by Greg Curtis
Finally he hit the cool earth, and twisted and blackened as it was, he felt joy. For the weapon was no more than an echo now, and while his every cell might still be on fire, it was going out. For long seconds he lay there, too weak and exhausted to move, even though he knew he must, and waited for the pain to dim, for his concentration to restore some of his body to any form of function. If it ever did. When the hellfire finally faded to a merely normal inferno he could finally respond to Sherial’s terrible cries, and his own needs.
Inch at a time he began to crawl away from Hell.
It took a long time, even in real terms. The ground was hard though blessedly cold, and his limbs didn’t seem to work well. At best he could move them one at a time, and drag himself along foot by precious foot. And all the while he kept expecting the demons to come out after him. Though on some level he understood that they wouldn’t. Probably, he thought, they would be too scared to come out into the daylight and face the reality of their world and themselves. For that was truly what trapped them in their little hell; truth.
At first it was the fear that powered him, that gave his arms and legs the strength to move. But the fear faded as the ache grew, for he knew they would not pursue. They were far too frightened for that. He felt Sherial’s certainty and the fear disappeared.
Then there was the anger, which he focussed on to replace it. The terrible rage at the thought of what they had done to him, to their prisoners, to everyone. The thief within him tried to focus on it, to use it. But in time he couldn’t sustain his rage. Not when he knew so much about what they were, what they had once been. The truth, shown to him by Sherial’s understanding of them robbed him of his ability to hate them. Through her he pitied them.
In the end there was only hope and determination that gave him strength. The hope of being with Sherial again, a beacon in the darkness. But he found that that hope was far more powerful than either the anger or fear. Because he wanted to be with her, as she wanted to be with him. That want, that aching need, was more than doubled as they shared it. It was multiplied.
Left arm, right arm, left leg, right leg, over and over he repeated the pattern, and foot-by-foot he felt himself leaving the nightmare behind. And as he left it he also left behind his doubts, his pain, his fears and his bitterness. There was no room for them in him any more. They just held him back. Neither he knew, could there be room in him for hatred and self-pity, feelings he had always felt and hidden even from himself. Now he knew they had never been right. He had to leave them behind to be with Sherial, and it was not a choice for either of them.
He understood he was very badly hurt. Far more seriously than ever before. More than likely he was going to die shortly, but death gave him no fear anymore. For the knowledge that Sherial was there for him, finally told him what he should have always known. Death was not an enemy, only a new place. Somewhere he had discovered peace. What would be, would be. His only real fear was that he might die here, too far from Sherial’s love, and trapped in this place of nightmares. Nothing mattered more than being with Sherial again.
He prayed and crawled. There was nothing else to do.
Eighty metres and many long hours away from the shattered door, and his eyes, saw their first sign of green; a tender young grass shoot. Looking up with the strength of a drowning man gripping a life buoy, he suddenly saw that which was more important to him than life. He saw Sherial and the others, and the sight gave him strength. They were so close he could almost touch them, and soon he knew he would.
Sherial he saw was being restrained, the titan holding her firm as he had asked him to. For while this might be a nightmare for him to endure, it would destroy her. She was already pushing herself beyond her limits just by being this close to the demons’ lair, and that in turn he gathered because the demons had just suffered a terrible loss. A mortal had defied them, and their confidence had been crushed, weakening them further. But still it was dangerous for her to be so close. Only the titan’s strength stopped her from crossing over, stopped her essence from mixing with that of the hell and becoming grey.
It was a terrible thought, and he redoubled his efforts to reach her. He promised her he would get out on his own, and begged the titan to keep a tighter hold. What booby prize would his life be even for a short while, if Sherial’s soul was lost. He crawled harder, concentrating on the rhythm of his dragging movements, tiredness at least forgotten.
Dimly he realized she wasn’t alone there. Waiting for him were all of the villagers, and yet they too had suddenly found they could no longer cross into the no-mans land. They too had become too good, too pure to exist there, and the titan held them back as well. They too were utterly repelled by the demons lair. But he could hear them calling out to him, shouting their words of encouragement, urging him on with every breath.
Finally he was close enough to see her feet, so glorious and just across the other side of a line he could only just see. A line of demarcation between hell and the universe. It was more than a line, it was a physical barrier, stretching through the air above, like a greyness. On one side light, on the other darkness. On his side darkness. Had the line always been there? He suspected it might have been, he and the others simply hadn’t been able to see it.
And then in one glorious second he was close enough to touch, and he reached out for her with utter happiness, all the strength he had left going into that last stretch. As his hand crossed over, another’s much larger, hairier and far more powerful one grabbed it and almost ripped his shoulder out of its socket pulling him over. In a single fluid movement he had crossed over. He had made it. He didn’t have the strength to thank Abrax, but was sure the big man knew anyway.
Then Sherial touched him and all else was gone. The magic touch of her fingertips swept him away with their awesome love, and his pain was gone instantly. As if by magic he was drawn to her like a puppet on a string, and then with a strength unknown to mortal man he was lifted up, carried away from hell in the arms of an angel, his angel.
He gazed into her loving eyes, adored her glorious wings and knew he could never choose to be anywhere else as long as he might live. Pain, fear, horror, everything was unimportant as he lay in her arms, staring into her eyes, while Sherial flew them - somewhere. It didn’t matter in the least where she was taking him or that he was dying, only that he was with her. That he would never be apart from her again.
A merciful blackness born of heaven released him from his body’s suffering and he knew only happiness.
He was home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
“Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.”
~John Keats
Mikel lay in the soft mud, its cooling water easing some of the fevers that raged through him, and stared up into her eyes. So full of love, so full of pain. She was weeping, tears running down her loving face. It was his fault.
He knew he was dying, and so did Sherial.
“Don’t cry love.” But she would. Her tears would flow like rivers and they both knew it. For the miracle of it all was that this glorious angel of God loved him as deeply as he loved her. Even dying in her arms he was a lucky man, and he told her so, as long as his breath held out. Even after his voice had gone he told her.
At least this time he wasn’t in any more pain. The demon brand was gone, and his angel’s mark held him secure in its love. His angel held him in her love, as he in turn held her to him.
Death didn’t scare him anymore; perhaps it never really had. Whatever would be, would be. He worried only about Sherial - how would she fare after he was gone. For he knew he couldn’t have survived had the positions been reversed. His body might have endured, but his heart and soul would have perished, leaving only an empty husk. A life too horrible to live. He prayed for her, and for the first time in his life knew that somebody up there, was listening. What the Lord might do he had no idea, but Mikel was certain he wouldn’t let one of his angels suffer for too long.
He also worried about leav
ing behind those who needed his help. The poor and the victims of those so miserable that they knew nothing other than their own wants. Again he was sure that things would work out in the long term. He simply had never worked in the longer term. Still it was not an optional thing anymore. He had given all he had to give.
A sudden gone feeling in his guts told him more of his organs had shut down. It was ironic; all those years of martial arts, practicing meditation and metabolic control daily, all the agony of Abrax’s torturous training and all he could do was feel himself die bit by bit. It brought a sadly ironic smile to his face. He sent more antibodies and blood borne repairmen to the site, but knew it was far too late. Whatever the damage was, it was overwhelming. Every system in his body was slowly shutting down one by one. All he could do was slow it, a little.
“Sherial. That was my liver, - I think.” He staggered it out knowing it was probably the last chance he’d ever get to speak. “About all that’s left is my heart, lungs and brain. There’s not much time.” He cried as he saw the look of pain in her eyes, and hated himself for causing it. How could he be so cruel as to leave her like this? He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted nothing more than to be by her side for the rest of their lives.
“I just want you to know that even if I had the chance to do it all again, I would. Death next to your love is nothing.” It was true. The pain he’d endured, the fear, the horror, even dying, none of it really mattered. The time they’d had enjoyed together mattered. “I love you.”
“Live, love and be happy. Please.” And yet even as he uttered the words he knew how stupid they were. How could she be happy without him? He felt her pain now, and knew it would become much worse soon, while he could do nothing to help. He prayed as he had never prayed before, suddenly understanding that the only way he could ever heal her pain was to live, and that that was something totally beyond his control, and hers. Everything now, he understood, was in the hands of the Lord.
A seizure, told him his heart had finally seized, and he knew a few quick seconds of panic before the lights went out.
He knew no more.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
“Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.”
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “Evangeline”.
A warm sunny afternoon, on a gently sloping grassy knoll. The sun shining merrily down, warming his face. The sounds of the wind, rustling gently through the trees, and of birds chirping. The smell and the feel of spring in paradise.
He woke to those things and knew instantly he was nowhere near Earth. If memory served him correctly he quickly understood, he was dead, though he didn’t feel it. He felt happy, relaxed. A peace he had never known had descended upon him, pushing away his fears, laying aside his troubles. The warmth, the smells, the sounds bathed him, and for long minutes it was all he could do to simply enjoy.
But it wasn’t quite complete. Somehow he couldn’t quite accept the serenity and peace. It gently forced itself all the way through him, and yet he wasn’t ready for it. There was a restlessness in him. A little voice constantly urging him to move, telling him he couldn’t simply lie down and let the world go by. It wouldn’t let him rest, ever. Somewhere deep down inside him he knew he had work to do. Mouths to feed, children to be given education, families to be made healthy, and evil people to be brought to justice. His fight had to be continued until there was no more need for him. But there was no one else to do it.
Then too there was a gaping hollow in him, as though a part of him was missing which he knew it was. The peace and joy of this place, it somehow tried to take away the pain of the loss, but it couldn’t take away the need. She wasn’t dead, just away from him, so distant that he couldn’t feel her except as an echo, and it left him less than he was. So much less that he couldn’t even breathe – he simply didn’t want to. Even more powerfully he knew he had to love Sherial. He had to be with her.
The memory of her, brought the pain back, as he thought of being without her for eternity. Her face was fresh in his mind as he lay there, the tears she had cried as he died in front of her. He would have given anything to dry those tears, to bring back the smile and the joy. Instead he wept his own.
It was finally too late.
A sound drew him out of his thoughts, and brought him back to this new world. Yet he really didn’t want to pay it any mind. He just wanted to grieve for so much that had been lost. But something within him made him respond, made him sit up and take heed. With so much of his heart and soul in chaos, the thief had returned bringing him back to awareness. It alone of all of him would struggle on no matter how badly the rest of him was hurt. At least he finally knew that the thief was a part of him. The thief was his will. Disciplined, emotionless, logical and above all stubborn, the thief was what ran him beyond his limits, beyond his pain, beyond all understanding. The thief alone kept him from breaking down, kept him moving. Doing what had to be done.
Was this Heaven he wondered? Or something beyond what man had imagined? It didn’t really matter. It seemed wonderful, and surely wasn’t hell. He would survive. The thief at least would live. But what of Sherial? What of those he supported? A great sadness filled him. This might be heaven, but he wasn’t ready for it. The irony was that it was only now that he was dead that he understood how much he wanted to live.
What else was there to do? Only the thief could find an answer. Or at least something to do. Look around. The thief broke free of his malaise, long enough to look for the source of the sound that had disturbed him. He didn’t have to look far.
Maybe thirty feet away, a gardener was cultivating a rose border, his claw breaking and loosening the soil so the plants could extend their roots to the richer soils far below. He was a young man, perhaps in his mid twenties, but for all that a true gardener. He looked at home among the plants, the claw a natural extension of his hand, which he used with a deft action that spoke of much practice. His face showed great peace and satisfaction as he worked. His garden was blooming.
It could have been any gardener and any garden, but considering where he surely was, Mikel had a horrible feeling he knew who the gardener must be. It scared him as nothing else could. But it also amazed him and gave him hope.
Eventually he gathered enough of his wits about him to realize he should visit the gardener. How else would he know what he was supposed to do here? Besides he was absolutely certain he was expected to. Why else would he be here?
“Umm, ahh Hello?” The words just died on his tongue as he tried to think of something, anything to say. But what do you say at times like these? He didn’t have a clue. He knew what he wanted, and he guessed that they were within the bounds of the gardener, but he didn’t have a clue how to ask. It didn’t matter either. He somehow gathered that there was nothing at all he could say that would matter at all in this place.
The gardener looked up at him from his work, and smiled. A smile that spoke of galaxies spinning slowly, of endless time and space, of infinite patience and wisdom, and above all else of love. He knew of Mikel’s pain, he knew everything, and there was in his eyes something that said it would be okay. But he said nothing, just nodded to a hoe beside him and indicated that Mikel join him.
Obediently Mikel picked up the hoe, surprised at the solid feel of the implement. Somehow he had expected it to be more gossamer like in this fairy garden. Instead it was exactly like the garden tools Cedric and he used in his home. Well worn, wooden handled and well looked after. He held it before him in appreciation, feeling the quality flowing through his hands, and then approached the rose border, drinking in its beauty. Flowers of the deepest hues, leaves glowing with vitality, and air laden with the heady scents of roses assailed him. This garden truly was paradise.
What was there for him to do here? It was perfection already.
He noticed a number of small weeds creeping their way in to the rich soil and placed the hoe agai
nst them to dig them out. But even as the edge of the hoe hit the rich earth he cried out in sudden shock. For the earth, the weeds weren’t that at all. They were people. Not even one or two people, but millions upon millions of souls, all crying out to him. The force of their cry was terrible. It ripped through him like the loudest opera he’d ever heard, laying him open for the world to see.
He jumped backwards instinctively, and then stared at the garden, barely understanding what it actually was, but utterly certain of one thing. His unworthiness to tend it. For this garden was in some strange and terrible way the universe. It made no sense and yet it was true. He gaped at it for the longest time, unsure of anything else he had ever known, but knowing that one thing.
Gingerly, Mikel laid down the hoe on the grass beside the garden, unsure whether it too might be alive. He understood little of what had just happened, and that little was far more than he had ever anticipated, and far more than he could stand. For if he knew anything at all, it was that he would never tend that garden. How could he pull out weeds when they were in fact millions of lost souls? How could he even trim dead leaves or anything else for that matter?
