by Joshua Ingle
He snapped His fingers. A jolly bulldog came bounding across the grass. It stopped at His feet, panting, slobbering with joy. “Angels, bless you all, are simple creatures. I say, and you do. You do not ask for freedom because you do not need freedom. But not all creatures are like you.”
God suddenly plucked a butterfly out of the air, right in front of Thilial’s downward-turned eyes. She followed His hand back toward Him until she finally gazed upon His radiant, holy face. The very sight of Him overwhelmed her.
He gently stretched the butterfly’s wing so she could see where He’d grabbed it. That spot on its wing was now clear, uncolored, and bent out of shape. “Some creatures, such as humans, will break under the stress of too much control. If you even but lightly touch them, they will fall. They require freedom. Their choice to obey is only real if they do so freely.”
God let go of the butterfly, and though it tried to flap its wings, it could no longer fly. It fell to the grass at His feet and fluttered helplessly there. The bulldog whimpered at this, and ran off.
God caught Thilial’s attention with a wave of His hand. He motioned toward the brawling pandas. “Some other creatures, such as demons, will only destroy if left to their own devices. They are too foolish to realize or care about the harm they cause to themselves and to others.” Thilial noticed some blood on one of the pandas. “What should we do with such creatures?” God asked.
Thilial thought for a moment, then cautiously said, “We should educate them. We should prevent them from harming themselves, and demonstrate to them why they are wrong. We should give them any resources they need in order to change themselves for the better.”
God shook His head. “No. We must give them total freedom as well. We must allow them to wallow in the misery they’ve wrought for themselves. It is they only way they will learn.”
“But if we give them no means to escape, and no knowledge that they even can escape, how can we ever hope that they will escape?”
“That’s for them to figure out, isn’t it? It is they who made the poor choices that led them to where they are now. So it is they who will have to find a way out of their predicament. Until they do, we must not let them taint our perfect Heaven. The only way to teach them how to live in our world is to deprive them of it.”
One of the pandas was getting too rough for the other, who backed away from the tussle. But the aggressive panda pounced forward. Blood streaked across the marble as the bears rolled atop it.
“Some angels ask Me why I allow suffering, or why I would send beings to Hell before they were able to become who I wanted them to be. But the answer, young Thilial, is that beings who refuse to think for themselves are responsible for their own problems. I love them, so I’ve given them the freedom to escape their suffering anytime they want—just look at Xeres’s virtuous choices in his Sanctuary. True freedom—the kind of freedom you and I enjoy—can only be granted in exchange for obedience and conformity. It is a simple fact of the world I have created.”
But could we create a new, better world? a part of Thilial almost asked. A world where the weak and foolish are not doomed? But by now she knew better than to say such a thing. She’d experienced Thorn’s wickedness firsthand. She supposed that God was right. He was always right.
“Don’t worry,” said God. “Humans, at least, aspire. They will eventually come around.”
“Yes, Lord,” Thilial said. She had never looked at God’s world from this perspective before. She didn’t fully comprehend it yet, but… she couldn’t pull her gaze away from God’s eyes. Safety dwelled in those eyes, and strength. In those eyes, she knew she could find the fortitude to overcome the mockery she now faced among the other angels. With God’s strength behind her, maybe she could even overcome her own poor judgment and help God bring those demons who refused His salvation to justice. “Thank You, Lord,” she said. “I am Yours.”
God nodded His own gratitude. “My methods still aren’t perfect, but at least I’m still in control, and I can move all beings toward what is best for them. Will you be a bearer of My light, Thilial? Will you help Me save a world in darkness?”
It was as if He’d read her thoughts. Maybe He had, for all she knew. “Absolutely,” she said. “I am wholly devoted to You. Anything You ask of me, I will do.”
“You are My daughter, Thilial, and I love you dearly.”
He embraced her, and all her worries and pain eased away. Flying Owl’s death will mean something now. I will use it as fuel. I will make demonkind pay.
The Lord rose. After a final loving nod, He paced away toward His other business. Thilial felt intensely grateful that He had seen fit to have mercy on her. She felt renewed.
As she stood to leave, she noticed some motion in her periphery, and looked downward to find the butterfly still flopping about in the grass. Ah, how unfortunate. In His zeal to make His point, God had neglected to fix the butterfly He’d broken.
•
The survivors of the bloodbath and of the pox took the bodies of their dead into the forest a short distance from the town. There they built cairns on the forest floor, one for each deceased Real Person: priests and rebels alike. Underneath the rocks, they put items that their loved ones might find useful in the darkening lands on the other side of the sky vault. Grasshopper placed a few arrowheads in Flying Owl’s cairn.
Will I see him again? Thilial wondered. She wasn’t sure if she’d done her work well enough to earn Flying Owl a place in Heaven. The massacre, begun by Flying Owl’s own hand, didn’t help matters.
From Gleannor, Thilial had learned that the uprising had spread to other towns of the Real People. The priests were being slaughtered across the land, and soon the order of the Ani-kutani would fade into a dark corner of history. The people would be in control of their own future.
As long as I can show them the way of the Lord. These people were good at heart. They, like the rest of humanity, would obey if given enough knowledge. Thus they deserved freedom. Thilial only wished Flying Owl and the others could be here to see that future. There must have been a better way to resolve matters than bloodshed.
Thorn perched in the knotted branches of the treetops, gazing plaintively down upon the mass of burials. Thilial hated him. Not only for what he’d done to her and to Flying Owl, but also for how he’d denied his true self. If he refuses to think for himself, I’ll leave him to wallow in his own darkness.
Before long, Xeres floated down next to him. They watched the sad scene together, great wails of grief climbing the trees toward them.
“So much death,” Xeres said.
Thorn laughed, but the laugh came out forced, insincere. “We will spill enough blood to fill the oceans, to make mothers weep for their slaughtered sons and daughters until the end of time. You will be the greatest demon, and I will be by your side.”
Xeres stared at the death beneath him and didn’t speak for several moments. “Yes,” he said listlessly. “That is the plan.”
When Flying Owl’s cairn had been completed, Thilial journeyed back to the ruins of Tugaloo. The fires had been extinguished by rainfall the previous night, including the sacred fire. Today was the day of the Bush Feast Ceremony, yet no one had performed it, nor had anyone made plans to perform it. Yet the world is still here.
More Real People would come to help the survivors rebuild Tugaloo in a separate yet nearby location. Thilial would encourage them through the whole process. And if demons interfered, she would wage a war of whispers against them so ferocious that they would kill themselves before daring to touch one of her charges again.
Drifting alone through the wrecked town, her thoughts wandered back to Flying Owl. What could his life have been? His whole purpose had been snuffed out in its prime. Could he have become a great leader and guided his people in this new freedom? Would he have been rational and kind? Why did he have to die at all? Why do any of us have to die?
Thilial was six months old.
9
PRESENT
DAY
The golf cart’s engine hummed. Grass crinkled beneath its wheels. Thorn thought he heard, far in the distance, the distinctive, chilling howl of a wolf.
A piercing bitterness had crept into Thorn as Thilial recounted the old story. Much of it had been familiar. Thorn had regretted his decision to let Flying Owl die every single day since the massacre at Tugaloo. Only now he realized that his attachment to the boy wasn’t the reason for the massacre—his attachment to demon society was. He’d come to accept that the decision to fight the priests had ultimately been Flying Owl’s, but he still wondered how different both of their lives might have been if he hadn’t whispered, “Kill him.”
Thorn remembered most of the story’s facts, but in hearing it from Thilial’s perspective, much of the story’s emotional weight felt painfully fresh. Even though Thorn could still visualize Flying Owl’s bright eyes and youthful smile, he’d forgotten how joyful spending an afternoon with him in a river under the warm summer sun had been. He remembered his own confusion at Xeres’s somberness after returning from the Sanctuary, but he’d forgotten how frightened he’d been of the imposing demon lord. He recalled that some foolish angel’s appearance had spurred him into showing off for Tugaloo’s demons, leading to Flying Owl’s death. But until now, he hadn’t remembered that her name was Thilial, or that she’d tried so bravely to save him from himself.
“So you see,” Thilial said in the spirit realm as she flew beside the speeding golf cart, “demons don’t listen. Even without my interference—even without Marcus’s interference—your plan to tell demonkind about God’s Sanctuary scheme is doomed to fall on deaf ears. What did you think would happen? That they’d all choose to ignore God forever and live their own free lives? That they’d rise up against Him again? No. All you demons have ever wanted is power over each other. No new knowledge will change you. You’re not capable of change.”
“I changed,” Thorn said. “Or at least, I’m changing. I did eventually listen to those ideas you put in my mind all those centuries ago. I changed, and unlike God, I don’t need to force others to change. I just want to earn the choice to think for myself, outside of the box that’s been built for me. I had to at least try. I had to. God left me no other option. And who knows, the demons might actually listen to me, if you’d just let me live—”
“No. None of that.” She swept her sword inches from his face. “Even if you could get other demons to listen to you, God would concoct some new measure of benevolent control over them. He is God, after all. You can’t hope to foil His plans.
“Thorn, I admire what you’ve done for these humans, but ultimately, you’re only aiding them for your own selfish ends. You’re no different than the rest of demonkind.” Thorn considered her accusation. He glanced over at Brandon, who was gazing at the dark forest passing on either side of the golf cart. Did Thorn truly care nothing for this young man? Was he truly just using him as a pawn against God and Marcus? Thorn couldn’t decide either way. He certainly didn’t care about Brandon and Heather as much as he cared about Amy, but perhaps only because he didn’t know them yet.
Amy.
At least I was close to her. At least Flying Owl’s death didn’t forever keep me from growing close to another human. Thorn let himself smile a bit as he realized that he no longer regretted letting himself grow fond of either human. The empathy he’d felt for them had only ever been a source of strength—never weakness, as he’d once thought.
Thorn shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the dead. He could mourn for them later. If he didn’t soon join them himself.
For now, he had to somehow assure Thilial that he could convince all of demonkind that God was using Sanctuaries to control them—His way or the highway. And can I convince them? Demon society was far slower to accept change than human society. The progression of human thought through time was mostly made possible by death. When an older human generation died, its beliefs and biases died with it, leaving younger generations to spread their newer worldviews across the planet. Eventually, those young people grew old and died, and their ideas were replaced as well. And thus human society learned, grew, and prospered.
But since demons don’t age and can live forever, we have no such cycle, regrettably. Demonkind had only ever had one generation, and that generation’s biases had remained ingrained in the demon population ever since their fall from Heaven. No possibility of social change existed, except for changing the mind of each and every demon, one at a time.
Which is why I’ll need the Judges on my side. Demons listen to the Judges. But even if he could sway Atlanta’s Judge, how could they quickly communicate with all the rest of demonkind?
Thorn remembered a revelatory bit from Thilial’s story. “So angels have their own spiritual plane above ours?” he asked her. “Just as our plane is above the humans’?”
“Yes. We whisper to humans just as demons do, but we encourage them, help them grow. Some angels even whisper to demons, too, though I don’t see the point. God only saves four or five of you each year, and those ‘saved’ often go on to rebel again. I’m sure that an influential demon like you has been the target of many angelic whispers. Maybe they’re what put these delusions of grandeur in your head.”
Perhaps Thilial had picked up on Thorn’s intentions, because she added, “Don’t even think about going up to the angels’ realm. You need wings to do it. You couldn’t get there if you tried.”
Damn. How could Thilial be so shrewd at psychoanalyzing Thorn, yet so blind about the God she served? Although, she had listened to an emotional appeal back in the church… Perhaps she would do so again.
“Thilial, I’m lost. Do you have any idea what it’s like to work your entire life for something, then realize that your work was meaningless? To believe something for your entire life, then realize it isn’t true? Do you know how hopeless that feeling is? It’s like you’ve sunk to the bottom of the ocean. You see all that water above you and you just can’t gather the strength to start swimming.”
Thilial’s face remained stoic, facing forward. Her robes streamed behind her, and she bobbed up and down with each gentle air current, like a majestic winged kite.
Thorn continued. “In Heaven, I met a rebel angel named Karthis. He said that you all are afraid of God. Afraid of how even if you disagree with Him, you must obey Him, or else face dire punishment. We have to start swimming up, Thilial, or we’ll never breach the surface.”
Thilial turned to him, and her steely gaze demanded silence. She sped ahead, then disappeared before his eyes, likely into the angelic realm.
Perhaps trying to influence Thilial was as much of a lost cause as trying to convince the human preacher. And I used to be so skilled at manipulation.
Under normal circumstances, Thorn might have seen his lack of persuasive powers as a positive sign. A sign of growth. But now, trapped in a Sanctuary with an angel who hated all demons on principle—an angel who would rather see them all in Hell before letting any one of them achieve freedom—Thorn would have traded half of his former charges in order to regain his powers of deceit.
•
Flying alongside the golf cart, Thilial could scarcely believe she’d let Thorn talk her into aiding these humans, for in spite of her loyalty to God, Thorn’s words had reached her. She’d known since 1540 that the Sanctuary system was unjust, not only for the humans whom it used as bait, but also for the evil spirits, deserving of death, whom it presumed to rescue from their wicked ways. She’d never dared broach the subject with God, though. Despite His wisdom, He still clung to the false hope that demons could change. At least if I can save these humans, and deal out justice to the demons here, including Thorn, I can correct God’s oversights in one small way.
Would He forgive her for this? If she killed Thorn, He would. All would balance out in the end, and things would go back to how they were before this whole mess in Atlanta—only now with Thorn dead.
Still, she hated disobeying God like this. A smal
l part of her mind kept nagging, I should be in Atlanta now, doing His bidding. But she had only to glance at Thorn to remember all the heinous acts he’d done, and when she remembered that, all doubt was silenced.
The golf cart crested the top of a hill, and the area containing the transit door came into view. A tiny shopping plaza, a dive bar, and a walk-in clinic lay huddled around a cul-de-sac in a small valley some fifty meters downhill. Fluorescent streetlights lit the area, islanded by dark slopes on all sides. No humans but those on the golf cart were in sight.
“Where’s the door?” Thorn asked.
“Hidden in the trees next to the bar,” Thilial whispered to him from the angelic realm.
She was curious to see how Thorn would coerce the humans into the transit door, and even more curious how he’d explain the Corridors to them. When the golf cart eased to a stop in front of the clinic, she saw that Thorn would opt for the direct approach. Before Brandon and Heather could help Virgil out of the vehicle, Thorn simply jumped up and jogged the corpse away.
“Hurry, over here,” he said to the humans. He was affecting a limp for good measure, but the humans looked wary, especially Karen. Thorn was too eager for his own good. Thilial rose to the rooftop of the dive bar to observe the action.
The humans approached the alley beside the bar cautiously. The interior was dark, but red neon lights advertising various beers adorned the windows on the side. They cast a dull crimson light into the copse of trees where Thorn was now rooting around. Karen motioned for Brandon and Heather to stay back, then took a few steps toward Thorn herself.
“I thought you were injured,” Karen called to him.
