Hope's Light

Chapter 12

by Erisian

Book 6

 

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

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter Twelve - Ideals

 

Sucking air into lungs finding themselves able to expand fully, Nick again pushed a hand against the rack of green produce to stay upright.

“Gimme…gimme a minute.”

“Sure.”

Emotions, fresh and bleeding, spilled one after another across the lines of his face. Not just the tautness of anger and pain - but also the deepest troughs of despair, haunted by what he’d just touched.

The Light.

Unlike Tsáyidiel who had shattered glass and eardrums with a terrible cry at first taste of the glory which had been so long denied, Nick forced it all down inside despite the fierce and wrenching struggle within.

I kept quiet, and since he waved off an attempt at a comforting hand I stepped away to let him wrestle with the aftermath in solitude.

Tsáyidiel however spoke, again mind to mind.

“My Queen, soldiers gather outside this facility.”

“I know. They’ll wait for us to come out to talk.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because the two by the door are from Krux’s squad.”

“Shall I deal with their presence? Or do you wish to speak with them?”

What a polite way to suggest a quick slaughter. “Not really, but I should anyway. If they stay put, for now leave them be.”

“As my Queen wishes…”

The intimacy of our communication made it clear there was more on his mind that he wasn’t sure he should say. “What else troubles you? Tell me.”

“Yomyael. You purged their infection of Chaos.”

“Yes.”

“Without cleansing them in the Light. My Queen, how was this possible?”

That…that was an excellent question.

Somehow I had known I could, as again the higher angelic awareness of my spirit had bled through. Like she had when grabbing hold of Gwydion’s sword to insanely plunge the blade straight through my chest. But one truth was undeniable: by will alone had I gripped the Chaos within Yomyael and ripped it free.

The reforged Spear now held those foreign energies, contained by the power of Elohim’s name - but it was not the source of the control needed to direct the flow. It couldn’t do that, for the Chaos was anathema to Creation. All it could do was keep it forcibly under wraps and prevent its spread.

Like Lilith had needed to do when pulling Azazel’s booby-trapped spellwork out of a certain idiotic general who had leapt upon its explosion. She’d had that stuff swirling about inside a jar on her table, wherever that table had actually been. But those energies were more like Yomyael’s corruption as they too had been warped and twisted by Azazel. Unlike the purity (if one could call it such) which had formed Gwydion’s sword.

Alal had given that to him. She’d made those cursed blades, wrapping the insanely external essences by her will alone in order to slip them within Creation’s bounds. And I’d used my own Name to expel her influence from what Gwydion had wielded before engaging the Spear to lock down those patternless patterns.

Thereby touching it directly without becoming infected myself.

Yet I’d had to do that before. When Azazel had dragged me into the depths alongside him, only for me to then be pulled out by Isaiah’s firm hand. Thinking about it, everything spun. And it was my turn to gasp and lean against the stacks of farmed foliage.

Because I’d just had a flash of remembered horror. Of Azazel’s essence in its entirety dissolving against not my skin but my raw spirit itself, as the tempest of unforged potentials swept us both away.

If I’d eaten any food, it would have ended up on the damp floor. Empty heaves wracked the stomach instead.

Somehow I’d survived.

Somehow.

Gwydion had been right to call me by the title he’d given when pleading so passionately for his people. For I, too, like Alal was an Archon of Chaos.

I’d been hoping that Azrael had used Isaiah to save me, to pluck me out of that tempest before anything bad could have happened. Which was horribly naive, as Time itself had to be a mess beyond the bounds of Creation. An instant Outside may as well have been an eternity.

Alternately I’d thought that Alal had helped, out of some deranged devotion to sisterhood if nothing else - but she’d denied taking any direct action. She’d only witnessed. Insufficiently buttered popcorn and all.

No.

I’d done it.

Me.

Or perhaps more accurately, my spirit and my true Name. Somehow.

“My Queen! What ails you?!”

Deep breath, had to let it out slow. “Just…nothing. I’m fine.”

Now was not the time to fret about the more worrisome implications. One foot - or wing - after the other, I needed to keep moving forward.

Or so I told myself.

Looking back over at Nick to see if he was ready yet, the answer was clearly in the negative. He was sitting seiza on knees, a small crystalline orb hovering over outstretched palms - one with lightning flickering in resonance to the distant lamp’s sparks.

Within that stormy globe floated a tiny pair of pale grey wings.

Leaving him to his personal meditations and pain, I forced myself back up by ignoring the budding headache, and went to the green painted door. It slid automatically open as if we were aboard a starship - or outside a convenience store.

Not stepping out, I addressed the taller of the two demons lurking outside.

“You’re Halphas, right? What the heck do you want.”

The stork-headed demon had the grace to look nervous. “General Krux requests a parlay.” It held up an electronic pad, the display showing the Citadel emblem. “Remote if agreeable.”

“He doesn’t trust I won’t squish him in person, eh? Fine. Put him on.”

Claw-like fingers flicked across the illuminated surface. Huh. I wouldn’t have thought claws would work on a touch pad.

The screen flashed, and Halphas held it up so I could see Krux’s horned head fill the frame.

“Jordan,” he said without missing a beat. “Appreciate the chat.”

“Thanks may be premature. Though you definitely owe me. You get my message?”

The devil grinned. “Santiago? Yeah.” The toothy smile disappeared. “You found my missing team.”

“We did.”

“Grigori, that’s what your soul said. Who was it?”

“Someone your standard Citadel teams really don’t want to mess with. Your team was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Azazel’s forces?”

“Not anymore. And no, they’re not Chaos infected.” That one of them had been infected until I took care of it was none of Krux’s business. In my opinion anyway - besides, I was no longer in the mood to pass on all that much information to the devilish agent. Plus if the short agent knew I could do that kind of thing with the Chaos he’d probably soil his shorts - if he was wearing any, hard to tell from a video call.

“You sure?”

“Definitive.”

He considered, clearly disliking not being the one to confirm directly. But as I was the one in the first place to warn his ass of Azazel’s original threats, he couldn’t exactly accuse me of not understanding the importance of being sure. “I take killing my squad kinda personal.”

“Unless you’ve got angelic backup, they’re out of your weight class. Suggest you leave them be.”

“What about yours? You just let them go?”

“We discovered that this realm isn’t stable enough for us to fight it out. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Shit. That big tremor, that was you?”

“Yeah.”

It took him a moment to process, whereupon need for revenge got shoved aside by necessity. After all, he and the rest of his crews stood upon this realm too. If it went, so did they.

He didn’t have to be happy about it though.

“You didn’t come back. You abandoning the original mission?”

“Something else came up.”

“What?”

“None of your beeswax.”

While he didn’t get the language-mangled pun reference, he caught the implication. “And here I thought we’d been building up trust.”

I snorted. “With you redirecting that whole Harrowing nonsense without telling me first? You’re funny. Or have you forgotten you tried to shoot me?”

Krux shrugged. “Opportunities appear and I take ‘em. You’re missing yours with the Apostle.”

“Oh?”

The calculating smirk peeked out from behind the surliness. “Yeah. They reached out. To that soul-buddy of yours.”

“To Santiago? Seriously?”

“You were right, they’ve infiltrated the computers at the holding tank. So we added some isolated surveillance to a few spots while you were busy. Caught something when your boy was alone before I got there. No video, sound only.”

Krux pushed a button to the side of the camera and an audio file began to play.

Folding arms over the star decorating my chest, I listened as a calm voice spoke, one with the slightest of sibilance on each ‘s’ as was common among fanged denizens.

“If you can hear this, say so - but quietly. The microphone in your room will pick it up.”

Santiago’s voice responded, hushed and careful. “I indeed hear you.”

“There is little time before the jailers return, so this must be brief. As a newly arrived soul you sit at a crossroads. Have they explained what shall be your fate should they continue holding the reins of your fate?”

“Slavery or be swallowed. Distasteful choices both.”

“And if there was a third choice? Would you take interest?”

“Possibilities always interest me. Yet how do I know you are not merely an obedience test set forth by those that have jailed me?”

“You do not, nor will you until after a choice is made.”

“Name your offer then.”

“A fight for freedom. A fight in the name of she who offers a path to all who are lost within these realms of darkness. A fight for the Eternal Light she shone into the deepest of shadows, and will return to shine again.”

“This is hardly specific.”

“Which makes it no less true. Do you wish to be free?”

“None are ever free. Though I do prefer to choose the chains that bind. I presume that you, whoever you may be, do not contact every soul who happens by. Why would you believe that I am worthy of such risk?”

“Because you were closest with the soul who was left behind.”

“Ah.”

“We wish for you to share everything you know about her. In exchange for your freedom.”

“As I am given to understand, an unmarked soul is fresh opportunity for any demon’s feast. What good would your so-called freedom be?”

“A suitable illusion of such a mark can be provided. Or you could choose to join our holy cause. You have demonstrated skills, useful ones.”

“And why, pray tell, has she who has not returned generated such fascination?”

“We know what resides in the buried castle below. And what you and the others reported happened. She bade you run, now the authorities have deemed the abandoned town off-limits while she is still missing. And in a nearby cell to yours a prison guard is being held, one marked by her hand. A soul’s hand. Though that unknown mark has now faded, it is yet another mystery.”

“And so? Who do you think she was?”

“The purest of lights came to this realm of towers once in the form of a woman, a fact learned by us only upon our banishment to Dis. We follow the paths and signs, searching out the sacred meanings behind each of her holy acts. And this unique soul you encountered, she could be a portent of the Light’s imminent return.”

“Have you forgotten that we are in Hell? What meaning could such hope possibly carry here?”

“She to whom we gift our worship saved our original realm: demons, devils, and souls alike. Touching each of us with her holiness, lending strength to stand against depths of terror threatening to destroy all. For her purpose is of redemption and glory, and soon we shall have the means to pave her way with welcome of worthy offerings. If you had felt the touch of her holy light, you too would understand.”

“I see.” The conversation paused for a beat, then Santiago spoke again. “I find myself intrigued. Endeavor my release and I shall tell you what I can.”

“Existence again prepares the stones for the tread of her sacred feet. Exercise patience, my friend, and when the jailers go to move you, be prepared.”

“And how might I identify who is with you versus who is not?”

“By their uttered phrase shall you know them. They will say, ‘Through a blindfold the truth shines clear.’ Ah, the guards come. Stand ready.”

The playback stopped and Krux peered out of the screen. “What’cha think?”

No response was given immediately as thoughts were spinning. Because with that passphrase a suspicion building while listening to each additional sentence had consolidated.

Not that I was going to let the Citadel agent know that.

“Oh I dunno. I think someone drank too much Kool-Aid.”

The devil blinked. “What the fuck is ‘cool-aid’ - that for when a meal’s too spicy??”

“Uh, it’s something rabid crazy cultists drink. Nevermind.”

“Ya sure these guys are actually nuts? What with everything you’ve done?”

I tried to ignore that. “You’re afraid of the war here spreading. How big is this Apostle’s organization?”

Krux growled. “Unknown. Maybe you should show up and tell them to chill the fuck out. Give ‘em some of this not-quite-cold beverage of yours.”

“Only if necessary. Because like I said, something else came up which won’t wait.”

Beady little eyes glinted. “It threaten this realm?”

“Far as I know, it doesn’t. Did you grill Santiago about that conversation when you got there?”

“No need. He spilled it all - along with your hiring recommendation.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. He’s a sharp one, Krux. He’ll play all sides until he needs to pull the trigger. Or a knife.”

“Smart.”

“You’re going to let him be taken by them, aren’t you. To be your mole.”

“Gotta love me a double agent. When you’re done with whatever-the-fuck-it-is-you-aren’t-telling, look me up and maybe I’ll fill you in on what we find.”

“Only if that suits your purpose.”

“My purpose?” A lip curled. “Is to prevent as much damage from Bene-Elohim bullshit as I can.”

“Hey, I’ve helped stop a lot of that!”

“Yeah, which is why we’re talking. But when that changes? Revolutions - stupidly noble or not - are forged in blood.”

“You really believe I’ll start a revolt?”

The glint shifted, reflecting instead a deep weariness. “Everyone blindly following idealisms eventually tries. And you cursed feathery fools are direct manifestations of those ideals. Troublemakers - like this jerk of an Apostle - understand this, even if you’re too stupid to. When the time comes, angel, you won’t be able to help it.”

With a flicker the screen went black. He’d ended the call.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading...and for commenting!

- Erisian