The Glory

by J. R. Mabry

  There were no lights on in Maggie’s place. Soft green light peered in from the small windows near the low ceiling, and there were several candles lit at strategic locations around the room, but neither did much to alleviate the gloom.

  “Everything still down?” Brian asked.

  “Yes. I was hoping for a newspaper, but no,” Maggie answered. She placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

  He slurped at it gratefully, but it was too hot and stung his tongue. “Even if the presses were running, he’d probably be censoring the press by now.”

  “Probably, yes.”

  Brian rose and stretched. His muscles did not ache here, and he felt grateful for that. “So how does he plan to get the army from here to Tipharet?”

  “My guess is he’ll hypnotize them and get them to ascend,” Maggie said, sipping from her own cup. She was sitting in a lumpy armchair in her basement apartment—a different apartment than her Yesod counterpart lived in.

  “Does everyone who lives here live in every other sephirot?” Brian asked.

  “Of course, dear. The you in Malkuth and the you that’s here aren’t separate people, you know. You’re all the same person, just different aspects of the one you.”

  “If I’m a different aspect, why don’t I feel any different?”

  “You would if you were paying attention.”

  “I’m not paying attention?”

  “Don’t sound so hurt. Attention is a continuum, not a light switch. You pay more or less attention, depending. And you get better at it with practice.”

  “So he’s going to hypnotize this army—”

  “And let’s assume every other army in Netzach,” Maggie interjected.

  “How, if the communications are down?”

  “This is just my opinion, but I don’t think they’re down down. There hasn’t been a wind storm or anything. I think they’re being suppressed. They’ll be back up when he needs them.”

  “He certainly gained a lot of power fast,” Brian blew on his coffee and tried it again. It was tolerable in both temperature and taste. This version of Maggie was amazing in many ways. But he decided coffee-making was not one of them. He set the cup down. “Maggie, about this…job.”

  “Yes, dear. It doesn’t actually pay, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s more of a vocation, a calling.”

  “I wasn’t…that wasn’t my question. I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “That’s the spirit,” she leaned over and patted his hand. “You just keep that up.”

  “What? I’m saying I don’t think I’m the right person.”

  “My dear, I am the Forerunner. I see the Truth and say it. I see the Truth about you. And I have said it. You can resist it, you can deny it, you can run away from it, but that won’t change the truth.”

  “Maybe it’s not my Truth.”

  “Pish on your California relativism,” she waved his objection away. “The Truth is always the Truth.”

  Brian swallowed. If he believed that she was who she said she was—and he did—then he should trust her about this. Moses freaking trusts her about this, he thought. “It just scares me, that’s all.”

  “Why does it scare you?”

  “It’s a lot of responsibility,” he said.

  “It is that,” she agreed. “But there’s no reason to be scared.”

  “What if I don’t do a good job?”

  “Ah, I’m sensing some performance anxiety,” she grinned and took a sip.

  “I guess you could say that,” he pursed his lips.

  “Listen to me. This is ministry. There is no performance. So there’s nothing to be anxious about. See? You can relax.”

  Brian shook his head. “I don’t follow you at all.”

  “If it were up to you, then yes, you would have something to be anxious about. But this is a sacred calling. You’ll be on heaven’s payroll—for whatever that’s worth. This is HaShem’s work, not yours. If HaShem wants it done well, then HaShem needs to bloody well show up and do the fucking work.”

  Brian blinked. “You have completely lost me.”

  Maggie sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Listen, dear boy, the job is very simple. You show up. You pay attention. You speak what you notice. And you trust HaShem to do the rest. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It is easy.”

  “So, you don’t go in with a plan?”

  “Of course not. That’s a sure-fire way to muck things up. Then you’re just making it about you and what a good job you’re going to do. It’s not about you. It’s about HaShem and the Truth of the situation. Your only job is to be aware of HaShem’s presence and to see the situation with clear eyes. And then you just say what you see. That’s it.”

  “This is what makes you such a good spiritual director for Richard, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a very similar set of skills, yes.”

  “He really loves you,” Brian said.

  She sighed. “He’s a very dear mess.”

  Brian laughed. “I think he would agree with that assessment.”

  Maggie smiled, then leaned over and held his eye. “You’re still anxious.”

  “Yes. I’m scared.”

  “Let me tell you what I see, and you can tell me if I’m on target.”

  “Okay.”

  “You haven’t always been good at noticing, and now you’re worried that you won’t be good at it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t be pig-headed, dear. Did you not notice that things were becoming strained between you and Terry? Didn’t you see that he was struggling? The poor libidinous dear, you might even say he was suffering. Did you not notice?”

  “I—” He was tempted to lie, and he could chalk that up to a compulsion due to what was happening in Hod, but he knew that wouldn’t fly with Maggie. Not with someone who could always see the truth about everything. “I saw, but other things seemed more important. I guess I…chose not to notice.”

  “That,” she slapped his knee, “was a very good answer.” She leaned back. “So you see, everything is going to be fine.”

  “What? I don’t follow.” Brian’s head hurt.

  “You noticed. You notice well. You chose not to notice, but that’s a different thing. That’s being callous, not oblivious. That was sin, not blindness.”

  “Gee, I feel so much better about it since you put it that way.”

  “Sin, well, that you and HaShem will have to sort out. The important thing is that you have everything you need to be the Forerunner. You are keenly observant. And you must trust HaShem to reveal to you the most important things.”

  Brian stared at his coffee.

  “Listen, dear. I know you’re scared, but I want you to hear me now, because I’m about to say something you may not have ever heard before. Whether you do a good job—whatever that means—you have to let go of that. Glory is not yours to achieve or earn or steal—that’s where the magickians get it wrong. Glory is something HaShem gives you. It is not something wonderful that you wrap yourself in when you are victorious. It is the gift of hearing ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant,’ when we have done our best.”

  She let that sink in for a moment, then continued in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. “But the worst, most terrible part of it all is that it is not my own glory that I am responsible for, but everyone else’s. Whether I do well is not something I care two whits about. But whether you do well, my dear…that, I fear, is what HaShem and I will discuss when I stand before him at judgment.”

  “And does that scare you?”

  “What do you think?” She held up her hand. “Just stop. Look at me. Notice. Then answer.”

  Brian paused and studied her face. He saw the twitch around her mouth. He saw the gleam of water in her eyes. He saw the kindness of her soul. He saw her sincerity. As he watched her closely, he saw her inner worl
d unfold before him. He saw her in all her mundanity and profundity. He saw…her. The Truth of her. And he knew it.

  “You’re terrified,” he said.

  “Yes, dear. HaShem loves desperately, but he is also a hard taskmaster. From those to whom much has been entrusted, much is expected.”

  “You mean me now, too, don’t you?”

  “Yes, dear. Does that scare you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. That means you’re ready.”

  99

  Richard came to, feeling a great rush of cool air. He opened his eyes to see the tall, angular woman who had accompanied him into camp looming over the open car door. “Up. The Goat King requires your presence at breakfast.”

  Richard squinted upwards at her. He tried to move, but a bolt of pain shot through his bladder. Eschewing all propriety, Richard gingerly swung his legs out of the car, peeled back the folds of his cassock, unzipped his fly, and let loose with a powerful stream of piss.

  The amazon woman jumped back, her face contorted with disgust. Richard didn’t care. Sweet relief poured through him, despite the fact that his bladder was still screaming at him. When the stream finally began to subside, he looked up at her. “Don’t give me that,” he said. “What were you thinking, not letting us out to use the john? The car already smells like piss because the kid couldn’t hold it,” he said, indicating Mike over his shoulder with a toss of his chin.

  “Not my decision,” she explained.

  “Great fucking excuse,” Richard said, his voice still sharp with recrimination. “Gotta be something in the Geneva Convention about bathroom breaks.”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  Richard shook his head. “Nor, apparently, is there any reason you should.”

  Richard spat in his hands and wiped them both on his cassock. Then he stood up and straightened his clothes. “All right. What’s for breakfast?”

  “I am not sure you will be eating.”

  “That’s a disappointment. I was looking forward to the cuisine here.”

  “You are too chatty for a man about to die.”

  Richard’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s ominous. You obviously know something I don’t.”

  “Then you are a fool.”

  “That is beyond dispute. All right, take me away, Xena.”

  “Who is Xena?”

  “When were you born?” Richard shook his head, feeling old. “It doesn’t matter. Onward.”

  “I was ordered to bring you and the children.”

  “Then you’ll have to carry them. I smothered them in their sleep.”

  He watched her eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open. He slugged her playfully on the arm. “Had you going! They’re not dead. But they can’t walk. You really will have to carry them.”

  “They’re not dead?”

  “No. Far from it.”

  “Then wake them up.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Then I’ll wake them up.”

  “You can try. But you won’t be able to do that, either.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they’re not here. They’re…well, I don’t actually know where they are. I left them in the care of some Sandalphon. So I know they’re safe, but I have no idea where they took them.”

  “You’re talking nonsense.”

  Richard waved toward the children. “Knock yourself out.”

  The young woman crossed to the driver’s side and opened the rear door. Sophie and Mike were curled up together. It looked very much like they were sleeping peacefully. The amazon shook them, but to no avail.

  “Told you.”

  “This is a trick. I will walk away with you and, once we’re gone, the children will stop playing like they’re asleep and run away.”

  “Damn!” Richard snapped his fingers. “That would’ve been a great trick! But no. I do wish I’d thought of it, though.”

  The tall woman shut the doors, making sure they were locked again. She waved at someone across the camp. Squinting, Richard saw it was the Viking-looking man he had met before. The man picked his way through the camp over to where the car was. “Watch them,” she commanded him.

  “I was just gonna get break—”

  “Watch them,” she repeated and, grabbing Richard’s arm, jerked him roughly toward the most densely populated part of the camp.

  Richard passed literally hundreds of people just now rousing from tents and lean-tos. Many of them were dressed in rags, but even more were decked out in flamboyant costumes pieced together from leather, velvet, silk, and anything else at hand. Some of it reminded Richard of The Road Warrior, and some of it looked straight out of a steampunk convention. The Marina park was dotted with campfires as people made coffee and fixed whatever breakfast they could scrounge. Few of them gave Richard even a passing glance. The general mood was high but a little groggy, given the fact that it was morning. One campsite featured two men in a fistfight, surrounded by cheering onlookers goading them on. A festival atmosphere filled the air—as did the pungent aroma of raw sewage. Richard wondered how long the camp would endure before typhoid broke out and crippled it. It can’t happen soon enough, he thought.

  The amazon led Richard to a pavilion—a large canvas tent with a bright red sigil spray painted on its side. Richard looked for an activating sigil but didn’t see one. The large sigil was just ornamental then, but Richard didn’t doubt that the potent sigils were nearby. The people here were too focused, too compliant, and too eager for violence for there not to be demonic influence.

  “Wait here,” the amazon said. A large, beefy man stood at the entrance of the pavilion, an ax hanging over his back. She nodded at him and he crossed his arms and looked menacingly at Richard. The young woman entered the tent. A few moments later she reemerged. “The Goat King will see you now,” she said.

  “Excellent,” Richard said, and he ducked through the doorway.

  The tent was bright, as the morning sun lit up the roof and one whole wall. It was about eighteen feet square and filled with couches. A couple of them were old and losing their stuffing, but others looked like they were straight out of the box from Ikea. Lounging on the nicest—a brown leather couch ornately dotted with brass nails—was the Goat King.

  His horned headdress was off, sitting astride the arm of the couch, easily at hand should ridiculous and menacing headgear be required.

  “Priest! You are here to amuse me,” the Goat King announced, smiling and waving a large turkey leg at him.

  “I am here. And I may amuse you. But it is not why I am here,” Richard clarified.

  “Why do you think you’re here?” The Goat King raised an eyebrow.

  “I think I’m here because a demon-oppressed lunatic is holding me captive.”

  “You’re in my presence thirty seconds and you insult me?”

  “And I wasn’t really trying,” Richard said. “You should see me when I put some effort into it.”

  “Don’t you know I am your King?”

  “I only have one king. Is your name Jesus?”

  The Goat King scowled. “Don’t you know that I hold your life in my hands?” He brandished his turkey leg for effect.

  Richard looked away. “That hardly matters. My page is…filled up anyway,” he said. He had been so focused on the magickian that he hadn’t really noticed the Goat King’s “court.” About six people either stood or lounged about the king, all of them looking like they had just stepped out of the Renaissance Faire, and all of them staring at him with wicked, aloof amusement. One couple was even decked out in French Renaissance-style white face with fake moles painted on their chins. Creepy, Richard thought.

  “Where are the children?” the Goat King asked. “I ordered you to be sent to me together.”

  “They’re not here,” Richard said.

  “I told you to bring them to me!” the king thundered at the amazon. She lowered her head but spoke in a bold, confident tone. “I could not wake them up. He…
must have them under some kind of spell.”

  “Spell?” The Goat King’s face twisted up in confusion. “What kind of spell? Spells aren’t real.”

  “You’re not much of a magickian, are you?” Richard asked him.

  “Bring me the children anyway!” he roared. The amazon bowed slightly then turned and exited the tent.

  The Goat King turned back to Richard. “Whatever you did to them, undo it.”

  “Hmm…let me think about that,” Richard said, stroking his chin. “No.”

  “You seem to think this is a joke, priest. Just who do you think is holding the power here?”

  “I know exactly who’s holding the power. It isn’t you.”

  “Are you delusional? I could give an order and have your head crushed in like that!” He snapped his fingers.

  Richard shrugged. “So do it.”

  “You think I won’t.”

  “I don’t know if you will or not.” Richard’s face betrayed nothing. “I’m just not terribly concerned about it.”

  “I will run you through with a pike!” He threw the turkey leg at Richard.

  The friar ducked and watched the leg skitter toward the wall of the tent. “Have you thought about an anger management seminar?” Richard stood back up to his full height. “Why is it so important to you that the children be awake?”

  The magickian’s mouth turned up in a smile at the question. “Well, if you must know, they will be the main course at the feast I am preparing for our Father Below.”