by Tim Hawken
“They almost look alive,” I gasped.
“They are,” Smithy said with a melancholy look on his face. “Those are the lost souls who took their own lives on earth. Suicide is punished for ten thousand years on the mountain. Apparently, God doesn’t like the gift of life being thrown back in his face.”
I looked back down at the trees. Never before had I seen such sorrow on faces etched in the woods below. They were suffering in pain absolute. Ravens hung in their branches and cawed up at us, warning us away from the forest. Most of the birds were perched at the side of the trees, constantly wailing croaky cries. It sounded like they were saying ‘forever more, forever more’. Suddenly, every one of the black ravens launched from its perch and flew away screeching, as if startled. Smithy’s voice crackled once again in my ears.
“You’d better hold on tight, Captain,” he cried, pulling back hard on the controls. A whoosh of red, flapping wings and scales streaked past to the right of us as we shot straight up into the air. My heart leapt into my throat. Satan’s dragon was upon us.
Above the thump, thump of the chopper’s blades I heard a mighty roar. I looked up to behold a crimson lizard, covered in armored scales. Its snout was short and fat, crisscrossed in scars and wrinkles. Its horns jutted out the top of his head, in a twisted row of spikes that continued down his back and all the way to his tail. Smoke seeped out of his nostrils and yellow, incisor-teeth poked up from under his gums. He spread his gigantic wings wide, like a huge vampire bat. The monster gnashed his teeth and screeched another roar of terror. This was Moloch.
He turned midair, bloody wings propelling him toward our aircraft, which looked like a floating bumblebee compared with this red-scaled albatross. I turned to see the beast advancing, gaining ground rapidly. Jets of fire spurted from his nostrils as he approached. The torrent of flame barely missed our tail. He roared again showing razor teeth, each one a jagged, yellow sword ready to cleave open our chopper like a tin can. Smithy pushed down on the joystick and we dove forward, Moloch’s jaws snapping above us. They chomped down on empty air as we lurched into a death-dive straight toward the mountainside.
Skeletons of other choppers and planes lay scattered amongst the trees below, like trophies of the terrible lizard behind us. The ground rushed up at us at top speed, Moloch roaring in attack behind us, closing ground fast as we sped towards certain destruction against the black mountain. Smithy giggled like a school boy and wrenched the joystick of the chopper forward again, executing a reverse pull up. The blades of the chopper faced the ground as we looped underneath the mighty dragon.
Moloch whipped his barbed tail at us as we sped back up into the air. It clipped our rear rotor, sending us into a spin. The dragon screamed again, but this time in pain as the blade of the rotor sliced a thick chunk of meat out of his tail. Smithy shakily brought the Apache under control. I could hear a clunking noise coming from the rear.
“The blade back there is bent!” I yelled at Smithy, looking behind at the damage the dragon’s tail had caused.
“I know!” he cried, “That’s our stabilizing rotator. I’ve lost fifty percent control of the chopper. We’re in for a rough ride!”
I looked down at our attacker as the chopper lurched and rattled in the air. Moloch was now sitting crouched on the mountainside looking up at us with intelligent eyes, his tail leaking green blood onto the ground around him. His eyes narrowed. It looked as though he’d seen our weakness and was getting ready to pounce, appearing now more like a lion than a lizard.
The Dragon pushed hard off the ground with his thick legs, and propelled himself straight up at us, wings tucked in tight at his sides allowing for maximum speed. Smithy leaned on the controls once more and we dove down to meet the red beast. Smithy flipped a switch on his dash and pushed a glowing, red button. With a hiss, two missiles shot from our undercarriage straight into Moloch’s roaring mouth. He closed his jaws and pulled short his attack, flapping in mid-air, startled. A look of bewilderment briefly showed on his face before he swallowed loudly. I heard a faint rumble as the missiles detonated inside him. The dragon let out a reeking burp and black smoke wisped out of his mouth and nostrils. Moloch bellowed a furious snarl.
“Those missiles had nuclear heads on them!” Smithy gasped in astonishment.
“I guess his insides are used to fire!” I shot back. We both sat in the chopper, gaping at the beast in front of us as he regained his composure, readying himself for another attack. He swooped around us in large loops, looking for the best way to dive in, like a circling shark.
“I’ve got a plan,” Smithy said, and wheeled the chopper around shakily, steadying the tail before darting right at the dragon.
“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled. “You’re going to kill us!”
Our brazen attack took Moloch by surprise and he backed up in the air, flaring his wings as he did. Smithy took his shot and fired the guns of the chopper. Searing lead blasted out of our artillery and sliced through the thin flesh that made up the bulk of the dragon’s wingspan. Moloch shrieked in agony and curled into a ball, tumbling toward the ground. He crashed down with a horrific thud into the forest of the damned below, and lay still on the mountainside.
“He’s not dead,” Smithy said, disappointed, as he motioned toward the dragon below. It struggled to its feet before falling back down and breathing heavily. Moloch was bleeding from his wings now, as well as his tail.
“Dragons recover very quickly,” he said. “We’d better get to Casa Diablo before he comes back angrier than ever.”
Smithy straightened the chopper and made a bee-line for the peak. We hobbled in our crippled bird toward the tip of the mountain. Satan’s palace soon came into view.
eleven
CASA DIABLO WAS BRIGHTLY LIT. It was a mix between an old English castle and a modern day resort. Towering Gothic spires loomed above tennis courts and swimming pools. Green gardens flourished around a great hedge labyrinth to the west of the castle, while a huge steaming lake bubbled to the east side of the grounds. We circled above in the chopper, and Smithy spotted a large helipad, painted white and red below in the centre of the main courtyard. He took the bird down, gently floating to land as a dark, horned figure strode out to greet us. We waited for the blades to slow to a halt before exiting the aircraft. A ghastly demon dressed in a tuxedo bowed in greeting before us.
“Hello, Sir Michael,” he said. “The Dark Master has told me of your arrival.”
The demon’s horns wound out of his head and inwards like a ram. They had black lines circling around them at half-inch intervals. A tuft of black hair grew out of his skull between them, contrasting with his bright-red skin. His orange eyes had three, tiny dots of black in the centre where his pupils should have been, and he had no eyelids that I could see. It made him look almost feline.
“I am Azazel, his Lordship’s servant. Please follow me.” He said, turning on his heels as he strode away from the chopper, back over a large lush lawn toward the castle proper.
We followed Azazel across the lawn and climbed a wide set of grey steps toward the main entrance. It had hideous gargoyles perched at either side of two carved, oak doors. One of the gargoyles looked a lot like Moloch, but more disfigured with boar-like tusks sticking out either side of its mouth, and a long, wispy goatee hanging down over sharp claws. The statue opened its stone eyes and looked at me, growling in its throat. I jumped a full step backwards in surprise. Its eyes snapped shut again before I could be sure I’d even seen them open in the first place. Swallowing my surprise, I followed Azazel inside as he pushed open one of the oak doors. Smithy was close on my heels, looking back in fright at the two stone sentinels beside the front door.
The interior of the mansion was extremely luxurious, carpeted with thick Persian rugs and macabre paintings lining the walls. One work by William Blake featured prominently. It was a watercolor near my shoulder, set in what looked like a solid diamond frame. The painting depicted a white, muscular figure
with three heads looking up to another fiery, winged creature in front of it. Below the painting was inscribed: The Number of The Beast is 666.
“It’s the original!” a voice boomed from above. “I posed for that back in the day. It’s amazing what William came up with, from me sitting alone in a bare room, dressed in a suit!”
I looked up to see The Devil striding down the stairs holding his arms wide in greeting. “Welcome to my humble home, Michael. I’ve been waiting for you! I trust all went well with Phineus?”
“In a manner of speaking,” I said. “All I really got were some obscure visions and a riddle, but it’s a start.”
“You must tell me all about it right away,” he said. “I see you’ve brought the famous Smithy with you!”
“How do you know my pilot?” I asked.
“Come now,” Satan said reproachfully. “I know every creature that resides in Hell, but Smithy holds a special place for me. I rescued this old soul from the forest of the doomed, where he lay in torment for taking his own life. I took pity on his suffering and in return he used to fly me back and forth up to my home.”
I looked at Smithy, who was staring at Satan with hate in his eyes. He then looked to me sadly. “He tells the truth, Michael. I did take my own life. I couldn’t stand the pain of having killed innocent people during the war. I’m still haunted by their faces. I was weak but I make no excuses, I deserve to be damned.”
“There you go again, Smithy,” The Devil chuckled next to me. “You were under orders. You killed those people under duress. There is no fault with that. But you cannot forgive yourself, which is why you’re trapped here. That is your sin, Smithy.”
“No it isn’t,” Smithy growled at him and then turned back to me. “He lies, Michael, don’t listen to his deceit or he’ll own you. I have done wrong and now I must repent for my murders in Damnation forever. That’s why he wouldn’t employ me anymore, isn’t that right, Satan? Because I refused to be spared The Guilt.”
“Well, what use is a pilot if you can’t fly at any time, Smithy?” Satan smiled at him. “I need to go places, even when the souls of Hell are tormented by their visions. I’m much more satisfied with my lovely pet dragon, who I hear you tussled with on the way up here. He’s licking his wounds down in the caves beneath us. Don’t worry, he’ll be back on his feet in no time. I’ve told him to leave you alone on your return.”
For some reason I didn’t feel reassured. Smithy recoiled from Satan and hid behind me, as if I could protect him from The Devil’s penetrating glare.
“It’s okay, Old Timer,” The Devil taunted. “I’m not mad at you. You’ve brought my friend here back to me when I need him most. Azazel will make sure you’re comfortable while we’re gone. You can have your precious visions of Guilt in peace. Michael and I have much to discuss. I’ll even ensure any damage done to your Apache is fixed while you’re here, to show my appreciation.”
The Devil clicked his fingers and his servant stepped forward, taking Smithy by the arm and leading him out of the room. He began to protest, but I placated him.
“It’s okay. I’ll be back before you know it. I’ve got his trust now. I should be able to get to him sooner than I thought! Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious,” I whispered.
“I’ll report any extra intelligence to you on the flight back, Mr. Double Agent,” he winked, a toothy grin returning to his wrinkled face.
I turned back to Satan. “Where do I begin?” I asked.
“Begin with your visions from Phineus,” he said.
I recounted what I saw in my visions triggered by the blind man. The alley with the yellow door, the thousand-eyed demon, fire, water, the Egyptian and finally Gideon swinging his fiery sword.
“And then there is this,” I said, handing over the riddle from Phineus’ door.
He read it aloud.
“Find the Perceptionist with a thousand eyes / Down the yellow-door lane in Satan’s Demise / Take a gift of gold as a gift of thread / And the eyes that belong in Phineus’ head / There you will learn the power of sight / To create to destroy is Michael’s birthright / The Elemental’s secret will soon be revealed /And Michael’s dark fate forever is sealed.”
Satan growled with rage and the paper in his hands burst into a green flame. It burnt brightly for a second before turning to black ash, which he blew from his hand. He turned his back on me and strode around the room, muttering to himself. After six laps of the room he stopped and smiled at me.
“Let’s go get a drink,” he said. “It’s time I told you a few things.”
twelve
I FOLLOWED SATAN UP THE STAIRWAY to the second floor of his mansion. We walked through twisting corridors lined with the artwork of painters such as Salvador Dali, Da Vinci and Michelangelo. There were many others who I’d never heard of. I even saw a cityscape of Howard Arkley’s that I had loved when I was alive. The paintings ranged from the surreal to deeply religious. All were absolute works of genius.
“I love art,” The Devil said as he saw me admiring the paintings on the wall. “The scientists up on Earth have it all wrong. All they do is try to explain life by answering meaningless questions. The artists, they give meaning, they’re the ones who make life worth living.” I was surprised at the side of Satan I was seeing, much more like a philosopher than some dark overlord.
He continued in silence and finally came to a large open library, filled with rows and rows of books, stuffed in shelves in seemingly random order. He motioned for me to sit down on one of two chairs which were placed in a cleared area amongst the piles of text. I took a seat, looking at a decanter of deep amber fluid on a coffee table between the chairs. The Devil saw me looking at it and poured me a glass. I smelled the contents. The unmistakable aroma of malt whiskey teased my senses.
“Only the best, Michael, only the best,” The Devil said as he sat down in the seat opposite me.
My chair was extremely comfortable, covered in soft, suede-leather and loosely stuffed so I sunk back into its deep seat and high back. Satan leaned back into his own chair, folding his claws and placing them on top of his crossed legs like an old English dandy.
He let out a large sigh.
“Oh, where to begin?” he asked aloud to no one in particular. “There is so much to tell, we could be stuck here all millennia. I think I’ll start with the important stuff; the rest is really quite trivial when you get down to it.”
He let out another sigh and leaned further back into his chair, clicking his tongue and looking up into the air, as if pondering the best way to start his story. He then looked me right in the eyes and began.
“The fundamental problem with all questions about how life started is this: at some point, there has to be something that just was. It was there from nothing.” He paused and waited for me to wrap my mind around the thought.
“In the beginning,” he continued, “there was a single consciousness. I guess you could call it God. This God came into being by realizing he existed, spawning himself from his own consciousness. He willed himself into life. By drawing from around him the elements at hand, he manifested a physical form, his body. This is why you will sometimes hear God referred to as The Elemental, because He made himself from the things in nothingness that were somehow just ‘there’ to begin with. Not even God can tell you how the elements got there.”
I drained the contents of my glass in one gulp and handed it to Satan.
“I think I’m going to need another of these,” I said, and he laughed, filled the vessel and handed it back to me.
“It’s okay, Michael, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time and it still gives me a weird feeling inside every time. It’s like trying to contemplate a true death, where nothing exists once your soul ceases to live. It’s very hard to come to terms with.”
I nodded and he took it as his cue to keep going.
“So there God was, completely aware of himself and everything around him. A truly omnipotent, omniscient being, whi
ch at that stage wasn’t so impressive since all that existed was Him and the elements. God knew of everything in the universe and had complete command over it; complete power.”
I saw a glint in The Devil’s eyes. It looked like jealousy, but it may have been something else. I couldn’t be sure. He blinked and moved on.
“The Elemental became bored of just sitting in nothingness with no one to talk to. So he created the angels. The first angel he created was called Lucifer the Morning Star, which was my original name.”
Satan smiled at me. “So now I can start telling you what I have seen with my own eyes, rather than what God told me happened before I was around.”
“You were an angel?” I asked, aghast.
“I was until I began to question his judgment!” The Devil snarled. “But that comes later in my story. Let me proceed,” he said, calming once again. I took another large sip of my drink and he continued.
“God made many angels in the beginning. He made all of us for a very simple reason, to amuse Himself. He always said that the only thing worse than having to do something is having nothing to do at all. He made us as companions to keep him happy. However, he grew weary of us quickly, for, with the exception of me, he had made all of the angels completely obedient to his will. They were like robots that could carry out his whims and wishes at the click of his fingers. This became too predictable and again He grew bored. So, God decided to create his most wonderful creature of all, one so full of ironies and imperfections that it would keep him amused forever. This creature of course was Man. The rest is the history you learnt in your bible school with Adam and Eve and the fruit that we discussed when we first met. The reason I tempted Eve to eat the fruit was that I was hooked watching them as well, and wanted to spice up the show.”
“Like reality T.V.” I interrupted, remembering my conversation with him in Sloth’s Lounge.
“That’s right,” he winked. “But that’s not where it ends. The world that God created was in a finite space, and it was filling up fast with human after human and every other creature He had created. It was becoming over-populated. We needed to come up with a solution to this dilemma before Earth became congested with life. After much thought and discussion, it was I who came up with the idea of death, to create space for the new life being born every day.
