“Likewise,” Nathaniel answered, drawing his sidearm. “See you in a better place, my friend.” He opened fire but it was in vain.
Within seconds, the demon swept down on the two Crusaders his huge leathery wings colliding with both at once and sending them exploding backwards, end-over-end to smash into the stone wall with bone crunching finality. They lay in crumbled heaps, bleeding and twisted in ways that could only signify death. Their weapons lay scattered about them on the floor.
Adramelech turned toward Malachi who held his ground in front of the awful apparition. The cardinal snatched up one of several wooden stakes from where the two Crusaders fell and, extending a metal Crucifix before him, advanced towards the demon now standing on the stone in front of the dead priests. The Beast felt his bowels turning to jelly. Still, determined not to show weakness, he laughed a deep guttural bellow that halted the cardinal in his tracks.
Meanwhile, another man was running to the side to take Malachi out of the line of fire; he raised a weapon and fired six shots towards Adramelech. All connected and the demon could see the fright on Cruickshank’s face when he failed to react to the bullets hitting him.
“Bloody hell...what kind of creature are you?” the detective shouted.
Adramelech ignored him and slashed one wing outward sweeping Malachi off his feet. The Crucifix and the stake went spinning away across the floor.
“We will defeat you, Son of Satan,” Malachi gasped, from his prone position, trying vainly to stand. His legs, badly bruised and leg muscles contracting in angry spasms, refused to cooperate.
“How flowery,” Adramelech commented in a relatively normal voice, a frightful contrast to his other-worldly appearance. “I like that. Son of Satan. Sort of like Son of Sam, one of my better pupils. Ready to die?”
“As a satanic being Adramelech, you know there is no death,” Malachi said, looking desperately to see if he could reach any sort of weapon. Father Nathaniel and Father Oberon, lying against the wall, would not be of help anymore, God rest their souls. “God looks after those who do not forsake Him as you and your evil master did so long ago.”
“Forsake Him?” Adramelech crowed. “We nearly vanquished Him and banished Him from His own Kingdom. And, I’ll let you in on a little secret; we are getting stronger all the time. Hopefully, you’ve been astute enough to have figured out that earth is merely a battleground for good and evil? And, that each soul that comes to Satan is another arrow in our quiver. At the end of this apostasy, there will be a totaling up of those souls already burning in hell without redemption, and a total rendering of His souls...doing whatever they do up there. Then we’ll see who won and who finally presides over this human zoo.”
Adramelech paused for a moment and chuckled. “The way you have turned from Him on earth is even shameful to the inhabitants of hell. Where is your charity and kindness towards one another? Where is your intolerance for blasphemy and cruelty? Where is your righteousness? Indeed, how can earth’s inhabitants have hope when they have lost their spirituality, their morality and their ethics? Instead you have appointed money as your God; why don’t you just get rid of those infernal Crucifixes and put up a dollar bill...or better yet...a euro in your churches?”
Malachi, wincing at the pain, matched him: “There are people on earth who may fall prey to your evil manipulations, Beast, but mankind is inherently good. There is recognition and atonement from the faithful. There is acknowledgement of our God, people doing good works, and hope for a better world.”
“Well, that’s what this is all about...isn’t it?” Adramelech agreed. “Who will triumph? As for seeing through our manipulations, what of your own machinations to create saints and heroes out of a bunch of poor, miserable, dead pawns? Good works indeed!” He shook his head and laughed. “Well forgive me! Mother Theresa and her hospitals? Unsanitary places, fronts to solicit donations where people died alright...needlessly. But when it came to herself, she made sure she was treated at the best hospitals in the world. Her institute’s account had more than $40 million in it when she finally cashed in her chips. Give me a break. Poverty was just her sticht.
“Saint Jude, the Patron Saint of travelers? I hear he bails at the first sign of danger. Get a speeding ticket and he drops you like an insurance company. And, I love your Saint Francis of Assisi, the Patron Saint of Animals. That’s a hot one. He liked animals alright; he liked them boiled, fried and stewed. You all make me wretch thinking about your poster children, your self-serving rituals and your baseless and flawed doctrine.”
Malachi tried to rise once more but fell back. “I am not here to debate you, heathen...I am here to stop you preying on the souls of our Mother the Church. You are not of this earth. Go back to hell!”
“Dear, dear Cardinal...how can you be so self-deluded? You’re in no position to stop anything lying there like a beaten cur. But enough pleasantries dear prince of the oh-so-holy Catholic Church – now is your time.”
“Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name....” Malachi said, gallantly struggling to rise even though prepared for death. Adramelech raised himself to his full height and made ready to tear the life from the cardinal. To the side, Cruickshank suddenly emptied his Webley into the Beast again, the six shots echoing off the walls.
Adramelech staggered from the impact of the slugs and looked over at the Chief Superintendent in annoyance. “Now you’ve made me angry you annoying little ant,” he screamed. “Prepare to meet your absentee maker.” And then to Malachi: “Rest well in the knowledge that, Satan Most High, will fight to claim your soul for one of our own, even if it’s on the basis of ineptitude.”
“We have more Relics, monster. You will not destroy them all...and one day we will put one in your heart that will finish you for good.” Malachi again tried to rise to fight but his bruised leg muscles simply refused to hold him and he collapsed.
At the mention of the word Relic, Adramelech abruptly backed up and then spun about and took wing towards the broken window at the end of the hall leaving a shaken and surprised Malachi, and an equally shaken Cruickshank. They looked at each other as the beast paused only briefly on the lip of the broken window and then vanished outside. The Scotland Yard detective let out a long sigh of relief and made his way over to the wounded Malachi. He surveyed the carnage, shaking his head. In the understatement of his career he said shakily: “Rather nasty chap, isn’t he?”
~ 14 ~
A strong arm suddenly encircled Maria and squeezed her sternum expelling water from her lungs. Clay dragged her upwards with powerful kicks of his legs. A second later they broke the surface. He squeezed her to him, expelling more water.
He managed to keep their heads up and desperately blew air into Maria’s lungs several times as he tread water. He tightened his hold on her forcing more water from her mouth and she finally coughed and took a small breath. On exhale, another brackish discharge spewed from her nose and mouth. She gasped once more, coughed several times, discharged more water, and finally welcomed pure, sweet air back into her lungs. After another minute of alternately coughing and gasping, she was finally able to breathe semi-normally. Clay swam with one hand pulling Maria to the outer edge of the moat where an earthen wall with old roots sticking out of it went straight up. A faint light from the broken window spilled down and shimmered on the water.
“God, God...oh-my...God,” Maria cried, when she had her breathing under control. “Clay, t-thank you.” She hung onto a root with both hands, the occasional cough still wracking her frame. Finally she shook water from her face and looked about: “The-the Relic...where is the Relic?”
Two explosions rocked the inside of the castle. A pressure wave blew out more of the now weakened window and both instinctively ducked as huge shards of glass and pieces of broken leading splashed down around them. The light from the explosions, flickering through the window, enabled Clay to spot the aluminum case bobbing about twenty feet away.
He floated Maria around him and eased her against the moa
t wall so she could continue hanging onto the exposed roots. Reaching the case in a few powerful strokes, he grabbed the handle and arrived back with it just as a root broke off and Maria started to sink. She grabbed another one. It broke too. Clay began treading water again trying to keep them both afloat. Neither could find a secure handhold. Exhausted, their efforts became weaker by the second. Every time they managed to grab any purchase at all, it broke away. Though using the aluminum case as a floatation device, the weight of their soaked clothes dragged them progressively lower in the water with each passing second.
Maria tried to kick to help hold them up, but her legs were now numbed by the freezing water. Her brain shunted blood to her vital organs depriving her limb muscles of the oxygen they needed to keep functioning; they began to cramp.
How ironic, Clay thought, to have somehow made it out of that hell hole alive and to drown in the very water that had saved them when they fell. “I-I don’t know how long...we can do...this,” he stammered, the cold becoming paralytic. Already he was also having difficulty feeling his legs as he strove to keep them pumping.
“Reach up.”
“What?” Clay said.
“I-I didn’t say anything,” she gasped.
“Reach up, fer Jesus’ sake!” The command came again in a deep, strong voice, but this time with the attached Irish lilt slightly more pronounced; Father Murphy was reaching a strong hand down towards them.
“Father Murphy!” Maria exclaimed, gratefully. “Thank the Lord.”
Clay immediately extended his hand and felt Murphy’s strong grip secure him. Clay held on to Maria as Murphy began hauling him upward.
“I-I can’t raise you both,” Murphy said. “One at a time.”
Clay let go and pushed Maria and the case up with his last bit of energy. He completely submerging himself in the process as the priest grabbed her. He came back to the surface sputtering and shaking from the cold. Within seconds both of them were laying full length on the grass panting and shivering violently.
“Where-where did you come from?” Clay gasped, remaining prone as pins and needles attacked his legs and feet, and the feelings reluctantly returned.
“There’s donnybrook going on inside,” Murphy said, ignoring the question. “I blew the first door partly off for them when I saw their helicopter landing. Apparently I used a wee bit too much of a charge and set the chopper back on its arse. Knocked me into next week too. I was down for the count and woke up in a gulley over there just as they blew off the second door to get in. I was trying to find which way was up and you two come blasting through the window. We don’t have much time. Both of you have to get as far away from here as possible.”
“W-Who is in there,” Clay asked, as the sound of six revolver shots echoed from the hall.
“Cardinal Malachi himself...and the Crusaders,” Murphy answered. “And that Scotland Yard detective is there as well but surely wishing to God he was home in front of the telly.”
“Adramelech is too strong now,” Maria interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. “Without the Relic they can’t possibly kill him.”
“I think it’s a little late for any of that Sister. But if you really want me to do it, I will try to get the Relic back inside and in the cardinal’s hands,” Murphy offered.
“No Father, I must–!” She stopped and stared back at the shattered, stained glass window. Clay and Murphy followed her gaze and their hearts sank.
Silhouetted against the light from within, standing on the edge of the broken sill with wings extended, Adramelech waited like a huge bird of prey.
“Shush!” Murphy whispered quietly. “For the love of God, be still.” Slowly, cautiously, he opened his long, dark cape and quietly slid between Clay and Maria on the ground, extending it to cover their yellow anoraks and the aluminum case; their only hope was a measure of camouflage. The priest also lowered his head, his broad-brimmed black hat shielding his face. They were nothing but a black lump on the black earth.
The demon stood on the shattered window’s ledge for a full minute, twisting his head from left to right to listen and then, finally with a heavy beat of his wings, took to the sky. His dark shadow soon crossed the face of the moon – a devil incarnate on a mission of death.
There were no more sounds coming from within the castle.
“He’ll be back,” Murphy said. “Give me your jackets. And, take off those bright sweaters; they make you stand out in the dark; they’re sodden anyway.”
They complied and he held a sweater and anorak in each hand. “Listen to me carefully,” the priest said. “The demon is out here now. I’ve no idea if there is anyone inside alive so we’ll assume they’re dead. He’ll be scanning the moor for warm bodies. Everything has gone badly and it’s unlikely the Relic could be used effectively anyhow. I am going to take your yellow jackets and try and draw him off by crossing the moor. You must save the Relic for another time. Head for the cliff edge; I saw a pathway a few feet down when I was casing the joint earlier. It will take you away along the cliff towards the east. Stay below the level of the ground as long as you can and then come up and get back to Stornoway. Take refuge in any church and call Monsignor Rautenberg. He will make arrangements to get you and the Relic back to Rome. Live to fight another day.” He handed his satellite phone to Clay who stored it in his pocket.
“What about you?” Clay asked.
“I will do what I was meant to do. I’m an old man and I’ll make him mad so it will be quick. Later...I hope many years later...we’ll all meet in Heaven for an ale. Oh...tell Ronny....”
Clay looked at him. “Ronny?”
“Father Langevin,” Murphy said. “Tell him- tell...just tell him there’s no ‘doubting Dermott’ any longer.” He raised his hand and made the sign of the cross over Maria and Clay, giving them his blessing. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost...Amen. Now, both of you...be off! Run!”
Without further ado, he rose and set off across the moor directly away from the cliffs. Soon he began to run. When the priest was tired, he walked. He did this for ten minutes until he sensed, rather than saw, a black shadow in the clear sky behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and the shadow blotted out the stars to his right; it could only be the Beast. He raised the yellow anoraks high over his head with each hand to simulate the presence of two people and began to run.
Father Dermott Murphy ran before the wind. His age seemed to drop off as he pounded across the grass and leaped over rocks like a seventeen-year-old. He held the garments high and drove himself faster and faster, away from the edge of the cliff, away from Maria and Clay. He ran, not to save his life but to fulfill a destiny that had been his since he was born.
Far above, Satan’s emissary prowled the night sky determined to find and seize a holy weapon that could surely defeat him.
Below, as he ran, Father Murphy noticed a larger-than-normal ball of Light hovering in the sky. In front of him now, it flared and pulsed as though powered from within and he found it impossible to look away from it. Strangely, as he flew over the rough ground, rather than experiencing terror at what he knew was to come, a feeling of contentment and calmness washed over him. In fact, for the first time in his life, he realized that he now understood the true meaning of the word grace. A wonderfully warm feeling of deliberate sacrifice, of boundless charity and limitless forgiveness filled his body and soul.
Indeed, he never even felt Adramelech fly up behind him and drive a claw through his spine to seize and rip out his heart in a bloody extraction. Father Murphy was still smiling when he hit the ground. Moments later, when he stood up, he realized he was formless, but that didn’t stop him from directing his smile up towards the Light.
~ 15 ~
Clay and Maria raced like spooked deer. The wind was dampening slightly and now blowing from the northwest as they reached the cliffs.
“Are you alright,” he called to her, between painful gasps as they ran.
“Yes,” Maria a
nswered in a somewhat detached manner, slowing as they neared the cliff edge. She had stubbornly refused to allow Clay to carry the Relic.
They made the edge of the precipice and looked over at the jagged rocks and at the oversized breakers falling on them with thunderous booms far below. Maria shuddered. Then she summoned her strength for what was to come and turned to Clay with a gentle smile.
“We have to find the path down the cliff,” he said, urgently, looking left and right.
Maria didn’t answer.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The two of them looked up at the endless night sky filled with the milky wash of stars and a bloated full moon riding low in the heavens over the moor. When they turned and dropped their gaze, it was to the immense sea where a river of reflected moonlight from behind bisected it extending as far as they could see. Both vistas seemed to signify a new beginning, an endless and mysterious journey stretching far into the future. The wind even seemed warmer and more comforting now.
“Let’s get going,” he said, trying again.
Maria pulled him away from the edge and turned her back to the ocean. She stared over Clay’s shoulder.
He turned.
About a mile away, an unnaturally large Light pulsed in the night sky. Star-like, it was too low to be a natural heavenly body. As they watched, a smaller but equally intense ball of light moved slowly up from the moor and headed towards the Light on high where it merged making the original flare brighter for a brief second.
“Father Murphy,” Maria breathed.
Before Clay could comment, two other equally intense globes of light moved away from the castle and also headed upward towards the larger Light. For some reason, Clay felt a profound sadness and loss; a lump began to grow in his throat. “W-what are they?” he asked, barely able to speak. Deep down, however, he already knew the answer.
“Souls,” Maria said quietly. She placed an arm around Clay as they watched the remaining two merge with the others. “Father Nathaniel and Father Oberon.”
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