by S. L. Duncan
Lilith hissed at his insult. “You ensured the demise of my brother Septis.”
“I did.”
“Your meddling is why the little whelp Gabriel possesses the ring.”
“I played a part, yes.”
“You will no longer interfere. And for these crimes against my family, you will be punished. Your protection of this realm ends tonight.”
“Do as you must. But let me offer you this: If I am to fall, stewardship will simply pass to another. Know that your efforts to overtake this realm are in vain. In doing so, you will only bring your own end and the ruin of all you love.”
“I have seen already the ruin of all I love,” she spat.
Enoch became still. “You have suffered.”
“Yes,” Lilith hissed. “I have suffered.”
“But there is still hope that you may see Paradise. That you may release and be rejoined with . . .”
“Don’t you dare say their names,” Lilith screamed. Her eyes welled with tears again. “Don’t you dare.”
“Will you not consider reason? Can you not see that your efforts to restore Mastema are merely to fulfill his need for revenge? You are being used as a means to an irrational end. He is only leading you further into darkness, not toward the light. Look around. You once again have corporeal form. Live. Find love again.”
“I have known darkness, Enoch. I have lived it since that day I was removed from my home. And now darkness has become me. You say I am merely a pawn to Mastema’s schemes, but you could not be more wrong. You have been on this realm too long. You forget the power of woman.”
“It is not the confidence in women I’ve lost. It is the confidence in you. You are not strong enough to resist Gabriel’s ring.”
“Solomon’s Heirloom requires light, as do your champions.”
“There is still light in this world.”
“Not for long. Where there is darkness there cannot be light. No two realms may occupy the same space. Those were the rules. Your rules.” She hesitated, savoring the thought on the tip of her tongue. “I know how to get to the Seven Vials.”
Enoch’s demeanor seemed to shift as doubt filled his eyes. For the first time, he looked behind him, to the sealed door.
“Have your attention now, do I?” she said. “You remember the passage? ‘The Seven Vials will spill onto the gateway, and the Chosen shall be among you as one. And each shall bear a Strength of Creation. And if Darkness should stand at the entrance then upon the opening of the gateway, the fields which give grain will dry and whither, trees that bear fruit will be no more, a great cold and decay will come over the new land. Only one will hold power over the Realm. On the good peoples, a lawlessness will be wrought, and the wicked will keep company with devils and giants. Men with plague in their hearts shall become more and flourish in the new realm.” Her voice rose, her sermon echoing off the cave walls. “Behold, the vision clouds invite them and a mist surrounds them, and the course of the stars and lightning will speed to hasten them and the winds in the vision will bring in a new world and lo! a dark land will grow on the Earth. The war cometh to bury mountains and set to the air the seas.’”
“Listen to what you seek. An existence of shattered earth and desolation. This is no way to live.”
“Paradise compared to where we’ve been. And justice for what was done. From the ashes we create, we will purge the realm and rebuild. It will be beautiful. Glorious. As it could have been long ago.”
“The vials do not exist,” Enoch said. “They are merely legend.”
His brow furrowed. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, and Lilith shook with excitement as her suspicion and bluff bore fruit: Enoch did know the location of the vials.
“You’re lying. They do exist. And you’re about to reveal everything.”
Now fear flashed across Enoch’s face. Desperation. “I have immunity upon this realm. That was the agreement in our treaty.”
“Not anymore.”
Lilith raised her arms and bolts of black energy arced out from her hands, wrapping Enoch inside. It penetrated his body, reaching in and hooking the spirit inside. The human shell died instantly and fell to the floor. As it did, Lilith held the specter of Enoch in her power.
Her eyes began to glow crimson as her energy swirled around the ghost, tearing it apart. She breathed in, feeding on the essence of Enoch as his spirit was unraveled. A wailing, dying cry echoed around the room. Information flowed into her being. She saw a church and a hidden stairway leading deep into the earth. The shadows in the cave grew dark, light struggling to find its place in the annihilation of the Steward of Earth.
As she found the core of what was left of Enoch, a searing white light formed in the center. It exploded outward in a wave of heat. Lilith staggered back, and her power faded.
The room seemed to sigh as the air cleared and peace was restored. Enoch was no more.
Lilith considered what she had done and smiled. The archangels were now alone in the world, and soon she would have all she needed to shatter the gates of Hell.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Boxes of new clothes and unopened comfort gifts to replace the sprinkler-saturated, ruined items of Gabe’s apartment were piled in the corner. He sat on the couch, unmotivated to do anything with any of it. A music player, a television, and a few shelves’ worth of new self-help books. One or two on self-control and anger management. Still, nothing to pour his anger and conflict into and escape. Like a game console or something.
But at least they knew he was having issues.
Concerned was the word his dad had used, though it was always said with an almost hidden twinge of panic.
Fortitudo Dei. The Strength of God. Gabe thought about what the mark on the back of his head meant, what responsibilities came with the title. Deep down, he didn’t know if he could do that.
He laughed. Once upon a time, he had thought his first job would be at a pizza parlor or library.
Not so much.
The future scared him now, haunted by the words of the demon Septis. Gabe could still see the beast tearing apart the man, growing out of his skin as if the human body had been a cocoon for the monster growing inside. The whisper of the enemy’s words taunted Gabe’s thoughts with what was to come.
Worse things existed in the world, distant and waiting for the moment. He felt them, somehow sensitive to the darkness now, like a memory of something that had not yet happened. Gabe stared out the window, and though the sunlight bathed St. Peter’s Square in warmth, it did not give him peace.
There was a knock at his door. One of the newly posted guards standing nearby opened it and stood briefly in the way of his father before letting him pass. The guards then retreated into the hallway.
Gabe’s father frowned at the pile of unused electronics in the corner of the room. He carried a large, rectangular wooden box, which he placed on the couch. “Are they trying to bribe you for better behavior?” He looked at a large television lying on the floor. “That flat-screen is quite enormous. They finally gave in, huh? Why haven’t you unpacked it?”
“I’ve got a good idea about the channels it’ll get. No, thanks. What’s the point, anyway?” Gabe asked, smiling. “They’re just distractions . . . part of a world I no longer belong to.”
“I know. And I’m sorry,” his father said and walked to the window. He seemed to stare wistfully at the people in the square below. “We’ve been trying to gather the facts. You’ve been very patient. I’d always hoped I’d be wrong, that the Holy See was right, and what happened in Axum had been the end of it. I’d hoped with all my heart our lives could return to something more normal. That we could stop running and go and find a home. Wherever you want home to be.”
Gabe was surprised that the first thing that came to mind was Durham. He’d always kind of assumed if he ever got out of this, he’d go back to New York University, but instead, the northeastern English town and its university filled his thoughts. He wondered how much of
that had to do with Micah.
“I think you know what’s happening,” his father said. “I’ve seen it on your face—the uncertainty. The fear. You look out of sorts with everything you do. Micah has noticed it as well.”
“Great. She thinks I’m a coward.”
A smile spread across his father’s face. “Anything but. She’s just worried. We all are.” He looked to the clouds and then back to the square below. “Afarôt returned this morning.”
“And?” Gabe jumped out of his seat, a surge of excitement running through his veins, but his father seemed captivated by Vatican City.
“Quite a view, isn’t it?” He turned, his hands folded behind him. “I’ve requested that a council be convened to discuss Afarôt’s findings. Unfortunately, the red tape is still very much in effect right now. Even with all that has happened, even with all they will learn, this institution will be very slow to accept our new reality. This is inevitable when fact and belief collide. You should appreciate that, I think,” he said with a careful smile.
“So, what is it? What did he find?”
Gabe’s father turned back to the window. “In short, we were right.” A moment drifted between them. “I’ll let him fill you in on the details. You and Micah are to report to him immediately. Your guards have your destination. Get dressed, Son,” he said, nodding to the box he brought with him. “It’s time to go to work. On-the-job training officially begins right now.”
“This outfit is ridiculous,” Gabe said as he followed Sergeant Alois though the upper hallways of the Arsenal. Two guards led the way, and two more followed behind Micah and him.
“Quit fidgeting with it, and you’ll get used to it. I think it’s brilliant,” Micah said.
“You would.”
In Gabe’s opinion, one of the worst rules—and the most recent, thanks to his father’s gift—was that they were to wear more athletic versions of the traditional garb of the Watchers whenever they were to train or be seen by the powers that be. Gabe wasn’t sure how it could be traditional, since no one had worn one since . . . well, probably ever. Some thousand-year-old text, ignoring every Fashion Week that had occurred from then until now, had probably advised on the style. His father hoped the formality and the military inspiration of the uniform would garner some respect from those who needed persuading. It wasn’t nearly as gaudy or colorful as the clownish Swiss Guard–type uniform they had been forced to wear earlier, but it was still embarrassing.
Gabe thought it resembled a Japanese samurai’s traditional kamishimo crossed with a medieval suit of armor, but instead of metal, the pieces were made of heavy leather and scarlet cloth adorned with lavish embroidery and etchings. Among the designs were symbols that respectively matched the birthmarks he and Micah had above their necks at the base of their skulls.
“You will be very interested to see where we are going,” Sergeant Alois said, leading them past the elevators that led to Dr. Nathan’s laboratory. “This has been my passion since just after you both were born.”
“Just after we were born?” Micah asked.
“Oui. More precisely, just after the Holy See realized the fortunes told in the Apocalypse of Solomon might be true. While the book itself has been elusive, the crux of it—the prediction of the Second War—has been argued and written about for centuries. Where we are going was a sort of a backup strategy, should their position of denial prove incorrect. If anything can be said about the Pope’s empire, it’s that he has money to spare. Their plan was to keep you, along with your guardians, hiding in the world. On the notion that the signs told of something more ominous, they would recall you for preparation.”
“Well, that backfired, didn’t it?” Gabe laughed, feeling a twinge of discomfort in his chest. “So where are we going?”
“The heart of the Arsenal. The reason for its namesake. It is a subterranean space that goes back to the beginning of civilization. A great cavern that has been built over again and again. A place of worship and of death. A place where we will begin ushering in a new age of light.”
“I didn’t know we were in the business of ushering,” Gabe said.
“Bathe the world in light, and the darkness shall be given no quarter.” Alois seemed to be putting on a show, but Micah’s cocked eyebrow ended the performance. Alois cleared his throat. “Some have said it is the true place where Romulus killed his brother Remus and founded the city of Rome.”
“That’s totally a legend,” Micah said and blew a strand of hair away from her face. “Roman mythology, yeah? Quarreling deities to explain something in the real world.”
Sergeant Alois smiled and shrugged. “Is it? Then I will defer to the reborn archangel on all matters of mysticism.”
They continued through a series of corridors and hallways and guarded checkpoints that connected one opulent room to the next. Gabe could not help but notice the beautiful architecture and design of each area of the Arsenal and how each was so starkly different from the last. Every wall, column, and doorway flared with artistic genius from long-lost masters. He could hardly believe the laboratory was a part of the same building.
Alois shuffled them toward another restricted gate, the metal detectors and scanners beeping as they passed by the saluting guards. The new corridor carried a more serious tone with no paintings or sculptures. Gleaming metals replaced fine woods and marble. Gabe had the impression he was in a part of Vatican City only those with the most elite security access had seen before. It was more office building than museum.
The area resembled the Arsenal’s laboratory, though the gunmetal gray on the walls looked somehow more military without scientific instruments breaking the swath of neutral color.
Finally, Alois stopped in front of a set of huge, heavy metal doors. They reminded Gabe of Carlyle’s vault door under the Norman Gallery in Durham. At their arrival, a guard typed a code into a digital lock and then pressed a single button on the wall. It lit up, its arrow pointing down.
Another elevator, Gabe realized, though this one was much larger than the one that took them to the laboratory. He laughed. It seemed as though everywhere they went was one thing on the surface and something else entirely underneath. “Does this also take you to your lab?”
“No. Much deeper. You will see,” Sergeant Alois said.
The four Swiss Guardsmen who accompanied them snapped to attention and parted, two of them taking a different formation, their backs against the wall, while the other two from the gate turned to block the rest of the hallway, preventing anyone else from getting to the elevator.
Micah shrugged and stepped onto the elevator. “This is all a bit ceremonial for calling a bloody lift, isn’t it?”
Gabe followed her and Sergeant Alois into the large compartment. Only two buttons adorned the elevator’s control panel. Micah pressed the down button.
The elevator took forever to reach the bottom, even though Gabe felt like it was moving at a considerable pace. A pressure built inside his ears. “Ouch.”
Micah looked equally uncomfortable. “I know. It sounds like we’re in a tunnel. I think I’m going deaf.”
“Do this,” Gabe said and grabbed his nose, squeezing it shut with his fingers. He blew into his fingers, as he used to do when he would swim to the bottom of the deep end of the community pool run by one of the towns he lived in during his former life. The pressure in his ears equalized with a painful pop.
Micah mirrored his actions, wincing. “Well, that was horrible,” she said, moving her jaw around to alleviate some of the pain.
The elevator slowed suddenly until it came to a full stop. The large doors opened to a cavernous dark space.
Gabe looked into the emptiness, hesitant to leave the light of the elevator. A fear of darkness lingering from the recent past held him still. “So what is this place?”
The Frenchman’s smile grew even broader. “It is a training facility for nontraditional weapons.”
“Nontraditional?”
Alois nodded to M
icah’s sword and Gabe’s ring. “You will enjoy, I think. Very high-tech. State-of-the-art, no?”
“You’re not coming?” she asked.
“Non. It is not for me to see.”
Gabe looked at the Frenchman. “You built this place? I thought you said you were a scientist.”
“I am. But je ne suis pas scientist typical.” He winked and nodded them out of the elevator car.
They stepped into the huge room, and the door closed behind them. The elevator motor hummed again, carrying Sergeant Alois up into the darkness.
The automatic lighting system in the room was activated by their movement. The space under the lights looked nearly big enough to host an indoor soccer match. Huge stadium lights built into the ceiling cast a bright, heavy light onto the shiny metal grid that made up the floor.
The arena was state-of-the-art.
High metal walls soared into a vaulted ceiling nearly half as tall as the one in St. Peter’s Basilica.
Micah gasped. “Look at this place. What could they possibly do down here with all this space and stuff?”
Gabe wondered the same thing. “I’m not sure I want to know.” He looked high into the silhouette of the ceiling, reminded of the visions he’d had before confronting Septis in Axum—the void of endless darkness above him and all around. In the dream, islands of light appeared on an onyx floor, saving him from the cold, consuming black. Under those hanging fixtures that had reached into eternity stood mirrors reflecting scenes from the many possibilities of his future and the memories of his past.
And their consequences, he remembered. A chill crawled over his skin, causing his breath to catch in his chest. Gabe twisted the ring on his finger, taking comfort in its cold band on his skin.
“Welcome.” The voice with a familiar Ethiopian accent came from a darkened corner just beyond the light blanketing the metallic floor. As more lights ignited above, Afarôt was revealed, as tall as Gabe, wearing the same formal dress.
“What is this place?” Micah’s voice carried around the room.
