Ingress

by Mary Ann Poll

  “Joe. I’m so cold. It’s dark and I’m afraid. Someone means me harm; I hear footsteps behind me. I don’t know where to run because I can’t see.” Bonnie wailed.

  The first blow of hopelessness struck Josiah in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping for breath.

  “Why didn’t you save us? Why didn’t you protect us?” Thick, fluid voices splattered into Josiah’s ears.

  Josiah Williams fell on his knees. Tears bathed his cheeks as anguish and guilt flooded him.

  “Oh, Bonnie, you are right to hate me, all of you are right to hate me. I failed you. I sinned and in that sin you perished.” His voice broke into deep sobs and groans that echoed off the ravine walls in a melancholy tune.

  “And you think your God will save you?” The smell of decay and sulfur stormed Josiah’s senses. He managed to control the bile rising to his throat. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

  “I don’t deserve to be saved.”

  “Then you agree with me and I can take your soul, is that correct, Josiah Williams?”

  Bonnie and the children walked forward, their gazes penetrating his mind. He lifted his shame-filled eyes to meet their rage-filled ones. He tilted his head and leaned closer to his family.

  Tiny pinpricks of light glinted in the vacant black orbs. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. The pinpricks still sparkled with colors. He compelled himself to overcome the horror of the empty sockets.

  Multi-hued patterns swirled in the small holes. Reds, blacks, yellows, and purples moved in a kaleidoscope fashion. The unorganized motif took shape. In his young son’s eyes, a small child was ripped from its mother’s arms on some sandy dune in a hot land. Screaming then silent as it was beheaded to stop the advance of a newborn king. He shivered and turned.

  Bonnie’s eyes revealed a man running for his life only to be caught by a mob, held down and stoned until his head was unrecognizable. The end to the silent movie revealed a crowd, mouths open and hands in the air, mutely cheering in approval.

  In Martha’s eyes, a woman was bound at the waist to a small tree trunk. Flames licked at her midsection, already having consumed her legs. A stone castle towered above her. She, too, was surrounded by a crowd that cheered each time she cried out.

  Josiah continued to study his late family’s eyes. When one vision ended another morbid movie swirled into view. Each scene more recent in history than the last. Each scene more graphic than the last.

  “This is not my wife. These are not my children.” The tremor in Josiah’s voice betrayed the firm statement.

  “They are, foolish man. Look again.”

  Josiah looked back to the vacant orbs and was met by Bonnie’s eyes of robin’s egg blue. The children’s eyes were clear and wide. He fell to his knees again. Confusion saturated his tired mind.

  “Again, mortal, do you agree that I can take your soul? Your GOD,” Iconoclast spat the word at Josiah like he had a mouthful of rotten meat, “has forgotten you. You were a fool to believe He would forgive you for murdering your own family.” The three apparitions floated forward and came to rest between Josiah and Iconoclast.

  Josiah dropped his gaze to the ravine floor. “I am…” His defeated eyes came to an abrupt stop at the feet of his children and wife. He studied their ankles. He straightened to full height, jaw set, body tense.

  “You are a thief and a liar. This is not my family!”

  “They are!”

  “Deluder! My wife had a birthmark on her front right ankle. A perfect circle. The mole on this thing is shaped like a knife.” He turned to the family of three. “In the name of Jesus, show yourselves!”

  The woman and children stretched and contorted, snapping and popping as their shapes changed. Hisses and cries replaced ethereal voices as the entities struggled to maintain their human forms.

  Three brickdust-colored demons covered in coarse hair balanced on three-toed feet. The torsos were human. The demons’ mouths, stretched in a permanent, joker-like grin, revealed the dagger-sharp teeth that had become so familiar to Josiah during the recent battle in Ravens Cove. Their cheeks were deeply creased by the fixed upended mouth. A palpable hatred shot from bloody eyes.

  Clawed hands strained toward Josiah. Six feet stomped forward in a gruesome march. The ghastly mouths opened wider to reveal eight-inch canines. Yellow mucus dripped off the teeth. The ground sizzled every time the venom made contact.

  “Stop!” Iconoclast thundered.

  The trio ignored the commander and marched toward their target. One of the shapeshifters spat yellow venom at the commander. Iconoclast batted it back at the demon. The acid sizzled then disappeared into the red-brown skin.

  Josiah faced the trio. If it’s my time, I’ll look death in the eye before I’ll run.

  “You impertinent insects.” Iconoclast swiftly gathered the threesome into his arms and held them in a firm grip away from his torso. They clawed and bit the air, stretching to reach Iconoclast’s midsection.

  Four demons jumped onto Iconoclast’s back. He pushed his wings backward, wedged them underneath the ghouls then snapped them open. All four flew upward in the force of the thrust. They screeched in surprise, snapped their wings open as they tumbled toward the ravine floor and dove at Iconoclast.

  Iconoclast slashed two in mid-dive with his left talons. Their wings dropped to their sides and they plummeted to the earth. The lesser spirits, looking to move up the evil chain of command, took courage from those that had attacked the great warrior of the evil one. They jumped on Iconoclast. He managed to fend them off with his free hand, and hold onto the howling shapeshifters with the other.

  All out war erupted between the loyal and disloyal hellhounds. As talon met demon flesh, a red haze crystallized overhead and fell to the ravine floor in a putrid-smelling rain. The wounds shut as quickly as they were opened and the battle continued.

  Iconoclast flung the threesome to the ground and swiped at the mutinous crowd. He reeled away from the rebellious trio, splayed his fingers, pointed at the ravine floor and rotated his arms in a counterclockwise rhythm. The earth rumbled. A small crack appeared in the ravine floor and grew wider with each shake and groan. The cries of battle ceased.

  Iconoclast spun, grabbed the shapeshifters and threw them into the narrow chasm. He widened his arms from left to right. The earth responded and opened until a gaping hole was all that remained of the ravine floor. The demons stared at him—some in fright, some in vindication.

  “Be gone from my sight. I am Iconoclast. You will remember that forever!” He bent his leathery forelimbs then brought his hands forward. Every demon glided forward, an invisible beltway moving them toward the yawning fissure.

  “We fought for you, Iconoclast!” one demon screamed over his shoulder, as he ran in place trying to get to the ravine wall.

  Iconoclast snorted. “Loyalty? An overused lie, Tartuffe.” He continued to motion them in. Orange flames licked the sides of the crevice. Demons, not unlike the lemmings of old, began falling one row at a time into the fire. Each screamed then cursed Iconoclast as it hit the flames.

  When the last of the demon scavengers fell, Iconoclast reversed his arms. Perfect puzzle pieces of earth came together. Atramentous, Gambogian, Prevaricator, Caitiff, Venenose, Bruit, Trepaner and Profligacy—Iconoclast’s captains—stood in a semicircle behind him. All had watched, with horror, as the demons went into the abyss. All knelt behind him and fell to the ground in worship. Iconoclast smiled in pride as he sucked in the fear he had inflicted on his commanders. He turned his attention to Josiah.

  “I have it on the best authority that you are not worth saving. You are up for grabs, you know, you and all other mortals of this earth. And, from what the most popular religions of this world say, you have to do something spectacular to get your God’s attention.

  “And, really, what have you done to be saved by your God? Have you died on a cross recently?” He sniggered at the memory. “Have you fought and been martyred for Him?” He held up a b
ony hand. “You don’t need to say anything; I already know. Just wanted to make sure that you know how very inconsequential you are.”

  “No one can know the mind of God.”

  “The one you worship lives in the heavens far from this measly planet. There is only one god of this earth. Don’t you remember what Saul of Tarsus said?” Iconoclast grinned, revealing the teeth that had killed so many in body and soul.

  “Your struggle, old man, is not against humans but against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil that are not only on this dark world but in the heavenly realms. Your God is far too busy fighting my compatriots to worry about your rotten soul. Your pride and self-centeredness deceive you.”

  “Your boss quoted scripture to the Holy One, to try and trick the One that can never be deceived. As you well know, the verse begins with instruction. And, so I say: ‘Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.’ I believe that verse is more than appropriate. Don’t you?”

  The release from the hopelessness came with a lightning bolt of truth. Each word strengthened Josiah. His back straightened and he held his head high. In contrast, Iconoclast shrank in size and pain wracked his gruesome features.

  “If you have nothing better, be gone, Iconoclast. Join your fellows in the pit of hell.”

  Iconoclast lunged and caught Josiah square in the stomach with his talons. Josiah wailed and doubled over. Iconoclast released and lunged again. He dragged razor-sharp claws over Josiah’s back. Skin gave way to red tissue, white bone, then gushing blood. The sickening-sweet smell of the life fluid strengthened Iconoclast. The mouth gave way to yellow teeth. He leaned over Josiah’s injury and bit down. Josiah yelled as he straightened and turned to his left. Iconoclast grabbed the right arm.

  “Oh you are going to taste good, worm of God.” He chomped down.

  Fiery pain shot up the arm and Josiah’s mind went numb. Hopelessness and weakness replaced the strength of moments ago. He fell to the ground. The demons came closer, emboldened by the man of God’s weakened state.

  “Stay back. This one is mine. It has been ordained.” They scurried back, fear of the abyss still fresh in their minds.

  New pain wracked Josiah’s body with each breath. When he tried to speak, the pain stopped him. Iconoclast smiled with the knowledge of a close victory. He bit down again.

  Josiah rasped out between gurgled breaths, “God help your servant.”

  “I told you. Your God doesn’t care about you. He is the great deceiver, not I. I told you the truth.”

  Iconoclast was so close, the stench of his breath caught in Josiah’s throat. Josiah used the last of his strength to fight the cloud of hopelessness seeping into his mind from the rank breath of his attacker.

  “You do not ever tell the truth. Again I say, God help me, for your Son’s sake.” Josiah fell to the ground and lost consciousness.

  “Wake up you filthy mortal! I want to eat your fear, too. Wake up, I say!” Iconoclast swiped at Josiah again. Josiah’s eyes shot open, fresh pain brought stinging tears to his eyes.

  “Good. You’re brain is first on my menu of delicacies.” Iconoclast lunged at Josiah’s head and stopped short of ripping the right eye out of its socket.

  What he saw mirrored in those clear blue eyes sent terror through his black heart. Josiah’s irises reflected a dazzling blue star that pulsed with life. With each pulse it grew until it filled the entire eye.

  Iconoclast swung around. This light hailed from white blue to white hot. It surrounded the warrior angel of the Most High.

  Iconoclast fell to his knees and covered his eyes to protect them against the blinding light.

  Flames shot from the righteous eyes of the angel. He was clothed in brilliant gold. His hair moved in a nonexistent wind.

  “This one is God’s,” the angel thundered.

  Iconoclast dared to lift his eyes in challenge.

  “He is in my home.”

  “This place is no longer yours to call home. And this one is God’s. Has always been and will always be.” The voice of thunder and clear running water ran through the ravine and touched Josiah.

  Josiah dared not look up and focused on the ravine floor instead. He watched with wonder as it turned to glass. The walls below the glass were lined in lava-red fire then died out into bottomless space. He heard growling and wailing and malevolent laughter. Josiah shivered.

  “Be gone, back to your true home. The Son of Man and the Father in heaven command it.”

  The clang of sword against claw filled the ravine. Josiah kept his head low, both arms over his ears because the noise was louder than an explosion.

  Josiah watched as Iconoclast and all his army dropped through the glass floor and became small, dark specks in the lava-red light. The vision disappeared and dark, fragrant earth covered the glass floor.

  Josiah raised his head. The walls of the ravine had been cleansed in the hot light that had come with the angel. The outcropping of rocks making up the chasm walls glistened as if they had been scrubbed. The aroma of spring flowers drifted in on a fresh breeze. The smell of rain after a cloudburst could be detected on that same wind.

  Josiah stayed prone, “O God, please spare me. I am not worthy.”

  The angel walked to Josiah and touched him. Josiah caught his breath, and then realized it had not hurt to inhale.

  “Rise, friend. Do not bow before me. We are both servants of the Most High. The Lord says to you, “even in your darkest hour and battle, you did not waver. I am proud to call you friend. Rest, Josiah. It is a season of rest for you.”

  As quickly as the angel had descended, he was gone and Josiah was alone in the ravine.

  “Am I imagining these things, God? Would you care so much about this one sinner that you would send a warrior?” The calm and joy that were in Josiah testified to the truth he had seen. The physical change in the ravine confirmed it.

  Josiah sat up, grabbed a handful of dirt and reveled in the velvet softness of the warm, wet soil as it ran through his fingers. The rich smell permeated his senses. The beauty and peace of the ravine reminded Josiah of the innocence of a newborn child.

  “I could live out my life here and die a happy man,” he uttered aloud.

  “Rest. Your battle for now is over but there is war to come.” Josiah’s head shot upward in the direction of the voice. He saw nothing but trees silhouetted by a full moon. His inner peace and well-being scattered like a bird flushed from hiding.

  “Be of good cheer, Josiah, God is with you and leaves you His peace.”

  The warmth of the voice acted as a balm on Josiah’s troubled spirit. He relaxed. His attention was drawn to the sound of running water. Josiah spied a small waterfall and a pond at the far end of the ravine.

  “I am thirsty.” The water was sweet and cold. Energy surged through him. To the left of the pond sat a bush covered in red berries. Josiah pulled a berry free to examine the fruit.

  “High bush cranberries.” He popped the berry into his mouth. The tart juice refreshed him further and satisfied his hunger. A blanket of weariness floated over Josiah’s mind and body.

  “I’ll just sit for a minute before I head into Ravens Cove,” he muttered, a slur to his speech. He plopped down by the waterfall. The cadence of the water urged him to lower his head to the soft earth.

  “A short nap, then.” His breathing became steady, a slight snore escaping his lips. Josiah’s body went into an unnatural state for a human—hibernation. He would awaken but only by the Lord’s signal to rise and fight again.

  Chapter 1

  A Tragic Accident

  Kat Tovslosky stared at the black winter sky. Stars danced overhead, their clear white light sizzling against the frigid cold. Come on, Kat. You’ve seen death before. Come on. She willed her head down and trained her eyes on a morbid scene.

  A foot in front of her ch
ocolate brown leather boot sat a pool of coagulating blood. Tendrils of the brown-red liquid snaked out from its source beneath a large boulder. The now-deceased foreman of the construction project known as Old Town lay beneath the rock.

  As if to emphasize the cold reality that pounded her consciousness, a bitter wind tunneled from the mountains to the north and rushed up and under the unbuttoned coat. It flew open, exposing Kat’s torso to the zero chill-factor. She tugged her army-issue coat closer to her body, zipped it, and crossed her arms. She tuned into the droning voices behind her.

  “Tell me again how this happened. And please go slow. I need to write,” Police Chief Bart Andersen directed this request to the mayor of Ravens Cove.

  Mayor Orthell stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his black parka. “I told you, Bart, that excavator,” he pulled one hand free of a snug pocket and pointed in the direction of a large vehicle, “malfunctioned.”

  Bart followed the mayor’s gloved hand. The arm of the dirt-digger hung like a broken limb and flopped left to right in the wind. The attached bucket swayed and groaned with each move.

  “Gordy there,” he pointed at the body beneath the boulder, “was directing placement. He was standing two feet away from the cursed thing when the bucket broke. The rock lurched outward and landed square on him. Damn bad luck if you ask me.”

  Bart rubbed his forehead with his free hand, dragged it down his cheek, and let it drop to his side. Please let this be a bad dream. He thought.

  “So, what you think we have here is an industrial accident?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. And I need your report in a hurry. I’ve got to get this project back on schedule and that pest of an insurance company will want all the I’s dotted and T’s crossed before it will give the okay to continue.”

  “Tommy, you’ve got a body here that isn’t even cold yet, and you’re worrying about this blasted tourist attraction?”

  “Of course I’m sorry for the loss.”

  “Could you at least sound like you mean it?” Kat spat out in a disgusted tone. “When did you start caring more about money than people?”