He did not understand how he could go into his own mind to a place he had seemed to have imagined, and retrieve the Sword of Light. Nevertheless he was sure that when he opened his eyes he would be holding it in his hands. He was ready to risk his life, the life of his friend, ultimately the life of his daughter, on that.
The smell of dirt and sweat filled his nostrils. He kept his eyes closed tightly, waiting for the right moment. He soaked it in, felt peace fill him with power. The strange thing to his mind was how he could feel the Sword at hand—and yet as he flexed his fingers it was not there. He wondered how long it could balance in between realities before it was lost completely.
Yamanu must not have been far, because as the Power filled Kreios, he could sense his friend and warrior brother rising up. The Shadower’s gift was augmenting and he was storing it, damming up the potential, making ready for a massive flood. He and Kreios were walking a narrow edge as they coordinated the timing of their one and only opportunity to break with the doom that the Seer desired to visit upon them.
Kreios opened his eyes and jumped to his feet. He was the embodiment of the Angel of the LORD, that enigmatic identity before whom prophets would fall down and kings would tremble. His body was awash; waves of spiritual power rippled throughout. He did not look to see if the Sword of Light was indeed physically at hand but he clenched his fist and he could feel its grips, more real ever. His only hope was that his faith was strong enough to make it real. He swung it high and held it there.
The tent exploded, ripped asunder and dissolved in light as demons and their pet slaves were thrown like toys. Simultaneously, Yamanu arose, swift and terrible, and though Kreios could feel him near enough, he could not locate him precisely. No matter: crippling cold and inky darkness descended upon the enemy camp with such ferocity that even the demons trembled.
Contrary to conflicting with the gifts of the Shadower, the Sword complimented and increased them, and heavy black fog exploded over and through the enemy camp, throwing the Seer’s horde into wincing grief. Some of the men became mute with it and could not remember why they were there or what they were doing, wandering helplessly.
Kreios stood at the epicenter of what was left of the travelling residence of the one he hated. He looked for the Seer, vengeance ripping through his veins. The demonic horde army was scurrying every which way. There were screams of incomprehension, vague orders and countermands as the enemy attempted to gather itself together out of confusion. He searched urgently, kicking bodies out of his way, hacking through obstacles, stirring the wreckage, but the Seer was not there. Kreios filled his lungs and reared back, raising his voice to the heavens with a roaring battle cry, calling out the Agent of Darkness.
“Come out and fight me, Seer!” The cry did not produce the intended result. Kreios and Yamanu, now standing side by side in the wreckage of the Seer’s tents, were faced not with a sporting contest with the disobedient deserter, but with a wave of filthy demonic infantry bearing down upon them.
Yamanu recovered his stolen sword from the ruined body of one of the guards, and with weapons raised at the ready, their eyes blazed with holy fire.
They became encircled by enemy forces, rallying against the battle cry that Kreios had delivered. The enemy could not perceive beyond the vagueness of the upside-down hope they had where they were going—where they were being driven.
Kreios and Yamanu waited to spring the trap. The enemy drew nearer still, their pikes deployed horizontally, pointing inward at the angels. When they had drawn within a stride or two, Kreios launched himself from his defensive position, smacking aside enemy combatants’ weapons with the flat of the Sword, which flowed fluidly back around to the attack, slicing with ease through muscle, bone, marrow.
Whirling angrily through their midst, Kreios downed enemy after enemy with his Sword, arcing high, then low. He swung upwards, slicing a demon from groin to chin, producing a horrible truncated shriek.
Yamanu moved independently but kept close by, hacking and slicing at demons and evil men. He waded through them, swinging his weapon like a harvester, growling and screaming maniacally only once—at the onset of battle—from then on he was silent, concentrating, and all the more deadly.
The angels worked steadily through the advancing enemy army, simply cleaving its members in two, drenching themselves in acrid blood that stank and burned. Sparks of black and red flew from demon mouths.
Soon the angels had run through the initial wave of attackers. They stood, panting gloriously, drenched in their own sweat comingled with the rank blood of the vanquished. They awaited the second onslaught, and as they did, Kreios closed his eyes and probed the invisible realms for his opponent.
As he searched, he beheld the tree into which the Sword had been lodged. The Sword was not there, which was absolutely perfect. Kreios held his hand high, and there, manifest before him, was his weapon: the Sword of Light. He clenched his hand around it, felt its heft, spun it deftly, and the blade hummed and buzzed through the air. Now victory was assured to him.
But it did not take long to assess the outcome of battle: the Seer had fled, had sensed the coming battle when Kreios had been filled with the holy fury that fueled him. The skirmish the angels had just endured was sacrificial; a diversion away from true intent—that the Seer, coward and dog, was rallying elsewhere, gathering more and more thousands to his side.
Yamanu sensed all of this as well, yet they hedged on the side of caution, standing at the ready in the midst of Yamanu’s icy pure black fog for quite some time, awaiting some new treachery. But it did not come.
At last, on toward the dawn, the angels relaxed their vigilance. Setting fire to the remains of the enemy camp, which burned vigorously, they advanced to the lake to bathe and to clean their weapons and clothing. The Sword of Light was clean already. The acid blood had dripped from it as it was being used—it was like mixing water and oil. Nothing could cling to it.
When they were clean, they came ashore and sat under a tree in the broadening sunshine of midmorning. Yamanu lit his pipe luxuriously and puffed at it, sending strongly scented smoke curling into wreaths in his lap and spilling onto the ground, dissipating. “So,” he concluded, “that went well…” His words fell off, and Kreios could see a grin on his face.
Kreios never did have much of a sense of humor. All he had on his mind was the mission, and how they would complete it. “We must kill the Seer or all is lost.” He did not give much time to vain things, including the typical victory strut—no matter how small.
Discomfort moved in on the pair. At length, after Yamanu was finished with his pipe, Kreios gave a sigh. The enemy horde would be on guard from now on. Surprise attacks would require more… creativity. Kreios took to the air, hovering at treetop height, waiting for Yamanu to follow him.
“What now, chief?” Yamanu asked as he joined him.
Kreios was stone-faced again. “We make camp. Then we find a way to persuade our brothers in Ke’elei to help us. I believe I know how to convince them.”
Chapter IX
Eagle Idaho, Present day
Giddy, unnatural, overpowering, wonderful joy! Only the act of watching someone squirm in their bonds with a look of raw hatred on their face could bring these lovely emotions to bear.
Stan glowered back at her. He grandly produced an enormous Cuban torpedo from his coat pocket, felt its moist firmness in his fingers and sniffed it. Snipping the end, he lit it with a match. Smoke billowed up in his face. Stan looked like a ghost in the pale light of the single bulb.
Stan stood in his own garage this time. It struck him that he didn’t know how long it had been since he had been home. Home? His suit was tattered, his fingernails dirty. He couldn’t remember his last shower. He didn’t care. He had walked out of his old life—and his new one, far more exciting, meant he had to give up certain things to get what he wanted. He licked his lips.
Kim was bound to a wooden chair with duct tape. She had a strip plastered over her
mouth as well. Stan looked at her with mild interest. She didn’t know where her best friend was, he knew that. But he had other plans for her. Bait. White female bait.
The peace that killing brought him could only last so long. He needed more; the bloodstone demanded more.
Kim was looking at him with big round eyes. No tears. No downcast obedience. Just hatred.
“We’re friends, aren’t we Kim?” He stared at her with wild bloodshot eyes. “Yes… yes, I can see that you agree. Good, good… I knew you, of all people, would understand.” Stan let his words reverberate in the silence. Then, as if remembering something, he ran from the dimly lit garage into the house.
He returned with a video camera in his shaking hands. “You wanna be in a movie? I know you do. Every girl your age wants to be a movie star.” His voice pitched higher in excitement as he set up a tripod. After a few tries he successfully mounted the camera and turned it on.
“Say ‘hi,’ Kimmy.”
Kim sat frozen.
“Good… very good. Kim, you get to be… helpful. You get to help me find your little friend. Won’t that be nice!”
Mental gears were grinding in his head, and he slipped into a stupor momentarily while everything got sorted. When he came out of it he was addressing the audience in the camera. “My old friend!” Stan exclaimed in a joyful voice. “It has been too long. I’ve got a prize for you here, a token of my love, if you will.” He descended into crazy laughter. “I’m—” he hacked out a further giggle, “I’m not asking for a lot. All I want is a little fair trade.” He sang out his next words from behind the camera: “I—just want—to trade! This for that.” He took another long draw on the torpedo as Kim squirmed in the chair.
“Or I could just kill her.” He laughed again, but then he got serious and began to gesticulate. “If you decide not to give me the girl, I will kill this one and ship her piece by piece to her mother.” He was twitching. “But no more secrets about the plan!” He lowered his voice to a whisper and came close to the camera, still behind it. “You know where to find us, slave. You have twenty-four hours.”
Stan turned off the camera, picked it up, and walked out of the garage, turning off the single light as he went. Kim was alone in the dark. For the first time since she had been kidnapped, she let her guard down and allowed herself to cry. Tears dripped down over the duct tape gag and collected at the tip of her chin.
Stan listened, just on the other side of the door. He suppressed a giggle. He could skip down the sidewalk chasing after the ice cream man, he was so ridiculously happy.
He went to his study and began to scratch out a wretched note:
Dear fools,
Play this tape on the news tonight. If you do not, I will kill this poor helpless girl—and you will be all responsible. If you refuse to OBEY, everyone will know you are the ones who killed her.
Stan’s the Man
Chapter X
Somewhere in the Mountains of Idaho, Present day
I was sitting reading when an overpowering fear stole into me. Something was seriously wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. I closed my eyes and tried to think of what to do. Far in the back of my mind I could hear She whispering, but I couldn’t make out the words.
“Come on, what is it?” I was shaking now, cold and scared. But what was I scared of? Then it all hit me. The feeling, the smells and the sounds.
“KALE!” I screamed. A minute later Kale burst through the door.
“What? Are you okay?”
“Kim! She’s in trouble. He has her.” I could not place a name but his face loomed in my mind. “We have to hurry, he’s going to kill her.”
The shadow of pain crossed his features. “I believe I know who has her. How do you know she is in danger—can you feel it?”
“Yeah! It’s as if I’m right there with her. Please, we have to do something.” I tried not to panic but the feelings of fear and worry were powerful.
I gathered myself together a little and asked, “Who is he?”
“His name is Stanley Alexander. He is the reason I took you; or as I like to see it, rescued you. He was watching your house, stalking your family. If I had not stepped in to save you, you would be dead now.”
My heart crashed. An icy wave washed over me and I gulped, trying to keep things in check. I wanted my voice to be small as I said, “Is he Michael’s father?” I knew the answer.
“Yes. Stanley is in the Brotherhood.”
I recalled what I read about them and shuddered.
“Okay, you have got to tell me what’s going on! No more secrets, no more mysterious ‘you shall know in time’ crap. I need to know who you killed in that theater and what I am, really. Am I one of the Sons of God? Am I related to this Kreios? And why is all this happening to me?”
“I know you’re confused, Airel.”
“Please, we need to go save Kim, can’t we leave now?”
“Airel, you have to know what you’re getting into, there is more you must understand. May I start from the beginning?” Kale inhaled deeply as if to prepare, and I sat back down—I had stood up during my tirade and didn’t remember having done so.
Kale began. “You are a descendant of Kreios. He is your grandfather. Great to the tenth, at least. You, as well as all of your ancestors on your father’s side all the way back to Kreios have within your genetic code the gift of the abilities you’re just beginning to see. These gifts lay dormant, however, until triggered directly—spiritually—by contact with one of the Brotherhood.”
He stopped. I nodded for him to continue. “It’s like a switch. It’s off until you happen to meet the wrong person in the supermarket. Then you begin to manifest supernatural abilities. That’s why you don’t have any relatives with these abilities. They’re only awakened in adolescence. Once you pass into adulthood, the chance is gone forever.”
I thought back to my dad and everyone on his side of the family. I couldn’t remember any weirdness happening with them.
“You are a Daughter of God. The last one was Eriel, in the line of Kreios. I know this is quite a lot to take in, but you need to understand: our time is running short.” He paced the room.
“Tell me about that night in the theater.” I wasn’t completely sure I wanted to know, but my mind was driving me forward, hungry for resolution. I had to know or I would go crazy.
“The man I killed was one of the Brotherhood. He was latched onto you strongly. I had to kill him before he killed you. You see… they know when someone is turning. They can feel it; sense it. Once you started to get sick, it was like blood in the water.” He paused and reflected. “There are laws of the land for a reason, Airel—but the letter of the law is dead. It’s not always an act of evil to take a life. Especially in cases like this. These do not understand reason. They do not understand our ethics. They only understand violence. Death. Destruction.”
I nodded again, knowing there was more; almost ready to beg for it.
He looked deeply into my eyes. “The Brotherhood is not just some criminal underground. They are the real half-breed. Part human and part demon. Every man has a demonic counterpart, a Brother. That is what makes them so very strong. Being in proximity to any member of the Brotherhood will drain you—they feed on your power; and if you engage them in a long battle you will be defeated. You see why, now, as soon as I discovered he was one of the Brotherhood, I had to kill him quickly. No time to wait. Not even if the movie was interesting.” He smiled, and the smile was true, honest.
“I understand. So you’re like my advisor, my guardian?” I asked.
“Yes. I am a servant of El—God. We have been fighting the Brotherhood for thousands of years. I am here to train you, to help you. I would have liked it to have happened under better circumstances. But this was the best I could do. I have tried to give you every good gift since you fell into my hands.”
“Now it seems that Mr. Alexander has found a way to draw you out, and I must leave the decision in your hands
. If you want my counsel, it might be better to allow her to die than to give yourself up—you’re more extraordinary than you realize. We cannot lose you, Airel.”
I flushed with anger at the thought of ever abandoning my best friend in her hour of greatest need to the whim of some lunatic. After all, to what purpose had God gifted me so radically? So that I could lay it down when it was most needed? I didn’t yell at Kale though. I held my anger in check for once. “I don’t care if you can’t lose me. I can’t lose Kim! I understand what you’re saying, but I can’t just stand aside and let Kim die because I’m ‘so important.’” I took a few deep breaths.
Then a thought occurred to me that should have been obvious. “Will you help me?” For a moment, as silence filled the gap between us, I wondered if he would.
Then something else crossed my mind. “Kale, what’s Michael’s role in all of this?”
Kale stood like a statue, looking at me with clear hazel eyes. He did have beautiful eyes—sometimes. “Do you really want to know?”
He didn’t need to say it. I knew what he was going to say, and yet I couldn’t believe it. Michael loved me; he couldn’t be in league with his father. “I don’t believe it. He… he…”
“Loves you? No. He doesn’t. He used you and now he’s gone. He left last night. And I let him. If we do not confront Stan, he will come to us. Do you not see, Airel? Michael is part of the Brotherhood. He was sent to your school to get close to you, to find out if you were really what they thought you were. He is the reason why you were awakened—the day he came into your life was the day your old life ended.”
Chapter XI
Airel Page 24