by Bob Williams
“After the fact, through an intense interrogation, Emily revealed to me she was able to sense his aura due to remaining particles of Malcolm’s essence. She obviously doesn’t know Malcolm but she knew him from his essence. These are concepts we’ve gone millennia and never known. It was all so unprecedented. I ordered for her cell to be opened—again, I will accept whatever correction is bestowed upon me by the council—and asked her to walk with me.
“It takes new angels varying amounts of time once they have arrived upon the Higher Grounds to adjust to their new existence. The instant Emily was removed from her cell, she crossed! I was literally stunned into inactivity. My feet, hands, and voice no longer worked. Such an action has never been performed in my presence.
“As quickly as I could regain my faculties, I solicited help from the senior confinement commandant and we quickly retrieved her. I swore young Emily to secrecy and vowed to her the next time she emerged from her cell it would be to join the fight.”
“And how were you able to conduct these ‘interrogations’ without our knowing?” asked Nathan. “It is infuriating that things such as this happen under my watch without my knowledge.”
“Oh, dear Nathan. In some cases—not all, but a small few—what you don’t know won’t hurt you,” said Meredith.
“Unacceptable!” roared Nathan. You freed a tainted newcomer from her cell with no regard for the consequences.”
“I was trying to help. To show her that there would be those who would show her care and love. Despite her condition. Which we knew next to nothing about. The Superior knew something. I wanted to know what it was.”
“Eh, and, my dear,” said Caster. “Emily. Pardon me. Your now quite famous message, ‘Go to work, brother. You are protected.’ What were you trying to accomplish? Was there nothing else, or more important, you wished to say? I love you, perhaps?”
“There was no point in saying something so apparent,” said Emily. “My brother has always known that I love him. In life and in death. He proved this by never surrendering the search for me. And he proved it again when he walked through the doors of The 88 and confronted our father. Since practically the beginning. The timing was crucial. He needed to know the mission was bigger than Nashville. They were just starting to talk about it when I crossed. I could hear them. He needed to know ... that ... there was so much more to be done,” Emotion started to overwhelm her.
Vincent spoke next. “And what ‘protection’ could you have possibly been guaranteeing?”
“None. I just wanted for him to stay in the fight. Taking out Kade was and still is not enough. Whether the promise was hollow or not, my brother and his newfound friends have stayed in the fight. There is so much more work to be done. I am ready. I am able. And most importantly, I am stable. Let me help you. Let me help him. Yes, he is my brother. But he is also the best thing the low lyers have going for them. Malcolm is off the reservation. They need my help!”
“She makes a compelling case,” said David. “But Nathan also speaks logically. Malcolm’s crossing over was a direct and most shocking breach of protocol. The rules which the Superior set forth have provided stability and direction for the Higher Grounds for millions of low-lyer years.”
“Emily has been well versed in the rhetoric, David. Make your point, councilman,” said Meredith.
“I only speak to say that the decision we reach here today will change the Higher Grounds forever. We could be voting on knowingly sending a Protectorate representative to the Low Lying Lands to directly engage—and potentially alter—the course of events that would naturally occur. This decision must be scrutinized to the utmost degree.”
Emily interrupted the two protectorate council members with an exasperated plea. “Let me help them! Please!”
“Young lady, you will be careful to know your place within these walls and understand outbursts such as those will get you nowhere,” said Nathan.
“Emily?” It was David. “May I ask you another question?”
“Of course, councilman. I’d be happy to answer.”
“The Scribe notes that your brother is the warrior, yes?”
“Yes. That’s true.”
“And you were more of a scholar and humanitarian. Most admirable traits while upon the Low Lying Lands. If you are allowed to cross, how exactly would you be of benefit to your brother’s war party? Wouldn’t the Protectorate be better served if you were researching the numerous volumes within the Protectorate Library? Providing much needed research to assist us in this new battle scenario?”
“With all due respect, councilman, no, I wouldn’t. First, we have time. Not a lot, of course; my brother now travels on mostly unimpeded roads. I’d say I have forty-eight hours to train with whoever will stand with the tainted one.
“Second, if I’m to believe the words that have been spoken in this very room today, nothing like this has ever happened in all the time the Protectorate has been in operation. There is nothing I could learn from reading a ton of dusty old books while I continue my confinement.
“Finally, while Malcolm is a soldier, what he provided to my brother in his battle with Kade was almost exclusively strength. Prescott already knows how to kick ass. I’d merely be providing him a new pair of boots. Would you say that about answers your question, councilmen?”
“A most exceptional answer, Emily,” whispered Meredith as she placed her hand over Emily’s in a supportive manner.
David sat back and smiled. “You have the floor, Nathan.”
Nathan stood calmly and stepped back from the massive table. He said nothing as he walked one full lap around his fellow members of the Protectorate Council. He came to a stop once again at the head of the table. “On this day,” he said, then coughed. “On this day of all days, I simply cannot decide. I am shocked to my very core to admit that Emily Prescott has made a very compelling argument to cross. Historically the laws and bylaws of the Higher Grounds are what have kept us safe and allowed us to do our work. I do not know, my friends. Caster, what say you, old friend?”
“Nathan, I believe it is time to consult the Knowledge.”
After a moment of steely silence, Nathan concurred. “I must agree with you, Caster. The times demand it. I will accept whatever the Knowledge declares.” Nathan stepped cautiously away from the table and eyed the pedestal.
He walked across the room toward the pedestal at a rate that he hoped did not broadcast his unmitigated terror at what was about to happen. Nathan could not remember the last time he felt true fear. He had been among the Higher Grounds and the Protectorate for such a duration that fear had, in essence, ceased to exist.
If he was being honest, it was a selfish fear. Nathan was more than ready to accept the wisdom set forth by the Knowledge. He just wasn’t in any way prepared for the consequences.
He picked up the chalice and dipped it into the clear liquid. Once it was full, he raised it from the water and put the chalice to his lips. He hands shook violently as he drank fully until it was empty.
Nathan let the hand with the chalice fall to his waist, careful not to let it fall to the ground. He turned and faced the table. “I feel nothing.”
Caster was the only one among the collected Protectorate Council members to have ever seen the Knowledge consulted. The tension within the room was palpable. He knew Nathan would not walk away from this unscathed. He hoped the look upon his face did not betray his heart. He knew they would be better off as a whole, but tonight he would weep for his friend.
Nathan felt dejected. Granted, it had only been a couple of minutes, but nothing was happening. What kind of leader does that make me? To receive no wisdom from the Knowledge? He spread his arms out wide momentarily in a gesture of confusion. They both fell back to his hips as he started to walk back to his seat at the table.
“I ... I am sorry, fellow councilm—” His head jerked backward to a most vulgar angle as his arms shot outward violently and the chalice flew from his hand, clanging across the floor and c
oming to rest at the base of the pedestal.
“Agh ... Irg ...” Nathan let forth a scream that sent the guards crashing to the ground, scratching and clawing to remove their helmets while crimson blood erupted from their ears.
Nathan dropped to one knee. His eyes erupted in blistering red flames and the smell of burnt flesh permeated the room. Nathan continued to scream. His hands, covering his eyes out of pure instinct, were scorched badly. Emily wailed in fear while the remaining council members shielded their own eyes.
The hellish crimson flames that robbed Nathan of his sight were gone nearly as quickly as they had arrived. Everyone still conscious in the room continued to watch Nathan with incredulous stares.
Nathan had dropped to both knees, his head still in his hands. After what seemed an eternity, he looked up. Smoke still rose from his now black and cavernous eye sockets. His pain would never be spoken. His agony would never be explained.
He stood. He knew which way to face. In a most traumatized and oddly peaceful voice, he spoke.
“The girl will cross.”
MALCOLM
Everything is black. I can’t see anything. But I oddly enough I feel no fear. Is that ... jazz I’m hearing? I must be mistaken. No ... that’s classic horn-driven Chicago jazz music. A little more pep in the step than New Orleans. This ... this sounds like Eddie Condon. The horn accompaniment is there with the trumpet, sax, and clarinet, but his unbelievable guitar skills always shine through. Where am I?
“Where is not so important. Why is.”
“Malcolm.” I open my eyes and there, sitting across from me, looking quite beleaguered, is my ... friend? Associate? I don’t know. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Hiding, to be honest. I’m in a lot of trouble, Prescott. For more than a couple of reasons.”
“You look great, by the way. That looks like a professionally tailored tux.”
“Silence, Prescott. It is imperative that we talk.”
“Okay, okay. I’m with you now. The last time we ‘talked’ it was in a little white cottage with a cute picket fence.” I look down. I am dressed rather strikingly in a black suit with charcoal lapels, white shirt, and a burgundy tie. Sharp. “Thanks for the suit, by the way. You gave me just the right bit of panache.”
“I’ve been watching you—” starts Malcolm.
“Yeah, and not helping one fucking bit!”
“Please just let me talk, Prescott!” Malcolm says angrily.
A few of the patrons, including a rather large black man wearing a supremely ornate top hat, look our way. I smile and wave and do my best to show that all is well. After a moment’s glance, he flashes the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, throws his arms around a couple of men he’s standing next to, and laughs with his drink raised high.
“What is this place, Malcolm? Jeez, the smoke alone is enough to kill you.”
“Prescott, pay attention. I don’t have much time before I show up on the Protectorate radar. They are looking for me.”
“I got that much,” I say. “Is it because of Nashville? You said you had orders. I mean you said repeatedly you were not supposed to—nor were you going to—interfere in our fight. But then you did. I just assumed your orders were not to interfere unless you had eyes on Chaos, then you were to engage. At least that’s how it played out.”
“Then you would be incorrect,” he whispers. “What happened was I broke a centuries-old law concerning the Low Lying Lands.”
“Again. I know. You interfered. Not only by becoming the Network, but then you allowed me to take on your essence and fight. Shields still has that badass katana we made together.”
“The term is crossing. There are a few rare angels who, once they have tasted the Higher Grounds, make an appeal to the Receiver and fall back to the Low Lying Lands. Once an angel falls back to Earth, as you call it, they are still ... angelic. They no longer have their wings, of course, and their communication with Higher Grounds is severed completely. However, the angel still has his power. They are not immortal by any means, but they can live for several hundred of your low-lyer years.”
“All right. Go on. This is actually fascinating.”
“What I did was cross the boundary by choice and maintain my natural form. This is considered the most egregious of violations because if the general population of the High Grounds learns that this sort of thing is not only possible, but happens with no effects, it could start a revolution. Or worse, a war.”
“A war? How?”
“A war would most likely occur because at that point the Protectorate Guard would have to make them stay, or fall according to law. We can’t just have angels popping around the Low Lying Lands, Prescott.”
“Like you did.”
“Yes. Like I did.”
“So what are we doing here? This could expose you.”
“Two reasons, both of which carry heavy responsibilities.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“There is a man. His name is Jonathan Gregor Poplovitch. His friends called him Pops. He was a Point of Light such as yourself. A great man who did many exceptional things during his time upon the Low Lying Lands in service to others. Often times at great risk to himself.
“He left Toledo, Ohio with a much-too-small and ill-equipped group of soldiers to face Admiral Shen in Columbus. They were annihilated. His body rests upon the floor of an old alcohol drinking station called the Seventh Son Brewery. I have already implanted the address in your subconscious. You will be able to drive there yourself with no need for directions.
“Mr. Poplovitch has accepted a position with the New Protectorate. He is currently in the infancy of his training upon the Higher Grounds. You must locate his body, bury it, and give him the respect he has more than earned through a life of service to the higher principles.”
“Consider it done. My only regret is that I never had the pleasure of meeting the man.”
“Thank you. Eric will be most pleased to hear that you will assist with this matter. Pops’s body must be recovered quickly, before the infected desecrate it.”
“Okay. What’s the other thing? Whatever it is, it can’t take me out of Columbus. Cole, Shields, and Lexi are here with me, and we’re gonna take down this Admiral Shen asshole.”
“That’s just it. You must destroy Shentaka. Immediately!”
“I thought that’s what I just said. Can you give me any insight into how to do that?”
“Prescott…” Malcolm pauses. He seems really haggard. Like if angels could have three days of stubble and bags under their eyes, that’s what he looked like. He runs his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. “This story has many ... layers.”
“Go on,”
“Admiral Shen is a Low Lying angel.”
“A what?”
Malcolm shakes his head, exhausted.
“A Low Lying angel. As I mentioned earlier, Shentaka, which is his given name, appealed to the Receiver and chose to become a Low Lying angel. But that is only a small portion of the whole account.
“Shentaka Matsuri was a Point of Light. He was born in Japan to a father who was a high-ranking policeman. Without going into too much detail, I’ll just say that when he was very young the family migrated from Japan to the United States and settled in Columbus, Ohio.”
“Ah, there’s the rub.”
“It is just the beginning. Shentaru, Shen’s father, opened up a laundry and cleaning business in what is now known as the Seventh Son Brewery.
“Holy shit.”
“The Matsuri family was very well liked in the community. Shentaka was raised on values of honor, community, family, and helping your fellow man. When he was eleven, his father was murdered at the business location. But Shen forgave the assailant. He grew up going to the best schools, was very intelligent and giving.
“When he turned eighteen, he joined the Army—”
“We’ll let that slide.”
“Shut up, Prescott!”
“Okay.”
/>
“He was in Beirut in 1983 when—”
“The Marine base was bombed. Damn. He was there?”
“Yes. In what is now a terrible twist of fate, he survived.”
“Shen’s faith had been rock solid before Beirut. Afterwards, he needed some ‘guidance.’ It is here I began to blur the lines covertly from my Protectorate brotherhood.”
“Let me get this straight. You’d interfered before me?” I ask, a bit incredulously. “You are a rogue, sir!”
“Dammit! I’m trying to explain the world of hurt we are all in, if you will please allow me to.”
“I do declare! What a foul mouth you have, sir!”
He glares.
“Fair enough. I’ll save questions till the end.”
“When I made the decision to interfere and actually influence Shentaka, I thought in my heart of hearts I was doing the right thing. I pushed him through the end of his tour of duty and guided him back to Columbus. There he joined the Columbus Police Department.
“When he was an officer, I was with him nearly every step of the way. I ... protected him well above and beyond anything I’d ever anticipated. The Scribe does not even know how many times I assisted Shentaka.
“The Scribe? Who or what is that?”
“I’m sorry, Prescott. That is another story for another time. May I proceed?”
“Of course. By all means.”
“Shentaka had been on the Protectorate radar already, but it was his early years on the Columbus police force that garnered him his Point of Light status. I was so completely and utterly conflicted. I had essentially artificially created a Point of Light.” Malcolm really starts to let it flow.
“You don’t believe Shen would’ve become a Point of Light on his own?”
“No, I do not. I firmly believe Shentaka would have killed himself in the aftermath of Beirut.”
“Even with his honored principles?”
“Yes. His faith was severely damaged. His survivor guilt would have killed him. Unfortunately, because of my interferences while he was a policeman, survivor guilt fell away and invincibility became his persona. Granted, he was always doing good deeds, serving the people of his community with a full heart.”
