Devil's Lair

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by David Wisehart


  Behind the knight, a voice cried out, “Go away!”

  Marco turned. “Who are you?”

  “You know me.”

  “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “Liar! You were here.”

  “You’re mistaken,” said Marco. “I’ve never been here.”

  “Liar! Liar!”

  Nadja asked him, “What’s wrong?”

  “The Lance! The Lance! First the Grail and now the Lance.”

  “What do you know of it?” Giovanni said.

  “The Bleeding Lance. The Dolorous Stroke. That was me. That was my curse.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I wounded the Fisher King, and made a wasteland of my country.”

  “Sir Balin?” Giovanni guessed.

  “A cursed name for a cursed soul. I am that Balin of wretched memory. I beheaded the Lady of the Lake. I wounded Pellam, the Fisher King. I killed my own brother. I am a worm in the bowels of the Earth, but I was once Arthur’s greatest knight, before there ever was a Round Table. A fool I was. I used the Holy Lance for evil. As you are doing now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t give the Lance to him.”

  “Him?” asked Nadja, confused.

  “You mean to Lucifer?” asked Giovanni.

  “Whatever you do, don’t give him the Lance!”

  “We won’t,” said Marco.

  “Liar!”

  “Why do you keep saying that?” asked Nadja.

  “That’s why you’re here. To finish the job I started. To turn the world into a wasteland.”

  “We’re here to save the world,” said Nadja.

  “Then you’re a greater fool than I ever was.”

  “We came to fight the Devil,” said Marco. “To recover the Grail.”

  “Then why did the Devil let you in?”

  “We came of our own accord.”

  Balin laughed. “You’re here because the Devil wants you here.”

  “We’re here,” said Marco, “because the Devil cannot stop us.”

  “Why would he want to? You’re bringing it to him. You’ll give him the Lance like you gave him the Grail.”

  “We’re looking for the Grail,” said Marco.

  “It’s right where you left it.”

  Giovanni said, “We never had it.”

  “Liar! He had it. He gave it away.”

  “Who?”

  “Marco da Roma.”

  “You know him?” asked Nadja.

  “He is not what he appears.”

  “You speak in riddles,” said Giovanni.

  “Ask him. Ask him why he led you here. Ask him why he brings a relic into Hell. Ask him, if you dare, but be wary of his answer. Your friend is vassal to the Prince of Lies.”

  “The man’s talking nonsense.” Marco shook his head. “Let’s keep moving.”

  He walked on. The others followed.

  Giovanni grabbed the knight’s arm. “Explain yourself.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Did you bring the Grail into Hell?”

  “No.”

  “Did you sell it to the Devil?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “For youth. For immortality. We found you among the dead, but you were not dead. How many times have you fallen to a blow that would have killed another man? William is dead and you are not. Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Giovanni turned to Nadja. “We can’t trust him.”

  “William trusted him,” she answered.

  “And now he’s dead.”

  Nadja took Giovanni’s hand, and Marco’s. “He said we have each other. He said that was hope enough. If we abandon each other, we abandon all hope. Isn’t that what the Devil wants?”

  Giovanni glared at Marco. “Why should we trust you?”

  The knight hesitated, then shook his head. “I scarcely trust myself. Nadja, the decision is yours. If you ask me to leave, I will.”

  “And give us the Lance,” Giovanni insisted.

  “Yes.” Marco went down on one knee and took Nadja’s hands in his. “I have defended you, and I would do so again. I have wielded the Holy Lance, anointed by the blood of Christ. Could the Devil do as much? Could the Devil even touch it? You brought me here, Nadja. I did not bring you. I did not ask for this. I never wanted it. I have lost myself, that much is true. I don’t know what secrets lie buried in my past. These things are hidden even from me. If I knew them, Nadja, I would tell you. I am a good man, I swear to you I am good, but I will not claim there is no evil in my heart. Every human heart is touched with evil. But whatever my sins, Nadja, whatever my faults, I swear to you now that I will prove myself. I will find redemption. This is my pilgrimage, too, my penance, though I do not know for what sins I suffer. You must believe me. I live for your belief in me. I owe you more than my life, more than my heart, more than my soul. I would gladly lay down my life for yours.” The knight bowed his head. Tears froze in beads of ice and shattered where they fell. “You are my lady, and I would protect you from the Devil himself.”

  Nadja put a hand to Marco’s chin. She raised his face to hers and kissed his forehead. When their eyes met again, she said, “It may come to that.”

  As Marco walked into the devilish wind, he and his companions passed over sinners sunk deeper in the ice, with half their faces buried. Tears froze in their eye sockets. Farther on, the shades were completely encased, some upside-down, others contorted into shapes that in life would have snapped bones and severed spines. One sinner was rolled into a tight ball, with his head thrown back. Another bent over backwards, with one leg at his chest, another along his spine, so that both feet met overhead. Torsos were twisted, legs splayed, feet locked behind the ears. Thousands of human faces stared up through the glassy floor. Their eyes tracked Marco’s movement underfoot.

  Through the mist a red light beaconed, bathing the ice incarnadine. Walking on, Marco saw the red light divide into two glowing orbs that grew larger as he approached. They became a pair of shimmering eyes, chatoyant as the eyes of a cat. They looked down at him from an immense height. A rumbling pulse from the world’s occulted heart resolved itself into a voice.

  “I am the Prince of Darkness. Welcome.”

  Marco said, “We came for the—”

  “I know why you came,” said Lucifer, in a voice laced with the screams of all mankind.

  CHAPTER 32

  The pilgrims crossed over treacherous ice to meet the insidious fiend. Into the wind, braving flurries of sleet, they trekked, aiming not for the red eyes in the murky air above, but for the angelic glow at the level of the ice, a light that matched the splendor of the lancelight. Giovanni knew they were nearing the object of their quest.

  The Holy Grail.

  Sleet pelted his eyes whenever he glanced up, but as the pilgrims advanced, sleet dwindled, fog dispersed, and Giovanni beheld at last the glorious relic, a glowing chalice trapped in ice. Directly behind it loomed the great and fallen angel, the beast at the heart of the world.

  Lucifer.

  He was an enormous creature, larger by far than the giants who guarded Cocytus. Sunk chest-deep in the lake of ice, his body was forested with dark bristles. His beauty had turned to wretchedness, his grace to grief. His six angel wings now resembled the wings of a bat. His head wore three faces, one watching the pilgrims, the others looking in profile to the left and right. The lateral mouths each chewed on a damned soul. The central mouth had dropped its bloody morsel and was free to speak. A third human soul lay mangled and writhing on the ice.

  “Is the Devil trapped?” Nadja asked.

  “Trapped by his own tears,” Giovanni said. “Lachryma dioboli. He beats his wings to escape, but the wind freezes the tears and binds him to the abyss.”

  “What is he chewing?”

  “Judas, Cassius, and Brutus. That would be Judas on the ice.”

  “Marco da Roma,” Lucifer said, “I accept your gift.”

  “
I bring you no gift,” Marco shouted into the wind.

  The Devil’s wings stopped beating. Silence filled the void. The pilgrims walked without resistance toward the Grail.

  “That is far enough,” Lucifer said. “The Holy Lance. Leave it with me, and you may leave here alive.”

  “We did not come to bargain,” Marco said.

  “You came to die. I give you another option.”

  “If the Grail stays, the world will die.”

  “Then dying let it die.”

  Giovanni said, “God would never let that happen.”

  “It is happening. God is all-powerful. Whatever happens is the will of God. Are you more powerful than your Creator?”

  “Are you?”

  “I serve God now as I did then.”

  “You cannot serve God and destroy His creation.”

  “That is how I serve,” said Lucifer. “The world stands between me and God. Before the world began, I was in Paradise. When the world ends, I shall return.”

  He blames us for his fall, Giovanni thought, as we blame him for ours. If God was all-powerful, if His love was infinite, then it must extend to the nadir. Had Lucifer lost the love of God? Was that even possible? Can the Devil be redeemed?What was Lucifer’s crime? William had said it: “Lucifer rebelled against God. He refused to bow down to man.”

  And then Giovanni understood: That’s why we’re here.

  “God sent us,” he said.

  Lucifer laughed. “Is that what the girl told you?”

  Nadja lowered her eyes and said nothing.

  “I brought you here,” Lucifer said. “Isn’t that right, Nadja? I sent you those visions. I opened the gate. I let you pass where no man comes alive.”

  Lucifer leaned forward, towering over them. His face was lit from below by the Grail and the Lance. “You were not sent. You were summoned.”

  “Liar,” Giovanni said.

  “Ask the girl.”

  Nadja looked crestfallen.

  Giovanni thought, She believes him.

  “Your demons fought us,” he said.

  “That is their nature.”

  “If you summoned us, why didn’t they let us pass?”

  “Some did.”

  “Not Medusa. Not the furies, the centaurs, Geryon....”

  Lucifer shrugged. “My demons are unruly. This is the realm of rebellion. If you want obedience, try Paradise.”

  Nadja said quietly, “Not all the demons attacked us.”

  Giovanni said, “The Devil lies, Nadja. That’s what he does. That’s who he is. Why would the Devil bring us here?”

  “For the Lance,” said Lucifer.

  “You cannot have it,” Marco said. “It belongs to God.”

  “It belongs to me! And I will have it. If I cannot have God, I will have the light of God. If I cannot have love, I will have the light of love. That is my right. That is my reward. I am Lucifer! The morning star! God’s greatest angel! I loved Him more than the others ever could. I loved Him with all that I was, with all that I am. I loved him completely, sparing none for his creation. Is that a crime? Is that a sin? To love the Artist, not the art? Humanity was God’s mistake: corrupting spirit with clay. Abomination. Unholy horror. Me bow down to that? Never. For this, I am banished. Twisted. Forsaken. Yet I love Him still. How can I not? How not, when every dark moment brings the memory of His light? You cannot hope to understand. How can the art perceive the Artist?”

  Giovanni said, “Your love is a perversion.”

  “What do you know of love?” Lucifer demanded. “What do you know of loss?”

  “I loved a woman, and she died.”

  “There is no love but the love of God. You say you loved a woman, yet with every word you flaunt your ignorance.”

  Giovanni thought, ‘regnum Dei intra vos est.’ Jesus had spoken these words to His enemies. Was there a divine spark in every soul? Plato thought so. Augustine confirmed it. William believed it. Could it be true? And if true, what did it mean?

  Giovanni said, “We brought God with us.”

  “You bring nothing but your fears.”

  “He is here in my heart.”

  “And in mine,” said Nadja.

  “And mine,” said Marco.

  Giovanni stepped forward, bolder now. “The kingdom of God is within us. We brought God to the heart of Hell. God is here and you see Him not.”

  “I see everything,” said Lucifer. “Everything but your future, which does not exist.”

  Giovanni pressed his argument. “We are God’s reflections.”

  “You are His mistakes.”

  “God does not make mistakes. He brought us here.”

  “Then you are His sacrifice.”

  “This is your chance, Lucifer, a second chance to obey God, to bow down to His creation, to the very image of Himself.”

  “I bow to no man.”

  “Look at us, Lucifer. We are your only hope. Look at us and see our Maker. If you would love God, love us. If you would honor God, honor us. If you would obey God, obey us. Give us back the Grail.”

  “Never!”

  Hell trembled at the word.

  Marco stepped forward and stabbed the Holy Lance into the glowing ice that encased the cup. The tip of the Lance burned white hot. The ice melted.

  Lucifer roared with anger. His wings beat harder, kicking up the wind. His body strained against the ice that fettered him. “Demons! Furies! Denizens of Hell! To me! To me!”

  Marco chipped at ice that sparkled with the Grail’s radiance. He bent to retrieve the cup.

  The lord of all darkness called out to him, “We had a deal, Marco da Roma.”

  The knight hesitated. “What deal?”

  “You remember.”

  “No.”

  Lucifer said, “Remember.”

  And he did. Marco remembered it all: his first meeting with Guillaume de Nogaret, his infiltration of the Knights Templar, his rise to power in the brotherhood, his first glimpse of the Grail, his betrayal of the Templars, of Nogaret, and finally of himself. He remembered the journey down into darkness, lit by the light of the relic. He was old man then, enfeebled by pain, his every breath an effort, his every step a mortal danger. At last he reached the bottom of the abyss and held out the Holy Grail in his decrepit hands.

  He stood before the fountainhead of evil and asked, “What will you give me for the cup of Christ?”

  “Ask,” said Lucifer, “and it will be given.”

  “I want to be young. I want to live forever.”

  “So be it.”

  At these words Marco felt his heart grow stronger. His lungs breathed easier. The skin of his hands unshriveled. Marveling at the miracle, he set the Holy Grail on the ice.

  “The cup is yours,” he said.

  “And you are mine.”

  Lucifer’s laughter echoed in the abyss. The Holy Grail melted the berg and sank in a pool of slush. Lucifer beat his wings, chilling the air, trapping the relic in ice.

  Nadja saw Marco step back from the Grail. “Marco, the Grail. Hurry.”

  “I’m not the man you think I am.”

  “You are Marco da Roma. My champion. My friend. This is your redemption. Your penance. You promised to protect me from the Devil himself.”

  “I have no such power.”

  “You have the Lance. Hurry, Marco. The land is dying. The people are dying. The Fourth Horseman rides the Earth.”

  “No,” Marco said, looking at her with anguish in his eyes. “I am the Fourth Horseman.”

  Marco saw no way out. He had made a deal with the Devil: the Grail for immortality. If he took the cup, his life would be forfeit. He might die instantly of old age. What then? Would his soul rise to Purgatory, leaving the Grail behind, his friends unprotected? My redemption is their doom.

  What if Nadja or Giovanni took the Grail? It doesn’t matter. If Marco helped them escape with the relic, the Devil would claim Marco’s life and recapture the Grail. He could see no solution.
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  Lucifer had summoned his minions.

  They were coming.

  If the old friar were here, he would know what to do. Marco closed his eyes. Help me, William. Please.

  The answer came to him like the whisper of an angel.

  Marco did not hesitate. He reversed his grip on the Holy Lance, aimed the point at his own chest, and plunged it straight through to his heart.

  Lucifer cried out, “No!”

  Nadja ran to the knight and knelt beside him. She was shocked to find him withering. He aged rapidly before her eyes, years passing in moments. She did not understand. It frightened her. “Marco?”

  He gripped her sleeve with trembling fingers.

  “I am home.”

  The old knight said no more. Death rattled in his throat. His hand relaxed its grip and fell to the ice.

  Giovanni heard demons howl, coming closer.

  A wind rose from Lucifer’s wings. His voice boomed. “You will not leave here alive.”

  Giovanni saw the Holy Grail in a pool of melted ice, but the wind from the Devil’s wings cooled it and the water began to freeze around the chalice. Giovanni pulled the relic from the ice. The cup thrummed in his hands. He felt a surge of energy. It warmed his heart and vanquished his fear.

  “The Lance,” he said to Nadja, who still wept for the knight. “Get the Lance.”

  Nadja nodded and struggled to pull the Lance from Marco’s body, but could not wrench it free.

  “Turn and pull,” he said.

  Giovanni saw a young shade rise from the old corpse. Marco’s soul was not luminous, as William’s had been, but pale and sorrowful like the knights in the pool of blood. Startled, Nadja stepped back from the body, slipped on the ice, and fell onto her skirts. Marco’s shade stepped out of its frame, gripped the Holy Lance, and pulled it free.

  Marco said, “Run.”

  “Where?” Nadja asked.

  Giovanni recalled how Dante had escaped. “There’s a gap in ice where it holds the Devil. We have to climb down his body. It’s the only way.”

  Nadja turned back to Marco. “What about you?”

  “I will go to the wood,” said the shade, “but first they must capture me.”

  Lucifer said, “The Lance is mine.”

  “Yes,” Marco answered. “You shall have it.”

  He ran at Lucifer with the Holy Lance and stabbed the Devil in the side. What issued from the wound was neither blood nor ichor, but black shadow. It oozed and fell upon the ice, flowing like a river of darkness. Lucifer grimaced with agony and ecstasy. The fallen angel did not try to dislodge the Lance, but opened his arms wide. Raising his hands, he tilted his head back, gazing Heavenward. His three faces were twisted in torturous rapture.

 

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