light. Before the form could answer, she was struck by a horrifying thought. Angelino was dead! That was why he appeared to her as an apparition, like some cosmic ghost from Shakespearean drama.

  "Relax, Susan,” Angelino said, reading her thoughts. “I am alive and well. What you see before you is merely an astral projection of my form. My physical form is alive and well in Mexico. It sure was nice to get away from that blasted North American cold for awhile."

  Susan ignored the joke. “But how...?” Susan sputtered.

  "Once you reach a certain level of initiation, Susan, you learn the physical world is malleable to thought, that indeed it is thought from which all matter is composed. The form you see before you is every bit ‘me,’ yet is not me, as well."