by Stu Jones
—Romans 13:4
And the battle is my way,
I will go this path alone.
I will take unto my prey,
This I know—
All my life will sing the pain,
My suffering will show.
In the fight I find my name,
This I know—
The weight of my call.
One name above all.
All others will fall.
Excerpts from “This I Know” by Demon Hunter
15
STEPPING BACK FROM the mirror pool, the towering figure of stacked muscle and glistening armor turned and leaned against a stone rail, looking out upon the high realm, a place of heavenly lights and untold magic. It had remained unmolested now for eons. Why was the Dragon moving now? The earth had been destroyed numerous times over in its brief history. The ravaging of the human race was at times necessary in order to support its continued existence. It was a cycle that went on and on—which was why this event was not the true end of days, at least not in the ways it was portrayed in the holy tomes. That would come later.
“Commander,” a voice said, strong and confident as it echoed across the stone corridor.
Michael the archangel, high commander of the forces of heaven, raised himself from the rail and addressed the messenger as he approached. It was Jophiel, one of his personal guard.
“Commander,” the angel continued, bowing quickly, “we picked up a trace signal but immediately lost it. It could have been angelic.”
“What do you mean ‘could have been’?”
Jophiel continued, “The signatures of the fallen appear as a variation of ours, similar but different. This was something else. We just registered it for a moment, but it definitely wasn’t human, and it wasn’t a part of scheduled patrols.”
“Speak freely, Jophiel. We’ve known each other far too long.” Michael softened his gaze.
“Yes, Commander,” Jophiel said. “I believe we might have found Raziel. I can’t prove it, so call it a hunch.”
Michael took the words in carefully, his thoughts far away. “He never returned from his mission those many ages ago. But his spirit never left him either since his name has never been recorded in the pages of the Lekshueh.”
“The record of all our lost brothers.” Jophiel raised his eyebrows.
“Yes. Though this would seem to go against reason since Raziel never tried to contact us or return with news of the Machine’s safety, Raziel may yet be alive—but to what end? If he has not perished, then what has he been up to all these years?”
“Maybe something happened. Maybe he hasn’t been able to contact us for a reason. Our last reports of him indicate he fled with the Machine and fought with Abaddon while trying to protect it. Then suddenly they were both gone. Neither has been heard from since.”
“So?”
“Well, Commander, that was their final order—one was charged to protect it and the other to seize it. Could it be possible they’ve been at it all this time? Trapped in the earthly realm, hiding, waiting for the right moment,” Jophiel surmised, “searching for the Machine across that entire plane of existence?”
“It is possible, and since Raziel knows it is a violation of his code to reveal his true form to any human without the express permission of the high king, maybe he is hiding in plain sight, fighting the powers of darkness from the shadows.”
Jophiel nodded silently, his regal, mirrorlike armor glinting in the glow of a nearby white-fire sconce that hung perfectly against the ornate stone of the celestial fortress.
“But Abaddon…” Michael turned and motioned to the mirror pool. “Abaddon no longer has such a code, which brings us to this.”
Jophiel turned his attention to the giant stone bowl filled with shimmering liquid. As he watched the images spread across the surface of the water, he saw the death and destruction of humanity the world over, as it struggled to survive in the aftermath of catastrophic societal collapse, disease, and war.
“The humans appear to be purging themselves once again. What of it, Commander?”
“Here.” Michael waved his hand over the pool, and Malak and his forces came into view, ransacking and pillaging the Glen Canyon Dam. They were clearly searching for something. “I’ve been watching this one,” Michael said, pointing to Malak. “He is a warlord and a criminal by human standards, but there’s something else—he is possessed by one of the fallen.”
“Many humans are possessed by something.”
“This one is different; this creature is very powerful, so powerful in fact that my sources indicate that it may be connected to Lucifer himself. It makes open displays of its power before the humans who worship it.”
Jophiel looked up. “You aren’t saying that could be Abaddon—”
“I’m saying that we need to keep an open mind. The Machine that was lost before the great war was designed so that it could be located by neither angel nor demon using the powers of the spiritual realm. It must be physically seen and touched for us to find it. Which is why it has remained hidden for so long. Now, this demon appears to be trying to find it, which of course we can’t allow. Which brings us to the other side of the coin.”
On the other side of the pool, Kane, Courtland, and the others appeared as they moved through New Mexico, toward the dam.
“What do you make of this, Jophiel?”
Jophiel shrugged. “I don’t know. How is this group different from all the others struggling to survive in this world?”
“I’ll tell you,” Michael answered. “This group is made up of believers, keepers of the way. They are on a mission to confront this demon and his brood.”
“But why?”
“They have been personally wronged by this warlord, but there is something else at play here as well. The high king has seen fit to reveal to them the magnitude of their true purpose.”
“Truly?” Jophiel seemed surprised.
“Yes, and would you believe me if I said I have already received orders direct from the king that this group must be under the strict supervision of our very best?”
“But why this sad lot? These people look terrible, wholly incapable of facing a demonic tyrant such as this.”
“I know.” Michael waited.
“Are you saying we should help them?” Jophiel replied in astonishment.
“Not directly, no—at least not yet. But if the creature that resides in this warlord has already shown its true self, if it was the first to directly interfere in the humans’ struggle, we may have recourse to act in the believers’ defense.”
“Commander,” Jophiel said and indicated the pool, “do you think that we should be involved in the petty conflicts of the humans? If Raziel is down there, do you really believe that he’s mixed up in this?”
“My brother, this fight no longer belongs only with the humans. If the Machine is there, and it is activated by the Dragon’s forces, well…” Michael smiled warmly, placing a powerful hand on the armored shoulder of his standard-bearer. “We cannot allow that to threaten everything that our high king has done.”
Jophiel gave a quick nod. “Shall I prepare a legion of our finest and have them on standby, Commander?”
Michael gave an indication of confidence. “Make it two, and see to it that a request for elite support is processed as well. I want you and Zadkiel on the ground leading our warriors if things go bad.”
“Understood, Commander,” Jophiel responded, waiting.
Michael paused long before raising his intense gaze. “I cannot say if Raziel is down there or not, but if he is, and he needs us, then we will stand with him, wherever.”
“Without question, Commander.” Jophiel spoke assuredly and then spun, marching with purpose to his task, when the voice of his commander summoned him yet again.
“And Jophiel?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Should the need arise, I expect to see these human believers with more power at their backs th
an they can possibly imagine.”
Jophiel smiled and nodded, with a gleam in his eye, as he turned and pushed through a heavy crimson curtain and disappeared like a phantom in the night.
16
IT WAS WELL into the day when Tynuk stopped for the first time to rest and take a drink from his appropriated waterskin. He slurped at the nozzle like a baby calf suckling at a swollen teat, coming dangerously close to becoming intoxicated with the cool, clean taste of the water as it trickled down his throat. Coughing, he sputtered and forced himself to stop, wiping his face.
The warrior boy gave a quick 360-degree survey of his surroundings. By his estimation he had traveled close to sixty miles due west of Palo Duro and was somewhere in far-northwest Texas close to the New Mexican border. The desert wind whipped up, tossing debris into the air in a quantity that was just enough to be annoying. Tynuk squinted and looked to the sky. He judged that it had been about seven hours since he had killed his last pursuer at the bottom of that drainage ditch. The others would surely be onto him now. It wouldn’t be long before they came to fill his body with spears and arrows.
Now, for the first time since this ordeal had begun, he could actually think clearly. His thoughts, no longer clouded by the fog of battle or the pain of the datura poison, now began to convey to him the grave urgency of his situation. He’d known that he had to survive through this, that no matter the cost it had to be him. What eluded him, even now, was the why. What was the endgame with his people, and why had he been having visions of a place, a giant concrete hydroelectric dam? Sooner or later, it all had to—
Tynuk froze instinctively. Something was off, a scent on the wind, a hint of danger. He was being hunted. He had been hunted by Queenashano’s men for days, but this feeling was different, somehow more predatory. The feeling was similar to when he and Az had toyed with each other, training each other’s senses in a not-quite-lethal game of cat and mouse. Az always got the jump on him. The beast was just naturally better equipped to act stealthily than he was.
Tynuk turned, scanning every rock and bush that surrounded him. Again he smelled it, the faintest aroma of musk riding on the wind. He saw nothing.
The attack seemed to come from directly beneath him, as the hungry gray wolf launched itself at his throat from under a nearby bush. It had slunk so close that it was only feet away when it attacked.
Stupid! No wonder I could smell it.
Twisting his body hard to the inside, the knife at Tynuk’s waist flew from its sheath with blinding precision just as the wolf’s jaws snapped shut where his throat had been only moments before. The wolf cried out, the cold steel of the blade piercing through the soft underside of its neck. Tynuk landed to face the vicious beast, the end of his blade dripping liquid crimson. The wolf landed on all fours and faltered, its muscles quivering. It locked eyes with him, questioning him with a piercing gaze as to what he had done to inflict this pain upon it. It blinked hard and, with overwhelming exhaustion, lowered itself to the ground. It licked its lips, breathing deep, heavy breaths as thick clumps of blood poured from the small but deep wound in its neck onto the ground around its feet. An artery had clearly been severed.
Tynuk warily regarded the creature that had just tried to kill him. It looked back at him, its gaze unwavering, as blood continued to flow in globs from it. Almost lazily, the wolf rolled onto its side, now completely resigned to its death. Strange, Tynuk thought, how animals knew how to die with such grace, unlike the begging, pleading squalor that preceded the death of humans. The wolf’s eyes were heavy now, blinking slowly, when Tynuk heard the movement behind him.
Fool, they always travel in packs!
This time Tynuk didn’t have time to turn as the wild creature slammed into him from behind, its foaming jaws savaging the flesh of his back below the shoulder blade. As he was knocked forward, the knife flipped from his hand into the dense Texas scrub that surrounded him. He landed hard, facedown, crying out in pain as the wolf dipped its teeth again and again into the meat of his back. He became light-headed, his mind swimming with pain and the overwhelming, starved savagery of the thing upon him.
Now unarmed but wild with the fury of battle, Tynuk rolled to his back and grabbed the jaws of the wolf, which was foaming a mixture of saliva and blood. Tynuk did the only thing he could think of: he drove his hand deep into the throat of the beast, sinking it to his shoulder. Wide-eyed, the wolf spasmed, thrashing its head as the boy clamped onto it; the two were nearly equals in size and weight. He grabbed everything he could inside the belly of the wolf, as tissue tore and the wolf groaned in agony. Yanking his arm free, his hand full of the creature’s guts, the third wolf slammed into him at full speed, sinking its teeth into the flesh of his ribs on the opposite side.
Shrieking with rage and pain, Tynuk rolled with the beast, snagging a rock the size of a softball from the dusty ground. Righting himself, he slammed it down into the hungry beast’s skull. The wolf cried out in pain and tried to flee, but Tynuk was far too invested to terminate this encounter now. Again and again, the feral boy slammed the rock down against the broken skull of the dead wolf until he dripped with the creature’s blood and bone. The boy shuddered, his own wounds still streaming blood. He tried to stand but dropped back to the ground, where he rested his head against the brother he had just been forced to kill. His body gave him no choice; he would have to rest for a spell.
Tynuk jerked awake in the thick warmth of the oppressive, overcast afternoon. Thunder rolled across the sky and spoke to him of the storm that was moving in. The body of the wolf below his head had long gone cold. He had to get up. This was not a coincidence. The wolves, though starved and clearly locked on his scent, were not random scavengers; they had been sent to kill him by Queenashano. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew it to be true. This was all part of the trials.
He struggled to his feet and felt the freshly clotted scabs of his wounds pull. Taking the remaining water in his skin, Tynuk swallowed a gulp and used most of the rest to rinse clean his wounds, starting the bleeding anew. Though the pain of his injuries burned through him, he could do nothing further for them now. He had to continue on.
He had to think ahead for once. His pursuers would surely come again, and he would need to be ready this time. Sheer luck, good fortune, or even force of will alone wouldn’t be sufficient any longer. If he were to survive this ordeal, he would have to reach deeper within himself, to the spiritual, the eternal. It was time to dig in and make a final stand. These trials couldn’t go on forever.
It only took a moment for Tynuk to locate a nearby rise, steep and alien in its jaggedness; it would make for difficult terrain for horses. Slinging his nearly empty waterskin across his body, he jogged, wincing with the pain, to the place and quickly climbed to the top of the plateau. There were only two true ways to ascend: a thin game trail he had initially missed for its obscurity and the short, near vertical face he had climbed to get to the top. All in all, the plateau wasn’t more than a hundred feet up from the valley, but with a flat summit, only two approaches to it for him to defend, and a small animal cave below at the base of the trail, perfect for staging a trap, Tynuk knew this would be as good as it got. He found himself wishing he had his fearsome companion Azolja to face this battle with him. The odds might then not seem so daunting. However, the boy took comfort in the knowledge that his friend was surely keeping an eye on him, always watching, forever vigilant.
Tynuk turned his mind to focus on the task at hand. It would take a few hours of hard work, which by his estimation should be plenty of time to prepare before the one they called “Yellow Horse,” and likely other warriors as well, would arrive to put an end to him. And then the true test, for all of them, would begin. Who would be the last man standing? The warrior boy swallowed the dryness from his throat and gave the few remaining ounces of water in his skin a shake. It wouldn’t last much longer.
“Spirit, sustain me,” Tynuk sighed wearily through the dust that blanketed his round face.
He crouched, his worn hands scooping a handful of ruddy earth that trickled through his boyish fingers. Only the Great Spirit knew how this would all end, and only time would tell.
Neraquassi stopped his mustang short of the plateau before him. A moment later, the second horse bearing its riders strode alongside him. None of them said anything as they wordlessly stared at the three dead wolves lying in pools of blood among the scrub brush. Neraquassi peered curiously at the defined tracks against the sand as they meandered from the killing ground and noted how they abruptly ended before reaching the hill. Neraquassi dismounted, stepped over the wolf carcasses, and knelt, examining the tracks in the desert sand closely. Another warrior dismounted and took up his short spear.
“He has gone to the hill,” the warrior grunted.
“Are you sure?” Neraquassi countered.
“Of course; he killed these three and swept his tracks before taking refuge in that cave.” The warrior pointed at the dark hole at the base of the plateau.
“Give me a moment,” Neraquassi muttered with exasperation, as he turned back to the tracks. The other warrior gave a huff of impatience. Neraquassi ignored it.
While only a boy, this Tynuk was not to be misjudged. Too many powerful warriors had gone after this child planning to kill “just a boy,” and look where it had gotten them. No, Neraquassi would handle this the right way. Today would be the day he would prove himself to his father and to the rest of the tribe. After this grand victory, there would be no further question as to who was most worthy to be the next leader of the New Comanche Nation.
A sharp scream jolted him from his thoughts and brought Neraquassi whirling to a defensive position, his spear pressed in front of him. Another groan brought his eyes upon the warrior he had just spoken to as the man exited the mouth of the small cave, clutching his chest.
“Fool!” Neraquassi spat.
“What happened?” one of the mounted warriors called out as he began to dismount.
“Stay on your horse!” Neraquassi stopped him with a sharp thrust of his palm. “And be on your guard.”