The Sword of Michael

by Marcus Wynne

  “Tony, let your True Self step to one side,” I said. “You don’t have to speak . . .”

  Tony’s voice changed to something deep and harsh and mocking. “I want him to speak.”

  “Silence,” I said. “I’m speaking to Tony and his True Self. Tony, do you want to speak for this being?”

  “I’m afraid,” Tony said in his normal voice.

  “You are protected,” I said. “You don’t have to speak, but you may if you choose to do so. We will all help you. You are protected.”

  It’s always dangerous when you have an ancient and powerful and malevolent being that assumes or tries to assume control of the client’s body. On one hand, when the being who’s sovereign in the body by Divine Law—Tony in this instance—participates in the process, he regains some of the power stolen by the possessing being. On the other hand, with a deceptive and powerful being—it’s always safe to assume that any being like this can be deceptive, powerful, completely telepathic and not bound to time and space—the practitioner and the client run the risk of losing control or being knocked off the concentration necessary to continue and prevail.

  That’s a favorite tool of the Dark Forces—distraction.

  So we have a being that is telepathic, can see the future, knows what you are thinking before you do, has a host of telekinetic and other powers . . . what makes you think you’ll prevail?

  You’ll prevail because it’s not you doing the prevailing, it’s the Power of the Light and the compassionate and helping spirits working through you. It’s not you, any more than a beat-up saloon piano is the music that flows through it. You’re the instrument and the player is a Divine Being that is also telepathic, can see the future, knows you better than anyone or anything in the universe, is not bound to time and space . . . and loves you and those who go in Service for more than anything.

  Me, I bet on the Light.

  “I’ll try,” Tony said.

  “There is no try, Jedi,” I said. “There is only do.”

  A ripple of laughter from those around the table as well as those gathered round in the Other Realms.

  Tony laughed, a lighter sound. “Okay, Yoda. I’m ready,” he said.

  I could feel the discomfort of the Dark Force’s entity; it hated laughter. There’s a saying: “The Devil hates laughter.” So do his minions. Especially those who take themselves too seriously and think that all laughter is mockery of them.

  “Okay, Tony,” I said. “Let your True Self off to the side, and let’s see who we have here . . .”

  “He says he wants to speak directly,” Tony said.

  “No,” I said. “Through you.”

  “Okay,” Tony said. He began, in his voice, “What do you want?”

  “Who am I speaking to?” I said.

  Tony’s voice changed, became deeper and more precise. “You know who I am, shaman.”

  “What is your name?”

  “My name is not important.”

  “I would think that it would be. You are obviously powerful. You are obviously here with a purpose. Surely so powerful and important a being has a name?”

  My guides closed tightly around me, and around me the Legions of Light, surrounding me and infusing me with their power . . . they only gathered this way when in the presence of something powerful as well . . .

  “I have no need of a name,” the being said.

  . . . and the image of banners arrayed across a vast plain . . . the Sons of Belial drawn up in all their ranks . . .

  “Nor do I,” I said.

  Laughter then, musical and deep and poisonous, from Tony’s throat. “First blood to me, shaman. That ego of yours will be the death of you. Do you still count coup, little shaman? Or do you call yourself a medicine man?”

  “I don’t call myself anything other than a Son of the Light,” I said. “What is your purpose here?”

  Laughter, soft and amused. “Why, to crush you and yours, of course, Marius. Now, forever, and always.”

  A ripple in the container of Sacred Space; a sense . . . another gathering, a darker one.

  “Your work here is done,” I said. “It’s time for you to return to—”

  “—where I came from, with gratitude for the lessons I’ve brought you?” Sneering laughter. “You cannot compel me, mortal. I am beyond you.”

  “There is nothing beyond Creator God,” I said. “In the name of Creator God and the Light that works through me, I command you to leave now and return to the place where you came from . . .”

  Tony screamed and twisted on the table. Maryka clutched his feet.

  “You don’t know where I come from, shaman?” the being hissed. “Look in your heart. That’s where I came from.”

  “In my heart is the Light of Creator God,” I said. “You may return to the Light.”

  “I am not of the Light! I return to the Dark! Only for now!” the being screamed through Tony’s mouth. Tony twisted as though he were manacled hand and foot. “I am the First! I will be back! We are coming to crush you!”

  The room shook like a brief earthquake. Dillon rolled forward onto the balls of his feet, alert; Sabrina caught his eye and shook her head no. A thick roiling form of black smoke seeped from every pore of Tony’s body, coiling around his head and neck and shoulders; and from within the smoke, two red eyes glared at me, glared in turn at each of us holding a point in the Circle.

  “I will . . .” the being screamed. It was cut off by the bubble of Light closing in on it, and on either side of the dark form appeared the brilliant white forms of the heavyweights in the Light, Michael and Uriel, binding him within the Light, and lifting him away, still struggling within the bubble, to the Place of Transformation . . .

  Tony let out a trembling exhale of pent-up breath, and sagged back onto the table. He was drenched in sweat. His energetic body was torn and shredded, in need of deep healing . . . Sabrina and Jolene appeared as they are in the Other Realms: Jolene tall and terrible in her gowns of white, surrounded and attended by the spirits, avatar of the Goddess; Sabrina, her hair neatly braided, dressed in a white buckskin dress drawn with ochre images, a rattle in her hand—healing energy radiating from them both, and overarching them the Great Mother, Mother Mary as she appeared to me; the light of the moon flowing through Jolene and into Tony, filling him, infusing him; the spirit guides of Sabrina tending and mending the tears in his energetic being, repairing the body container even as it filled with Divine Light, cleaning out the sludge and residue the possession left behind, lingering like the stench of garbage does even after you empty the can; Dillon as he appeared in the Other Realms, a warrior angel, a long spear in his hand, a sword by his side, ready, endlessly scanning for any threat; my guides, all of them, holding the Space steady for the healing taking place . . .

  And when that work was done and silently communicated to me from Jolene, I intoned: “Father, Mother, Creator, God, Holy Spirit, Great Spirit, Goddess, I call on you and I call on all the angelic realm and all those compassionate beings who have worked with us and through us on the behalf of Tony, child of God, and we offer gratitude and love for the work done here in your name. We are grateful, we are grateful, we are grateful . . . and we release with our deepest thanks all of the spirits who have gathered here to support this work . . . may the Circle be opened to the Light of the World and all released . . . with thanks of gratitude and love.”

  We stood back from the table. Tony opened his eyes, blinked and looked around at us. He looked different. His face was lighter and the bags under his eyes had disappeared.

  Tears streamed down Maryka’s face.

  I helped Tony sit up. “Just take a minute and settle back into your body. Concentrate on the feeling in the soles of your feet, feel all the parts of your body, start from the bottom and work your way up.”

  “Okay,” Tony said. “I feel really . . . different.”

  “You look different!” Maryka said. “It’s a miracle.”

  “Thanks to the Creator
,” I said. “Now, Tony, Maryka is going to drive you back to her place. You’ll need to drink a lot of water, way more than you think you need. At least two quarts over the next hour or so. Then I want you to get into a very hot bath . . .”

  “With Epsom salts?” Maryka said. “I have that and lavender essence.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “You know how he’ll feel. He’ll be tired and weak. If he’s hungry, just a little soup or something light like fruit or salad. Your systems needs rest, but you should be able to eat anything you want later on. Right now, lots of water.”

  I handed Tony a cold bottle of spring water. “Start with this. And just rest. I’ll talk to you in a day or two, see how things are going . . . but right now, just rest. Drink lots of water, eat light today, and do the Epsom salt bath tonight and for the next three nights. Okay?”

  “Yes, Marius,” he said. “Thank you.” He looked around at all of us. “All of you. Thank you so much.”

  He got up and Maryka steadied him. Jolene and Sabrina touched him lightly as he left the room.

  “Marius?” Maryka said as she steered him towards the door. “There’s a gift for you in your bowl . . .”

  “Thank you, Maryka.”

  She closed the front door quietly behind her. Dillon stood by the window, and we watched them get into her car and drive away.

  I checked my offerings bowl. A check for five hundred dollars. A very generous gift indeed.

  “Okay, all,” I said to my friends. “With great thanks to the Creator, how ’bout dinner and drinks on me?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Bella Italia is a restaurant in the Kingwood neighborhood I like a lot. I liked it because a) Jolene adored it, b) they served massive portions of extremely good, albeit simple, Italian food, c) the manager, a former client, hired interesting and excellent servers and d) that same manager never let me pay full price.

  Professional courtesy, right?

  I did a blessing for the restaurant when it first opened and I came in from time to time to do a tune-up. Any public venue picks up an energetic charge from the people who frequent it; if the venue isn’t cleared and attuned from time to time, the place itself picks up a charge and maintains it: happy, sad, light, depressed . . . sometimes even malevolent. For those services I always had a good table, all I wanted to eat and drink, excellent conversation and a sense of being welcomed home.

  Just like now.

  A big table, Dillon at the head, where I always seated him, though he was always the last to move into his seat; Sabrina opposite him where she could play him like a well-tuned guitar; Jolene and I on the wings across from each other, where we lived and loved as always.

  Massive platters of pasta, meatballs and sausages, salad, crusty bread and, of course, vino. Fruit of the vine. Though I rarely drank to excess, I loved the taste of wine and the energy that flowed from it through me.

  As did Jolene.

  The wine heightened our anticipation about what lay before us yet tonight.

  Remember tired, hungry, horny?

  We’d worked through the first two.

  Jolene smiled, touched the tip of her tongue, pink and live like a cat’s, to her wine glass.

  “Get a room, you two,” Sabrina said. “All that second chakra stuff is making me horny. Dillon, how’s your back, baby? Think you’re up to taming the wild mare? Riding the bucking bronco?”

  We all laughed as Dillon flushed, though you had to know how to look for that change under his olive complexion.

  “I wouldn’t want to wreck our friendship, Sabrina,” Dillon said with mock gravity. “You know, once you’ve had me, you’d be ruined for any other man. You’d hold that against me.”

  “Talk is cheap, gunfighter,” Sabrina said. She tilted her beer in his direction. “It is true that I tend to wear men out in search of the best cock.”

  The laughter was good. The meal and the wine were good. The company the best.

  “Yes,” Tigre purred. “The best. More wine?”

  “I want more of that Italian sausage thing,” Burt said. “Tasty.”

  First In Front floated cross-legged in the air, off to one side, as spirit guides do, and smoked his pipe. He eyed Sabrina.

  “You know she and I have a history,” he said.

  Silently, I said, “And you survived this?”

  First In Front blew a smoke ring at me. It opened into a vision: Sabrina in her white buckskin dress, a teepee in the background, First In Front laughing with her . . .

  “Don’t be talking to my other boyfriends now, Marius,” Sabrina said. “Me and him, that’s nobody’s business but ours. Besides, I got a thing he likes that you ain’t got . . .”

  First In Front blew smoke at me and laughed.

  Like I said. The best company.

  For those with shamanic vision, the room was busy with our companions, guides and protectors; they like to enjoy, through us, the things that we enjoy—laughter, joy, good food, good drink, sex.

  It’s comforting to know they are there, our extended family in the Other Realms.

  Long ago, in a vision, I’d been shown that friends are the family we choose—in this life. Before we enter the flesh we select who we will be born to for the lessons we need to learn or to unwork the karma from a previous life. In the flesh, we’re drawn to people, often people we knew in previous lives, people we have unfinished business with—good, bad, indifferent.

  Jolene smiled at me. “Yes. Past life karma here.”

  See? This is what it’s like being involved with a psychic. There’s no hiding anything. “Honey? Do I look fat in this?” You can’t get a word out without—

  “Well?” she said sweetly, tipping her glass at me. “Do I?”

  I sighed, hid my grin. “No, Goddess. You do not.”

  “You might tame this one yet, Jolene,” Sabrina said. “I got a bit and a bridle I’ll lend you.”

  “That would be lovely, sister,” Jolene said.

  They both laughed women’s laughter, leaving us mere men out of the joke. Goddesses. We must worship them. Or pay the price. Most times both.

  “Yes,” Jolene said. “I’m thinking a hefty fee . . .”

  When Light Workers commune together in ceremony, there’s a joining at a deep level, a telepathic level, where communication is instantaneous, deep and rich with nuance and much, much faster than normal speech or conscious thought. While this capability exists in all humans, those attuned to the Light and who consciously work in the Light have it much closer to the limen of consciousness—hence this whole psychic thing. The decompression period after an intense ceremony eases the spirit back into the flesh and the reality of the Middle or Ordinary World, even while that telepathic union lingers in the wake of that extraordinary heightened awareness.

  Great for spirit work; a wee bit challenging for us mortal men contemplating an enthusiastic night of sheet-swimming.

  “There’s a lot more going on with that man,” Sabrina said.

  “Huh?” I said.

  She ignored me, as did Jolene, who said, “Yes. He’ll need more.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Tony? What do you get?”

  “Soul retrieval,” Sabrina said. “He’ll need some work. And more uncording. You got the demon out, Marius, but Tony has lots of resonance. That was a corded and intentional possession; there’s someone out there who was running that and it all ties back . . .”

  That took the wind out of my sails. I nodded. “That’s what I get . . . what we discussed before.”

  “What’s that?” Dillon asked.

  “We’ve got layers here,” I said. “Like Shrek. It connects to these multiple attempts and passes at me. There’s someone incarnate in the Middle World who’s acting as a portal for the Dark Forces . . .”

  “The Decanter thing?” Dillon said.

  “Yes,” Jolene said. “That is a Dark place.”

  “I won’t go there,” Sabrina said. “Love you to pieces, Marius, but that place will drain the Light out o
f the strongest. I don’t want you to go over there.”

  Jolene silently considered Sabrina, then looked at me. It was unlike Sabrina to be so direct; she was up for anything in the Light and had stood both on her own and by my side in many a journey on behalf of others.

  “What do you see?” I said.

  Sabrina took a long draw from her beer. Paused. “I see loss, Marius. I see and feel sorrow and anger. I see you balanced on the edge of the abyss. More than that is not clear. But there’s danger to you, as always. But also to all who walk with you. More than you’ve ever experienced.”

  She stared into space, focused and intense, connected like the Medicine Woman she is to her guides as the information came across. The channel closed, and she blinked rapidly.

  “Is there more?” I said.

  “Not now, Marius. If more comes to me in journey or dream, I’ll let you know.” She waved her empty beer bottle at the server, an elaborately tattooed skateboarder named Ev, to bring her another. “Tony will need a soul retrieval . . . I can do that for you, if you want. He’ll need some follow-up. But the cording . . . you’ll want to track that back. At the end of that binding is the Who. Somewhere along the line you’ll get the Why. That will tell you what you need to do.”

  “Time enough for all that,” Jolene said. “We all need to . . . sleep.”

  Dillon grinned into his beer glass.

  “Then we can reconvene, after dream and journey, to see what else has come through for us,” Jolene said. She smiled demurely at Dillon. “You sure you’re not going home with Sabrina, Dillon?”

  Dillon laughed. “I don’t know how I’d look on the back of her bike.”

  “This makes me have to pee,” Sabrina said. “Excuse me.”

  “Me too,” Jolene said.

  The two women went off, leaving Dillon and me grinning at each other.

  “Why is it that women always go to the bathroom at the same time?” Dillon said. “Not just psychic-shaman-type women. Every time you get two or more women gathered together, if one has to pee, they all have to pee.”