by J. R. Mabry
“If he ascends we’ll stop him there.”
“But my intelligence tells me that he seems to gain power with every ascent. Let’s stop him here.”
“Well, then, give me a hand up, love. I need a step ladder to get into these things.”
Better than that, Moses gripped her on either side of her rib cage and lifted her into the vehicle.
“That was an example of unnecessary manhandling,” she complained.
“File a grievance,” he said, slamming the passenger door.
Brian opened the door to the back seat and hopped in.
Moses put the SUV into gear and lurched forward into the street, picking up speed quickly.
“There are oodles of pedestrians about, Moshe. Be careful.”
“I’m not going to hit anyone.”
“You’d better not.”
Moses didn’t respond, which relieved Brian as he suspected they could go on like that all day.
Moses slowed as he approached a red light. He looked both ways, then gunned it, running the light. He looked over to Maggie. “What are you going to say?”
“I’m not going to say anything,” Serah asked. “This is Brian’s gig, remember?”
“What are you going to say?” Moses caught his eye in the rear view mirror. “When you confront the magickian, what are you going to say?”
Brian shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Wonderful,” Moses groused. He jammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a small family. He laid into his horn.
When it stopped, Maggie said, “HaShem will provide the words, just like he provided the ram to Abraham. Have a little faith.”
“You know, there’s no one in the ten worlds who can get away with saying something like that to me.”
“No one but me, dear.”
“Why should I let you get away with that?”
“Because I’d box your ears if you tried to stop me,” Maggie said.
They rode in silence for several minutes, and before long Brian saw the looming curved shell of a stadium peeking through the spaces between the buildings they passed. Moses turned at the next light and pulled into the vast desert of the parking lot. It was jammed with cars, however, and soon they were simply stalled. No one was moving anywhere.
“I think this is where we take it on foot,” Maggie said, opening the passenger door.
“Let me help you.” Moses unfastened his seat belt.
“I can topple to earth all on my own,” Maggie announced. Gripping the door handle, she awkwardly lowered herself to the ground. Moses turned off the motor and got out himself.
“You’re just going to leave it there?” Brian asked.
“Can’t take it anywhere else right now, can I?” Moses asked.
Brian wasn’t sure what he wanted. Do I think he should be able to raise his arms and part the traffic? he wondered and smiled at the image. As he walked behind the prophet, Brian studied him. He forced himself to stop thinking and just notice. He saw the flaky evidence of seborrhea on the back of his head, the curly hair tufting up through the neck of his shirt. And then he saw…more. He saw the frustration of a man who had given his life to leading people—people who didn’t particularly appreciate his sacrifice or his hard work. He saw how everyone around him twisted his every word and action to suit their own ends and how much pain that caused him. He also saw that he’d resigned himself to his fate, his calling, a long time ago. He saw how much he missed his brother…and how angry he was at him. He saw his deep love for God, and how deeply hurt he was and how he felt betrayed by that same God.
Moses turned and caught Brian’s eye. A look of vulnerable exposure passed across his face. “Stop that,” he said.
Brian blinked and looked away.
They moved with and through the gray-green sea of people until they reached the doors. There was no organization. People were just streaming into the stadium, and Brian, Maggie, and Moses allowed themselves to be swept along with the tide. Every couple of minutes or so, someone would do a double take on seeing Moses, and some of them pointed and remarked to a neighbor. But no one tried to stop them.
Once inside the stadium, the river of people headed for service doors. They went down a concrete and metal staircase and onto the field. Emerging onto the green, Maggie stumbled on the grass. Brian caught her hand. “You all right?” he asked.
“Of course I’m all right. I wore sensible shoes.”
He released her hand.
She looked up at him sheepishly. “Thank you,” she said in a barely audible voice.
Brian looked around quickly to get his bearings. He felt assaulted by incoming information. People were beginning to gather into rough platoons, vaguely amorphous squares of people spread out across the green. Some held up signs with numbers and letters on them, no doubt indicating some pre-arranged grouping plan. Enormous jumbotrons flashed pictures of a main stage as camera and lighting technicians ran through their tests.
“That’s it. That’s where he’ll be,” Maggie pointed at a small stage set up on risers near the far end of the field.
Moses walked in front, almost as if he were running interference. And that’s pretty much what he’s doing, Brian thought to himself.
They were nearly halfway across the field when a fanfare began to play through the loudspeakers. Around them, the amoeba-like platoons of people straightened out into neat squares as they stood at attention. On the jumbotron, Brian saw the cameras swing toward a set of doors. They swung open to the inside and someone he recognized stepped into the greenish light.
Larch.
He had never met the magickian, not in person. He’d seen pictures, and he’d heard plenty of talk. He knew for sure it was him. He was wearing a gray-green jacket, too, along with a matching captain’s cap. Brian wasn’t sure that was exactly what military dress code would have called for, but it made a striking impression. As they drew closer, Brian saw a team of armed guards pointing toward them. Brian steeled himself, but they walked straight past him…and surrounded Moses.
“Keep walking, dear,” Maggie whispered, taking his arm. “Don’t look back. Moshe is serving as our decoy. They won’t hurt him. He’s their rightful head after all.”
“This place isn’t a democracy?”
“Netzach, a democracy? Don’t be daft. It’s a benevolent dictatorship and has been for more than two-thousand years.”
“Has Moses always been in charge?”
“Always. That’s his job. Keep walking. Don’t make eye contact with anyone.”
Brian obeyed. They walked past innumerable uniformed people. They walked past guards. They walked straight toward the podium. Another fanfare blared, and Larch took the stage.
“My dear friends,” the crowd went wild. He held his hand up until they quieted down, smiling indulgently. “My dear friends, you have a sacred way of life here in Netzach.”
Another wave of applause and shouting rippled through the stadium. Brian looked at the jumbotron and wondered how many other stadiums like this around the Netzach globe were also full and watching.
“A way of life handed down from your ancestors, a way of life you want to hand on to your children—”
Another roar erupted from the crowd. Larch waited until it had calmed down. “Heaven wants to end that way of life. HaShem wants to wrest it from your grasp. Tell me, is that the action of a loving God?”
The crowd started booing, but Larch leaned closer to his microphone and spoke above it. “A compassionate God? A God who cares about you?”
A hundred-thousand voices yelled in unison, “No!”
“No. No it isn’t,” Larch affirmed. “And when a government has become tyrannous, the only sane course is to topple the tyrant from his throne and restore justice.”
“Justice! Justice! Justice!” the crowd began to shout. They also began to stamp their feet. Brian felt the reverberations shake the ground beneath him.
“Who knows what other crimes on what other worlds he has perpetrated
? Who knows what other peoples he has betrayed? I trust we soon will know. And we will put a stop to it. Now. Today. Today is the day of your salvation.”
The crowd went wild. Larch held his hand up but the people did not stop. He held both hands up. The roaring continued.
“Now, dear,” Maggie whispered. Brian felt a little shove in his back. He saw a little step ladder leading onto the riser and tried to move his feet. He couldn’t. He felt completely paralyzed and began hyperventilating.
Maggie noticed and slipped her hand into his, squeezing it firmly. “Do you want to know what I see right now?” she asked, just loud enough that only he could hear.
He did but couldn’t make his mouth move.
“I see someone who has always been the support person, the help-meet, the person behind the scenes. It was always Terry and Richard and Dylan who went out to slay the dragon. You stayed at home and carved arrows.”
Yes, he thought. That’s true. That’s who I am. I am the arrow-carver. I am the researcher. I’m the cook. I took care of them so that they could go and save the world—again and again and again.
Maggie squeezed his hand again. “The reason you’ve been feeling so frustrated lately is that you know, deep down, that you are called to something more. You are not destined to be an arrow-carver forever. It’s time for you to move out of the shadows—to take center stage. It’s time for you to step into your power and to claim your true calling. It’s time to stop carving arrows and time to start shooting them. Go. This is what you are here for.”
As if watching his own body from a distance, Brian watched his foot move. Then the other. Then his whole body was in motion, stepping up onto the riser. Maggie was right behind him. A bodyguard tried to intercept him, but Maggie was too quick. She intercepted the guard and spoke to him, and the man dissolved into tears.
Brian was close enough to Larch to touch him before the magickian noticed.
He covered the microphone with his hand, and a squeal of feedback sliced the air. “Who the fuck are you?” he whispered.
“My name is Brian Epstein. I think you know my partner, Father Terry Milne.”
“You’re a Blackfriar,” Larch narrowed his eyes.
“No, but I live with them,” Brian said.
“Ah! Another from the second string, then. And I suppose you’re here to stop me?”
“I’m here…I’m here to help you.”
Larch lifted his nose skeptically. “Why would you help me?”
“I’m here to…to tell you something.”
Larch lifted an eyebrow.
But that was it. That was all Brian had. He might have come to tell Larch something, but he was damned if he knew what that was. Okay, HaShem, any time now, he thought desperately.
Larch lifted his other eyebrow. “I’m waiting.”
Nothing. Brian began to sweat. He looked over at Maggie, and her eyes closed serenely.
He looked back at Larch. And then it hit him. Maggie had told him what to do—he just wasn’t doing it. He closed his eyes and reached out with his intuition. He became aware of HaShem’s spirit, filling all things. Brian grasped at it, held it and let himself be held by it. He stopped trying to control the situation. He relaxed. There was nothing to do. All he had to do was notice.
He opened his eyes, and he saw.
He saw a little boy, playing with matches, angry and hating himself. He saw the boy’s mother, alone. He saw the man who visited her, the man she took into her room. This was the boy’s father and he did not acknowledge it or have any time or love for him. Brian saw him again, but this time in vestments, lifting high the consecrated host and putting it on the boy’s tongue—his only act of nurture. Time swam and unfolded around Larch’s face. Brian saw the boy growing up—he saw the crushing powerlessness of poverty and the sensitivity of the young man’s soul. He saw the young Larch try to follow in his father’s footsteps—and he saw him rejected by the seminary, by the church. He saw Larch’s soul curl into a bitter black thing, shuddering like burning paper. He saw him discover magick, saw how it gave him everything he had longed for—a community that accepted him and gloried in him, a spiritual path to work and grow into, and most of all, power.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m in the middle of something,” Larch said impatiently. “I’ve just reached a stirring climax in my speech, and I’m afraid you’re—”
Brian held his hand up, and to his astonishment, Larch stopped speaking. Brian opened his mouth and the words tumbled out. Once again, it was as if he were observing himself from someplace above himself. “Stanis, be at peace.” Brian’s voice took on a confidence he did not feel. “Your father was cruel to you and you deserved better. You needed better. You should have had better.”
Larch’s eyes went wide. The magickian couldn’t have known what he was going to say, but Brian was pretty sure he was not expecting this. “The church treated you unfairly. It should have given you mercy instead of judgment. It should have guided you not condemned you. You should have been treated better.”
Larch staggered backward a couple of steps. Brian advanced to keep the distance between them the same. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had such a sucky father, and that the church hierarchy were such assholes to you. I can see that you would have been a very fine priest. It wasn’t only you who was robbed, it was everyone you might have served.”
Brian took another step toward him. “But I want you to hear me now, Stanis. Your father is not God. And the church is not God. Your father was a bastard to you, and yes, he liturgically represents God to his congregation. And in your imagination, the two are all tangled up. That tangledness is the wound of childhood. The work of your adult soul is to untangle the two, to see that they are different.” He looked Larch straight in the eye and said, “Your father is not God. Your father was a broken, selfish person who did not represent God in any way in his actions. And the church is not God. The church is made up of broken, selfish people, just like your father. They do not represent God. They may point at him imperfectly, but that is all. That is the Truth.”
Brian watched a range of emotions play out on Larch’s face in quick succession. The man swallowed and looked around as if searching for some place to hide. Brian closed the distance between them and took Larch’s hands into his own, speaking to him tenderly. “Your whole adult life you have been plotting your revenge against God, but your anger is really for your father. Your whole adult life you have led other people into rebellion against the Lord of Heaven, projecting onto HaShem every thoughtless, cruel thing your father or the church ever did to you. But God did not do that to you. God loves you and wants to be intimate with your soul. And I know, I know…that is terrifying. Let it be for now. But also for now, you must release these people from your own delusion.”
Larch was no longer covering the microphone. Everyone in the world had heard the Truth.
104
Without a moment’s hesitation, Richard dove for the door of the tent, rolling after Tobias. As soon as he hit the floor, a clanging alarm sounded out in the camp. That was fast, Richard thought as he cleared the door. He scrambled to his feet and, catching sight of the lab’s retreating tail, ran after him. Had Toby really spoken English just now? Surely, if he—or the angel—could speak, he would have before. Still…it could have been his imagination.
A man in front of him swung a rake, and Richard sidestepped it. It didn’t seem like the man was aiming at him, he was just in a hurry and clueless. Although a lot of people were running in every conceivable direction in apparent panic, no one seemed to be paying any attention to him.
He was feeling elated at the possibility of making his escape so easily, but the more terrified people he passed, the more concerned he became. Tobias slowed down and looked back every now and then to make sure that Richard was still there. He only stopped when Richard scrambled down the bank into what would have normally been the water of the Bay. The tide was out, however, and Richard found himself stepping on a
soft green carpet of seaweed and algae. He leaned against a large, ornamental cluster of rocks near the frontage road and caught his breath.
The fog had not yet burned off, and it lent the bay a ghostly, mystical atmosphere. Tobias sat and looked up into Richard’s face with grave concern. Then the ground beneath them rumbled and Toby’s tail sunk beneath his legs as he emitted a soft whimper.
Concerned, Richard turned back toward the camp and peered over the rocks. “I can’t see anything, boy,” he said. He looked around and saw the pedestrian walkway that stretched over the freeway just a few hundred yards away. “Let’s get a better vantage point on this,” he said, pointing at it.
Toby looked uncertain, but as there was no one on it or near it, Richard didn’t see how it could be any more dangerous than huddling blind in the mud. “C’mon,” he called and scrambled up the bank again.
Tobias followed, and Richard heard the din of shouts and clatter from the camp as he ran. He couldn’t begin to guess what the rumbling was, but he was determined to find out. He ran full-out toward the concrete ramp that led up to the walkway. As he rounded the corner, an ax fell, passing a fraction of an inch from his face. Richard felt the wind of it on his nose and jumped back. It was Viking guy, the one the amazon had sent back to watch the children. Had he been sent to retrieve him? Or was he simply guarding the walkway from anyone seeking to pass into the camp without authorization? Richard didn’t know, and the distinction seemed academic as he stepped back, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the Viking.
“Whoa now, watch that thing,” Richard said. “Someone could get hurt.”
“Thought you might escape your fate, priest?” The man smiled, his long red beard drawing up on either side as he did so.
“I had that thought, yes. But only because something is happening in the camp, and for some reason I don’t seem…very important.”
A look of concern passed the Viking’s face and his smile drooped. It wasn’t a line he had expected to hear, and Richard’s response seemed to confuse him. “Well, let’s go see what is important, then.”
