Battle for His Soul

by Theresa Linden

  Should the forces of evil prevail, however— No. Monettello would not think about that.

  Jarret

  The splinter wouldn’t come out. Stupid how one tiny thing in his palm could agitate his whole body.

  Jarret slammed his hand against the canyon wall and spit out a cuss word. Then he squatted by the opening to a little cave.

  All and all, the canyon had disappointed him. A dry creek ran the length of the canyon, a tall and flat rock wall at its head and this little cave at its foot. He’d hoped to find something cool. If not something of value, at least something interesting. The old rope proved someone had been in the canyon before. If someone had hidden something, the little cave would be the perfect spot.

  He assessed the size of the opening. A bit more than knee high at its highest point and about four feet wide, it probably didn’t lead to much of a cave. Not that he could see far into it. No matter how hard he strained, he could only steal from the darkness a few patches of light on an inner wall.

  He’d have to do an army crawl if he wanted to get inside and check it out . . . picking up whatever creepy things clung to the entrance and meeting face to face with whatever lived inside. At least the opening was too small for a bear to get through. But this was southern Arizona. He wouldn’t find a bear inside. He’d find a coyote or a fox or a venomous snake.

  But, still, someone could’ve hidden something in there.

  Jarret heard Roland call again, his voice echoing in the canyon.

  He rolled his eyes. Why had the pest followed him? How had he found him? The mesa wasn’t near any real trail. Of course, once Roland had started up the mesa, he would’ve seen the horse. He could’ve figured it out from there. Why couldn’t Roland just mind his own business?

  Jarret dropped down flat, the way he did for push-ups, and poked his head into the cave. The cool air refreshed him, but it held an earthy, moldy odor. If only he could see. Wait— His lighter!

  Twisting to one side, he swung a hand to the front pocket of his jeans and stuffed it deep inside. His finger bumped the lighter and something else. Huh? Was that a chain? How the—

  He drew both items out into the shade of the cave: his white lighter and a medal on a silver chain. How did that get there? The lighter slipped from his grip as he lifted the chain for a better look at the medal. The Virgin Mary. Rays coming from her hands. Words circling around her. A sensation of deja vu overwhelmed him. Mama had worn one like it—

  His attention snapped from sight to sound, and he froze.

  A grunt and a moan of sheer agony resounded in the canyon.

  Jarret scrambled from the cave and stuffed the lighter back into his pocket. He pulled the chain over his head and dropped the medal down the front of his shirt as he jumped to his feet.

  Jagged canyon walls prevented him from seeing the point where he’d climbed down. The sunlight had faded, and long shadows filled the canyon. His surroundings appeared strange and unfamiliar, though he had explored every inch of the place, except for the cave.

  Had Roland tried to come down?

  Jarret took a step and slipped. He threw his arms out to keep his balance. The flat, sturdy rocks he had used as footholds now hid themselves. He headed back to the rope, his feet slipping with every step.

  The groaning came again but more subdued. He still couldn’t see Roland. A smooth-faced wall stuck out, separating them.

  Jarret’s stomach sank. Stones slipped under his feet. He called out, “Roland?”

  “I . . .” Roland’s voice sounded strained. He said nothing more.

  A sudden burst of energy coursed through Jarret, thrusting him forward. He ran. Rocks slid under his feet. Pounding, sliding, pounding, his sore ribs taking a beating. Sliding too far. He lost his balance and cracked down on one knee.

  His hand shot out to a nearby boulder. Back on his feet. Slipping on stones. Moving too slowly.

  Then he caught sight of Roland and staggered to a stop. The blood drained from his head and neck.

  Ten feet away, Roland lay on the ground, twisted to one side and clutching his left thigh. Blood streaked his shin. He gave a tortured glance, pain disfiguring his face. “I think it’s . . .” He curled over his thigh.

  Jarret inched closer, staring at the leg, at the strange twist of his calf and the dark bulge on his shin. Was the leg broken? “Wh-what happened?”

  Roland glanced at the canyon wall and strained out the words, “Rope. Broke.”

  A few feet of rope, badly frayed at the end, hung from the upper edge of the wall. The rest of the rope lay on the ground near Roland and draped over a knee-high rock. A blood-streaked rock.

  This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. It had to be a dream. He’d had dreams like this before. Any minute now, he’d wake up glad it was over, glad it was only a dream.

  Jarret took a deep breath and averted his gaze from the mangled leg of his younger brother.

  The sky had darkened to a haunting shade of blue. A few stars shown. The moon hovered above the farthest canyon wall between rocks dyed yellow by the waning sunlight.

  Roland moaned.

  Jarret breathed again and faced him. “What’re you doing here?”

  “You . . . rode out alone.”

  “So?” Anger flickered inside him. Roland should not have followed. “I can take care of myself. But you . . .” He sneered, his gaze traveling from his brother’s deathly-white face to his contorted leg. The flicker of anger welled up, quickening his heartbeat. He didn’t want to give in to the anger, especially not now. Roland needed help. But the words came out anyway. Harsh, ugly . . . “You shouldn’t have touched that rope. That was my only way out.”

  Jarret had gone from one end of the canyon to the other exploring. It twisted and turned, making it impossible to gauge its actual length, but it was small and entirely enclosed. Sheer rock walls with no footholds rose up about thirty feet on one side, higher on the other. Crumbled rocks and boulders covered the canyon floor. A trail down the middle showed where a creek or a stream flowed in the rainy season, coming from the higher end of the canyon and leaving through the little cave, the dark crack where two rock walls came together. As for signs of life . . . near the far end of the dry creek stood a couple of dead trees, maybe mesquite. No, there was no other way out.

  Roland, still clutching his leg, turned his head with short jerky movements until he faced Jarret. “You . . .” He winced. “. . . didn’t answer. I thought you might be . . .”

  “Hurt?” Jarret snapped. Thanks to pain-in-the-neck Roland, his bruised rib cage was hurting again. He kicked a stone, sending it sailing into the canyon wall and bouncing back a few feet. “That was the only way out! We’re trapped down here now.”

  Roland stared at him, his eyes flinching.

  Jarret paced. His heart beat in his throat and angry thoughts fought one another in his head. He needed to resist the temptation and focus on getting them out of the canyon. If only Roland hadn’t— “You shouldn’t have followed me. You’re not my pal. We don’t do things together.” He stopped and looked at Roland to gauge the reaction of his next words. “Don’t you know I can’t stand you?”

  Roland’s eyelids flickered. He turned away. “I thought you were hurt down here. Someone will come looking for us. Or maybe we can call . . .” With awkward movements, he reached into a pocket of his shorts. He brought an empty hand out.

  “A phone? You brought your cell phone?” White points of light flashed in Jarret’s vision. He dashed to Roland’s side and shoved his hand into one pocket then another. “Where’d you put it? Where’s your phone?”

  Roland moaned and grabbed Jarret’s wrists as if to stop him. “Don’t. It hurts.”

  “Where’s your freaking cell phone?” Jarret tried the last pocket and found nothing. He gave Roland a shove before standing up.

  Whimpering and with glazed eyes, Roland twisted over and clutched his thigh. His side lifted a bit off the ground and something under him became visible, someth
ing small and black.

  Was it? Jarret squatted and snatched it up. It was the cell phone all right, but it fell apart in his hands. He picked up the pieces and, cussing, whipped them against the canyon wall.

  “Someone . . . will . . . come,” Roland whispered.

  “Oh yeah?” Jarret kicked a stone. “They’re all over at Laszio’s praying for his sick wife. Who knows when they’ll get back to the house? Are they even gonna miss us till tomorrow? It’s not like Papa tucks us in at night. It’s not like—”

  An animal howled in the distance.

  They both froze. A coyote? Selena had said she’d seen coyotes out here, hadn’t she? A coyote wouldn’t come into the canyon though. It couldn’t. There wasn’t a good way in or out. Nothing but steep rock walls. A coyote couldn’t scale a wall.

  Jarret gripped the hair on the top of his head and tugged until it hurt. He paced again, anger clouding his thoughts. Why was this hatred welling up inside? Why couldn’t he stop it? Words flew from his mouth. “You’re forever acting like you wanna be my friend, but I know it’s not true. You’re as bad as me. You’re calculating. You want things, and you think you can manipulate me to get them.”

  “Want things? That’s not true. What . . . do I want?”

  Jarret grinned. “Selena, for one. And to get back at me.” He fought the impulse to shove Roland. The loser was already down and out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  FUELING FIRE

  Ellechial

  Deth-kye stood behind Jarret, so close they appeared as one. “Kick him, kick him,” he shouted. “Today he dies.” A stream of curses spewed from his mouth. Then he looked at Roland sprawled out on the ground and laughed.

  “Be gone.” The power in Ellechial’s voice drove Deth-kye back several yards. “Even should he die, he will live.”

  Ellechial flew closer to his charge. “Jarret, compassion. Your brother is hurt. Have no doubt of his love for you. He has no ulterior motives.”

  Jarret’s face didn’t flinch, his hard heart repelling the good counsel.

  Deth-kye’s eyes gleamed with hate and fire as he drew a double-edged sword from its sheath—a sleek sword, not the clumsy blackened scythe he had wielded in the past. “This is my hour. Behold the power of Hell!” Wild-eyed and grimacing, he sprinted forward. The sword burst into red flame.

  Ellechial lunged, placing himself between Jarret and the demon, and drew his own sword. The swords clanged together with a steely clash. Flames of red and white flashed, reaching into the air and shooting to the ground like long fingers.

  Deth-kye fell back. Instantly, he rolled up on all fours, growling like a beast of prey. He prowled around the brothers and Ellechial. Then, with all the fury of Hell, he pounced.

  Ellechial shot to the defense. His breastplate cracked against the demon’s head.

  The blackened scythe appeared in Deth-kye’s left hand and the sword in his right. He wielded them skillfully and without hesitation.

  Using shield and sword, plated boot and breastplate, Ellechial kept the demon from victory. For now.

  Meanwhile, Nadriel hovered over Roland, his armor gleaming, and a thick, curved sword in each hand. He whirled the swords to the left and right, front and back, with graceful, artistic moves as he fought off three demons at once: Self-Pity, Fear, and Resentment.

  The demons retreated.

  Nadriel lifted the visor of his helmet and a gold chalice appeared in his hands. He dropped to Roland’s side, admiration in his eyes. “Have no fear. The Lord has called you to make this sacrifice. Offer up your pain. Unite it to the sacrifice of the Lord Jesus. Offer it for your brother. Harbor no anger in your heart. Trust in the Savior . . .” As he whispered words of guidance, he brought the cup to Roland’s mouth.

  Roland closed his eyes. His lips parted.

  “Stop him!” Deth-kye shouted to the three demons now cowering in the darkness.

  The demons sprang forward. One tore at Nadriel’s arm. Another went after Roland. Nadriel swung his sword, warding off the demon intent on hurting Roland. But the teeth of the third demon sank deep into his arm. The chalice slipped.

  Ellechial flew, catching it before it hit the ground. He set it on a ledge away from the fight before resuming his duel with Deth-kye.

  Deth-kye moved to Jarret’s side and whispered in his ear, taking advantage of the moment. Jarret’s eyes narrowed as the demon spoke.

  “Be gone!” Ellechial shouted, grabbing his bow. He loosed a flaming arrow.

  A black metal shield appeared in Deth-kye’s hand. He blocked the arrow and withdrew, glowering. “This is the final battle for his soul. Tonight, Jarret will be mine. Tonight, they both die.”

  “No!” Ellechial lunged.

  A dozen demons descended the canyon walls. Hisses and curses echoed in the canyon as the malicious creatures advanced. Hate and fury, black as Hell, surrounded them.

  Nadriel spared a glance without breaking measure. Swords swirled above Roland, the swords of the three demons against Nadriel’s two. Despite their vicious attack, Self-Pity, Fear, and Resentment could gain no edge. Their beady eyes showed cowardice. Soon Nadriel had them wounded and scurrying to the far side of the canyon, but then other demons approached.

  “The victory will be mine!” Deth-kye shouted, making a determined lunge for Jarret.

  Ellechial spread his wings to protect, but clawed hands latched onto his arms and legs from behind. Demons grabbed Nadriel too, but they hadn’t managed to pull him from Roland’s side.

  With arms folded and a smug grin, Deth-kye hovered above Jarret. “Look at him. Behold your miserable little brother.” He shot his arm out, pointing at Roland. “This is all his fault. You know he hates you.” Deth-kye floated around Jarret, stopping when he got behind him. He spoke over Jarret’s shoulder, his mouth to his ear. “He hates you as much as you hate him. You know he does. How could he forgive you, after all you’ve done to him? It is not possible.” Deth-kye grinned, stroking Jarret’s chin. “See how he looks at you with hate, with disgust. Tell him what you did to him. Tell him.”

  “Go ahead and tell him.” Nadriel twisted to free himself from the demons. “Roland is strong in the Lord. There is nothing you can say to change that.” Nadriel vanished, reappearing free of the demons and with the gold chalice again in hand. He dropped onto one knee before Roland. “Drink, my child. For you are closest to the Lord when you make your sacrifice with love.”

  Deth-kye shrieked. He vanished and reappeared at Roland’s side. He swung his fist, knocking the chalice from Nadriel’s hands. Demons swarmed upon the angel. The cup clanked against stones, settling somewhere in the darkness.

  “Anger! Jealousy! Come hither,” Deth-kye shouted.

  Like bolts of lightning, the summoned demons appeared. They crouched around Roland, touching their claws to his forehead and heart.

  Roland moaned.

  Jarret

  Jarret gazed at his miserable little brother sprawled out on the ground all weak and helpless. God, he shouldn’t feel this way. He shouldn’t say these things, but he couldn’t help himself. In fact, something about giving into the temptation felt good. “I bet you figured out what I did to you.”

  “I don’t,” Roland strained, “know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you? The reason little Roland got so sleepy the other night, had to take a nap? The reason you slept through my date with Selena?” He paced, eyeing Roland. “I tricked you into drinking sleeping meds.”

  Roland shot a glance, moaned, and went back to clutching his leg.

  “That’s right. Did you really think I bought you that juice just to be nice?” He chuckled, still pacing, kicking rocks out of his way. “I’ve been screwing with you since you were born.”

  A cool breeze blew for an instant then died. Jarret glanced up but focused on nothing. He should stop with his tirade. He should see if there was something he could do, some way out that he’d missed. Did Roland need a splint? Was that a bone sticking out? Why did he have
to come down here? He ruins everything.

  “I’m the reason you’re afraid of water.” He stopped to see Roland’s reaction. “Do you know that?”

  Roland squinted at him then looked away. He propped himself up on his elbows, groaning, and scooted over an inch as if he wanted to get to the big rock near him, the rock streaked with his blood. Then he grabbed his leg again.

  Jarret sauntered over and squatted right by him. He peered into his glazed eyes. “When you were little, still toddling around, I did something to you. You know how bored I always got when we had to go on those digs or to mines for Papa’s work?”

  Roland’s eyebrows lowered over gray eyes that showed pain deeper than anything physical.

  “Well, I found me a way to entertain myself.” Jarret grinned remembering how freaked out Roland had gotten. “One day, Mama told me to get a bucket of water from the river, and on the way back, I saw you. You were playing with your little four-wheel truck all by yourself. Keefe wasn’t around to talk me out of it. So I snuck up on you and dumped the whole bucket of ice-cold water right on your head.” Jarret laughed and fell back on his hind end.

  Roland’s eyes flickered and his jaw twitched.

  “You screamed your little head off, running in circles, until Mama came to save you.” Jarret frowned. “She wanted to blame me, but I told her you tried to take the bucket, that it was your own fault. And she believed me.” He got up and sauntered away, kicking rocks as he went. “I don’t how many times I did that to you, over the years. I even got Keefe helping me. I’m surprised you don’t remember. You only seem to remember that you hate water.”

  He laughed and stooped for a rock. “You know the real reason I took you to Tucson was to get you in trouble with Papa. That kind of backfired on me. He whipped the rock at the ground by Roland’s feet, not to hit him, just to bother him.