PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  "And, yet, you still have not said what we will do to repay you," Judas said, gathering his strength, though his robe had begun to smolder beneath the Devil's touch.

  Lucifer laughed, and released Judas, who remained standing, but only just. "You will know when it is time for you to know."

  "I agree to this arrangement" Loki said, instantly, with no other question in his devious little head, "I have nothing to lose, do I? I am bored here, and a bored god of mischief is no good to anyone. Gentlemen?"

  Young Mordred was not so quick, though he was not so far from Loki's eagerness. "Thou shalt make me a soldier? Why?"

  "I shall give you the opportunity to have the glory and honor that was stolen by the accident of your birth." Lucifer promised. "An American soldier, for they are a most powerful nation and full of patriotic battle-lust, the knights in shining Armour of the modern age, always rushing to the defense of the oppressed whether those people want to be freed or not. Not so very far from the meddling of your father and his self righteous table round?"

  These were the right word,s more enchanting than Merlin's spell. Mordred was a prince, a knight who never got to prove his might. He would bring magnificence to his name battling for a kingdom he'd never heard of in one that he'd never seen and then he would be able to face the rest of eternity in this place in peace. He could do this... he could be what he was meant to be. "I agree, Sire," the boy finally said, quietly, head bowed, desperation in his eyes hidden, but so very plain in his voice. "I agree to thy terms."

  It was, of course, contrary Judas who shook his head and denied this opportunity, "I cannot do this," he said, crossing his arms over his wide chest. "Forgive me, Lord Lucifer, but I cannot do this thing. Once I walked with the Christ. I cannot now follow your path."

  Lucifer nodded, as He had expected such, "What if I allow you to spread your Lord's word until I call you. Yes, Iscariot, I ask you to do a small crime, but think of all the good you can do before that. Is that not a fair trade?"

  “I can be redeemed?” whispered Judas, and there was that note of hope, that told Lucifer that he had surrendered.

  “You will be a true prophet of the Lord,” the Dark One said, and He allowed Judas to believe that it was the Heavenly Father who He spoke of. Judas perhaps knew the truth, but self delusion is the meat upon which the desperate feast.

  “I agree,” Judas said, quietly.

  Lucifer smiled.

  Lucifer spread His wings.

  Lucifer changed the fabric of the world just a little bit.

  And, then, He was alone in the Oubliette.

  He walked out into the Suffering Pits and amused Himself with tormenting sinners for a time.

  It was His turn to wait, but He would not be waiting for long.

  3— The Actor

  From The Los Angeles Daily Review—-Sigrid Weller

  "Good Night, My Lover" Number One in Box Office.

  Picture a sultry mix of Mark Daniel's rebel, Travis Conweigh's heartthrob with a dash of Sir Elbert Grapht's versatility, and you have newcomer Louis Keye. Louis (Loo-ey not Loo-is, he reminds us, good-naturedly) is the first to disagree, though. He points out the almost invisible scars along his eyes and lips garnered from a rough childhood in a small town up north that he will not name. He won't talk about his past, saying only he made some bad choices in his 'misspent youth.' But, somewhere along the way, he made one good choice.

  Louis Keye came to Hollywood.

  Friday night's premiere of "Good Night, My Lover" was hailed as a raving success from both critics and the public alike. Notables from director Halley Tylers to Oscar Winner Casey F. Brice were on hand for the thriller which stars Keye as "Bradley South" a disturbed young man with a deadly secret.

  "Chilling" and "Breath-taking" were some of the words tossed about like confetti when the movie ended. But, Louis, himself, was rather modest when asked how he felt about the film. "The script was brilliant. I tried to do it justice."

  Shooting has already begun on Keye's next move "Home Essentials" a romantic comedy starring screen darling Carrie Pointe as a cocktail waitress who must convince her male roommate (Played by Keye) to pose as a woman to fool her conservative sister. When asked about that experience, Louis just laughs that infectious laugh that he is rapidly becoming famous for and says, mysteriously, "I have been a woman before."

  Louis also reveals "under the greatest duress and reluctance" that he has already been approached to star as a young "Lance Moonshift" in the prequel to the sci-fi hit "The Silent One." This long await film takes us back nearly forty years, back to a time before Lance's deliverance into the evil that destroyed his home-world.

  Playing a much younger version of a character already so firmly established in the public's eye is difficult, he admits. But he does not shy from the challenge. Indeed this outstanding young upstart (who, when asked about his age, will only reveal that he is older than he looks,) is gaining a reputation for his chameleon-like ability to change his appearance and demeanor with each character he plays.

  But, when asked the secret of his sudden success, he answers with the same elusiveness and mischievous twinkle in his eyes, which sometimes seem to gleam red and green. "I sold my soul to the devil. How else does one make it in Hollywood?"

  The night she interviewed the rising star, Sigrid Weller stayed over with Louis Keye and found out that he was as imaginative in bed as he was on screen. She was the first but not the last who would fall beneath his spell in the days to come. Loki, lying in bed in his Hollywood Condo, the woman reporter snuggled in sleep next to him, decided he rather liked this world. Television, automobiles, indoor plumbing, for Asgard's Sake! How on earth did he ever exist without these things?

  Life was good and it was only going to get better from here.

  The thought of Lucifer's future request did not concern, Loki. After all, he was of a race that knew of its demise from the beginning of its creation. Ragnarok would come when it was time to come. Until then, there was wine, women and song... and he would have plenty of all three.

  4—The Preacher

  "Bless me, Father." The girl was small, her tiny hands clutching a candle almost as thick around as her arm. She spoke in heavily accented English and she kept her face pointed to the ground, as was respectable.

  Father Jude Carillon smiled down at the little girl and, in her language, one he only spoke because he had needed to, asked, "What is your sorrow, little one?"

  She turned her grimy face towards him and he saw that her left eye was covered with a milky white tumor from socket to temple. She looked away, quickly, ashamed of her ugliness. "I am called monster," she whispered. She was still speaking English, in respect for the priest.

  She did not know that it was not Judas Iscariot's native tongue either.

  "Do you believe in the Lord, Amira?" Judas asked, stroking the unblemished skin around the girl's unsightly growth with fingers that were coarse with work and toil, yet gentle and unafraid. "Do you believe you can be healed?"

  "Yes, Father. I pray every day, but nothing happens to make me well," Amira said, no hope left though she was only seven years old, usually a very hopeful age. "I think sometimes maybe I

  will die and it will be better for me, for my family. They won't have to fear for me, they won't have to fear me. If I pray... will God take me?"

  “God sees no ugliness in you, child,” Judas said, feeling great sympathy for the little girl. “Fear no more. God will be with us this day.” He brought his eyes Heavenward and he held out his

  hands to the congregation who watched his every move. "Pray with me, children, pray with me that this innocent child may be healed."

  The prayer was a half-whispered chant that rippled through the crowd. It grew in strength and power as the priest placed his hands over the girl's mouth and nose. His lips moving, silently, he dipped her backwards into the font.

  "Amira Fortunata, I hereby rename thee Prima, for thou wilt be the first who shall fell the touch of the Lor
d," Judas breathed, not knowing where the words came from, not caring. He felt the fire of faith rekindled in him, and his memories of a simpler time flooded over him. For this moment, he felt the presence of God, and he rejoiced.

  The newly christened girl rose from from the water and the watching people gasped.

  Her tumor was gone!

  Father Jude released Prima and her small tan hands flew to her now-perfect skin. He stared at her, amazed, though he had known what would happen. "Go, Prima," he ,murmured, drained suddenly, a sinking feeling overtaking his joy and rapture. "Tell what has happened. Bring the sick, the crippled to me. All those who would be healed by the power of the Lord."

  Falling to her knees, Prima caught the hem of his robe in her hands and kissed it, reverently.

  A sick wave of horror, tinged sinfully with maybe a touch of pride, washed through Judas. Against himself, he snatched the robe from her, and just barely repressed the urge to flee. Covering his conflicting emotions carefully, he helped the little one to her feet. "Bow only to God, Prima. Never to me," he said, keeping the tremor from his voice, but barely. He sent the girl on her way and spoke a word or two more to the assembled gathering, but he could not

  remember what he said moments later as he retired to his chambers.

  Closing the door behind him, Judas stripped himself of his robes, tossing on a bed that was not much more than a cot, sheltered by mosquito netting, that he kept pulled back. It felt too much like a shroud to sleep beneath all those gauzy fabrics. A table and a chair were the only other pieces of furniture in this room, beside a basin of water on the table, below a cracked mirror.

  The priest washed his face to clear his head and stared at the reflection that watched him so glumly. This was so different from the last time he went out amongst the people. Before, he was a bystander, preaching the word, but never laying hands on the dregs of humankind who swarmed the Christ like ants on a bit of sugar. It was strange to feel the power course through him, knowing that the person he healed would be blessed from now until eternity.

  But, he also knew that the power within him did not come from the Lord, but His Enemy, and he did not know what to do about that, how to feel. Was it a sin to use evil for good?

  Jude looked outside the glass-less window. People were already beginning to gather here to hear his words, to feel his healing. The great work Judas had been denied before could be

  done now!

  He prayed then, on his knees before the wooden cross mounted on his wall, a prayer of thanks.

  But he did not pray to the Lord above. He, instead, prayed to the One who had sent him to this place.

  The room soon stank of bile, as the corruption of God's works made the sham priest's stomach heave, until he was retching into his wash basin.

  5—The Soldier

  Private Morgan Lafayette ran through the ruins of what had once been a city, listening to distress call crackling through his radio. "I'm coming," he muttered under his breath. "I'm coming."

  There was an explosion near him, and he was thrown to the ground. He scrambled for cover and found himself next to Peter Maxwell, one of his squad members, curled in a ball beneath the debris and rubbish here.

  "Pete!" he gasped.

  "Lafayette!" Pete smiled, broadly. His face was stained black with soot and dirt and streaked with sweat. "Morgan, how nice of you to drop by."

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Mordred cried, ducking as another explosion sent shreds of the landscape around them.

  "Same as you, I expect," Pete said. He tapped his helmet, headset. "There's men out there."

  Morgan Lafayette, once had been Mordred Le Fey who and had been in command of an army one tenth this size but had fought men hand-to-hand, who had felt the pain of a sword's bite, who had seen a spear thrust through the width of his slender body, clutched his gun, tightly, and realized with a shock that he was having a damn good time! Acknowledged or not, he was a son of Pendragon. They had been warriors since time immemorial!

  "Lafayette! Maxwell! You two copy?" the voice of their commanding officer, Sgt. Gregory Brandy, crackled over their radios.

  "Here, sir!" the soldiers responded in unison.

  "Where the hell are you two fuck-ups?" Brandy snapped.

  "About a hundred meters away from the crash site, Sir," Maxwell answered. "I saw the bird go down, but it's out of sight now."

  "We're pulling out, Boys!" Brandy's voice came back. “Too risky. We're have to call this one, and try and circle around through the south corridor. Fallback to extraction.”

  Mordred and Pete met each other's eyes. "What about those men? They're still alive!" Mordred gasped.

  "Fall back. That is a direct order, Gentlemen!" Brandy snarled.

  "Acknowledged." Mordred sighed. He snapped off his radio. "Shit!"

  Pete grabbed his arm. "You aren't pulling back, are you?"

  "It was an order," Mordred said, earnestly innocent. He was young enough, even after so long since his birth, to believe that. "You don't disobey an order. You do what you are commanded to."

  Pete narrowed his eyes, "Even when it means leaving people to die?"

  Mordred frowned. It had never occurred to him to question duty. Duty was what had gotten him into trouble before, when he revealed the infidelity of Arthur's wife. Duty had led him to challenge Arthur for the throne. Duty had caused him to strike his enemy dead even as he was dying himself.

  But he would never question it. Duty was duty. It was what must be done.

  "Are you coming with me or not?" Pete asked, as yet another explosion sent large chunks of masonry crashing over their heads.

  "It was an order, Pete," Mordred said, lamely.

  Pete snarled and raised his gun over his head. "I'll do it by myself, then!" He dove from his cover and ran off towards the downed aircraft.

  "Wait!" Mordred cried out, but it was too late.

  A great detonation exploded over Pete. When the smoke cleared, he was nowhere in sight, just a smoking red smear where once a man had been.

  "Pete . . . " murmured Mordred, and it didn't occur to him that he had no cause to mourn the man he had only barely met, but the man he was, the soldier he was, he knew Maxwell, and so Mordred grieved.

  "Lafayette, Maxwell, what is going on out there?!" Brandy called over the headset.

  "We lost Pete," Mordred said. "I'm falling back."

  But he did not fall back, right away. He stayed where he was for one minute and basked in the anguished, exhilarated pumping of his heart. The pounding against his rib cage was something that he had not felt since his death.

  How he had missed it!

  Interlude- Lucifer Prepares

  Lucifer walked through His realm. The rooms where the damned were kept stretched out on either side of Him into the horizon. He heard the screams and the pleas of His people and He smiled, grimly. He had never expected this when He started His complaints to His Lord.

  His very presence was proof that the Lord could make mistakes, for Lucifer prided Himself on being the greatest of those errors. He had been created with questions in His mind, questions that the empty-headed angelic hosts were not supposed to voice. Lucifer's blunder had been in over-estimating His fellows. He had expected them to stand with Him when He expressed His concerns. He did not foresee that they would turn against Him, accuse Him of challenging the Lord for control of the world.

  Lucifer remembered nothing of His fall. One moment the Lord had been raging before Him, the whole of the angelic host screeching discordant accusations. The next moment, Lucifer had awakened in this dark and horrid place, His wings broken beyond repair, mocking reminders that He would never again see the glories of Heaven.

  But the flaw in His design that made Him curious, also made Him feel anger and the desire for revenge. He gathered His strength and He watched. He learned that the Lord's plan was not fixed in the fabric of time and space. Many ideas and possibilities swirled around in the universe, and from this Lucifer constructed Hi
s own realm, the place now called Hell, from those possibilities that the hairless monkeys walking the planet dreamed of in their darkest nightmares. He built His armies. He worked His powers.

  He never intended to become the Ruler of Evil. It just happened.

  Lucifer returned to His own chambers, a place where the heat and torment of His realm could not touch Him. He lay upon His bed, wings wrapped around Him like a feathered cloak. He would rest now. What was to happen next would require all of His strength. He was

  not omnipotent. He did not have the vigor of His abandoned Lord.

  He would rest now, and when He was ready, He would call upon His disciples to do as He commanded. They would act at the same time and this world would be

  His. Three chances in three different possibilities.

  Whichever one succeeded would choose the destiny of the world. Lucifer had learned to always have a back-up plan. He drifted off with a smile on His perfect lips.

  6—Loki's Dream

  Loki, in his hotel room on location for his next film, slept in a tangle of limbs belonging to three or four young men and women who had joined him for the evening. They were sweet and human, and this body he now wore relished in them. They had provided him with myriad delights, sexually, sensually, alcoholically and narcotically. Lips and fingers on every part of him. Head spinning from the variety of things he had drank, smoked, swallowed and injected.

  This world was so much better than anything he had ever experienced.

  He had shot three films, now, and was rapidly becoming one of the most highly sought after actors in Hollywood. He'd already received critical acclaim for his versatility and it was rumored that he would not leave this year's Academy Awards empty-handed.

  But, for now, he slept, exhausted by his sexual exertions and a shooting schedule that had him up every morning before dawn to get into make-up. He missed his ability to shape-shift, for his new human form could only emulate it. He was as changeable as a man could be, but always when the make-up came off he was this long-legged, almost feminine creature that slept in the cradle of loving arms.