Amber

by Dan-Dwayne Spencer

  “Surprised, Demon? You should be. These are blades blessed by the sainted protector of the Jerusalem church, Baldwin IV, The Leper King.” Stoney laughed. “They burn demon flesh to cinder and have the power to send you back to Hell where you belong.”

  The Sheriff stretched his evil arm, transforming it into a three-fingered hand reminiscent of a bird’s claw. It extended toward Stoney with five-inch talons. With a single swipe, he gouged three slashes across Stoney’s chest.

  Stoney screamed in pain, dropped his daggers, and staggered backward. Behind him, Flower kept one hand on his bare skin. The gashes healed instantly. He twisted, breaking her grip on the handle when diving for the knives, and like a graceful Balinese dancer he brought them up, whirling in his hands. He scissor sliced deep gouges in the floating demon’s side. A hellish, foul-smelling stream of red steam sizzled, billowing from the wounds cut by the blessed blades.

  Coming to the demon-sheriff’s aid, the divine seductress, Calypso, floated toward him. She stopped. A puzzled expression furrowed her delicate brow before looking down. A thorned bush shot up from beneath her, wrapping its branches around her dangling feet. Slowly, it climbed and cocooned her legs.

  Roger’s voice came from behind me, but he wasn’t speaking English. “Defend nos in proelio. Uriel, succurrat... esto praesidium nobis. Defend us, for we are in battle. Uriel, come to our aid… become a protection for us. Defend nos in proelio. Uriel….” Chanting, he read Latin from the book in his hands. As he spoke, an orange mist drifted off the page and wafted along the ground to where it solidified, transforming into the thorned bush imprisoning the Nymph.

  My faith faltered, and I expected Phoenix to annihilate them both for interfering. I yelled, “Phoenix, I’m the one you want. Come and take the talisman if you can.”

  I expected the fallen angel to fry me with some spectacular show of his arcane might. I knew I had no defense against his superior force, but I couldn’t let him attack my friends. They might have a chance if only I could distract this winged terror long enough for them to deal with his hellish sidekicks.

  Phoenix jerked my direction, just as if I had pulled the strings of a marionette. His eyes large and bewildered, he stepped toward me, and fear overtook me.

  I closed my eyes, waiting for his attack. I waited, but no bolt of lightning or column of fire fell from heaven. I opened them and to my astonishment, Jimmy, wearing the translucent blue armor I saw before, had surprised the fallen angel by engaging him in battle.

  Phoenix flexed his wings, trying to free himself from the headlock Jimmy held him in. The astral armor radiated brightly as he slammed his gauntleted fist into the winged hellion’s face. With crackling pops, the air sparkled, and scattered bolts of lightning arched from Phoenix’s wingtips across to where Jimmy stood pounding the angel into submission. The brilliant bolts crackled, sparking, and dancing over the translucent-blue, astral-armor and leaving Jimmy unharmed. A pungent scent reminiscent of burnt wiring filled my nostrils and made me light-headed.

  I remembered the words of Reuwel. “Jimmy must survive and only then will he come into the power of his gifting.” The big lug had not only survived but possessed a brilliant blue armor supernaturally protecting him from Phoenix’s mystical strikes. Tapping into the strength of Samson, Brawny Jimmy Dugan wrestled with the fallen angel.

  “Unhand me, mortal. You know not what damage I can inflict upon you.” The chorus-like harmony of the angel’s voice sounded so appealing, but Jimmy didn’t look impressed. His supernatural shielding must have been deflecting the charm of Phoenix’s voice.

  The rookie cop had been hiding—grim terror written on his face. When he heard the angel’s voice, his fears dissipated, for he came out of hiding and uncontrollably moved toward Phoenix, attracted by his charm. He stood in the open—dazed.

  The young officer ran toward Phoenix. Almost running over Flower, he stopped twenty feet from the angel and fell to his knees. “Master, what can I do for you? I am at your command."

  Releasing the handle on Stoney’s harness, Flower reached out and grasped his arm. The officer went wide-eyed. Glancing around at where he was, he screamed like a child, jumped up, and ran behind the upright vault beside the statue of the harp playing angel.

  Without Flower’s power protecting him, Stoney hesitated, enamored by the sound of Phoenix’s voice. A dull, glassy expression glazed over his eyes. It was the same expression I saw on Seth’s face at the carnival. For Stoney, it lasted only a second, but that second was long enough for fate to interfere.

  The demon-sheriff took advantage of Stoney’s temporary stupor. Wasting no time, he extended his claws another six inches. Laughing maniacally, he tore deep gouges into Stoney’s perfect abs.

  Stoney gasped for air and fell limp. His irises rolled up under his open eyelids as his face took on a gray pallor. He gasped one last time before he died.

  Roger was too far away for Flower to help him resist Phoenix’s charm; while I stood by—helpless. My contribution, as I saw it, was to hold on to the talisman so neither the angel nor his ilk could claim it.

  Roger looked up at the angel with admiration. Losing his concentration, the thorned bush stopped entangling Calypso, releasing her to push free of its pain-laden branches.

  She fixed her gaze on him and demanded, “Give me the book.”

  Roger obeyed, offering it to her.

  I felt helpless to intervene. I didn’t have glowing armor or the ability to read chants out of the cryptic Book of Uriel. Neither did I have supernaturally blessed swords. Fearfully, I thought all I could do was watch.

  A thud drew my attention back to Jimmy as he grappled with Phoenix. Executing one of his signature wrestling moves Coach Garcia taught him, Jimmy threw the angel over his head and to the ground. Phoenix slammed hard onto his back. Wings sprawled and air knocked out of him, he bounced, flipped over in the air, and landed face down in the dirt. His silky hair flowed across his face, concealing his shame.

  Jimmy wasted no time. He pounced on the angel. Stretching himself across the angel’s shoulders, he gripped one arm with his legs and the other arm he locked tight with his own hands. Then Jimmy twisted, forcing the angel’s arms behind him. Phoenix grunted and grimaced in pain. Jimmy pulled hard enough to break any normal opponent’s arms. Another twist and the big guy got a knee into Phoenix’s back and pulled harder. To free himself, the angel lunged forward, adding pressure on his already stressed arms.

  A loud crack and Phoenix screamed in agony. The popping of ligaments separating from angelic bone snapped loudly. The angel’s arms folded behind him, and Jimmy forced Phoenix’s face into the sanctified soil. It sizzled and smoke billowed from under the long blond locks. When he raised his head, burned scars streaked across the angel’s once majestic face.

  At the utterance of Phoenix’s anguished cry, the graves around us burst into flame. In every direction for two hundred feet, rectangular spaces flared and blazed. Phoenix took a deep breath. His wings jerked and flexed outward, projecting a shock wave violent enough to hurl Jimmy off his back.

  Jimmy tumbled before he regained his footing and slid backward. His feet slipped over the grassy lawn like a skater on ice. He braced himself by extending a leg behind him. Coming to a stop, Jimmy flexed his muscles and his astral armor glowed a brilliant blue.

  Phoenix pulled his shoulders up and stretched his arms outward. He made a swishing sound like a paddle stirring water. His shapeless muscles began again to take on the form of strong limbs. Ligaments slowly reattached to the bone until he moved his arms back and forth—finally, he could bend them once more.

  “What trickery is this?” The angelic voice was no longer an alluring chorus but a unison of raging screeches, “No mortal can do these things you do.” He wiped the dirt off his disfigured face with his arm and blinked. Surely, he saw what I was seeing. Jimmy in glowing, translucent blue armor, shielded with supernatural steel, and lumbering toward him.

  In an unnatural act, Phoenix opened h
is mouth and dropped his jaw—distending it like a serpent preparing to swallow a fresh kill. He bared his glistening razor-like teeth and flicked his slender forked tongue. A thunderous roar bellowed from his lips.

  His entire body vibrated, and again his wings flared and shimmered. This time he extended them to their full spread. The concussive bolt generated by the angel’s rage shook the ground. The gravestones caught in the blast shattered like glass. The attack lifted Jimmy off his feet and tossed him like a rag doll. He hit the ground with enough force to break every bone in his body. The astral steel flickered before going dark—it vanished. He lay still on a mound of drifted dirt and shattered stone.

  Roger stepped forward, extending The Book of Uriel out to Calypso. I grabbed his arm and shook him, but he pulled away from me and moved closer to the gorgeous Nymph.

  I reached out my hand, preparing to enter his mind when the eight-pointed star embossed on the book’s leather blindingly radiated an intense orange aura. In the shadow of the dark buzzing cloud, it glowed like hot metal fresh from the fire.

  A florescent mist exuded from its pages and Roger stepped into the vibrant fog as he walked. Like a magnet drawn to steel, it enveloped him, coated him, and crystalized into a thin barrier—he blinked. Awareness flickered in his eyes and he stepped back. The orange coating still adhered to him as he moved. Opening the book, he tumbled through several pages, searching for another verse he could use to attack the Nymph.

  Calypso went into a fit of rage. With an evil smile, she formed a kiss, unnatural and vile. Opening her mouth, she spit white-hot ash from between her blood-red lips. It dusted over the orange crystalline coating, turning it a mottled-gray granite. Roger stood there—a boy turned to stone.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The Sword of Gabriel

  With his stomach gashed open, Stoney fell at Flower’s feet. The demonized sheriff licked his claws and laughed before he drew back for another blow. This one he aimed at Flower.

  She threw herself at the Sheriff clutching his ankles. Instantly, the demon started convulsing. Still, her grip hardened, her healing prowess surging up through the dead body of Sheriff Briggs. Flower’s face grimaced with intense pain.

  The demon cried out, “Stop. Do not bring another consciousness into this host. I can’t remain in this form if he returns. Healer, I beg of you, do not force me out into the air.”

  The trauma of merely attempting to resurrect the dead sent Flower into some kind of seizure, forcing her to let go. I doubted she could have continued to revive Briggs, but her initial flow of healing power put the sheriff into extreme distress.

  Sheriff Briggs convulsed in fits of nausea. Vomiting green gore, he doubled over. Great gobs of foul-smelling, puss-like corruption spewed out onto the cemetery lawn. Moments later, the hellion regained control and fled from her.

  Allowing the demon to escape, she took a deep breath before flinging herself onto Stoney’s corpse. Upon contact with his skin, she writhed and cried out in pain. Both corpse and healer shuttered and writhed. Flower, unwilling to release her grip, screamed with every spasm and uncontrollable contortion. Finally, she had successfully revived him. Pale and still as death itself, she lay across Stoney.

  He scrambled from underneath her, his wounds still mending. Pressing onward into battle, he snatched up his daggers. Stoney began slicing, swinging his blades, and hacking at the monster’s extended arm.

  The hellish thing screamed in pain. Clutching with its left hand at its dangling and listless right arm. Before my eyes, the grotesque appendage disintegrated. The sheriff-monster went berserk.

  Roger stood next to me, as gray as granite. Calypso turned her wrath on me and puckered her heart-shaped mouth into another kiss. Helpless and angry, not knowing what else to do, I mocked her, “I hope that swarm of files comes back and eats you alive.”

  Horror-struck, her eyes grew large, and she looked skyward. The cloud of flies swarming high above dove toward her. The roar of their buzzing became deafening as the horrid insects swarmed to cover every inch of her beautiful body. She screamed and spasmed in pain as they tore into her immortal flesh. Dipping in midair like an airplane encountering turbulence, she plummeted to the ground. Upon contact with the consecrated soil, her skin sizzled; boils erupted on her flesh, emptying rivers of odious puss onto the mass of buzzing flies, and her hair began smoldering. The stench of burned flesh and hair filled the air. Her entire body glowed a bright red, and she burst into flames. The mass of the swarming flies flew down from the heavens, hurling themselves into the fire, and clearing the sky of the flying terrors.

  I wasn’t sure what had just happened. It felt exactly like it did when I called the rain into existence at Woodstock. There, my words had changed the weather. Here my words had shaken the earth and cursed an evil Nymph with a pestilence of biblical proportions. Realization and confidence surged through me. I was the prophet. It was about time I started acting like one.

  I turned to Roger, extended my hand, and commanded, “Be free of Calypso’s wicked charm.”

  The gray stone statue started cracking. Chunks fell off of Roger, setting him free. When they touched the sanctified ground, the rocks melted like snow on a warm day. Roger snapped the book shut and staggered. Before he collapsed, I clumsily caught him and sat him down.

  He exhaled an emotional sigh. “Where is that dancing witch?” Roger asked. “She can’t do that and get away with it.”

  “She’s gone. We did it,” I replied, knowing that the worst of the battle was yet to come.

  I propped Roger up with one hand while holding the talisman with the other. So far, this Talisman of Uriel had proved to be useless. I knew there was some reason the hellish horde wanted it, and they were willing to do anything to get it. I just hadn’t figured out how to unlock whatever power it contained.

  “Good work, kid.” The gravelly voice came from his corner of my mind.

  “Mr. Dark, it’s about time you showed up.” I sneered. “Afraid of a little skirmish?”

  “Arland, I had a skirmish of my own. Calypso pulled me away from you and weakened our connection. I’ve been hiding in the void of purgatory, tending to my wounds and gaining strength enough to bring myself here. I finally make it back and what do I find, but you endangering yourself again. When are you going to learn to run from the battle instead of plunging into the fray? You only have one weapon.”

  “That’s the point, Dark. I finally found my weapon,” I retorted.

  “Woo-hoo. I’ll never hear the end of it, will I?”

  “You didn’t ask what it is,” I said.

  “I’ve known ever since Phoenix prophesied over you. It’s your words. You’re the one struggling with the identity crisis, not me. Remember what the evil angel said, ‘…by the word of the prophet…’ I thought he made it perfectly clear.”

  “You could have shared that with me,” I complained. “If there’s something you can do to help, do it. If not, shut up.” Instantly silence filled the corner of my mind from where Mr. Dark’s voice came from.

  Across the cemetery, Jimmy had tumbled, crashing into stone crosses, monoliths, and headstones behind him. When the Phoenix’s blast ceased, he lay on a pile of drifted dirt and broken stone. As far as I could tell, the intense concussion knocked him a good twenty yards. His armor gave a dim flicker until finally, the light slowly died away.

  Phoenix advanced on him, stomping the ground as he approached.

  I yelled, “Stop.”

  The winged hellion only hesitated. Evidently, my power couldn’t control an angel.

  I reached my hand toward him and yelled, “Trip.”

  Phoenix stumbled and fell into the sanctified soil. The bare skin around his white linen tabard sizzled. Yellow flames flickered from underneath him and when he pushed himself upright, the side of his thigh not covered by his linen was marred from his belt down with streaks of red scars. For a moment he staggered in confusion.

  Without warning, Jimmy’s armor flashed
a dazzling blue—even in the light of day, its blinding glow made me shield my eyes and turn away. He scrambled to his feet and took a defensive stance.

  I stood near the praying hands monument some ten yards behind Phoenix. Holding the talisman, I looked at it. The thing was doing no one any good in my hand. I judged the distance between Jimmy and me—it had to be at least thirty yards.

  Phoenix inhaled, preparing to belt the big guy with another blast.

  I yelled, “Jimmy, catch!”

  Uncoiling all the power in my cocked arm, I let loose with the longest pass I’d ever thrown. The talisman soared through the air as Jimmy ran my way to make the catch. Phoenix saw what I had done. He flapped his wings and rocketed up to intercept it. The mystic medallion flew past his arms and into Jimmy’s hands.

  Upon touching the blue glow, the talisman transformed into a sword. The patterned curling in the flat metal ran throughout the length of its thirty-inch double-edged blade. Ornate wings adorned the guard, and a topaz gem butted into the hilt. Jimmy’s armor glistened brighter than ever, and the sword took on a fiery blue radiance.

  Roger yelled, “That’s the fabled Sword of Gabriel. It has only one purpose—to extinguish evil.”

  Phoenix gasped and flew to retrieve the sword he left embedded in the ground. Gripping it with both hands, he lifted it toward the heavens. “No sword can stand against the mighty Sword of Ishtar.”

  Flower struggled to her feet—recovering from the ordeal of healing Stoney’s fatal wounds. She cried out, “Phoenix, I think you are wrong. This is a sword forged by the angels. I’d wager that it can sever angelic bone from immortal flesh.”

  “Phoenix, is that fear I see in your face?” I mocked.

  His gait no longer full of swagger, he lumbered. His wings dropped to his sides. They lost the luster he radiated in self-bolstering flutters. In silence, he held Ishtar’s sword at the ready. It blazed into a torrent of fire four feet long.