by Brian Rella
Plumes of flame erupted from Domino’s hands, and soon the whole area was burning and the attacking forest retreated, a rainstorm of smoldering embers dancing in the air around them.
“Come on!” Domino shouted and darted off through the forest in the direction Brennan had been dragged.
“Wait!” Titus called after her, but she was already making a trail in front of him.
Damn, he thought and sped after her.
5
BRENNAN
October 27, 2015
New York, New York
The setting sun shone through the stained glass in the chapel of St. Patrick’s Cathedral and caught Brennan’s eye, distracting him again. He had been leading a group of parishioners through the decades of the Rosary. For Brennan, praying the Rosary helped keep the mysteries of Christ in his consciousness, reminding him to thank and praise God for His blessings despite whatever challenges life presented. There were twenty mysteries in all, and reflecting on them kept things in perspective for Brennan. Salvation in the Lord.
He had been here all week with the group at the same time each day and they had progressed through to the Sorrowful Mysteries, recounting of the crucifixion of Jesus. It had been a difficult week and he found distractions common, his thoughts often wandering from his mindfulness of prayer, to the events that had transpired over the last few weeks.
“The Fourth Sorrowful Mystery: Our Lord carries the cross to Calvary,” Brennan said. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”
He rolled the Rosary bead for the Our Father between his index finger and thumb, as was his habit during each prayer. He had hoped leading the small group in the mysteries of the Rosary would center him, but it had not. The events of the past few weeks were running around in his mind like a model electric train on a circular track. He moved through the Our Father prayer and began the Hail Mary, closing his eyes, redoubling his efforts to focus on prayer.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”
He emphasized every word in his part of the prayer, but his mind wandered when the small congregation replied. As his fingers moved from one bead to the next, his many concerns crowded his mind and he lost his place again. One of the parishioners had to remind him where he was for the second or third time.
He worried for his small congregation here, who had real-life problems they were praying for. The sick. The dying. The simple things. The complicated things. All the things that would no longer matter if he and the Watchers failed to stop the Fallen that had been freed.
Fear gripped him like it never had before, turning and twisting in his gut, like something scraping at his insides. His greatest Watcher and friend had almost died a few nights ago and he’d lost another warrior-friend in Tarek. And then there was Sarah and her boys, Jack and Nic, who had come to him begging for help. He knew he could help them too, but he worried that God had forsaken them all and left too much in the hands of mankind and the Watchers. He worried they would not be able to train the boy and keep the Fallen at bay. He worried. He worried.
“Oh my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell…”
Save us… Yes, save us, please. The words were so fitting for how he felt. He knew his prayers were strong, but was God listening anymore? He rarely felt His presence in his life now. Was it because God wasn’t listening? Or is it because I am not listening?
He bowed his forehead and touched his steepled hands with it, the intensity of his prayer causing sweat to break out on the nape of his neck. He pinched his eyes closed and called for God to give him the strength and guidance he needed, to move the forces of good forward, and thwart the impending darkness and doom of the Fallen.
His faith had served him well over the years. With each challenge, he looked to God for guidance, and his prayers had been answered—for the most part. The Lord had been an ever-present force that he’d felt in his heart since he was five, but now the days were dark, and he noticed the presence he had always felt and cherished had grown weaker. Was it something I did, Lord? I am listening. Please hear my prayers.
“Father?” an old lady croaked from a few pews behind him. He had lost his place again.
“My apologies. My thoughts distracted me,” he said solemnly. “O God, whose only begotten Son, by His life, death, and resurrection…”
He concluded the prayer and stood to wish well all those in the small group.
“I prayed for you, Father, for whatever is troubling you. I prayed God would hear your prayers and answer them,” a hunch-backed blue-haired woman who walked with a cane said to him. He smiled gently, touching her veiny hand and thanking her.
As the remaining members of the small group left the chapel area, Brennan made his way about his evening duties behind the main altar of St. Patrick’s Cathedral while the never-ending parade of tourists wandered through, talking loudly in many languages, and taking pictures with their phones.
They have no idea.
The Watchers had done their job too well. The threat of the Fallen had been hidden from mankind for years and the government had explained away the attack of Arraziel in Chicago. Most people were content to accept the lies the government spread to cover up the truth about the existence of monsters and demons that lurked in the shadows of the Realm of the Second Death.
As he was tidying things for the final mass of the evening, his mind swam in the muck of his own circumstances, and his worries clung to his every breath and movement.
He thought back to that day a few weeks ago when Sarah had come to him after morning mass with her children in tow and explained to him about her son, Jack. He was possessed, she had said. Could you exorcise the demons, please? Help, please?
He recalled he could sense the fear and confusion in Jack—as well as the power. He knew the boy was a Watcher and what Sarah had described had been caused by no demon. It was the maturing of his Angelic half that afflicted the boy. He did not need an exorcism. He needed training and guidance from The Order of the Watchers, as Brennan and others had had before him.
There was something about Jack that had triggered a premonition in Brennan, but his thoughts on the matter were not fully formed, and he needed time to think, to research.
The girl, Jessie, also harried his thoughts. Her powers and knowledge had come out of nowhere, and it struck Brennan as odd that he’d had no intuition of her evil rise. It was for this reason that he questioned if God was listening to him, because usually he sensed these things in his prayers and dreams. But not with her. With her, there was nothing.
Brennan had spent most of his youth studying the ancient texts of the Order under the guidance of the Council. He took pride in his expert knowledge of the universe and predictions of old. So why did I not see this coming? How could I have missed the signs when I have been studying this for my entire life?
He knew what he had to do. He would seek the advice of the Council of the Order. They had not met since the events of Chicago and the girl, Jessie and now the boy, Jack required a meeting of their minds.
He sighed and made a final prayer for God to fill him with His wisdom and strength. He steepled his hands, his Rosary beads shaking at his side beneath his cassock, and swiftly made his way back to the rectory. Frank would be back with the boys soon and he wanted to get started on his research before they arrived. He and Frank had much to talk about.
Brennan passed through the back door of the chapel and into the rectory of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The hall was dimly lit and buried inside the enormous stone structure of the Church, dampening the street noise from outside. He made his way to the secret door behind the rectory kitchen, cast the spell to reveal the hidden staircase, and descended into the facility below the Cathedral, his mind heavy with the challenges God had put before him, but resolute with the determination to meet those challenges.
6
FRANK
October 27, 2015
New York, New York
The pain was
still there, like a dagger in his side each time he inhaled the thick smoke from the Marlboro dangling from his lips, but it felt good to be out of the hospital bed and in the brisk autumn air. He people watched standing outside of Bellevue Hospital on Twenty-eighth and First Avenue, feeding his nicotine addiction, wincing slightly each time he shifted his feet.
His hand went to his side, unconsciously rubbing the new scars. She got me good, but these scars will fade, just like the others. Remembering the battle from just days ago in the cave in Illinois, he frowned and swore to pay her back tenfold for what she’d done to him. And you know what they say about payback…
His mind wandered like the swirling smoke from his cigarette, meandering through the thoughts that stuck with him even in his sleep and dreams. The Fallen had risen and found themselves a champion in Jessie Hailey. And a champion she had proven herself to be, defeating Tarek and him in that cave. She had tremendous power for a young girl, especially as she was without the ancestral blood of the Fallen coursing through her, and Frank wondered how a scrawny little girl from backwoods Louisiana could have become so powerful so quickly. It didn’t add up. He was missing something, and he knew he had to get to the bottom of it, and quickly.
He pulled on his cigarette again and exhaled smoothly into the air. The chilled breeze caught his smoke and he watched it disappear into the fading daylight. His stomach rumbled with hunger and his nerves thirsted for a stiff drink, but he had something to do first. He had someone to visit.
After Sarah had collapsed in the rectory, her oldest son Nic had shown great strength and character, but also a weakness for his mother. He had dropped to the floor, desperation and fear in his eyes, and yelled at Frank and Brennan to call an ambulance. Frank had stared at his quivering bottom lip, mesmerized by its jagged motions. Brennan had reacted while Frank froze, and an ambulance arrived in minutes. Nic and Jack had ridden in the back of the ambulance, refusing to let anyone else in. Brennan instructed the driver to take her to Bellevue, where the Watcher’s Ward was located. Frank watched the whole thing like a statue, a silent witness absorbing the boys’ reactions, unable to take action himself.
Nic was full of piss and vinegar. He had a fire in his belly that burned as hot as Frank’s, and Frank immediately liked the kid. He was commanding and decisive, and had clearly taken the role of man of the house to heart. Frank could tell it was Nic holding the family together and not the mother. He admired the boy for taking the bull by the horns. Most kids these days wouldn’t have, he suspected.
Jack was the complete opposite of his brother. Withdrawn and melancholic, he was a shadow of a person; there, but not. And yet the power radiating from the boy was vibrant and alive, unable to hide from Frank behind his withdrawn appearance and demeanor.
As Nic had pulled his mother into his arms and carried her toward the entrance where the ambulance would arrive, Jack had followed, his head down, his eyes hidden behind long locks of brown hair that covered half of his face. He had said nothing and shown no emotion. The kid was screwed up, and Frank sympathized with him. He knew the energy that raged inside of him and how scary it was to have that feeling and to be out of touch with your own body. Like Brennan, Frank wanted the Order to help the boy understand what he was, show him how to control his abilities, and live with them. He knew he could help do that, just as Rowan had done for him.
Brennan had gotten Sarah a private room in the Watcher’s Ward. The boys and Brennan had stayed with her all night ensuring she was stable and resting. In the morning, Brennan had called Frank to come and take over. Frank’s stomach dove into a bottomless pit at the asking. He knew what that meant, what he was going to have to do, and he hated the thought of it.
He had no excuse now; he had to go see his mother, and that frightened him as much as anything Jessie had thrown at him.
When was the last time I saw her? David’s birthday, a decade ago? He had consciously and unconsciously avoided coming here; he had taken every job that Brennan and the Order sent his way, keeping himself busy, using his fight as an excuse to avoid visiting her. He loved her as any good son would love his mother, but he knew the sight of her would bring back too many memories. Too much pain. He was amazed even now, just standing outside the entrance to the hospital, how nervous and anxious he was about visiting her. His mind kept moving away from thoughts of her because behind each fading memory of his loving family was a sense of loss too big to bear the brunt of.
So he worked. He fought. He buried his emotions deep inside and locked the memories away in a safe, and sank the safe to the bottom of an internal ocean where it lay in the cold dark, rusting. He knew that one look at his mother would open the door to emotions he couldn’t deal with and send him into a state of…what? Panic? Sadness?
Guilt.
He forced himself to stop thinking about it and remembered back to the good times when he was a child, playing in the front yard with his brother—and even that brought on a rush of frightening memories that he struggled to keep in check. Shizu… The Temple… Training… Glak'xhohr…
Death. Loss.
The Order had been good to him. They had taken him and his family in, let them live in the Temple, fed them, housed them, trained them in their mystical knowledge, and taught Frank how to fight.
It hadn’t been enough. He had lost everything despite the Order coming into his life. His father, his brother, his mother, all gone. He was alone and on the losing side of a war he didn’t completely comprehend. The Order meant well, but they had failed time and again. Darkness and death rising again. When will it end?
And he had failed, too. Failed to protect his family. Failed to protect his friends. Failed to kill when he fought Jessie. What was the point?
When will I find peace?
A voice spoke from the depths of his mind. He was feeling sorry for himself, and that pissed him off. Mushy and melancholy woe-is-me bullshit was something he didn’t have time for. None of us do.
He pulled once more on his Marlboro and inhaled deeply, glancing up at the entrance sign to the hospital. He dropped the cigarette butt and crushed it with his boot. “Fuck it,” he mumbled, and started up the steps to go see his mother.
7
BOOK OF RAZMUS
Chapter 2: 11-14
And so Kuriel the Protector descended to the Earth in a glorious ball of fire.
And the mountains shook.
And the earth quaked.
And the beasts cowered.
And the people trembled and hid.
And behold! He arrived in a barren desert and took the form of a man and walked among them.
And spoke their words with them.
And witnessed their acts.
And partook in their rituals.
But what he desired most, what festered and bloomed within his heart, was to taste the richness of what he had not: their soul.
8
KURIEL
5873 B.C.
Mesopotamia
From his perch on the mountain overlooking the Sea of Tranquility on the Earth’s moon, Kuriel’s curiosity and envy gnawed at his spirit and could not be contained any longer. He took the shape of a glowing yellow orb, left the moon, and sped to the blue planet like a shooting star, streaking across the space between the Earth and its crater-faced cousin.
In a streak of light and sonic boom, he landed in the powdery sand of a desert. As he fell from the sky, he felt the many eyes of the peoples gazing upon him; their fear, wonder, and amazement; their curiosity about what he might be. All of this filled his consciousness as he fell to their Earth. The noise of their thoughts is greater here. He filtered through the noise of their scattered ruminations, parsing them for information to learn more about His chosen ones.
He hovered, above the sand, dazzling even in the bright daylight from the sun. He reached out around him, his own amazement overcoming the thoughts of the peoples that crowded his consciousness. On the horizon to the north, magnificent mountains touched the blue sky, re
aching for the heavens with snow-covered peaks. Wispy clouds floated above them, and their thin shadows crept over the tawny land, shading the arid ground from the powerful sun.
To the south, east, and west, beyond the sands of the desert, lay fertile ground where life grew wild. Many lifeforms played in the lush grounds surrounding the desert. Kuriel reached out to them with his ethereal senses, and as he touched them, he learned more. The Creator has made this place wondrous and beautiful. So much life here. So much diversity. It is truly a special place.
Of the thousands of creatures roaming the planet, Kuriel had been asked to look after only one, humanity, those with a soul. He saw groups of them gathered far from where he landed and desired to be among them to learn more about them.
He transformed himself into the shape of a man so that he could walk among them undetected, in order to understand the creatures he was compelled to protect. Disguised in their form, he set out to the west, walking on the ground with human feet, experiencing the world as both human and spirit.
The sand burned his bare feet as he wandered the desert. Pain. This is pain as they feel it.
The sun burned the skin on his naked body as he walked. More pain. Kuriel sang to the creatures of the desert, the ones without His light. They came to him and he killed them and used their skins for clothing and sandals and ate their flesh as man did, immersing himself in the ways of human-kind.
He walked for miles through the barren desert, and soon the earth under his feet began to change. The soil became dark, and rich plant life grew from the fertile soil. Life was abundant around him, in many forms. He felt the energy of the planet on his skin and in his spirit as he moved. He breathed the air, felt the warmth of the sun, and saw the lush green lands with human eyes, and was amazed. There is no other place like this in the universe, for all His kingdom is not so blessed as this place.
