Blood of Hope

by Wood, Rick

  “So how did you drown?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Jamile frowned. How strange. He was normally completely accurate about these things.

  “How did you die then?”

  “I haven’t,” the boy grinned, turning his head toward Jamile. “Though I did kill my host, so maybe that’s what you mean. He died.”

  “And… who exactly was your host?”

  “Maybe you’ve heard of him,” the boy gleefully joked. “His name was Edward King.”

  Jamile froze. His eyes widened. His blood raced.

  He was in serious danger.

  He turned on his heel and sprinted, accelerating as fast as he could, hurtling forward in no particular direction.

  It was no use.

  Within moments, the boy had transformed into a creature so large it covered the entire landscape in shadow. Glancing back at the beast, Jamile gagged at its vile appearance. So triumphantly intimidating was it, Jamile’s legs became too weak to move and he fell.

  A lifetime of speaking to the dead and he had never come across anything like it.

  As he cowered on his back, crawling backwards, the shadow of the creature looming over him, he feasted his eyes upon the beast that hung over him.

  It was terrifying. Its fanged teeth dripped with thick red, its claws were hugely curved and ready to tear Jamile apart, and its eyes…

  Oh, it’s eyes.

  They were bloodier than any part of him. Pupils consumed with dark red, nothing but pure, unaltered evil ruminating in waves toward its prey.

  “Please…” begged Jamile, knowing it would do no good. “Please… you must still have Edward King inside of you… you must remember… you must fight this…”

  The grin of this monstrosity was the last thing Jamile ever saw.

  Its claw elongated into a pointed arc, firing through Jamile’s chest. Its teeth ripped his neck into pieces within seconds, spraying buckets of blood over the snowy tops of the nearby trees.

  Jamile’s instant demise was a violent atrocity, a brutally humiliating wave of mortification that echoed through the valleys of Canada so that anyone who was tapped into the happenings of hell could feel it.

  They could feel a man of Jamile’s power surging through the air, then gone in a matter of seconds.

  Then the heir to hell disappeared.

  An unrecognisable corpse remained.

  16

  The orange tint hovering above the hazy white clouds, signalling the descent of the evening sun.

  The stone temples above stone walls around stone houses.

  The stone walls of the courtyard, with aged cracks spewing small mounds of moss.

  Sand in the air, floating from nearby surfaces.

  The sound of a hymn. The waveforms of distant song barely audible.

  Prayers lingering in the air. The condensation of church mist. The echoes of tiny voices bouncing off the stone walls inside.

  “Martin,” spoke a soft, gentle voice from the lips of Father Douglas. “Can you hear it?”

  Martin closed his eyes. His mind still. Focussing on the elements that encompassed him.

  The voices. The hymns. The humid haze. The orange glow. The taste of church air.

  He could feel everything. Every connected beat, every piece of energy between every lingering life.

  From inside of himself, his thoughts were quiet. A mind at peace. A definite clarity of vague feelings.

  “I can,” Martin confirmed.

  “Good,” acknowledged Douglas. “Then we will start.”

  Martin’s eyes sprung open, but his body remained completely still. Sat on a wooden chair, his hands resting symmetrically upon his knees, his focus was placed entirely on the object before him.

  A pencil.

  Laid still on the floor.

  Ten yards away from Martin’s fixed stare.

  “Keep listening,” Douglas spoke, circling Martin and the pencil. “Keep feeling, detect everything. Keep your mind calm. Think of nothing but what you feel.”

  Martin remained comfortably rigid, keeping his mind focussed on his environment. From the close to the distant, from his beating heart to the motionless pencil.

  “Keep your eyes on the pencil,” continued Douglas. “Keep your focus on it.”

  Martin’s eyes barely blinked, gazing firmly on the weightless object that remained immobile.

  “Now channel that energy, channel that focus, that awareness, toward the pencil. Direct everything you have into that pencil. But do not try to move it.”

  Douglas paused behind Martin.

  “You will not be able to move it. Just focus on it. Feel it. Take it in, soak the energy surrounding it up.”

  A day ago, Martin would have told someone spewing this complex pencil-obsessive diatribe to shut up and stop being such a pretentious twat.

  But now he felt it.

  The pencil before him sank into his body, tingling his senses. The lead, the tip, the inscription of HB marked into the side; it flowed through him.

  “Now, my boy,” Douglas grinned, crouching behind Martin, both the pencil and Martin in his peripheral vision. “Nudge the pencil.”

  Martin took a deep breath in and let it out. He willed his mind to remain calm.

  Getting it calm was the easy part; retaining that calmness enough to undertake an impossible task was something else.

  “Picture yourself nudging that pencil,” Douglas whispered encouragement. “Picture your finger doing it. Feel your finger doing it, but do not move your finger.”

  Move it but don’t move it? Jesus.

  No.

  Remain calm.

  Don’t be sceptical now. I can feel it. I can do this.

  In his mind he saw his finger reach out, a large fist with a raised point, edging closer to the pencil.

  Brushing the pencil with this imaginary finger, he could feel it against the tip, feel it against his skin.

  He pushed.

  The pencil did not move.

  He let out an exasperated breath, moving his head away.

  “Do not lose focus, son,” Douglas asserted, and Martin abruptly resumed his gaze. “Nothing works the first time. If you are ready to give up on the first attempt, you are not ready to be successful. This may take one, ten, a hundred, maybe a million times. You’ve just got to believe that, eventually, you will move that pencil.”

  Martin resumed his focus, getting in tune with his surroundings, feeling his environment, feeling the pencil before him.

  Shutting up any critical thoughts, he listened to the pencil, listening to the absence of sound it was hammering into his ears.

  Listening to the air around himself.

  Willing himself to feel it.

  Whatever that means.

  The pencil. Nudging. His hand reaching out.

  I can see the pencil moving.

  The pencil moving.

  The pencil.

  Moving.

  THWACK!

  The pencil flew off the floor at an exceptional speed, soaring toward the far wall of the courtyard with such ferocity it smashed into tiny pieces of lead.

  Martin’s jaw dropped.

  He rose from his seat, though he was completely unaware of himself doing so.

  His hands shook. He was stuck in disbelief.

  “Oh my God!” he exclaimed.

  He turned to his side, where Douglas wore an elated grin, a grin spread across his face.

  “There you see, my boy.” Douglas held his arms out warmly in celebration. “I knew once you quietened your mind…”

  Martin pumped his fists in the air and walked around excitedly, at a loss as to what to do with himself.

  I just moved a pencil with my mind!

  “I – I – I can’t believe it!”

  Without any warning or realisation what he was doing, he flung himself onto Douglas with a large, congratulatory hug.

  He stood for a while, his hands in his hair, staring at the pieces of pencil spread ar
ound the floor.

  “Right,” spoke Douglas. “Now you’ve moved a pencil, how about we start on conjuring fire?”

  … What?

  17

  26 January 2003

  Jenny’s fingers drummed irritably across the table. Noticing Lacy’s death stare, Jenny promptly ceased and shoved her hand into her pocket.

  Jenny was slouched in her chair, her head resting on her fist, staring half-heartedly under drooped eyelids at the screen Lacy was displaying toward her.

  “So there’s this lovely place in Canada,” Lacy beamed, showing a beautiful, snowy cabin on the computer screen. “It looks so nice. And a winter wedding would be just magical.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jenny grunted.

  She couldn’t believe Derek’s impudence the other day. She played the scene back over in her mind, again and again, each time playing out a different version of what she could have said in retaliation.

  “I also found this lovely place in Germany,” Lacy continued, opening another window on the computer. “It’s quite far off for our families to go, but if we left it a year or so for people to save, it should be all right, right?”

  “Mm.”

  “I mean, we’re not asking too much, are we?”

  “No.”

  Is this the best time?

  How dare Derek.

  Jenny didn’t have to volunteer her time. She didn’t have to give up her job, her social life, her freedom. It’s true she was doing it for Eddie rather than Derek, or even the entirety of humanity; but the absolute cheek to voice such a ludicrous opinion.

  I mean that’s delightful, yes, but is it the opportune moment?

  The opportune moment?

  Jenny couldn’t think of a more opportune moment. The world was going to hell. What difference would it make?

  “Jenny, what is going on?” Lacy demanded, staring daggers at Jenny, whose eyes had absentmindedly glazed over.

  “What?” Jenny mustered, shaking herself out of her funk.

  “I’m trying to talk to you about wedding stuff and you’re not even here. It’s like you don’t even care.”

  Jenny ran her hands over her face and knelt forward. Lacy was right. Jenny was not giving her due attention or putting her enthusiasm into this, and it wasn’t good enough.

  “Sorry, Lace, I’m just a bit pissed off about something,” Jenny admitted.

  “Okay, well, maybe you can forget about it.”

  “But I can’t forget about it, it’s just–” Jenny stood and paced back and forth, grunting an exasperated growl. “Derek, man. He’s doing my head in.”

  She leant against the windowsill beside the computer Lacy was trying to use to show her various wedding venues.

  “What has he done now?” Lacy sighed, turning her head away and trying not to let her annoyance show.

  “I told him about us, I mean, our getting married,” Jenny ranted. “But then he went on about what an ‘inopportune’ time it was. I mean, I just said we are getting engaged. He doesn’t actually expect us to have the wedding before we’ve finished all this, does he?”

  Lacy frowned.

  “Doesn’t he?”

  “I mean–” Jenny continued, unaware of Lacy’s folding arms and shaking head. “Yes, it’s not an opportune moment, but it will sure lift our spirits to have something to celebrate.”

  “You just want to get engaged to lift our spirits?”

  “No, no, of course not,” Jenny protested. “I want to get engaged because I love you.”

  “Jen…” Lacy trailed off, gathering her thoughts, making sure she was careful with how she articulated them. “I know the world might be ending and all that – but, just in case it doesn’t, I’d still like to plan for our future.”

  “Yes, exactly!” Jenny exclaimed. “That’s what I told him.”

  “And what exactly do you mean – of course we aren’t having our wedding yet?”

  “Well…” Jenny froze. Seeing the hurt etched over her lover’s face, it finally dawned on her that she and Lacy weren’t understanding each other. “I mean, I want to get married – but not yet, right? This has to come first.”

  “This has to come first?”

  “Yes!”

  Lacy bowed her head, covering her eyes with her hand.

  “What is it?” Jenny asked.

  “It’s nothing,” Lacy lied. “It’s fine. Maybe we’ll never bother. I’m just fed up with hearing about Derek and this quest. Can’t we just concentrate the time we have together on us? On our wedding? Without having to involve any of the other load of things that’s going on?”

  “You’re right,” Jenny nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. My head’s not here, that’s my bad. I’m totally focussed now.”

  She turned around and knelt beside Lacy, resting her hands on Lacy’s lap as she peered up at the computer screen before them.

  “Right, well, this is Germany, a location where another gay couple got married,” Lacy indicated with her hand. “I think it looks really lovely.”

  The phone rang.

  Jenny looked remorsefully to Lacy.

  “You don’t have to get that,” Lacy suggested.

  “You know I have to,” Jenny urged, stroking her hand down Lacy’s hair in hope of her affection proving that Lacy did still come first. “I never know what it might be.”

  She marched out of the room. Lacy listened to distant talking and, within a minute, Jenny was back in the room putting her coat on.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” Jenny claimed, putting her arms around Lacy.

  “What is it?”

  “Someone else has died. Some guy in Canada, actually. I need to go see Derek now.”

  Lacy didn’t respond. She allowed her silence to hang in the air.

  Jenny, unfortunately, didn’t have time to fix it. She knew she would have to do something to make up for it later; maybe flowers, or some kind of gesture.

  She gave Lacy a kiss on the forehead and rushed out the door.

  18

  1 Feb 2003

  Laughter consumed the courtyard. It was like a box to an eternity of magic had been opened, and Martin could barely keep it in.

  He felt himself surge with power, casting spells and spewing elements with ridiculous ease.

  Father Douglas sat in his chair, rocking back and forth with a knowing smile. This child could amount to all he was supposed to be yet.

  Martin let out a cocky bawl of laughter as he twisted his hands in a contorted circle quicker and quicker, fire emulating from his fingers. Once he had built up enough fire he lunged it forward, launching a cylinder of flames at the wooden target propped before him.

  The spray of flames engulfed the target, plunging it into a wall of blaze.

  “Oh no, fire!” Martin joked, amusing himself. “Well, fear not!”

  He moved his arms in a frantic motion once more, this time raising them upwards in unison, circling them again and again.

  Sprays of water flung from his fingers, raining upon the cobbled ground. The drops grew and grew, expanding until they reached a large ball of liquid wrapped around each of his palms.

  Flinging his hands forward once more, he threw a stream of water onto the fire he had previously created.

  Bowing his head and closing his eyes, concentrating on his surroundings, he rested his mind.

  Then his eyes shot open.

  In response, the drenched wooden target before him went sailing into the far wall in a gust of wind, smashing into pieces.

  Martin smirked again.

  He deserved to be cocky.

  Unbeknownst to Martin, a familiar figure watched on. Behind and above Douglas’ chuckling pride, from the heavens above, a beautiful, graceful figure smiled, despite her eyes being consumed by concern.

  Cassy was pleased with his progress. He had done well, she didn’t doubt this.

  But she felt like she was exploiting him.

  This boy had no idea the war he was waging, or the reasons he was involved.


  “What’s troubling you?” came a wizened woman’s voice beside her.

  Cassy turned to Gabrielle and forced a smile, dropping her head, and resting her eyes in a momentary second of weakness.

  Gabrielle was a magnificently elegant woman. With luscious black skin, perfectly groomed hair flowing down her shoulders, and a peaceful, white dress adorning her as it had for thousands of years.

  She was used to the trepidation of her disciples.

  The most significant hesitancy she had witnessed came a little over two thousand years ago, from a woman who gave birth to the man who changed everything.

  Now, they were witnessing a similar time with the messiahs they were training.

  But never in her eternal existence of representing the heavens had she been aware of such feelings of opposing malevolence coming from hell.

  The fallen angel Lucifer grew stronger now his antichrist grew in power. Their messiah was on earth, just as their previous messiah had been two thousand years before – only this time, their messiah wasn’t there to bring love.

  This new messiah was there to be the world’s defence in the biggest war of mankind.

  “Don’t fake a smile with me, Cassy,” Gabrielle pleaded, placing a comforting hand upon Cassy’s arm.

  Cassy was a grand angel, a real asset in their battle against hell.

  But Cassy was still young in her ascension. She was inexperienced. Gabrielle had thousands upon thousands of years’ experience against her, and it made her all the calmer in dealing with troubled times.

  “I’m sorry, I just…” Cassy trailed off, weakened in her trail of thought.

  Her thoughts felt like she was betraying her mission. Gabrielle noticed this, as Cassy knew she would. But it didn’t make Cassy feel any less guilty about such feelings.

  “Speak honestly,” Gabrielle insisted. “There is no point in disguising how you feel.”

  Cassy watched Martin again, on earth. Enduring the triumph that would precede the inevitable pain.

  Heaven was a safe haven from such things. It was unfair that Martin should fight whilst Cassy stood by and gave meaningless advice.