The Great and Terrible

by Chris Stewart

  Ammon huffed in frustration, then picked up the rope and started up the trail.

  * * *

  Balaam and Lucifer, their faces contorted in burning jealousy and hate, stood not far away, watching the brothers.

  Balaam glanced to the Master and caught a glimpse of his own ugliness reflected in his master’s dark eyes. There was something particularly horrible about someone so full of hate. He was pale and deadly, like a floating corpse, his face so lifeless and dreary he couldn’t stand the sight of himself. He was hideous and he knew it, but he no longer cared. Unlike his master, who could still hide his ugliness if someone was willing to believe in his lies, Balaam was dark, cruel, and ugly and pretended to be nothing else.

  Lucifer walked in a circle around the young men, listening to them talk while thinking to himself. Balaam watched him carefully, but stood out of his way.

  Lucifer was dressed in his normal garb: braided sandals, a red sash, and a flowing gray robe, dark as smoke but with a light shimmer as if there was some unseen power there. His hood fell over his shoulders, his hair flowed down his neck, and his feet were as worn and sullied as any homeless vagabond who wandered the earth.

  Balaam studied his great master from out of the corner of his eyes, noting the growing strength of his shoulders and the power of arms. His dark hair seemed to shimmer, and his eyes burned with fire. He stood in great arrogance, almost reeking of power while basking in the glory that his hate had produced. The world was more evil than it had ever been, more brutal, more carnal, and more soaking in sin. And the more the world bathed in evil, the more powerful his master became.

  But there was growing good among the shadows, like these young brothers here, and Balaam was troubled. Like tiny points of light that penetrated the darkness, the great spirits had arrived to make their mark on the world. And they too were growing powerful, more pure, and more clear. And that made Balaam wonder. . . . He kicked at the ground with unease.

  Lucifer looked at him suddenly, as if he read his mind. “You see them too, Master Balaam?” he asked in a deadly voice.

  Balaam nodded slowly.

  “You think they grow stronger? And you think I grow weak?”

  Balaam swallowed and bowed. “No, Master Mayhem,” he pleaded in a trembling voice. “You are the Great Master, the king of this world!”

  Lucifer dismissed him with an angry wave of his hand. “That is right, Balaam. I am the king of this world. I am its glory and splendor, its magnificent power. And I am still rising! My day will soon come. And as my glory grows, the veil between my angels and this world will come down. A few see me now, but in time all will see. I will stand in my dark glory before them, and they shall see me as I am. I will step forward in power and claim this world for my own. And then they shall know, and their mouths shall confess, that it is my glory that burns bright in this land!”

  Balaam nodded eagerly but said nothing as he lowered

  his eyes, knowing they would betray him if his dark master

  saw. Inside, his gut crunched into a tight ball. He wanted to believe—he wanted it desperately—but he felt in his heart that it simply wasn’t true. He felt his gloom rising as the day of the Savior approached, the day when Balaam would be stripped of his power and brought to his knees, when the kingdom of his master would be shattered and his minions destroyed.

  The Deceiver watched Balaam, noting that he kept his eyes low. “Do you believe, Master Balaam?” he sneered.

  “Master Mayhem, I want to believe!”

  “If you ever had faith in me, Master Balaam, then you’d better have faith in me now. You are tied to my future. I am all that you have. So when you pray to me, Balaam, you had better believe your own words!”

  Balaam began to tremble in terrible fear. He had seen the Master angry before, and the last thing he wanted was for him to be angry with him. He quivered and shuddered, then dropped to one knee. “I believe, Master Mayhem!” he cried in a loud voice.

  The Deceiver grunted in disgust, then turned away again.

  Lucifer moved a step toward the brothers and faced them, looking them both in the eyes. He knew them. He recognized them, especially the strength of their souls. The powers that resided in them were like a bright light to him. But the memory wasn’t certain, and he had to force his mind to look back.

  It was so long ago. It was another world. So long since the light had been taken from him.

  But as the Deceiver looked at Ammon, the memories came flooding back. They were hazy at first, extremely vague and unsure, but as he concentrated they began to take shape.

  He had fought a great battle with Ammon in the premortal world. He had given his best effort, exerted all the strength he had, but despite his best efforts Ammon had rejected his plan.

  Lucifer’s face tightened up, and his stomach turned sour as he thought of the frustration Ammon had caused him in the premortal world.

  * * *

  They stood in a dark stairway in Lucifer’s part of the world. It was black and suffocating and smelled of rot and wet soil. A cold rain pelted the rock structure, and the wail of Lucifer’s followers lifted through the air, bitter cursings of the Father for casting them out.

  Ammon stood and faced Lucifer in the winding stairwell. He took a step up, but Lucifer blocked his way. “Will you just listen?” Satan pleaded in the softest voice he could muster. “I’m begging you, Ammon, for Luke, for Elizabeth, for the sake of the others!” His voice dripped with charisma. It was a beautiful show. He put on his best face, a sincere look of kindness that was impossible to resist, and Ammon’s eyes softened at the comforting smile.

  Ammon took a breath and wavered, leaning against the rock wall. Lucifer brushed up beside him, getting right in his face, his black cape swirling like a dark mist at his knees. “There is so much I can give you.” His voice was rising now. “So much you could have. Imagine worlds without number, power beyond your wildest dreams. Imagine every fantasy, every whim, every lust or ambition, everything I can give you, anything you desire. Anything you can dream of, any human taste, touch, or feel—all the wealth in the universe, I would share it with you. And all I ask is you believe me and do what I say.”

  Lucifer put his hand on Ammon’s shoulders and felt his body shake at his touch. How many times had he felt that, the delicious quiver of fear! He moved closer to Ammon and put his cold arms around him. He sensed the goodness in Ammon as it recoiled from his touch, but he pulled him closer, not letting him go. “Pledge to me, Ammon,” he hissed.

  Ammon’s knees almost buckled. He was overcome by despair.

  Lucifer spread his arms and opened a powerful vision of the pleasures of the world. “Do you want it?” he whispered. “Shall I give it to you!”

  Ammon paused. Yes, he wanted it. He wanted it so! He swallowed against the vision, then slowly opened his eyes. “You can give me anything?” Ammon asked him.

  “Anything!” Lucifer cried.

  “Anything that I ask for?”

  “Anything you desire!”

  “Can you give me love?” Ammon asked him. “Can you take away my sins? Can you give me salvation? Are you willing to die for me? Can you give me the love of my family and the love of my friends? Can you promise me anything besides what you have shown me here? Can you give me the love of my Father, or my older brother, Jehovah, the Christ?”

  Lucifer took a step back, a look of rage on his face. “Worship me!” he demanded, his eyes flaming with hate.

  Ammon turned away. “You have nothing to offer,” he said.

  Lucifer shrieked with such a fury that it pierced his own ears. “Let me show you what I’ll give you!” he screamed in a rage.

  Another vision opened, and Ammon gasped in heart-wrenching fear. In an instant Lucifer showed him all the horrors of the world, all the hate, pain, and disappointment that lay in store. Ammon cried and fell back, a look of dread in his eyes. Lucifer watched him, then stepped forward, cursing his name as he moved. “I will find you!” he promised.
“I will remember this day. I will find you and curse you when you go down to earth. So remember, me, Ammon, because I will remember you!”

  * * *

  Lucifer’s eyes burned with emotion as he thought of the memory. He had always hated the brothers, and now he hated them even more.

  And look at them. Look! They were strong and happy. Worst of all, they were on a firm path. They would be leaving on missions. He hated the thought. The things they would do. The men they would become. The people they would touch, and the lives they would change. Generations would be blessed if he didn’t stop them.

  He fumed, his eyes burning. But what could he do?

  Lucifer glared at the brothers. “I wish I could kill them,” he growled. “If I could, I would. I would torture them, beat them, and cause them great pain. I would make them cry for mercy, then beat them some more. I would make them hate their bodies as much as I hate not having one. I could have been their master! But no, they didn’t want me. They wanted to learn and grow for themselves. So that is fine. I will teach them. I will teach them of misery and despair!”

  Balaam only watched his master. He had heard it before.

  Lucifer fumed a long moment, pacing from side to side. Then he suddenly stopped and smiled, exposing his teeth. He stared at Luke for a moment.

  The brothers each had a weakness. And he remembered now what they were. He glared toward Luke, looking at the back of his head. He was the more prideful. So that’s where he would begin. “I may not be able to hurt him,” he hissed. “But there are a few things I can do. And if we can convince them to be careless, if we can distract them, then that might be enough.”

  Balaam slowly nodded. Careless. Yes careless. It was a tool that had been used against the young many times before.

  The Deceiver muttered angrily as he walked toward Luke. “He is young. He is foolish. There might be a way . . .”

  Balaam watched Ammon pick up his rope and begin to walk up the trail. “Stay with him,” Lucifer commanded. “Try to distract him. Do anything you can. Make him act foolish. Shout distractions in his head!”

  Balaam bowed and followed Ammon as he walked up the trail.

  Lucifer watched them go, then moved toward Luke, positioning himself near his head. Leaning toward the mortal, he whispered thoughts of pride into his ear. “You’re the best. This is easy. No reason to be careful here.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It took Ammon ten minutes to climb the trail that led up the backside of the riverbank to the top of the rock. As he walked, he became angry, thinking of Luke. He was always so prideful, so conceited, always proving himself! It was never enough just to have fun. Everything had to be a grand competition, and he had to be best.

  Balaam walked beside him, shouting and sneering, planting angry thoughts in his mind. “Why is Luke always like this? He’s just wasting your time trying to climb this impossible rock!”

  Ammon moved up the trail, using his hands to pick his way up the steep path that led around the backside of the cliff. The trail was littered with broken rocks, and he slipped back a time or two, grabbing the brush at the sides to keep from falling back.

  “What a waste of a morning,” he mumbled, “standing at the bottom of the cliff, holding the safety rope so Luke can prove what a great climber he is.

  “I really should be studying,” he thought, for he had a test the next day. But no, he was going to spend the morning watching Luke climb an impossible rock. What a waste of time! He should have stayed in bed.

  The longer he climbed, the madder he got, and the madder he got, the more distracted he was. Balaam continued working beside him, whispering scornful thoughts in his ear. Irrational. Emotional. Thoughts of envy and rage. “Luke is better than you are. You know that, and he knows that too. He’s just rubbing it in, just trying to prove it again. That’s the only reason he’s doing this—to make you feel like a loser. He just wants to bug you, to put you down a notch or two. Such a crock, the way he does that. Why can’t he just give it a break? With him, it’s always me! Always me! Everyone look at me! Aren’t you growing sick of it? Will he ever change?”

  Balaam kept it up, a constant barrage of vile thoughts in Ammon’s head. And the more Ammon heard it, the angrier he became. Balaam knew the thoughts were illogical and selfish, but Lucifer’s temptations rarely made any sense. Yet still people listened. Driven by emotion, the human heart sometimes doesn’t think.

  Ammon climbed, his head down, the emotion building inside.

  Yeah, he loved Luke, sure, and they got along great most the time, but once in a while he could be a real jerk . . .

  He suddenly realized he was at the top of the hill. Looking around he saw that because the wall had not been climbed before, there was no anchor he could use to secure the safety rope to. For a moment he thought of tying it to a nearby tree; but instead he took an anchor and small hammer from his backpack and secured his own bolt, driving it deeply into a crack at the top of the cliff. He pulled on the anchor to check it, jerking it back and forth.

  The rock around the bolt began to chip away, and he leaned over to check it.

  Balaam leaned toward him, intent on his work, his eyes dark and fierce. “Don’t worry about it,” he hissed, knowing this was his chance. “How many times have you done this? A thousand times? More? Has a bolt ever broken? No! Not even once. So why are you worried? What are you so careful for?”

  Ammon jerked on the bolt. It seemed to hold. He clipped a carabineer through the anchor and screwed the safety clasp to ensure it couldn’t open. Then, standing, he turned and glanced over the top of the rock. It was a long way to fall, and he felt a little dizzy. Truth was, he had never been keen on heights.

  From where he stood, he couldn’t see Luke, who was hidden from view underneath the ledge. “Luke,” he called out, swinging the rope in his hand.

  Luke stepped away from the wall to where Ammon could see him. “Heads up,” Ammon called as he tossed down the rope. Luke caught it, being careful not to let it touch the ground where the sand or dirt would weaken it and make it less safe.

  Ammon ran his end of the rope through the carabineer, then secured it to his climbing harness using a figure-8 knot. He pulled on his gloves, then looked over the edge of the cliff.

  “Ready!” he called down to Luke.

  Luke snaked the rope through his own harness, then tightened the slack. “Go for it,” he called back.

  Before backing over the cliff, Ammon looked a final time at the bolt he had driven into the crack.

  “It’s fine,” Balaam whispered. “You’re such a worrier. Come on—go for it!”

  Ammon didn’t move.

  “Luke’s waiting!” Balaam sneered. “He’s looking at you, wondering what you’re doing. He’s not a pansy. He wouldn’t worry. He wouldn’t freak out like this . . .”

  Ammon knelt down and brushed the sand and dirt away from the bolt. The sandstone was weak and crumbling from a thousand years of rain and wind, but the bolt seemed to be firmly driven into the rock. Standing, he pulled against the rope, giving a final jerk.

  “It’s okay!” Balaam whispered quickly, keeping a steady chatter in his ear. “Go on. Have some fun. The bolt will be fine. What are the chances anything will go wrong?”

  Ammon nodded, agreeing with the whispered thoughts in his head.

  And because he was young, and because he was naïve, and because he was angry, and distracted with thoughts about school, and because he hadn’t been hurt by inexperience before, Ammon trusted the whispers and didn’t check the bolt carefully.

  He stood at the edge of the cliff. “On belay!” he cried.

  “Belay on!” Luke called back as he braced for the pull of Ammon’s weight.

  Ammon turned his back and walked off the top of the cliff. It was a sheer drop below him, and he easily bounced his way down, rappelling to the ledge ten feet below the top of the rock. Hitting the overhang, he moved to the tip of the ledge, then pushed forcefully out and away from the w
all while feeding out ten feet of rope. The rope tightened, then swung him like a pendulum into the wall, and he spread his bent knees to absorb the shock.

  Above him, the bolt slipped, moving against the cracked stone, but Ammon didn’t feel it as he swung into the side of the cliff. He pushed again. His weight jerked the rope and the bolt slipped again, pivoting thirty degrees. A small crack, too small to have been seen, spread in the rock, but still the bolt held.

  * * *

  Ammon stopped his descent directly under the ledge. Hanging there, he looked over his head, his body off balance, his torso hanging back.

  The outcropping had more handholds than he had been able to see from the ground. And the ledge wasn’t quite as steep as it had appeared. The crevasse they had looked at might provide a pretty good grip if Luke could reach it, which was a very big if, for it was a good two or three feet away from the face of the cliff. Ammon examined the overhang for thirty seconds or so then let off more rope, bouncing from the rock as he made his way down. The last of the descent was almost a free fall through space, for the overhang kept him away from the wall and he had to balance himself carefully as he descended to the ground.

  Luke was waiting, an anxious look on his face. “What do you think?” he asked quickly.

  Ammon stared up at the overhang as he loosened the straps on his harness. “I’m not sure about the bolt,” he said absently, ignoring the intent of his brother’s question. He jerked on the rope and suspended his weight on it by dropping to his knees as he pulled. The rope held firm, and Luke waved at the air.

  “Come on, Ammon, the bolt is secure. In all the times we’ve done this has a bolt ever broken away?”

  Ammon stared up, keeping his weight on the rope. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “It just didn’t feel right. Sandstone is notoriously weak, you know, and though I found a good crevasse, part of it broke away when I drove the bolt in.”

  Luke hesitated. “Come on, Ammon. It’s fine. You just don’t want . . .”

  “No, Luke, really. I just want to be sure.”

  “Come on!” Luke persisted. “Nothing’s going to happen. How many times have we done this? Nothing has ever gone wrong before. You’re turning into Mom, always fussing about something.”