Garden of Salt and Stone

by A. L. Burgess Jr.

  Lucifer listened to the Almighty’s diatribe with a disinterest not dissimilar to an errant schoolboy’s lack of concern for an overbearing administrator’s monologue. The more time it took the Almighty to admonish them, the better it was for their cause. Lucifer plainly saw the Creator’s clouds siphoning away into the influence of his rogue world. He felt the Almighty’s awesome power diminish with each and every passing moment. The once great and powerful Creator was dwindling right before Lucifer’s eyes, and all because the Almighty felt the need to lecture his subjects.

  Stoking the fire further, Lucifer added, “We humbly ask that you subordinate the humans and restore us to the position you so generously gave us at the dawn of Creation.”

  “What I do, I do for my own purpose, Lucifer, not yours!” the Creator spat. His manifestation transformed from a pitch-black bank of dark and ominous clouds to a column of flames that raged red-hot like the interior of a furnace. It burned with the intensity of a thousand suns causing the air immediately around the event horizon to crepitate as the atoms separated and were consumed by the firestorm.

  Lucifer calculated they did not have long. Either the Almighty would destroy him and his followers or the exhibition of power would take its toll and become too much to bear for the Creator. Lucifer watched keenly as the Almighty’s inferno grew and then, for a brief moment, subsided ever so slightly. The Creator had reached his peak—he could no longer maintain his power indefinitely. Lucifer took out his horn and signaled his followers to renew the attack.

  Energy pummeled the Almighty from all sides. He fought back, striking down the rank and file with swings of huge protuberances of seething potency. The fire was so intense that when it enveloped the angels, it burned their skin, charring it permanently black. The Almighty punished them for their rebellion and the ashen hue would forever mark them as enemies to Creation.

  Lucifer retreated and took a position safely behind his line of minions. The angels fell in broad swaths to the sand below, but he did not care about the individual toll it was taking, nor did he linger on the loss of their strategic value. Lucifer simply wanted the Creator to suffer as much damage as possible while using the maximum amount of power defending himself.

  The onslaught slowly abated and the multitude of angels that was once airborne now lay smitten on the surface of Lucifer’s world. The Almighty’s column of raging fire dwindled to no more than a relic of its previous glory. His flames licked out harmlessly, their reach diminished to the point of being benign. The strange planet continued tugging at the Almighty’s power until he struggled to keep his manifestation intact.

  Lucifer hung in midair and smiled. Out of the horde of angelic attackers, he was the only one left standing. He clapped his hands and bowed before the diminutive bank of wavering conflagration. “Bravo! You have fought well, my glorious Creator!”

  “You would patronize me, Lucifer?” the Almighty said, his voice shallow and weak.

  “Patronize? No,” Lucifer replied, flying closer to the Creator. “I simply wish to discuss the ultimate fate of the humans.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “That would be most unfortunate,” Lucifer answered, gesturing to the planet’s surface below. “I would imprison you here for all eternity and grind the helpless nephesh under my merciless heel.”

  “That would be unfortunate,” the Almighty repeated hoarsely, “for you.” The Creator’s column of fire rekindled in intensity and burst forth, nearly trapping Lucifer.

  Lucifer righted himself and let loose with an explosive discharge that encircled the Almighty with a white energy field. The barrier sought to consume the Creator, closing in on him with a tightening malice.

  The Creator brought his own power to bear, filling the sphere with red-hot flames. He pushed his being to the limit and forced the energy field open. The Almighty escaped, but he fell nearer to Lucifer’s world, draining his power and weakening him further. The Creator’s control over his visage fluctuated. His form as a whirling tempest changed to a near-representation of a human being. Arms and legs began to appear and the shape of a head was clearly visible.

  “I think it has been some ages since I last gazed upon your true image,” Lucifer mocked, and without warning, charged straight for the Creator. The angel’s form erupted into a sizzling white aura that filled the sky. Energy licked off Lucifer’s wings leaving a trailing pattern in his wake. As he converged on the Almighty’s location, the angel raised his arms and conjured his full power to strike.

  Imperceptible through his unfinished visage, the Creator smiled. Small at first and with a wry tinge, he let it become more apparent as Lucifer closed the distance.

  Caught off guard by the show of defiance, Lucifer tried to halt his advance but was too late.

  The Almighty rose to the imposing figure he had once been. His flames reached out and engulfed the rogue angel. He held Lucifer firm while flames scorched the angel’s flesh.

  Lucifer thrashed back and forth in agony. “Please,” he begged, “be merciful.”

  “I gave you every opportunity to be merciful to me,” the Creator thundered, “yet you sought only destruction and despair!” He intensified his power, forcing the angel to scream out in withering pain. “Forever will you inhabit this foul domain and never will you see the light of Creation again!” The Almighty cast Lucifer down to join his minions on the planet’s surface. “I hereby seal this foreign realm so none of you may ever escape and may anyone who chooses to follow in your footsteps suffer the same fate as you!” The Creator produced a blinding explosion that filled the sky between himself and the strange world. The light glazed over the roiling, oil-stirred sky of the strange world, changing it to a flat, opaque barrier. The Almighty looked mournfully to the scorched world below and let his column of unrelenting fire give way to a bank of darkened clouds that slowly dissipated until nothing remained.

  ❖❖❖

  Lilith held her serpent form long after the Almighty cast away the Garden of Eden. She had slithered into the thicket of undergrowth and waited for the battle to subside. She heard the deafening reports and felt the low resonance of the conflict’s vibrations travel through the earth of the Garden. Lilith sensed the movement through space and time as the Almighty hurled Eden from the zone of conflict. She spied Asmodeus and Sitri as they entered the Garden to do Lucifer’s bidding to redirect it to a new location. Lilith heard the Creator call out for Uriel, the guardian of Eden and the Two Trees. She saw Uriel enter and use his flaming sword to battle Asmodeus and Sitri. Yet still, she only watched from afar.

  Lilith knew Lucifer would choose the path to confrontation over that of diplomacy. He was a fiery and arrogant spirit, full of hatred for the humans. Although an angel’s primary goal was to show love and compassion toward all living creatures, Lucifer’s being had been torn, forming a great rift over his loyalty to his duty and to the nephesh.

  Lilith could not help but think Lucifer’s course of action was a righteous one. The Almighty designed the humans to outshine the angelic brethren. The nephesh had all the tools necessary to do so, but their poor decision-making and penchant for self-destruction railed against all the Almighty had taught.

  Lilith had a difficult choice to make. She could side with the Creator and rise up to help Uriel defend the Garden, or she could align with Lucifer and correct the injustice thrust upon them. Either way, she knew there would be no going back to the quiet life she so desperately enjoyed.

  In the background, Lilith heard the fighting between Uriel and Lucifer’s henchmen intensify. The Garden was being rent asunder by the unbridled energy thrown by both sides. The animals of the Garden were being slaughtered. Their blood soaked into the fertile earth and ran into the small streams, staining the water red. Trees and plants of all varieties were being burnt to ash. Death and devastation followed the fighting like that of the wake from a powerful ship. Neither side was gaining the advantage as Uriel proved to be the strongest among them.

  Lilith co
uld not stop thinking about the way Adam had cast her aside in favor of Eve. Just the simple act of trying to reconcile her raw emotions brought Lilith to a palpable rage. She owed her allegiance to the Almighty, but he had made a terrible mistake in creating the humans.

  In a flash of light, Lilith transformed back into her angelic being and conjured silver chainmail that covered her wings. With one sweep of her arm, she produced a heavy shield and a long spear that sparkled and glinted in the low light of the Garden’s interior.

  An ear-splitting explosion rang through the Garden of Eden as Lilith felt the ground’s movement cease. Her attention was drawn up and away to the sky overhead where she saw a brilliant flash of crimson stretch from one end of the horizon to the other. The light faded to an impenetrable dark barrier that left only a faint ring of illumination emanating from the far edges of the Garden.

  Lilith heard the Almighty’s curse reverberate through the atmosphere, and with its dying echo, her form began to change. Her beautiful and graceful angelic figure morphed into that of a burnt and leathery demon. The marvelous and intricate chainmail that once adorned her wings, deteriorated into rusty links held together by plain wire rings. Her shield and spear gave way to wooden versions that provided little protection. Shocked, Lilith fought the transformation. She conjured all her power and changed herself back to her former glory. She held the angelic façade for as long as she could, but the drain was tremendous. Lilith waivered and crumpled to the ground in a sobbing heap as her visage turned back to that of a foul and monstrous demon.

  Chapter 8

  Peter awoke to the hustle and bustle of Renée’s morning routine. She frittered about the room, gathering personal items and primping herself. Normally, she was not an early riser, but that ebbed and flowed depending upon her mood. Mostly it meant that Peter’s wife wanted to go shopping. He knew the familiar scent of her chic perfume—she only wore it to impress others. Peter recognized the expensive dress clothes and accessories as an added bonus for her invented pretentiousness. “Where are you going?” he asked out of habit, fully aware of what the response would be.

  “I ain’t sitting around here all day,” Renée replied. “And you?”

  Peter still felt slightly out-of-sorts from his fainting episode the day before but wanted to make good on his promise. “I think I’ll go back to that antique store,” he said, gesturing to the old book on the nightstand next to him. “I’ll do some investigating—find out if she knows it’s missing.”

  Renée huffed at her husband’s last statement. “She could call the cops, you know and have you arrested. I don’t need more embarrassing moments like yesterday’s, that’s for sure.”

  Peter shrugged off the insinuation of thievery. “If she wants money, I’ll pay her, but her husband—whoever he was—gave it to me.”

  Renée looked steadfastly into the bathroom mirror, puckered to correct her near-perfect application of lipstick. “Uh huh, sure, but if they put you in jail, I’m not bailing you out.” She finished her routine and left the bathroom. Renée hurried through the room, picking up her purse and the keys to the rental car from the dresser nearest the front door. “I’m taking the car; I may want to drive to the next town over. I’ll see you when I get back.” She did not wait for a reply, walking through the door and closing it behind her.

  Peter sighed at what his marriage had become. It did not matter what she did, as he was in no shape to do anything strenuous and planned nothing more than a very light day of investigation. He would wander around the close proximity of the old-downtown area and research his antique book as much as he was able. Under no circumstances did he intend to overexert himself.

  ❖❖❖

  Peter dressed comfortably for his morning stroll around the city center. He wore a nondescript cream-colored collared shirt with a slightly stretched-out breast pocket. His khaki trousers ran down the full length of his leg and cut off slightly above his sneakers, which allowed his brown dress socks to peek out below the hem of his pants. As usual when he was off on an errand, Peter wore his gray daypack strapped over his shoulders. His auburn hair and silver-rimmed glasses completed the ensemble of the neophyte tourist.

  Peter’s first stop was Edda’s antique store where he had picked up the manuscript the day before. He opened the front door and stood in the main display area of the establishment. He scanned behind the display cases and then into the larger, merchandise-cluttered main room. There were no signs of the proprietor anywhere. Peter cleared his throat noisily and listened for a reply. When he was certain no one had heard, he asked loudly, “Edda, are you here?” He was attentive to any sound, but once again, nothing stirred. Peter carefully eyed the front door. It had been unlocked and, despite its age, appeared to be in perfect working order with no signs of foul play.

  With artificially heavy footfalls, Peter made his way through the archway separating the two areas and navigated around the multitude of haphazardly stacked piles of merchandise in the larger room. He stopped when a faint scratching noise of a broom sweeping back and forth across an uneven floor rose to the forefront. The sound came from underneath his current position. Peter realized that no nefarious activity was afoot and let his tense state ease. He headed to the corner stairway that led to the basement and descended.

  “Edda?” Peter timidly asked into the dim light.

  “Un momento,” Edda replied.

  Peter smiled at the friendly voice and continued to the bottom of the staircase. Edda stood at the far end of the basement with her broom clutched tightly in her hands. She wore a similar dress to what she had on the previous day. The fabric was missing color in the various areas around the pockets. He could not be sure, but it might have been the exact same article of clothing.

  “Peter, good to see you again, and so soon! San Cielo is a wonderful village, no? Have you come to buy those other pieces for your beautiful Renée? You are a lucky man, I think.”

  “You have no idea,” Peter muttered. “I actually came about something else—another item.”

  “Another item?” Edda pondered briefly and then returned to sweeping. “I’m sorry Peter, I must finish to clean down here and then we can talk business, no?”

  Peter nodded politely. The basement was extraordinarily tidy in comparison to the mess it was the day before. The broken and disjointed display counter was still present, but the merchandise cluttered around it was gone. The floor was devoid of the miscellaneous items seen previously and the corners were clear of boxes. “Wow, you guys must’ve worked through the night to get this cleaned up.”

  Edda gave Peter a puzzled look. “No, I come down every week and sweep,” she said, sighing heavily. “The mold grows; it’s terrible.”

  “What about all the stuff that was down here?”

  Edda shook her head. “I don’t keep anything in the basement. The moisture ruins everything, no?” She leaned on her broom for support. “I’m an old woman—it’s very difficult climbing those stairs.”

  Peter furrowed his brow in incomprehension at the ailing merchant. “You have a helper of some kind. Your son perhaps?”

  Edda laughed boisterously. “My son lives in Rome, with my grandchildren. I run the shop by myself.” She could see the consternation in the man’s face. “What can I do for you, Peter? You wanted to see another item?”

  “Not really,” Peter replied, taking the ancient book from his daypack and holding it out for Edda. “I came here about this.”

  Edda took the manuscript and perused its pages like the real antique professional she was. “It’s very old. The leather is good. The parchment is coarse—ink is correct.”

  “Have you seen it before?”

  Edda shook her head. “Never.”

  Peter thought for a moment and tried to piece together the clues. Edda seemed genuine in her response. Either someone broke into Edda’s store unbeknownst to her and gave him the book, or he was in the middle of a severe hallucinogenic episode. Which, given the circumstances, was very
possible. Peter shrugged off the train of thought. The manuscript was real and there was no getting around that fact. He had no stomach for confrontation, but his need to investigate the origins of the ancient tome superseded his phobias. He stood as straight as he could and looked Edda in the eyes. “I got this book while I was down here yesterday.”

  Edda was more than a little surprised at the confession. “What?”

  “Yes, a man was down here and gave it to me. I tried to pay for it, but he made me take it.”

  Edda laughed cautiously. “Peter, you are joking, no?”

  “No,” Peter replied, shaking his head. “A man gave me this book. I thought he was your son or husband or something.”

  Edda went pale. She turned to several pages in the book and eyed the Latin text. “Il mio dio!” She crossed herself and pushed the manuscript back into Peter’s hands. “I’m sorry, but you must go,” she said, motioning for him to retreat out of the basement and back up the stairs.

  “I don’t understand—I’ll pay you for the book.”

  Edda waved him off. “No—please, just go.”

  Not wanting to make matters worse, Peter complied and moved up the narrow staircase. He stopped on the landing of the main floor and turned around. “Can you at least tell me why?”

  Edda looked pensively at Peter. “That book is the work of the monk Nicholas. He was crazy.”

  “The church, down the street—it honors the same monk?”

  “Yes,” Edda replied, “but it is foolishness, no? The monk was possessed by Satan. He killed himself to escape the evil of that book.”

  Peter fought his natural instincts to mock the existence of the devil and the unfathomable possibility of possession, but steered clear by stating, “I’m sorry, it’s just an old manuscript, nothing more.”

  Edda did not want to hear any of it. She resumed herding Peter through the various piles of shabby antiques and toward the front door.

  At the door, Peter slowed his forward progress and made a tentative stand. “Isn’t there anything else you can tell me?”