Any interaction with trappings deemed to be earthly, such as drinking alcohol, watching TV, listening to music (unless Christian) to name a few, would result in rejection from the Ministry. Above all, Melody feared the Devil, his servants, and his wicked ways of stealing her away from God and the teachings of the Ministry.
So every day Melody led her life to the glory of God. She attended church and Sunday school and was home-schooled by her mother, unexposed to the outside world. But her head was full of thoughts that no amount of Church, nor prayers, nor pouring over scriptures could take away. And Melody felt guilty for them. Sexual thoughts. Angry thoughts. Frustrated thoughts. Doubts. Doubts about the preachings and intentions of her pastor. Melody was sure that she was a wicked girl and would burn in Hell for thinking these things.
The preaching of the Ministry was that their saviour was coming, any day now, and they must be ready, they must be watchful. No one knew the hour of his coming. They expected a saviour.
Wait, was the human girl looking at Khaos? Why did she look so frightened? Could she see?
Khaos let go of Melody’s hand and shrank away; the colours of the world swam back into place. The protesters continued their shouting and singing, the crowds behind Khaos resumed their noise. The preacher man from the group of protestors shoved his bible right up in Khaos’ face, bellowing, above the din of noise, of her sin and shame directly as if she were just another sinful mortal passing by, on the conveyor belt of sinners to be saved.
Khaos backed away and forced her way back into the crowd, not looking behind her until she was several rows in. Had that girl really seen something? No one Khaos had touched like that had ever been able to see her before. Mortals saw and felt nothing but the ordinary touch of her hand. No, she must be mistaken. And the other protestors certainly had not noticed her. Clearly, they were expecting someone else; a very different kind of saviour.
Khaos now found herself within the gates of the port. The gate-men came pushing past her, closing the gate just behind her, much to her relief. She could just about hear them over the hum of noise telling people that the port was at maximum capacity again.
If the outside of the port had seemed busy, then the inside was ten times worse. The cram of people intensified, except now they were getting drunk (somehow) and trying to have a good time; dancing, pouring their drinks on each other, fighting, and being sick. The ground below Khaos’ feet was a carpet of crushed plastic cups, cigarette ends, vomit, and the occasional discarded item of clothing, such as a torn skirt here, one shoe there, some stained underwear, and various other items the wearers had deemed to be hindering his or her partying experience.
On either side of the crowd, bars and restaurants could be seen, and though some of the revellers congregated around these, the majority still pushed forward, trudging in mud and filth toward the source of the music, which had a heavy thumping beat, like a heartbeat. Khaos had no reason to be concerned about getting lost, there seemed to be only one direction to go. It did start to occur to her that she hadn’t considered how she would get from here to the island. It was free to get this far, but from what Ripper and Bottle had said, actual access to the island itself was limited. There had to be some way of getting a ticket.
Khaos remembered her friends: Georgi, Ripper, Barden, and Bottle. Were they amongst this throng? Would she ever see them again? The prospect of finding them in this crowd seemed impossible.
Up ahead, Khaos could see a stage. This was where the crowd wanted to be. And this was where the music was coming from. She could see the head and torso of a DJ surrounded by equipment; one hand held a set of headphones to his ear, the other was occupied with something on the decks in front of him. Behind him lights of all colours played out on a big screen in time to the music.
Suddenly the thumping music stopped, and the DJ played a series of odd noises.
Then a white-blond haired woman appeared on stage.
Khaos’ heart skipped a beat.
*
Momentarily, Melody had stood mumbling to herself, a glazed expression in her eyes. Then she had promptly toppled backwards, saved by her friends behind her.
‘Somebody get a soda or a glass of water or something! Melody is sick!’
‘What happened? Did anyone see?’ demanded Pastor Jack, pushing past the others to get to Melody’s side.
‘Nothing! One minute she was standing there, the next she keeled over!’
‘Get her away from this crowd!’ was his curt reply.
Mary, Melody’s friend, and one other of the Ministry members helped her to the safety of their supplies area, where they had been permitted to set up a little camp; a table with a small portable tank of water and food and other provisions for their day. They lay down a blanket for her to lie on and propped her head up with a balled-up sweater.
‘Here’s some water!’ said Mary, filling a glass from one of the tanks.
‘Finally! Give it to her,’ said Pastor Jack. ‘Now, Melody, how are you feeling?’ he asked, as he held the glass to her lips. ‘Better? What happened?’
‘Did you see her?!’ Melody gasped, pushing away the glass.
‘See who?’
‘That girl! She is… she is the one. The Messiah. The Morningstar! The rapture has begun!’
‘Melody,’ Pastor Jack paused, ‘I… I think you’ve been in the sun too long. I told you to keep your fluid levels up; this heat will make you delirious.’
‘I’m not delirious! I saw her! When I touched her hand… ’
‘Who?’ Pastor Jack paused. ‘That heathen woman you helped? Melody, you surely can’t think that she… ’
‘I had an out of body experience! I saw all my life flash before me! I was judged for my sins! I saw in her eyes the power of the Holy Spirit! Pastor Jack, she is the one! The one we have been waiting for! Our saviour, the Messiah, in human form once again!’
There was a brief pause as this sunk in to the minds of the rest of the group. Then they began to glance furtively at one another, and Melody noticed small smiles forming on their mouths. One of the younger boys laughed, and though he was quickly silenced by his older brother, Melody could tell they were all really trying not to laugh out loud, every one of them.
‘Melody, you cannot really believe that woman was the Messiah.’ Even Pastor Jack had a smile on his face. ‘If our Lord Jesus was really amongst these sinners we would all have seen it. So either you are delirious or you are joking. If it is a joke, it is not funny.’
‘It wasn’t a joke! Our Messiah has returned! Why don’t you believe me?’
‘If anyone would recognise our Lord and saviour upon seeing him, it would be me. But he would not appear to us this way; you know that from the teachings of the Ministry, Melody. He would not appear as a woman!’ He chuckled. ‘What kind of Lord God on high would appear on Earth as a lowly girl amongst heathen sinners, in a hellish place like this? He would be one of our people, fighting on our side!’
‘You didn’t see her eyes; she looked right into my soul… ’
‘Come now, Melody.’ Pastor Jack’s tone became stern. ‘You are verging on blasphemy now.’
‘You have to believe me, Pastor Jack!’
‘If you desist in these claims then we will speak no more of it.’
‘Perhaps it was a demon you saw, Melody,’ chimed in Mary.
‘Yes,’ agreed Father Jack. ‘The heathens have many demons among them; they have clever ways of turning you away from the righteous path, but you must be strong!’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, a demon would appear to you this way, trying to trick you. You must be strong-willed, like the rest of us, to ignore such fiends. Trust me, Melody, I will tell you when the saviour has returned.’
The rest of the group began to move away from Melody, picking up their placards once more. They all avoided Melody’s eyes, as if a little untrusting of her.
‘She was no demon. I felt no evil, only good.’ They continued to ignore her. ‘We have to follow her, don’t you
see?’ She grabbed Mary’s arm.
‘Let her go, Melody,’ said Pastor Jack.
‘You all have to listen to me!’
‘We have heard quite enough.’
‘But you have to believe me! I have never been so sure of anything in my whole life! We have to find her!’
‘Enough, Melody! Do you want me to call your mother?’
‘No, but she might understand if I can explain, if I can find that girl–’
‘No, Melody! The word of your pastor is final! We will not be pursuing any false prophet. And we will not speak further of this.’
‘But–’
‘You remember what happened to your sister, Melody? She left to pursue heathen ways. And what happened to her?’
‘She was… cast out.’
‘Yes. Cast out. Once you leave the Ministry, you may never return. Do you understand? If you try to find that heathen woman, you will not be allowed to return to us. I have tried to keep you right, to keep you safe, but there is only so much I can do. Forget what you saw, what you thought you saw. Speak of it no more.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Loka. It was definitely Loka; Khaos knew it as soon as she had seen the white-blonde hair. At the sight of her, the crowd pushed forward even more. Khaos felt like the life was being squeezed out of her. She felt the press of other people’s skin all around her; pressure was from all sides from these crazed people, drunk and determined to have a good time no matter what the cost, all pushing and shoving when there was nowhere to go. At several times it seemed like people wanted to stand in the exact spot she stood in. She felt a strong urge to draw her sword, could feel it shift and grow warmer on her back, as if it wanted to be held. No one could see it, concealed under her sweater, the hood strategically laid over the hilt, but drawing it would soon clear this crowd. But of course, she couldn’t.
Straining to see above the moving heads, she glimpsed a clear area in the distance on her right hand side and made for it, pushing against a sea of gyrating bodies for what seemed to be an eternity.
Eventually she made it to the edge of the crowd and discovered a path had been cleared leading up to the stage, cordoned-off on either side with very serious-looking bouncers guarding it. They reminded Khaos of the humourless heavies Marla Portobello had employed.
Khaos secured a spot right by the path. Revellers were still pressed up against her, so close that the barely-clothed breasts of the woman immediately to her right were actually resting on her forearm, which Khaos kept tightly folded into the other. At least now the pressure from the crowd was only on one side. She turned back to the stage in time to see Loka and the DJ dancing briefly to a series of beats, much to the crowd’s delight.
Her image had changed a lot since the last time Khaos had seen her. No more severe suits and killer heels. Now she was dressed in a white jumpsuit and wedges, a white animal fur draped around her neck, her hair a thick, mane-like mass of loose white-blonde curls.
The music began to build, so loud that Khaos thought her eardrums might burst. The lights flashed brighter and brighter, the music building higher and higher until it reached an intense crescendo.
The crowd went crazy, leaping up and down, waving their arms, all in unison, as if they were under some sort of spell.
The large screen zoomed in on Loka’s perfect face as she lifted a mike to her mouth and began to speak, addressing the crowd.
‘Is everybody having a good time tonight?’
The mob screamed and wolf-whistled an indecipherable response.
‘Are you all ready to party?’ she drawled.
More whistling and shouting ensued.
‘Then dance!’ she commanded, and the music blared again. The crowd, as one, jumped and writhed in desperate motion, like their lives depended on it. The woman to Khaos’ right also joined the dance, as did her breasts, which bounced to the beat almost in Khaos’ face.
After what could only have been a few seconds, the music stopped.
‘Is that what you call dancing?’ The music kicked in again, for only a moment.
‘You all better start dancing, cos’ I don’t think you’re partying hard enough! Show me your moves!’ she drawled, in what only Khaos knew to be a false accent. ‘Everybody say “Dance!”’
‘DANCE!’ the crowd hollered.
‘Dance! Everybody say “jump!”’
‘JUMP!’
‘Jump! Everybody say “legend!”’
‘LEGEND!’
‘Legend! Legend! I can’t hear you!’
The crowd screamed the word as one, the sound deafening.
‘Is anyone out there ready to become a legend tonight?’
The crowd went wild again, though it seemed they were demented enough to get over-excited about anything.
‘You know what I’m talking about! Are there any legends out there tonight? Who out there is ready to change their life?! Who out there has got what it takes? Who is ready to go all the way?’ Loka pointed randomly into the audience.
‘You know what I’m talking about! Amongst us tonight are legendary people, people with the skill, the stamina, the drive, to compete for the ultimate prize – a VIP pass to Legend Island!’
The crowd shrieked and a group of men near Khaos made odd woofing noises, like dogs, pumping the air with their fists.
‘So who is it going to be? Come on now, don’t be shy!’
At this invitation, several people at the front tried to scramble onto the stage.
‘Hang on there, it’s not that easy! Only I decide who the legends are!’ Loka skipped down to the far end of the stage, made a show of scouring the crowd, one hand on her furrowed brow, then pointed at random. A red-faced man clambered onto the stage, his beer gut sagging over his jeans. Loka grabbed his hand and raised it to the sky.
‘Great! We got one! Who’s next?’ She trotted to the middle of the stage, surveying the crowd once more. This time a girl was selected. From her face, she could have only been in her 20’s at the most, and had probably put a lot of effort into her appearance at the beginning of the day. Now her makeup was smudged, her eyelashes clumped together, her long blonde hair dishevelled like old rope. As she climbed up onto the stage, most of her bottom showed under a very short skirt. She stumbled over her own feet and smiled stupidly. Surely she was too drunk to compete in any sort of competition?
This time, Loka skipped to the other end of the stage and made her way along the clear path, right in Khaos’ direction.
Inevitably, Loka got to where Khaos was standing, and their eyes locked for a moment. Khaos knew what was coming next.
Loka’s eyes widened, and with a theatrical flourish, she pointed right at Khaos.
‘Another contender! Come on up to the stage!’ She smirked as Khaos was literally lifted out of the crowd by the security guards. As Loka took her arm tightly and ushered Khaos up to the stage, she murmured softly in her ear:
‘Miss me?’ Somehow, though they were surrounded by noise, Khaos could hear Loka’s voice perfectly.
‘How did you–’ Khaos began.
‘Survive falling to the centre of the Earth? Let’s just say I have nine lives, like a cat.’
‘But you–’
‘Don’t be so stupid, Khaos,’ hissed Loka, through her teeth. ‘You knew I would survive. Did you really think it was that easy to kill me?’
‘And now you are back. Following me again.’
‘Hmm, no. I think you are the one doing the following. You’re at my gig, aren’t you?’
Their clipped conversation was suddenly halted, as they had reached the stage. Khaos was led away by a couple of stagehands, to stand beside the other two contestants who had been chosen from the crowd. Loka addressed her audience again.
‘So what do you think everyone? Do you think one of these champions has a chance?’ She turned back to the three contestants. ‘You guys, would you like a chance to win a VIP ticket to Legend Island?’
At this, the two other competitors st
arted clapping and wolf-whistling. Khaos half-heartedly joined in, though internally she was trying to work out what she should do. She again felt the urge to draw her sword and attempt to kill Loka on the spot. That would wipe the smug smile right off her face. But she couldn’t, not in front of all these people. She was meant to be keeping a low profile until she found the demon; although so much for that, now hundreds of jealous eyes were on her. No, she would have to go along with this foolishness for now; perhaps she would get a chance to attack Loka later.
‘Do you want to become today’s legendary winner? Well today’s your lucky day. Right now, right this very moment, people, we will be giving away one free VIP pass to Legend Island. All you three have to do is compete against each other. How does that sound? Although I will warn you, this competition is not for the faint-hearted!’
Behind Loka, some stage hands where wheeling out some strange apparatus: a lot of rubber tubing propped up on poles, each with a large funnel on top.
‘Are you ready? Here is the game: the three of you must compete against one another in the ultimate drinking contest! The last one still standing, or at least still conscious, wins!’
The stage hands set up three stools at the front of the stage, one for each contestant, and they were each led to a stool. Khaos was handed one end of the pipe and instructed to put it in her mouth.
‘There’s just one last thing to tell you guys: this is an unlimited drinking contest! So we will not stop feeding the three of you alcohol until we have a winner!’ Loka grinned rather cruelly. The crowd cheered and clapped in approval. ‘DJ, can we have some music, please?’
The music began again, and the stage hands returned from backstage, this time with enormous jugs of some sort of brownish mixture of alcohol. Khaos could smell the strength of it as they stood beside her. Too late; they had already begun pouring it into her funnel. The foul, strong liquid hit her lips and tongue with a shock, but she had to drink; it was clear to her now that this was the only way she could get to Legend Island short of sneaking there somehow, defying the guards. She looked to one side and saw the beer gut guy slurping the fluid down, his hands balled into fists, a determined expression in his eyes. On the other side of Khaos was the already-drunk girl with the short skirt; she was already gagging. As Khaos drained the first jugful, to her dismay she saw another stage assistant approaching with another brimming jug of the awful stuff.
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