by Tim Hawken
“At first God was against the idea of death. He said he couldn’t snuff out the souls he had created, not just because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know how. He dwelt on this for a while and soon came up with the concept of Hell, to punish those who had sinned on earth, to teach them the errors of their ways and to rehabilitate them until they were fit for entry to Heaven.
“I opposed the idea of Hell from the start. I did not think that his souls deserved to be punished for exercising their right of free will, without all of God’s knowledge in their heads. It was unfair. How were they supposed to make the correct decisions without all the facts? God disagreed. He only wanted the blindly obedient to sit at His side in Heaven. He didn’t want the freethinkers, the intellectually curious. He didn’t want the weak and the wretched; he wanted only the pure, only the sheep. We fought about this for what seemed like centuries. We fought about what we each thought was the right way to treat his grotesque children. At the end of the final argument, God ordered one of his angels to toss me down to the Hell he’d created down here, especially for the corrupted souls of earth. He then sent a messenger with instructions for me to eternally guide those wretched souls to His loving arms. God doomed me to be forever hated and outcast, while he would be forever revered and loved. It was his idea to punish them. He should have to do it! Not I, who was against the idea of Hell from the start!”
Satan’s voice had risen to a shout and he was on his feet spitting the last words into the air as if in defiance at God above. Drool dripped from his chin as he bellowed the last few words and collapsed exhausted into his chair.
I sat stunned. My world had gone numb. All existence was created just to keep someone from getting bored? My life and countless others meant nothing. Everything was just a game to keep God amused. I felt as hollow as an empty coffin.
“So nothing really matters,” I said, feeling hopeless.
The Devil looked up at me, clearly drained. He sunk his head into his hands and groaned.
“No. That’s too nihilistic of you, Michael,” he said. “Of course it all matters, everything matters. Don’t you see, I’ve just given you the key to the meaning of life!”
“You’ve just told me that human life was created to pass the time!” I shouted back at him. “Me, Charlotte, everyone, we are all just pawns of entertainment to the higher powers! We are unwilling whores who please you without even knowing it. Meaningless! Meaningless! Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.” I was now on my feet. “We mean nothing to you and so our lives meant nothing. Our souls are now simply clogging up this stinking Hell, waiting to shuffle off to an existence of complacency in Heaven. That’s not important! If that’s all there is, then why bother with anything?”
The Devil looked absolutely horrified at my stream of logic. He fell from the chair he was in, onto his knees at my feet, grabbing my legs and looking up at me, pleading.
“What did you think life was?” he asked “What did you want it to mean? Think on it, Michael. Life is truly what you make if it, mortal life and beyond. If you believe it is worthless and there is no point, then life will not and cannot go on. All the feelings you have are real. Yes, there is pain and suffering, but all the joy and happiness is real as well. You must embrace your existence and enjoy it. Life is about love!” He was imploring me to understand. “Think of your love for Charlotte and how right it was to you, how much it meant. But love doesn’t just stop in the joys of connecting with another single soul. There is the love of what you do in every part of your life. There is the connection with friends, family and community. There is solace in the beauty of nature, rapture in physical sensations, the exhilaration of achievement. Our passion is what drives us forward; it gives us meaning by making us bigger than our personal selves. If you love everything you do and every one you know, then you have lived how God intended. He in turn loves every soul as I do. You are all his creations and His love for everyone is the same as a parent’s love for any child. He may not like some of the things that you do, but God forgives and loves always. That makes life worth living, doesn’t it? Knowing that no matter what you do, at the end of every day someone truly loves you, a God no less, The Creator, The God, The Elemental.”
I nodded slowly in agreement. The love I felt for Charlotte still burned stronger and more real than ever. My desire for revenge was spawned from that love and, at that moment, it was my reason for pushing forward despite the pain. How we came into being was of no real consequence, but how we spent our lives together meant everything.
The Devil climbed back to his feet, smoothing the wrinkles from his suit, like he was dusting off his performance.
“I knew you would see it my way, Michael, you’re too intelligent not to. Your task is still important, to you but also to me.”
I looked at Satan, puzzled. “If you love God so much and all of his creations, then why do you seek to destroy him? Why would you destroy existence?”
“I would do no such thing!” he said, a wounded look distorting his face. “I want revenge on God like you, for treating me so poorly as to trap me down here against my will, but killing Him would not destroy the rest of the universe!”
“Of course it would,” I retorted. “He created everything that is, so to destroy him would destroy all that is known.”
The Devil scoffed at my words. “Come now, Michael, if you murder the person who built your house, it does not fall down, does it? If you imprison the man who invented the car then all cars do not cease to work! It is the same with God. If I can destroy Him, which I doubt I can, then the world would continue as if nothing had happened. Heaven would mourn for a time and then move on. My real goal is not to kill him, though. I simply want God to know what it is like to be stuck somewhere against your will and feel as I have felt for eons -- trapped. I want Him to rot in Hell and I will be free to take the throne in Heaven and hold sway over the universe. I will make things right with the world so there is less suffering than there is now. I will diminish the flow of souls to Hell and help them get to Heaven quicker. Life will be much easier with me in charge!”
He looked into space with a crazed look in his eyes that I would not do well to argue with. I would need his help if my quest were to be fulfilled. What Satan did with God after that was of no real consequence to me. I was resolute, I would triumph over Gideon. It was time I started asking the questions I needed answered if I was to succeed.
“Who is the Perceptionist?” I asked Satan. “And how can he help me?”
“You have my attention now,” he said snapping out of his trance. “The Perceptionist is the most powerful being alive, equal to God. He is another Elemental.”
thirteen
ANOTHER ELEMENTAL? I had no idea how to respond. I just sat there with my mouth open, staring at Satan who just sat grinning back at me.
“Another?” I finally stammered.
“Yes,” he replied, “another Elemental.”
The silence ticked by. I still didn’t know what to say next and it seemed like Satan was just waiting patiently for me to fire questions at him. Finally, it was he who broke the silence.
“He is a lot lazier than God the Elemental. He has not created any life forms, or souls or planets. He is content to sit and watch and wait, for what I’m not sure, but the Perceptionist is definitely biding his time waiting for something.”
“How long?” I asked.
“He’s been in existence for just over a thousand years, so he is relatively young by God’s standards. He has chosen to live down in Hell for the last six hundred of those years, maybe just to make me nervous, I’m not sure. He’s made no contact with me for the last three hundred of those years, nor I with him. I know he is still here because he has made no effort to conceal himself and will occasionally display his powers in plain view of the rest of Hell, simply to let us know that he is here and that he is powerful. Beyond that I know only very little.”
“Then how do you know he is truly an Element
al like God? Someone who made himself come to life through sheer will?” I asked.
“Do not question my knowledge, Michael!” The Devil snarled, reminding me who I was talking with.
Satan walked over to one of the shelves and pulled a thick tome from a stack of books near the top. He threw it on the table and it landed with a muffled thud. It was one of the thickest books I’d ever seen, with a marbled, brown leather cover and stiff, yellow pages.
“This is my personal journal, Michael. I only ever write of what I deem to be significant events. So far, three of the last six entries are about things the Perceptionist has done to display his power. The first of these was to create the mountain upon which my castle now sits. He did this at my request to prove he was indeed what he claimed to be. The second display was to grow the first of Hell’s buildings from the earth, which he claims to have done to better the lives of Hell’s souls. The third, and final major display, was to flatten half of Hell with a click of his fingers. That was the last time I had any contact with him and I have no idea why he destroyed some of what he had made.”
I opened the pages and saw Satan’s spindly, handwriting scrawled over the pages. There were drawings of a being, covered from head to toe in eyes, reaching for the sky where a huge fireball formed about his head. In the next drawing, it appeared as if he had thrown the ball, and Hell City was ablaze with its light. The drawings began to move, like a living sketch. Towers crumbled, and chaos reigned as the Perceptionist stood without emotion, watching the carnage with his numerous eyes.
I looked up from the book, in awe of this being’s power.
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“He now lives in a part of Hell that even I rarely visit. Aptly named Satan’s Demise, it is where my biggest critics and threats reside; souls doomed to stay forever here, and who blame me for their imprisonment not God!” He was becoming angry again, but composed himself. “You must go to the Perceptionist and ask for his help according to the little nursery rhyme you brought me. I doubt he’ll help you, but he is most certainly the ideal teacher if you wish to learn the mighty powers of the elements.”
He sighed. “I have no idea why he should give up his time for you, though, Michael. The riddle gives no clues as to how to gain his favor.”
“Of course it does!” I retorted. “Do you really think I did not memorize those verses before I handed them over to you? You think to deceive me, Satan, but you must remember we share the same goal, and it is in your interest to help me as best you can.”
He took on a feigned look of hurt, pouting his lips and sulking at me. “I didn’t think you would give up that easily. So tell me, what is it you think I can provide?”
I recited the poem over again in my head:
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.
I thought for a moment before deconstructing each part to best decipher their meanings.
“Okay, so the first part,” I explained to Satan, “is simply directions to find this Perceptionist. I believe the next lines are a clue to what I will have to take him in order to gain his help. The second is quite plain. You must give me Phineus’ eyes to take to him.”
The Devil growled in his throat, but I continued. “A gift of gold as a gift of thread is a bit harder. Do you know of a magic cloak that is made of gold?” I asked, pushing the very last line to the back of my mind. I didn’t like the sound of it and so chose to ignore it, like a fool.
The Devil paused as if weighing up whether or not to help me. “The next line most likely refers to the Golden Fleece of the Argonauts. Fortunately for you, I have it in my possession,” he finally said.
“Ah ha!” I exclaimed in realization, “Jason’s Golden Fleece from Greek mythology! You have it?”
“I do,” he said slowly. “But I don’t see why The Perceptionist would want it. I think it’s better if you try to get help from another demon, who doesn’t have any interest in my items of value.” Satan sounded like a spoiled little child.
“You must give it to me,” I said, “if I’m to have any chance at all in gaining God The Elemental’s secret for you, as the riddle says at the end. This is the best chance we have.”
Satan’s demeanor changed from one of defiance to one of grudging acceptance at my mention of God’s secret.
“I don’t like it,” The Devil grunted. “I don’t see why the Perceptionist should need such things. However, you can have both them, if you can pluck them from where they lie. Follow me. We shall enter my treasury.”
fourteen
THE DEVIL WALKED TO THE BACK WALL of the library and slid another volume from its place on the shelf, walking back with it. It was a dog-eared copy of Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. Satan flipped the pages open and told me to come in closer. I stood behind him, looking over his shoulder.
“Read with me,” he said and began out loud, running his finger along the lines for me to follow. “I beheld great heaps of coin and quadrilaterals built of bars of gold. That was Flint’s Treasure that we had come so far to seek, and that had cost already the lives of seventeen men from the Hispaniola. How many it had cost in the amassing, what blood and sorrow, what good ships scuttled on the deep, what brave men walking the plank blindfolded, what shot of cannon, what shame and lies and cruelty, perhaps no man alive could tell.”
As we neared the end of the last sentence, the room around us began to shimmer and fade, warping into another realm.
The haze around me cleared to reveal a vast treasure room spanning before us. It was filled with glittering gold coins, sparkling diamonds, blood-red rubies and emeralds the color of envy. There were not only monetary riches in the hoard, but antiquities that would make any historian wet their pants upon discovering. Everything was in pristine order, meticulously maintained and sorted. Gems, precious metals and money stacked on one side of the room, while relics and items of significance sat in glass cabinets on the other. Through the middle of the treasury ran a pathway of black onyx, polished to give off a dark sheen. It ran off into the distance, about six feet wide, with aisles branching off every ten feet for easy access to each corner of the enormous cavern. It was truly breathtaking.
“What is this place? Where is this place?” I asked.
“It is everything and nothing, nowhere and everywhere,” The Devil replied in an aloof tone. “It is my only real refuge from the suffocating space of Hell. It’s where I come to think over problems and gain inspiration from the beautiful materials of the human world, which create most of the sin in the soul.”
He stepped onto the onyx path and I fell in behind him, walking past the riches of earth: Pandora’s Box, The Djinn’s Lamp, Shakespeare’s Original First Folio, Jimi Hendrix’ last guitar. I wanted to stay in this cavern forever and explore every facet, every item. But The Devil walked on relentlessly, deeper inside.
We continued to walk along the path, which angled downward, deeper into the earth. The roof above us grew higher and higher, until it finally seemed we were out in the open air. A strange, ruddy glow was cast about the whole place, as if the walls around us lit up the chamber. The Devil walked on and on, one foot over the next, through acres of riches with me close behind. Finally he stopped. We now stood facing upwards, at a hillock, covered in the greenest grass. He pointed to the crest of the hill where a bare tree stood, skeletal and white.
“Up hanging on that tree is the golden fleece of the Argonauts,” Satan said. “You will have to climb the tree to get it down. At the base of the tree lie Phineus’ eyes. They can only be lifted from the ground by the virtuous of heart. Only someone with clar
ity of spirit, a clean soul can touch their vile jelly; namely no one who is down in Hell. You may do your best to take them from their resting place, but you will not succeed.” He finished and sat down on the ground, crossing his legs and settling in, ready to enjoy the show. He clearly had nothing else to say.
I steeled myself and started to trudge up the hill. The fleece seemed easy enough. It looked like a pretty easy tree to climb. The eyes were a different story. With the amount of revenge and hatred raging in my soul, I doubted I’d be able to pick them up, if The Devil was speaking the truth.
As the tree came closer into view, I could see its bark was moving. Hints of brown and green shifted all over the mostly white branches and trunk, as if it was changing color to match its surroundings. The Golden Fleece hung high at the top of its branches. It twinkled with a metallic sheen, an angel on the top of a Christmas tree. It looked to me like the fleece was about the size of a bath towel, strung up flapping as if a breeze had caught it, but there was no wind on the hillock.
As I drew closer still, I realized to my horror, that the bark of the tree was not moving at all. It was covered in snakes! They writhed and twisted around the tree, slithering from top to bottom in a serpentine mass. Green, brown and red snakes flicked their devilish tongues as they stopped as one and looked at me approaching, as if they knew what I wanted to do. They watched me for a few seconds and then continued their endless circling of the tree, sliding in and out of the knots that marred its trunk and wrapped their scaly tails around small branches, hanging like bizarre fruits from a supernatural plant. I hated snakes. Everyone hates snakes! I was supposed to climb this twisted tree to get that fleece? How I would get to the top without being mauled by its guardians I was yet to figure out.
