Blood on the Bar

by Iain Rob Wright

  “I am not your friend, beggar. You forget yourself to speak to one such as I. Leave this place, lest the guards arrive and toss you down the steps.”

  “Your mentor would preach acceptance of all men. Tolerance. Compassion.”

  This seemed to trouble the man even more. “Jesus is not correct in all things, as no wise man should be, else there would be no capacity for further learning.”

  “You are a wise man yourself, Judas.”

  The man’s dark eyes narrowed. “How do you know my name? You are but a simple beggar, and I only recently arrived in this city.”

  “I know you well, Judas Iscariot. You are a patriot, a pragmatic man who puts the needs of the whole above those of the few. An admirable man that has not escaped the attention of Heaven.”

  “You do not speak for Heaven, beggar.”

  Lucifer let his disguise disintegrate. The other drinker on the terrace did not notice him, for it was his will not to be seen. Even as he allowed himself to glow with a beautiful light, only Judas looked upon him. The man was astonished—more so when Lucifer spoke in a voice that obliterated all other sound. “I speak with the full authority of Heaven, human. I am one of the Three, highest of all angels.”

  Lucifer struggled not to ruin his act with a sneer as he thought about Heaven and all its condescensions. His brothers dare cast him down into this pit, to leave him festering amongst worms and maggots? He would see Heaven burn. This meek human before him was merely a stepping stone towards that end. “You would do well to heed me, Judas Iscariot.”

  Judas trembled. “Y-You come from Heaven? W-What would you have of me, angel?”

  “To turn your life to glorious purpose. God needs an instrument, a faithful soul to prevent an upcoming calamity.”

  Judas went pale. His neck bulged as if he might gag. “Say it is not so. What is this calamity of which you speak?”

  A jar of honeyed-ale perched on the wall of the terrace, and Lucifer took it now as an act to calm the man, to make himself appear more corporeal and less unearthly. He had not partaken of alcohol before, yet he found the taste quite… agreeable. He smiled with delight and pointed the expression at Judas. “Do you love this man, Jesus?”

  Judas nodded. “Dearly.”

  “And how would Jesus feel if he brought about disaster and death?”

  “It would destroy him. Nothing could be further from his desires.”

  Lucifer nodded, making his eyes appear considerate. “Then you must save Jesus from himself. His words of love and understanding are doomed to elicit the opposite response. The Romans bristle at his presence already, for they have no tolerance of demagogues. The memory of Clodius is a wound not yet healed.”

  Judas huffed. “The Roman Empire was founded by demagogues. Caesar himself was the biggest of all.”

  “Demagogues are merely a tool used to hone the blades of violent men. Rome would rather put Jesus to the sword than see him incite rebellion from the forums and marketplaces.”

  “And what of their great Cicero?” Judas argued. “He is a man revered for causing unrest in the forums.”

  “A Roman long dead and tolerated only for his friendship with Caesar. The Empire is young and prone to impetuous whims, Judas Iscariot. Tiberius is more powerful than any man who has lived, yet he wields that power dispassionately. He does not want it, and his officials do as they please.”

  Lucifer peered down at Jesus in the marketplace—Jesus of Nazareth, Jesus of Galilee, King of the Jews—and found himself unexpectedly impressed. The small man was gentle and unassuming, lighter skinned than most, and longer haired than all. He had a way about him—a presence—that drew the eye and kept it there, but the thought that he might be the son of God…

  Pah!

  “All actions have consequence, Judas Iscariot, and history itself is shaped by the smallest of men. Jesus invites folly. Heaven has foreseen it, as it sees all things. The lost lambs in the market listen to Jesus’s honeyed words hoping for change, but all they shall receive is more of the same—poverty and bloodshed.”

  He upturned the mug of ale over the wall and let it splash against the stone. It ran just like blood. “It was even worse before Rome civilised the world,” he went on. “What savages will people become if left to their own devices once again? Accept Rome with all its flaws, for it is the thing that keeps mankind from the Abyss. Your mentor shall inflame, when he wishes to save. He is misguided. Not a sin, but a danger indeed.”

  Judas had tears in his eyes, and he stared intently at the man below who he so obviously loved dearly. “Can it be true? Jesus wishes to save us all, but is he tempting fate? He is one man angering the might of an indomitable empire, an empire that I believe keeps our chaotic world from darkness. I fear what will become of my countrymen if we are left abandoned of Rome’s embrace.”

  Lucifer smiled, knowing he was witnessing the agonising twist of a man’s soul. “I find no pleasure in saying this, Judas, but your mentor does not serve God, only himself.”

  “A lie! Jesus is beyond his own selfish desires.”

  Lucifer glared, eyes turning red. “Do not deign to raise your voice at me, mortal! Jerusalem is set to ruin, and the empire shall shed blood to create a river. These people shall not be saved by Jesus of Nazareth—they will be his unwitting victims. You know this to be true, child, for you are of the light of Heaven. Do not let your love for one man make you turn your back on all others.”

  Judas trembled, watching the ale leak down the wall. “I fear I do not know my own mind. My heart rends.”

  Lucifer reached out and grabbed the man by the shoulder and locked eyes with him. “You know what is right, child. In your heart, you know! Your mentor is already being heralded as King of the Jews, and Rome does not tolerate monarchs not of its own making. The prefect has only to raise one finger and his centurions will raze the Herodian Temple to the ground.”

  “The prefect is an even-handed man.”

  “Yet a servant to the empire and its people. He cannot tolerate Jesus’s disruption any longer, and your mentor’s voice stretches farther every day. Quiet the man if you love him. Move Jesus along before his welcome is forever overstretched.”

  “Jesus does not listen to me. I have asked him many times to leave, to move westward back to Galilee. He refuses.”

  “You state him to be a selfless man, yet he is one who does not listen to a trusted friend?”

  “He listens to his conscience, and the will of the Lord.”

  Lucifer shook his head, almost mockingly. “The words of many an aspiring king. Soon he shall proclaim himself Jesus Rex.”

  Judas grew angry. “What would you have of me, angel? You have made argument, now state desire!”

  “Heaven desires nothing but for men to flourish and for peace to reign. If you desire the same, you shall find a way to muzzle Jesus. If he will not leave, then force his words to silence some other way. But act quickly, before it is too late.”

  “I… I cannot betray a man I love.”

  “Then you betray your very nation, and all the innocent souls within. Silence Jesus, and you shall see the world reach a new dawn of enlightenment. Fail, and it shall plunge into an everlasting darkness.”

  “Jesus is too wise. He will know if I act against him.”

  Lucifer grunted. “You fear a peaceful man? Fine, a token of Heaven’s appreciation to aid you.” He waved a hand over Judas. A trickle of light spilled from his fingertips, but nothing else.

  “W-what did you just do to me?”

  “I have given you a gift, the ability to act without detection. Your behaviour shall illicit no attention, making you part of the background. People will see you yet struggle to remember you. You exist within a veil, a face in a cloud of smoke. Once Jesus is a threat no longer, I shall lift the veil and reward you with unending good fortune and a place awaiting you in Heaven. Whatever your heart’s desire shall be yours.”

  Judas grew red in the cheeks, greed glinting in his eyes. As pious
as this man might be, he could not suppress the avarice that defined his inner self. “I shall find a way to stop Jesus,” he muttered. “You have my word. I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

  “Be the pragmatist we are counting on you to be, Judas.” Lucifer had begun to growl, losing patience. “Is the suffering of one man not worth enduring, if it saves the agony of thousands? Do what you must and know that Heaven shall forgive all.”

  Judas swallowed and then nodded. “I shall do what needs to be done. I swear it.”

  “Good. Heaven will be watching.”

  “W-What if I need to speak with you again. What if…”

  Lucifer growled louder, then reminded himself he was supposed to be kind and merciful. He had twisted this man to his will, and now things were dragging on intolerably. “Why would you need to speak with me again, mortal?”

  “J-Just… I might need help in my task. Something might go wrong. I would just feel better if—”

  “Fine, so be it,” Lucifer had to force himself to smile instead of wrenching this insolent mortal’s insides. “If you have need of me again, child, just speak these words…”

  “I know the words,” said Lucas, memories flooding back to him in a rush. “I remember!”

  “Then hurry up and say them,” said Jake, hopping frantically on one foot. “’Cus we’re about to die.”

  The aswangs closed in. Simon stunned the first by lobbing what was left of his melting whiskey bottle at them.

  Lucas spoke the words quickly—the words he’d told Judas Iscariot two-thousand years ago. That was how Judas had known the spell to summon him from Hell. He had been trying to snare Lucifer for two millennia, not knowing the creature was no more, and yet his endless patience had paid off. Lucas had returned to Hell and activated the spell.

  Now it was time to cast it again.

  Jake cried out as an aswang leapt up and snatched his arm in its jaws. It started shaking him like a pit bull.

  Simon collapsed against the bar, too weak to fight—on borrowed time already. Shaun panicked and skittered about like a fly trapped inside a glass.

  Lucas spoke the final words and turned to the aswangs with utter hatred in his eyes. Hatred at what he had created. “Time someone taught you mangy mutts how to heel!”

  He smashed his fist down in the centre of the bloody circle on the bar. The pub exploded with light. Everything not nailed down went hurtling against the walls—aswangs and people included. The beasts tumbled backwards, head over limbs, and crashed against the furniture. Simon, Jake, and Shaun fell into a pile, grabbing hold of one another for support. And, amongst it all, stood Lucas.

  The Devil.

  “BOW DOWN BEASTS FOR IT IS I WHO MADE YOU! BOW DOWN!”

  The aswangs recovered to their feet, but the moment they set eyes on Lucas, they cowered. One of them urinated.

  “Whoa!” said Jake, slumped up against the bar. “He’s like the aswang whisperer.”

  Lucas stepped towards the aswangs, making them tremble. “Prostrate yourselves before your master or suffer everlasting agonies.” The aswangs dropped onto their bellies. “Now begone! BEGONE!”

  The aswangs got up and scurried for the door like a fire had been lit behind them. Lucas watched them go, and then faced his companions with a contented smirk upon his face. He couldn’t help but enjoy their expressions of awe. Never before had he felt so powerful, for only after being absent of strength did he realise how much of it coursed through his veins.

  He marched towards the bar, and the others scooted out of his way on their butts. “It’s okay,” he told them with a smirk. “I’m still me. Just a tad over-excited.”

  “T-That was pretty awesome,” said Jake. “Are we safe now? Is it over?”

  “Not yet. I still have to take care of Judas, but this time he’s the one in the shit-barrel.”

  The pub had stopped dissolving. Lucas focused for a second and everything reformed and solidified. The pub was now under his control, and so would everything else be shortly, for he was The Devil, and Hell was his home.

  He knelt down beside Jake and examined the lad’s ankle. His arm was pretty torn up too, flesh hanging off.

  “Y-You’re… smoking,” said Jake.

  Shaun pointed a trembling finger. “And your… your feet!”

  Lucas glanced down and saw his feet were now hooves, something he’d once vowed would never again happen. “Oh, sorry about that, fellas,” he said, willing the hooves away. He concentrated on stopping the oily black smoke coming from his skin too, and it soon went away.

  With his body once again under full control, he placed a hand on Jake’s ankle and smiled at the lad. “About time we took care of this, I think.”

  Jake’s eyes widened. “You can fix it?”

  “It’s already fixed.”

  Jake looked down at his healthy ankle and whooped with joy. “The man does it again. Wow, that feels better.”

  Shaun grabbed Lucas and dragged him to his feet. He was still panicked, even with the fight now over. “You have to help, Si,” he said. “You need to help him right now!”

  Simon had slumped over onto his side, mouth open as if humming to himself. The truth was he was breathing his last breaths. Lucas looked at Shaun and saw more fear on the man’s face than since this whole thing began—he was more terrified of living without his best friend than he was of dying a painful death.

  “Hold on,” said Lucas, kneeling over Simon and pressing his hands into the deep wound beneath his ribs. The blood was clumping—thick with organ-matter and flesh. Simon’s life was all but gone. Most of him had already slipped away.

  You aren’t going anywhere, big guy!

  Lucas concentrated, not on the power Gladri had left him with, but on the power he had always possessed. He pulled forth his link to Heaven, Hell, and the spaces between, and made sure that the bed they had waiting for Simon was no longer available. A few seconds was all it took, but it was still a relief when Simon opened his eyes and gasped.

  “Cock it!” the big man shouted after he caught his breath. “Shite, shite, shite. Damn… That was one weird-ass trip.”

  “I brought you back from the brink,” said Lucas. “I’ll send you my bill after all this is done.”

  “Yeah, and I’ll send you mine for dragging me into this crap in the first place.”

  “Call it even?”

  “Yep.”

  Lucas stood, and when he reached out to the bar, a bottle of beer flew out of the fridge and landed in his hand. He bit off the cap and swigged the whole thing down. Wiping his mouth and gasping with satisfaction, he studied the three fit and healthy men standing before him and told them to prepare themselves. Shit was about to get real.

  Jake folded his arms and stood straight—full of vigour. “So, we finally gonna take it to Judas now?”

  Lucas grinned, then amused them by doing a tiny jig. “Fellas, there are two things old Lucas does extremely well. One is supping fine ale. The other is making life miserable for eejits like Judas.”

  Shaun frowned. “Why is he Irish now?”

  Jake chuckled and told him, “Oh, that means he’s a badass again.”

  Lucas leapt in the air and clicked his heels. It was time to go and save Vetta.

  Second Wind

  “Judas doesn’t hate me for giving him eternal life,” explained Lucas. “He hates me because I cursed him to live a life of irrelevance. It was supposed to be temporary, a way for him to betray Jesus without being suspected, but when I… changed my ways, I forgot to remove the curse. I condemned him to an eternity of mediocrity. No matter how much he’s worked, or how much knowledge he’s gained, people will never take much notice. His accomplishments will never be appreciated. He’s probably never made a single friend who’s seen him beyond a mere acquaintance. His entire, endless existence has been mundane and without end. I promised him a place in Heaven, but I have kept him from it for two millennia. I made Judas so unmemorable that I forgot all about him and the sp
ell I cast.”

  Simon began laughing. “Wait, you’re telling us you cursed this guy to an eternity of blandness because you… you just forgot about him?”

  Lucas found himself chuckling too, and then couldn’t stop. “Ha! How much it must have chafed his sack seeing his name in Christian lights, when in reality, he was alive and crying out for attention. Judas is a name known to all, yet not a soul gives a flick about the real deal.”

  Jake joined the laughter now, but he also seemed confused. “So why did he decide to run a pub?”

  Lucas shrugged. “A bartender watches while everyone else enjoys themselves—making friends, finding love. A bartender is part of the background.”

  Shaun shook his head, smiling but fighting against it. “We should stop laughing. It’s terrible. The poor guy has suffered so bad!”

  Jake frowned at him. “Who has?”

  It took a moment for them to get the joke, but then they all bellowed.

  “Just some guy behind the bar,” said Simon.

  “Some guy who has Vetta,” said Lucas, bringing things back down to a level. “I don’t know about you fellas, but I like that wee lass. And I owe her.”

  Jake nodded. “You’re not the only one.”

  Lucas knew what Jake was referring to and wondered if he ever could make it right. “We’ve lost some fine people today,” he said, “but that is the price of being alive. Death is a gobshite lurking around every corner, but while it visits some too soon, for others it is well overdue. It’s time to put right a wrong. Judas deserves his death, so what say we fellas go give it to him?”

  “Hell yeah,” said Jake, pumping the air with his fist. “I always assumed I’d end up in Hell, but I never thought I’d be fighting myself out of it alongside The Devil.”

  Simon grinned. “And I never thought The Devil would be so small.”

  “Aye,” Lucas admitted. “But I have a cock for days!”