by Brian Rella
“Boys,” Rowan said, “your lessons begin today.” Nic stopped slurping his food and looked into Rowan’s piercing blue eyes. Jack kept staring into his bowl. “Has Frank here told you what we’re up against? Who we are? What we do?”
Nic scowled. “He hasn’t told us anything, but he did show us some magic tricks. That priest, he told us some stuff that put my mom in a…”
“Mental breakdown,” Jack whispered.
“Pay attention now,” Rowan said, pointing to Nic. “Those are no tricks, son, and you need to understand that quick, ya’ understand?”
Nic frowned and his eyes hardened. Rowan met his stare and won the contest. Nic slumped in his chair, dropping his spoon in his bowl.
“That thing,” Rowan began, “is one evil son-of-a-bitch called Arraziel. He’s a powerful one.”
“One what?” Jack asked.
“Good question, Jack. He’s one of the Fallen, and he’s one of many that are invading our world.”
“Brennan told us about them. But what are the Fallen, really?” Jack asked.
“The Fallen take many forms and shapes. They have many powers. But they have only one purpose: to enslave and kill humanity.
“No one knows for sure where they came from. Father Brennan thinks they’re Fallen Angels, like Lucifer. Others, like Frank over here, think they’re some kind of cosmic beings intent on ruling the universe. Whatever you believe, and whatever they are, we are sworn to fight them, to their end or ours.”
“And you are Watchers?” Nic asked.
“We are.”
“What’s a Watcher?”
“Half-breed mutts is what we are,” Frank said in between spoonsful of stew.
“Thousands of years ago, the Fallen ruled the Earth. They enslaved humanity. Men, women, and children were forced to worship them. They raped women, and fathered bastards, half Fallen, half human. That’s what a Watcher is. A half-breed.
“The Fallen and most of the Watchers were evil. They killed and pillaged humanity for centuries until a group of Watchers and humans stood up and fought back. The evil Watchers were killed, and the Fallen were either destroyed or imprisoned in another realm, which is called the Second Death.”
“Another realm? The Second Death? What does that mean?” Nic asked.
“That’s right. What you see around you is the land of the living. This is the reality most people know. But there are places that humans cannot see or go, other realities that are just as real, but on a different plane of existence. Only people with the powers of the Fallen or Watchers can access those realities, and the Watchers created a special realm just for the Fallen. Our ancestors trapped them there millennia ago, and we’ve been fighting to keep them locked up ever since.”
“But they escaped?” Jack asked.
“Not all of them,” Frank said. “Some escape on their own, but others have been freed by people who are tempted by their power and wickedness. But they never get very far. Not while the Order is around.”
“I thought they were in a different reality. How do they get freed if humans can’t see that reality?” asked Nic.
“Your dreams,” Frank said. “The dreamlands of the mind are junctures between the realities.”
“And what’s the Order, exactly?” Jack asked, leaning forward.
“The Order of the Watchers,” Rowan said, “are an international team of Watchers sworn to kill or imprison the Fallen, and to protect humanity. Frank and I are members, and you are in the Temple of the Watchers. This is where we train to hunt and kill the Fallen bastards. Frank grew up here.”
The boys stared at Frank. He dipped his head into his mug of ale, not making eye contact with either of them.
“Jack,” Rowan said. “You’re a Watcher, too.”
Jack’s eyes dropped and slid under his locks. His shoulders went limp.
“Don’t worry, Jack,” Rowan said. “We’re going to teach you about your gifts, and they won’t be so scary anymore.”
“What about me?” Nic asked. “Am I a Watcher too?”
“I don’t think so,” Frank said. Nic frowned at him.
“It skips one sibling sometimes, Nic,” Rowan said. “We don’t fully understand how it works—Frank’s brother wasn’t a Watcher either, but he was still able to learn a few things, and was a powerful warrior.”
Nic brightened at Rowan’s comment, but then wrinkled his forehead and glanced at Frank, whose expression had darkened.
“Was?” Nic asked.
Frank stood up and walked to the sink. He drained his mug and put his bowl and mug into the basin before turning back around.
“I’m going for a shower. First rule of the temple: the trainees do the dishes,” he said, and walked off down a corridor toward the locker room.
“Your training begins today, boys. Eat up. You’ll need your strength.”
35
BOOK OF RAZMUS
Chapter 5: 3-6
And the Creator cursed his treachery, the treachery of Kuriel;
And He did send the angel Uriel with His word and His sword.
And this is where I, of humble and of low estate, came to know the parable of which I speak;
Wherewith the angel Uriel revealed to me all that I have told to those with an ear to listen, so the world would know of the battle of Uriel and Dalkhu.
36
DALKHU
5873 B.C. - 5833 B.C.
Mesopotamia
Dalkhu wandered the fertile lands, taking souls from man and from woman, and his army of soulless grew in number. Word of his power spread, and the tribes of the world came to know and fear him. And with fear came worship of him, for many thought pleasing him with idols in his likeness and blood sacrifices in his name would save them from his wickedness. But such actions did not, and Dalkhu’s empire grew and stretched beyond Mesopotamia into Vinca, and threatened to spread further beyond into the unknown lands across the great oceans.
Great cities were built in Dalkhu’s honor, and the world was plunged into darkness under his power. His followers subjugated non-believers and made sacrifices of them to the false god. And Dalkhu made good on his promise to devour the souls of all the peoples of the world. They would serve him and feed him until the last of the light of the world and the souls of mankind had been devoured. And with the power of all His souls, he would destroy the Creator with the Stone of Serr’rah.
Few escaped Dalkhu’s merciless rule. Those that had had fled to the mountains or underground and prayed to the Creator to rescue them from the dreadful rule of the Dead One, and when He heard their cries and suffering, he sent His lieutenant, Uriel, to save them.
Through the ether came His command, and upon hearing His words, Uriel sped through the universe like a shimmering comet, hastened by his compassion for His people and his rage at the treachery of his ward, Kuriel.
When he arrived above the Earth, he was filled with the same suffering and anger that subdued His people. Uriel took a humanoid form and, in a dazzling tempest of light and energy, he descended, landing in a desert land between a roaring river and a line of towering mountains. He carried a sword of fire emblazoned with His word and wore white, silky cloth that seemed to float rather than hang on him. Golden armor covered his clothes and reflected his glowing, marble-like skin, creating a halo effect around him.
Upon his arrival, the Sun hid behind the moon and darkness overtook the entire world until Uriel raised his sword to the sky and its fiery blade along with the twinkling stars above became the only sources of light on the planet. He raised his chin, and his song-like voice trumpeted from his seraphic body.
“KURIEL!” he bellowed into the blackness, and his booming voice travelled around the Earth, reaching into every dark place on the planet, and all the peoples of the world trembled at the deafening sound of the Celestial’s utterance of the fallen traitor’s given name.
From the caves carved into the base of the mountains to the north of where Uriel stood, Dalkhu led a throng of his
soulless soldiers and a large group of human captives through the desert valley, snaking outward and halting before Uriel. His army of soulless gathered around him in a mob, their black eyes swiveling wildly in their heads and their chests heaving in short breaths. The furious tension of their hunger and thirst for human flesh charged the air, for cowering amongst the soulless throng, hundreds of people—souls—shrieked and moaned and quivered. A wolf’s grin spread across Dalkhu’s muzzle as he trained his gaze upon he who had been his superior, and his gravelly voice filled the space between them.
“Your servant, Kuriel, is dead. And with his death, Dalkhu, the Dead One, the Shepherd of the Soulless, has risen. Behold my charge.” A slow, guttural laugh rattled from Dalkhu’s chest, mocking Uriel as he motioned to the army around him.
“You will pay for your treachery with eternal damnation,” Uriel replied, and raised his sword.
Dalkhu’s wolfish grin widened. “It is you who will pay, and the remittance will be your light!”
Dalkhu’s staff struck the ground, making the earth quake, and he angled the Stone of Serr’rah at the Celestial. A scarlet ray of light burst from the stone and through the darkness at Uriel, but Uriel was quick with his blade and blocked the beam, deflecting it back at the mountains from whence Dalkhu had come.
“Devour them! Devour all of them! And feast on His light!” Dalkhu commanded, and his soulless army was set free. Their ravenous roars mixed with bloody screams and gurgling yowls as the frenzied madness unfolded. The soulless tore into their human captives and the smell of viscera filled the air and blood pooled in the desert sand as the soulless feasted on the living. A crowd of soulless broke off from the mob and charged at Uriel. They grasped at his white garment and ripped at his legs with their fingers and teeth.
Uriel slanted his sword, redirecting another of Dalkhu’s deadly beams back at him. It struck Dalkhu in his chest and knocked him back to the ground, a howl escaping his snout. Uriel’s eyes blazed with red-yellow flames as he swiped his fiery blade at his attackers, eviscerating them.
He launched himself into the sky and called down to His people with a voice that echoed around the world. “Hide,” he ordered them. “Do not come out of hiding until the Earth is cleansed of this evil, and the sun has returned.” And any of his people that had not already hid underground did so, or fled to the mountain caves as Uriel had instructed.
“I had wondered if He would send you or come Himself. I see now His cowardice in sending His failed slave!” Dalkhu called from the ground below him.
“It is you have failed. Failed to obey His will and His law. Your deathly rule over His people ends this day!”
Uriel sang to the heavens, and the darkened skies caught fire and rained sparks and flames upon Dalkhu and his followers. Wherever the followers of Dalkhu were, the Earth shook and separated, spewing its molten core onto the lands where the soulless resided. The seas began to boil. The forests and plains and fertile lands burned with His fire, and the roaming armies of the soulless were caught in His inferno, set ablaze in His glory.
“NO!” Dalkhu howled at Uriel, and the beam from his staff streaked up toward the Celestial, and this time Uriel was not quick enough. The ray struck his former master, and he fell from the sky. Dalkhu pounced on him and they engaged in furious battle, gouging and scarring the land with enormous craters and gorges.
Their battle raged for forty years. They leveled the great cities built by Dalkhu’s followers and turned all the lands of the Earth to ash. The Creator’s people waited in fear as the battle continued, huddled in the caves underground and in the mountains, cowering in terror, believing the end of times had come. And the people turned on each other in their fear, and lost faith in the Creator, and fought with one another. The dark tides were turning in favor of Dalkhu the more the death match wore on. But one man, who was called Razmus, would not succumb to his fears, and ran into the burning wilderness, calling out to the Creator to give him the strength and courage to help cleanse the world of the evil Dalkhu and his Army of the Soulless.
“Hear me, Creator! Your will is my law! Give me the power to help save Your people!”
Razmus ran for hours, through the scorched lands and along the boiling rivers and finally, exhausted and unable to run or shout any longer, he took rest and fell asleep under a scorched tree.
He entered the dreamlands, and saw a lush field of tall grass and wildflowers that stretched off into the horizon, farther than he could see. And the sun warmed him, and the insects and birds sang a melody to him, and the Earth smelled of summer soil and crops.
Razmus stood and walked the fields and came upon a tree taller and thicker than any other in the land. It stretched high into the sky and waved on the gentle breeze. He sat under it, the soil warm and soothing and rich, and the tree spoke to him.
“You, Razmus, do you take up my light to destroy the darkness of the world I have given to man?”
“Yes, Creator. I will take up Your light and destroy the darkness of the world in Your name.”
And the voice of the tree entered him and in his mind he saw a small sun, and the rays of that small sun touched Razmus and covered him in a shimmering glow, marking him with the sign of the Creator.
Razmus awoke in the burning wilderness, touched by His light, and full of a desire to do battle. He ran back to the cave where his people had been fighting one another, and beat back the evil that had infected his tribe. And with those who had witnessed the light of the Creator within him, he forged powerful weapons of steel and magic and rallied his tribe behind him to attack and destroy Dalkhu’s remaining armies. So the Army of the Living was born, and with the Creator’s word and light behind them, they wrought destruction upon all that remained of Dalkhu’s empire, defeating the Army of the Soulless and driving them from the lands of Mesopotamia and from the Mountains of the North, sending them to their deaths in the boiling seas and burning wilderness. And over the three deserts they fought, traveling halfway around the world, until the Army of Soulless was no more.
Uriel and Dalkhu battled on, back to the land where their war had begun. Uriel had trapped him between the great river that ran to the sea and the mountains that bordered the winter lands to the north.
The two met at the river’s edge, the rapids roaring behind them under a black sky.
“Your armies are defeated. You shall take no more from His people. Victory is His,” Uriel said, his voice resounding and song-like.
Dalkhu’s power had waned. His armies were gone and his powers weakened by his constant battle with Uriel, whose power and energy seemed boundless. But he had one chance to end the battle in his favor.
“If I shall not partake of their light, then neither shall He!” Dalkhu hissed.
In a final act of defiance, Dalkhu raised his staff to the sky and blew crimson vapor from his muzzle over the Stone of Serr’rah. It glowed and radiated with the souls of man, and the air split with the crack of thunder, and streaks of lightning flashed above them. The stars fled the sky and an opaque emptiness swirled above. The whirling night funneled to the heavens and a tear in the seam of space and time opened above the Earth. The winds howled and were pulled into the sucking, spinning vortex of nothingness that turned above them. At the edge of the spiraling blackness, an amorphous presence peered over the cusp of the void, hovering just outside of the land of the living, and it was empty and deathly cold. The people of the world felt this creature’s presence and were filled with terror and dread at the cold, dark nothingness that pulled all the heat and light of the world to its turning, sucking void.
The mountains crumbled, and their dust rose into the funneling emptiness. Trees and plants and fields were torn from the fertile lands and sent hurdling into the icy blackness. The great rivers and oceans spewed high into the air, emptying into the nothingness. The armies of the living were dazzled by the shimmering darkness that spun above the world, and streaks of the presence reached for them, touching them, and they disintegrated into madne
ss, and were inhaled into the vortex, their screams trailing off across the forever night sky.
And Dalkhu spat in the face of Uriel, “You have failed Him, slave! You are nothing. See the power I have called to challenge Him, oh great Uriel! Witness the wintry death and darkness of Malurahm, whom I have brought forth to avenge me and swallow His precious world!”
Uriel struggled against the power of the presence in the void. It pulled on his light, stretching him into the air, touching him with the swirling emptiness funneling above the Earth. But the light was strong with Uriel, and he fought against its draw, striking out with the fiery sword emblazoned with His word. His blade cut through the air with song and fire, slashing at Dalkhu and smashing through Dalkhu’s bone-staff, shattering it. It fell from his hands in dozens of pieces, and the Stone of Serr’rah was knocked from the crook of the staff and dropped to the ground. It rolled into a crevice, disappearing into the darkness of the earth, and Uriel sang His word and sealed the crevice off from Dalkhu.
The bond between Dalkhu’s evil and the energy of the Serr’rah Stone had been broken, and the Vortex closed with a deafening clap. Uriel stood before Dalkhu in blazing glory, His Sword raised in triumph, ready to strike a death blow to the evil spirit.
Enraged, Dalkhu lashed out at Uriel, his roars quaking the ground. In a last attempt to destroy Uriel, he drew in all his power and blew his red, vaporous breath at the Celestial. But Uriel raised his fiery sword and gashed Dalkhu across his middle, opening him and spilling his black blood into the river behind them.
Dalkhu stumbled back, and Uriel charged with his sword. Dalkhu batted it away at the last second and pulled Uriel into the great river with him. They fought in the inky cloud of Dalkhu’s blood that trailed behind them, down through the river’s currents and to the silt of the riverbed, leaving murk and death behind them. Uriel overpowered his fallen ward and drove him into an underground prison of rock and water. With the Creator’s word, Uriel sealed Dalkhu in a watery tomb at the bottom of the great river for all eternity.
