by Holly Wentz
As they head back out into traffic, it strikes Marcy as odd how the whole city appears distrustful and cruel. The foul and polluted atmosphere, with its garbage-strewn streets and smog-choked air, seems to have affected the very people living within it. If this world is the Spiritual Realm, then these spirits were also foul and polluted. She supposed that made sense if this was a place of evil, but Erech and Aliya did not seem to be evil. Aliya had explained her parentage, which Marcy was still coming to terms with, seeing as she declared herself an atheist. But all the same, why would Aliya’s birth be held against her, it was as if you would hold a baby born to a murderer just as guilty.
Marcy felt a sense of injustice and betrayal for Aliya towards God and when she looked away from the window, she found Aliya looking at her with apprehension.
“What?” she said, a little more testily then she intended.
“Please, don’t think what you are thinking.” Aliya said, “We can feel the heaviness and tension from your thoughts.” Nodding to a troubled Erech, she continues, “And I can get an idea of where your thoughts are going. It’s a talent of mine. I can’t read minds but I can … guess thoughts.” she finishes with a shrug.
“It just seems so wrong. If God exists, then you should be in heaven. You’ve done nothing wrong! Okay, so you’re not perfect. No one is perfect. Every single human who has ever lived has made mistakes, has done wrong. Why do you have to be punished because of what your parents did! That seems so wrong!”
Marcy throws herself back against the seat, ashamed of the tears she feels falling down her cheeks. Jack wraps his arm around her shoulder and kisses the side of her head before sharing a worried look with Kyle.
“I’ve got to side with Marcy on this point.” Kyle says. “From what you’ve told us, basically you’ve been imprisoned in this craptastic city because of who your parents are, what race you are.” Shaking his head he continues, “You’ve got to admit it’s not a real good advertisement for God.”
Erech laughs and Aliya shoves at him, “This isn’t funny, Erech!” she yells and looks to the backseat, “Please, I know how it looks but you’ve got it all wrong. You’re looking from the wrong angle.”
“Are we?” Marcy counters.
“Yes!”
“Fine—explain.”
Aliya takes a breath, “I was created in direct betrayal of God. The Lord loves my father just as he loves all the Fallen. But His Love does not force repentance, it does not coerce redemption. His Mercy allows for both but each being must make their own action to redemption and to repent of their sins and seek God’s Forgiveness. I continue to return to my sinful nature, I fail to repent. Yet although I am the direct product of treachery from one of His sons, still He permits me a continuous possibility to redemption that was never allowed by the nature of my birth.”
She looks at the three with a glowing face, “You may see my state here as a punishment but that is just not true. Those of my nature, the majority, are mad with Darkness and are formed of Evil. They punish themselves by making no effort to be redeemed. My status here is one of hope, not punishment.”
Erech interjects with “We’re here” and Jack adds an awed “Wow.”
From her place in the back between Jack and Kyle, ‘here’ was a street side parking spot. Anxious to see what Jack found so stunning, she helped him out of the backseat, shoving at him as she scooted along the bench. Honestly, she should have gotten out on Kyle’s side, as whatever had Jack’s attention apparently was not so awe-inspiring as to hold Kyle up. But once both feet hit the ground and her eyes travelled up from the cracked asphalt, she found herself just as amazed.
On the other side of the street was a huge building, with soaring windows peaked at the eaves of the copper roof, and spaced out on the walls that seemed to stretch on either side for hundreds of yards. The building was made of rough hewn stone, a strange tan-pinkish color. The windows were thick and bubbled, like one finds in historical homes, and the panes were held with copper. There were towers set at intervals with spiral peaks that were also covered in copper, creating a piercing shine even in the overcast city. Copper strips ran thin along the mortar between the bricks, and the stone stylized archway at the top of the wide shallow steps leading into the building was covered in intricate copper filigree. But the strangest part was that while the stones and glass touching the copper showed the green dripping stains of oxidization, the metal itself still glimmered with that distinct metallic shade. Even the tower tops had not tarnished green.
“How come the copper hasn’t turned green?” Marcy asked, pointing to a particularly large green stain on an archway stone.
Aliya gave her a bemused look, “Of all the times I have been here, I don’t believe I have ever noticed that, or at least never found it odd.” She passed a look at Erech before continuing, “The copper never fades or tarnishes because it is protecting the First Gate from the Rephaim.”
“But you said you’ve been here many times. How is it being protected?” she asked as the little group navigated the loud and crowded walk. The whole place reminded Marcy of an airport, so much so that she half expected to see a plane fly over the huge skylights that made up the ceiling.
“Not nephilim, sweetheart, Rephaim. Does no one go to church anymore?” Erech says from his place in front of the other four, clearing a path by flamboyantly waving his arms and acting like an overenthusiastic tour guide.
“Mom took Kyle and me to church every Sunday when we were kids and I don’t think I even heard even the words nephilim or Rephaim,” Jack states as his dark eyes drink in the sights surrounding him.
Marcy adds, “Same here; I went to church and bible studies with my grandma my whole life until we moved, I’ve never heard of either.”
Erech sighs dramatically, “To be so unforgettable yet forgotten. I am wounded.” And he hangs his head and covers his heart with his hands. Then he recovers and winks, saying, “Those holy men probably don’t want anyone knowing about how some of the angels got down and dirty with the ladies back in the day.”
But Aliya stops short and appears troubled, “The Church does not teach of the Rephaim?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The fact that the Church long ago abandoned the stories of the nephilim and the Fallen was of no surprise. As much as it had distressed her, she had watched as the Church elevated angels to an almost mythical place in Christian theology. The Seven Holy Watchers had become household names and the Bible and Church writings were full of stories that placed angels on some kind of higher plane. It was therefore not surprising that the story of the Fallen, of how they took human form, conceived half-breed offspring, and generally wrecked unholy havoc on the earth had been swept under the proverbial carpet.
But the Rephaim were a different thing entirely, and to leave God’s people ignorant of them was disquieting. Then she recalled, “You know them as giants.”
“Oh.” Marcy smiles, “like David and Goliath. Were they some other kind of race? I thought they were just people with gigantism.”
This statement really concerns Aliya. The Rephaim were natural enemies of humanity and the fact that the Church was not teaching about them left humans at a great disadvantage. Before she could delve into a lesson, they arrived to the hallway that led to the Hellhounds’ den. While they would not be able to follow it, protected as it was with barrier emblems marking the entry, there was a bell pull-chain that dangled from a hole found shoulder high to the right of the hall entry. After pulling it twice, she stood right at the opening after pushing Erech to the side.
“Erech, stand over by the wall. I don’t want him to see you.”
“What?! He’s not still cheesed by that incident with the soccer ball, is he?” Erech joins the others congregating near the bell pull.
“He’s the king of grudges, what can I say,” Aliya replies, her eyes not leaving the hall.
“What happened?” Kyle inquires.
Aliya says, “Don’t ask.” as Erech says, “N
othing that bad.” and La’sha appears at the entry, snarling at Erech.
“Go away.” he deadpans, staring a hole through Erech.
To which Erech responds, “Can’t.” while making flourishing gestures of display around Marcy and the guys. La’sha’s eyes go wide and begin to glow golden, and when he turns them on her, she can’t help but wince. He was going to blame her for this; some way somehow, he was going to find a way to make this her fault. Before he could start in on her, she spoke.
“I didn’t do it.” She threw her hands up in surrender, making his eyes narrow into suspicious little slits. Crap.
“Look, they just showed up at the Crossroads, a spell gone wrong.”
“A spell?!” he barks as his angry gaze shoots to them. It makes her feel a little bad for them because La’sha was the master of making you wish you weren’t where he was looking.
“Yes, a spell.” she says, turning his face with her hand back to her. “And I’m sure they’ve learned their lesson, but right now we need you to take them back through the Gate. I’ve coated them in Essence but it will start wearing off soon and I don’t want to put more on them.”
She holds his face in her hands and flashes him her best and brightest smile. She would give him a little wink full of promise and all will be well.
“No,” La’sha says bluntly as he gently lowers her hands and looks perplexed at the three mortals. “It will not work. Their souls are tied to the body, cannot take a body through the First Gate.”
“Then how were we able to before?” Marcy says, stepping forward. But before anyone can say something, it’s Jack who explains.
“We didn’t pass through this Gate. We came a different way and we will have to go back the same way, right?” He looks at her and La’sha, his eyes sharper and focused.
“Yes. But not the Crossroads. A different way.” La’sha takes hold of her elbow and begins to quickly walk back to the Archway.
“I guess we’ll just follow you, yeah?” Erech calls after and she sees them jogging behind her to keep up.
La’sha marches her all the way back to Erech’s truck and swings open the passenger door before lifting her physically into the seat.
“You need to take them away from here. Go out to the Wastelands, towards the Burning City. I will get help and meet you before you’ve crossed the Desolation.” He gives a satisfied grunt to her nod and slams the door shut just as the others reach the truck, out of breath.
“Dick!” Erech shouts at La’sha breathlessly as everyone else gets into the vehicle. But La’sha is focused intently on her as he speaks to Erech.
“Take them to the Wilderness. Don’t drive, walk. And stay away from the Warehouses.” He looks up and says the last directly to Erech, who flips him off before putting the SUV in drive, stomping on the gas and heading to the Transit.
“I thought he just said to walk.” Kyle rightly points out from the rear seat.
“What? Sorry. Can’t hear you over this is my truck and the hellhound can suck my….”
“It’s fine!” Aliya interrupts, “It’s fine. I didn’t want to walk the Wastelands anyway.” She leans her forehead onto her hand, her elbow resting on the door. La’sha had looked at her with such a strange expression, as if he were almost apologizing for something. It made no sense.
The city scenes flash past the SUV as the occupants sit silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Erech follows the Transit then takes a sharp turn onto an old road, the pavement a mixture of asphalt and concrete, uneven and discolored. The road suddenly dips sharply downward, as if the city is on a plateau and this road leads to the desert floor. He stops the truck at the top and gives a moment to think before they take the plunge.
From this hilltop vantage, they can see the rows of long dilapidated storehouses lined up in a grid, the heavily pocked and puddle-laden narrow roads running between them. On the far side, several rows to the right of where the hilltop road ran, another road breaks out from the Warehouses and streaks across the arid landscape into a hazy burnt orange distance. Although you could not see it from this view, that small narrow road would feed into the larger clay-and-shell-packed Path that crossed the Wastelands and Desolation and entered the Burning City.
“Why do you think he wants us to take them to the Burning City?” Erech asks, staring out the windshield.
“I don’t know.” Aliya answers honestly.
For truth, she could not think of a worse place to take three unjudged souls. The Burning City was a place for the truly Lost, and was called the Burning City because the fire of greed and lust for power raged there constantly. It was said that the city itself glowed like heated gold and that the inhabitants were like furnaces, seething in the pain of their evil ambitions. The truly frightening part was that the Burning City was actually a Gate itself. Its actual name was the Second Gate, and from there the masters of Hell would come to collect the Damned to be taken out to the Punishment.
“They have no business there.” Erech states in earnest.
“No, they haven’t.” she agrees.
And he puts the truck back into drive and slowly begins the decent down towards the Warehouses. They may not understand why La’sha told them to go where he did, but they were old enough and wise enough to know better than to question a hellhound.
The tires crunch along the broken pavement and occasionally the SUV dips as it falls into an unavoidable pothole. While Erech stays intent on navigating the narrow paths of the Warehouses, Aliya is watching the buildings, looking for any movement or shadow that would let them know they are being watched. They both know that the Deviants who inhabit the Warehouses are here somewhere although the Night has not fully set, the sky is getting darker and the darkness always brings out the Deviants.
She looks over at Erech in annoyance. He came this way simply because La’sha told him not to; they could have easily driven back to the Crossroads and began the trek from there. No, he had to be petulant and now they were in a dangerous place. As long as they remained in the vehicle they would be okay, Aliya reassures herself. Just need to take a deep breath and remain calm. Because even the mortals in the backseat are sitting restless, even they could feel the dread that permeates this place.
The Deviants are just as they are called. They are able to raise their heads up long enough from the pit of mental sick they exist in to stop at the end of the road. But they are too deranged to be tolerated even within the Grey City, whose spirits may be fallen but do not possess the true sickness of deviancy.
Those who do are drawn to the Burning City. She had learned from listening and watching the actions of those who come out of the First Gate and carry on to there that it has a pull, drawing them to it. Like a moth to flames, they come out of the Archway and their eyes appear shining and vacant, and they walk a near straight line along the Transit and out to the clay and rock-packed Path. But for some reason unknown to her, some stay instead in the Warehouses. They creep along the wet shadows and live decrepit lives, awaiting victims to their special brand of murder. The locals have another name for the Warehouses: the Slaughter District. The Deviants are notorious, even in this city, for their deprived rituals. They give a sacrifice every night in horrific ways involving butchery and flames. A being cannot die in this realm but sometimes you wish you could.
As most do not enter this area unless they are seeking the Burning City, the Deviants primarily make sacrifice among themselves. From what she can tell, the Deviants do not approach those caught in the Burning City’s siren song. One damaged soul she met had been hesitant about whether to go to the Burning City, a creature on the fence so to speak, and had gotten too close to the Warehouses during his musings. They caught him, made sacrifice of him. He wouldn’t say what they did, but his crazed eyes said plenty, as did the darkness that oozed from his pores, a stench of it rising from his body. She had slowly backed away from him, putting as much distance as possible between them.
He had mentioned before she left that he had
gotten away by fighting violently. The Deviants are cowardly; their strength is in their numbers and the unrestrained terror they exude. If you can keep your wits about you, you can escape. Or so she thinks.
Suddenly there is a loud bang and the SUV dips on her corner. Erech curses. “The front tire’s blown. Don’t worry, I’ve got a spare. Just come over here and, keep the motor running. If they come out, just hit the gas and go.”
“No,” Aliya says, shaking her head. “No, Erech, I’m not going to just leave you out here.”
“If who comes?” Kyle asks from the back.
“It will be all right. I’ll fight out of it,” Erech tells her then smiles, adding, “And if I don’t get away, then I expect you to rescue me. Bring the dick-hound.”
“If who comes?!” Kyle asks, louder this time.
“Them,” Jack says, quietly looking out the window as demented horrors begin to creep from the shadowed buildings.
“Erech, go now.” She grabs the door handle and, before opening it, says, “Go and get help. Get to La’sha. When they are safe, come get me. Honestly, La’sha is more likely to rescue me than you anyways.”
He grabs her arm to stay her, “It’s going to be bad, little one. Real bad.”
But she is determined now. “I know, so drive FAST!” And with that, she opens the door wide and slams it quick behind her, turning to face off against the horde skulking up.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You’re leaving her?!” Marcy says, terrified. They are driving away, the truck shimmying wildly from the front flat, with Aliya standing in the middle of the road, those things getting closer.
She had felt fearful from the moment they began driving down the hill. The industrial area they entered had not only looked spooky with its rusted metal, peeling paint, and heavy silences, but it had felt wrong. Like how you feel when walking into a haunted house before you know it’s haunted, just a feeling that something is not right. That was how this place had felt. And then the tire blew out and Erech and Aliya began talking about what they would do if someone came. Marcy hadn’t fully understood their conversation until Jack pointed out the window.