The Defiance

by Laura Gallier

  While I had a decent amount of appreciation and respect for Gordon, I had yet to claim him as my pastor. Sure, I went to church here every Sunday now with Ray Anne, but it still felt like her church, not mine. The kind of church I envisioned didn’t seem to exist. I was hard-pressed to describe it, except to say, it would have been less regimented and formal—no stiff pews, for sure—and the pastor would teach about prayer and spiritual warfare and helping hurting people instead of spending half the sermon reminding us how badly we needed to pool our money together to pay for a bigger, more modern building—with a 3.5-million-dollar price tag. And if it were up to me, anyone battling demons could get them cast out if they wanted, on the spot.

  Just thinking about it stirred the unwelcomed hostility that had been quickening my pulse off and on since the night before. The intermittent, high-pitched whispers weren’t helping.

  But it wasn’t up to me how Pastor Gordon ran the church, and it’s not like I was going to start my own.

  Pastor Owen Edmonds.

  Ridiculous.

  I may not have been the pastor type—and yeah, I’d also passed up the opportunity to go to med school and become a doctor—but I was as committed as ever to helping heal people. Treating invisible wounds of the soul. At least I wanted to. I had a lot more to learn.

  I tried to take a nap before it was time to meet Ray in the woods at dusk, but it’s kind of impossible when devilish whispers are seeping through the walls. The more I prayed for them to shut up and go away, the more voices I heard. I didn’t like that at all.

  Ray Anne and I hid behind the same wide cedar we had yesterday, spying on the Caldwell Cemetery in the setting sun, waiting to see if any Rulers showed up. The air became overpowered by every kind of rancid smell as a host of base-level Creepers converged on the scene. Ray and I braced ourselves, holding tight to one another.

  I could have stayed that way forever.

  Too bad she wasn’t ready to hold on to me forever. It still pained me that she’d turned down my marriage proposal, even if her reasons were fair.

  I hadn’t seen him yet, but I knew which Ruler was coming by the weight of exhaustion that bore down on my body and soul.

  “Spirit of Slumber,” Ray Anne uttered, “you have no authority over us.”

  Done.

  And here he came, stomping through the woods—my woods—as if he owned every square acre. The spectating Creepers stirred like MMA fans watching a prizefighter take the ring. There was no swirling earth or spirit-world portal this time. Instead Slumber loomed in front of the cemetery, ranting to the surrounding Creepers in a spirit-world language—scolding them, it seemed.

  Either he didn’t realize Ray and I were there, or he was powerless to do anything about it. Still, she and I stayed hidden, content to steal quick glances.

  I’d just squeezed her hand, assuring her I was by her side and all was okay, when a certain mental picture barged into my mind, vivid and detailed. I recognized it as the first pornographic image I’d ever come across as a kid while searching something random online—a picture that woke something in me that day. I’d vowed to Ray Anne never to look at that stuff. She had zero tolerance for porn, and, duh, I knew it was wrong—a pathetic portrayal of manhood and totally disrespectful to women. That’s someone’s daughter or wife or mom. But all of a sudden, right now, it was like I had to have it. Even a peek.

  Here came a giant being—another Ruler—clawing its way out of the earth, then standing next to Slumber. Never, in my most outlandish imaginings, did I ever think something like this could exist.

  It was too dark at night to see his facial features or garment color, but all that mattered were his eyes. They radiated dim light and were twice as big and elongated as any Creeper’s I’d seen. There was no pupil or misshapen iris or anything remotely typical about them. Instead, both eyeballs were, like, display screens, streaming pornographic images.

  Ray Anne pressed her eyes shut and bent over like she might barf. As for me, I intended to look away but only wanted to stare. Desperately. And I felt drawn to the monster, like an overpowering suction was tugging on my arms and legs, coaxing me to walk to him and stand as close as I could. Get as close of a look as possible.

  I wasn’t sure how long I could stand there, leaning away.

  Ray Anne stood upright again and gazed at the tempter. She stayed that way, and I knew, innocent as she was, she was enduring her own battle.

  I didn’t see Custos, but I sensed he was near, his peaceful presence clashing with the filth trying to invade my soul. I heard him whisper the Ruler’s name, his all-consuming assignment. I wish I could say I acted immediately, but it was an all-out fight. A vicious war between good and gross throwing punches inside me.

  God must have given me strength, because finally, the words came tumbling out: “Spirit of Lust, you have no authority over us.”

  The crushing temptation lifted, and there was instant relief, like soaking in a bathtub after having climbed out of a dumpster. At the same time, I was super agitated, enduring the misery that arose when something I really, really wanted was withheld. I’d seen base-level Creepers named Lust before, and even messed up and drawn them to me, but this Ruler had evoked something far stronger—an utterly depraved hunger that had snagged me in an instant, like fishhooks plunged into my soul.

  Ray Anne faced away from me, hunching over again like she still might barf. I focused on breathing slow and steady.

  The two Rulers—Slumber and Lust—spoke back and forth in English again. Their tone grew harsher and more aggressive as they accused each other of breaching one another’s territories, staking claim to various neighborhoods around Masonville. They mentioned certain streets, including the last names of specific households they both insisted they owned.

  Slumber named a family, the Carters, and Lust raged, “I built the dwelling there!”

  I had no idea what that meant.

  It took Ray and me both off guard when Lust reared back and shoved Slumber, sending him sailing backwards, passing through trees like they were mere shadows. Slumber roared from somewhere in the distance, and Lust fled the scene, clawing down into the same patch of earth from where he’d emerged, as best as I could tell. The spectating Creepers began drifting away, and we knew then the ordeal was over—for now, anyway.

  Seated behind me on my motorcycle, Ray Anne clung to my waist as I started the drive to her place, both of us fighting drowsiness—the natural kind, from needing sleep. While traveling the road that ran alongside Masonville High, mostly vacant at night, we spotted a remarkable radiance a short distance away. Ray tapped fast on my shoulder, signaling for me to gas it—both of us fully energized now.

  I pulled off the road in front of Masonville High, and we could hardly jump off my bike fast enough.

  We were just in time.

  My girlfriend and I stood hand in hand at the curb, smiling as wide as we could. One armored Watchman after another came exploding out of a shimmering oval in the sky, sprinting to the ground at an astounding speed, then filing shoulder to shoulder across the empty Masonville High parking lot, facing the school building. They were as tall as the lot’s streetlamps, and the circular platinum-looking shields they held at their chests formed a perfectly straight row.

  There wasn’t a Creeper in sight. They’d all hunkered down inside the school and underground, fleeing like defeated cowards.

  There was a pause, then another armored platoon came charging down from the night sky, forming a second line in front of the first, only this group lowered to one knee. It was an archery battalion with bows and arrows strapped to each warrior’s back. I held my breath, knowing that any second they’d launch arrows into the school, aiming for Creepers’ unprotected heads and chests.

  There had to be fifty Watchmen present by now—more than I’d ever seen gather at once.

  As the supernatural soldiers held their positions, a beaming-white horse as big as an African elephant charged onto the scene, galloping
over Masonville High toward the warriors. A mighty rider sat tall on its back—a robed Watchman with a hooded cloak over his head and back, as bright as a meteor storming the atmosphere. Without any use of reins, the Watchman stopped his warhorse and dismounted in front of the militia, then strode up and down the line, rallying his troops in their poetic, heavenly language. I could see now that under his shining silver cloak he wore armor, with an ornate helmet beneath his hood.

  I could hardly wait to watch the warriors storm the school, pulling Creepers out of hiding by their long, scrawny limbs, then flinging them miles away. Or better yet, maybe they’d march right past the school and confront the Rulers in the woods, engaging them in a heated battle.

  I wasn’t sure what had triggered the Watchmen’s arrival, but all that mattered was that they were here. And from the look of things, ready to charge.

  Ray Anne was as speechless as I was.

  The commanding Watchman faced his men—colossal Watchmen, perfect in stature—and slid his hood back so that it piled around his armor-clad shoulders. I breathed a disappointed sigh when he removed his platinum helmet and rested it against his hip. Hadn’t they come here to do battle?

  But as I continued watching the one in charge, I let go of Ray Anne’s hand and stepped forward, my mind reeling.

  The commanding Watchman—the one leading the radiant troops . . .

  I knew him.

  Knew him well, I liked to think.

  Who would have thought my God-assigned keeper, Custos, was a general in the most sophisticated, dominant military in all of creation?

  NINE

  I WANTED TO RUN TO CUSTOS, waving my hands and shouting, “Hey, it’s me! I’m here!” But the presence of Watchmen inspires an intuitive respect that doesn’t allow for spastic outbursts or casual hellos. Besides, Custos was on duty. Who was I to disrupt him?

  I was sure he already knew I was there, anyway. I believed he knew exactly where I was at all times. That’s how aware and protective God is—of his Lights, yes, but I’d seen him dispatch Watchmen to rescue shackled people too. I’d been there when a Watchman showed up to save Jess’s life—not once, but twice—and she never claimed to even believe in God.

  And the scent . . .

  If I could have bottled the Watchmen smell, people would have paid a fortune for it, even without knowing where it came from. And the way it feels in their presence—if only that could have been compressed into a pill. No one would bother with drugs or get drunk or have so much as a depressed thought.

  All eyes were on Custos, still facing the line of kneeling archers who were backed by a row of standing soldiers with shields. As for Ray Anne’s and my eyes, they were watering, physically reacting to the blazing-bright spirit-world. But I was so enthralled, I didn’t want to shut them.

  Custos gazed up toward the dazzling heavenly portal, and a third stream of Watchmen flooded Masonville’s airspace. These wore robes instead of armor, with golden circular headbands resting like crowns on their flawless heads. And these new arrivals clutched long, electric-blue wand-shaped objects in each hand, sizzling with some kind of current, like mini lightning bolts.

  In precise unison, the Watchmen holding shields did an about-face, standing face-to-face and toe-to-toe with the electricity-carrying ones. They exchanged warm smiles like they’d been a brotherhood since the dawn of time. Ray and I couldn’t help but smile too.

  All motion ceased, and intensity hung in the air like a nuke was about to drop. Custos lowered to one knee, his helmet still in hand while his face angled toward the heavens. He belted out a command in the heavenly tongue.

  That instant, like some kind of rehearsed dance, the Watchmen with shields turned them faceup like tabletops, holding them at their waists. Then in unison, using those electrified rods, the robed Watchmen pounded their sticks on the shields in a steady, single-beat rhythm that struck a kind of terror in me—not tormenting fear, but an undeniable awareness that this army had annihilation power. The epic drum corps’s tempo reverberated against my chest, and I thanked God out loud that I was not their enemy.

  At a precise moment in the cadence, the kneeling Watchmen with bows and arrows strapped to their broad backs bent down and began pounding the parking lot to the beat with clenched fists, while the ones with electric wands raised their hands above their crowned heads and hit their sticks together in the air. A sound went out like nothing I’d ever heard—or felt. It was like jet engines blasting with every beat. Ray and I both felt the power in the cement beneath our feet. The divine frequency traveled through our shoes, all the way up our legs and through our bodies.

  The archers on bended knee didn’t shoot a single arrow. Instead they got all the way down, facedown on the parking lot, prostrate on their stomachs. And they started weeping loudly, pleading in their native language—to their Creator, no doubt.

  That really threw me. These were astonishing beings built for battle—why come here and sob?

  The other Watchmen took turns chanting, several together at once, shouting what sounded like a war cry.

  Hissing, wailing, and anguished howls began seeping from the school—petrified Creepers whimpering from their hiding spots. I held out hope this was a preattack ritual, and any second, the Watchmen would rise and advance. But they just kept up their passionate cries.

  Custos remained on bended knee, hands raised, worshiping. I think they all were; it just didn’t look like anything I’d ever envisioned or witnessed. It was a loud, fervent mix of pleading and chanting. Even the horse had its head down, like it was paying homage.

  I turned to Ray Anne. “This is incredible, but I thought they came here to fight.”

  She looked at me, teary eyed but grinning. “Owen, they are fighting. Their worship is drawing God’s presence here—that’s bound to be evil’s worst nightmare.”

  Oh . . .

  Hand-to-hand combat had its place between Watchmen and Creepers, but apparently there were other ways to inflict damage on the kingdom of darkness. The way I now saw it, hell had recently unleashed heightened, cosmic evil on Masonville, but Heaven wasn’t just sitting idly by, tolerating it. God’s forces were ramping up the fight too.

  The Watchmen carried on for nearly an hour, changing formations at times with military precision, marching to the beat.

  “Owen, that’s it!” Ray Anne searched my face. “We should follow their lead and worship here with the student pastors this Sunday.”

  Maybe she was on to something, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around what that would look like. Don’t get me wrong—it was the coolest thing ever to witness the Watchmen’s synchronized worship. Truly profound. But a handful of humans gathered on the front steps of Masonville High, beating a drum and marching around, crying and singing with our hands in the air?

  Besides Ray Anne, the only person I could envision actually doing something like that was Pastor Gordon’s son, Ethan—the med school grad who’d crushed on my girlfriend but failed to win her away from me.

  All at once, the Watchmen ceased moving and bowed their heads, holding their positions like exquisite statues until they broke rank in line order, swarming the sky. They charged up through the air and disappeared into the beaming oval.

  Custos stood and slid his helmet on—even more impressive than the other fighters. Like a noble general, he held his post until he was the last one remaining. Then he mounted his majestic horse and raced toward the heavenly portal, pausing midair to look back—at me, I like to think.

  “Owen!” Ray Anne didn’t care that an occasional vehicle was passing. She spun around like she was back on drill team. “How amazing was that!”

  I might have danced too, if I could have ignored my pride. And been more coordinated.

  Ray and I got back on my motorcycle, and as I started the engine, she pointed ahead. “What’s that car doing?”

  The familiar Suburban was parked on the shoulder, headlights facing us, windows too dark to see inside.

  I drove fast tow
ard the vehicle, invigorated by the Watchmen’s boldness. As we passed it, I slowed exaggeratedly, so whoever was in there would know I was on to them.

  They didn’t follow us.

  Around ten o’clock, after I’d dropped Ray Anne off, I stopped by Gentry’s house—an ordinary one-story. I used to love hanging here with Lance. It was weird walking up the driveway after all this time.

  It was a little late on a weeknight to go knocking on the door, but I had to check on Gentry. If I was right about the meaning of that black line across his neck, his life was on the line. And if I’d really heard from God like I thought I had, I’d been told to fight for him.

  I was questioning things now, mainly because I still had no sense of direction about how to intervene, and I couldn’t stomach the thought that yet another life might be lost because I wasn’t wise enough or spiritual enough to piece together how to protect him.

  And there were twelve more unnamed souls on the Cosmic Rulers’ hit list. If any or all of their lives came to ruin, I’d feel responsible for them, too.

  Gentry’s stepdad answered the door and shrugged when I asked for Gentry. “He ain’t here. I never know where that boy is. His mama and I gave up months ago on trying to get that kid to do right. He’s hopeless.”

  Hopeless? Kind of harsh.

  He seemed eager to shut the door.

  I was headed back to my bike when I spotted Gentry struggling to pry into his house through a window. I hurried over just in time to watch him drop to his bedroom floor like dead weight, mumbling to himself.

  “Are you okay?” I tried a couple of times to get his attention, but it was no use. He was out of it. I shut his window and walked away, hoping that the next day I’d find him sober. And alive.

  When I pulled up at the church, the infamous black Suburban was idling across the street, on stalking duty. I didn’t have the luxury of calling the cops and reporting it—not in this town. But I did shoot my father a text: Being followed.