But there were no words for him, only a feeling, only the knowledge that, yes, this girl, this emissary from God, could indeed do as she had promised.
“I…I thought that God didn’t care about me anymore.” He was lost, trapped within her eyes. “When the power…”
“Shhh.” Her voice was resonant, sonorous. “God loves all His creations. Each and every one, brothers and sisters to each other under the Lord.”
Sam wanted to say Yes. He was about to; his mouth opened to utter the syllable, and his tongue prepared to shape the sound. Freedom, peace, normalcy…
(Ignorance)
…What?
When King Solomon was given this opportunity, what did he wish for?
…
He wished for Wisdom. He didn’t ask God to make his problems go away, he asked for the ability to solve them. He asked for the knowledge and ability to do God’s work.
…But it’s not supposed to be me! I’m not…
“…Sam?”
But it IS you, Sam! Are you going to run away? Take the blue pill? What happened to “it’s always better to know?”
God wants me to quit! He wants me to…
“Sam? What’s wrong?”
He wants you to abandon Gabriel? To leave her in Caitlin’s hands?
The realization rocked Sam. He hadn’t even considered the fate of the captive Archangel. He slowly spun his eyes back up to meet the blue ones before him.
“…What happens to Gabriel?” The smile on the girl’s face turned into a quizzical frown.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I can’t see the future, you know. I’m sure that the Lord would intervene, make sure that she was saved, somehow.” Another shrug. “Does it matter? You don’t have your magic, anyway; you’ve lost the Keys. You couldn’t save her if you tried.”
Sam was wary, now; the messenger’s seeming indifference to the fate of someone she had called her “sister” struck a false chord. “Maybe…” He met her gaze. “…or maybe you’re lying to me. Maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all, and you just want me to give up. Maybe…”
Understanding struck Sam so hard that he stumbled, almost falling to the ground. “I know who you are.”
“Really?” She stood up from the grass and smiled again. “Do tell.”
“You…you’re the Devil, aren’t you? Or one of his demons. You’re trying to tempt me away from…from doing the right thing! From what I’m supposed to be doing!”
By now, the fire was out; police were interviewing witnesses. It still seemed as though no one had noticed the two of them. The girl tilted her head.
“One out of three, Sam. Not bad, though; you did better than I thought you would.” She spread her arms out as she spoke. “I am indeed the Great Accuser, God’s advocate, the one who tests mankind through temptation. In English, my most common name is Satan.”
“I knew it!” Sam backpedaled away on his hands and feet. “The Devil!”
Satan dropped her hands and shook her head. “No, no. Weren’t you listening? I am God’s advocate, not the leader of Hell! I am not Fallen; I am an Angel, in service to the Most High! Do not compare me with…that…that…thing!”
Sam stopped. “Wait. You’re…Satan? But you’re NOT the devil?”
“Exactly.” Satan brushed a fallen leaf off of her shoulder. “Never have been, never will be. That was a mistake by Christian theologians who conflated the two of us. I was the tester of Job in the Bible, and the one who offered Christ the kingdoms of the world.”
Sam held his head in his hands. “And…and you were here to test me?”
Satan nodded. “To be worthy of wielding Solomon’s Arts, you had to demonstrate yourself before the Lord. Most of your predecessors had done so sufficiently before they were ever called, so a test was not necessary; I had no question about their qualifications.”
“…But I had not?”
“No, Sam.” She licked her lips as if trying to decide what to say. “You were not a bad person, not cruel or especially sinful, but you had not distinguished yourself as an upstanding moral figure, someone who could be trusted to make Solomon’s choice of wisdom over power or wealth. I doubted you, so I asked the Lord if I could test you. He agreed, and here we are.”
“And…and what now? I passed, didn’t I?”
Satan smiled, filling her mouth with teeth. “Yes, you passed, although the day may come when you wish you had not, Keeper. I am pleased with you, though; I am always pleased when I am bested, for it is not often. Good luck.” She took Sam’s hands in her own, filling his nostrils with the smell of cherry blossoms, sweet and fragrant. “God is with you.”
Sam blinked, and then she was gone, leaving only her scent and the fading sound of a piano chord behind. Sam looked around and saw the police officers running toward him.
“You! Sir!” The young man stopped as he noticed the scorches on Sam’s clothes, the ash on his skin. “Are you all right?”
Sam waved, stretching out his hand, and something caught his eye.
The tattoos, the Keys, had returned to him, marking his hands like a roadmap.
“Are you all right?” came the voice again.
“Yes.” Hope filled Sam’s heart. “Praise God.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gregory Caitlin ignored the seventeenth call from his wife today, as he had all the others; he was sitting in front of a terminal at the SRD, watching as the information, God’s information, distilled from the mind of an Archangel, scrolled across. On any other occasion, the information about how to process electronic waste so that it could provide a source of energy or his political opponents’ plans to discredit him to the California unions would have his undivided attention.
Not today. Today, he stared as Samuel Buckland reemerged as a threat.
Gregory ran his hands through his hair and scratched at the stubble on his chin. It had been several days since he had been home at all; basic hygiene concerns were beginning to go out the window as he worked hour after hour, staring, querying, awaiting the responses.
No, he kept thinking as solution after solution was refuted by the angel. I won’t let him stop me. I have to save the world. I’m the only one who can!
Assassination? INEFFECTIVE.
Bribery? INEFFECTIVE.
Armed assault? INEFFECTIVE.
The technicians had begun to avoid entering the room; after the first three had their eyebrows singed off after they asked Gregory if he needed help, word had gotten around.
Committing to an insane asylum? INEFFECTIVE.
Back alley kidnapping? INEFFECTIVE.
Distractions? Keeping him busy? INEFFECTIVE.
Not for the first time today, Gregory pushed himself away from the keyboard and started pacing. He grabbed a bottle of water from the desk without realizing it, chugged it down, tossed it into the growing pile, sat back down.
Get an APB out on Buckland? INEFFECTIVE.
Alert Homeland Security? INEFFECTIVE.
Gregory’s eyes were hurting and he felt on the verge of tears. Why? Why, God? Why are you doing this to me? Have I failed you somehow?
Without warning, the computer screens began to flicker, back and forth, on, off, on, off. The lights in the facility followed suit, resembling strobes more than standard fluorescents. Gregory looked about in a panic, eyes darting about, searching for shelter.
Is it an earthquake?
The insanity stopped as suddenly as it had begun; Gregory hurried to the window to peek at Gabriel’s inert form. She seemed to sigh, shifting in her bonds, but nothing further. He glanced over at the monitors; a brief increase in mental activity, slight drop in blood pressure…then normal.
Normal.
Gregory sat down at the station again. What am I doing? he asked himself, for the first time since this journey had begun over two years ago. Am I really doing what’s right?
YES.
Gregory’s head snapped over to the monitor. There it was, written as if he had a
sked the question. He wet his lips, cleared his throat, and spoke.
“Wh…who is this?”
I AM THE ARCHANGEL. In her prison, Gabriel shifted again, her head rocking back and forth, like a child saying “no.” YOU MUST NOT FALTER; YOU ARE FULFILLING OUR LORD’S WISHES.
“What do I need to do? Samuel Buckland…he won’t stop…I don’t know…I don’t know how to stop him…people keep dying…” Gregory finally lost the battle with his tears, the weight of the deaths he had ordered, brought about in order to stop Buckland, crashing down on him. The answer was quick in coming.
YOU MUST USE THE KEYS. SUMMON AZRAEL. SEND HIM TO DESTROY BUCKLAND.
Gregory blanched. “…Azrael? But…he…”
HE WILL SWEEP BUCKLAND AWAY. NOTHING CAN STAND BEFORE HIM. SUMMON HIM.
“But…what about all the others? The innocents?”
INSIGNIFICANT; A FEW DOZEN COMPARED TO MILLIONS, PERHAPS BILLIONS.
A pause.
SACRIFICES MUST BE MADE.
Gregory stood, walked to the window, looked at Gabriel. Pressed his head against the cool glass.
“Sacrifices must be made.”
~~~
Sam tipped the cabbie and headed toward his own car. The full moon shone over the metal, glistening in the darkness. A tear threatened to form as the sight of it in his driveway made him remember his father, who had given it to him, and who had died because of him…
He shook his head. No. It wasn’t his fault; it was Caitlin’s. Caitlin, who was misusing the Lord’s power for his own purposes. Caitlin, who had summoned the efreet which had destroyed Kurtis’ house and records.
Caitlin.
Sam got behind the wheel of his car and opened the glove compartment. They were still there: the tax papers he had put there a few weeks
(a lifetime)
ago. He flipped through them, scanning over the front pages of each return.
He was looking for Caitlin’s address. He found it. A neighborhood in Northridge, about an hour away.
If Caitlin is going to hit me at home, maybe there’s something I can find out at his. Maybe…
Sam realized he was already driving, turning out of his street onto Avenue B. He glanced at his gas gauge. Half a tank. Better fill up, he decided, pulling into a Shell station. The car stopped at Pump # 7, and Sam swiped his Mastercard, punched in his Zip, popped the gas tank and punched the octane 93.
The machine flashed its message: Begin fueling.
Sam pulled the handle on the pump, looking around as he did so. It was midday, with several people crowding the station. An older gentleman was having an argument with the kids in the back of his grey van; three guys who couldn’t have been older than 18 were walking out of the store with 12-packs of Budweiser. The captain of an old Volvo was leaning in close to the readout, trying to understand the numbers.
And the demons were running.
Sam cocked an eyebrow, wiped a sudden sheen of sweat from his brow, and looked more closely; he had begun to get used to seeing them, minor imps and lesser shedim standing on people’s shoulders, poking at them, whispering to them. Most of the time they were ignored, people considering their words to be all-too-human impulses to pettiness or vice.
Sam stared; the scene resembled that of rats and a sinking ship. Each and every one of these demonlings was sprinting, flying, crawling, or squirming away from the gas station as fast as possible.
What the hell? His pump gave the click that meant he had filled his tank. What would make them….
Then he realized how hot it was getting. Perspiration had coated his chest, his back, his neck; his hands were slippery with it. Others around him were looking around, dabbing sweat from their faces, wondering if their air conditioning had broken or what.
Sam looked around at them. Then he looked up.
The sky above the gas station was boiling, the grey of the clouds warping as if viewed through a revolving prism. Sam could hear the faint sounds of birds screaming as they changed course, could see the very vault of the heavens pulsating.
Another glance at his fellow gas-station attendees; no one else was looking up. They didn’t see this, which meant…
Oh, no. Caitlin…what now? Sam braced himself; he drew a hurried protective circle around himself with a pink highlighter from his car door pocket.
“What the hell are you doing, man?” A teenager in a pickup truck squinted, trying to see what the other was drawing. Sam glanced his way, perhaps to give him a warning, tell him to get the heck out of there.
He didn’t have time.
With a sound like the metal of two colliding cars shrieking as it buckled and gave way, the sky above the Shell station was rent, a huge rift forming as its very fabric was pulled back, revealing a great void, something too dark to be called black.
But this void was not empty. Not at all. Sam had to shield his eyes from the radiance of the figure within; it was humanoid, but with six arms, five clutching a different weapon – sword, spear, axe, bow, rifle – and the sixth with a great horn, a warrior’s bugle. It was huge, standing easily fifty feet tall if not more, and its hairless body shone with coruscating golden light that cascaded off its form in great, crackling waves of power. The molten orbs which made up its eyes turned toward Sam.
“Run!” Sam waved his arms, trying to attract someone’s attention, someone who would care that an ex-accountant standing in a highlighter circle was yelling at them. “Run! Before it’s…”
The figure floated down toward the gas station; the trees and grass which fell under its shadow withered and died, leaving the land looking as if it had been barren for decades. It raised its sword, a great blade of ice and fire, and howled. Sam almost crumbled under that sound, a sound which shook the very foundations of the Earth to their core. In a near panic, he returned his gaze to the creature which had appeared before him.
It was then that Sam noticed its arms. Rather, he noticed what was on those arms. Great, glowing runes encircled them, almost like armbands…or chains.
I have to free it. Sam stared at the giant celestial figure. Caitlin has it, and I have to free it. Sam looked at his hands, hoping, praying that something would appear, something he could use.
The great celestial sword came down. It cleaved the station in two.
Gas pumps began exploding, and the fire came alive. It seemed to chase the screaming patrons, leaping across gaps and riding streams of gasoline to find them, to incinerate them. Hysteria broke out as children and adults tried to escape from their vehicles before they too were destroyed by the impact of the creature’s weapon…and failed. One after another, the people who, moments ago, had been working, pumping fuel, or talking, curled up as the life left their scorched, charcoaled bodies and left pithed shells behind.
Sam’s eyes could not tear themselves away from the destruction around him, the chaos that his shield had protected him from, the death that his adversary had visited upon this place simply because he, Sam, was there.
“Damn you!” Sam turned to face the figure as it pulled its sword back up. He glanced again at his hands, saw the spell he would need to wrest control from Caitlin. It was long. It was complicated.
It was his only hope.
Unless you count on divine intervention. He shook his head as he began the ritual. Contrails of light spiraled off of his hands; he intoned assertions of power, of control, of authority.
The authority of the Almighty.
The gigantic figure was not idle, however. Its burning eyes stayed focused on Sam’s as it took a step forward, causing the earth to shake and car alarms to sound in a five-block radius. Great golden wings stretched forth from its back; three pairs of wings matched its three pairs of arms...but unlike the arms, each of these wings dripped with blood, ever-flowing down the feathers and staining the ground below with screaming silhouettes of lives taken long ago. Like a titan out of Greek myth, it brought its horn to its lips and blew. The sound which emerged from the massive bugle was no
clarion call, no rallying cry on the field of battle. This sound was a deep, sonorous vibration which shook Sam to the core; the shockwave splintered concrete and brought the remains of the Shell station tumbling down, resulting in yet another explosion. Sam fought to keep his feet under the attack, trying to concentrate, to continue with the spell. In the chaos, his eyes had lost track of his adversary for a moment; when he brought them back up, he saw something in the monster’s face.
The corners of the creature’s mouth were turned down, and its eyes as well. The face reminded Sam of a child who has been caught in the act of doing something wrong and now deeply regrets his actions. Sorrow. Guilt.
Its mouth moved again; this time, Sam could understand it. Its voice was lilting, musical, elegant. “Keeper. I beg you, flee. Run. Save yourself, for I will end your life. I am compelled by the Keys and can do nothing to help you. Run.”
Sam shook his head as he continued his incantations. He was tired of running, tired of letting Caitlin get the upper hand. If he could wrest this creature free of his enemy’s control…
The giant reared back, brandished its spear. A veritable plague of horseflies, hornets, cockroaches, and other forms of crawling, creeping life sprung from the spear-point as it thrust into the ground. The flying horde blackened the sky as they descended upon Sam; the crawlers carpeted the ground and brought trees down by sheer weight as they advanced upon him. The insect swarm crackled and sparked as they tried to cross the pink highlighter barrier, thousands upon thousands of tiny bodies bursting into flames and ashes; this was small comfort to the man inside, however, as the sounds of exploding bugs combined with the relentless drone and chatter of the ones still outside in a maddening chorus.
The terrible sound forced Sam to his knees, covering his ears, closing his eyes; he could not blot it out, could not think, could not…
Suddenly a cacophony of thunder cut through the chaos and light lanced through Sam’s closed eyelids. He cracked them open, afraid to see what new thing was here to destroy him. What he did see brought him up to his feet and took his breath away.
Standing up from the impact crater of the lightning bolt, in the midst of piles of insect corpses, was an androgynous figure; its features were beautiful and radiant, but not easily classified as male or female. It wore gleaming red and gold armor and held a spear in its hands, a sword gleaming at its waist. Gigantic in comparison to Sam, it seemed miniscule next to the monstrosity before them both, yet outstripped the other in presence and radiated authority. The new arrival leveled its spear at the great gold creature and sang.
Chains of Prophecy: A Tale of Mythic Discovery Page 13