by Nic Widhalm
Hunter sat in the chair, staring at the blank walls, playing the conversation back through his head. But every time he thought he was getting somewhere, arriving at some epiphany, he discovered more questions. What Mika’il wanted, why he had been brought to this room, the restraints…
Why restrain me? She just said she’s as far above me as the sun.
He flexed again, testing the rope, but it didn’t budge. He considered reaching for his paradox, using his gift to break the bonds, but it just sounded…exhausting. As it was he could barely keep his eyes open. Barely focus on the wall. Barely keep asking…
In the darkness Hunter slept.
And in the darkness he dreamed.
Twisting too late, his nose collapsed as Hash’s elbow connected brutally with his face. Snaking his left foot behind the older man, Hunter pushed forward, hoping to throw his mentor off balance and take the fight to the mat.
“Dammit, Hunter! Stop thinking!” Hash shouted, easily avoiding his pupil’s lunge and stepping behind to deliver a painful flick at Hunter’s back. “Your mind is human, but not your instincts. Trust them.”
Hunter caught himself as he fell, trying to gain his footing before Hash reached him, but too late he felt his teacher’s leg snap into his stomach. His breath exploded in a loud gasp. He tried to breathe, couldn’t, and saw Hash pull back his leg for another kick.
Don’t think. React, Hunter told himself. But for the life of him he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think of anything other than trying to breathe. He convulsed silently, his mouth opening and closing like a fresh-caught trout. He resigned himself to Hash’s heavy boot.
But the kick never came.
After the moment passed and Hunter was finally able to draw a deep breath, he looked behind to see Hash standing easily, eying his student with disappointment. It had only been a week since Hunter began his training, but that didn’t keep Hash from expecting the impossible from his student. Once you’d arrived at the fortress, Hunter learned, things moved quickly.
It was a fortress, Hunter had been surprised to find, despite the fairy-tale facade. Stone corridors crisscrossed the edifice, connecting with smaller outposts within the keep and the inner courtyard. The front of the castle was guarded by a massive steel gate, serviced by two broad-shouldered Powers. Hunter still remembered the first day they arrived, watching in amazement as the two men lifted the massive gate, allowing Hash’s limo to pass underneath. Once through the enormous entry-way the interior was surprisingly modern—though the exterior belied an archaic, medieval culture, inside the fortress teemed with technological wonders.
Exiting the car, Hunter had walked through a tall, metal scanner that reminded him of the security checkpoint at an airport—only this device released a quick, dry-smelling puff of air instead of a beeping. When Hunter reached the other side of the checkpoint he saw that the guard’s computer screen was showing a full scale image of Hunter’s skeletal structure, including projections of assorted colors rippling from the computerized body. When Hunter asked Hash about the ripples his teacher just shrugged. “Aura.”
Everything was a little different in the fortress. Even though it had only been a week, Hunter had already grown accustomed to the full-body, “aura” scans, the prescient, mind-reading lunch menus, and the practice rooms that changed dimensions and surfaces whenever Hash snapped his fingers.
As if to drive the point home, the short, muscled man snapped his fingers and the walls smoothly contracted, the floor turning from a padded surface to a light wood grain. The lights dimmed, and the scent of forest pine saturated the room.
Hunter slowly pushed himself to his feet, his nose throbbing mercilessly—although Hunter had already learned the simple trick of locking away pain, it still took him several minutes to move the sensation to the forgotten part of his mind—and rested in the chair that rose from the ground. Not a separate stool, but a short, continuous run of light-brown material that joined seamlessly with the wood floor. It was like something out of a bad sci-fi flick. Only with angels.
Hash leaned against a table, the sides connecting seamlessly with the wall, and shook his head. “You know what I’m going to say.”
Hunter shrugged. “So, maybe don’t say it then?”
“Hunter, you’ve got to stop acting so damn human.”
“I know, I know. It’s just, well, I’ve been human my whole life, you see.”
Hash’s lips twitched, but his eyes were serious. “Smart ass,” he growled. “You’ll be laughing real hard the first time you meet an Adonai outside these walls.”
Hunter shrugged again. He hadn’t known Hash very long, but this was the fifth time in a week the older man had beat Hunter to within an inch of his life, and after going through that a few times you get to know a guy. Hash seemed more than frustrated—he seemed confused.
“You should be farther along,” Hash muttered, his eyes distant. Then the older man shook his head, his frown melting, and said, “Lunch time!”
Hunter jumped to his feet and followed Hash as he exited from the training room into one of the many corridors that ran through the fortress. “Hash,” Hunter said from behind his teacher, trying to ignore his cracked ribs and keep up. The bones could be taken care of after they ate, right now there was something the younger man had been wanting to ask his mentor for a long time. “Does God exist?” Hunter blurted.
Hash stopped. “What?” He squinted at Hunter. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just…curious,” Hunter said lamely.
Hash’s eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at Hunter. “Okay,” he said finally. “I guess you deserve to know. You’ll find out soon enough anyway, and Lord knows I was curious as a boy in a whorehouse the first time I came here. Let’s see, God...”
“Did you know him?” Hunter asked with a hushed voice.
Hash snorted. “’Course not. Shit boy, whaddya think, we just remember who we are one day and that’s it? Just a chronological picture book in our brains? I’ve been reborn at least twenty-five times, and those are only the ones I know about. This incarnation is the first time I’ve awakened. When you’re Apkallu you learn pretty damn quick that your memory is one more human thing that’s going to break down someday. Best not trust it.”
“But you remember some things?” Hunter prodded, trailing Hash as he continued walking toward the mess hall.
“Sure, yeah. I mean, look, it’s different for everyone. Some just remember sensations, like perfumed air, or cold steel through their gut. Kershiel once told me he remembered the taste of an ice cream flavor that’s never been invented on Earth. Most of it’s just throw-away stuff.”
“I see,” Hunter said, even though he didn’t.
“Me? Always battle. Even in my past lives I would get a glimpse of it now and then. Same with you, probably. Soldiers are always the same.”
Hunter thought about the times he had seen the red sky, the muted screams, the clash of steel on steel. He had always known they were more than hallucinations, but…memories? Maybe Hunter had been the one causing those screams. Or maybe the one screaming.
“Anyway, you want to know about God…that’s a little more complicated.” They had reached the mess hall, and Hash stopped talking as they walked up to a series of small windows that ran horizontally down the wall like teller stations in a bank. Approaching the window, Hash pressed his palm on the short counter and waited for the glass screen to open. After a few seconds the glass ascended into the surrounding stone, and a steaming plate brimming with fettuccine and thick, creamy Alfredo sauce appeared. Hash grabbed it without comment and moved aside as Hunter replaced him, pressing his hand to the same spot. He wondered what he’d be dining on today.
The window rose smoothly, revealing a wide porcelain bowl on the other side, steam rising in thick, fragrant clouds. Several wontons floated in a clear orange broth, and Hunter felt his stomach rumble. He hadn’t even known what he wanted, but now, the rich scent of lemongrass and beef filling his n
ostrils, he couldn’t imagine eating anything else . This happened at every meal, and Hash said it only got better with time. Once the windows learned your personal tastes they were close to prescient.
Hunter grabbed the bowl and joined Hash at one of several open tables. Like the training room, they rose from the floor in perfect unity, melding seamlessly with the light-gray stone base.
They were mostly alone in the hall today, with the exception of two tall young men who occupied a table in the corner. Hunter recognized the larger man as another Power, though he couldn’t remember his name. He hadn’t seen the man’s companion, a smaller, thin fellow before, but he looked like a Principality. Hash said all Docs wore glasses.
“So,” Hash said as he tucked into the fettuccine. “Where were we? Right,” he said as Hunter opened his mouth. “God.” Hash shoveled a spoonful of pasta into his mouth, chewing loudly, then picked up a glass of milk that had been waiting at the table, and drank deeply. Setting the glass down, Hash continued: “You ready for the awesome truth? No one knows. I guess the Seraphim might, or they’d like us to think so, but…hell, I’m betting even Mika’il’s in the dark when it comes to the big guy.”
“But we’re angels.” Hunter said, looking up from his soup. “We’re supposed to work for him.”
Hash snorted. “Says who? The Bible? Look, kid, I’m not one for religion so don’t quote scripture at me. I know we’re supposed to be cozy with the man upstairs, and maybe we actually are—I don’t know. But see, that’s the whole point. The whole crazy, frustrating, bitch of it…we don’t really know what happens in the beyond.”
“But—”
“What?” Hash spread his hands. “You think I have all the answers? Sorry kid, but I’m a soldier just like you. I might be your boss but I’m not the one calling the shots. My memories are cloudy, just like yours. Everyone’s are. Maybe God exists, but if he does I don’t remember him. Maybe the beyond isn’t Heaven at all, maybe it’s some kind of nightmare realm we can’t remember because we don’t want to. If Mika’il knows she’s not telling.
“All I know is when a Seraphim points, I go. And when I’m told to fight, I fight. And when I tell you to fight, you fight. Clear? Trust the guy above you and it all works out.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A week passed before Hunter could find the courage to ask Hash about the “meeting” with Mika’il.
Hash had woken Hunter early, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We’re going for a little hike,” he said with a smile, tossing a heavy backpack at him.
Five hours later, gasping and feeling like his lungs were about to burst, Hunter reached the tip of the summit. Below lay the Rocky Mountains, the white-capped peaks dotting the landscape like soft-whipped cream. The ascent had been quick and painful, alternating between beratings from Hash when Hunter would slow, and sudden, large gains when the student achieved his paradox. Now, observing the snow-covered tracks that led up the mountain side, he breathed in a deep lungful of clean mountain air and started to hack.
“Careful,” Hash said. He was annoyingly free of sweat and breathing easily. “The air is thin up here.” He removed his pack and handed a canteen to Hunter, who gave him a grateful look between bouts of wheezing. He took a deep pull from the leather container, and sank gratefully to the stony ground. He stared at the midnight blue sky as he gathered his breath.
“Can I die?” Hunter asked after his coughs subsided.
“What a stupid question,” Hash replied, munching on a pile of nuts and fruit he had pulled from his pack.
“Not really, considering how close I came on this hike.”
Hash laughed, bits of nuts spraying from his lips. “Please. You just scaled one of the tallest mountains in the continental U.S. In five hours. You’re of the sixth order, drama queen—the closest you came to dying was when you asked me ‘are we there yet,’ for the eighth time.”
Hunter laughed, which started a fresh bout of coughing. After a moment they subsided, and he said, “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Of course you can die. You’ve probably lived a dozen lifetimes already.”
“Yeah. But what about real death,” Hunter said. Hash shrugged and continued chewing, saying nothing. Hunter shook his head and let it go. Hash would tell him when he was ready.
The silence stretched. Hunter sat upon his rocky perch and took in the view. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, releasing stress he hadn’t even known was there. The silence was deeper up here, away from the roar of the city, the buzz of machinery. It was clear, crisp. It was the moment Hunter had been waiting for. Here, alone, towering above the world at this remote peak was the first time Hunter felt comfortable broaching the topic the two men had been avoiding all week.
“Hash…” Hunter began.
“Hunter—” Hash started to say.
Both men laughed a bit nervously, and Hunter motioned for Hash to go first, hoping the older man would address the elephant in the room.
But instead, Hash asked, “Why do you think we’re here?”
“Like…on Earth?”
“Hilarious.” Hash put his hands behind his head and leaned back, his chin pointing toward the canvas of sky. He closed his eyes.
“You look like a Virtue.”
“Oh Lord, save me from witty men. Seriously, Hunter. Why did I bring you here?”
Hunter shrugged, shifting awkwardly. “I guess…well, look. About last week, it was—”
“Stop,” the large man held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“I need to say it.”
“No,” said Hash. “You don’t. I know what Mika’il told you, and that’s the last of it. I’m not about to disobey a direct order from a Seraphim.”
Hunter lowered the canteen. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know damn well,” Hash said, eyes sweeping the mountain side, the open sky, anywhere that wasn’t Hunter.
“No. Please be more cryptic.”
Hash finally met Hunter’s eyes, and the student saw something he never would have imagined—Hash was scared. “Seriously?” He asked. “She didn’t tell you?”
“Guess not. The only thing Mika’il told me was the same pep talk she gives all the boys and girls: ‘We’re the best,’” Hunter said, in a stiff, high-pitched voice, hoping to lighten the mood. “’We’re the cool kids. We’re all brothers and sisters, and make sure you drink the Kool-Aid at lunch or we won’t hang out with you anymore.’” Hunter looked over at Hash, his grin fading. “You’re serious.”
“Look, I know this hasn’t been easy—”
“Come on. I already heard this crap from Mika’il.”
“You’re going to hear it again,” Hash rumbled, and Hunter knew he was at the limits of the older man’s patience. Over the past month Hunter had learned to shut up when he heard that voice. And now, observing Hash with this guarded, frightened look on his face, Hunter was starting to suspect the real reason his mentor had forced him to climb a mountain in the middle of nowhere.
“I was twelve at my christening,” Hash said. He looked at Hunter expectantly, but the student had learned his lesson and stayed silent. Hash gave him a small nod and continued. “I was a boy, just going through those first awkward, adolescent steps. Though in my case it was a little different, since I’d been living on the street for three years before they found me. I was lucky it was the Elohim; I didn’t have to go through what you did,” Hash gave Hunter a tight-lipped smile.
“Anyway,” he continued. “The first time I met an Apkallu I was picking pockets at a neighborhood rally. It was something to do with politics, and everyone was so focused on the parade of speakers they never noticed the little black kid who kept ‘accidentally’ bumping into them.” Hash smiled, his eyes distant, then his face grew rigid. “I was going to call it a day. The soup kitchen had just opened, and a couple of the regulars used to give me an extra bowl if I got there early. They probably felt bad they were serving a minor and not calli
ng social services, but you know how it is,” Hash motioned to his and Hunter’s sculpted face. “Most people just want to get us out of the way as quickly as possible. But they were good people, and they never mentioned how uncomfortable I must have made them.
“I was heading out of the rally when I felt a hand grab my wrist. I freaked out, naturally, figuring I’d been caught, and I did my usual disappearing routine. I twisted my wrist, trusting my strength to let me escape—even at that age I had already begun to count on my gifts—and froze when the hand didn’t loosen. And to make it worse, when I followed the hand to its owner, guess what?”
“It was a woman,” Hunter said, right on cue.
Hash nodded. “She didn’t say a word, just stared at me with those dead, blue eyes until I finally pissed myself in terror.” Hunter frowned, remembering his first meeting with Mika’il and the reaction she’d caused. It hadn’t been fear—it had been unmitigated, animal lust.
“She didn’t waste any time,” Hash continued. “Just dragged me out of the rally, not caring if anyone saw—I’m sure we made a sight, the white lady dragging away the dirty, black kid—threw me in a car, and hauled my ass straight to an agioi. I didn’t know what was happening, so I cried and blubbered and made a general mess of myself until it was all over. And when it was finally through, when my sigil had announced who I was, well…you know what Mika’il did?”
Just as before, Hunter had a strange sense that yes, he did know, but stayed silent, intuition telling him that Hash needed to get through this. Maybe he never had before.
“She looked down at me and said, ‘You’re mine, Hashmal. My Domination. Forever.’” He stopped, eyes glazed in memory, looking out on the wide, distant horizon, lost and alone. Hunter said nothing, lost in his own way.
“See, that’s what I’m getting at,” Hash turned and met his student’s eyes. “We’re hers, all of us. Cherubim on down. It doesn’t matter what choir you belong too, it doesn’t matter the gifts you possess—to the Seraphim we’re all ammunition for their goddamn war. They give the orders, we obey. We don’t have a choice.”