Hope's Light

Chapter 5

by Erisian

Book 6

 

If you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Part Two

 

Chapter Five - Plans

 

Brightness sweeps away the Book’s words and echoing voice entire.

All is light, and Light is All.

Infinite yet singular, timeless yet growing, perception expands.

Perception of existence, perception of pattern.

A vision of glory beyond all glory, depth beyond all depth, and purpose beyond all purpose.

From this vantage, a locus forms. A pivot through which the Light’s perception shall guide, reach, and measure.

A pivot through which to recognize Self.

A pivot through which to Act.

Ripples appear in the Light, impressions left in the pivot’s wake. A second convergence responds to maintain the coherence of the Whole - following the pivot to shade spots too bright, to reinforce regions too dim, smoothing thereby the passage of the First.

And at the edge of vision, that which cannot be seen clearly moves also. A pressure betwixt Nothing, Possibility, and Light, coalesces nexuses of its own - patterns not of the Light but of reaction.

These lash against what is, tearing against the singularity underlying perceived pattern with emerging conflicting variances.

New perceptions arise. A need for healing. A need for survival. A need for stability. A need for victory.

And more.

Each working to their intention, each enhancing further that which was created within the Light. Each lending strength against that which attempts to rip the All asunder, and in that expanding conflict many are lost that the rest may be preserved.

With such arrives awareness of the potentials of causality, of Time and Eternity, and the multitude of layers which shall expand and develop all things. Including the increasingly coherent vortices now surrounding the First through which the Light originally streamed.

In this expansion, as ideals grow and gain nuances in realized manifestation, potential weakness is perceived in an Infinite built only upon the Singular. A paradox of infinities wherein impossible becomes certain.

Thus to the Eyes of the First is much revealed: A plan to counter this certainty, one filled with promised glory yet holding tremendous risk all its own.

But before I can examine closely, Raziel’s tome turns the page.

 

Despite telling Krux not to, after waving off his wrecking crew the devil went and ordered Nick a fresh bottle of some possibly-potato hard alcohol. This so-called beverage had a weird neon-orange tinge to the liquid, like it had previously tried out for the job of being an orange slushy and failed. Greepa brought it over along with two filled glasses - one for me and one for Krux - before solemnly returning to the busted power panel to pry off the cover and inspect the fuses one by one. Apparently Nick didn’t need a glass, which was proven immediately by his taking a long swig direct from the bottle.

We sat there in a darkness punctuated by a single table candle’s flame, each of us sipping (or chugging) our drinks and not speaking.

Nick looked - and smelled - horrid. Like something scraped from the bottom of a restaurant’s rusty dumpster. Then again, who knows, maybe he had actually been taking naps in such a bin behind this place.

Finally I had to comment. “When was the last time you bathed? Seriously, I’ve had whiffs of demon guts fresher than you.”

He put down the bottle to squint with bloodshot and unfriendly eyes. “What…what are you even doing here?” When our gazes finally met, he quickly turned away.

“Foraging for information.”

“I wasn’t asking about this ass-end of a bar. I meant being back in Hell.”

With a click the light crystals turned on again, and Greepa closed the dented panel. This caused the tablet to beep from restored power, though no text appeared on the display. Reaching out to it, I reactivated the privacy field so the table was again bathed in green and verified that the device wasn’t recording or transmitting. Then I looked at Krux, or more specifically, at the line of beer foam smeared across his upper lip.

“Yo, Krux.”

“What.”

“You got something there,” I said, pointing generally towards his mouth. “Also - take a walk.”

He wiped the messy face with a shirtsleeve. “And if’n I don’t feel like it?”

“Then I may need to reconsider our friendship.”

Scowling, he stepped off the seat and dropped to the floor. “Fine.”

“Hey, take those recorders you stuck under the table along with you. Both of ‘em.”

The scowl brightened into an amused smirk. “Hard to resist an observant woman’s demands.” Easily reaching underneath, he plucked the dime-sized devices free, then grabbed his ale. “Taking this with me too.”

“All yours. Charge more to my account if this takes awhile.”

“Shit, don’t have to offer that twice. Have fun, kids!” He stepped beyond the privacy field, leaving me alone with the fallen angel desperately trying to reach bottom.

Said angel didn’t say anything more, instead only took another swig from the bottle. The last time I’d seen Nick, the Grigori-incarnate mage had been with Camael when they’d arrived (albeit late) to the Citadel where I’d just assisted a Beelzebub in defeating an angel possessed by the evil puppet master, Azazel. From what my best friend, Isaiah, had told me - Camael had essentially blackmailed Nick into being his guide here in Hell.

Specifically to aid in finding me.

Of course, this was all after the idiot mage had worked with the Grigori angel Sariel back on Earth and thereby gotten my niece killed - the same niece he’d once helped save from the sorcerer Callas Soren, who also just-so-happened to be the mundane identity of Prince Camael, angel and Regent of the Seat of Light.

To say our collective history was tortuously complex would be an understatement of literal Biblical proportions.

I sipped at the wine. A bit saccharine, but pretty good by Hell’s standards. Wasn’t Asmodian though, this stuff verged on being too sugary. Ah well. “Want to tell me why you’re pretending to be a bouncer?”

“Not particularly.”

“Alright, then know where Camael is? Or even Nathanael? Those two would probably have stuck together.”

He flinched, which was followed up with a wince. “Last I heard, Nathanael’s busy fighting incursions from the Chaos. Azazel’s stunt with the mace riled things up.”

“Is Camael with him?”

“No clue. Don’t care.” He stared at the orange swirling behind the thick glass.

“Something happen?”

“You know what he did. Aradia was there.”

Memory of a storm-of-storms surfaced. “Barakiel’s daughter - your daughter.”

“Yeah.”

“He cut you down.”

“Yeah.”

“So you couldn’t save her. Just like Aradia couldn’t save Saibh.”

“The fae’s spirit survived. My daughter’s didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Eyes red with more than drink glared back. “Didn’t they do everything according to Aradia and Gabriel’s master plan?”

My cheeks squinched. “I don’t remember their plans. Not in full. Don’t think I’m supposed to - at least, not yet.” Saying the latter triggered shivers down the arms, as if an unrealized truth had solidified.

Lovely.

He looked away. “That’s gotta suck.”

“Maybe. Aradia expected her spirit to die, there at the end. But Azrael intervened. Gabriel may have foreseen her brother’s action - and she could have wanted me to have a clean restart. Guilt festering for too long becomes a poison of its own.”

“Restart or no, you’re still Aradia.”

“My spirit was hers, sure. But a lot’s changed since then. I’m beginning to think static unchanging aspects is a source of problems for many.”

He sat quiet for a moment, then switched the subject. “Nathanael is connected to you; haven’t you reached out?”

“And let all the fallen Sarim sense the signal? Think I’m naive enough to broadcast that I’m here, Nick? Or should I call you Barakiel now.”

“Call me whatever. It doesn’t matter.” He coughed - a deep rasping rattle of a cough - and spat something yellow and red into a napkin. He really did look awful, what skin could be seen between beard and grimy hair lurked pale and sallow. Conjuring some added light, I took a better look.

What I saw wasn’t good.

“Jesus, dude. You’re wounded.”

“Quit that!” He blocked the light with a tattooed palm and huddled further into the grimy coat. “And I certainly ain’t Jesus. As for this, ‘tis but a scratch.” He tried to say the last with more whimsy, but the breathing was too shallow to support the intended tone.

“That mess is soul-cursed. Can’t you heal it?” Under the leather, dark lines spread from below the padding he’d wedged over his stomach where cursed energy dug in like hooked fishing lines into his pattern. What’s worse, his angelic spirit wasn’t even trying to pry them free - if anything, the barbs had been grabbed and pulled further in. The padding slowly soaked up leaking blood, much like my old reaper wrap when my own wounded wings had kept manifesting their blood after getting stabbed by a Chaos sword.

Staring at the bottle on the table, he slowly rotated it in place. “Why should I.”

“Maybe I can help.”

Confused pain shot a glance, then looked away again. “You would, wouldn’t you? Of course you would. Because despite those bright eyes of yours, you’re as blind as Aradia ever was.”

“Excuse me?”

Angrily, he pointed the bottle at me. “Blind! So let me be!”

“If I’m blind, then tell me what the heck happened!”

“What always happens - I fucked up!” Snarling, he went to throw the bottle aside, but stopped himself before letting it go. Some of the remaining orange splashed over the glass neck. “I try to do what’s right, make the hard choices, but it always fucks up!”

“You got me to Danielle in time to save her, back when we first met. That wasn’t a fuckup.”

“Because it was all for you!” He coughed a shallow laugh, yet its depths sank with bitterness. “Creation bends to your oh-so-pretty toes, not mine. Never mine. Not during the Flood, not when the Seals broke, and not when I tried…” He caught himself, and with a glare swallowed more than just the orange contents. “It doesn’t matter what I do. Never has. Fight for Heaven, fight for my family, fight for friends - in the end I always lose. Creation doesn’t give a shit about a loser like me.”

“And yet it brought me here to you. Let me help.”

“Why??” The man, the angel, choked out the word. “You should hate me! Because of Danielle, if nothing else - maybe you were led here to get a well-deserved revenge.”

“What more revenge could I take than what you’re so clearly doing to yourself?”

He spat into a napkin again. “Then gloat! Go ahead! Drink your fill! And afterwards, piss off.” Finishing off the not-quite-vodka, this time the glass container went flying to the back of the booth where it smacked hard against the leather. “Go shine for the chosen ones. Let the rest of us eternally burn in peace.”

Tough bottle, though. It didn’t crack.

“What if - hey, hear me out - what if I was brought here so you could help me instead?”

He snorted. “Time for me to play the useful idiot sidekick again? Fuck that.”

“Then don’t be an idiot. Look, you don’t want to tell me why you’re sitting there with soiled underwear, fine. But there’s gotta be a reason we’ve been shoved together again, and not just because that sneaky and all-too-clever devil at the bar wanted to confirm a theory about who you were. Be angry at Creation all you want, but if someone is giving you a chance to do the right thing, don’t you think you should take it?”

“I’d just screw it up.”

“To quote someone from my travels today: Bullshit! So I’m going to tell you why I’m here. And you’re going to listen. It won’t take long.”

The seat creaked as he slunk further into it. “Whatever. You’re buying.”

Deciding I’d had enough of the cloying wine, I pushed it aside. “I’m here because Azrael’s son chucked the Book of Secrets past the Gates of Hell. It landed somewhere in Dis; I lost sight when it fell through the fires covering this twisted cyberpunk of a realm.”

“Azrael’s son? Matityah?” In spite of himself, his head lifted.

“You know him?”

“I…I did, yeah. I used to…I used to feel for the kid. His father was an ass.” He held up a marked palm. “I know, I know - you’re such great friends with his incarnate. I get that. But trust me - the original? He had no concept of how to love a child.”

I thought back again to Azrael and my time as Aradia. She could see the love within him in spite of his distant and judgmental nature. She…I…had that ability. Another child would have only seen the surface.

And a cold unmoving surface it was indeed.

But Nick was muttering to himself. “Dammit, Callas. You said the book was safe.”

“It should have been,” I said with a frustrated grunt. “But I believe Alal, or others working with her, stole it. Matityah’s been infected by Chaos, Nick. Between that and the Book, he’s not sane.”

“What did he try to do with it?”

“Shatter Elohim’s Gates and free Hell to start some major mayhem. He wants to kill his father’s Purpose. He wants to kill Death itself. No matter what that takes.”

“A Chaos-infected Nephelim is loose? Shit. Did you defeat him?”

“No. He hurled the Book across and took off. Said he didn’t have the mojo yet to succeed anyway. I sent the Powers after him, but I followed the Book.”

“That was stupid.”

“Was it?”

He groaned and put palm to his forehead. “You’d better hope he hadn’t read too many chapters then.”

“Why?”

“Because if he truly masters his potential? The Host will scorch entire galaxies to put him down.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“You should be.”

“Look, with the time differential - provided it lasts - maybe I can get back before anything else happens. I did it before, though I don’t remember exactly how. Which is why I want to find the Book - so I can figure that out.”

“That’s not the way it works.” He glanced at my mostly-full cup. “You gonna finish that?”

Disgusted, I slid the glass the rest of the way across the table. If it helped keep him talking, it’d be worth it. “Take it. And what do you mean?”

He drained the remaining candied mash in a single gulp. “It’s the Sepher Raziel. Don’t think of it as a physical book, it’s more an idea - even if you can hold it in your hand. You don’t search for it directly.”

“Weren’t you doing just that back in Aleppo?”

“No. I was searching for the mystery of what sat in those alcoves under the synagogue; I didn’t know exactly what was there. Just that it was potent and tied to the script I didn’t recognize covering Callas’ storage lockers.”

“And Callas Soren - Camael - used you and me to find it again. Even though he’d placed it there.”

“Yeah. He’d buried the idea of it. Our searching for secrets - like just who the heck we were and what by all that was holy was going on - allowed it to manifest again.”

“So how do I find it now?”

“Same way as then. You need to know what happened when you skipped through Chaos? Pursue understanding that and any other mysteries that bitch of Creation shoves your way. The more sacred the mystery being sought, the better the chances of the book appearing.”

“And if you’re one of those mysteries?”

That earned an orange-stained grimace. “Then maybe we’ll be forced to meet again. Because before you ask, I ain’t going with you.”

I stared at the wounded angel. I could help him. I knew I could.

But it would only truly work if he wanted it to.

Getting to my feet, I put another golden centurian on the table. “If you can use this, take it. If not, leave it as a tip.”

He picked the coin up. “Nice. Can get better quality booze with this.”

About to turn away, I paused. “You know, you said you’ve made the hard choices. Sometimes the hardest choice is to accept help when it’s offered.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you’re too stubborn to believe it. Or in the glow that’s still inside you.”

“All that’s inside a fallen wretch like me is a festering hole. Count on it.”

“On that, Barakiel of the Lightning, you are wrong. Find me should you ever figure that out.”

As I went to go, grungy fingers grabbed hold of a sleeve. “One more thing.”

“Yes?” I looked down at the dirty hand.

“I’m not the only one who stinks. Your spirit carries a weapon infused with Chaos, I can smell it. It’s unlike any shadow blade I’ve sensed before, but it’s there. Be careful how you use such a thing, they cut both ways.” He let go.

I debated telling him about the Spear of Destiny and Gwydion's blade of Chaos, forged together only a few crazy hours ago, and currently being held back by my spirit from manifesting. But I said nothing and walked away.

Maybe that would give him his own mystery to follow.

Leaving Nick behind the green privacy screen, I crossed the bar to stand next to Krux who’d already gone through two more mugs of ale.

“Learn anything?” The short devil stood atop the bar stool, clawed feet gripping the leather.

“Yeah.”

“Got a next move?” He asked it casually, but focus was sharply intent on whether I’d answer.

“I’m thinking I need to find this Apostle character. And from him you need to find out who disappeared your crew. ”

“So what’s the plan?”

Greepa slid a credit chit across the bar, and I picked it up. The token was a lot like a USB thumb drive, and a quick scan of the pattern revealed that the bartender hadn’t stiffed on the exchange. “I guess I go pretend to be just another newly arrived soul. For the second time.”

“Then I’ll order an additional round, and we’ll flesh out the details.” Krux grinned wide.

Realization of what that meant kicked in, and I groaned.

Dammit, I’d have to get naked again.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian