Airel. Part 19

The Seer laughed once more, wheezing and rattling. "You think I want you? I thought you a worthy foe... but you are a dumb sheep playing with wolves." The laughter continued, more intense and disturbing. At last, the Seer regained a trifle of self control. "Are you growing weak, slave? Yes... yes, you are. Perhaps amendments can be made to prolong your stay with the sentient-though you're quite pitiful, aren't you? Yes, you are."

Kreios was sucking air and filthy dirt into his lungs when a thought came to him, light and terrible. He tried to put it from his mind. It has to be a lie! This was a sick game the beast wanted to play; and if Kreios was to survive, he knew that he had to begin playing it.

The Seer began speaking unclean incantations in one of the lost tongues, binding and loosing. The end result, though his ears burned for hearing such unspeakable atrocities, was that the drain on the strength of Kreios was stopped. The Seer knelt to the ground and brought his face near. Kreios nearly vomited from the stench of it, thinking perhaps the Seer would try to speak a curse over him. Instead, he spit on him as he stood and took his leave, hissing, disappearing through the folds of the tent. Kreios sighed with relief and began to pray.

Chapter VII.

Boise Idaho, Present day Stan the man giggled like a little girl, cleared his throat, and adjusted his sungla.s.ses. "I am a fan of your little plan, Stan the man," he said cheerily. He repeated it again and again. It was a stupid little rhyme, but he needed it. He wanted it. He was the man, especial y with his latest prize knocking around in the trunk. He had the world by the tail.

It had been enjoyable, his time with Lopez. The detective had been so very trusting, after al ; it made the irony so very delicious. He had actually thought that I would let him go after he told me what I wanted to know. That boggled what was left of his mind.

"Let me out, you pervert!" The voice in the trunk was angry, sure. But there was fear there... and innocence, too. Stan loved innocence, loved to misuse it, turn it back on itself.

The detective had been last-the super-enjoyment of that moment would live on in infamy with Stan. He had become engorged, not just from bloodl.u.s.t, but from his poetic desire to manipulate and target the innocent. He preferred to kil first those who did not deserve to die, preferably with someone watching-someone whose pain would drive them mad before he final y showed them to the edge of the grave and turned them loose within it.

Stan giggled again. That's just what happened to Lopez! He had been so very helpful. And Stan the man was sated now. His mind was at peace, and al was right with the world. And al was going right as wel . The address that he had taken from the detective, the Mexican bandito, was just as good as gold. He had made his score al right.

The voice came from the trunk again. "You know what I am going to do when I get out of here...!" It thrashed in the trunk like a drowning kitten; al screeches and howls, nothing more. The louder she screamed the better he felt. "I'l tel everyone; the police, my school, the news, my parents-they'l be very interested in a middle-aged pervert that kidnapped a high school student!"

Silence. She was thinking it over. Stan drove on.

"You think you're going to get away with this?! You're a fool!"

Stan was smug, and he smirked. He spoke calmly, soothingly. "Yel al you want, Kim. Where you're going no one wil ever hear you." He spoke in a sing-song. "Screaming wil only get you a slower and much more painful death!" That shut her up. Stupid kid.

Chapter VIII.

1250 B.C. Arabia Kreios was laid out where he had landed, eyes closed. He entered deep into the part of his mind where he knew it lay in wait. It might help him-or it could take his soul-leaving him to wander, forever lost. He could stil hear the Seer, the guards, other sounds from the outside world. But they were far away, as if they were in another time and place.

Heavy darkness fil ed his vision. He felt his life wavering. Kreios knew that if he did not do something decisive soon, he would die along with Yamanu. At the far end of the maddening blackness that reached for him, Kreios saw a glimmer flickering in his mind. He moved toward it. As he moved closer to the light, he knew what he would find there, before he actual y saw it: the frameless door.

Kreios, like anyone, had seen many doors, had walked through them. He had been faced with them both at journey's end and at inception. He had been invited through them into warmth and fel ows.h.i.+p, had banged on them in the cold of winter and bel owed to be let in. Doors had stood in his path as open gateways to his furtherings, but doors had also stood in opposition to him on his pathway as wel . Some he had never pa.s.sed through.

What was beyond it? Was it good or evil, and why did he feel that whatever lurked behind it might kil him? He didn't know, and as he circled around it, he noticed that only one side of the door was pierced with a hand hold-the other side was smooth, unblemished.

Kreios could feel Yamanu feebly projecting his thoughts toward him. The time was short. He would have to risk his own life in order to save that of his friend-he would pa.s.s through the door. Al of his options had been reduced to this choice.

The door changed color as wel as shape from the corner of his mind's eye. Reaching out with a strong hand, Kreios grasped the handle and turned it. It yielded smoothly to his touch, swinging open of its own accord, as if there was a pressure difference, and he could feel the gentle rus.h.i.+ng of wind pa.s.sing by him from behind.

The slight breeze that pul ed at his robes made him think of the long autumn weather he loved. Memories of his courts.h.i.+p with his beloved wife flowed over him in cool, refres.h.i.+ng rivulets. The smel of orange-red leaves, of pines dropping needles, fil ed the air . Kreios stood before the open door breathing in deeply. A smal smile took the right corner of his mouth.

Beyond, the sun was s.h.i.+ning. The beauty of the place cal ed aloud to him. Kreios peered in without stepping over the threshold. There, lying on the gra.s.s only a few steps beyond the open door, was a sword. He glanced back and took a tentative breath. He looked in again, knowing already: the sword lying naked on the gra.s.s was the Sword of Light. It reflected liquid sunlight off its blade.

There was no more time for wonder. He leapt forward, dove to the earth, and rol ed to his feet with the Sword once again in his hand. His back to the door, he was becoming overwhelmed. His wil to return diminished with each breath of pure, sweet, perfect atmosphere. The memory of his sweet Eriel cal ed him back.

He turned and in three powerful strides made it to the threshold. He could hear voices cal ing to him, begging him to stay with promises of undying happiness, and it caused him to stumble. Kreios knew one of the voices in the sea of cal ing. It was his departed love. Tears streamed down his face as he felt her tugging on his heart, pleading for him to stay.

"NO!" Gripping the door edge he pul ed himself through and almost dropped the Sword. As soon as he crossed over, the door slammed shut powerful y, with finality.

He became aware of his limbs again, his heart beating, and he felt the soreness of his face. The sounds of his attackers came from afar, in the distance. He lay motionless, taking care not to betray the change within. He projected to Yamanu his plan, and could feel the life and power from the Sword fil his body once again.

He did not understand how he could go into his own mind to a place he had seemed to have imagined, and retrieve the Sword of Light. Nevertheless he was sure that when he opened his eyes he would be holding it in his hands. He was ready to risk his life, the life of his friend, ultimately the life of his daughter, on that.

The smel of dirt and sweat fil ed his nostrils. He kept his eyes closed tightly, waiting for the right moment. He soaked it in, felt peace fil him with power.

The strange thing to his mind was how he could feel the Sword at hand-and yet as he flexed his fingers it was not there. He wondered how long it could balance in between realities before it was lost completely.

Yamanu must not have been far, because as the Power fil ed Kreios, he could sense his friend and warrior brother rising up. The Shadower's gift was augmenting and he was storing it, damming up the potential, making ready for a ma.s.sive flood. He and Kreios were walking a narrow edge as they coordinated the timing of their one and only opportunity to break with the doom that the Seer desired to visit upon them.

Kreios opened his eyes and jumped to his feet. He was the embodiment of the Angel of the LORD, that enigmatic ident.i.ty before whom prophets would fal down and kings would tremble. His body was awash; waves of spiritual power rippled throughout. He did not look to see if the Sword of Light was indeed physical y at hand but he clenched his fist and he could feel its grips, more real ever. His only hope was that his faith was strong enough to make it real. He swung it high and held it there.

The tent exploded, ripped asunder and dissolved in light as demons and their pet slaves were thrown like toys. Simultaneously, Yamanu arose, swift and terrible, and though Kreios could feel him near enough, he could not locate him precisely. No matter: crippling cold and inky darkness descended upon the enemy camp with such ferocity that even the demons trembled.

Contrary to conflicting with the gifts of the Shadower, the Sword complimented and increased them, and heavy black fog exploded over and through the enemy camp, throwing the Seer's horde into wincing grief. Some of the men became mute with it and could not remember why they were there or what they were doing, wandering helplessly.

Kreios stood at the epicenter of what was left of the travel ing residence of the one he hated. He looked for the Seer, vengeance ripping through his veins. The demonic horde army was scurrying every which way. There were screams of incomprehension, vague orders and countermands as the enemy attempted to gather itself together out of confusion. He searched urgently, kicking bodies out of his way, hacking through obstacles, stirring the wreckage, but the Seer was not there. Kreios fil ed his lungs and reared back, raising his voice to the heavens with a roaring battle cry, cal ing out the Agent of Darkness.

"Come out and fight me, Seer!" The cry did not produce the intended result. Kreios and Yamanu, now standing side by side in the wreckage of the Seer's tents, were faced not with a sporting contest with the disobedient deserter, but with a wave of filthy demonic infantry bearing down upon them.

Yamanu recovered his stolen sword from the ruined body of one of the guards, and with weapons raised at the ready, their eyes blazed with holy fire.

They became encircled by enemy forces, ral ying against the battle cry that Kreios had delivered. The enemy could not perceive beyond the vagueness of the upside-down hope they had where they were going-where they were being driven.

Kreios and Yamanu waited to spring the trap. The enemy drew nearer stil , their pikes deployed horizontal y, pointing inward at the angels. When they had drawn within a stride or two, Kreios launched himself from his defensive position, smacking aside enemy combatants' weapons with the flat of the Sword, which flowed fluidly back around to the attack, slicing with ease through muscle, bone, marrow.

Whirling angrily through their midst, Kreios downed enemy after enemy with his Sword, arcing high, then low. He swung upwards, slicing a demon from groin to chin, producing a horrible truncated shriek.

Yamanu moved independently but kept close by, hacking and slicing at demons and evil men. He waded through them, swinging his weapon like a harvester, growling and screaming maniacal y only once-at the onset of battle-from then on he was silent, concentrating, and al the more deadly.

The angels worked steadily through the advancing enemy army, simply cleaving its members in two, drenching themselves in acrid blood that stank and burned. Sparks of black and red flew from demon mouths.

Soon the angels had run through the initial wave of attackers. They stood, panting gloriously, drenched in their own sweat comingled with the rank blood of the vanquished. They awaited the second onslaught, and as they did, Kreios closed his eyes and probed the invisible realms for his opponent.

As he searched, he beheld the tree into which the Sword had been lodged. The Sword was not there, which was absolutely perfect. Kreios held his hand high, and there, manifest before him, was his weapon: the Sword of Light. He clenched his hand around it, felt its heft, spun it deftly, and the blade hummed and buzzed through the air. Now victory was a.s.sured to him.

But it did not take long to a.s.sess the outcome of battle: the Seer had fled, had sensed the coming battle when Kreios had been fil ed with the holy fury that fueled him. The skirmish the angels had just endured was sacrificial; a diversion away from true intent-that the Seer, coward and dog, was ral ying elsewhere, gathering more and more thousands to his side.

Yamanu sensed al of this as wel , yet they hedged on the side of caution, standing at the ready in the midst of Yamanu's icy pure black fog for quite some time, awaiting some new treachery. But it did not come.

At last, on toward the dawn, the angels relaxed their vigilance. Setting fire to the remains of the enemy camp, which burned vigorously, they advanced to the lake to bathe and to clean their weapons and clothing. The Sword of Light was clean already. The acid blood had dripped from it as it was being used -it was like mixing water and oil. Nothing could cling to it.

When they were clean, they came ash.o.r.e and sat under a tree in the broadening suns.h.i.+ne of midmorning. Yamanu lit his pipe luxuriously and puffed at it, sending strongly scented smoke curling into wreaths in his lap and spil ing onto the ground, dissipating. "So," he concluded, "that went wel ..." His words fel off, and Kreios could see a grin on his face.

Kreios never did have much of a sense of humor. Al he had on his mind was the mission, and how they would complete it. "We must kil the Seer or al is lost." He did not give much time to vain things, including the typical victory strut-no matter how smal .

Discomfort moved in on the pair. At length, after Yamanu was finished with his pipe, Kreios gave a sigh. The enemy horde would be on guard from now on. Surprise attacks would require more... creativity. Kreios took to the air, hovering at treetop height, waiting for Yamanu to fol ow him.

"What now, chief?" Yamanu asked as he joined him.

Kreios was stone-faced again. "We make camp. Then we find a way to persuade our brothers in Ke'elei to help us. I believe I know how to convince them."

Chapter IX.

Eagle Idaho, Present day Giddy, unnatural, overpowering, wonderful joy! Only the act of watching someone squirm in their bonds with a look of raw hatred on their face could bring these lovely emotions to bear.

Stan glowered back at her. He grandly produced an enormous Cuban torpedo from his coat pocket, felt its moist firmness in his fingers and sniffed it.

Snipping the end, he lit it with a match. Smoke bil owed up in his face. Stan looked like a ghost in the pale light of the single bulb.

Stan stood in his own garage this time. It struck him that he didn't know how long it had been since he had been home. Home? His suit was tattered, his fingernails dirty. He couldn't remember his last shower. He didn't care. He had walked out of his old life-and his new one, far more exciting, meant he had to give up certain things to get what he wanted. He licked his lips.

Kim was bound to a wooden chair with duct tape. She had a strip plastered over her mouth as wel . Stan looked at her with mild interest. She didn't know where her best friend was, he knew that. But he had other plans for her. Bait. White female bait.

The peace that kil ing brought him could only last so long. He needed more; the bloodstone demanded more.

Kim was looking at him with big round eyes. No tears. No downcast obedience. Just hatred.

"We're friends, aren't we Kim?" He stared at her with wild bloodshot eyes. "Yes... yes, I can see that you agree. Good, good... I knew you, of al people, would understand." Stan let his words reverberate in the silence. Then, as if remembering something, he ran from the dimly lit garage into the house.

He returned with a video camera in his shaking hands. "You wanna be in a movie? I know you do. Every girl your age wants to be a movie star." His voice pitched higher in excitement as he set up a tripod. After a few tries he successful y mounted the camera and turned it on.

"Say 'hi,' Kimmy."

Kim sat frozen.

"Good... very good. Kim, you get to be... helpful. You get to help me find your little friend. Won't that be nice!"

Mental gears were grinding in his head, and he slipped into a stupor momentarily while everything got sorted. When he came out of it he was addressing the audience in the camera. "My old friend!" Stan exclaimed in a joyful voice. "It has been too long. I've got a prize for you here, a token of my love, if you wil ." He descended into crazy laughter. "I'm-" he hacked out a further giggle, "I'm not asking for a lot. Al I want is a little fair trade." He sang out his next words from behind the camera: "I-just want-to trade! This for that." He took another long draw on the torpedo as Kim squirmed in the chair.

"Or I could just kil her." He laughed again, but then he got serious and began to gesticulate. "If you decide not to give me the girl, I wil kil this one and s.h.i.+p her piece by piece to her mother." He was twitching. "But no more secrets about the plan!" He lowered his voice to a whisper and came close to the camera, stil behind it. "You know where to find us, slave. You have twenty-four hours."

Stan turned off the camera, picked it up, and walked out of the garage, turning off the single light as he went. Kim was alone in the dark. For the first time since she had been kidnapped, she let her guard down and al owed herself to cry. Tears dripped down over the duct tape gag and col ected at the tip of her chin.

Stan listened, just on the other side of the door. He suppressed a giggle. He could skip down the sidewalk chasing after the ice cream man, he was so ridiculously happy.

He went to his study and began to scratch out a wretched note: Dear fools, Play this tape on the news tonight. If you do not, I will kill this poor helpless girl-and you will be all responsible. If you refuse to OBEY, everyone will know you are the ones who killed her.

Stan's the Man

Chapter X.

Somewhere in the Mountains of Idaho, Present day I was sitting reading when an overpowering fear stole into me. Something was seriously wrong, but I couldn't put my finger on what. I closed my eyes and tried to think of what to do. Far in the back of my mind I could hear She whispering, but I couldn't make out the words.

"Come on, what is it?" I was shaking now, cold and scared. But what was I scared of? Then it al hit me. The feeling, the smel s and the sounds.

"KALE!" I screamed. A minute later Kale burst through the door.

"What? Are you okay?"

"Kim! She's in trouble. He has her." I could not place a name but his face loomed in my mind. "We have to hurry, he's going to kil her."

The shadow of pain crossed his features. "I believe I know who has her. How do you know she is in danger-can you feel it?"

"Yeah! It's as if I'm right there with her. Please, we have to do something." I tried not to panic but the feelings of fear and worry were powerful.

I gathered myself together a little and asked, "Who is he?"

"His name is Stanley Alexander. He is the reason I took you; or as I like to see it, rescued you. He was watching your house, stalking your family. If I had not stepped in to save you, you would be dead now."

My heart crashed. An icy wave washed over me and I gulped, trying to keep things in check. I wanted my voice to be smal as I said, "Is he Michael's father?" I knew the answer.

"Yes. Stanley is in the Brotherhood."

I recal ed what I read about them and shuddered.

"Okay, you have got to tel me what's going on! No more secrets, no more mysterious 'you shal know in time' c.r.a.p. I need to know who you kil ed in that theater and what I am, really. Am I one of the Sons of G.o.d? Am I related to this Kreios? And why is al this happening to me?"