by Tim Hawken
“Smithy,” Jack whispered beside me. “We need to make a break for it across the street. I’ll cover us. On three.”
He pulled out his gun. As a family of three approached, he swept out and shot. A young boy dropped dead to the ground. His father spun to look at Jack. Jack blasted him in the face. The woman screamed and Jack grabbed her, wrapping his arm around her neck, using her as a shield. The gunshots brought the attention of the men fighting the fires. They dropped their buckets clanging to the ground and rushed towards Jack, who was now in the middle of the street, holding the struggling woman with a gun to her head. The men running at him stopped as they saw he had a hostage. One of them pulled out a pistol and Jack shot at him. The man crumpled, as the rest of the men watched in impotence.
“Smithy!” Jack yelled. “Get your sorry ass across the street!”
I pulled my gun out and exited the nook in the wall. The men saw me and backed up more, toward the flames.
“That’s right!” Jack screamed at them, with bloodlust in his eyes. “We’ll kill you all.” He pulled the trigger, and with a bang, the woman in his arms dropped dead at his feet. He opened fire on the group of unarmed men, who scattered. I raised my gun and shot as well, but not at them.
Jack fell to the ground.
I walked over calmly towards him. I looked to his stomach where I had shot him. He was clutching his gut, trying to hold his gizzards inside. He looked up at me.
“Traitor!” he spat. “You’ll burn in Hell for this.”
“Then I’ll see you there,” I said and shot him dead.
I looked around at nothing but destruction. The sea of flames welled up and consumed the city. There were no more people around me, only corpses. My body started to grow numb again. No ideal was worth this kind of suffering. For my whole adult life I had been a good soldier, a faithful one. I had not questioned our actions and for that I was as much at fault as the ones who gave the orders. We had killed women, children, and civilians. I had killed them.
Where was these people’s freedom? The only freedom we had delivered was freedom of death, and that hadn’t been their choice. However it would be mine. I took the gun in my bloody right hand, pressed it against my temple and pulled the trigger.
******
Heat. Burning. Paralyzed. I was a plagued tree of torment in the forest of lost souls. Unable to do anything but reflect on the hideous actions which had bought me here, I was frozen in gnarled sorrow. As much as I philosophized and reasoned, the same conclusion scorched inside me: I was responsible for my actions. My choice was to kill. Even though I had believed in the reasoning of my leaders’ that the pursuit of freedom was just, there was no justice in ending the lives of those who had no choice. Killing soldiers who fought to aid oppression I could justify, but there is no collateral damage of the innocent that can be reasoned away as acceptable.
A kind voice wafted into my chaotic thoughts, diminishing the dying calls of the souls I had murdered.
“Would you like to be free of your prison, and work towards redemption?” the spirit asked.
“I would do anything to gain true atonement for what I’ve done.”
“Then follow me,” he said. “I will help you reconcile the evils you committed in life. My name is Asmodeus; I am the only true redeemer in this Hell.”
A silver light enveloped my soul. I was free to move once more.
******
I opened my eyes to see Smithy looking down at me, concerned.
“I didn’t think you had to endure the visions any longer,” he said.
I sat up slowly, blinking my eyes and shaking the grogginess from my brain. My intention of shielding him had gone badly awry. Instead I had peered unwelcomed into his innermost secrets. I felt like I had violated a sacred trust.
“I do not,” I answered solemnly. “I didn’t lie to you, but I have just made a terrible mistake, which I hope you can forgive me.”
He looked around the room.
“Everything seems okay in here,” he said. “Did you break a teacup or something?”
“No,” I answered, crawling up into the chair close to me, still shaking from the intensity of the sorrows I’d just experienced.
“I tried to shield you from The Guilt,” I stammered. “I reached inside to protect you, but I was drawn into you instead. I now understand your pain Smithy. I witnessed firsthand your actions and your regrets. I’m sorry.”
He looked at me with wide eyes, which quickly seeped clear tears.
“Oh no,” he said. Sobs started to wrack his body. He flopped down onto the floor shuddering in tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” was all he could say.
I bent down and gently hugged him.
“It’s alright,” I said soothingly. “You’ve done wrong, but you are remorseful. It doesn’t make anything right, but I forgive you, Smithy, even though I know you cannot forgive yourself. I see good inside you.”
His sobs continued.
“I’m a monster. I took what wasn’t mine to take. I’m a monster. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you,” I repeated.
Finally his tears died down. I continued to hold him in my arms. He felt so small and frail, yet I could feel the strength of his life inside him.
“You’re still my friend, Smithy. I understand. I’m sorry I intruded on your thoughts. I didn’t mean it. Will you forgive me?”
He pushed lightly away from me.
“Why would you do such a thing?” he asked, not loudly but forcefully.
“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to read your thoughts.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, rubbing the streaked tears from his face and standing up. “Why would you try to stop me from feeling the guilt? I deserve it! You have no right to make that choice for me.”
I was taken aback.
“I didn’t think.”
“No, you didn’t think.” His usual genial face had turned into that of a furious man. “You’re just like Asmodeus. You just presume that I don’t want to repent for my actions. You say you forgive me, you say that you don’t want to see me in pain, but you’re not the one I seek forgiveness from. The women and children I burned alive, they are the ones who I should ask forgiveness from. There is no proxy sin-taker for murder, not you, not Asmodeus, not Jesus. I accept my responsibility. I will live with it for eternity. I am guilty, so I feel that way. It is my rightful duty, and you will not take that away from me.”
I sat in silence. I had completely misunderstood. I had offered forgiveness, but it was not mine to give. I was the one who had done wrong. He was not sorry I’d seen what he had done, he was sorry for the acts he had committed, wholly and unreservedly. If only I had half the honor of the man before me then I would be a great man.
I stood up, looking Smithy in his burning eyes.
“I am sorry,” I said. “I mean that. It is all I can offer, but it is the truth. You’re right. There should be no forgiveness unless it comes from those to whom you have done harm. I have done you harm. Can you forgive me?” I asked.
His eyes softened.
“Of course,” he said. “You are as human as the rest of us, Michael. That is what I love about you.”
“How can I be a great leader?” I asked. “How can I do what is right?”
“The greatest leaders I ever followed as a soldier were the reluctant ones,” he answered. “They were the ones who served the people because they were asked, not because they had an ambition to rule them. They are the leaders who fight for an ideal, even if they think it may not be achievable.”
“You were about to ask that I promise you something, before the visions,” I said. “What was it?”
“It was this,” he said. “If the time comes where you have to make a choice between yourself and the people, choose the people.”
“I will,” I said solemnly. “Now, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Can you promise to be my moral compass? Can you pro
mise that if I stray off the track of good that you’ll speak up? I need an honest friend, not a follower.”
“You have my word,” he replied with gravity. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” I said. “Will, you fly me up to Mount Belial, one last time?”
SIXTEEN
THE BLADES OF THE HELICOPTER HUMMED above our heads as we took off from Smithy’s airfield. His office fell away to a pinprick. The savage jungle of Hell spread out below. Roiling clouds sparked lightning just above us. The city in the middle of the landscape reached up like concrete fingers, wanting to pull us down into its grey fist. One building stood out more than the rest. It was where I hoped Clytemnestra would be now, gathering all the demons and souls in this domain, to make their pilgrimage and hear the truth about Asmodeus. They will come, I thought. The mountains and lakes surrounding the landscape encased the city on both sides. Far behind stretched a desert of black sand, with its endless dunes and valleys flowing into the distance. In between the desert and the city was the Mount Belial. A molten river bled down its side to run through the center of the city then forked to form an island in the center, dividing the suburb of Smoking Gun from the rest of the districts.
“Is Moloch still lurking in her territory around the mountain?” I asked Smithy, remembering our first harrowing trip to the peak where Casa Diablo sat.
“No-one has spotted her in over a year,” he replied. “Not long after we met the dragon, she flew up into the clouds, never to come down again.”
Relief washed over me. I didn’t want to have to expend too much energy until my sermon. Even with The Perceptionist’s injection of vigor into my body, my head was still aching from my efforts in The Tenth Circle.
Buzzing forward unhindered, we didn’t take too long to see Satan’s old abode appear on its mountainous perch. The building was dark, no lights coming from within.
We floated down smoothly to land on the same cleared space as upon our first visit, but this time no one came to greet us. Smithy switched off the engine of the helicopter; we sat in silence amid the large green field as the blades whirred to a halt.
“What now?” he asked.
“I was hoping you’d know.” I looked at him.
“You’re supposed to be the leader. Why did you want to come here?”
“Because it’s a bastion of power,” I explained. “It is the one place no one in Hell would dare to come unless summoned, or felt it was their right. I see I wasn’t wrong. This place is deserted.”
I looked up to the building. The warped spires and jagged ramparts were indeed absent of any signs of life.
“Maybe we should go inside?” I ventured, realizing that I’d have to take possession of the citadel if I was to show that I was the ruler of Hell I was claiming to be.
Smithy blinked slowly and turned to look at the castle before us.
“After you.”
I jumped down from our aircraft onto soft grass. Moving toward the castle I could hear Smithy just behind me. We walked forward in silence. A large set of open steps led up to the main entry. Beside each of the carved oak doors were granite gargoyles. It was just how I remembered it, except this time the gargoyles remained in their stony silence. I leaned in to push the doors open. They didn’t budge.
“Maybe you should knock,” Smithy ventured behind me. “It would seem polite.”
I wrapped my knuckles against the hard wood. Nothing. I looked from side to side. I couldn’t see any levers or locks that would help me open the doors. It was time to try another approach.
“Step back,” I told Smithy.
He practically ran halfway down the stairs as I walked back a few paces. I steadied myself and began to pull a gale of wind elements in front of me. Whipping them together into tornado force, I pitched them into the door. The hurricane belted into the wood like an invisible fist. A terrible smacking noise erupted as the wind hit, but the doors didn’t move an inch.
I stopped. I hadn’t wanted to use fire, since I needed the place intact, but I was left with little choice. Reluctantly I brewed red about my person. I heard Smithy gasp in wonder behind me, but ignored it. Shooting the fire ahead, I braced myself for the explosion I thought would follow. However, instead of a crackling of wood, there was no noise. The blaze simply glanced upward into the air, like a fan of light. I cut my efforts short.
“You’ve learned some great things,” Smithy said, panting behind me as he re-climbed the stairs.”
“Apparently not great enough.”
I studied the door, from base to tip. This was clearly not just oak. I peered into its molecular makeup and was surprised to see the form of myself looking back. It was as if someone had placed a mirror over the surface of the entire building. Impossible! I thought inwardly.
“Maybe we’d better search for another entrance,” I said outwardly. “You look over to the right. I’ll search this way.”
Without another word I started to follow the outward wall of Casa Diablo, looking for something. Anything. It was no use looking in the view of the elements. All I saw was the same mirror effect as before.
I searched with normal sight. It was an incredible building: there were modern twists to its overall gothic construction, like swimming pools encased within golden barred gates, and tennis courts rimmed by a spider-web of hedge work. Nowhere I looked, though, could I see a way into the building itself. The windows were shuttered in, the doors bolted. I came around to the back of the building, where there was an overgrown garden. There were statues scattered about with moss growing over them; rose bushes grew in huge tangled messes of thorns and flowers; white column fountains sat dry beside each statue, as dead as the figures next to them. I walked past each effigy. The figures were vile. Demons scowled outward from inanimate rock, baring teeth and looking at me with unknowing eyes. Some of the sculptures were only half finished, so the bodies looked like they were chipping themselves of the stone that encased them.
I came to a statue I thought I recognized. It had rams’ horns winding out of its round head, with lines around them at half-inch intervals. There was a cement tuft of hair sticking straight up between the horns. The dead eyes of the statue had three tiny pupils carved in the middle of them. I leaned back to study it. Where had I seen this statue before? The figure was standing on a square podium of rock, from which under the moss, half an inscription emerged. I wiped the green slime away to see what it said. It wasn’t in a language I knew. It looked like Latin. Slowly I tried to read the words out loud.
“Cedo Cessi Cessum Libertas Azazel Cedo Cessi Cessum Licentia.”
As I spoke the final words, the statue began to shake. The whole garden started to breathe, puffing air in and out. Weeds retracted beneath my feet back into the ground. Flowers bloomed from the bushes beside me. With a roaring hiss, water spurted from the fountains around the garden, showering moisture over the stone statues. The white of the figure before me started to turn red, forming a crumbling crust about it. Suddenly the statue detonated in an explosion of bloody mortar. I was thrown down onto the ground, but scrambled to my feet quickly to see a demon emerge from the haze in front of me.
“Welcome to your new home, Master Michael. We’re glad you have finally come.”
I looked up at Satan’s old manservant, Azazel. I knew I had recognized the statue! He had been living last time I had seen him. Azazel had been the demon that had met us at the helicopter upon my first visit to Casa Diablo. He watched me unthreateningly as I brushed dust from myself.
“Asmodeus said you would come to claim your castle,” Azazel declared. “I have spent a year in stone, awaiting your arrival. I’m pleased to be able to serve you as I served him.”
I eyed him suspiciously. Anyone who had worked for Asmodeus for so long was bound to have some allegiances still held within. That is, if he was treated kindly.
“Do you still serve Asmodeus?” I asked, not really expecting a truthful answer.
“I never really served that devil,” h
e said humorlessly. “And even if I do call you master, it is, in truth, this house I serve. I am tied to it. It hurts me that it has been disused. It’s meant to be lived in! Now if it should please you, I’d like to set about maintaining her.”
He went to walk past me, but I called for him to stop.
“You will have all you need to re-establish this place to its rightful glory,” I said, hoping that by using his obvious passion for the grounds, he would help me in return.
“But?” he said, freezing in his tracks.
“First you must show me inside. I need to prepare for a gathering tomorrow: I will need a large office space with two bedrooms adjoining it. I am planning a sermon to the inmates of Hell, to inform them of my rule.”
“You’ll need the war-rooms then,” he replied, continuing his walk.
As he made his way through the overgrown garden he tapped the feet of statues he passed. Upon his touch they came to life, morphing from antique bleached rock into colorful animation.
“Trim, weed, sculpt, hoe, rake,” he yelled.
The garden burst alive with movement, as the statues became real demons, jumping out of their rocky confines to run about fulfilling Azazel’s orders. Garden tools appeared from nowhere in their hands and they began manicuring the plants adjacent to them. Azazel continued his march toward the castle, while I followed. When each of his steps fell onto the ground, pulses of blue light rippled out toward the castle. As the light touched the walls, gates opened, shutters rolled up and water burst from fountains to fill sparkling pools. The deadness of Casa Diablo immediately fell away to reveal a lively splendor. Azazel walked faster and it almost seemed he grew taller. He bounded up the steps and nearly collided with a running Smithy, who had rounded the corner, looking up at the building in fright.
“It’s alive!” Smithy yelled to me, as he sidestepped Azazel. Then turning back to look at the demon, “Where did he come from?”
“I found him in the garden,” I answered. “It seems he is Casa Diablo’s keeper.”
