A Mystery of Light

by Brian Fuller

  The door clanged shut.

  “Helo,” Archus Gideon said. “I want you to repeat what you told Argyle. Tell us what happened and what Aclima said.”

  After the way he’d been treated, Helo didn’t feel like saying much of anything about Aclima or anything else, but the leaden feeling of doom permeating the room convinced him that now wasn’t the time to stick it to the Archai. He told them everything that had happened, starting with visiting Ashakaz in the holding area all the way up to where a sniper had put a hole through his gut.

  “So, yeah,” Helo concluded. “Archus Ramis folded. They want to know where the Pit is.”

  “Without Simeon, only Archon Anvil should know,” Archus Ebenezer said. “We need to find him.”

  Archus Mars leaned around Archus Magdelene to get a better look at Ebenezer. “And find him fast. If Ramis broke, Anvil will. If they grab Anvil before we do, we’re in trouble.”

  Diarchus Joan pulled her blanket around herself more tightly. “Let’s pray Archon Anvil is safe, but for now, we need to get Legion Stone out of the Pit immediately and move the rest as soon as we can.”

  Helo wanted to ask but Argyle got there first. “What’s the Legion Stone, ma’am, and how can Sicarius Nox help?”

  “That is classified,” Archus Ebenezer said.

  “We’re past that now,” Grand Archus Gideon said. “We’ll need their help, and they need to know what they’ll be transporting.”

  “But, Helo . . .” Ebenezer sputtered.

  “Tell them what it is,” Grand Archus Gideon said, voice weary.

  Ebenezer drilled Helo with a crusty look until it got uncomfortable. “You may be familiar with the account in Mark chapter 5 of Christ encountering a man possessed of an evil spirit. When Christ asked the evil spirit its name—clearly for the purpose of exorcism—the spirit said its name was Legion, being many. Now, as the account goes in the New Testament, the evil spirits were cast into a herd of swine who then charged into the water and died. This account of the exorcism was fabricated.”

  “By who?” Helo asked.

  “By Ash Angels,” Ebenezer continued. “They altered the manuscripts and spread the revised version of the story. As is often the case with exorcism, Christ Exorcised Legion into a stone. Since damaging or destroying it would release Legion again, Ash Angels have protected it through the centuries.”

  “Why not just bury the bloody thing out in the middle of nowhere?” Sparks asked.

  “It’s . . . unusual,” Archus Ebenezer continued. “Even an object with a single evil spirit inside vibrates. While we don’t know the exact number, imagine a stone with thousands of evil spirits inside. It is quite active, to say the least, and that’s not all. It is said that such is the force and madness of the spirits inside, the stone can be felt and heard. Whispers. Screams. Cursing.”

  A chill stole up Helo’s spine. “What would Avadan want with it? There are already thousands of Possessed he could use. Why would he need more?”

  Ebenezer raised a finger. “That is the issue, and we can only speculate. The Biblical account gives the only clue. The man in the story could not be restrained. He had such strength he could snap shackles apart. The Possessed normally have no such enhancement to their physical abilities. And, like Dreads, evil spirits are normally solitary. That a group of thousands all came together to be called by one name is extraordinary. What they can do or why Avadan wants them is a mystery.”

  “But,” Archus Mars butted in, “the fact that he wants it is all we need to know.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourselves,” Diarchus Joan said. “There is no indication Avadan knows about the existence of the Legion Stone. He may only want the location of the Pit so he can free the thousands of spirits trapped there, evil spirits as crazy and as violent as he is. With the pendant, he can control them.”

  “And if he succeeds,” Mars said, “we will need to revisit our rules of engagement concerning the Possessed.”

  “Absolutely not,” Archus Simeon said, nearly coming out of his seat. “Just because there are more of them doesn’t mean the people they inhabit are less worthy of exorcism and aid!”

  And then an argument broke out, voices raising with each passing minute. Helo got the impression that shooting the Possessed was a lot like the abortion debate: two sides that could never come to an agreement.

  “They’re as bad as the lot back in Great Britain,” Sparks whispered from behind Helo.

  “Hey!” Helo said. And then said it again louder. They finally stopped after the third. “Maybe argue about this if Avadan succeeds. We need to find out about Archon Anvil and maybe get to the Pit. Where is it?”

  Archus Ebenezer leaned back and clutched his blanket. “The Pit’s been around since before the formation of the Ash Angel Organization. The one in the United States isn’t the only one in the world, but for better or worse, the Legion Stone was brought here in the 1700s by those seeking to get it out of the crowded Old World and into the vast open spaces of the West. There may be some of the Old Masters still around who have the lore, but most who knew about it would be long gone by now. Archus Simeon will have to tell us.”

  An urgent knock on the door ended the conversation, one of the sentries pulling it open. A female Michael came in holding a cell phone and pushed her way through to the front of the room.

  “What is it?” Grand Archus Gideon said.

  “It’s Archon Anvil,” she said. “He’s not been captured, but . . .”

  “But what?” Archus Mars pressed.

  She covered the mic on the phone. “He claims he’s being hunted. Faramir says the call is not from a secure phone. It might be a Sheid posing as Anvil.”

  Grand Archus Gideon extended his hand, and the Michael placed the phone in it. He clicked the speaker-phone button and placed the phone on his lap.

  “This is Gideon. Where are you?”

  “Deep 6 is down. I’m at a gas station about ten miles away.”

  At the mention of Deep 6’s destruction, Archus Lux let loose a gasp of dismay. The rest of the Archuses closed their eyes, lips in a line.

  A pop, pop, pop came through the speaker followed by dead silence.

  “Anvil?” Archus Gideon said.

  A few moments later, the speaker crackled. “I’m back. Not much time. Is Archus Simeon safe?”

  “Yes,” Archus Gideon said.

  “Good. He can get you where you need to go. I’m going to end it. End it before they get me.”

  The phone went dead.

  A sober Archus Simeon sighed. “It’s latitude 37.4002584, longitude -113.1599183.”

  “Where is that?” Archus Mars said. “My phone’s not working.”

  “It’s Burnt Mountain in the Kolob Canyon backcountry, Southern Utah,” Archus Simeon said.

  “Argyle,” Archus Mars said. “Get your team together. We’re going to get as many Michaels there as we can on short notice. We’ll bring supplies in from Zion Alpha.”

  Argyle snapped to attention. “Yes, sir. Where do you want Helo?”

  “Take him,” Diarchus Joan said.

  “I don’t think that’s prudent, ma’am,” Argyle said, face barely keeping it together.

  “Take him,” Archus Mars said. “If he gets out of line, shoot him and leave him for me.”

  “Do I get a say in this?” Helo said.

  Grand Archus Gideon stood, the blanket wrapped around him and his strong chin lending him the air of a Roman senator. “You were made to fight Shedim, Helo. And if you can’t see that we’re in need right now, I will end you right here.”

  Helo hesitated for only a moment. They were right about the need. And if Avadan was going after the Pit, there was a good chance Aclima would be involved. This could be the opportunity he needed.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 8

  Wilderness

  Helo squinted into the morning sun. Ahead of him, Burnt Mountain was a towering hunk of orange rock cut by wind and weather. A stor
m had dusted the crest and cracks with a fine layer of snow before they had arrived, and a chill that would have numbed the ears of a normal had settled into the dry creek bed they had traversed for an hour. Currant Creek was its name, Faramir had said, and they would follow the drainage all the way up to the mountain.

  Shujaa plodded away behind him, Big Blessed Rifle in his hands, sniper rifle strapped to his back. Argyle and Faramir took the front, Finny just behind. Sparks ranged ahead, scouting their surroundings so they could avoid any groups of normals who might wonder why a heavily armed group of men was prowling around the wilderness. The cover story was that they were a militia group on a training exercise, a story Helo thought would result in a call to the FBI.

  Argyle carried two Big Blessed Rifles, one on his back and one in his hands. The one on his back was Helo’s, but Argyle stated flatly that he would keep possession of it unless the situation called for it. Helo leveled a death glare at the man’s back. If Argyle wanted to carry his gear, fine. But the crusty looks and incessant suspicion had already started to grind his patience down to nubs, and he had only been with Sicarius Nox two days. He missed Goliath and wondered where she had ended up.

  Faramir had flatly ignored him since he’d rejoined the team, which didn’t seem fair since it was Goliath who had blown his head off when they had escaped. As for Finny, the other British Ash Angel hardly said a word to anyone besides Sparks, and Helo got the feeling the two had worked together for a long time. Finny was dark skinned, with cornrows striping his head, and besides being a weapons expert, he could apparently pilot anything that had wings, wheels, or tracks. One thing was for sure: keeping to himself was a way of life for Finny.

  Sparks appeared on the lip of the gully. “We’re clear all the way to the base of the mountain. Can’t see normals in any direction.” He slid down the embankment into the dry creek bed. “The Michaels have a camp at the base of the ascent to the Pit. Another half hour and we’re there.”

  “Fall in and move out,” Argyle ordered.

  As soon as they were underway, Sparks took up position in front of Helo and behind Finny. He threw Helo an odd look and then turned away.

  “Finny,” Sparks said. “Time for a little round of ‘Would You Rather.’”

  Helo shook his head. Sparks and Finny had done this yesterday on the plane. The topic then had been “Would you rather live life with your hands as hooks or as grizzly bear paws?” An utterly pointless debate had ensued. Faramir tried to jump in, but they shut him out. This was their thing, and everyone else could just shut up and spectate.

  “Are you sure it’s time for this?” Finny asked.

  “I’m bloody bored,” Sparks returned. “So, yeah, it’s time. So here it is: Would you rather have a hot Dread girlfriend or an Ash Angel girlfriend who looked like a cow that’s been turned inside out?”

  Finny kept his eyes on the unsteady rocks at his feet. “Not a good question, Sparks.”

  Sparks glanced back at Helo. “Well, we all know what Helo there would choose, don’t we? I mean, that’s why you agreed to come, right, because you think she’ll show up here? Well, that and Gideon threatened to kill you.”

  Finny grabbed Sparks’s shoulder. “Drop it, mate,” he said softly.

  Helo wanted to pick up a rock and toss it at Sparks’s head. He couldn’t figure out why the man was so bent on making a big deal about Aclima. Or why Ash Angels USA had brought him all the way across the Atlantic to join Sicarius Nox.

  “All right,” Sparks said, “but we see her, she goes down just like any other Dread, isn’t that right, Finny? You got that, Helo? She’s got to die.”

  Would Sparks ever shut up? Helo glanced up at the mountain, its orange-red walls shaded with streaks of black rising over the gully’s lip. That was the goal. One foot in front of the other.

  “You know, Helo,” Sparks yammered on. “We did a joint exercise with the U.S. Marines once. It was Operation Our Bestest Pals Across the Pond or something like that. You know what? Those guys were a lot of fun and would have kicked my ass by now. And that’s what bugs me. You don’t fit the Marine profile.”

  “And most soldiers I know don’t talk this much unless they’re drunk,” Helo said.

  “Believe me,” Sparks said. “When I’m good and smashed, I don’t say a word.”

  Finny grinned as if at some memory and nodded.

  They eventually clambered out of the gully and wound their way around squat firs, gaining altitude. To his left, one arm of the mountain gathered them into a cathedral of sandstone, cliff faces carved with long vertical gashes deepened by the morning’s shadows. The gully bank steepened to their right, taller trees clumping in the low spaces.

  After a few more minutes, they walked into a camp full of Michaels on a flat stone shelf below where the cliff rose forbiddingly into the clear blue sky. Michaels milled about on the rocks, some snapping pictures with their phones, others standing watch. There had to be at least twenty that he could see. Not much hope for secrecy.

  Argyle strode into the camp like he was in command of a heavenly legion far above the rest of the Michaels, and everyone watched Sicarius Nox file in. Helo couldn’t help but notice how he garnered more than his fair share of attention. A stack of ammunition crates sat close to a nearby rock, and next to it was Commander Crane, the man who had been in command of the Tela trap they had sprung at the remote cabin in Colorado. Commander Crane’s day had ended with Goliath blowing the cabin—and everyone in it—to bits with C4 in an attempt to stall a Sheid. Good times.

  Crane, a skinny, no-nonsense Texan morphed to middle age, walked over. Argyle saluted. “Sicarius Nox reporting for duty, Commander. Give us the word. Have you found the entrance?”

  “We have,” Crane said, eyes falling on Helo. “It’s a climb. There’s a notch about a hundred feet up. Cave’s deep inside it. Not sure how anyone ever found the damn hole to begin with. We’ve roped it.”

  “Rope? That’s no fun,” Sparks complained. “This looks like a fun free solo.”

  Commander Crane shook Sparks’s hand. “You must be Sparks. I’ve heard a lot about you. Glad you’re with us.”

  “Thanks,” Sparks said. “Say, Helo, you think Aclima’s up there already?”

  “Any sign of Dread activity in there?” Argyle added quickly.

  “None,” Crane answered. “Our scout only got about fifty feet in before we pulled him out. It’s dark, and it . . . well, you’ll see soon enough. I’ll take you to the rope, and you can make your ascent. When you exit with the package, you will receive instructions on where to take it. We’ll relocate the rest.”

  Crane ordered Faramir to set up a comms station in the camp, and Helo grabbed a comms unit from him. Faramir wouldn’t look him in the eye. He’d located a replacement for the knit hat he’d lost in the meth-house explosion, tassels swinging as he placed equipment and flipped knobs.

  Once everyone had activated their comms units, Crane led Sicarius Nox out of the camp, ordering a grumpy Faramir to stay behind and monitor communications. They skirted a thick shelf of rock, the soles of their boots slipping against the orange-tinted sand. The rock face above loomed defiantly over them as they pushed through scrubby fir trees to get to its base. A rope snaked down the face. Finny kept his eyes to the ground, everyone else craning their necks back for the view.

  “This is it,” Crane said. “Follow the rope up to the notch, and it will lead you right to it.”

  Sparks slapped Finny on the back. “Follow me up, Fin. Just keep those eyes pegged on my big, beautiful buttocks, and you’ll be good. I’m taking point.”

  Argyle, who was busy securing his equipment, opened his mouth, but Sparks had a hold of the rope and was pulling himself hand over hand upward. Finny did not go next, Argyle taking the spot and Shujaa following him. Helo sidled up to Finny, who seemed to be checking his gun for defects.

  “Not a fan of heights?” Helo asked.

  Finny exhaled. “Nope. Give me a plane and it’s all good. Giv
e me a cliff, not so much. Not so much at all.” He swallowed and looked up. “I got this.”

  Setting his jaw and adjusting his gloves one last time, Finny took the rope, squeezed his eyes shut, and began the climb.

  Helo stepped forward, and Crane grabbed his arm. “You do anything stupid, I’ve got orders to put you down. Got it?”

  Helo yanked his arm out of Crane’s grasp and grabbed the rope. Finny shot up the rope like a crazed gymnast, chewing up the distance. Helo followed, the sandy stone streaking his black pants with pockets chock-full of ammunition he had no weapon for. As he rose, the world opened up around him, and he twisted his head around for a look at the towering walls and the desert floor stretching away to the west, warm morning light lying like a lover upon them.

  It wasn’t until he had almost reached the notch that he felt a discordant, sour twinge leave its impression in his mind, like someone pinching a flat piece of paper and leaving a mark that couldn’t quite be smoothed out. Had anyone else felt it? The Possessed didn’t have the torching aura of Shedim, but something about this place wanted to stick a thorn in his mind. He shrugged it off, powering up the last few feet.

  The notch was a hunk of sandstone that looked like someone had chipped out a near-perfect wedge and removed it. About twenty feet along the notch, a gnarled, weather-wracked cedar had wormed its way into cracks in the wall, the rope they had climbed encircling its trunk. The four other members of Sicarius Nox leaned against the wedge’s wall, though Finny did so with a bit more conviction. Argyle and Shujaa slipped past a bored-faced Sparks and took the first two spots.

  “Let’s move out,” Argyle said.

  Traversing the notch’s base forced Helo to walk one booted foot straight in front of the other, hands sliding along the cool stone on either side. The cave entrance waited about ten feet beyond the cedar, little more than a slit in the cliff wall and hidden from view. The air here was cool, their boots disturbing a fine dusting of snow.