“John?” Mary prompted.
“He whom your son is with. Though he is a prophet, he’s always been an outsider. John operates by his own rules, and, like Alex, he gets his instructions from a higher power. Alex could have no better teacher.”
Matt sighed audibly. “That’s what this is about? Another person has taken it upon himself to teach Alex?”
“You disapprove, young Mr. Hartley?”
“I don’t need you to condescend to me. Jeremiah and Abbie have both tried to teach Alex, only to find that he already knew more than any of the rest of us. What is John going to tell Alex that two of the oldest beings on the planet couldn’t?”
“If I knew that,” Sophie replied with a grin, “I would have told him myself.”
Chapter 9
John Brown was always an enigma in almost every way. He was a prophet, but he rarely associated with any other prophets. Gregor may have known John’s mind. If he did, he was the only one. The rest of us could only wait to see what John would do when Alex needed him most, and he surpassed even the expectations of the Elder Prophet Council. Had it not been for him, Alex would certainly not have been as successful as he was.
--Abigail Martin, Through the Eyes of a Martyr
Alex pointed to the glowing orb before him. “What is that?”
“It’s what we needed, nothing more, nothing less,” John answered.
“It’s a little less than what I need. If that ball of light is all you’ve got, I think Sophie is more impressed than I am.”
John chuckled, unperturbed. “You are so impatient, but I can understand.”
“Really?” Alex feigned interest. “Do you understand how many good nights of sleep I’ve had in the last month? I can remember all of them and count them on one hand. And you have the audacity to try to teach me a lesson in the middle of the night. Well, what is it?”
“I’m not trying to teach you. I’m here to help you, to give you what you need. I thought that we should have a conversation in private. I also thought that you would prefer the safety of this house. Outside seemed the logical conclusion. So I provided heat for the occasion.”
“And if it had been hot outside?”
John shrugged. “I could have just as easily made the orb cold.”
Alex cocked an eyebrow. “You’re here to give me what I need?”
“Yes.”
“How? What else can you do?”
John leaned forward; the orb cast an peculiar glow onto his face. “Faith means accepting that, sometimes, there are no limitations. But look who I’m telling. Twice you’ve defeated Metatron, without even getting a scratch.”
“Boy, news sure does travel fast, doesn’t it? Well, I had help.”
“Yes, I know,” John replied. “But it was you who did it. You had some guidance and maybe a little emotional support, but you were the one who brought the demon to his proverbial knees. It was your faith that stopped him.”
Alex shifted a little uneasily on the uncomfortable wooden crate. “Who do you work for?”
“I suppose that, in a very general sense, I work for the people of the world, but I don’t think that’s the answer you are looking for.” John sighed. “I don’t represent anyone, Alex. I’ve been taught by the best, from all over the world. Everyone who has tried to guide you also once tried to guide me. However, there arose a problem when they found that there was nothing more I could learn from them. You, I believe, are in the same predicament. But I’ve had fifty more years than you do to get what I needed. Even if it took you half the time, that’s too far away.”
“All right. Then, why are you here?”
“I hate it that it would reveal ignorance, but I’m not completely sure, myself. Alex, everything that lives—everything that is—possesses the essence of God. The changing seasons, the evolution of species, and the physical laws by which we are all governed are examples. It all operates by the will and through the existence of God. Those examples I mentioned are recycled, repeated, or replicated all the time.
“Other portions of that essence are not. Human souls, for example, have the option, upon rejoining the collective existence some call Heaven, of voluntarily leaving again, to be put back into the world as some other life form. Reincarnation is something that almost every human soul tries at least once. And some are constantly being recycled, like the seasons. Prophet souls rarely return, which explains the usual shortage of our kind. Prophets are too powerful to keep coming back, so we wait for the right times.
“A few, though, are needed as perpetual influences in this world. The Buddhist Lamas, being integral figures in their religion, choose to return frequently to guide their people. Some poor souls are trapped close to the Earth, as spirits or ghosts, sometimes speaking to and touching those who are still here. And a small number of prophets live hundreds of years here before finally returning to Heaven.
“Most prophets, however, are not here very often and usually only for short times. Indeed, your soul and mine have each only been on this planet, occupying physical bodies, one other time—neither for longer than a normal human life span.”
A spark of interest could be seen in Alex’s eye as John’s words began to intrigue him. At first, he was skeptical that John could tell him anything of consequence, but this had started to get good. He had an idea where this conversation was leading, but he wanted to hear it said.
“Who was I?”
John smiled. “After everything that’s been told to you, everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve done, I’m surprised that you would even have to ask. The divine spark in you is the same, I’ve heard, as that in Jesus Christ.”
“I am the reincarnation of Jesus...” Alex mumbled to himself.
“In a manner of speaking,” John agreed cautiously, “but at the same time, the two of you are completely different. You have experiences which made you distinctly separate individuals. The soul is the same, but the person is not.
“And I know this is hard for you to believe. I’m sure that there is a part of you that still questions. You should. This information took me a long time to find and even longer to believe. You see, my soul was once that of the prophet, Elijah.”
Alex remembered the story of Elijah. James Tanner was not a very religious man, but Alex could vividly recall the story of the prophet in his father’s voice. And, when he read the Bible recently, he couldn’t help but “hear” the tale told the same way. Elijah was said to have raised someone from the dead, called a pillar of fire from Heaven to prove the power of his God, anointed kings, and was finally taken to Heaven in a chariot of fire, never actually dying.
“Yes,” replied Alex, “I know who Elijah is. But forgive me if I doubt your claim.”
“I already have. I’ve had fifty years to come to grips with what I expect you to accept rather quickly. In fact, I see no reason why you must accept it...ever. Nothing really changes, one way or the other.”
Alex hated the cold; he hated inane bantering, and he was really starting to dislike this John character. “If it doesn’t matter, then why did you wake me up to tell me?”
“Have you considered what’s going to happen when people realize who and what you are? What about when they want you to heal their sick or raise their dead? Or when they want to martyr you for heresy? Are you ready?”
“Look, I don’t want to piss anyone off. I thought my job was to bring prophets together, from all over the world, to make things better.”
“Listen to what you just said, Alex, ‘from all over the world.’ You will be admitting that all cultures, everywhere, have servants of God. You’ll be saying that everyone is right. Demons will be the least of your concerns. I doubt you could walk around in public without a mob of people trying to kill you.
“If you stay alive through that, imagine how many people will beg you to protect them from the demons. Can you do that? How will you tell them that you can’t?
“People all across the planet will want your advice; they’ll w
ant your approval. Then, you’ll have to tell them they’re all wrong, at the same time. Angels will protect you from demons, but what will protect you from mortals, and perhaps prophets, who are offended by your message?”
Alex stared at John, dumbfounded. “I guess it never played out in my head like that,” he confessed.
“You thought you’d be a hero. You thought that, surely, the masses would have enough sense not to side with demons.”
“I guess so.”
“Alex, given enough time, they’ll see things in that light, but it’s going to be rough until then. In the meantime, you’ll need all the help you can get. I’m a friend, whether you want one or not. Who knows? You may find that we have more in common than you think. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to help you—for at least a little while. I won’t pressure you, and I won’t subjugate you. Not many people in the world can say this to you, Alex, but you and I are peers.”
“I’ve had so many teachers. Matt is my protector, and I love Elizabeth. I’d like to believe that Matt is a friend, but that’s not his first duty. He’s made that abundantly clear. And it seems like Elizabeth and I are destined to be apart. I don’t really have any friends.”
“I know,” John replied with a sigh. “Trust me, Alex. I know what you’re going through all too well.”
***
Clint leveled his gun at the middle aged, oriental man, shielding the boy.
It wasn’t something that he enjoyed doing, but the boss said the child was to be captured, and anyone with him was to be shot. Clint obeyed orders. In times like this, he just let his mind go somewhere else, to the ridiculous amount of money he was being paid, perhaps. Killing without thinking, that was the key.
He’d met the boss through a friend, Vic. Vic said he’d worked for this guy for two years, had been paid very well, and he wholeheartedly recommended it. Clint had needed a job ever since a little bit of PCP lost him his old one.
For a couple of months, it was cool. He was a bodyguard, watched some buildings, roughed some people up, and made about fifty grand. No taxes, but he had to buy his own booze.
Now, he was into the bigger money, and the jobs were less tasteful. Apparently, his boss had something against religion. His squad had only targeted buildings associated with some form of spirituality. Last month, Clint killed seventeen people in four separate raids on different religious sites.
Each time, the boss had ordered that no one be left alive. Clint didn’t know who these people were, and he didn’t care, but he knew they weren’t the run-of-the-mill churchgoers. Something about them was strange, exceptional. It didn’t matter, though; bullets still killed them.
When he wasn’t killing people, he was ordered, with the rest of his group, to patrol for miles around Kansas City. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but the boss said he would send them where they need to go. His group had run into three other roving bands of mercenaries, on similar missions. However, they would find, upon talking to these other groups, that they had different bosses. And some of them had seen even more bizarre things than Clint had seen.
This time was different, though. The boss had warned them to be careful. They were told that this man would not be as weak as he appeared, and that they might think that they’re hallucinating while trying to fight him. But he was to die, no matter what they saw. It was bad enough that the boss decided to accompany them, something Clint had never witnessed.
“Anywhere Zeng Wei happens to be,” the boss directed, “shoot him.”
Now, they had him and the boy cornered in a hotel room forty miles away from the city. The boy was white—no more than six years old. The man with him, Zeng Wei, was Asian and probably fifty years old. There were only the two of them, and Clint had a perfect shot on his intended victim. He was just waiting on the word from his boss.
“Give us the boy,” Clint’s boss hissed at the old man. There was something different about the voice. It was darker somehow.
“Mortal men,” Zeng Wei announced, “you blindly follow a very evil, very powerful spirit. I can see that your hands have already been immersed in the blood of innocent people, but this is your chance to shed the bondage of this foul presence. If you throw down your weapons and cease your brutalities, you may have time enough left in your lives to atone. If not, you should know that I will take any actions necessary to protect this child.”
For some reason, what the old man was saying made sense to Clint. He glanced around the room, and he could tell that the other guys were thinking the same thing.
“I think these men know where their allegiance stands. They know what I pay them.”
“Money will not purchase your absolution,” Zeng Wei replied, still directing his warning only to the mortals. “You feel the evil presence, don’t you?”
Clint was beginning to feel it. His boss didn’t even look normal anymore. Something strange was happening to his face. It had become wavy, contorting into something surreal. Clint had experienced hallucinations before, but never did they feel like this.
Everything else was the same. All the other hired guns looked bewildered and a little scared, but completely human. Nothing in the room had changed. The old man and the boy stood in the middle of it all, unchanged, just watching.
“Do not listen to him,” the thing that was the boss growled. “Kill him!”
Several of the guys shook their heads, as if trying to get the foreign image out, and raised their guns back into place. Instantaneously, the old man was standing in front of Clint. Frightened, the mercenary dropped his gun and fell to his knees. Then, the gunfire started.
He looked up, and everything was a blur. There were at least seven new people in the room whom Clint hadn’t seen enter. They were all oriental, like the old man. In fact, as Clint searched the room, he realized that all of the people engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the mercenaries and, remarkably, the boss, were identical to Zeng Wei, who was still standing next to the boy.
Within moments, the only people standing were Clint’s master and the old men. With uncanny speed, they all converged on the boss.
From beneath an offending onslaught of punches and kicks, a deafening roar emerged. The fighting ceased. The old men backed away slightly. To his disbelief, Clint saw a skeleton, enshrouded in blue flame, and wielding knife-like talons, standing where his employer had been.
“Cowards and martyrs,” screamed the monstrosity. “I will rend your flesh and feast on the entrails of your precious little Lama.”
Then, there was only one Zeng Wei, the one protecting the child.
“It’s time to end this,” the old man replied stoically.
The beast charged, and Clint suddenly became aware that he had picked his rifle back up. He didn’t even realize he had pulled the trigger until the skeletal head rocked backward from the rapid succession of bullets. The charge stopped, and the demon, seemingly unscathed, turned slowly. For a terrifying second, it locked eyes with Clint. It felt as if his blood was freezing and burning at the same time.
Zeng Wei slammed into the creature, unleashing furious attacks. White light exploded from his fists as he pounded the thing relentlessly. Clint’s once boss fell to the ground, but the assault did not stop. If anything, the intensity grew, and the light became more blinding. Finally, Clint could see nothing and was forced to shut his eyes.
A wail of agony pierced his ears, and it was all over.
Clint’s eyes were watering from the near-blinding display. He opened them slowly, and he was relieved to find that his sight, though blurry, was returning.
“I won’t forget what you did,” Zeng Wei’s voice said. “It hasn’t cleansed your soul, but you are on the first step to a new path.”
Through clouded vision, the mercenary watched Zeng Wei and the boy casually walk out the door.
***
“Our lives are not identical,” John said, “but we have been through many of the same experiences. When I was five, my mother was murdered on the streets
of San Francisco. I didn’t see it, but I was close by. She was a prostitute, and the man she was with was already wanted for murder. One of her regular clients, possibly my father, found me and delivered me to an orphanage. I didn’t speak for two years.
“I was ten when a kind woman came to work at the orphanage. She said her name was Nancy. She had bright blue eyes, a warming smile, and a soul of compassion. I didn’t interact with the other children unless I had to. She made me; she forced me to be more social. Anytime I needed someone to talk to, she always seemed to know, always said the perfect things. While she was around, I felt safe. It was almost like I had a mom again.”
“This is a truly touching story,” Alex interrupted, “but it doesn’t sound like mine at all.”
John nodded. “For that, I am glad. Allow me to finish, and you may have reason to change your mind.”
“All right,” Alex agreed. “I apologize.”
“Accepted. Nancy and I spoke a lot, very candidly, but I could always tell that there was something on her mind. I could see it in her eyes. From time to time, she would become distant, like only part of her was with me. Somehow, I just knew that there was something she wanted to tell me.
“Then, one day, about five years after I met her, she and I just walked out of the orphanage together. She told me that she was going to take me to my real family. I didn’t question, I was too excited. It seemed like things were finally going to change for me. I can’t explain how it felt to finally think someone might care about me enough to call me their child.
“We drove away from the orphanage, and she told me I was special. She said I was destined to be very great and that she would always be there to help me but that I had to live with my kind. She took me to a prophet safe house in San Francisco. Before we got out of the car, she looked at me very intensely and said, ‘I am your guardian angel, John. It may seem like I’m not around sometimes, but know that I am always with you.’ Her smile made me know that everything was going to be all right.
The Elder Prophets (To Absolve the Fallen Book 2) Page 18