The Revelation of Gabriel Adam

by S. L. Duncan

  Gabe hung his head, not used to the sinking feeling of a bad grade.

  Ms. Bernstein handed him the paper. “Is there something outside of class interfering with your work that we can remedy? Are you having difficulty acclimating here?”

  Interfering? Gabe repeated the notion in his mind. Her question made him want to laugh out loud. Where do I begin? “No, ma’am. I’ve been temporarily distracted. It won’t happen again.”

  “Fine. Have the revised paper back to me by Wednesday of next week. Do try and enjoy the weekend, Mr. Adam.”

  Gabe exited the building near the courtyard of Castle College. Gone were the usual gray skies, replaced now by cloudless afternoon. Sunshine reflected off the snowy ground and the white branches of the trees, as if Durham had been covered in a blanket of glitter. But instead of giving him the happy, fuzzy feelings everyone else seemed to have plastered across their faces, it merely aggravated his bad mood. Worsening the stress over his poor academics, the shock of brightness ignited that tiny, familiar pain in the back of his head.

  He walked down the hill into the city center, across the bridge, and past The Swan & Three Cygnets, hands cupped over his face like horse blinders to shield out the glare. As Gabe attempted to cross the intersection of New Elvet Street, the sound of a cab’s horn caused him to jump back to the curb. It missed him by inches and sped away up the hill toward the New Inn.

  The fright turned the dull ache in the back of his head into the full-on beginnings of a migraine. As if to get in on the action of what was quickly becoming the Worst Day Ever, his stomach growled as hollow as an empty keg.

  At Yuri’s party, someone had mentioned how a morning fry-up would be needed for the next morning’s hangover—something to do with greasy food did the trick. Gabe recalled his first day with Carlyle and how he’d cooked everything for breakfast in one skillet.

  Comfort food. Exactly what he needed for this depression that was beginning to consume his day.

  One thing he learned about the traditional pubs was that they served food at all hours. Even breakfast. The pub seemed like the best place to undo his funk.

  Gabe found The Court Inn across Elvet Bridge on Court Lane. Inside, ceilings hung low with dimmed light. Without any patrons, the inn maintained a steady quiet, which his headache appreciated. He snagged a menu and a table off in the corner and made his order with the barkeep.

  A short while later, the generous helpings of beer-battered fish and French fries more than met the medicinal grease requirements to cure his mope. He felt better with every vinegary, greasy bite. Enough to even try the green peas.

  Above the bar, a television was tuned into an international cable news channel, with the volume on low. The barman seemed hypnotized by it. On the broadcast, the world stood on the brink of war over the Western Alliance’s interest in oil fields and the promotion of democracy in a cultural region that didn’t seem to appreciate either. The breaking news banner trickling across the screen reported that in a sudden change of policy, Turkey, the region’s staunchest supporter of the Western Alliance, now protested any aggression toward their neighbor to the east and threatened to cause unrest in the region by mobilizing its military to the border.

  The Turkish president had begun to adopt an extremist view of his country’s first religion, despite the very outspoken dissention by his own people and of one of his top military commanders, General Simon Magus. The experts sitting behind the desk salivated to suggest the possibility of a coup d’état. On the screen, they christened the news as the Genesis of World War III.

  In light of his circumstances, Gabe wondered if there was any validity to the claim. He recalled his father’s description of how the nations would be pulled into their conflict. Is it beginning already?

  As he finished his lunch, the door chimed and a man entered. He took a seat facing Gabe at a booth across the pub. The barman went to ask if he needed anything, but the man said nothing and waved him off.

  Gabe scooped up the last of the tiny green peas and shoveled them into his mouth on the edge of his knife. He noticed the man staring and shrunk in embarrassment. His caveman manners were probably a bit offensive in the land of teatime.

  “Sorry,” Gabe said and held his hand up apologetically to the gentleman, but he remained still. If not for the thousand-mile stare, the man would be unassuming. His short stature and bald head framed in thick round spectacles were nothing noteworthy.

  But his eyes. They seemed unfocused and vacant, but they did not wander.

  The man’s constant gaze left Gabe feeling uneasy. He pushed away his plate and grabbed his backpack.

  Before he could get out of the booth, a power surge caused the television and the lights to dim. The air felt charged with electricity. Hair stood up on Gabe’s arm. Then the screen flashed static, and the plastic-looking anchorman froze in midsentence.

  The barman didn’t move, either. He looked like a statue reaching up to adjust the television.

  “Your fears of the world are not unfounded,” said a nearby voice.

  The man now stood at Gabe’s shoulder. “The signs foretell a war amongst men that shall ignite the War of Wars. It is the beginning of what is to come.” He held a wooden box about the size of a cigar humidor. “I am Enoch,” he said. “Greetings, Fortitudo Dei.”

  Gabe felt the blood rush from his face. Memories from his visions flooded into his mind. The bleeding man. Yet Enoch looked different, shorter and bald as opposed to the commanding presence of the black-haired man. “What happened to the bartender? What did you do?”

  “Only what I must.”

  Gabe flinched and pushed himself farther into the booth. He felt trapped. The air warmed where Enoch stood. “Are you an archangel?”

  Enoch cocked his head, but his expression did not change. “No. I am an ally to this realm. I am of the Earth. I have seen the deepest rivers and the stream of life. The birth of mountains and the fires of creation itself. I am an arbiter of war and lay the paths of angels. My rule is over the tribes of man. I am Gnostic and eternal. It is my charge to ensure that mankind remains subject to the balance maintained by this world.”

  The lights flickered again, and Gabe felt his body involuntarily tense. The man’s use of language gave the impression that he was from another time, yet his dress and appearance looked modern. Gabe tried to maintain his calm while struggling to understand the man’s contradicting presence.

  “Do not be afraid,” Enoch said. “I am not to be feared.”

  There was little comfort in his words. “Why are you here?”

  “I am here because there is a need for me to be. The Vatican has many friends. Precautions have been taken for me to come here in secret.”

  Gabe looked at the man’s key chain clipped to wool pants that matched a plaid button-down shirt. Not the outfit of a supreme being, he thought.

  “This is not my true form,” Enoch said, as if reading Gabe’s mind. “I have claimed this vessel through the art of possession.”

  The expressionless face. A voice with no emotion. No light in the eyes. Gabe couldn’t believe that the flesh and blood before him was a stolen shell. “That’s impossible.”

  “Your reluctance to believe is troubling. Possession was necessary,” Enoch said. “Though I am not tracked through any physical means, I do require physical form in order to commune with humankind. This man will be discharged back to London unharmed with no memories of his missing time.”

  “If you are able to possess humans, then why possess one in London, only to travel here?” He motioned to the frozen barkeep. “There are plenty of people in Durham.”

  “In doing so, I must exert a significant amount of my power, leaving a tear in the fabric of this world. The one who hunts you, the one who seeks your end, would feel such a ripple in the stream of life running throughout this realm. Through me, your enemy will seek to find you.”

  “What about Micah? Why is the enemy after me and not her?”

  “The enem
y cannot feel the girl yet and will be unable to until she discovers her full power, which is the same with the others. But you, Gabriel, are his opposite in every way. You each possess converse abilities of one another—each a different side to the same coin. The enemy can feel your presence like a scent on the wind. If the enemy were to succeed and deprive the others of your strength, his abilities would consume them in despair, and this realm would surely fall.”

  Enoch held out the small box and opened it, revealing several vials of liquid ingredients. “I have brought you all that is needed to create the Entheos Genesthai. Use it sparingly. Once mixed, the potion is very powerful and will open up time and the realm of creation to those who choose to be enlightened. Use the greatest of caution, for only the Watchers may consume it and the procedure is delicate.”

  The word delicate sounded like code for dangerous. Gabe looked at the vials as Enoch handed him the box and turned to leave. So many questions begged to be answered. “Wait,” he said, moving to the edge of the booth’s seat. “Why is this happening? We were told there is a seal or something that prevented the realms from interfering with each other. And the others? There are supposed to be four archangels.”

  “The enemy has advanced faster than you are aware. They have breached the law against immortality by exploiting the nature of the vilest men and women. The dimensional seal holds, but while a pathway to Earth has been opened, it is only limited. Only one demon is through, but a trickle may soon become a flood. Phanuel is lost. As to his safety, I cannot speak. It is possible that he is fallen or that his essence has changed and blinded me to his existence. Raphael’s fate is also unknown. I can feel his presence lingering upon the Earth, but his location is hidden even from me. Only a great source of energy could hold power over my own.”

  Gabe felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. “There are only two of us,” he said under his breath.

  “You must take Entheos Genesthai to the Essene immediately. Following the ritual, you must then go to retrieve the Ring of Solomon. Make haste, for the enemy will be seeking it as well. Without the ability to unite the four archangels, it remains the only hope for ensuring the integrity of the seal and stopping the Apocalypse.”

  “The ring?”

  “It is kept in the Ark of the Covenant, safe in Zion.” Enoch took a step forward and put his hand to Gabe’s forehead. “You still have much to learn about faith. Zion’s secret should not be spoken out loud for fear of those who may be listening from the shadows.”

  He seemed to concentrate, mouthing unspoken words. Gabe shut his eyes, and he could hear Enoch’s voice in his mind. “Go to Axum in the land of Ethiopia. There lies Zion. There lies the Ark of the Covenant, guarded by its master.” His last sentiment came as a warning. “Time is of the essence. You should leave immediately. It is no longer safe in England.”

  The television returned to life. Gabe opened his eyes to see the barman’s hand finally hit the screen. The anchors continued their reports as if they’d simply paused for a moment. When Gabe turned back to Enoch, he was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Gabe sat alone at the Undercroft and dialed Micah’s number on his cell phone. She didn’t answer. He waited several minutes and then tried her again, but the line went to voice mail on the second ring. Screened. Gabe pressed the end button and crammed the phone into his pocket.

  He knew a migraine would eventually strike. It was inevitable. As inevitable as the hell he’d pay for not going straight to Carlyle with the box of vials. But he couldn’t. He thought of Micah’s story about Thecla. If the legend was true, what was inside his backpack sitting in the corner of his dorm room scared him to death. He wasn’t ready to become someone else or risk turning into an insane freak. Despite Enoch’s warning, he couldn’t face his fears. I am a coward, he thought.

  With his head swimming, he went to the bar and ordered pint number three from the cute Irish girl.

  The more he drank, the more she reminded him of a redheaded Coren from back at The Study Habit in New York. If he squinted, he could almost see her. Some of her sarcastic humor would be much appreciated right about now.

  He missed his life. His real life.

  All he really wanted to do was have one more normal night, one where he could be a teenager like the rest of his peers—just one more night where he was himself and not some Being from Another Dimension.

  Through his deepening beer-induced haze, he thought of the vials. They weren’t going anywhere. Neither was his father or Carlyle. What’s the hurry? What’s a few more hours? He began to negotiate with the more responsible side of his mind, making compromises, promising to take the Entheos Genesthai directly to his father after he built up some courage. And one measly night was all he needed.

  Just a little time to get used to the idea that I’m going to become a nut job.

  Across the bar, Yuri walked in alone. Gabe made eye contact with him but quickly picked up his glass to shield his face, pouring the entire stout down his throat.

  Too late. A minute later, two pint glasses were placed on his table. “My favorite American,” Yuri said.

  Gabe kicked his chair back and stood up. “Piss off. I’m not in the mood.”

  Yuri lifted his hands and held them wide open. “No, mate. There’s no trouble. I just wanted to apologize. Totally my fault. I deserved the kicking I got. Seriously, I earned it.”

  The nearly faded bruise on the side of Yuri’s face matched the one on Gabe’s hand.

  “Look,” Yuri continued, “I was a right ass. Tend to get that way on the hard stuff, which is why I don’t take to it that often. Lost the plot, I suppose.”

  You’ll get no argument from me, Gabe thought, but he took his seat.

  “Tell Micah that I’m truly sorry and I want to make it up to her. To both of you.” He put his hand out to shake Gabe’s and then noticed the brown and yellow bruise. “Bloody hell. It’s not broken, is it? You got me good; I’ll give you that.” He rubbed his face. “I just transferred in from another university. I don’t need any enemies. Had plenty of them at my old school. Friends?”

  Friends was a stretch, but Yuri seemed sincere. Besides, Gabe didn’t have the energy to debate the offer. “Sure. Whatever.”

  “Great. Then you don’t mind if I join you.”

  “You know, I was actually trying to—”

  Yuri plopped down at the table and made himself comfortable before Gabe could finish objecting.

  “You look bent out of shape if you don’t mind me saying.”

  Gabe gave in and picked up the new beer. “Been a tough day. I can’t even begin to explain it to you.”

  “I can relate. Where’s Micah?” Yuri asked and looked around the bar.

  “Good question.”

  Yuri smiled. “So, girl troubles then, is it? I didn’t know you two were an item. That explains a lot. Sorry about that.”

  “No big deal. It’s just, well . . . I’ve got this”—Gabe thought a moment—“this class. And it’s asking too much of me right now. Way too much.”

  “Micah’s a classmate, I presume?”

  “Yeah. And it’s an intimate class, you know—very small.”

  “So it’s hard to avoid her.”

  “Exactly. And the subject matter . . .” Gabe rolled his eyes and waved his arms around. Beer sloshed onto the floor. “It’s just weird. We’re studying stuff you wouldn’t even believe. Stuff I’m not even sure I believe.”

  “What subject?”

  Gabe thought for a second about all the secrecy, but he was too mad to care. “Religious studies.”

  “You’re in the Theology module? That explains the jihad you pulled on my face.” Yuri laughed. “Interesting subject at least.”

  “Yeah, not really. It’s crazy. But boring. I’m not much of a religious guy, I guess.”

  “It’s a load of bollocks, I think. Religion is just another way for people to suppress each other. It’s politics, you know? Assuming there is an omnipoten
t creator out there, be it God, creativity, or Elvis Presley—whatever your preference—do you think mankind is smart enough to understand it? Doubtful. Just look around. We’re plagued by imbeciles and the dim-witted. Anyway, you might consider being a bit more careful about selecting your courses.”

  “Well, this particular one was required. Special studies under Professor Carlyle.”

  “John Carlyle? He’s a legend. Or at least his temper is. There’s a rumor that he ripped a Glasgow phone book in two with his bare hands. Can you imagine that? What’s he like?”

  “Eccentric,” Gabe slurred, taking another sip. “He’s serious and demanding. And gets involved with his students’ private lives. Said I couldn’t see Micah.” Gabe caught himself, realizing he’d said too much. “I mean, he didn’t say I couldn’t, exactly, just that student relationships might interfere with the classroom dynamic.”

  “Ah, well. Plenty birds at Castle. With that accent and American bravado, you should be fine. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that tattoo on the back of your head. You had your toboggan off for a moment the other night. Have to say, I was surprised. Didn’t figure you for the counterculture type.”

  “My birthmark?” Gabe said and then silently cursed his own dimmed wits.

  “It’s a . . . birthmark?”

  “No. I mean, I’ve had it since birth, so you know, I think of it as a birthmark. It’s a tattoo.”

  “Your parents got you a tattoo when you were born? What the hell is that all about?”

  “Hippie parents. Something to do with a family lineage, I guess you could say,” Gabe responded. “Truthfully, I still don’t understand it.” Close one, he thought, satisfied by his quick recovery.

  “That’s . . . odd.”

  “Tell me about it. It’s kind of a sore subject.”

  “No bother. I understand. My family life is a bit odd, if I must say. Though not so much these days, being on my own and all.”