The Paradise Prophecy

by Robert Browne

  “Go back to sleep, boy,” the old woman said. “They’ll pay their fee.” Then she looked at the three visitors. “Won’t you?”

  “With pleasure,” the angel told her, then stepped close to her and leaned down, kissing her on the lips. The woman snaked her arms around him and held him there for a moment, then finally released him.

  “Be on with you, then. Next.”

  The two humans once again exchanged glances, neither of them anxious to move forward.

  “Come on, come on,” the old woman said, “or I’ll sic my son on you.”

  The trinine growled and the shadows on the far side of the archway shifted again. Not one to waste time, the scholar leaned down, giving the old woman a kiss. Again she snaked her arms around him, holding him there, and when she released him, he stumbled back, his eyes wide and slightly embarrassed, as if he’d enjoyed the moment but didn’t want to admit it.

  Then it was the spy’s turn, and she clearly did not want to do this. Steeling herself, she tucked the shotgun under her arm, then sidled up to the old woman, crouched down and hesitated, not sure she could go through with it.

  “Oh, for Lucifer’s sake,” the old woman said, then grabbed the spy and yanked her close, planting her lips on her. A slick tongue slithered down the spy’s throat and a burst of pleasure flowed through her. Then she, too, stumbled back in a daze and struggled to stay on her feet.

  “All right, boy,” the old woman said. “Open the gate.”

  A moment later they heard a faint creak as the gate was opened, and the humans took the path toward the City of Lost Souls.

  Pandemonium.

  48

  The place was at once familiar, yet like nothing Callahan had ever seen before. They seemed to be in a canyon of some kind, with dark, cavernous walls, but with no sky to speak of.

  No moon. No stars.

  Yet something was stirring up there. Something oppressive. Hostile. A malevolent turbulence-as if some dark spectre was watching over them.

  A long row of burning torches lined the narrow road, and the walls on either side looked like huge, blackened beehives fashioned out of dark stone.

  Homes, Callahan thought, but left it at that.

  She didn’t want to consider what might be living inside. And she hoped she’d never have to find out.

  Up ahead was what looked to be the center of the “city”-if you could really call it that-a cluster of ancient stone structures with pillars and archways surrounding an open square.

  But a normal city would be bustling with activity, and this one wasn’t. In fact, it was deserted. A ghost town. No one milling about. No lights in the windows. No sounds. No nothing.

  And Callahan wondered why.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Asleep,” Michael said quietly. “And be thankful for it. In a few hours this place will be crawling with creatures you’d best not see. Otherwise you might not get back to the overworld with your sanity intact.”

  Too late, Callahan wanted to say, but she remained silent.

  She’d been to cities all over the world, traveled to some of the most dangerous places imaginable, but as they moved toward the empty square, she’d never been so unnerved before. Never felt a weight like this. An uneasiness so deep that it seemed to drag her down.

  The threat here was not so much external as it was internal. And she suddenly realized that what she felt was despair. The despair of a thousand lost souls all gathered in a single place, buzzing inside her like bees in a hive.

  If her father had felt only a fraction of this before putting that gun to his head, then she understood why he’d done it.

  No one could live with this feeling for long.

  She glanced at LaLaurie and knew he felt the same. He’d already had his taste of hell, and she was pretty sure it had been more than enough.

  They came to a stop, then Michael ushered them under the shadows of an archway.

  “Wait here,” he whispered. “And keep your voices low. You really don’t want to wake anyone up.”

  Callahan frowned. “I thought you said this was neutral ground?”

  “For angels,” he told her. “Everyone else is fair game. That’s why they call it Pandemonium.”

  He was gone for an eternity.

  After leaving them behind, Michael had crossed to another archway and disappeared beneath it, swallowed up by a curtain of darkness. When several minutes had passed and he hadn’t returned, Callahan started feeling restless.

  “What the hell is taking him so long?”

  “Give him time,” LaLaurie told her. “He obviously knows what he’s doing.”

  Until now, LaLaurie had been uncharacteristically quiet. Callahan wasn’t sure what was bugging him-other than the obvious-but he hadn’t been the same since they’d escaped Belial’s most recent assault.

  She knew he had seen something on those pages that she wasn’t privy to, but she figured it couldn’t be any more horrific than what they’d experienced so far.

  Deciding to risk getting her head bit off, she said, “What’s going on, Professor? You’ve barely uttered a sound since we left the church.”

  LaLaurie looked at her with pain in his eyes. Then he said, “They want me to kill her.”

  Callahan wasn’t sure what he meant by this. “Kill who?”

  “Who do you think?” he asked. “The sacred traveler.”

  “What are you talking about? Who put that crazy idea in your head?”

  “The pages.”

  Callahan frowned, knowing by his look that what he’d seen must have been extremely disturbing. “So are you ready to tell me about them now?”

  “I just did,” LaLaurie said, raising his voice.

  The sound echoed and something fluttered nearby. Something coming awake. They both froze. Waited. Then it settled down and was quiet again.

  LaLaurie kept his voice low.

  “According to the pages,” he said, “releasing the traveler has two possible outcomes. In scenario one, if the traveler stabs herself at the pleasure of the dark angels, Satan will be released and the gates of hell-the Abaddon-will flood open.”

  “And scenario two?” Callahan asked.

  “If she’s released by someone with an untainted soul, she’ll become a warrior angel, drive the demons back to hell and create a paradise on earth. At least that’s the way I interpreted it.”

  Callahan shifted uncomfortably. “I think I’d prefer option two.”

  “You don’t get it,” LaLaurie told her. “We’re talking about a young girl here. In either case, she dies. And in that particular scenario, I’m the one who has to kill her.”

  Callahan said nothing for a moment. Then she asked, “So what do you plan to do?”

  “That depends on you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m thinking of going with option three.”

  “Which is?”

  “We take the girl and nobody kills her. We hide her away until the eclipse has come and gone and she lives to see another day.”

  “I know your intentions are good, Professor, but wouldn’t that work to the dark angels’ advantage? If we believe what Philip told us, they’re planning on opening those floodgates with or without the sacred traveler.”

  LaLaurie shook his head. “They can try, and I’m sure they will. But they’ve tried before and didn’t make it. The human spirit is too strong. And I’m betting they won’t be able to do it this time, either. Not without the girl.”

  “And you’re willing to take that risk?”

  LaLaurie looked into her eyes, and she could see that there was no doubt in his mind about this. “If creating some kind of utopia on earth requires me to take the life of another living, breathing human being, I’m sorry, but you can count me out. Self-defense is one thing, but this is flat-out murder.” He paused. “We’re talking about the future of humankind, right? And the way I see it there are only three actual human beings directly involved in this little drama
right now. The two of us and her.”

  There was some sense to what he was saying. “But what about Michael?”

  “What about him? I don’t think he’ll stop us.”

  “Are you sure? He has a lot invested here. Centuries of looking for the traveler. What makes you think he’d just throw his hands up and walk away.”

  “He wouldn’t be bothering with any of this if he didn’t respect humanity and the concept of free will. He already told me it was up to me to decide, and I think he’ll respect that decision, whatever the consequences.” He paused. “So are you with me?”

  “Look, Professor, I understand what you’re saying, and I appreciate the sentiment behind it, but I’m not sure I’m willing to risk the alternative.”

  “What’s the oath of Custodes Sacri?”

  “I think you know.”

  “Protect her. That’s what it’s been all along, right? What better way to protect her than by protecting the human being she’s become.”

  “You haven’t even met this girl,” Callahan said.

  “And that makes a difference? I’m sure in your profession killing someone is no big deal, but-”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  He was right. Callahan had been asked to kill before and she hadn’t hesitated. It wasn’t common, but it was part of the job. And she honestly had no trouble targeting a bad guy.

  But this was different. This was an innocent girl they were talking about. She wasn’t a drudge or sycophant, who had given her soul away. And she hadn’t asked to be who or what she was.

  The line had to be drawn somewhere, didn’t it?

  “All right,” Callahan said. “I’m with you.”

  And as they stood there contemplating their decision, Michael emerged from the darkness and approached them. To Callahan’s surprise, he’d added an additional weapon to his arsenal-

  A battered gold broadsword hung at his side.

  “It took a few threats and some arm-twisting,” he said, “but I’m told she was taken to Lucifer’s old palace. They’re keeping her there until the ceremony.”

  “And how far away is this place?” LaLaurie asked.

  “Too far to walk, but there’s another way.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “We’ll be cutting through Purgatory.”

  Purgatory was a seldom-used place these days.

  Once considered necessary for the purification of the soul, it was no longer relevant. With God’s abandonment of earth and its outer dimensions, no souls went to heaven anymore, so no such purification was considered necessary.

  Rebecca had told Batty that the otherworld was a vast and often wonderful place. He had yet to see the wonderful part, but was relieved to know that she was somewhere safe. And after seeing her in that crypt, he missed her more than ever before.

  There was an odd, troll-like being at the entrance to Purgatory who demanded payment before letting them through. Michael dropped some equally odd-looking coins into his palm (they reminded Batty of puzzle pieces), and the troll let them pass.

  Purgatory itself didn’t look much different from what they’d already seen of the otherworld-if you didn’t count the oppressiveness of Pandemonium.

  Wide valleys. Dark, craggy mountains. They might as well have been stranded on the moon.

  As they traveled along the road, Batty’s gaze fell to the broadsword at Michael’s side. He knew exactly what its purpose was, but Michael had yet to say a word about it. And the sight of it only made his resolve grow stronger.

  After less than an hour of traveling along a winding road, Michael stopped, pulled his knife from his waistband, and tore a long gap in the atmosphere.

  Then he made the knife glow and they stepped into yet another cave and followed him through a maze of interconnecting tunnels until they were outside again, facing yet another bleak landscape.

  Several yards in the distance, silhouetted against a darkening sky, was an old castle, with high towers and crumbling ragstone walls. It looked as if it hadn’t been occupied for centuries-

  – except for a single glowing window, high on a wall.

  “No one’s been near this place since Lucifer was banished,” Michael said, then gestured to the window. “I guess they thought it was safe to bring her here.” He smiled. “Let’s prove them wrong.”

  49

  They waited until the sky was almost completely dark. This gave them the advantage of cover, but it also made it more difficult to see and maneuver.

  The castle was fronted by a small forest, and Batty knew that, like the Forest of Never, there were creatures here, watching them, waiting for them to make a wrong move.

  “Same as before,” Michael said. “They won’t attack unless provoked. And they couldn’t care less what’s going on in that castle.”

  The three had split up, he and Michael taking one flank, while Callahan took the other. As they moved cautiously through the trees, Batty kept his eyes on that glowing window, knowing how terrified that poor girl must be.

  Protect her.

  That’s what he intended to do.

  As they got closer to the castle, Batty saw several ways in. Although castles are generally built for defense, this one was so old and decrepit that there were large gaps in several places along the front and side walls.

  But it wasn’t unprotected. There were two men sitting guard on a low wall out front, smoking cigarettes-which to Batty’s mind, seemed a bit incongruous, considering where they were.

  “Drudges,” Michael whispered. “He must’ve brought them with him.”

  “And who’s he?”

  “Beelzebub.”

  Batty knew the name well. Straight from the pages of Paradise Lost. Second in command to Satan. Articulate. Well-mannered. Deadly.

  He looked at the two drudges, who, from all appearances, were just the opposite. “What do you want to do?”

  “I hope your friend is ready,” Michael said.

  “Why?”

  “I have a confession to make.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’ve never been very good at this stealth shit.”

  Then Michael jumped to his feet, ripped the gun and knife from his waistband, and shot through the trees like an angel possessed, his long gray hair blowing out behind him as he headed straight for the two drudges.

  The term all hell broke loose never seemed more appropriate.

  Callahan couldn’t believe how quickly things went south.

  One minute she was sidling up to a gap in the castle wall, the next minute Michael was flying across the yard like maniac on steroids, firing his Glock at the two drudges out front.

  He was obviously a guy who liked to get straight to the point.

  Unfortunately, he must have forgotten there were a few mortals around. This bold move of his had alerted somebody inside the castle and suddenly the whole yard was flooded with drudges, Michael taking them down one after the other, enough dust in the air to create a sandstorm.

  All of this would’ve been fine if some of those drudges hadn’t spotted Callahan trying to sneak inside through that gap.

  Someone screeched, sending out an alarm, and the next thing Callahan knew, she was confronted by two snarling sycophants. And with all due respect to Ajda, the tea shop waitress, these things were mother-fucking monsters compared to her.

  Fortunately, she had the shotgun, which was a pump-action autoloader, and she started firing away, blowing the fuckers to the seventh level of hell.

  Then she was inside the castle and running for a set of stairs, until her path was blocked by an army of drudges, some of whom had knives, others with guns.

  She opened fire again, blasting a couple of them to smithereens. But then the knives started flying and the guns were barking and Callahan dove behind a stone pillar.

  A split second later, Michael popped into view like a TV genie and started firing and reloading, firing and reloading, moving with blinding spe
ed, taking them down like shooting gallery targets, working with a fluidity and grace-and most of all, accuracy-that Callahan could only envy.

  She spotted LaLaurie on the stairs behind Michael. He’d come in through a gap in the wall and was taking the steps two at a time toward the hallway at the top. A couple of drudges scrambled down toward him and it looked as if he were in real trouble, until he ripped the book bag off his shoulder, yanked the Milton manuscript out and pressed it against the first drudge’s face.

  The drudge screamed and toppled over the stairs, landing hard on the stone floor before bursting into a cloud of black dust. Then the second one came at LaLaurie, but he seemed to have a bit more of a brain, and he grabbed for the book, screaming as it burned his hands. Still, he managed to rip it out of LaLaurie’s grip and fling it aside.

  Then he went in for the kill, baring his teeth, which was kind of funny considering he wasn’t a sycophant. Maybe he was working on a promotion. He went at LaLaurie’s throat like a coyote after a cat, but LaLaurie didn’t falter. He sidestepped and delivered a left jab straight to the drudge’s face and down it went.

  But the wannabe was the least of the professor’s worries. At the top of the stairs was the real thing-another sycophant-and if those two below had been monstrous motherfuckers, this one was Godzilla, and he was blasting down those stairs like a greased monkey shot out of a cannon-

  – his mouth opened wide enough to swallow LaLaurie whole.

  Batty saw the thing bearing down on him, thinking, this is it, it’s over now, when he heard a shout behind him and Michael was at the bottom of the steps. Michael ripped the broadsword from its scabbard and flung it toward Batty.

  To Batty’s surprise, he caught it with little effort. Then the thing was on top of him, but he swung out hard, slicing into its torso, and with a screech, it burst open, blowing a thick, oily black dust right into his face.

  The stuff burned and Batty coughed and wiped frantically at his eyes. When he could see again, he bounded up the stairs, finally reaching the top.

  There was a dark hallway ahead, flickering lamplight coming from an open doorway, and standing there, wide-eyed, was a girl of about fifteen or so, wearing a brown ceremonial robe. She looked as if she’d been expecting someone else, her gaze dropping to the sword in Batty’s hand.