by M. K. Gibson
“Correct. I ask because both religions followed a god and they are in essence the same god. The followers were the one to cause rifts in their faith, holy wars, crusades, jihads, and blood in the name of their god being the right god. All that suffering because neither side would just tilt their point of view.”
“So you have the inside track on how it all began, huh?” I asked, not trying to cover my mocking tone.
“Let me tell you how it really happened. God, the supreme one, came into this existence and bore his first children.”
“Angels?” I asked. OK, I had to admit, I was really intrigued by this. My mother would be flipping. Come to think of it. Mom, you online? I thought.
Yes, dear. Keep him talking. This sounds fascinating, my mother responded.
Good. Please keep a note of this stuff. But remain silent—I don’t want to juggle too many conversations at once.
“Yes and no,” Grimm replied. “Angels, as we have to come to think of them, did not exist yet. If you read various scripture, angels have always appeared monstrous. Multiple wings, multiple eyes, flaming eyes, skin like bronze, faces like lighting. But the texts said they could take human-like form and perform as messengers.” Grimm stood and began to pace as he told his tale. I sipped my coffee, smoked, and listened, entranced.
“These first ones, these primordial ones, were extensions of God and his will. Tools he created from himself, both separate and connected. Think of them as…fingers. Yes. The fingers of God’s own hand, turned toward creation. Chaos, Time, Night, Day, Light, et cetera. These were the instruments of creation itself. And when creation was accomplished, God’s next plan was man. But as God had his machinations for worshipers in human form, the original powers of creation, the primordial first ones, now without immediate purpose, began to mingle, and in a sense, mate. Their creations were fourteen powerful beings, although not as powerful as their sires nor as God himself. They became the first angels. God used them as shepherds for his new creation of Earth. God made man, and these angels began to make more and more angels. These next generation of angels were less powerful still. Every generation was slightly less, the further they were removed from the original source, God.
“The angels saw the Earth, saw the beginnings of man. They too wanted to create and mingle with the Earth. God allowed them to join. Into the various regions they were sent. God’s pet project was The First in Eden with Adam, Eve, and Lilith. After sufficient time had gone by, God allowed the newest generation of angels, who were far removed from the original Primordial powers and the subsequent fourteen, to create humans as well. God’s only order was that the created humans had to be in ‘The Image of God,’ so that they could eventually intermingle when the time was right.
“And as you have read in many mythology books, the gods, little g, began to mate with humans, for they found their creations fair. In Greek mythos, they were demi-gods. Humans with the spark of the divinity. They were powerful among humans, and capable of great and terrible things. In the Bible, they were called the Nephilim.”
I sat there in awe. The cigarette was a long line of ash because I forgot to smoke it while Father Grimm told his tale. The sheer absurdity of the story was rivaled only by its simplistic perfection. The harmony of how all the religions, all the creation myths were feasible if one could see that the different man-made terms and titles all pointed to a commonality. But as humans, we pick sides and fight like hell in the hope that our side, or our religion, is the right one.
“So the Greek gods, the Aeisir, the Tuatha de Dannan…all angels?” I asked.
“Yes, in one form or another. Descendants. The Greek gods were the offspring of the Titans. Before the Titans were the Primordial. Odin was the All-Father, but he was the youngest of three brothers. Before Odin was his father Borr and his father Buri. Before that was Ymir the frost giant. Before that the world was created by ice and fire. All the myths have long detailed histories of the precursor entities before popular gods of books and stories like Zeus, Odin, and the Lugh came into being. What one religion calls the Primordial, I call the Fingers of God. All angels are descendants of the Fingers. All the world’s gods are those children, just with different titles.”
“But what does all this have to do with missing souls?” I asked.
“That is what I am trying to figure out. I have pledged myself to mankind to stay out of the affairs of gods, angels, and demons. However, I have a theory, but I need to confer with some experts. Vic and Val are the two closest gods I know. That is why we are headed to the outer town,” Grimm explained.
How does he know all this? my mother asked me.
Mom, I asked you to remain silent, please.
Then ask better questions, she scolded.
“How do you know all this?” I asked. I could hear my mother’s mental smirk projected into my head. “This is some pretty out there stuff. Why haven’t I, or mankind, heard of this before?”
“I know because I know,” Grimm responded. “I have known angels personally. I have walked this earth for a long, long time. And in my immortal existence I have appointed and positioned myself as humankind’s protector. You have not heard of this because it is simple and elegant. Something we humans tend to despise.”
“You knew angels, huh? I guess that explains it then.”
“Explains what, exactly?”
“Your magic. At least the root of it, if not the source,” I said.
“Explain,” Grim said, looking intrigued. I offered another cup of coffee and he accepted. I lit a smoke and poured myself a cup as well.
“Maz said he recognized weird glowing glyphs and sigils in your study before you showed up and did your sleep whammy. He said it was proto-Denochian. So, if what you said is true, that script was some sort of angelic script.”
“Close. Continue the logical thought process,” he replied, sipping his coffee.
I thought about it for a moment. If the original demons were fallen angels according to the Judeo-Christian mythos, then demon script, the Denochian, would be a derivative of angelic. Yet Grimm’s tale was not about just angels and demons, but of the older things. So what was the root of it? The original fourteen he mentioned? Or something even older?
“I would have to hazard a guess that the script in your study was the precursor to angelic script. It was the original language, from either first or second generations of ‘angels.’ And since they were of closer source to God, that language came with it the power of creation.”
“Bravo,” he said, without sarcasm.
“You learned this language from one of the originals?” I asked.
“Not the Primordials,” Grimm said. “Those ‘angels’ rarely if ever took form. They existed as cosmic entities. Concepts of God’s will. ‘Entropy’ would not walk around and mingle. I learned from one of the fourteen. The language you saw is but a reflection of the will of existence. Because of my circumstances, I was privy to Words of Making. The computer code of creation of you will. Very very few ever come to know this code. And it takes many lifetimes to master.”
I took Grimm’s meaning of his circumstance as his reason for immortality. He had been pretty tight-lipped about it. “I have been wondering about that. The fourteen. The seven deadly sins and the seven cardinal virtues?” I asked.
“Exactly. Although not as Catholicism would have you believe. Ones like Lust and Chastity were retooled into lessons for the congregation. Control methods to keep people from doing what comes naturally. These angels were still very close to God, children of the Primordial beings. They reflected original emotion. There was no good and evil at the time, if ever a concept truly existed at all. These beings were personifications of God’s intent for Man, the pathos within us all,” Grimm explained.
“So your magic is something that can be learned? And these fourteen taught you due to some special circumstance that caused your immortality?” I asked.
“Let us say, I had a near-death experience. Upon my resuscitation, my
mind was more open. When I began to learn, I saw and comprehended what Einstein would later state. All matter is energy in a static form. They are transmutable if you know how. Manipulation of that energy takes practice. I have had a long, long time to practice.”
“So how does the writing in the angelic script come into this?” I asked.
“Those were words of power, binding, warning, and disguise. To keep adversaries from noticing our location. Also, to keep the Deep Ones at bay.”
“Is it true the Deep Ones predate God?”
“Who told you this?” he asked me.
“Ricky,” I said.
“Hmm. I can only hazard a guess. When God came upon this plane of being, there were already inhabitants. Or perhaps they had fled from God into our plan of existence and He followed. They are creatures of immense power. God brought the light, something this realm had never had before. The Deep Ones were forced back into the shadows and the recesses. They hated the light and hated God. Who is older? Who can say. What I know is they hate creation, hate us, and hate God. They have always taken delight in manipulation of the mind as well as the slaughter. They are ageless and have the time and patience for us all to end ourselves.”
That was a horrible thought. I had seen some of the Lesser Deep along the coastline of Razor Bay a few times. Monstrous things of flesh and blubber that seem only to feed, destroy, and drag victims into the sea. But I had heard stories. Worse ones. Stories about mining operations that were thriving one day and looked like Jonestown the next day. Influence from the Deep Ones. Rumor has it the anthracite fire in the former Centralia, Pennsylvania was set on purpose to keep something at bay. Something they found when digging too deep like the Dwarves of Moria.
All that evil, all that hate, started me on a new line of thinking. What about the good? Where were the angels? The good gods?
“So what about The Virtues then? What about the angels? Why haven’t we heard about them?” I asked.
Grimm thought about it. It looked like he was trying to figure out the best way to explain it. Like a parent thinking of how to describe something so a child’s limited mind could understand it.
“Your perspective is one of a city person. You see the sin and vice that a city produces. Cities have always begun with good intentions but ultimately turn into cesspools of crime and violence and sin. Argue if you wish, but turning a blind eye to atrocity is the credo of most within your decaying walls. All wall in all cities throughout all of time. New Golgotha was built with that purpose in mind. Demons are drawn to it. Thus, angels and the Virtues choose to not dwell within.”
“So they all live in the waste? The open plains?”
“Mostly. There are some in the cities, but they have long since abandoned a path of righteousness. They too feel the emptiness of their creator abandoning them on this plane.”
Well, enough of that maudlin crap. I figured what he wasn’t telling was more convoluted than a bunch of angels feeling sorry for themselves because Daddy G left. I reckoned it was time to get back on the road. As I started breaking our mini camp, Grimm stopped me.
“No. We need to prep for tonight.”
“It’s barely past noon,” I told him.
Grimm just shook his head. “The time is not the issue. It is late autumn and the sun sets faster than you think. And we have a long way yet to get to our destination. We will set camp now for tonight. You don’t want to be fumbling in the dark when night comes over the open land.”
I knew he was right. Abomination attacks were random and devastating. Trust me. Sitting in the open like this was an invitation. Grimm pulled out three decent-sized foldable crates from the back of his Outrider vehicle. He placed them in an approximate triangle around our camp. They unfolded into ARCTech mobile automated plasma cannons with .50 cal traditional ammo redundants. Serious weapons. Immediately the cannons began a sweep of the area, constantly searching for a target. Well, if we died in the night, at least I knew the autoguns that failed the space marines in the director’s cut of Aliens would be fun to watch.
“What is this Outer Town called anyway?” I asked
“Midheim,” he said. Then he added: “Home of the last Aesir.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Riders of Rohan Meet Delta Force
As Outer Towns went, Midheim was huge. Easily two thousand people lived their lives here in a bustle of movement. There was a sense of kinetic energy that existed only in people who believe themselves free.
The entire town was a three-quarter circle built at the base of the Appalachian mountains along the old Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina border region. Midheim was constructed amid a forested glade, with a medium-sized lake near the center. I could see streams coming down from the hill, and trails running up. Actually, the place was quite beautiful. There was an outer wall, similar to a frontier-style palisade, with walkways and three main gates at the cardinal points. The inner wall had various choke points. The lack of permanent defenses meant everything could be torn down and rebuilt as the town expanded. A very tall watchtower stood like a wooden spire and gave a vantage point to the entire town.
The homes were semi-permanent, cobbled together from trailers, log homes, teepees, and tents. Trees were scattered in and out of town. It felt both rustic and comforting. As we approached I could see a security fence that was nearly finished completion. Not a huge town wall, but formidable enough. All manner of styles and builds comprised the rest of Midheim. Various homes and small businesses were tied together in a tight community. A commune, really. Everyone helped everyone. In theory, that is fine. Human nature takes over eventually, though. Someone will want more for more work. Infighting will start, cheating spouses will happen, a murder will take place, and then the great socialist experiment will fail. And then it will be a cesspool of sin as Grimm described.
Damn, that was depressing.
When we got closer, one of the guards spotted Grimm and called down to the main gate, which opened upon our arrival.
We passed the gates and came up to what appeared to be an arrival station. The people of Midheim seemed to be well fed and moderately dressed. Nothing of fashion, per se, but rather well-constructed clothes of utilitarian purpose. As we parked, a tall man came out of the arrival station and greeted Grimm.
“Good to see you again, Grimm,” the man said.
“Erik,” Grimm greeted the man back. This Erik appeared to be of Scandinavian descent, with deep laugh lines etched into his face. He struck me as the type of guy you want on your side. Great for a laugh and the right bastard in a fight.
“Welcome back. Did you bring any supplies?” Erik asked.
“Always,” Grimm responded as he pulled a couple of boxes from his outrider and two of the collapsible auto canons. “Are Vic and Val here?”
“Yup. Up at the hall holding court as usual. Who’s your friend? Is he going to be trouble?” Erik asked, pointing a thumb at me.
“This is my associate, Salem. He is with me, and he will instigate no trouble.”
“Fair enough. Y’all have fun,” Erik said. He placed a hand on my shoulder before walking back into the arrival station. “Ol’ Grimm may vouch for ya, but next time you come to Midheim, you bring goods for passage. Understood?” he asked.
I looked at the hand on my shoulder first. Then I stared at him dead in the eyes. Not to brag, but I am a kind of big guy whose outer appearance of a buzzed head and light beard says “psycho.” But it is really in my eyes. My eyes speak volumes when I want them to. And right now my eyes were telling this guy “Get your fucking hand off of me or you are going to pull back a stump.” Erik stared back at me and locked eyes. In a moment the battle of wills was over and he let go of me.
“I sure will. Next time.” I flashed some teeth in my smile.
We walked through the town toward the center. On one hill, toward the center of town to where all the town’s roads led, at the base of the watchtower, was a large hall. Correction: It was a Viking mead hall. And
it was glorious.
The two-story building sat upon a stonework foundation with wraparound decks on both levels. The gold and green painted trim blended with the natural color of the wood. Handmade cloth banners rippled in the breeze, and the hall shone like something from an old movie.
Even though it was just about noon, the smell of alcohol washed over the area. People were already drinking and getting rowdy. This could be fun. We got closer to the hall and Grimm paused a moment, and turned to me.
“You will soon be in the presence of two gods. They are lesser deities, but gods nonetheless. And by that divinity, descended of angels. Do not give them reason to get angry.”
“You worry too much,” I told him. “I have run deals for demonic nobility. They are always looking for a reason to murder and cause havoc. I know how to handle myself around powerful beings.”
“Exactly. Demons. These are not demons.”
“Will you relax a little? I know how to behave.”
“We will see,” he said back. Something in his tone said he knew more than he was letting on. Also, that I would not like what was coming.
********
The inside of the hall was simply glorious. An arched wooden and stone frame masterpiece of old-world beauty encompassed rooms with tables and cooking pits. The people of Midheim had adorned the log-stacked walls with shields and tapestries. Golden light from the fire pit danced and played with the shadows. There were no windows from the central hall except for the central sky hole for ventilation. It was barely past midday and it felt like nighttime. Kegs of home-brewed alcohol were tapped. The ways of Midhiem were simple: if your work was done for the day, drink and be merry. People were buzzed and happy while Appalachian music, by way of Iceland, played.
God damn, new music. I paused, just for a moment, to hear new music. These people lived a life free of demons. And that was expressed in the songs they played. I almost felt a lump in my throat to hear it.