"I'm protected just like the riders," she said, watching his eyes. "And you knew that because you recognized me in the chamber with Councilman Prusser. That's when you knew what I was. It's why you tried to reeducate me instead of murdering me. It's why you tried to lobotomize me. Why you put me in that damned chamber."
He smiled but his eyes didn't crinkle. "Takes three days to break a person's will."
"Is that how you got them to do your bidding? Break them down, brainwash them."
"I have other methods." He shrugged in his suit as though he was offended.
"Does Ezekiel know? Do the others know they're protected? That they have the seal?"
"Do they know they're protected?" He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Did you?"
Fair enough. "You offered them something then," she said. "Maybe strength, maybe freedom..."
"Most men can be bought if you know what they want."
"Except they're not men, are they?"
He made a sound almost like a girlish squeal. "Oh, you do know a few things. Wonderful."
She took a step toward him, careful not to alert the henchman behind her.
"I know what I witnessed with Ezekiel, but I couldn't see how cunning you were. He's fallen, all right, and you took advantage of it without anyone realizing your plans."
He did nothing but turn his head to the side as though bored.
"He's one of the four, isn't he?"
He snorted. "Four Horsemen? Of course. You already know that. Everyone does."
"No. I mean the bound four."
This time when he shifted in his suit, he looked uncomfortable and she knew she had it correct. It made sense now, why she'd spent so many years in the care of a fanatical preacher who housed as many demons as he tried to exorcise from his psychic wife and child. There was a purpose for it. A divine purpose. Years of daydreaming in church still didn't totally wipe out her knowledge. It had soaked into her subconscious, lying beneath her addiction until Cain helped her remember. It was true that the Scriptures, their religions, all of the belief systems hadn't gotten it quite right, but it was also true that there was some authenticity to all of the tales.
Euphrates. She'd heard it plenty during her father's hellfire and brimstone sermons. Spewing out metaphors from the book of revelations as though he understood each one. It was true, also, that her father had done so to strike fear into the very souls of his congregation, driving them to their pocketbooks. But it was also true that Theda needed to be there to hear it all. So that she could be here in New Earth to realize it all.
"The god has bound four angels at the River Euphrates, waiting for you to release them so they can purge the rest of the world of any who will not bow down to you." She inched closer, watching his face.
"Euphrates. It's a metaphor from Revelations; it represents those of humankind who have supported wickedness. Ezekiel is as good as tied to his mortality here. And you knew it. You used those four fallen angels as the Horsemen of the Apocalypse because you knew they couldn't be harmed."
"That would make me pretty cunning indeed, wouldn't it?"
"I've seen the kind of protection Ezekiel has. I've seen it in another man – a mortal man marked by the god. And it's nothing like what you've given Kat. You don't have that kind of power. You had to borrow it. Your power is nothing--it's diluted from the concentrate."
"Please, young lady. You know nothing."
"I know it wasn't you who marked the Horsemen." She heard the victory in her voice, and she let it ring. "They're not yours."
He fluttered his fingers as though it was a mere technicality.
"There's only the dregs of society left here, and the fallen ones." She paused for effect. "And the chosen. The chosen, John," she said. Choosing to use his given name. "Henrik's lovers. I bet you're trying to get to them before I do because once they're marked, you can't touch them. That's why you haven't killed Bridget--because you can't. It's why you glamoured Ezekiel into thinking he was killing Eddie. It's why Dr. Hurte was rehabilitating as many of Henrik's lovers as you could round up. I even bet the religion-mongers didn't die in the massacre at the sanatorium like Kat said they did."
"All very delusional supposition."
"Not supposition. I know. I know because I'm the angel that marks the chosen ones, who purchases them for the god."
He had the nerve to laugh. "Not just a religion-mongering fanatic, but one with god delusions. You're the reason religion is dangerous."
She stepped closer, letting her hands creep to her pockets, hitching her thumbs through the belt loops. "Dangerous for you."
"You give me too much credit."
"Then prove it to me."
"Do you honestly think I'm going to divulge my plans like some clichéd villain in an awful penny dreadful?"
"You don't have to," Theda said, pulling the ice pick from her back pocket and dragging it across her forearm. Blood burbled to the surface, and he leapt from his chair as though he was afraid she would expire. As she saw it, she hurtled forward. She only needed a few seconds, maybe two heartbeats. She aimed high, stabbing him in the neck. She was surprised at how easily the pick sunk into the skin and muscle tissue, but she didn't take a single microsecond to wonder at it.
She simply pressed her lips against the red blossom leaking from the wound. She drew on it harder than she'd ever done, pulling in the coppery tang and washing it around her mouth as though to cleanse her palate.
She thought she was ready for the free fall, but nothing could have prepared her for where she landed.
Chapter 21
She had gone blind.
But instead of darkness, blindness came in the form of such brightness that Theda could see nothing else. There were no colors, no shapes, not even a hint of shadow because nothing could make its way through the light. She squeezed her eyes shut to find some relief from the unrelenting illumination and then cautiously eased them open. Now that she was aware of it, she could find some space. Almost as though thought moved her away, she could sense that she had gained some distance. Enough that she could see the whole of the light.
It was like a Fourth of July sparkler, spitting out little sparks so fast that Theda could barely count them as they sped through the air. At the same time, they she could see the trails that lead from the tiny spark straight back to the full light. Each tiny pinprick was part of that first whole as much as that hot center, separate, but one. The same heat and brightness broiled in the center of each, the same as it did in the middle. As each spark reached its zenith and burned out, its energy returned to its origin, grew fatter and faster until it spread out again into another miniscule explosion.
Even as she realized this, she understood that if she was seeing the light, then she was outside of the light, disconnected from it. She was supposed to be within it, encompassed by it, attached to it.
It was then that she noticed the legions in the darkness. Every face wore a sort of elation that confused her. If they were without the light, then they shouldn't feel such freedom. They should feel as disconnected as she did. Even so, they shuffled in the darkness; a sort of vibration moving through them that shook the feathers from their wings and hardened their bodies into something more clay-like. Some of them leapt into a quivering mass of blue and white before they had fully molted. They left a trail of iridescent feathers behind. One of them, a large scowling being picked one of the feathers up and let it lay in his palm, staring down at it.
Sorath. Theda knew his name even as she looked at him. She knew he was the 666th created. He had reveled in his position in the hierarchy. Now that was gone. Unlike the others who felt elation after emancipation, he felt betrayed.
He wasn't just angry. He was pissed. A righteous, fearsome anger.
And when Sorath lifted his eyes to hers, she felt that anger so fiercely she shrank within herself, pulling her wings about her shoulders and cloaking her form from his discerning gaze. It was so piercing, she could nearly feel it burning through her prote
ction, but she reminded herself that she'd been sealed. He couldn't find his way through to her. His might be a righteous anger, but hers was a righteous duty, and she'd do what she had to, to fulfill it, even if it meant a millennia of mortal lifetimes.
Theda turned from him, wishing she could see something else. Some vision that could make her feel rage at this being; she didn't want to feel is anger and sense of betrayal, and yet as she let the thought in, her spine burned with his hatred. Past redemption, this one. Too angry to come back from his self-created abyss.
She had no choice but to leap as the others had done in the hope of escape from Sorath's loathsome fury.
When she saw him again next, her hand went to her throat in fearsome recognition because she found herself in the same dank chamber as she'd been in too many times before in too many incarnations. The air was heavy with dampness, the stones on all the walls surrounding her grew moss in the crevices. The darkness was only relieved by a few oil lamps and torches on sconces hammered into the walls. The flames guttered now and then, sending sooty smoke to darken the walls.
Trier. She should have known. And here she was seated like a shadow at a high desk next to a broad-shouldered man with a bulbous nose, but with those same blue glittering eyes that she recognized in the Beast. Sorath had dressed himself in different flesh, that of Archbishop Schönenberg, she realized, flanked on either side by men of Trier's parish.
He was waiting, feeling the anticipation, knowing that the next woman to be dragged in to be accused of witchcraft was either a threat or one of his own kind. If the poor wretch was one of the fallen, then she'd have forgotten it, of course, being of a lower garrison of the host. One of the worker bees, to use an analogy from this dirty place. And if the woman wasn't fallen, if she was nothing but a worthless mortal, then the world would be rid of one more vermin, and he'd be closer to ruling his own host in due time.
Of course, there was one more alternative, and he was sure this option was the real reason he was here.
He'd been pulled to the little hamlet by some power, something that felt familiar and threatening at the same time. He'd been drawn to the town like a willow tree's roots were drawn by water. There was no resistance in him; he had to come. When he'd arrived, he'd discovered the town was lousy with the fallen, but he sensed something else too. Something different. And that something different made him feel like he had eons before, when he'd been driven to this dirt-packed reality: the possibility of extinction.
There would be heralds of his extinction, of course. Harbingers sealed to be his downfall, protected by the hated god, as though the god had dominion over Sorath anymore. The god had surrendered that control, and Sorath would see that his little test--the one hundred forty four thousand mortal chances to redeem himself--would be thrown back in the god's face before he ever bowed down again. How many times will I forgive thee but seventy times seven? Indeed, so many more than that, but it seemed 144,000 was the limit.
Just like the town before, he'd known something was off in Trier. And he couldn't risk leaving it to fester to a full-blown boil that could explode and spew itself over his future. If there was even a dozen of the chosen of the hated god hiding somewhere, unaware, ignorant of their true selves, here in this hamlet, then he had to purge the town of them. He'd purge every town of them if he had to. He'd lance the boil before it quickened. He'd rob the god of his victory before His very eyes.
And he'd begun the purge with extreme prejudice, finding a man in the community whose possessiveness of his young wife was so unhealthy it was easy to ignite the hateful nature he saw brimming behind those ever-watchful eyes. A man of reputation in Trier. Someone named Herr Erich Bach. Someone who knew everyone and who could be trusted. But Sorath never trusted Bach. He used him. Something was off about the vile creature too, and he was never quite able to meet those crystalline eyes. They reminded him of a moment of pure anger and blackness so deep it was as though there never existed a single iridescent light.
Fallen, no doubt, and useful because of it, but Sorath gave this vile man the worst task: to vet the chosen by way of the lash and torture, and finally by death. If the man's psyche darkened for it, what did it matter? All that mattered was that the tests died before they knew what they were.
There, finally came the latest. Her jailers dragged her in front of his desk and she stood there, trembling, her face swollen from obvious tears. She was a pathetic mess. He felt no pity. All he could see in her eyes was the bright spark that taunted him. He saw the hideous light everywhere he looked. He saw it in babies, he saw it in men and women alike. He saw it so frequently, he'd become obsessed by it, and almost unable to recognize the true spark anymore. But he knew it was here in Trier. He knew it because he felt it.
"Frau Gerlinde," he said to the woman. "You have been charged with witchcraft. What is your response to this accusation?"
"The same as yesterday my Lords."
The same as yesterday. Indeed. He didn't believe her. Surely she recognized him. Surely she knew what he was.
"Despite your denial, you must understand that these are serious charges," he said. "We had hoped a night of consideration might weaken the devil's hold on your tongue."
"The devil does not have hold of my tongue, Herr Schönenberg."
Was that a slip? Was she baiting him?
"Please recite the Lord's prayer, Frau Gerlinde."
The woman stuttered, but said nothing. If she was fallen, she would no doubt struggle. They didn't enjoy being reminded of where they had come from. It hurt to remember. He leaned forward, anxious.
"We're waiting," he said.
The only sound in the chamber came from the scribbling of his court recorder who took notes onto a parchment so that he could examine them later.
"Frau, we're waiting."
"The Lord... The Lord..." Frau Gerlinde staggered as she stood, as though she couldn't keep standing without support. She would get none here. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe she was just one of the fallen. But how could he be wrong? The presence, that thing felt so close; he could smell its divinity.
"See how she can't get any further than the opening?" he said to the scribbler.
The woman's face went so white that even in the dimness he could see it drained of color.
"I do know more, I do."
He thought about that. Perhaps she did know more. Perhaps she didn't.
"You had yesterday and all last night to reflect on your sins, Frau Gerlinde. You have brought us no more evidence than a declaration of innocence. It's not sufficient. We must question you further."
He nodded to the jailers, who grabbed her by the elbows and dragged her out of the room and into another. He knew what would happen in there, and he didn't care. He was disappointed in his mistake, but he was angrier that a mere fallen one would try to lead him to believe she was chosen. His resolve to purge the chosen of the god was even stronger in the face of it; if he had to empty the entire village to find a single chosen mortal, he would do so. It was in the eyes, he knew, and he could seek the accursed proof there. He swung his gaze to the young husband in the corner, sensing something palpable, trying to read his eyes as he stood with his face hooded, ready to flank the Frau and divest her of her piety.
He caught but one fleeting heartbeat of Bach's gaze, and something made him shudder. And Theda felt it through the vision, a deep and penetrating pulse that tremored through him as she met those eyes, and before she knew it, she was plunged out of the vision to stand before the Beast, knowing him for who he had been in that incarnation.
The Beast's composure melted in the face of her realization. Theda had time to count to three as she looked into his eyes and knew the truth of why she kept returning through her tricks to that lifetime over and over. The Archbishop. She should have recognized him long ago; she'd certainly had enough glimpses of him through the lives of others. But for the godspit and the addiction, she might have. Just thinking about it made her yearn for the escape of a fix. She fe
lt sick with it.
The Beast used both hands to push at her chest, flinging her off him with such revulsion that his face was twisted with it.
She skidded at least two feet before she came to a stop. Marty made a move to lay his hands on her, but the Beast stopped him with a bark.
"You felt me," she said to the Beast, ignoring the closeness of Marty. "You felt me and yet you didn't know who I was." She didn't know whether she should laugh or just gawk at him.
"Not a mistake I made twice as you can see."
"I was right there beneath your nose all the time. You picked me to torture your victims and you still didn't know it was me."
"I knew. When the last of them had gone, and something was still off, I knew it was you."
"Liar."
"Call it a quirk."
Theda could see that his hands were clenched into balls within his pockets. "You were nothing but a possibility then," he said. "And by the time it was over, you were nothing."
It was true. Once the entire town had been purged of accused witches and there was no one left, she had remained a hollowed out shell with no reason to live. A wasted incarnation. She should have felt sick knowing it, but that lifetime was gone. There was one thing she had learned through this ordeal; it was that you couldn't change what had happened. You could only make choices now.
And she chose to taunt him.
"I'm something now, though," she said. "I'm your worst nightmare. Who knows how many I've marked? It could be a dozen or it could be a dozen dozen or it could be a thousand dozen." Despite the pain in her ribs, she was able to find her way to her feet.
"And the best part is I have true protection. Not that flimsy suggestive hypnotized power you offered Kat."
"Maybe you can't die, little lady," he said. "But we can still see how much pain you can endure before you look like you've died." He advanced on her, gripping her by the throat and boring into her with his steel blue eyes. "And then we can do it again, and again, and again." He flung her to the floor, and stopped Marty again from lifting her to her feet.
Theta Waves Box Set: The Complete Trilogy (Books 1-3) (Theta Waves Trilogy) Page 51