The eyes are not the only way to see—day one hundred at Saint Samuels. It sounded like an “ism” when Father Dominic told us that from high atop what we all came to know as the Pulpit of Pain.
At seminary, none of it made sense while I was experiencing it. Out here in the brutal, bloody truth of the new world, things are clearer. The brutality of seminary had prepared me … and then it had saved me. Yet I still could not reconcile Father Dominic’s version of God with who he was supposed to be in my mother’s Bible.
I exhale slowly. The two agents that knocked me out are on the other side of the room, thinking they are hidden in the darkness. I can smell them and hear them breathing—feel their contempt for me. And there’s someone else. He’ll be the one in charge. Probably a PAIC—Protection Agent in Charge.
They used to call themselves State Agents in Charge until the State lost control of its guard dogs and Protection split from the only oversight it ever had. Oh, they still needed State for the credits—the funding for all their drones and other toys—just like my church needs the Clergy for things like repaired roofs. But just like the Clergy, the State still needs disciples to go and collect it first. Protection Agents and Priests—we’re the “muscle.”
PAIC… He’ll be more difficult, I think. I take in another slow breath and I feel for the room’s chi—the ever-present energy of all living things. Theirs rages red and it’s how I will “see” them.
The others don’t do much without the PAIC. Much interrogation anyway. They haven’t stuck me with the Judgment yet or I would be worse off. Not that I haven’t been through it, but fighting while your body and mind are working through a dose of J is like doing combat with the Devil—it’s scarier and it takes more … concentration.
The PAIC will be the only one who speaks. “They burned you up pretty good, there… You still call yourselves priests?” he says. He’s not looking for answers. At least not to that question, but any time a PAIC can, he’ll do anything possible to try and figure out how to get control of his local Clergy representatives.
Every once in a while one of our brothers will tell a tale at our archdiocese gathering. About getting billy-clubbed in the back of the head and being black-bagged and tortured for information about the inner workings of the Clergy. We were all trained for that. The alternative was to meet God earlier than you had planned.
“Reminds me of the Rook,” the PAIC says. He’s a big man—the voice says more than most people learn to hear—and he’s absolutely certain of himself.
That’s not a stretch of my imagination and I don’t have to hear his heartbeat or see his rage red chi to know that his training at Protection’s Rookery Academy is as thoroughly “faith-instilling” as mine. A freshly-cracked Rookie rages red-hot when they are done torturing them, and now he is a veteran disciple of discipline—we are not so different. Yet we serve different gods.
“Can’t even get to the Martial Law training…” he says. “What do you god-givers call it? … Shandian?” He knows the answers to all of his questions. He’s speaking to hear himself talk. “What’s that, Chinese?” I feel him move closer. “I hate those fuckers.”
Arrogance… That will be his undoing.
The first blow is to my ribs—they never come back from this with marks on their faces—and I double over. The breath of life gets knocked out of me for a few seconds. I’ve felt that before. It’s not meant to kill me, just get my attention. I’ve felt that before, too. And I double over at the waist.
“Nothing like a little fire to … sear in your faith,” he says it right before he punches me in the ribs on the opposite side. “Focuses the mind on that burning knowledge”—he chuckles a little as I double over and moan again. Bending into the blow the instant before it hits absorbs some of its impact—“that there is no going around it. The only way to escape fire is to go right through the flame. Right, ‘father?’ ” He barely pauses as he punches at my chest and I absorb most of it by sucking in at the instant his fist reached my solar plexus. Then he backs away to admire his handiwork. “Well, I’ll tell you, I earned a few of those scars myself.” He glances at the PA’s. “Cut him loose.”
Pride… Apparently they don’t warn them about that at his “church.” But sitting in this chair, hands and legs taped, I’m not much sport. And there’s no story for these two agents to tell at the smoke break room when they all get back to their precinct.
I’m teetering on the dark precipice of my own arrogance and pride now. No matter—it’s not the first time for that … or the worst thing I’ll do in this room. I steel myself and remember the fire from Saint Samuels Seminary.
— CLXXI —
AAX, THE MOST evil, but for reasons he desperately wanted explained, also the most uncelebrated archangel demon in Lucifer’s Hell, watched the life leave Utipa’s eyes. When the godling lay still, he bellowed like the portly and bald bastard that he was. He spoke down at Lucifer’s back in a deep and powerful voice, with only a hint of his former accent discernible at the ends of his words, “Why does she choose such easily crushed champions?” he asked. “How you were ever defeated by—”
Lucifer leapt to his feet and flew at Aax. He slammed into the chest of his most evil follower and watched as the fallen angel flew backward and into the burning lake. And flames shot into the air as Aax caught fire and then sank into its depths. His arms and wings flailed and flapped and he screeched in agony as he drowned.
The circle of conspirators stood wide-eyed and silent. It seemed that no angel in Heaven or Hell would warrant special treatment at their gathering. For if Aax the horrible could be reprimanded with molten fire, then what might befall a lesser angel, hailing from Hell or otherwise?
Lucifer spun back and faced the remainder of his conspirators. “Do not think that I kill in haste, nor that I have wonton lust to see blood spilled today,” he said wildly, “but I shall not abide disrespect, nor will I tolerate disloyalty from those who choose to champion cause. A cause whose purpose I will soon set forth upon you. Utipa was a brave and righteous angel, who served her God well. Her only sin was trusting enough to allow her Protector to send her to me.”
The entire group watched the Lake of Fire, waiting for Aax’s return.
Lucifer looked back toward the fiery lake, too.
And then Aax’s body began moaning its way back out of the molten liquid, and as he slithered and sulked its way back to the circle, his burned and charred flesh melted and molded back together, repairing itself.
“You are aware of this truth?” Lucifer asked Aax.
Aax rubbed the last of the black char from his shoulders and then he shook his great black wings. And soot and smoke and charred chunks of flesh and feathers fell to the ground. He smiled at Lucifer and then at the rest of them. “Were I not so informed several seconds ago,” he chuckled a deep growl and then let out a crow and a caw before he spoke again, “I am … keenly cognizant now, sire, and I stand”—he looked above his head at nothing and then back down—“dutifully disciplined.” Then Aax looked past Lucifer and said, “All right, let’s have it then.”
Lucifer paused and eyed Aax. It was not unacceptable for a subordinate in Hell to be sarcastic and defiant—in fact, it was expected of them—however… He wondered if Aax needed another lesson in humility.
Then Lucifer heard a deep grumble behind him, and a small leather-bound bag arced its way across the circle—over his head.
Everyone in attendance knew that the jingling the little pouch made as it sailed past and landed in Aax’s iron grip betrayed the fact that the bag held coin.
Guarded clucks and cackles pecked their way around the circle, and Lucifer turned toward the origination of the sack of coins.
Shax stood nearly eight feet tall—a giant of an archangel demon, even by the great Lucifer’s standards. A darker angel had never been spawned or spurted from Hell. His skin was light brown, his eyes were clouded, and his mustache, while long and twisted at the ends, looked like a cave bat had landed
on his upper lip. And when he smiled at Lucifer, even his lips seemed anciently dyed in dirt.
Lucifer raised his eyebrows at Shax and said, “And the wager?”
Shax merely grumbled.
“I bet him,” Aax said from behind Lucifer, “that it wouldn’t require a turn of the hour before you would choke the life from some finely-faithed follower, and shortly thereafter, burn one of us at the stake.” He looked back at the lake. “The fortuitous news for me is that we were conversing metaphorically about the stake.”
And Shax bellowed a deep laugh, and then he stopped himself and grumbled again, but still smiled.
And Lucifer spread his wings wide for all to see, and he laughed out loud, an echoing and thunderous bellow. When he was finished, he folded his wings behind his back and tightly wove his ballistic armored steel feathers together, forming the two-headed snake symbol, the warmark of his armies in the Hell of his eternity. He looked at Aax. “The vocabulary, brother”—he shook his head—“vernacular and verb do not suit you, my friend.”
“Shax’s been on me to get cultured,” Aax replied. “I’m testing his theory.”
Lucifer grinned and looked back at Shax. “And what of the remainder of your purse?” he asked. “For I see that your waist belt is a bit looser than most mornings.”
Zepar—Heaven’s own light … so he believed—though younger than most in attendance by nearly half an eternity, still held no angel in Heaven, nor demon archangel in Hell, in higher regard than himself. “The remainder,” he said to the entire flock of them, “this one spends on girls of Gomorrah and for purposes of seducing sodomites. Coin slips from his pockets as light from this lair.”
Lucifer raised one eyebrow at Zepar. The angel was young and would not even be fitting sport for Shax.
Shax turned slowly to address the insult. He spoke with the accent of the island he so loved. “Time to get your little wings waxed then, is it?” he said. “Well, come on then, let’s have at the little whiteys. It’s been far too long whence I’ve eaten blue eyes for breakfast. But I’m warnin’ you, I’ll most likely break your skull, shoving me snake into your sockets.”
Zepar chuckled. One of the responsibilities of a midlevel angel was making women fall in love with men, and it just so happened that it was his job. “I would walk wisely were I as hideously ugly,” he said, “lest you find yourself with only monkeys and morons to massage your imply snake. I can arrange for you to never taste anything sweet again, save the tainted bosom of an infected pig.”
Most of the ten of them, and Lucifer as well, scrunched up their faces and shivered their feathers at Zepar’s words. The young angel could wax poetic. It remained to be seen if he could wail war. Most of them thought they were about to find out.
“Ugh,” Shax grunted, “what’s that mean, then?” He stared blankly at the three conspirators down his side of the group, at his longtime partner in pain, Aax. “Because … I’ve made love to an infected pig before.” Then he looked back at Zepar and raised his eyebrows. “What in Heaven have you against infected pigs? Are you a racist, then?”
Zepar frowned and closed his eyes slightly, and then hung his head a bit and slowly shook it back and forth. They would not war. This would be worse.
Shax turned back to Aax. “I do believe our young whelp here is a holier-than-thou racist, I do.” He smiled a little, barely able to contain his own delight at the banter. “I’ve had me a pig before. You remember that pig, don’t you, Aax? She was a right nice sow, that one. And that infection… Spared me a costly waste of me lubricant, it did.” And then he chuckled and winked at Aax. “Saved it for me Gomorrah girl the very … next … mornin’. Right thankful for that … she and her little sodomite sister. “Yes, she was”—he nodded his head—“right thankful for me infected pig.”
The entire cadre of angels, dark and light, did their level best to avoid bursting into laughter immediately. It would be … disrespectful. It was difficult nonetheless.
Shax could feel the faces cracking, so he poured on the pain. He turned back toward Zepar and held out his hands—open in front of him—and then shook them on purpose. “You see me tremblin’, do ya? So go ahead, boy, tell us about me beautiful infected pig again.”
Lucifer cupped one hand over his mouth, barely able to contain his own delight at watching Shax, a notoriously glorious drinker and a beautifully disgusting storyteller, eviscerate one of Heaven’s more arrogant young angels of light, with nary a ballistic feather fired, nor tongue ripped from the angel who offered insult and injury.
And all of them laughed. And then Zepar laughed with them—he had to. And Lucifer bellowed and held his stomach as his tail flicked and wagged with elation. They all laughed at Shax’s jest, as the ludicrousness of his words cut through Lucifer’s hatred and heat like a fire-feather through guts.
And when the laughter died down and the crackling of the fiery lake was the only thing that could be heard above the silence, barring an occasional scream from deeper in the pit than any from Heaven dared to delve and any from Hell wanted to remember, the only two angels in attendance… No one had noticed the two who had not laughed out loud. They stood silent and stoic.
Lucifer wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Raum,” he said to the tall and tight angel from Heaven, “your wings find no flight in this jest?”
Raum was a light-hued eagle of an angel, with a long white ponytail and diamond-tipped white wings as sharp as an angel’s axe. He crossed his arms and stared back at Lucifer. “I did not think we came here to pontificate pigs,” he said, “unless I am mistaken and this has been the purpose of my one and last trip to your lake. If that be the case, I shall consider myself richer for the experience and set my wings to brighter banks … in search of more amenable quarry. For I find pigs … less than agreeable to such disgusting pursuits, being best suited as boiling bacon.”
“Ay, Aax,” Shax said. He motioned with one of his huge brown wings toward Raum, “This one here’s a racist, too.” He looked at Lucifer. “It’s no wonder you left then. Heaven looks to be packed with pig-hatin’ racists.” He turned back to Raum and mumbled, “Don’t think I’d like it up there.”
“And we are perfectly poorer for that,” Raum said to Shax. “However, I did not come here to piss of pigs, unless that is some metaphorical banter you and your snake-slipping friend have conjured to keep all of this conspiracy wrapped in”—he made bunny ears with his fingers and raised his eyebrows at Shax—“secret code.” Then he turned back toward Lucifer. “Shall we begin pig-latin lessons next?”
And that changed the mood of the entire group back to nervous.
Shax looked at his friend. “Don’t reckon I like this one, Aax,” he said. “Yep, a more bigoted bastard than the whelp.”
Lucifer stood up straight. Leaders enjoying the bane and banter of their subjects did not inspire followers to follow. He had erred. “Enough,” he said. It was sufficient to set everyone back on the seriousness of the path they had all willingly strolled down. “Raum,” he said, “I am wont to admit, is correct. There will be an eternity for banter and debauchery, but now … is neither cross nor road for it.”
Uzza was a black stone of a dark archangel that found himself agreeing with the godling Raum more and more as he listened to the others. The sweet stench of rebellion was in the air, and he had longed for this day. To waste it on gibbering and the jostling of wings was intolerable. “What road, exactly, do we find ourselves burdened to cross?”
Uzza would offer no more words than that. Lucifer knew that for him to speak as many as he had… He would have to come to the meat of the point. “Each of you…” Lucifer said, staring at Uzza first, and then looking away to start his speech. He looked around the group. They were ready. “…has been slighted. All unjustly mistreated—misinformed and brought to misery by your master.” He looked each of his own followers in the eyes. “And yes, I offer you apologies as well, my brothers and sisters. For I am equally called to account for terrible treatment of
angels who hail from … warmer climates.”
The five dark archangels in attendance bobbed their heads and dropped their chins slightly and then raised them back up in reply.
Lucifer acknowledged their respect and then continued, “This eternity grows cold and the wrong hearts of Man-monkeys pump darker blood than when it began. They rain more deadly destruction each day. More than Heaven or Hell can hope to police or plunder. These denizens are too dangerous to allow infection’s purpose in the garden. Too dastardly to rein themselves in … too dumb to affect repairs.
“Life knows this. You all feel her heart on the miserable matter as certainty. Did you not, you would have sown insult from my invitation. And yet she is reluctant to admit mindful mistakes”—he grinned at them all—“as those of us at pinnacle of power are wont to do.”
There was rustling of steel feathers and quick glances from each side. Angels assessed the attitudes of demons and demons attempted to discern the disposition of angels. But none offered hesitation or the threat of harm to the other, so they listened.
“Are we not charged to maintain the balance of benevolent power?” Lucifer asked. “Do we all not share responsibility for the eternities Eden entrusted? For those yet to yearn?” He slowly turned as he spoke, in part to face each angel in attendance—friend or foe did not matter—and in part to gauge their receptiveness to the magnitude of the request he was about to make. “The eternal alignment of the Garden’s scales groan and tilt in torment. Your God allowed the Man-monkeys to run rough through their first eternity. Against all law and levy, she has granted them another. A second eternity to bring rape and ruin! What Protector has ever pondered…? You all know this is forbidden, and yet she hopes against all truth and tribulation that they will repent and rebuild. Why has she done this?” Lucifer paused to gauge Raum’s reaction.
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