Offspring

by Liam Jackson

  Catching his breath, Nathaniel laid a huge hand upon Paul's shoulder. "Oh... oh, little brother, I honor thee! It's been long and long since I've had a good laugh."

  Paul smiled and said, "I'm so glad that I've amused you, but you still haven't answered my question. Would you mind taking another shot at it?"

  Nathaniel's expression sobered a bit. "First, tell me how much you remember from this morning."

  The request caught Paul off-guard. He thought back to the last conversation he'd had with Nathaniel and Kiel. Although he felt rested, his memory was cloudy, and he was certain that his senses were dulled by the healing draught administered by Kiel. The memories were slow to return at first. Then suddenly, as if someone threw a switch, the lights came on.

  "I remember... I mean... it's all real, then? Everything you told me this morning, my wife... it's all...?"

  Nathaniel folded massive arms across his chiseled chest and nodded. "Yes, it's all real."

  Paul nodded dumbly, then asked, "How did you heal me? You and Kiel healed me, didn't you?"

  "Something like that. Kiel's work, mostly. It is his gift."

  "Gift? It sounds more like some kind of miracle."

  Nathaniel shook his head, sending his thick, rock star hair cascading in all directions. "No, it's not a miracle as you think of it. Miracles are special gifts reserved for Man. But with you and your kind, well... it's different. That's not to say that you don't have gifts of your own. You do. They're just... different."

  Paul considered that for a moment, then said, "There are others like you?"

  "Again, yes and no. Among angels, there are different ranks, different responsibilities. For instance, Kiel is a Domination. I am called a Power."

  Paul chuckled and said, "That makes perfect sense. I guess you're one of the highest rank?"

  "Hardly," said Nathaniel, shaking his head. "There are several orders above my own. Heralds represent the lowest order of angels, followed by Virtues, Principalities, and Thrones. Authorities, Powers, and Dominations comprise the next tier while Archangels, Cherubim, and Seraphim represent the highest order. Each rank is assigned very specific duties and responsibilities. Combined, we are the Host."

  Paul frowned. "Pretty confusing. I'm embarrassed to admit it, especially to you, but I'm not the most religious guy in the world. Is all that stuff in the Bible?"

  Nathaniel smiled. "More or less, although you must consider that an imperfect Man cannot, in principle, write and maintain a perfect historical account. For instance, many interpretations of the word insist Lucifer and the Fallen are demons. Nothing could be further from the truth."

  "This morning, it all sounded so simple, so believable," Paul said. "But I'm not like you and Kiel. This is all a big mistake. I'm a short, chubby, thirty-something accountant from Chicago. The only special thing about me was murdered two days ago. What makes you so sure that I'm one of those... what did you call them? Offspring? That means my parents, or at least one of them, would also carry the bloodline. And I assure you, aside from being really nice people, there's not a damn thing special about my folks. I'm telling you, Nathaniel, it's just not possible."

  Nathaniel sighed and grinned. "I suppose you'll just have to trust me on that one. It's true, the bloodline has thinned considerably over centuries, and few of your kin ever demonstrate the gifts. At least, that was true until recently. However, there is no doubt as to who, and what, you are. We'll visit this subject again. Right now, you've got more important concerns."

  Nathaniel stood and walked to the door. "There's a chest beneath the bed. Inside, you'll find clothing and other items. Take what you need. After you've attended your personal needs and dressed, we'll speak more of... things." Not waiting for a reply, Nathaniel turned toward the door.

  "Wait!" Paul said. "Please... I have to ask..."

  Nathaniel paused in the doorway. "Yes?"

  "Uh... well, if you are who you claim to be... I mean, well, you must know God. I mean, you've seen Him, talked to Him... right?"

  Exasperated by an inability to give a voice to his real question, Paul fell back onto the pillow and draped a forearm across his face. "Oh, man, I can't believe I'm having this conversation."

  Nathaniel gave him a languid smile. "Just say it, little brother. You want to know if He is real, is that it?"

  Paul peered at Nathaniel from beneath his raised forearm. "And the answer is?"

  "You already know the answer." Nathaniel hesitated, then walked out of the room, pulling the door gently behind him.

  "Yeah," muttered Paul. "I guess I do."

  He dragged the ornate chest out from under the bed and raised the lid. Inside, he found a neat stack of clean clothing. The jeans and polo shirt fit well enough, as did the desert boots. Heeding Nathaniel's advice, he took a fleece-lined denim jacket from the trunk, although he couldn't imagine what need he'd have of such a heavy garment in this climate. And speaking of climate, it occurred to him that he still had no idea where he was or how he came to be here. All he really knew was that Nathaniel had brought him here after the battle at the motel.

  Some twenty minutes later, Paul emerged from his room into a spacious but sparsely furnished living area. A familiar aroma immediately caught his attention and sent him searching the room for a cup. Seconds later, Paul filled a pewter mug with strong coffee from an old copper kettle that sat just inside the hearth.

  Nathaniel stood nearby, humming softly and arranging various items into small groups on a scarred wooden dining table. Paul sipped the coffee, then inquired about Kiel. Nathaniel would only say that his brother was away on an errand.

  Paul stepped around Nathaniel for a better look at the items on the table. The first group was comprised of common, everyday articles; a package of Bic butane lighters, nylon waist pack, a pair of tough leather gloves lined with some kind of thin, waterproof material, possibly neoprene, and a thick woolen scarf.

  Paul thought the second group resembled leftovers from a SWAT team yard sale. In the center of the pile lay a wicked-looking handgun and two boxes of ammunition. Paul knew next to nothing about guns and said as much, but Nathaniel insisted that if Paul wanted to survive, he would have to be a quick study.

  In addition to the gun, there was a hide-away holster made of hard, molded plastic, a small halogen powered mini-flashlight, a military-style combat knife with sheath and a compact, olive-green box that Nathaniel identified as a first aid kit.

  Nathaniel took a seat on one of the crude benches and picked up the gun. "It's time for school, little brother. Are you ready?"

  Paul eyed the gun nervously, but nodded. "I guess so, Nate. Say, why do you keep calling me 'little brother'? I mean, I'm not complaining. Just curious, that's all."

  Nathaniel chuckled, his deep bass reverberating through the stone-lined room. "No offense, Paul. It's simply a way of acknowledging our kinship, an honorific. Truthfully, our blood relationship is more like that of uncle and nephew." Then, thoughtfully, he added, "I'll not call you that again, if it bothers you."

  Paul considered the answer for a moment, then said, "No... no, I kind of like it. Say, I have another question."

  Still smiling, Nathaniel said, "Only one?"

  Paul grinned. "No, I guess I have a few hundred. I was just wondering about the other people, uh, those like me. How many are there? Dozens, hundreds... thousands? And how do you know them... I mean, recognize them? I mean us. How do you recognize us?"

  Nathaniel shook his head and said, "Not many are left. Offspring aren't prolific breeders and I doubt more than several dozen of the bloodline are born each year. It's difficult to say but I would guess that any given time, there's a few thousand at most and possibly as few as several hundred on the entire planet."

  "And my second question? How do you know us, when you see one of us? Is there an obvious trait, some characteristic that gives us away?"

  Nathaniel grew somber. "If only there was an easy way. Your ability to reach and other, more individual gifts are the only
way we have of recognizing you and your kin. Unfortunately, the gifts manifest randomly, at different stages of life. For most, the gifts remain dormant for the extent of their lives. Again, it has much to do with how thin the lineage has become.

  "In your own case, I suspect that you've just recently come into your inheritance. We first heard you reach several weeks ago, but the call was subtle, with little sense of urgency. Else, I would have had answered sooner. Once we answer a call, a kind of bond or link is established. Some Offspring establish that bond with a single reach. Others of your kind may link with two or more of us. It's a random act, with no method to the madness. But the real point is, until you reached we had no way of knowing you even existed."

  Paul sighed and said, "I hoped there was some other way. So many questions... I just want... I need you to understand something. I'm trying hard to wrap my mind around all this, ya know? It's like my entire life, everything I've ever believed, has been ripped apart over the past few days. Nothing seems real anymore.

  "I can't really be sure that I'm not locked away in a hospital somewhere, wearing a white tuxedo and sipping Thorazine cocktails. I may be crazy as hell and just hallucinating like a sonofabitch. Maybe... maybe I'll pull out of it tomorrow and Rita and I will have a good laugh." A single tear trickled down Paul's cheek and he looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

  Nathaniel laid a hand on Paul's shoulder. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's all just a bad dream. But until you wake up, humor me. Just remember that there are others in this dream and they hunt you day and night."

  Kiel had already explained everything in simple terms and concepts that he felt Paul could most easily understand. The single most important concept was that Paul had supernatural enemies. Paul had little trouble with that much. Having seen Axthiel in action, suspension of disbelief wasn't all that difficult.

  Still, there were many things that Paul didn't understand, at least, not yet. It was all too new. In four hours, Kiel and Nathaniel initiated the complete and utter destruction of Paul's lifelong notion of religion and spirituality, of reality and truth. As Kiel had pointed out, there was a tremendous difference between the two.

  Paul struggled most with the notion of Legion, an elemental chaotic force as old as time, consisting of an infinite number of manifestations. According to Nathaniel, Legion dwelled on the plane of Sitra Akhra, a place far removed from any form of righteousness. Legion represented the embodiment of hatred, perversion, brutality, and debauchery. On rare occasions, Legion's lesser minions gained access to the Plane of Man. Nathaniel emphasized that even demons of the lowest rank could inflict considerable grief on mankind. According to him, Legion would have destroyed the world long ago had it not been for something called the Seventh Law, or the Law of Balance.

  Speaking in a tone that bordered on reverence, Nathaniel explained the basic tenet of the Seventh Law, that the more powerful the malevolent entity, the greater the difficulty it experienced in crossing over from its prime plane into the world of Man. The greatest of these entities, the Nine Princes of Sitra Akhra, were forbidden entry into the world of Man.

  Of course, that led Paul to ask the inevitable question, "Why? If God is real, why would He allow such a malevolent evil to exist or inflict pointless misery on Mankind? If God is all-powerful, why doesn't He just...fix all this?"

  Kiel had answered the question with one of his own. "Simple questions, with complicated answers. But I ask you, what makes you think He isn't taking a direct hand? He has given men the tools and the means. The rest is up to Man. Have you heard the phrase, 'free will'?"

  "Sure," Paul replied. "I understand the basic concept."

  Kiel nodded. "Then you have part of the answer. The Creator provides humanity with discernment and tools. Humanity must make conscious use of those tools, with a self-determination tempered by courage and wisdom. If humanity ever fails to take a stand on its own behalf, it is lost. The Host may assist. That is part of our sacred charge. However, we may not lead the vanguard. The second part of this equation involves Sitra Akhra. Even the concept of righteousness is alien to the inhabitants of Sitra Akhra. Demons are vast in number, and diverse in ability. While there are nine Choirs in Heaven, or different angelic stations, Legion numbers some few hundred different races and classes."

  The information both fascinated and terrified Paul. While Nathan paused for a drink, Paul scooted to the edge of his chair like some child anxious to hear another Halloween ghost story.

  Nathan continued. "Some demons may not be seen by mortal man. These are the wraiths, incubi, and sucubi. Lesser demons, the more bestial of their kind, are masters of stealth and diversion. Greater demons may choose to appear, though it is a rare thing."

  Paul fell silent for a moment, considering Nathaniel's explanation. After a moment, he said, "So you're saying it's inevitable that men will eventually be pulled into this conflict, right alongside of God, the angels, and people like me, the Offspring. It sounds like you're describing Armageddon."

  Nathan flexed his massive shoulder and stretched. "I suppose I am, little brother. Man will indeed have to take a stand at some point, and the outcome of that stand will determine the fate of humanity. But Man's battle isn't the same as yours. You all face common foes, but you have different objectives. Man will eventually carry the brunt of this battle. It is his destiny. However, first, he must be given a chance. That's where you and your kin enter the picture. The Offspring must pave the way in order for Man to have a chance.

  "As I've said, this is something of a complicated issue and we can speak of this matter another time, and in greater detail. Now, we have other matters to attend to."

  Nathaniel's deep bass voice pulled Paul back into the present.

  "This is a Glock .40-caliber handgun. It holds sixteen rounds of ammunition; one in the pipe... uh, that's the chamber, and fifteen in the magazine."

  "Uh, what's a magazine?"

  Nathaniel dropped the magazine from the butt of the handgun and handed it to Paul. "There's two more, identical to this one, inside the ammo pouches on the gun belt."

  "I, uh... I thought this thing was called a clip."

  Nathaniel rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Okay, little brother. It's time for Nomenclature 101. Now pay close attention. We don't have much time."

  For the next two hours, under Nathaniel's watchful eye, Paul fieldstripped the handgun a dozen times. Nathaniel proved to be a patient and skilled instructor as he went over the operation, care, and maintenance of the weapon. Paul proved to be a quick study. After he had a chance to familiarize himself with the other gear, Nathaniel took him outside to a makeshift shooting range behind the monastery.

  "I can't help but wonder that with all the other, uh, weapons at your disposal, why is it you ever bothered with firearms. It's not like you have to worry about being mugged or anything."

  Nathaniel smiled and replied, "Kiel asked me the same thing only yesterday. Let's just say that when you've been around for as long as I have, you need a hobby."

  Paul nodded and grew quiet. He studied the gun in his hand for a moment, his eyes bright and dangerous. "Can I kill Axthiel with this?" he asked quietly.

  Nathaniel watched as a single tear formed in the corner of Paul's eye and he knew what drove the question.

  "No, Axthiel cannot be killed by conventional means."

  Paul looked up at the massive man with the flowing mane and glowing tattoos. "There must be some way to kill them. What did Kiel call them? The Fallen? As in Fallen Angels?"

  "Yes, we refer to those who have been removed from Grace as the Fallen. Do you not know the story of Lucifer and his battle against the Creator?"

  "Yes, I know the story. Wait... are you saying...?"

  Nathaniel nodded and said, "They disdain the term Fallen, and prefer to call themselves the Brethren. Over time, the story evolved as such stories often do. In this age, many people mistakenly believe the Fallen and demons are one in the same."

  Confused, Paul said, "And they're
not? As a kid, I remember hearing how Satan and his followers became demons after they were thrown out of Heaven."

  "Not so, little brother. Fallen angels are just that, no more and no less. Demons, however... there are many names for these creatures. Collectively, they are known as Legion. They dwell on a plane called Sitra Akhra, a place so corrupt, so vile, so far removed from God's grace, the inhabitants have no conception of hope, faith, or righteousness. Demons, both lesser and greater, are pure malevolence. These are the creatures that hunt you and your kin. To what end, I cannot say, though you will do well to remain vigilant. Nor do I know how, or why, the Fallen have enlisted the Sitra Akhra in their war against you." Nathaniel again shook his head slowly side to side. "Even for the likes of Lucifer and his Brethren, this is blasphemy beyond my comprehension."

  "Fallen, Brethren... Axthiel can call himself whatever he likes. All I want to know is, how do I kill that son of a bitch?"

  Nathaniel shook his head. "There's nothing that I can give you, little brother. Let it go. Axthiel's time will come, but it won't be by your hand."

  Paul grunted, and muttered something under his breath.

  For Nathaniel, who could hear a fly walking across a cotton ball at a hundred paces, catching Paul's words was no great feat. Paul may as well have screamed out at the top of his lungs, "I'm gonna kill that bastard. I'll find a way."

  Paul spent the remainder of the afternoon learning basic marksmanship, and found that he had somewhat of a knack for shooting. Although he still couldn't say that he cared much for firearms, Paul felt comfortable with the large-frame handgun and in no time, could hit hand-sized targets at thirty steps.

  Nathaniel also instructed him in the nuances of combat shooting, loading and chambering a round with one hand, and basic use of cover and concealment. When they ran out of ammunition, Nathaniel disappeared into the house and returned with more. They continued well after sunset, until the ground glittered with a layer of empty brass cartridge cases. Paul's arms quivered from fatigue.

  After several hours, they gathered their supplies and equipment by moonlight, then started the short trip back to the stone and mortar building. They hadn't gone more than a dozen steps when Nathaniel froze on the path and stared eastward, into the night sky.