Piercing the Darkness

by Frank Peretti

  He was thinking of all those young, impressionable children sitting in all those classrooms down there, and what they must be learning right now. As usual, most of his spirit underlings were occupied with that task. They were the best, and he reveled in the fact that for the past several years, ever since the laws had been changed, their job had been so much easier. Oh, how quickly men could accept the most outrageous of lies once the Truth was removed from consideration! Yes, there were still some bold saints of God lurking about like stubborn weeds in this otherwise flourishing garden, causing trouble with their protests, parent-teacher conferences, telephone babblings, and notes, notes, notes to the teachers, but . . .

  Ango wheezed out another sulfurous laugh and rolled like a playful pup on the black tar. No matter. They were losing. Let them protest. He held all the power here.

  MOTA, STRONG, TALL, and deep bronze, stood with his sword in his hand, his piercing eyes on the Bacon’s Corner Elementary School, and his feet in about eight inches of chicken manure. His oriental friend and fellow-warrior Signa stood beside him, as deep into the same predicament. Were they not angelic spirits, it would have been most unpleasant. As it was, they were not disturbed by their surroundings, and the eight hundred cackling leghorns were not aware of their presence in this old chicken house.

  It was Friday, and almost time for lunch and the noon recess.

  “She’s on her way,” said Signa.

  “Now,” said Mota.

  They were gone.

  THE BELL RANG for lunch. Ango could hear all the classroom doors opening and the mobs of children filling the halls. Recess would be an enjoyable time, just like always. What corruption the teachers could not spread in the classroom, the children could spread among themselves on the playground.

  “Hail!” came a booming voice behind him.

  “Aaaak!” Ango’s sword was immediately in his hand as he spun to face the heavenly warrior. Oh, he was a big brute! A massive Polynesian, shining like lightning, with wings that scattered the fire of the sun. His sword was drawn, and it glimmered with a living light, but he held it downward, the tip resting on the roof.

  “Forces!” Ango screamed, and fifty demons popped up through the roof like startled gophers with squawks and hoots of surprise and rage. They surrounded the big warrior.

  “What brings you here?” Ango demanded.

  But Mota wanted a little more space. He raised his sword, held it straight out at waist level, and began to sweep it in a wide circular arc around him. The seething, hissing spirits backed off when the tip of the sword passed under their chugging noses.

  Now he was more comfortable, and spoke. “I’m looking for a petty little lizard called . . . Ankle . . . Inkle . . .”

  “You seek Ango!”

  Mota smiled and raised his index finger. “Yes! Ingo, that’s it!”

  “Ango!” the demon corrected.

  TWO GUARDS WERE at their posts by the main door when Sigma dropped out of the sky like a ball of lightning and knocked them both to the ground by his sheer presence.

  “Forces!” they screamed, struggling to their feet, grabbing their swords. Twenty demons were immediately on hand, swords drawn, eyes gawking at this visitor.

  One spirit shot out of the school in careless haste, not wanting to miss anything, his sword waving, his wings whirring. He got too close to the warrior.

  Whoosh! The sword moved so fast it looked like a disk of light. Shredded particles of the spirit fluttered and floated in all directions, trailing red smoke and dissolving out of sight. The tip of the sword was now poised and ready for the next brazen attacker.

  No one felt that brazen. They remained like statues, their eyes on this warrior. He remained motionless as well, watching them with his fiery eyes.

  SALLY ROE REACHED up and pulled the bell cord. The little bell at the front of the bus went ding, and the driver slowed for the next stop along the Toe Springs–Claytonville Road. She could see the Bacon’s Corner Elementary School just ahead. She’d never been inside, but somehow she’d just have to find her way around without being seen by too many people. She’d done as much as she could to look unlike Sally Roe; she had her hair—black now—braided and pinned behind her head; she’d found some sunglasses that could pass for tinted eyewear, although they bothered her; she knew her old factory clothes would not be a good idea, so she’d managed to purchase a casual outfit—slacks, blouse, loafers. Apart from that, she could only hope that no one at this little school had ever seen her before or knew who she was.

  The bus pulled to a stop, and she got off right in front of the school.

  MOTA STILL SEEMED unsure. “No . . . it cannot be Ango. I see no one here who fits what I have heard of him. I seek Ango the small, weak, and pitiful.”

  Ango could feel the stares of his subordinates. Of course they wanted to see what he would do. He raised his sword, and they all did the same. “The Ango you seek is mighty! He is Ba-al of this place!”

  “Ba-al?” Mota asked. “A spirit with only half a heart, and less of a brain?”

  “Gaaaa!!” Ango cried, raising his sword over his head. “I am Ango!”

  He brought his sword down in a red, glowing blur. The huge sword of the warrior was there instantly and took the blow.

  Mota was surprised. This little demon could strike hard, with much greater strength than Mota expected. He hid his concern, however, and only acted as if he finally realized whom he was addressing. “Ooohhhh . . .”

  “Forces—” Ango screamed.

  Mota thrust his sword right under Ango’s nose. “Before you attack . . .” Ango swallowed the order. “I would like to state my business with you.”

  SIGNA HAD THE attention of the guards in front of the school and at least half the demons from inside it.

  “And now,” he said, “we’d like to take a look inside this school.”

  The guards spit sulfur at him, and for a moment he was blinded. He raised his sword in defense and tried to clear his eyes, stumbling backwards out onto the school lawn. The guards followed him, pushing him back, waving their swords. The other spirits felt a new courage, and moved in closer, hissing, spitting, holding their swords high.

  They were not watching the door.

  SALLY WALKED BRISKLY up the front walk and through the door. The clock in the main hall said she was on time; it was 11:50, time for lunch break. Now to find Miss Brewer’s classroom, Room 105. It was either to the left or the right, but first she’d have to pass by the school office. There was a receptionist standing behind the counter, and several office personnel working at desks behind her. Well, she thought, if I just look like I know what I’m doing, maybe they won’t ask to help me.

  She headed for the hall, walking by the reception counter, keeping her eyes ahead, not slowing her walk, not looking bewildered. Come on, Sally, make it convincing.

  “DON’T YOU MOVE!” said the demon behind the counter. “Don’t you come one step closer to me!”

  Chimon and Scion had come in with Sally, and were now standing at the counter, their wings unfurled, totally blocking any view of the hallway. Their swords were drawn, but at their sides. They didn’t speak, but just looked at this slimy creature yelling at them.

  “How did you get in here?” the demon demanded. “Guards!”

  Suddenly Scion’s hot blade rested right between the demon’s yellow fangs. He thought it best not to pronounce another word.

  THE RECEPTIONIST LOOKED at the clock. Hmm. Miss Brewer was expecting a visitor today; the receptionist thought she’d heard someone come in, but there was no one in the hall. Well, the visitor must be a little late.

  SALLY TOOK A left turn down the hall, disappearing around the corner. It had to be a miracle that that lady behind the counter had not seen her. Oh well. Now to find Room 105.

  Good! Here was Room 103, and now Room 104, and bingo! Room 105!

  She stood in the open doorway and knocked on the jamb.

  Miss Brewer, the young and pretty fourt
h grade teacher, rose from her desk with a welcoming smile and extended her hand. “Hello. You must be Mrs. Jenson!”

  Sally took her hand and replied pleasantly, “And you are Miss Brewer.”

  “Please come in.”

  I can’t believe I’m doing this, Sally thought. She immediately stopped thinking such things—it could ruin her act.

  Miss Brewer motioned Sally to a chair beside her desk and then continued to the bookshelf behind it. “So how are things at the Association?”

  Sally sat down and kept her eyes on Miss Brewer. “Well, just wonderful so far. I’m really glad to be working for them now.”

  “Well,” said Miss Brewer, pulling a loose-leaf binder from the shelf, “we’ve certainly enjoyed this curriculum, and the kids really take to it. Most of our parents are very pleased.”

  She set the binder on the desk in front of Sally, and Sally smiled as she picked it up. On the cover were the words, “Sexual Understanding and Family Life, Fourth Grade.” At the bottom was the name of the publisher, Freeman Education Associates. She began to leaf through it.

  “Could I help you find what you’re looking for?”

  “Oh, don’t take your lunchtime to help me. I have a whole list of revisions . . . Let’s see, this is the newest edition, isn’t it? All right, that should make it easier, not quite as much to doublecheck.”

  “Just what was the problem?”

  Sally had her story well rehearsed. “Well, the quotes are accurate enough, but the sources didn’t feel the attributions were clearly enough stated, so now I have to prepare a reply and . . . wouldn’t you know it, I left my copy in the last town. Well, such are the hazards of being on the road.”

  “It must be exciting, though, servicing so many schools around the state. Has the curriculum been well received in other school districts?”

  “For the most part, yes.”

  Miss Brewer paused to think, then chuckled, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Having trouble with the right-wing fundamentalists?”

  Sally chuckled back and nodded. “That’s one reason I have to review all the attributions, to make sure everybody’s legally covered.”

  “Oh, what a world!”

  Sally took a chance. “Speaking of fundamentalist problems, I understand Amber Brandon was in your class?”

  Miss Brewer smiled with curiosity. “Now how did you know that?”

  “Well, yours is the only fourth grade class, and the paper said that the child involved in the lawsuit was in the fourth grade, and I learned somewhere that the child was Amber, so . . .”

  Amber’s former teacher nodded sadly. “Isn’t it awful? I’m glad they’re taking this thing to court. We’ve just got to stop all this harassment and censorship. Enough is enough.”

  “Listen, don’t let me keep you from lunch!”

  Miss Brewer set out for the door. “Can I bring you anything?”

  “Oh, no, don’t worry about me. I won’t be long anyway.”

  “Fine. Just take your time.”

  And with that, she was out the door and down the hall.

  Sally waited just a moment, then closed the binder and placed it back on the shelf it came from. Then she looked among the other binders, books, and materials for the title she was after. The kids in the class had drawn pictures of strange faces, weird animals, gods, and bizarre cartoon characters, and the drawings were still displayed on the walls, along with several complex, mesmerizing pattern studies. The curriculum had to be here.

  She found it.

  ANGO BEGAN TO curse at Mota as his demon warriors became steadily braver. “Out! Begone, you! This is our territory, and none of your concern!”

  Mota decided to push this demon a little. “Oh, is that what you think?”

  He made a move toward the roof, ready to pass through it and invade their little operation.

  “Attack!” Ango screamed, and every demon rushed forward, red blade flashing. “Away with him!”

  Mota shot skyward, drawing a horde of spirits after him. He stopped, flipped, faced them. His sword became a continuous ribbon of light.

  The first demon became two halves that passed by Mota on either side and then sank into oblivion. The second and third he swatted aside. He kicked and bowled down a cluster of eight. But they just kept coming, faster and faster, swinging and slashing with more and more strength. Mota had planned on putting on an act to keep them following him, but suddenly he found he was no longer acting. This fight was real.

  The next wave of spirits surged upward. He backed away, his wings reaching higher and higher. He couldn’t let this end too soon, but he was beginning to wish he could.

  To the west he saw Signa involved in a similar skirmish, taking some real attacks, whipping his sword about and drawing the guards away from the school. He was backing away, about to be surrounded.

  Chimon and Scion could hear the commotion all around the outside of the school. The demons sounded rather jubilant.

  “YAAA!!” Suddenly four huge demonic thugs exploded through the walls on every side, their teeth bared, their talons ready to tear.

  Chimon and Scion shot through the roof of the school like two rockets, retreating, totally surprised, and angry about it.

  “Where did they come from?” Chimon hollered.

  Scion was too busy defending himself against their swords and sharp teeth to answer. It was like being chased up a huge tree by a foaming pack of rabid dogs.

  They backed away, higher and higher, trying to stay clear of those whistling red blades. What horrible situation had they walked into?

  SALLY’S HANDS WERE shaking and she was afraid to open the three-ring binder now in her lap. The title sounded harmless enough: Finding the Real Me—Self-Esteem and Personal Fulfillment Studies for Fourth-Graders.

  She flipped the cover open and quickly perused the title page. She didn’t recognize the author’s name, but the name of the publisher immediately turned her stomach: The Omega Center for Educational Studies. With great effort, she turned several more pages, skimming the contents. She found a particular index tab and skipped far forward to a later chapter.

  Her heart was pounding as if she’d sprinted up a hill, and her hands were getting slick with sweat. They were shaking.

  The old torments! Her mind was beginning to race again. She could hear the voices calling, mocking, cursing. There were spirits in the room!

  She had to get out of there.

  She carried the binder to the shelf and tried to put it back. A large atlas fell over, blocking the slot. She almost whimpered out loud as her fingers dug after the fallen atlas, trying to get a grip on it. She lifted it, it slipped out of her fingers, she lifted it again, tried to hold it in place while she jammed the binder in. The binder got hung up on a bulging manila envelope and wouldn’t go in; she pressed the envelope aside with her palm.

  The binder slipped back into place. As soon as her fingers let go of it, her nausea began to ease.

  I’ve got to get out of here. Right now!

  She dashed for the hallway and then ran down to the north entrance, pushing her way outside as if running from a fire.

  ABOVE AND ALL around the school, the demons were just returning from a glorious rout. They had chased those pesky warriors of Heaven away at last, and now the territory of the glorious Ango was safe again.

  Far above the school, a safe distance away, Mota, Signa, Chimon, and Scion gathered to update each other.

  “What happened down there?” Chimon wondered.

  “Ango and his imps were never this strong!” said Signa, still rubbing the burning sulfur out of his eyes.

  Scion was checking a good-sized cut in his leg as he said, “We were all playing the fool to go into that thinking only of a diversion. They meant business!”

  Far below, looking as small as an insect on the vast green terrain, Sally was running back to the Toe Springs–Claytonville Road. She would probably run to the next bus stop instead of waiting in front of the school where
she might be seen. At least five taunting, torturing spirits were following her, buzzing about her head like angry hornets.

  “They’ll follow her to her next destination,” said Signa.

  “When they’re clear of this place we’ll take them out,” said Mota. “We can’t fight them here.”

  “Cree and Si are already at Omega. They have no idea what’s in store for them!”

  They all knew the problem without anyone having to say it. Mota finally did. “The prayer cover. We’re losing it!”

  TOM HARRIS PUSHED his grocery cart up and down the aisles of the PriceWise grocery, making his weekly rounds. He was having a little trouble with his shopping list; with Ruth and Josiah gone, he wasn’t sure what items he should restock and which he should just skip for now. He crossed off the breakfast cereal—there was still plenty of that. The milk in the refrigerator was going sour. He decided he would pour it down the sink and just buy a quart today instead of the usual two half-gallons.

  “Hey, Mr. Harris!”

  Oh! It was Jody Jessup, the little fifth-grader. It was strange seeing her here in the store during a school day, but then, Tom wasn’t usually in the store during the school day either. In any case, he was happy to see her bright smile again.

  “Hi, Jody! How’re you doing?”

  She came running down the aisle past the cornflakes and oatmeal, her long brown hair flying. “I’m with my mom. I get to help her buy groceries.”

  She pressed against his side, and he gave her a little hug around the shoulders. “Well, it’s great to see you.”