The Elder Prophets (To Absolve the Fallen Book 2)

by Aaron Babbitt

“What am I supposed to do with these prophets?” Alex demanded. “And who’s going to listen to me anyway?”

  Abbie searched his eyes for a few uncomfortable seconds, then replied, “They will help and defend you as you explain a difficult truth to the masses. You might call them disciples. And there will come a time in the not-too-distant future when millions of people, all over the world, will be listening to you. Believe me.

  “Be yourself, Alex, and be at peace because many powerful forces watch over you. Jeremiah and I will do our very best to be there before the end, one way or the other.”

  Alex closed his eyes to fight back tears.

  “You feel abandoned,” Abbie noted.

  “And scared,” Alex admitted.

  Abbie nodded slowly. “I am, too. We must guard our world from the monsters who seek to destroy it, and we may all lose our lives in the process. Nevertheless, it is what we have been designed to do. Our paths may be our own, but I believe that everyone in this room desires the same thing, and it will take a great deal of risk to get there.”

  Salmar cleared his throat. “Alex, we will not let you face these fiends alone. We’ll bring as much as we feasibly can to Kingstone for its defense. But I think your parents should be relocated.”

  Alex shook his head. “They wouldn’t go. Once my parents make up their minds, there isn’t any room for discussion.”

  “How do you think Kingstone is going to react to the changes?” Abbie queried.

  “Not good,” Alex confessed. “The people there don’t like to change.”

  “People everywhere don’t like to change,” Nagina added. “This is completely different. When the people of Kingstone, and other parts of the world, learn that demons are a real threat, there will be chaos. Governments, religions, and corporations will immediately begin fighting each other for control. And, when people learn who you are, demons will not be the only ones looking to kill you. You need a plan.”

  Alex felt cornered, like a dog that had just been scolded. Nagina’s eyes were cold and calculating. He looked to Abbie, who made no move to jump to Alex’s defense. She also waited for a reply to Nagina’s prompt.

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Alex said finally. “I could just go to church and--”

  “And tell them that God has personally told you to beware of demons?” Nagina finished. “It has been my experience that the masses do not take news like that well.”

  Alex felt his body become warm. His thoughts became clear, crisp. He was certain of his course. For a moment, he thought the comforting voice might come back to guide him, but he soon realized that God would hold true to His word. However, the feeling of strength and confidence was enough.

  “They probably won’t,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t matter. This war is not about testing the faith of mortals. The demons have always played off of our unwillingness to present ourselves, our powers, and our goals openly. That has to change. We can no longer afford to be secretive. The people have to realize that the stuff their fantasies and myths are made of is very real. They will also have to realize that we’ll stop at nothing to protect them from their nightmares.”

  Abbie smiled. “Eloquently put. And that is why you are the only one who will be able to show them. You have grown considerably in so short a time. It’s simply amazing.” Abbie’s attention turned to Nagina and then to Salmar. “What do you think?”

  Salmar smiled and nodded in agreement.

  Nagina shrugged her shoulders and stated, “As I said before, I will follow him.”

  “There is nothing wrong with questioning methods,” Abbie added quickly. “At this point, though, I think Alex may be the best judge.”

  Nagina nodded once. Then, there was silence for a time.

  “What about him?” Nagina inquired, motioning to Nathan’s body.

  Abbie’s eyes narrowed as they followed Nagina’s finger to the prophet on the floor. “He will stay here until I feel that I can trust him. That I have never once trusted him in well over three hundred years may be an indicator.”

  “And Sophie?” Salmar asked.

  “I will deal with her, too. It might take her some time, but she will listen to reason.”

  “About Elizabeth and Matt,” added Alex hastily, “they should stay here.”

  Abbie arched an eyebrow. “Why? Their places are, after all, beside you.”

  “Sophie said that we could all die if we went to Kingstone,” Alex argued. “I can’t let them do that.”

  “You should tell them yourself,” Abbie suggested. “They would want to know why they had been forbidden to fulfill their own parts in this war, and I don’t think I could give them any good answers.”

  “I don’t think they’d listen to me,” Alex retorted, smiling.

  Abbie nodded solemnly. “I can bring it up to them when I see them, but I don’t know that they will listen to me, either.”

  “All right,” Alex conceded. “If everything is being left up to me, anyway, I think I would like to return home. When can I expect prophets to begin arriving?”

  “Soon,” was all Abbie replied.

  With nothing else to be said, Alex rose slowly from the table, nodded to everyone sitting there, and disappeared.

  ***

  “Sir, he’s gone.”

  “Is he?” Patheus purred.

  “Yes,” the soldier returned. “Our surveillance watched him disappear, just like you do. What is your order for us?”

  Patheus smiled. How weak humans were. This act, though completely harmless, and in compliance with Raphael’s decree, would force the boy to act emotionally. Then, Jeremiah’s savior would be Patheus’s prisoner. And, unlike Metatron, Patheus was sure that his own ambition would not get in the way of a decisive victory. He had learned that much from Jeremiah’s tutelage.

  “Capture them,” Patheus replied. “I can do nothing to them, or else you will see wrath that my own cannot compare to. You will act as government agents. Accuse them of terrorism, treason, and conspiracy against the United States. I doubt very strongly that they will fight you. They still believe very firmly in the morals and values with which they were raised. If they think you work for the F.B.I., they will leave their faith in the due process of the courts. That should suffice.”

  “If they resist?”

  “Do nothing to harm them,” Patheus commanded, “or I will personally kill you.”

  Though, from what Ephippas had told him moments earlier, Patheus knew that this was an idle threat. If the parents were harmed, it was most probable that Raphael would appear in moments to send Patheus straight to Hell. But these men didn’t have to know that.

  The man seemed not to react, but Patheus could feel the fear mounting.

  “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged and walked out of the room.

  ***

  Alex looked at his feet, and beneath them was the familiar kitchen linoleum. He looked up, but the room was dark, and the house was quiet.

  He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A feeling of dread swept over him.

  “Mom?” he called. “Dad?”

  There was no answer. He walked out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the living room. A scene of horror overtook him. The only illumination came from the ghastly glow of the streetlights outside.

  There was blood everywhere. Three bodies lay motionless on the floor. The house was in complete disarray, and glass lay all over the ground.

  “Oh, no,” Alex murmured.

  His hand went slowly to the wall in search of the light switch. When he flipped it on, he looked at the bodies, confused. None of them were Alex’s parents. There were guns close to the bodies, but nothing indicated what could have done this or where his parents might be.

  Alex’s momentary relief turned back to panic. His parents were still gone, and the signs did not speak well for their safety.

  Alex looked up at and through the ceiling. “I could really use your help right now,” he said, but no answer followed.


  He had to call Jeremiah. If he told the demon what had happened, maybe something could be done. Maybe they were still alive. He reached into his pocket only to discover that his cell phone was not there. No. It had been taken at Metatron’s castle. It seemed so long ago.

  He didn’t know any phone numbers...not one. He would have to teleport back to Las Vegas, broken and terrified. Guilt and anger welling up in him, he realized that the war was over before it had even really begun.

  It was then that he saw the reflection of headlights off of the broken television set. Someone had just pulled into the driveway.

  Alex looked for a place to hide. A part of him wanted to leave this place, but another part of him wanted to find out who this was and if he or she might know the whereabouts of his parents. His decision was to stand right there and incapacitate any threat that walked through that door.

  He couldn’t even see what kind of car it was, only the headlights. He watched through the front window as the car came to a stop and someone stepped out. That same figure walked quickly in front of the headlights and proceeded to the front door.

  Even as the door opened, Alex knew who it was. “Matt,” he sighed with relief. “I’m mad at you for coming, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  Matt looked him, then around at the room and said, “I need to get you out of here.”

  “Matt, my parents are--”

  “I know,” Matt interrupted. “We’ve got them; they’re safe.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Alex whispered.

  Matt rolled his eyes and smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  Alex walked up to Matt and hugged him. “Of course. Thank you, too. I owe you so much more than my life.”

  Matt cleared his throat. “Right,” he said. “Now, what you owe me is to listen. We need to leave, soon.”

  Alex nodded.

  As they were driving out of his subdivision, Alex asked, “What happened?”

  “Elizabeth and I had gotten there to tell you that we were in town and setting up a base of operations. We figured you would tell us not to come if we gave you early warning, so we just kind of showed up.”

  “You’re right,” Alex agreed. “But I guess that would have been a mistake.”

  “Seems that way. Anyway, your parents told us that you had just left and asked who we were. We thought you had probably already told them, so we explained our relationship. They told us that you had said you wouldn’t be long and invited us to wait with them, so we did. Your parents are pretty nice people.”

  “Yeah, they are. Who were those guys on the ground?”

  “I was getting to that,” Matt said. “We were sitting in the kitchen, talking, when there was a knock on the front door. Your dad went to get the door and was gone for a little while. We heard raised voices, and your mom got up. I had a really bad feeling, so I told her to sit down, and I went to investigate. When I walked into living room, I saw three guys there, and one of them had his hand on your dad. I asked what the problem was.

  “They all three looked up at me, and pulled guns out. What can I say? I was faster.”

  “But you still haven’t told me who they were,” Alex insisted.

  “Your dad said they claimed to be F.B.I. agents. They said your dad was a terrorist. That story didn’t seem to stand up very well, so I took a couple fingers, and we all left.”

  “A couple fingers?”

  “Elizabeth said she had a way to scan fingerprints with her equipment at the house. We did scan them and found out that they were just mercenaries. I came back to take you to the safe house until we can get the situation sorted out back there.” He pointed behind them with his thumb. “Liz was calling some people about cleaning up when I left.”

  “Where is this safe house?” Alex asked, trying to visualize a spot in Kingstone where prophets could actually feel secure.

  “Do you remember where Jeremiah took you?”

  Alex looked questioningly at Matt. “The Davis place?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “But we were attacked there. They know where it is.”

  “They’ve always known where it was,” Matt corrected him. “It’s holy ground. The archangel Raphael protects it.”

  “Then, why did Jeremiah have to protect me when the demon and his henchmen showed up?”

  Matt shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Ask Raphael. But he probably knew that Jeremiah could take care of himself. Besides, any evil force that steps foot on that land is weakened. At least, so I’ve been told. Jeremiah would have had an advantage.”

  “I don’t know that I would exactly call Jeremiah ‘good,’ either,” Alex scoffed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Matt concluded. “You were safe then; you’re safe now, and you’ll be safe where we’re going.”

  “Are there any other prophets there?”

  “Just you, me, and Liz for now, but they’ll come. Actually, I think we’re going to have to do a lot of building to accommodate the sheer number of people who will start arriving.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure,” Matt replied emphatically. “We’ll need to contract someone we can trust to start construction as soon as possible, and I suspect we’ll have to buy more land. Jeremiah wants this to be at least as safe as the mansion.”

  Alex remembered that Jeremiah’s resources were vast, and everything he had created or invested was building up to this moment. After all, if Jeremiah were successful, he’d have no need for money or corporations.

  “So,” Alex said, “do you have any armed men?”

  Matt nodded. “Not as many as I’d like, but I do have some. We lost more than I care to think about in Vienna. People, equipment, supplies—all that stuff will trickle in slowly. I imagine we’ll have most of what we need for a good start within a week.”

  “I don’t know what that means. What is a ‘good start?’”

  Matt thought for a moment. “I guess you’ll have to decide what you need and what you need to do. For me, security is a priority. You have to be protected, and the rest of us have to be protected. Elizabeth will be looking toward the technology we will need. I can’t tell you where you’ll shine.”

  Alex looked out the window at the quiet country town around him. “I wish someone could.”

  Chapter 8

  As I tell this story, I chide myself for drowning my readers in unending lore of people long gone, whom those people knew, and how they got where they did. Then, I remember that any story is a culmination of other stories, but rarely do we get to know the stories behind the story. We only see the monumental change, the instantaneous victory, the hero triumphing over evil. Storytelling is a dying art. A life, a dream, any real accomplishment should not be recounted haphazardly. We live through our experiences and the experiences of others. To exclude any part of that is to deny pieces of our own existence. In reality, change is a slow process, requiring countless, smaller steps, though this isn’t what the public sees. Remember that your heroes have had other victories, as well as failures, that may be every bit as important as whatever deeds earned them credit.

  --Abigail Martin, Through the Eyes of a Martyr

  A hill overlooking the compound was chosen as the best place to watch the display. However, Jeremiah noticed, it also served as an excellent beacon for the angry mob of fiends. He was sure that his “old friend” had intended it to be that way.

  “Saleos!” Jeremiah’s voice roared from within the pillar of fire. “Now!”

  A winged beast, soaring toward the demon burst into flame and, with a shriek of agony, fell to the earth. Gunfire all around them muffled the other’s voice, but Jeremiah could still make it out.

  “Not quite yet.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Not yet?’” Jeremiah raged. “If you don’t want to end your existence on Earth right now, you will make it happen!” A short pause, and then, “There must be thirty more of them flooding out those doors. We will soon lose our chance.”

  A man, smaller than Jerem
iah, with shaggy hair and a brown overcoat watched the fire furiously lash out at oncoming demons and only smiled.

  “Patience, Jeremiah. This is all going exactly as I planned it. Besides, isn’t this reminiscent of the old days?”

  “Memories later, death now!” Jeremiah ordered.

  The man shrugged. “All right, but it’s not going to be as effective.”

  He pushed the thumb trigger on the switch and, in the distance, a building exploded. Subsequently, buildings around it started exploding—one by one. As the figures ran across the dust-covered landscape, well-placed land mines sent pieces of them sailing into the air, forcing the horde to scatter. They would be harder to hit this way, Jeremiah realized, but they had lost any semblance of order or leadership. The sound of helicopters overcame the blast of guns around them.

  Saleos pointed. A blurry rush of movement was quickly approaching them on the ground. Jeremiah intercepted it. The collision sent Jeremiah flying backwards, as he engaged battle with a translucent demon. Blow after blow struck rained down into the flame. Two burning arms wrapped around the offender and pulled it down into the fire. Flailing and screaming followed. Then, nothing.

  Jeremiah stood up, the fire around him dying. The body of the other demon was now discernible, thanks to the deep black of the boiled skin. Jeremiah tossed it aside without any further consideration, and it fell in a heap on the ground.

  “Ugh,” Saleos grunted. “What a way to go.”

  “We’re not out of this yet,” Jeremiah noted, almost too soft for Saleos to make out.

  “Those choppers should clean up the rest,” Saleos reasoned, shuffling over toward Jeremiah. The limp in his walk kept him from participating much in the actual fighting.

  “Well,” Jeremiah considered, “I suppose the rest will run back to Metatron to plead for their lives. I’d like him to receive the message that way. He won’t be happy that the threat from his stronghold in Houston was so easily neutralized. In any event, I don’t think they’ll survive the chat.”

  “So I’m to stay in Vegas? Do you think that’s wise?”