by S. L. Duncan
“It is a retreat to better oneself. A refuge in which to prepare. And one that we will need, I’m afraid.” In the warm light, Gabe could see the lines of his friend’s face, deep as scars, despite his teenage appearance. Dark circles hid his eyes. Afarôt looked sullen and tired, obviously worn from travel.
But his appearance gave away more than just his exhaustion. He fidgeted, his hands moving constantly as if he was worried. Maybe even frightened.
“What did you find?” Gabe asked. “What is out there?”
“The worst of all our imagination.”
CHAPTER NINE
Gabe became aware of his own weariness, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen this deep in the earth. Afarôt’s face was difficult to read, boyish and young, while his eyes held a light of wisdom from the many millennia he’d lived on Earth. Gone, though, was his ever-present smile.
Gabe remembered revealing himself to Afarôt in Axum. Afarôt would not stop laughing and grinning until he realized how dire their circumstances were. There was no middle ground. Afarôt was either cutting up like a child or depressingly serious.
The look on his face left little doubt as to where his emotions were at the moment.
“Did you find Enoch?” Micah asked.
Afarôt nodded. “The spirit has been removed from this realm. By unnatural means.”
“Unnatural?” Micah asked.
“It seems whatever let the demon Septis tear a seam in the walls separating the dimensions has let another slip in. I am somewhat encouraged that it seems only one is allowed through at a time. What has come through this time is a darkness greater than what we encountered in Axum. Something cunning enough to find and destroy the Steward of the Earth. Enoch was powerful. To deceive him . . .”
Afarôt’s brow furrowed. “I’m afraid nowhere is safe. Whatever new demon has birthed itself into our world will have learned from the mistake of its forerunner. Its goal, I believe, will be to widen the gate and let a deluge of its kind flow in.”
“To break the seal forever?” Gabe asked. “I thought it couldn’t be broken.”
Afarôt seemed to be holding back.
“There’s a way to do it,” Micah said. “You know, don’t you?”
“There is one way. Though it is buried deep in this realm. Gathering all there is that is needed to perform the spell . . . this cannot be done.” His gaze drifted to Gabe’s ring. “It would be too dangerous for a demon to accomplish. Too . . . impossible.”
“As impossible as finding and killing Enoch?” Micah asked.
Gabe watched Afarôt as whatever confidence he’d been trying to fake drained from his face. For the first time, he looked the part of his assumed body age of seventeen—uncertain, a bit overwhelmed. Like a kid on his first day at a new job.
“It doesn’t matter,” Afarôt said. “I have neither the knowledge to find what they would seek to break the seal nor the power to intervene without knowing where to look. What I can do is teach you what I do know. To do so, I will need your cooperation, yes? Your trust.”
Gabe and Micah nodded.
“Then please remove Solomon’s Ring and the Gethsemane Sword,” Afarôt said.
“I thought I shouldn’t ever take it off,” Gabe said.
“Here is the only place it is allowed, understand?”
The ring seemed reluctant to slide off of Gabe’s finger. One twisting hard pull, and it finally came off. At first, the change was not noticeable. Quickly, though, a weightlessness crept into his body. His lungs seemed to take in more oxygen. A slight warmth flowed over his skin, as if he’d stepped outside into the sun. He felt rested, the weariness draining from his muscles, but strangely, he also felt smaller. Weaker, perhaps. Joining the sensation was another nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Put it back on, it urged. Reluctantly, he placed the ring in Afarôt’s outstretched hand. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he sensed Gabe’s hesitation.
“The ring has chosen you. It would merely be a band of metal on my finger,” Afarôt said.
Micah pulled the sword from the sheath on her back and handed it to him. Afarôt placed it, along with the ring, inside a compartment in the metal wall that looked as though it had been built specifically to hold the items.
“I have had much worry since Axum about the progression of your abilities. The Entheos Genesthai was meant to awaken your strength and power, which clearly it did, but I believe your protectors were mistaken to believe the oil would grant you control over them,” Afarôt said.
He then looked directly at Gabe.
“I watched your confrontation with Septis, Gabriel. I saw your light fail you in your greatest need. And I saw you defeated. Yet when you arrived in Axum, I could sense the light inside you surging for release when you believed my soldiers might harm your father and Micah.”
“I don’t know what happened with Septis. I tried to use my abilities. But, I was so . . . scared. I remembered in England how Yuri . . .” Gabe hesitated, feeling Micah tense at the mention of Yuri’s name. The image flashed in Gabe’s mind: Carlyle vanishing in the burst of energy erupting from Yuri’s hand. “How Yuri used his power against me by the river. I thought . . . I hoped I could mimic what he did. But nothing happened. It’s like whatever I had inside was hidden from me. Like I could feel it—I mean, it was there—but I just couldn’t use it.”
“And yet when Septis taunted you with Micah’s impending demise, the power flowed through you and released. However crudely your power found a way to manifest, what is that happened is what is that happened.” Afarôt paused. “I believe, somehow, control over your abilities is directly connected to your emotions. This is very unusual—archangels burdened by emotions, by feelings. I know of only one other who was so human in this way. It gave him great power with which he created darkness and terrible things.”
Afarôt rubbed his smooth face as he observed Gabe. “Perhaps you could not awaken your gifts because you did not believe victory was possible.”
Gabe considered his words. He recalled Coren’s voice counseling him to believe in himself, just when he’d nearly given up all hope. “So, it sort of depends on how urgently I need them?”
“I suspect, yes. Fortified by an emotional link to Micah and your feelings for her.”
Gabe’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head ever so slightly at Afarôt. He made a shushing gesture with his lips.
“What?” Afarôt said, confused by Gabe’s behavior. “What is this thing you are doing with your face? You make a look like a hooked fish, with the lips and the big, angry eyes.”
Micah made a playful sound, something close to a chuckle, and hit Gabe on the arm. “Relax, Romeo. I know what he meant.”
“I feel as though I’ve missed something,” Afarôt said.
“As usual, you have,” Gabe said.
“You have feelings for her, is that not so?”
“Would you shut up, please?” Gabe sighed. He felt his temperature rise, not helped by the anxiety of being parted from the ring. Something itched on his arm, and he scratched it, his hands thankful for a task.
“Fine,” Afarôt said, studying Gabe. He glanced back to Micah. “Either way, this problem of activation is something we shall want to remedy.” He walked over to an electronic podium and studied the display screen. His finger hovered over the glass. After a moment, Afarôt seemed to come to a decision and hit several buttons on its panel. At the far end of the arena, two square pillars lifted out of the metal floor grid. With a pleased look on his face, he watched them rise. “What I would like to do is something of a trial, or a test. It is to explore this problem of performance you seem to have.”
Micah put her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. “They make a pill for that, I think,” she whispered.
“I hate you,” Gabe said.
“No, you don’t,” she whispered again and playfully pushed Gabe on the arm, but her hand lingered, ever so slightly. Just when he was about to convince himself it was just his imagination, she
lightly squeezed.
She squeezed, he thought, the words echoing in his mind like some kind of hormonal alarm, opening a flood of possibilities about what it could mean, until Afarôt’s voice broke through.
“The ability to pop the corn and the ability to stop your enemy are two quite different things.” Afarôt moved to the center of the arena floor. Gabe and Micah followed. Afarôt positioned them so each had a target pillar, some distance apart.
“Is this, like, target practice?” Micah asked. “Looks loads of fun. Like a proper American cowboy.” She made pistols out of her thumbs and fingers.
“I am uncertain as to the meaning of this cow child,” Afarôt said. “But to your other point, essentially, yes—target practice. An opportunity to better focus your light inside. Like a music instrument, you will need to be in tune with your ability. Close your eyes, both of you. Meditate on your center. Try and relax.”
Gabe shut his eyes and tried not to think of a specific memory. On the dark canvas of his mind, a street appeared. Bodies lay in the gutter. Blood pooled on the concrete. He tried to think of Micah, to clear his thoughts.
“Disengage yourself from your body. From this crude flesh and matter. Inside each of you exists a river of energy waiting to burst through the dams of what is holding you back. Find it. Isolate it in your soul. The Entheos Genesthai has opened up to your consciousness the knowledge and ability to use your gifts. You need only to find the light within the darkness.”
Gabe searched, trying hard to concentrate on his feelings with the images flashing through his mind. His ring finger itched, and he tried to ignore the sensation. The power was definitely inside him, humming like electricity in the darkened corners of his being, but he couldn’t amplify it. He imagined a stereo, the music soft, the volume dial stuck.
Turn it up.
“I can feel it,” Micah said. “It’s so strong.”
“Good, Micah. Try and grasp it. Hold it. Take possession of it, if you can. Focus on it. Let it weave itself into the fibers of your physical being.”
Inside, Gabe struggled to pull his power into the light. How was she so good at everything? His focus wavered. Memories of his life in New York filled his mind. Images of colleges he’d never attend and coffee shops danced in front of him.
“I’m not getting anything,” Gabe said. “I need the ring.”
“No. Try harder, Gabriel. It is inside you.”
“I think I nearly have it. It’s so different than before,” Micah gasped.
“Good! Once you do find it, open your eyes,” Afarôt commanded.
Gabe did so, despite being unable to harness the energy. Micah stood beside him, astonished, looking at her palms. They glowed with a bluish-white light. He felt her power pulsing from her body in warm waves, much stronger than it had when she tried to heat the popcorn bag.
She held out one of her hands and pointed it at the target. A bolt of light burst from her hand, shooting wildly over the area of the target, exploding into a small shower of sparks on the far wall.
“Incredible, Micah! Exceptional,” Afarôt said. “Now you, Gabriel.”
He held his hand toward the target, but nothing happened. It was like his experience challenging Septis all over again.
“Focus, Gabriel. You’re not trying,” Afarôt said.
“I am trying. I just can’t get it.” Gabe closed his eyes, willing something—anything—to happen. Nothing did. He put his arm down. “I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s just not happening.”
“You have it within you to—”
“Obviously not,” he barked. “I can’t get it to work, Afarôt. It’s the same as it was in Axum. Except in Axum, I had the ring.”
Afarôt grabbed Gabe by the arm and held it out, pointed again at the target.
“No. Try it again,” he demanded.
Frustrated, Gabe concentrated on the target.
“You can do it, Gabe,” Micah said.
Gabe reached into his depths, trying to silence the turmoil of memories from his old life and the horrible images of Axum.
Again, nothing happened.
“If I had the ring . . .” His finger now burned but was biting cold at the same time.
“You don’t need the ring. You’re just being stubborn,” Afarôt yelled.
“Stubborn? How am I being stubborn? It’s the stupid Entheos Genesthai. It didn’t work.”
Afarôt grabbed Gabe again, this time by his sleeve, and jerked him into position, using a bit more force than necessary. “Do it again,” he said.
“Take it easy, Afarôt,” Micah said. “He’s doing his best.”
“He’s not doing his best. He’s being weak. This, you can do. Again.”
Anger coursed through Gabe’s veins. He held up his arm, pointed at the target, but didn’t break eye contact with Afarôt. Mockingly, he snapped his fingers. “Whoops. Nothing happened.”
“Again. Do it again,” Afarôt shouted, grabbing Gabe’s arm again.
Gabe jerked away. “Don’t grab me again. I’m warning you.”
“Afarôt, seriously, he can’t right now.”
“Stay out of this, Micah,” Afarôt yelled. “He needs to be motivated. Always the one behind in his learning. He needs to be pushed.” He shoved Gabe’s chest. “The enemy will push. They’ll keep pushing until they have covered the Earth’s realm in darkness.”
“Enough, Afarôt. That’s enough,” Micah yelled, making a grab at him.
Afarôt shoved her, and she fell to the ground.
Suddenly, Gabe was back in Axum. Septis was mocking Micah’s crushed body. His enemy stood there, in his arrogance, and said, “Did you think you had the pedigree to endure a spar with me? You are nothing. She is nothing, either. Archangels, indeed!”
Afarôt pushed Gabe once again, causing him to stumble backward and bringing him back to the moment.
Something snapped inside, and the world seemed to slow. Micah lay on the ground, her teeth gritted, a snarl on her face as she rose to defend herself. The feeling ripped inside, tearing through him as if his very soul was being split in two. As Afarôt came at him, Gabe responded with a hushed anger. He lunged at him and pushed back.
As his hands met Afarôt’s chest, energy coursed through him, surging forth through his hands. A shattering explosion of blue-white light erupted on contact, catapulting Afarôt through the air.
He landed hard across the room but quickly recovered and sat up on the ground. “Hold that feeling, Gabriel,” Afarôt shouted, smiling. “Don’t let go of it.”
Gabe stood firm and looked at his hands. Like Micah’s only moments ago, his hands glowed with power. Immeasurable power.
He stared at them, marveling at the strength surging through his body.
“You’re doing it, Gabe,” Micah said, the anger draining from her face.
“I did it,” he said, holding his shimmering hands up.
Afarôt’s demeanor seemed to have shifted completely as he got to his feet. “Feel what’s happening inside you, Gabriel. Feel the light within. Now access it. Define it. Hold on, and make it yours.”
Gabe closed his eyes and felt it. The feeling, seized. His mind, body, and light all began to work in unison.
“Remember the feeling it took for you to get here,” Afarôt said. “This is your key to getting it back. Access those thoughts, if that is what it takes. With some practice, you’ll be able to call upon it at a moment’s notice. I’m sorry for having to force you here.”
“It’s okay. I understand, now,” Gabe said and lifted his hand to the target. It was as if his brain was learning how to signal muscles again, and with some effort, he allowed the power to release through his hand. A blast, ten times the force of Micah’s, exploded from his hand, nearly knocking him off his feet. The shot bounced off the floor’s surface and into the far wall, causing sparks to rain down on the targets.
“The Strength of God, indeed. It seems both of you will require a bit of practice with your technique.” One of
the metal plates on the far wall fell to the ground with a loud clang. “A lot of practice, actually,” Afarôt said with a smile, which faded as he breathed heavily, still recovering from the impact of Gabe’s energy shove. “I believe that is enough for our first day of training. Now, let us hope we are as fortunate in convincing the Holy See that the world is ending.”
CHAPTER TEN
Gabe kept staring at the ornate ceiling, seemingly a mile above Bernini’s baldacchino, a nearly one-hundred-foot-tall brass pavilion inside the basilica that, according to one of the books that had been stacked in his room, had been inspired by King Solomon’s Temple and marked the entrance to St. Peter’s Tomb. The pope and the secretariat of state had deemed it an apparently appropriate, if not symbolic, forum stage for such a gathering of the Roman Curia and the Holy See.
Hundreds of priests and bishops and all manner of Vatican executives were gathered below, sitting and waiting: a sea of Catholic vestments and business suits.
An older man approached the podium situated in front of the congregation like a pulpit in a church. He held an envelope. The tearing of the paper echoed out over the microphone. He cleared his throat and adjusted his thick glasses. “The motion does not pass.”
“They don’t believe there will be war,” Micah whispered beside Gabe.
“I know what it means,” Gabe said in a hushed voice. He looked at the audience. Not a single member made eye contact with him. “They’ll probably kick us out. Move us out of sight and out of mind, so they can get back to business as usual.”
“Always about power, isn’t it?” Micah asked. “And their rules and doctrine give them all they could ever want. Voting in our favor would take all that away. Not exactly shocking they don’t want to give that up. We just don’t fit in their world. Not that I’d want to. I hear them, you know. Whispers as I pass, the dirty looks. Muslim, they say. Like it’s a bad word.”
Across the stage, Gabe’s father stood up. “This simply isn’t a matter that can be in dispute,” he said, approaching the podium. His strained voice, amplified by the room’s acoustics, echoed off of the marble floors only to fade into the expansive high ceiling of St. Peter’s Basilica, which, like the rest of Vatican City, had been sealed from the public. The older man shuffled aside to give him room. “The world is at war. We can no longer keep the Nations at arm’s length if we are to see our realm stay within the light. The Book could not be clearer on this point.”
