Mystic Angels and Cyber Demons

by Michael Blythe

  Mystic Angels and Cyber Demons

  Text copyright © Michael Blythe 2016

  Cover art copyright © Jorge Ramos 2016

  ISBN-13: 978-1519565617

  ISBN-10: 1519565615

  Anna ran like a deer from the hunter. Up ahead, she could see the white marble arches of the Spire. She ran hard. The young girl had escaped from the factory, paid off the guards, climbed over the barbed wire fences. Navigated the Sprawl and the streets of Dead Venice. Her pale skin was lacerated from the barb wire. Her autumn hair blew wildly as she ran up the white marble stairs, with her heart racing and her feet pumping as she neared the white marble arches of the spire. She sped through the huge timber doors, into the stone and stain glass interior and crashed to her knees at the altar. She picked up a candle and lit the vanilla and teakwood candle. The flame flickered. The smoke rose filling Anna's lungs with the sweet incense.

  ‘God! Help us!’

  She cried in desperation, her tears wet her face, wet the floor. The guards caught up with her. The soldiers of the Black Eagle stormed into the Spire, a soldier grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her body violently into compliance. But not her heart. They slapped her face brutally. Dragged her back to the factory. Back to captivity.

  Where the white southern desert met the sea, the Tower rose up from the ground into the sky, bearing the banner of the Black Eagle. Inside, the wealthy elite lived in luxury and self-indulgence. Around the Tower, they built a wall to keep the starving masses out. And around it lay the Sprawl, a city of slum dwellings in a war-torn land. The director of Amal-Tech Corporation supplied them with tanks to defend the Tower and helicopters to hunt down the defiant members of the resistance. The President of the Black Eagle murdered most of the Parliament and led the military on campaigns against his own people. In the first year was the disarming, in the second year the cleansing, in the third year the expansion. The President of the Black Eagle and the director of Amal-Tech Corp were in league with a mysterious person known as the Alien, a genetically engineered mutant and a cyborg, he was the perfect soldier.

  White sandy plains and sand dunes stretched out for kilometres into the skyline, blurred with heat. The clouds above were shaded milky white with darker layers textured like granite. Aqua hills and valleys rose and fell in the vast sea rhythmically laced with wild surf below the massive black slab of the Tower. A hundred floors, constructed of jagged lines and hard angles, it emanated a gloomy shadowy presence like a gothic gargoyle.

  To the north of the Tower lay the slums of the Sprawl, home to the starving survivors. The factories of Amal-Tech stood in the east where the citizens slaved to assemble weaponry and vehicles. To the south lay the white desert and the boneyard of martyrs. To the west, the remains of a once beautiful city called Dead Venice was located beside the polluted Ash River. The river was black like oil and it cascaded over the rocks, staining them with its pollution. Its running waters left the trees along the riverbank dead and wasted. The remains of magnificent statues could be seen in Dead Venice as well as the Spire, a glorious cathedral-like structure built with white stone and stain-glass windows, although most of the windows were broken. Except one stain glass window decorated with an angel holding a shield. The city centre they called the Parthenon, there was a statue of a galloping horse, a dog, a mermaid and a mother cradling her child. The Ash River flowed south, past the hospital, past Oslo Forest, past the mountain and the lightning zone. Then it flowed past the bridge and continued. Eventually, it reached the docks where it emptied into the sea.

  Amal-Tech Corp’s rectangle, concrete foundation didn’t have windows. It was surrounded by chain link fence and barbed wire and lots of guns. Inside, the citizens worked on the assembly lines. As the gears and wheels turned, they fastened bolts into the vehicles and weapons they constructed. Like everyone else, Anna worked the days and nights away without a single day’s rest. Still she felt the sting from the lashes, her punishment for running away. She fastened bolt after bolt until she couldn't think or feel, her actions now a perpetual movement.

  At 11:55, she took the trash out into the yard. She had paid a high price for this luxury. She would linger to stare through the barbed wire fence and look out at the autumn trees glowing in the moonlight. She would imagine touching the rough bark on those trees, lying down in those crisp and brittle leaves, sinking her hands into the soft dirt. Nothing had changed at the factory. Her world looked exactly the same, and yet somehow she knew that the world was completely different.

  ‘Anna. Get back inside. Now!’ the production manager startled her with a threatening scowl.

  Anna walked back into the factory, numb and exhausted.

  The world looked exactly the same and yet Anna’s prayer had moved God’s heart and her prayer was answered.

  Jaydyn Oslo was born in the hospital during a blackout. The nurses lit candles as his mother cried out in the darkness, vanilla and teakwood incense filled the hospital that night and the candlelight illuminated the mother holding her newborn son.

  Jaydyn was born into a family of boat builders who lived among the ruins of Dead Venice as caretakers of the libraries, statues and artworks that had barely survived the destruction of the campaigns. They hated the regime in their hearts but they could do nothing to stop it. From an early age, it was apparent that he was a strange and special child. Jaydyn spent his childhood playing among the libraries and statues of Venice. He spent his adolescence building boats. Sawing, planing, chiselling away until he was covered in timber shavings and had achieved his design. His Father showed him all sorts of fascinating books and boat designs. His favourite book told the story of the spear blessed with holy water and wielded by Saint Matthias. The saint fought against a foul eight-armed demon an age ago. As he grew into manhood, he began exploring Oslo Forest and the mountain known as the Lightning Zone. He became a man of prayer. He would walk contentedly between the white tree trunks under the shimmering leaves of green and blue and red. He would sit for hours beside the peaceful lake on the mountaintop.

  One night Jaydyn had a dream; He saw an angel tearing down out of the sky, creating a whirlwind in his wake. The figure wore silver armour over his broad chest, his blonde hair and wings spun as he spiralled down out of heaven. Fire burned on the edge of his massive sword, sparks of fire and clouds trailed behind him as he flew down at high velocity. The angel approached the earth and stabbed his huge blade deep into the earth. Then the world began to tremor and shake violently. His voice boomed and echoed like cascading waters.

  ‘God’s judgement is coming, soon! Wash yourself in the water Jaydyn, as a sign to the people.’

  One day the family had a guest in their home but they had no drinkable water to offer him because the war had made the river water toxic, and filtered water was expensive and in short supply. Jaydyn Oslo performed his first miracle this way, purifying a cup of black toxic water with a touch of his hands and a prayer. And they all drank the now clear water that was drinkable and pure. After that, the Boatbuilder preached in the streets of the coming judgement and a great earthquake, and the destruction of the Black Eagle. He became known, citywide, as The Messenger. Occasionally a citizen or soldier listened, and Jaydyn would baptize them in the lake but most people turned away from the mad man. Eventually, the soldiers of the Black Eagle attacked him with their rifles, beat him and left him, bloody and bruised, in the gutter. Many people walked by but were too afraid to help him, for fear of the Black Eagle. His family carried him home and bandaged his wounds. In time, he recovered. As he ventured out into the streets again, people looked away and closed their doors. Jaydyn heard the murmurs against him and he knew that they would betray him. But he could not abandon
or forget the message, so he left Venice. He travelled through the forest and climbed the mountain, then ascended into the Lightning Zone.

  Johnny and Adelaide were brother and sister, orphaned during the cleansing in the second year of the regime. Their family worked at the docks until they joined the resistance. Adelaide couldn't speak of those years. Johnny often awoke from the same nightmare and he couldn't speak or barely even breathe. He saw the Alien, a black armoured figure with a face mask that resembled a silver skull. He saw the Alien gun down ten rebels in a hail of shells and a spray of blood. The survivors fled into a nearby building. The black armoured figure picked up a tank with his bare hands, he threw the tank into the derelict building. The building imploded and crumbled down on the screaming survivors. Shattered by the Aliens’ supernatural strength, the rebels scattered like leaves in a storm. Johnny and Adelaide escaped from the wars into Oslo Forest; at first they hid in grief and despair but eventually they learnt how to trap animals and how to collect clean rainwater on the mountain slope. They traded the pure water and animals with the survivors who lived in the Sprawl. They became self-reliant and independent traders. They would visit the Spire and Adelaide would lay red roses on the white stone stairs, roses red as blood. Red to remember the resistance and the dead.

  The orphans adapted to their new life eventually, becoming adept at survival in the forest and trading with the people of Dead Venice and the Sprawl. They dressed in monstrous costumes and played tricks on anyone they found in their forest, ambushing intruders from out of the shadowy woods as a joke. Chasing them away. Then they would laugh again like children. One day they met an old man as skinny and ragged as a scarecrow. He was from the Sprawl and they found him wandering in the forest, his white hair scattered atop his weathered skin, and they sold him a dove and gave him some food and water as a gift. He gave the orphans all his money, which wasn't much, and took his beloved new pet back to his home, a ragged tent under the bridge.

  Stellar grew up among the labourers in the docks. Her people were numb with crushed spirits who had lost hope. Stellar had vivid dreams and would paint images from her dreams on the rocks beside the sea. She wandered the shore and listened to the howling wind, singing hymns with her heart lifted upon the wings of a guiding divinity. Her hair and scarf blew in the wind and her eyes glowed with secrets. She became known as a dreamer, she would sing songs, her mind elsewhere as she worked on the docks. Starving refugees in the slums of the Sprawl drew her attention, and it wasn't long before she sold her possessions and set out to care for the sick and poor. The dock workers joked about her; they shook their heads in disapproval because they were bitter and had accepted their lot in life. Some even argued with her hopeless mission, but she could not be held back after she had made up her mind. As she crossed the white desert into the boneyard of the martyrs, their ghosts called out to her, their countenance dark as charcoal and as futile as history. She kept travelling towards the Sprawl to help the living. She helped many people in the slums of the Sprawl. One day, Stellar came across an old man under a bridge, a small, wounded dove limp and weak in his hands. She touched the bird and it healed. The people were amazed at this miracle.

  ‘I see that you are a healer, thank you. That bird is my best friend.’

  From that day, she was known to everyone as Stellar Dove. Eventually, she heard Jaydyn the Messenger preaching on the streets and she followed him back to the mountain beyond the forest, the Lightning Zone, which had become his hideout and his home. They were both baptised there in the silver lake.

  Dawn stood on the tower wall and looked out over the slums of the sprawl.

  ‘Have you ever been outside of these walls? Have you ever been out there?’ Dawn asked her domestic slave.

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘Sometimes I feel so trapped here I can’t breathe. Like there is a dark, heavy mist over this place. Like this place is sinking into hell. I don’t want to be here. I want to go, out there!'

  Dawn looked out at the mosaic of cracked buildings and endless sand dunes. Her personal attendant cast her eyes around nervously and lowered her voice.

  ‘I don't think your family or your future husband would like us talking about this!’

  Dawn looked sadly at her slave then intently back at the savage, ruined world outside.

  ‘I will have to get out those gates myself then.’

  ‘But there are barbarians out there. If you go out those gates, you will be passing through the gates of death!'

  Dawn smiled and turned on her heel.

  David tightened his city ranger uniform and pulled on his boots, slung his rifle over his shoulder and set out for work in his truck. He did his rounds in the Sprawl, collecting garbage and shooting stray feral animals. After work, he went to a local tavern for a drink.

  ‘What will it be, David?’

  ‘Just one Motor Oil. Thanks Cripple.’

  The tavern owner, bartender and trader hobbled off on his robotic leg to fetch him a drink. David took a sip. It looked and it tasted like motor oil.

  ‘Thanks Cripple.’ David said warmly.

  ‘Got any more seeds for me?’ David asked.

  The tavern owner stroked his beard with his deformed three-fingered hand and grinned.

  ‘Wait here.’

  He hobbled off on his robotic leg into the back room and then returned with a small black pouch.

  ‘Got the money? The full amount this time?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Here you are.’

  Cripple handed David the pouch.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Through the front window of the tavern, they saw a woman who was definitely too well dressed to be a Sprawl woman. It was Dawn.

  They saw Dawn walking down the street, approaching the tavern. She was young, blonde-haired and she wore a grey top and long skirt over black stockings. The symbol of the Black Eagle marked her arms, which were otherwise bare. David walked out of the tavern and into the street with a puzzled and fascinated expression.

  ‘Hey there, you don’t look like you’re from around here. What are you doing in this place? Do you need any help?’

  ‘I've never been outside of the Tower walls. So I'm exploring these slums and I would also like to see the sand dunes.’

  ‘Don't you know it’s dangerous here?’

  ‘Dangerous?’

  ‘Yes, because of the radiation in the earth, the chemical weapons released into the air. Not to mention the men who fight for the Wolf.’

  Dawn caught her breath, the Black Eagle had sheltered her from the complete truth. She looked at the earth and around at the alleyways which hid shadowy shapes and muttered voices.

  ‘Please, wait here. Let me get you a respirator. I’ll be back in a second.’

  David ran back into the tavern to grab his backpack and rifle. The tavern owner glared at him.

  ‘She wears the mark of the Eagle! David, if you are seen with her, the Wolf will never trade with you again. You will certainly be out of a job. You will be an outcast. That is if they don't shoot you both.’

  ‘Yeah, probably.'

  ‘Besides, she would never be interested in a poor scummy garbage man like yourself.’

  ‘Yeah, probably not.’

  David returned to Dawn in the street and he gently placed the respirator over her face.

  ‘I'm David by the way.’

  She looked up at him.

  ‘I'm Dawn.’

  ‘Will I be ok? Now that I’m wearing this?’

  ‘Yes you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Good, will you be my tour guide and show me the dunes?’

  ‘Ok Dawn. Sure thing.’

  The desert stretched out into a blurred horizon, the dunes varied in colour from bone white to a bronzed cream. The dunes and the blue sky shimmered in the heat.

  ‘Wow, it's so vast. Beautiful.’

  Dawn looked up at David.

  ‘What is it like living in these slums?’

  ‘Well, I collect the garbage and sh
oot the feral animals. And generally try to keep a low profile. Try not to be conscripted by the Wolf or raided by the Black Eagle. What's it like living in the Tower?’

  ‘I'm a beauty therapist and plastic surgeon. It is not dangerous in the same way as this place, everyone is very wealthy but also very unhappy. We all dance to the tune of the President and his inner circle.’ Her voice was slightly distorted through the respirator.

  ‘Why don't you wear a mask?’

  ‘Because I've already been infected.’

  ‘Oh, will you be okay?’

  ‘I might have another ten years if I'm lucky.’

  ‘Oh, I'm sorry...’

  ‘Nothing to be done for it. Anyway, I'm one of the lucky ones, thousands died from chemical weapons, bullets or starvation.’

  ‘That’s awful…That building where we were before—was that your home?'

  ‘No, that's the tavern.’

  ‘Will you show me your home as well?’

  ‘Sure. Follow me.’

  David's home was a lean-to, he had pieced it together from sheet metal and attached it to the side of a large, concrete apartment building. A happy black dog met them at the front door, immediately licking Dawn's hand in welcome.

  ‘That's one stray dog I didn't shoot. He's not much of a guard dog.’

  ‘He's a great friend, I bet.’

  ‘Yeah, he is.’

  Besides the bed and kitchen and clutter of his few possessions, attached to the side of his dwelling there was a greenhouse filled with plants, which could be accessed through the house.

  ‘These plants are rare; I have never seen any like this.’

  David opened the black pouch filled with seeds.

  ‘You've probably never seen these trees either.’

  She looked at the seeds in his hand and back at the little garden.