by Nic Widhalm
“We need to pick it up,” Karen said, quickening her pace.
“Couldn’t you just…you know?” Hunter made a zooming motion with the flat of his hand.
“I wish,” she said. “Gifts are forbidden in the agioi.”
Hunter waited a few minutes, listening to the dry crunch of winter grass as they jogged toward their destination. Finally, seeing she wasn’t going to volunteer an answer, asked, “Agioi?”
“One of the old places, where the firmament is thin. Where you can almost touch the beyond.”
“Sounds nice,” Hunter mumbled, a sense of foreboding beginning to churn deep in his stomach.
“It’s more than nice,” Karen snapped, stopping suddenly. “It’s sacred. And Hunter, if you embarrass me, if you discredit the Adonai in any way—”
Hunter held up his hands. “I get it. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Karen stared at him for another second, than continued jogging. “I know. Just be careful.”
“Careful of wha—” But Hunter’s question died on his lips as the field blurred again, and nausea roiled through his gut. The world rotated queasily in his eyes. Lowering his head, blinking tears from his eyes, he looked back up.
A barn stood before them.
Little House on the Prairie, he thought for a brief, distracted moment, surveying the structure. It was obviously old; the siding had a sick, rotten look and the barn leaned alarmingly, seeming likely to collapse at any moment. Several stories high, it was crowned by a steeple roof with several missing boards and pock marks that had rotted over time. Karen entered without hesitation. Hunter balked, eying the decrepit building cautiously, then took a deep breath and followed.
The wide doors were already flung open, and as they neared the entrance Hunter’s sense of foreboding ripened. The dark, cracked frame of the doorway quenched the moonlight as they passed underneath. Hunter’s heart was beating so loud he thought he might go deaf. Beads of sweat burst from his pores despite the frigid weather. Karen, however, sauntered ahead, her same flowing stride unaffected by the gloomy building.
As they moved forward the light grew, resolving into a giant bonfire that roared and flickered in the middle of the large, drafty barn. Hunter would have sworn the light was only a candle a moment ago, and an impossibly far distance within the house (which now stretched so far in either direction he could no longer see the walls), but before he could frame a question his thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice.
“It’s about time, Zadkiel,” Bath said, stepping into the light. Around him other shapes took form, joining the bonfire’s roaring circle of light. Hunter took a quick count. Seven.
“Bath, I’m—”
“Sorry. Of course,” Bath’s lips formed his signature, sly smile. “You’re fortunate—the traitors haven’t shown up yet.”
“That word is not allowed here,” a high, cold voice pierced the shadows to Hunter’s right, and into the light strode a tall, blond woman. Hunter’s eyes widened and he felt his jaw sag. He knew he looked a buffoon, and he was distantly aware of Karen watching him with disgust, but for all his self-awareness he couldn’t help himself.
She was stunning.
Beyond stunning, really. Painfully beautiful was closer to the mark. Despite her unusual height, she was easily the most exquisite man or woman Hunter had ever seen—long blond hair, flawless ankles and thighs, full breasts, piercing blue eyes and soft, blood-red lips. It was as if a master sculptor had sat down with a list of the most perfect attributes the human body could possess, tripled them, and formed this creature. A powerful erection bulged uncomfortably against his pants, but Hunter was too overwhelmed to care.
“Look away,” a distant voice said. He ignored it and continued to stare.
“I said look away!” Hunter’s head snapped to the side, pain clouding his vision. His cheek stung from the unexpected blow. Eying him coldly, Bath returned his hand to his side. “It’s dangerous to look on Seraphim for long,” he said.
Hunter looked up, heat rising to his cheek, and saw the woman smile. Her lips broke his heart. “Oh let the boy look, Bath” she said in the same cold, high voice. A voice that couldn’t have been any different in character than the flawless beauty surrounding it. “I won’t hurt him. He might be mine, after all.”
“I wouldn’t wager on it, Mika’il,” Bath said, giving Hunter an appraising glance and walking closer to the fire. “My Arch found the boy. Adonai is written all over him.”
Mika’il looked pointedly at Hunter’s crotch, which was still straining painfully against his jeans. “He has something written on him. Doesn’t look Adonai to me.”
“Let’s find out,” Bath motioned to one of the six figures standing behind him and a man stepped forward into the glow of the fire. “Yahriel will preside.”
Mika’il snorted. “I have my own Domination, Bath. I hardly trust your sycophants to dress themselves, much less preside over a christening.” She raised one long finger and motioned behind her, never removing her eyes from Bath. From the shadows six figures stepped forward, surrounding Mika’il. One separated, moving to stand next to the Seraphim. He was a short, powerfully-built man, who stood several inches below Mika’il. His features remained hidden in shadow, but in the rippling light Hunter could see the squat man’s shoulders bulging against his shirt.
“You know the rules, Mika’il,” Bath said. “My find, my people.”
The Seraphim considered Bath for another moment, then nodded and waved the muscled man back. “Very well. Domination,” she flicked a finger dismissively toward the man standing next to Bath, “proceed.”
Yahriel, an equally impressive figure, just as stocky and muscled as the man who had stood next to Mika’il, glanced at Bath. The olive-skinned man nodded, and Yahriel began to speak: “There is no law other than that which is, and always will be.” As the words fell, a heavy silence descended on the group of shadowed figures. The fire ceased to crackle, breath no longer whispered through the two groups, and the surrounding darkness deepened to a silky black. Far above, the rafters disappeared.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Egg, and the Crack of the World. The beyond and the Earth.”
Above, Hunter made out tiny specks of glimmering light—the only illumination besides the fire.
“And there was Us.”
The specks brightened, becoming a vast, starry sky. No longer were they standing in a barn-house, surrounded by rotted wood and metal. Now they were outside, the sky large and bright above them. Hunter was afraid to look around, nervous he might somehow get lost in the changing landscape. Out of the corner of his eye he saw deep gouges in the earth that radiated in all directions. Besides that, it was just the sky, the field, and the bonfire roaring silently against the night.
“We continue, as we should. We fight, as we choose. We obey, as we must.”
Hunter was drawn back to the stars glimmering above, now bright and robust. There were more than he’d ever seen. Littering the sky, so bright they drove away all memory of darkness. Like a glittering diamond-capped world.
“We are not Us. Not any longer. We are not Man, since we can never be less than we are. We are Apkallu.”
As Hunter blinked, the stars rushed down to meet them. He blinked again, and the field turned to seaweed, the cold mountain air changing to water. The tangy smell of brine and mud filled his nostrils. In the span of a heartbeat they were suddenly standing at the bottom of an ocean. Hunter knew he should be struggling, gasping for air, trying desperately to swim to the surface. But he was hypnotized by Yahriel’s words.
“Apkallu. Damned. Corrupt. Our hope to return beyond, our destiny to serve out our human lives. Only through the pain of mortality can we once again become pure.”
The language is familiar, Hunter thought. English? At times it seemed so, but in other moments it was completely foreign. The meaning of the words, though, remained clear despite the language. Hunter knew this shouldn’t be possible, but was too busy foc
using on Yahriel’s litany to care.
“We continue to purge our line, refresh our lineage until we can return beyond.”
There was an outcry at this, the first words anyone had uttered since the Domination began to speak.
“Blasphemy!”
“This is no time for dogma.”
“Keep your politics to yourself, Adonai.”
Bath touched Yahriel’s arm. The Domination turned, seemed to share some silent communication with his leader, and nodded slightly. He continued. “We have come to the agioi, in accordance with the terms set by the Grigori. Let this hallowed ground choose.”
And now the water was gone, the seaweed vanished, and Hunter was surrounded by darkness. The stars blinked out. They were alone with only the light of the fire to distinguish between reality and void. Hunter still couldn’t make out the faces of the shadowed figures that stood behind Mika’il and Bath, but Karen was next to him. For a moment he felt the faintest brush of her finger against his hand.
“Once christened, the supplicant must join his family. There will be no disputes.” Having finished his speech, Yahriel stepped back into the shadows, joining Bath. The darkness roiled around Hunter, thick and smothering, erasing all sense of solid ground. The silence after Yahriel’s exit was total, and for a second Hunter worried he might have gone deaf.
Gradually, though, a sound grew in the darkness. Hunter recognized the familiar, heart-wrenching clarity of Bath’s voice. It was quiet at first, barely a whisper across his ear. Then growing, ringing through the emptiness, pure and clear. Hunter was certain—absolute, without question— that this note was what the Universe heard the first time a creature developed ears. This was the note upon which Creation was founded.
And then, just as before when Hunter sat spell-bound in Bath’s study, the note split into two, then three, and finally a full chorus. Next to him Karen gasped, a tear spilling down her cheek. She turned to Hunter and smiled with a simplicity and vulnerability that clashed with her earlier gruffness. Hunter smiled in return, and his heart leaped in his chest, swelling in time to the rising chorus.
Lyrics joined the music, slipping from Mika’il’s sensuous lips and weaving through Bath’s melody. Hunter was alarmed at first, realizing that Mika’il was chanting in the same language that plagued his dreams—the celestial tongue Valdis had spoken of—but his anxiety melted away as the composition of music and lyrics swept through him, lightening his spirit, easing his mind. Peace flowed through his bones. Not the hippy “peace,” whose symbol was sewn on tattered backpacks, and splashed across bumper stickers in tacky yellow paint. This was the peace of the clouds, the rivers, the quiet places of stone and wood that existed before humans entered the Universe, and would continue long after they were gone. This was how the world really was, Hunter realized, when you opened your eyes.
The darkness began to evaporate as the song pounded through the air, reaching a hazy brilliance that Hunter remembered from the last time Bath sang.
This could only be the beyond.
Looking down, he saw his feet firmly embedded in the swirling fog that filled this place. For the first time since he entered the barn-house, Hunter felt a piercing cold. He shivered involuntarily, and Karen gave him a sympathetic look. Bringing his arms up, he rubbed the opposite shoulder with each hand, teasing warmth into his body.
The fog was permeable, translucent enough to permit light, but stretched in all directions, cloaking the landscape’s features in a uniform haze. In the distance silhouettes moved through the fog, almost visible in the swirling mist before slipping maddeningly away. Hunter could still make out the group surrounding him—the bonfire had turned to a hazy bright light—and saw Mika’il and Bath’s lips moving, but could no longer hear any sound. Instead, his ears were filled with a high-pitched buzz, as if he’d been at a club all night. Karen pulled at his hand, turning him to his left, and motioned for Hunter to remove his shirt.
“I’m freezing,” Hunter tried to say, but no sound escaped his lips. He frowned, rubbing his shoulders and giving Karen a pitiful look. She didn’t respond. Looking away, Hunter saw the surrounding figures were all turned in his direction, and even though he couldn’t see their eyes he would have sworn they were staring right at him. Waiting.
Follow the rules, Hunter told himself, maybe you’ll get out of Oz. He lowered his trembling fingers to the buttons of his shirt and began to disrobe. The icy wind scraped his chest like a scalpel, forcing a gasp from his clenched teeth. The sound was immediately swallowed by the fog. Shivering, Hunter unbuttoned the final clasp and let his shirt fall to the ground. He felt alone and exposed as the group surveyed him. Mika’il, whose mouth still moved silently, smiled at Hunter’s discomfort. Stepping behind Hunter, Karen placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed down. Sighing, the heat from her palm like a burning brand, he acquiesced and lowered himself to his knees.
Head bowed, knees pressed firmly against an unknown surface in the cold mist, Hunter waited. Karen’s palm was still on his shoulder, scorching against his prickling skin. Moments passed—how long Hunter couldn’t tell from the timeless mist—and finally he felt a change. The ground, steady up till now, began to shake. The mists swirled around his ankles in tight, fast patterns. The surrounding buzz grew louder.
Bath and Mika’il both nodded, signaling their followers to circle Hunter. They moved with surety, even as the ground trembled, surrounding him. The mists had grown heavy, draping Hunter like a shroud, and the world trembled, escalating, on the verge of erupting.
For the first time in what seemed ages, a new sound cut through the white-noise. A low-pitched, guttural cry that echoed across the hazy landscape. Hunter recognized it—the sound that heralded his visions.
The world exploded in violence. Screams pierced the air, blood swam in Hunter’s eyes as the familiar red-filter descended. He shook his head, trying to distinguish between what was real and what was vision. Mika’il’s mouth stopped moving and Bath shouted silently across from her. Hunter strained his ears, trying to hear the little-man’s words, but the sound was lost in the cries that roared across the battlefield. Swords danced in the distance, figures both human and almost human struggling, their hands tearing at each other as they fell into the mist and disappeared. And Hunter, both among them and distant from them, felt each blow as if it were aimed at himself.
His head fell back, shrieking in agony and passion as he felt the swords slicing his skin, rupturing his intestines. The surrounding figures scrambled back, some running into the mist, others milling in confusion. Through a curtain of tears, Hunter watched Karen circle in front of him, her eyes wide with terror. Hunter followed her eyes to his left arm, where his birthmark sat—the little blemish the boys used to tease him about in the locker-room—glowing like a lightening bug in June. The familiar mark shifted before Hunter’s eyes, morphing…changing. A crack shattered his eardrums, and he reached up, covering his ears. Glittering shards of rainbow light fell from his body, disappearing into the fog below.
Through the chaos Hunter heard a voice, and looked past Karen to see Mika’il blazing with white-hot light, painful to look upon. She raised her fists to the sky, crying words Hunter couldn’t decipher—though he knew enough to guess their angelic origin—and rows of thick, snowy wings erupted from her back. Hunter stared in wonder, his eyes burning against the brilliant vision, not knowing whether to bow or curse. The wings pulsed, going in and out of focus, the many rows of feathers and sinew fluttering against the mist. Mika’il met Hunter’s eyes, she spit another word and the world abruptly dissolved. The mist faded, the hazy light returning to a bonfire, and they were once again surrounded by wooden walls and a high-beamed ceiling.
Hunter collapsed to the ground. Curling into a ball, he rocked back and forth as the pain from a thousand illusory wounds slowly dissipated. He thought he heard voices shouting, but couldn’t be sure. Everything was distant and vague, the only firm reality the cramps gradually leaving his body. Hunter gently ran
his fingers across his arms and chest, reassuring himself he was in one—albeit very battered—piece.
“You saw the sigil, Bath.” Hunter finally made out Mika’il’s voice. “He’s ours.”
“We all saw it. We all saw it change.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s Elohim.”
“Maybe we should try another agioi?” Karen suggested, her voice strained.
“The laws are clear,” Mika’il’s voice rang through the drafty barn. “One trial, one family. I don’t care how many times his sigil changed, it says Elohim now. He’s going with us.”
“I don’t like it, but she’s right,” another voice said. Hunter thought it was the one who had officiated. Yahriel.
“You dare,” Bath hissed.
“Never mind,” Mika’il said. Two hands lifted Hunter, pulling him to his feet. It was the heavily muscled man who had stood next to Mika’il earlier, the—what did they call him?—Domination. He eyed Hunter, and nodded respectfully.
“If you wish to make a protest to the Grigori, be my guest,” Mika’il walked past Hunter, heading toward the exit. “In the meantime, he stays with us.”
Hunter swung back and forth, not sure who to follow. Karen stood next to Bath, their heads lowered in quiet conference. Her eyes found Hunter, and a look of disgust crossed her face. She crossed to him and spat on the ground.
“I should have left you to rot,” she snarled. “Better I died that day than bring another of your kind into the world.”
“Karen,” Hunter said softly, but the muscled man holding his arm yanked him back and started toward the door. Behind him, Bath glared.
“We’ll meet again,” the small man said, eyes gleaming. “Just wait.”
Hunter didn’t get a chance to respond, though, because his guard had already pushed him through the exit. “Easy,” Hunter said. “I might need that arm later.”
The man laughed. “You have no idea.” He eased his grip, allowing Hunter to find his own gait now that they were outside. “But enough talk for now. Conversation is better served with a glass of something brown and aged. We’ll get there.”