Dark Rising

by Monica McGurk

  “That’s true,” he said, lowering his cane and leaning heavily into it. He nodded and stroked his long, grizzled beard, giving some thought to our predicament. He gave the angel a stern look and turned to face me, rocking on his heels as he continued his rumination. “But they have to take it from your hand, do they not? This Key must be borne to them by you, for you are the Bearer. If it should come to someone else—someone a little older and wiser, perhaps, we would have an impasse. Would we not?”

  My jaw dropped open. It was an elegant, simple solution. “Brilliant!” I gasped.

  “Hope,” Michael warned, but I was already hobbling forward on my twisted ankle, hands outstretched, to thrust the rock into Enoch’s hands.

  I didn’t notice that none of the Fallen were moving to stop me.

  I didn’t notice that Enoch seemed too eager to take the rock, abandoning his cane to come swiftly toward me with open hands.

  I didn’t notice, until it was too late, that the overwhelming smell of cologne no longer clung to his body, replaced as it was by the stench of sulfur.

  Enoch’s fingers closed around the rock, snatching it away from me. He threw his glasses to the ground, his blank eyes staring reverentially at the thing he now held in his palm, the fingers of his other hand shaking with excitement.

  Enoch lifted his face and looked at me with a sneer. There, in the empty whiteness of his eyes, I saw a spark.

  He shimmered, and his body seemed to melt before me. It shifted and whirled into itself like a vortex, folding itself round and round the Key, unleashing a storm-like roar. I stumbled back, the force of the wind unnerving me, as I watched the change. His cane twisted and stretched, turning into a sword and leaping up from the floor of its own accord to join the swirl that had become Enoch’s body. The winds shrieked—a lonely, guttural sound that spoke of heartache and suffering—as the tornado grew denser, darker, beginning to take shape. Through it all, Enoch’s empty eyes stared at me steadily, his gaze never breaking as his body—a different body, taller, broader, unbroken by age or infirmity, a strong body bound in muscle and sheathed in armor—reformed about him. He stared at me full in the face, all that was left of the Enoch I had known, until the white blindness fell away—the vacancy of his stare now filled with greed and hate.

  They were eyes I knew all too well.

  “Hope, Hope, Hope.”

  His voice emerged before the body had settled into its final shape, before the fury of wind and sound that had accompanied his transformation had fully died down. I choked back a cry as I recognized it.

  I shook my head, refusing to believe what I had done, feeling the last bit of hope drain away from me as I shrank back against the cold stone column.

  Enoch was no more. The one who took his place unfurled his dark wings and flapped them impatiently as he waited for me to acknowledge him.

  “Lucas.” My voice was flat.

  Lucas reached out, clearing the distance between us in an instant and grabbing me by my hair, jerking my head back, hard.

  “The Bearer of the Key!” he proclaimed, his voice full of contempt. He twisted my arm behind me, forcing me to walk ahead of him as he paraded me before his fallen compatriots. “She thought she could deny fate. She thought she could outwit us, didn’t she, my brothers? But instead she has handed it over to us, as we knew she would.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him thrust his fist into the air, biceps straining as he held the rock high in triumph. He held me tight against his body, and I had to fight the urge to vomit from the overpowering smell of sulfur.

  “The Key!” He shouted, jostling me again, and the crowd of Fallen Angels roared, their taunts and jeers assaulting my ears.

  “When?” I demanded, struggling futilely against him. “When did you take his place?”

  “Does it even matter?” he questioned, enjoying my torment as he pulled me closer against his chest. “Yes, I suppose for a little girl like you, a girl whose petty human mind must make sense of everything, it would matter a great deal. I will grant you this favor and tell you, then. We were watching when you met Enoch in the desert. We saw that he had given you the Prophecy.”

  I remembered the cold shadow that had fallen over me when Enoch had disappeared in the desert and the uneasiness that had settled around me when I couldn’t place it.

  It had been them all along.

  “When we paid him a visit ourselves, and he did not give us the answers we sought, we defeated him in battle, sending him to wait out his time in the depths of Hell. When Michael later called for Enoch’s help, it was only too easy to slip myself into your midst. Your snitch, Henri, made it even easier, sowing fear and doubt at every turn.

  “You thought yourself so smart, playing both sides in case Michael became too dangerous, didn’t you?” He twisted my arm harder and ran his free hand up my neck, leaning in close. He inhaled deeply, burying his nose in my hair. I lashed out, aiming an elbow at his ribs, but he dodged out of the way and hiked my arm more tightly behind me. I winced in pain, but I refused to cry out. I would not give him that satisfaction.

  “The smell of sulfur could have given me away, but you were both so frightened we managed to make you think that it was Michael turning, when all along it was me, rematerializing to play my role. You hid your thoughts from Michael, but you could not keep them from Henri. You practically whispered the mysteries of your heart right to me. Every secret, every discovery, was ours as soon as it was revealed to you.

  “Everything you did, you did because I wanted you to do it,” he boasted. “We played you like the stupid human that you are.”

  Shame washed over me when I realized how easily I’d been manipulated.

  “Let her go, Lucas.”

  My heart was pounding, but Michael’s voice was calm, unwavering, as he continued challenging Lucas. I twisted in Lucas’s grasp, straining to see Michael. He was standing alone between two pillars, fists clenched.

  “This isn’t about her. It’s about me. Let her go, and you can do with me what you will.”

  “I don’t need your permission!” Lucas barked. “Don’t you see you are surrounded? There is nothing you can do to stop me. All your preening superiority? All your love of man? What will it do for you now? Who will stop us from killing you? You who dared to let yourself be raised on a pedestal. Blasphemy—against God and the angels! Are you like God, as your name proclaims? If you are like God, save yourself, now!”

  Michael did not even flinch. He simply gazed steadily back at Lucas, his eyes sad. “My name is what it is. As for blasphemy, it is you who say it, not I.”

  “Michael,” I begged, struggling against Lucas’s iron grip. “Forget about me. Defend yourself. Take your angel form; at least then you’ll have a fighting chance.” All the air in the chapel seemed to contract, as if the suggestion alone could upset the balance of the world.

  “I can’t,” Michael said quietly. “I am too weakened now. Even if I wanted to change, I’m trapped in my human form.”

  The raucous laughter of the Fallen Ones echoed off the stone vaults of the church.

  “See, daughter of Eve? You’ve betrayed him with your body, too. You’ve drained him of the last power he had. Now when we fight, we fight to the death. When we defeat him, he will stand no more as the Gate to Heaven, blocking our way. His mortal body shall be his eternal prison and we, the Fallen, will regain the realm from which we were banished. We shall succeed, this time, and it is all because of you.”

  “You don’t understand! It’s not what you think!” I fought against Lucas, wanting to make him listen to me.

  “I know enough to be certain that you played your role, Bearer of the Key. Because of you, Michael will die.”

  I felt sick, knowing he was right. Those moments that had meant so much to me—the stolen kisses, the lingering touches—they’d given me intuition at the expense of Michael’s own strength. Just not enough to know what was really going on.

  “Lucas,” Michael began, h
is voice ringing out as he squared his chest. In the little light that had penetrated the chapel, I could see the vein on his forehead pulsing in anger. “Let her go. It serves no purpose to force her to witness this.”

  I felt Lucas’s hot breath on my neck as he laughed.

  “But then who will tell of our glory if none is here to witness it?” He murmured against my neck—a feeling of a thousand spiders crawling—making me cringe with disgust. He jostled me on my feet as if to punctuate his every statement. “Who shall explain to the stupid masses of humanity why their world is upside down, why God does not answer their pleas for help? No, she shall stay. But I am feeling generous. I will let her go when I am finished with you.”

  “I want your oath.” Michael’s fists clenched tighter as he waited for Lucas to answer.

  “I swear it.” Lucas solemnly intoned. Suddenly he seemed grave, as if the prospect of victory after millennia of waiting was overwhelming. He shook his head, chasing away whatever thought had captured his mind.

  “The time has come,” he barked, shoving me aside with grim determination. He looked around the shadowy church. “Someone hold her. She must see it through to the end.”

  Rough hands took hold of my arms, pulling me tightly between two massive Fallen Angels.

  I tried to twist away, shouting across the vaulted space. “Michael, please, don’t let them do this to you!” The angels just held me fast, snickering at my weak attempts to break free. “Tell them the truth! Tell them the truth about the Gate!”

  Michael looked at me with furrowed brows from the other side of the chapel, shaking his head ever so slightly. The flickering torchlight showed his eyes full of tears. Wordlessly, he turned away to face the seething crowd.

  “I give myself over to you,” he said, holding his arms out to one of Lucas’s henchmen.

  The throng of angels seemed to pulse with excitement. From the shadows, someone produced a length of rope. Quickly, Michael’s wrists were bound, and he was lashed to one of the columns, his arms spread above his head, leaving him vulnerable.

  “More,” Lucas ordered. Two more coils of rope were produced. Michael’s ankles were tied, spreading his legs wide as they pulled the ropes around the post. Someone tore open the front of Michael’s thin cotton shirt, leaving it hanging in rags about his shoulders. He shivered in the cold, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

  Lucas tested the ropes, which held fast.

  “Can you feel it?” he taunted Michael, loud enough for us all to hear. He held the rock up to the firelight. “It pulses with life. Can you hear it, Michael, screaming for blood? It was God’s mistake that allowed this bloodlust to come into the world. It was your mistake that mankind was allowed to live on, when all Heaven cried out against it. The rock that claimed blood then shall claim yours now.”

  Faster than we could see, he lashed out at Michael’s face, slashing it open with the sharp edge of the stone. Michael cried out in shock. Blood welled and spurted, dripping down his face.

  I gasped at the cold, calculated precision of it, realizing that Lucas meant to relish his kill. Instinctively, I reached for Michael, surging against my captors’ arms. The angels yanked me back against them, holding me even more tightly.

  “Die, my brother.” Lucas slashed at Michael’s face again, opening up an oozing line over his cheekbone. “Die, knowing that there will be no one left to protect the innocent here on Earth.” He lunged at Michael’s body, and a red bloom of blood spread like an oil slick across his chest.

  “Die, knowing that the Gates of Heaven stand unguarded, and we will stand triumphant over the Throne in mere days.”

  With a flick of his wrist, he opened a vein in Michael’s arm and blood spurted everywhere.

  I tried to look away, but the angels twisted their hands in my hair, forcing me to watch as Michael sagged against the ropes in agony.

  “Die, knowing you die because of the hand of the woman who you loved,” Lucas said with a sneer, “the very woman who betrayed you in the end. Die now.”

  Lucas raised his hand high above his head, brandishing the rock.

  “Stone him!” Someone yelled from the back of the crowd.

  “No!” I shrieked, struggling against my captors.

  Lucas brought the rock down onto Michael’s skull. A horrible thud echoed through the chamber.

  Everyone stopped, struck dumb by what they’d just witnessed.

  Slowly, Lucas stepped back from the column where Michael’s body slumped against the ropes. Suddenly, he whirled, thrusting the bloody rock above him in a sick sign of victory.

  A howl of madness ran through the angels. One of them strode up to the column. Mustering all his strength, he kicked Michael in the abdomen. Michael’s body twitched against the ropes. Not satisfied, the angel kicked again and again until, spent, he walked away, a sneer of satisfaction on his face. Another angel took his turn, batting Michael about the head like a cat playing with a toy. Then, as if released from a spell, they all fell upon Michael’s body, engulfing it in a swarm of violence.

  The angels holding me threw me to the ground, their charge forgotten in their desire to join the bloodshed. I couldn’t see Michael any longer, but I didn’t need to. The throng was three-deep now, angels fighting for a chance to strike their own blow. They’d torn him from the column, throwing his body onto the stone floor, so they could better kick and defile it. The sickening sounds of breaking bones mingled with cries of pain and the screams of violent pleasure as the Fallen Ones took out their millennia of anger and frustration on Michael.

  I crawled up the steps, sobbing, to hide behind the altar, waiting for my chance, trying to block out the sickening thuds, the sounds of retribution as they had their way with Michael.

  Eventually, the orgy of bloodshed petered out as the Fallen Ones sated themselves with revenge. Bloodied and spent, they stepped away, leaving Michael’s body collapsed on the stones. The torchlight flickered, reflecting off the bloody gore that splattered their armor, as they huddled in groups, breathless, almost disbelieving what they had done.

  Lucas shoved his way through the clusters of soldiers. “Where’s the girl?” he demanded, wiping his brow. He still held tightly to the rock, his talisman, his Key to Heaven. He looked around the chapel, scanning for a sign of me. I shrank back behind the altar, praying he would overlook me in the shadows.

  He kept looking, peering into the night as he licked his lips. His eyes were excited, aflame with bloodlust. I could see their whites, gleaming crazily in the half-light.

  “No matter,” he said, dismissively, turning his back to my hiding place. Carefully, I watched, pressing myself to the ground.

  “She is insignificant now that Michael is dead. Yet she annoyed me with her resistance. One day, I will claim her and complete the degradation of our enemy. Let her live in fear, knowing that the protection of the angels is no longer with her. But right now we have more important things to tend to. Tonight is ours, my friends!” He shouted, flinging his arms wide in the air, the slight light glinting off his armor. The fallen angels chanted and hollered their approval. “The Earth is ours! Let our mayhem be a sign to Heaven that its reign of injustice is over. Away!”

  With a scream of vengeance, the Fallen Angels rose like one. As quickly as they’d come, they vanished into smoke and shadow, forming a violent whirlwind in the center of the chapel. The cloud pulsated as, shrieking, it turned into a flock of crows. The birds swirled and darted around the columns, crowing their victory before streaming out the windows and abandoning the church to descend upon the unknowing town below them.

  Silence settled around me.

  I waited, afraid it was a trap, fearful at the sound of my own heaving breath. When I was certain we were truly alone, I flung myself down the stairs to Michael. He was huddled on the floor, face down. I knelt beside him in a pool of sticky blood, afraid to touch him. Gently, I placed my hands on his broken body. I cringed to feel him shudder at my touch. Carefully, barely touching hi
s shoulders, I rolled him over.

  I choked back a cry.

  His face was swollen and misshapen, the flesh raw from the beating he’d taken. His forehead was collapsed in; tiny bone fragments clung to his matted, bloody hair.

  I ran my hands over his body. Dark purple bruises were already welling up, his taut skin barely able to contain the hemorrhaging. A broken bone, jagged, stuck out of his arm. Everywhere there was blood. Everywhere.

  “No, no, no,” I murmured desperately, ripping off my sweatshirt and pressing it against his arm to staunch the flow.

  He moaned, and opened his eyes. The whites were speckled with red. He looked at me and smiled beatifically.

  Oh my God, I thought with horror. He’s still conscious.

  My sweatshirt was already soaked, his damaged heart still weakly pumping out blood in fits and starts. The tangy smell of it assaulted my nose, leaving me gagging. I tied the arms of the shirt around his wound the best I could and ripped off my next layer, frantically wiping his face, trying to stop the bleeding.

  He reached up and grabbed my hand, stilling me.

  “Shhh,” he said, his eyes rolling shut. He pressed my hand to his chest. I could feel his heart beating weakly.

  You must let me go. His words seared themselves into my brain.

  “You’re not dying,” I insisted, twisting his fingers in mine as I fought back the tears. “They left you for dead, but you’re alive. You will live.”

  Hope, he chastised. All God’s children must have their chance, even the Fallen. Don’t begrudge them their chance. They know not what they do. And neither did you.

  I spread my fingers wide over his chest. Beneath my palm, I could feel his heartbeat getting weaker. A sob escaped my lips. Desperate, I pulled his other hand to my heart.

  Please don’t leave me, I thought. I don’t know how to be without you.

  A tear dripped from my nose and fell onto his face, clearing a tiny rivulet through the blood. He winced from the sting of the salt.

  Hope Carmichael, he said, sighing my name like a prayer. Belief. Expectation. Heart of my heart. His body convulsed, caught in the grip of pain as his eyes rolled back in his head. I could have spent all eternity with you and been happy. Until I loved you, my sacrifice was unworthy.