Chapter Six: Seth
She awoke on a bed of soft straw in a dark room, lit only by a small candle on a bedside table. The fever had gone from her head, she no longer felt its beating and heat, only her thoughts that once again were unmuddled. Bricks of adobe had built this room long ago, and its dirt floors were still warm from the sun which had since fled the sky a few hours past. On her left she saw the boy. No, he’s a man. Muscles hardened from work and battle, he slept soundly against the wall, though uncomfortably from the look of it, and troubled in his dreams as well.
Gabriel, her mind reminded her, and he had fought well, she could remember that, although that part was still a haze in her mind. His hand was bandaged, but no blood stained the coarse cotton cloth. Beneath his eyes, the deep circles from lack of sleep were evident, as though he hadn’t slept in days, but he seemed almost peaceful, struggling little against whatever dreams might be troubling him.
“He hasn’t left your side in the three days since he brought you her,” a voice whispered from the doorway. An older man crept silently into the dimly lit room, shrouded in a deep grey cloak save for his balding head. He wasn’t really bald, but his shockingly grey hair had crept up from his hairline a little ways. His face had a near kindly manner, and slight wrinkles from smiling had begun to form around his eyes and mouth. Even in the murky candlelight, his violet eyes seemed bright and unwearied. He moved swiftly to the side of her bed, yet he had a dangerously smooth pace, a pace which told of extreme agility and ability, of flowing forms with his hands and feet. He seemed to know far too much of the ways of blood than she cared to learn of.
“We had to pry you from his arms to treat your fever and wounds. Quite a battle, I’m sure, and a large cat for such a small woman to take on.” He chuckled slightly and in low, careful tones so as not to wake Gabriel, who he looked suspiciously over at the wall. “But where are my manners? I am called Seth, chief elder of the council here at Hill. You are?” He moved closer to the side of her bed and extended his hand in greeting.
Her hands moved to her shoulders, pulling the blanket up a little further, for in spite of the warm evening, she still felt cold and she shivered against it. “Sera,” she said plainly, holding her own hand out for him to take. Once done, she pulled the blanket all the way to her neck and looked once more to the man who had called himself Seth. How much did he know? How did he learn of the mountain-cat, the cougar? She hadn’t told anybody of that, though her scars might tell something of the tale, and her freshly scabbed wounds of parallel lines might have told more than she cared to say. A deep distrust filled her heart, perhaps this was one of those agents who sought to help and aid the destrachan, to fight against human alongside them. A friend to the shadows of men. She shuddered at the thought of it.
“I’m told you did some amazing things on the battlefield, destroying those forsaken with lightning speed and reflexes . . . and . . . with a knife? You must be a very powerful warrior.” His gaze was both infuriating and condescending, as was the tone of his voice. Once again she wondered exactly what he knew and how he had come by such knowledge.
“I only did what I had to do.” She responded lightly, curtly.
“You hardly had to do anything. That horde was visible for miles around. You could have driven on by in that motor-vehicle of yours.” Had he been watching? And if so, how long?
“They destroyed the Brig the day before. They stole my home and my family from me. I had to do what I had to do. Just as I had to come here.” She emphasized the same word as he had, sounding both arrogant and uncaring. She didn’t care. Visions of the screaming children flashed behind her closed eyelids as she kept back the tears.
“I see,” he said suddenly, “Perhaps your choice had been made for you, then.”
“Perhaps.”
“Then, why come here after all that occurred? Surely you could have lived on your own without much hassle from the destrachan, especially with those fancy moves of yours.” He gave a little jab at the air to finish his point, talking with his hands as much as his mouth. How annoying. She rolled her eyes.
“Why the third degree? You needed help, Hill needed help, and I helped. I hardly think you could have help them off much longer at all had I not intervened. They were already on the wall; you were fucked. And as for my fancy moves, well, I don’t even know what I did.” She had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything more.
“Yes, we were fucked. The council didn’t listen to my advice: they should have moved to New Zion when they had the chance, but I hardly think that is very relevant at all. I think you might have had something more to do with the destrachan arrival and departure, something more that you aren’t telling.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man, and you know it. So drop this charade and tell me exactly why you’re here in the middle of the night,” she hissed this last part so forcefully that Gabriel started to stir in his sleep, rolling to one side against the hard brick wall. Sorry, Gabriel.
“Temper. Temper, my child.” He chided, chuckling again in that low tone. Sera didn’t like him at all. “Don’t wake your little friend here just because you don’t like me. I’m not liked by many, but that doesn’t make me a fool. Tell me what really set you on your path to Hill, and let us continue our discussion in peace.”
Sera stared plainly at his face, still angry at his strange insinuations, and still puzzled by what he was insinuating. Was her dislike that visible on her face? Hunters were always able to hide their emotions, but it seemed as if she was failing in that just as she had failed in her oaths to protect the Brig. “I came because I seek an answer to a question that you might be able to give me. Not that I’ll believe you, just that I’ll consider it.”
Seth showed a mild surprise. How much did she know? Next to nothing. It couldn’t be any other way. “And what, pray tell, is this question?”
She breathed slowly, heart beating in her ears as the question came to her mind, and rolled from her tongue before she could stop it. “How old are you?” She gasped at her own question, taking in a deep breath of fresh air, unbelieving and undeniably certain at the same time. Where had the question, even her previous response come from? What on earth was happening to her, to her mind? Maybe the fever has addled my brains for good.
“An informed question, no doubt, but one that is asked less often than you might know.” He himself breathed deeply, trying to calm himself enough to answer. “In fact, I have not been asked that question since before the world was consumed in madness as the plague spread across the globe. Since even before that great corruption had destroyed our already corrupted politics and beliefs. In response to your question, however, I have been alive for more than two hundred years. In fact I am two hundred fifty three years old, though if you asked me why I’ve been around so long, you wouldn’t believe that either.”
Sera’s jaw dropped in disbelief, but the idea was so absurd coming from this man, who regardless of his grey hair did not look a day over forty-five, that it just might be true. Shaking the shocked look from her face as though she was shaking the burning bitterness of a shot of hard liquor from her mouth, she responded. “How . . . how did you come to live so long?”
It was now his turn speak, and after a brief pause, he continued. “In the old days, I was a professor of ancient theology, though I studied a great many things. Philosophy, sociology, even some physics and mathematics. I studied everything I could, whatever happened to peak my interest. I was in Mexico when this whole mess was starting, serving as an ancient languages consult on an archaeological dig. It wasn’t originally an archaeological site, though. It was a quarry, being used to mine granite for the base stones of a Mormon temple being built. After finding a room carved in stone, completely covered in a form of writing that I had never seen before, the Mormon church had decided to research it more, and they sent me and my team to do so. The President of the church concluded that the room itself had been created by descendants of a fragment of the house of Israel, as is only consistent with their beliefs. Utter nonsense and drivel to be sure, but that is what they believed, and we were called in to document the writing, and perhaps to translate it, if possible. The characters were scrawled, haphazardly etched in the stone without any form of punctuation at all, or uniformity in size. They looked to be the work of a madman. Some of the locals who were working as laborers told us that the room as unholy, forsaken by God, and that the devil alone reigned supreme in this place. Naturally, I had no choice but to enter and to study.
“Yellow bastards,” Seth spit into the sand just outside the room. Tossing his cigarette butt to the ground, he stamped out the embers and spit again. “Why do they need another day of fucking rest? They’ve already got fucking Sunday off. Lazy fucking ‘spics.
Marty, or Shorty, or whatever the hell his name was laughed loudly at this. “Yeah. Fucking ‘spics.”
“Shut up,” Seth responded. “Quit being a fucking echo.”
“You shut up, Mr. Theology Scholar. You ain’t in charge of this site. I am,” Marty or Shorty said, indignant.
“Whatever.” Dr. Cross was his name. Dr. Seth Cross may it please you, and he could do what he wanted. He smiled and got to his hands and knees, crawling into the tunnel carved in the granite face. It had been uncovered just days before, by the Mexican quarry in charge of the land around it. Besides, he thought, this is much more interesting than those broken arrowheads or petrified wood or whatever the fuck it was that those morons are so busy with. He crept carefully through the smooth darkness, feeling for the rocks which could scrape and scratch, and for anything else he might not be expecting. He wasn’t in his prime any longer, and while he was in great shape for a man of only 47, any injuries could still take a long time to heal and slow him down. The roof fell away from his head and shoulders, growing into a huge and unnatural, cavernous room. Seth felt on his belt for his mini-mag lite, found and turned the head. Bright white light filled the room, and the scrawling text along the walls and ceiling were suddenly visible. Amazing. Varying greatly in both size and slant, the carved characters seemed to have been chiseled in a hurry, though that wasn’t the least of it. The writings went from wall to wall, and the ceiling and floor were also covered with them. Searching for the flash knob on his miniature digital camera, he adjusted it up as high as he could, then flashed the room, bathing it in a saturating, sick fluorescent glare. He captured the text faster and with more clarity than any penciled notebook scribblings, then took more pictures, doubling, then tripling what he had done over already. Filling the little camera with more data than he could possibly use, he had to make sure he got it all. This might be the only opportunity of its kind for writings such as these. He paused, listening from where he stood at the inane conversation of his “colleagues.”
“So why the fuck are we even down here in this shithole of a country, anyways? Nobody would’ve cared if the stones had writing on them or not. They’re just gonna end up beneath that fucking church.”
“See, the Mormons are in charge, and they want the whole place documented. They have this idiotic notion that the whole continent was settled by ancient Jews who then proceeded to wipe themselves out. They think this room will serve as some sort of proof that their church is right, so that more people will join them. Of course, even if it has nothing to do with that, they might still claim it to be just for the shock value.”
“Sounds lame.”
“Yeah. Hey, what was that?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Seth’s hand reached to his flashlight to turn it off as a voice called from behind him. “What is your name?”
He whirled around, letting the light hit every corner, just to be sure. Was it real, or was it imagined?
“It’s not nice to ignore an earnest question. What is your name?” The voice now seemed disembodied, far from the place he had heard it first, and yet it didn’t seem distant at all.
“Who’s there?” Fright filled Seth’s voice as he called out to the shadows.
“Dr. Cross, is everything all right in there?” Marty, or Shorty, called from outside. Snickering now filtered through from out there as well. “You getting the heebie-jeebies from that mumbo-jumbo you filled your head with in college?”
A hand clapped itself over his mouth as he opened it to retort, and he froze in that instant as a deadly fear shot through his whole body. He shook with trepidation at the realization. He wasn’t alone. The mini-mag lite fell to the ground, it’s light flickering before snapping off, leaving only himself and his assailant.
“If I had wanted to kill you,” the voice said clearly and low, “you’d have been dead before I spoke. As we stand now, all I want is your name. It would be rude of you to not answer my question, as I have been so gracious.” The hand released his mouth and he was once again free to speak, although he was shocked to find he still could not. The other person turned his still body around so that they were face to face. His benevolent attacker had longish hair, that much was certain in the dim light afforded him by the hole he had crawled through. The man’s face, however, was held tightly by shadows, only the crook of his nose was apparent.
The little room brightened slowly, and yellowish light from an unseen source flickered like a torch. “You wish to see my face?” He didn’t look angry, or hungry, or anything really at all. He appeared completely emotionless, save for a slight smile on the corners of his mouth. Deep, violet eyes that held a fatherly gaze, one gained from a deep love perhaps, but the fear held him still.
“Your name,” The stranger coaxed.
“Seth. Seth Cross. I’m a doctor.” The stranger smiled and nodded. The man’s skin was slightly tanned, but otherwise he in no way resembled a local, and he really didn’t speak, or act like one. His clothes were ancient leather, lacquered black fading from weathering of all varieties, and appeared lived in. A biker of some sort?
“Dr. Cross, my name is Jack, and if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to dispense with the pleasantries. I’m here to present you with a unique once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that you will be unable to refuse, I’m certain.”
His mind and soul attempted, stammered out possible refutations and moral arguments at this, but his mouth responded quicker than he could think. “And that is?” The thought that this stranger might be able to offer something other than his head on a platter and his wallet missing hadn’t even occurred to him yet, but this man, this Jack, had an air of comfort and reliability that oozed from his presence, a power that was undeniable in its awesome, glorious mystery. Curiosity killed the cat. He shook the doubt from his thoughts.
“Before I tell you what it is, I must have your word that you will do as I say. My instructions will be simple, and easy to follow, but they must be followed to the letter, else my vengeance will come swiftly. Promise me.”
“I’ll make any promise you want me to make, and do it gladly.” He hadn’t just said that, had he? Who was this man to ask promises and only hint at gifts? Who was he to call for favors? Seth’s conscience screamed out at him, begging him to refuse, to change his mind, to leave this forsaken place. Mumbo-Jumbo.
“A girl will ask you a question that only you can answer, and you must answer both promptly and truthfully, and tell her of this encounter, and tell of the events to follow her coming, and tell her why.”
“Why what?” His greedy curiosity was like a hunger, a thirst which Seth was certain that only this man, the man who called himself Jack, whom he barely knew at all, could satiate.
“Tell her why good things always come to an end, and why peace leads to war. Why similarities lead to conflict, and differences mean fighting over nothing at all. Tell her of everything you’ve learned, every hidden truth you’ve uncovered in your studies. In short, I want you to tell her the reason behind existence.”
“Who is this girl, and how will I know her?” Damn, again with the pleading. How was it that a person who’d never met him before in his life could play him like a musical instrument? He of all people, a doctor of the mind and its mysterious inner workings?
“You’ll know her. But she won’t be along for a very long while yet, and you’ll need to be around for each and every single event which will unfold until then. You must bear witness to it all, and that’s where my gift comes into play. A reward which will compel you to complete the task I have chosen you for, a reward which will give meaning and worth to your life.” The dim light of the tunnel reappeared as the torchlight darkened, shadows once more ruling the room. Seth’s eyes closed themselves unnaturally against the better part of his judgment, he never meant for that to happen. Abruptly, a sharp pain and throbbing at his neck nearly made him cry out. The pain, however, was temporary, and he began to hear a buzz. First hearing it, and then feeling it, a euphoria flowing through his veins, lifting him higher than any drug had ever taken him before. It was peaceful and pleasant, beyond anything he’d ever experienced, and then it was finished.
“So you’re saying that just because you met this man, Jack was it?” An echo flashing through her mind, a voice with no name, a name with no face. “And that’s why you’ve lived so long?” It didn’t quite make sense, missing pieces of continuity, but Seth was a strange man, and anything was possible where strange events took place, she supposed.
“Yes, anything is possible.”
Had he pulled that thought from her brain? Impossible. “His name was Jack?”
“That’s what he called himself, although I think that’s just a part of his own personal joke. What his name might be is entirely irrelevant, though. Who he is might be a much better thing to by worried about. I have lived for a very long time, Sera, a very long time. What I’ve learned in that time is that there are no coincidences. He appeared just a few years before the plague started, before the sickness of the shades. I met him just once, yet since then, my years have increased three, even four times the natural number.” He was crafty, and he laughed inwardly at his own cleverness. He had not mentioned the bite, she wouldn’t understand that yet, though perhaps in time. If she lives that long. He could hardly contain his mirth. “He is a key player, of that I have no doubt.” His mind raced through his eyes, flashing recognition and deep passions for knowledge, drawing him back to the present.
“A key player in what, pray tell, Seth Cross from beyond time itself? Sera was curious now, as well as nearly insulted. Jack. Had she already met him? If so, he was lost in the haze. A voice with no name, a name with no face.
“To begin with, you must quit playing the injured sow and take this seriously. I have lived a number of lifetimes and am wise beyond your years.” Not to toot my own horn, or anything . . . He couldn’t help but grin as the laughter inside him redoubled. In all seriousness, he continued. “I am from before the shift from light to shadow embodied by this grave illness, that much you know. You were raised in this time of war against the destrachan, against the shades for your own survival, against the sickness that swept the world of its corruption and forced men to start anew, to fight for their survival against their own kin. The time before this was an enlightened one, full of knowledge and grace, and yet still disease and hunger thrived. Men were rich in substance and as they grew so, their morals fell by the wayside as they waged wars in their hearts and across the land. They watched as their fellows starved, and they fed them not, they were naked, and they gave no cloth from their stores.
“We had machinations of war so great that the entire earth could have been wiped of human life many times over. Wars were fought over petty insults and for money. Innocent men, women and children were caught in the middle and were slaughtered. Cultures were born, created for the sole purpose of hating other cultures and yet the only thing we humans had in common with each other was the one thing we could not obtain. Love was nonexistent.
“From the way I see it, there have been many defining moments in our vast history, all of which have created within us a destructive nature. Not a specific moment in time, but many, that ultimately lead up to this point.
“The very nature of our existence is greedy, hungry and corrupt. As men first began to gather, this became apparent, we began to lust after anything we did not currently possess. Covetousness. We aren’t selfless, either, but selfish, and seeking to maintain our riches and our property. Death is really the only thing any man fears, and for good reason. Why risk losing all that material wealth over some silly argument? What could possibly profit someone enough to risk all that he had gained?
“Eternal salvation, perhaps? Thus came our first religions. If we keep God’s commandments, we can win ourselves into his good graces, correct? But how will we know what those commandments might be? Via our shaman or high priest, God tells us all we need to know. What to pay, when to pay it, when to worship, what to eat . . . who to kill. If it so happens that God tells us to do something dangerous, like trying to wipe out a neighboring tribe for sustenance and hunting grounds we’d do it, right? For the sake of our souls. God will grant us a great paradise for our obedience!
“What a great day for mankind it was! Men could kill each other over land, women, and food, just because someone merely suggested that God would grow angry with them if they did not follow His commandments! It must have started over these necessary things, though eventually it came down to trivialities, but it all leads back to the same source. Religion! God is a jealous being, and this tribe over here worships some other deity! Pagans! We must either convert or kill him for our one true God’s honor!” Seth’s sarcasm was biting, yet it rang true, in a way, though what he hoped to accomplish by sermonizing in this way was not yet clear.
“What does this have to do with me?” Sera asked, patience dwindling in the dim candle light.
“Have a care child, let me speak. This happened quite a bit at first, conflicts over religion became greater and greater over time, with champions on both sides, heralding their deity as the one to be followed. Religion became more and more unified, and the priests in charge gained more and more of the people’s trust and confidence, and in turn grew more and more apt to declare holy wars. Jihad. Absolute power corrupting absolutely and so on. Naturally, our societies became less warlike, seeking only an end to the conflict. The champions became the single beacon of hope, bridling the passions and strengths of their people and fighting for these causes with indifference, for they too only sought peace. Victims of their own systems. The passions of the people and their violent emotions became bottled up as too much peace reigned, so once again wars would spring up, gradually growing farther and farther apart in the stream of time. Inquisitions and crusades were declared in the names of their respective deities, though they only worked if nobody knew the true reason behind them, to release the tensions and strains of peace. It’s hard work you know, to hold back the flood of human emotion. Yet release them they did, one half proclaiming the perfection of their own beliefs, and the other toting the same, while denouncing the other’s corruption. Time and time again, war would rage between a set of old beliefs and new ones, and each time this happened, the differences between the two would shrink. Instead of finding common ground and building peace and resolving differences without conflict, the battle’s bloodshed would satiate the bloodlust temporarily.
“This happened so predictably that man men claimed to be prophets, proclaiming these cataclysmic events many years before they would occur, claiming a vision, or an angel had given them such foresight. Predicting these apocalypses of belief became a science, and men’s behavior began to change accordingly, they would look forward to these cataclysms, and wish them to happen sooner than they did. Instead of changing things gradually through systems already in place, a waiting game was in effect, precluding any such changes. When enough people grew angry and distressed or confused at the system, hoping against vain hope that it would be the end, a leader would appear to begin the battle, though whether he was the cause of the change, or just the instrument, none could say.”
Sera interrupted his speech with a hand. She grew tired of this man whom she disliked for no apparent reason at all, and had all but given up hope that he would finish soon. “What does this have to do with me, or Jack even?”
“I was getting to that part, and I would have if you hadn’t interrupted.” He glared at her silently, though inwardly he gloated over her temerity. Sera nodded, allowing him to continue.
“Beliefs change, Sera. From the ancient Egyptians worshiping Ra, Osiris and Horus, to the Eastern religions, Buddha, the Hindu gods, Shiva and Lord Ganesha. Thor and Odin of the Norse, to Zeus and Hera and Hades of the Greeks. All these came and went with the passage of time, as it streamed through the ages. The idea here is that these gods were once men and women, heralding a great change of heart in the people they served and led. All these gods and goddesses gave rise to Judaism, Islam, and Christianity, and they too were led by real men, real leaders who gave voice to their desires and wants. As faith in the old gods faded, it burned the brighter in new ones, and the age-old conflict is given once more to the people, to unify and bring together all. Prior to the madness and plague of my time and yours, Christianity reigned supreme for the greater part of two thousand years, in one form or another. Yet even Christianity is not without its own interior conflicts, Catholics declaring heretics of the apostate Protestants and the like, even giving rise to the Mormons, who never really held any sway over a majority at all, though they had power, and influence, especially in this valley. Christianity itself help power in the hearts of men because it claimed something different, though in the end, it led to the same thing. In the past ten or more thousands of years, each religion fed its followers with the same sense of righteous retribution and false defiance in a belief of Apocalypse. Maybe that belief was stoked by the many prophets who saw it coming, and maybe it’s part of a vicious cycle all its own, but I think that while a part of both is true, the people who sought it themselves were somehow able to focus a kind of energy, a power into the coming apocalypse and thus brought about their own suffering and eventual destruction.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? This is absurd!” Words couldn’t express her distaste for the words that he spoke. How the hell should he know such things, even if it were possible at all?
“Sera, please. Physical laws of this planet, of this universe cannot allow energy to be either created or destroyed. As a deity gained dominance and prevalence in men’s lives, energy was being dedicated to it, and that energy cannot go to waste. Faith, prayer, sacrifice, all these must go somewhere! I think that they flow directly into a mass subconscious reservoir, hidden deep within each human being, a deep well of power untouched by most men except to fill it. This reservoir has a limit to what it can hold, though, and as the apocalypse nears the critical point, men and women are born who embody the beliefs of the new and the old gods respectively. Men and women who can move the wills of men by putting that energy, that power to use, if only to further the strange cycle that our own greed and power-mongering have wrought in iron chains for us to bind ourselves with. Times were, when multiple men and women shared this burden of mastery over this mass pool of thought and faith and hope. It must be used, converted back into a usable form by the universe, you see?”
“No, I don’t, but continue, nonetheless.” She was bored of this, it seemed to be a pointless lecture, though she would allow him to finish sermonizing before going her own way.
“Yes, it must be changed into usable energy once again. Ra, Odin, Zeus, the man Jesus. All of these existed as people prior to their deification at the hands of the people! They existed before they became myth! The strange god-like powers they exhibited were provided by people on both sides of the conflict, people who would believe otherwise! This has much to do with both you and Jack, far more than you possibly imagine! Jack has lived for greater than two millennia, a shadowy remnant of the past wandering unfulfilled, and waiting for his chance at personal redemption! Do you know anything at all of Christian mythology, Sera?” For the first time, he asked a question that wasn’t rhetorical. Sera wasn’t sure whether to respond or not.
“I know a little, only what the Mormons of my village taught.” Visions of her people, dying and burning even as she fought the great mountain-cat flashed through her brain, streaking ash across the plain of her vision, and it smelled of suffering.
“Bah, their founder warped and twisted the true Christian myth as it suited his fancy. I will have to educate you a little, then. Jesus Christ, the “Son of God” as it were, exhibited these very powers we have discussed while speaking of more ancient deities. He healed the sick and the injured, perhaps even raised the dead, and had very interesting ideas to boot. When he learned of the horrific cycle to which he had been born, he taught against it with the ideas that would provoke the most violence and depraved acts of any of the old Gods. Were he still alive, he would roll over in his grave just at the thought of what they did in his name. He taught things like “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” and “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” All very revolutionary concepts when compared to the “Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth” mentality that existed prior to his life. In fact, he refused to fight against the one who came before, who championed the old gods, the gods of Judaism and Rome, and in refusing the fight, he sealed the fate of his adversary’s. Judas Iscariot. The one who would have been crowned king of the world, and ensured the survival of his own pantheon of deities. He would have been the god of the past two thousand years, yet Jesus robbed him of victory by giving in to defeat. It was his self-sacrifice that so won the people’s hearts. Of course, it didn’t really change anything. All his revolutionary ideas did nothing to stop the warring or the wanton destruction, but it did help the people who claimed to worship Christ a sense of fulfillment, a feeling of tranquility that begat the most cruel hypocrisy and in doing so, created an untouchable dynasty that has lasted far longer than any in history.”
“So . . . what happened to Judas?” She felt obliged to ask the question, though he would have told her regardless. She found herself wishing his tongue to rot, if nothing but to end this speech.
“The two-million dollar question! Judas was enraged at Jesus’ refusal to fight, and at his own defeat. In the past, the survivor had always championed the gods, ensuring another few hundred years of the same beliefs. Jesus’ sacrifice threw the whole cycle into upheaval, into unbalance. Terrible wars were fought over Christianity because of this, and many innocent men, women and children were slaughtered for refusing to worship. And so we come to Judas. He forsook his own life, committing suicide, but his life was a part of the unbalance, and would not, could not be ended so easily. Judas was made for the fight, ruthless and vigilant, an excellent champion of the gods of Olympus, he would have been a vengeful god the likes of which our world hadn’t seen in all the eons of humanity’s existence. Instead of being discarded from the pattern, from the cycle of our conflicts, something happened to his body in death, a final card played from Jesus’ hand that would not grant him that eternal sleep just yet. Something happened that changed his being, changed him such that time and age would never take him so long as he wandered, and he did. He wandered the globe, wreaking havoc and destruction in the name of Christianity, seeking with all his might to crumble the empire Jesus had set in stone. He served as a soldier in many wars, many crusades, fighting against Islam and more. He was a Questioner during the Spanish Inquisition, and served as head of various dictatorial regimes’ secret police. All the while, he carried the seed of destruction planted within him by Jesus himself. Unknowingly, of course, Jesus would never have aided the cycle he so fought against. Judas had been healed–only once, mind you–by his counterpart’s strange healing ability, and that is what led to the end. I have a theory of this, as well. I believe that Jesus was somehow able to absorb the illness, the infection, the cancer, the blight from a person’s body, to pull it into himself, and that each of these mutated certain parts of his own body, creating a virus that held all manner of disease within its genetic structure. This virus was the trump card that so decided the fate of mankind. Judas carried within his blood all manner of plagues that could, and have decimated our kind. For example, the Bubonic Plague? Better known as the Black Death was instigated when he was bitten by a rat in England. AIDS? The HIV? He started that as well, though unknowingly, when he became blood brothers with a tribesman in Africa. SARS? The Asian Bird Flu? Yep, those were him as well. And as you might have already guessed by now, the sickness of shades. He started all of them. You’ve already met him once, I’m sure, from that strange look in your eye, though you probably know him as . . .”
“Jack.” A name with no face, a voice with no name.
“Excellent observation, very astute, indeed.” His praise was shallow, he was holding something back. Oh, you are sly, you old beast. So very sly, he thought silently, holding the grin in his throat with force.
“So Jack is a player in this whole mess, this . . .”
“Has been for two millennia, though ‘mess’ is hardly an appropriate title for the grandest achievement mankind’s own conflict has ever brought about. I personally like the Zoroastrian Cycle. Has a catchy ring to it, don’t you think?”
She shrugged nonchalantly, “And I’m his opposite, I suppose, though for which side? Am I the Yin or the Yang? Do I champion the old or the new?”
He frowned at her, apparently he didn’t know everything, as he would have her believe. Damn it all, he cursed inwardly, all the joy he felt lost in an instant. “It may be too early yet for that to become evident. Perhaps the choice is yours, though no one can say surely. The cycle, the pattern, has been thrown into unbalance, as I said before, and nothing is certain anymore. One thing more, I can tell you, though, and you might wish to hear this before you go stalking off into the desert. You and he are blood, of the same line, as all who wield the power are, and what powers these may be I could not say, though I might wish to see them.”
Oh, you’ll see them, old man. You lying, sly little snake. I’ll beat you over the head with them. Real or imagined? The haze of her last encounter with the destrachan was disheartening. I wish I could remember more!
“I’m not certain what it is exactly that you expect me to do. I’m not a simpleton, I can see the events as they unfold. I can also tell when I’m being lied to, manipulated, though whether it is you who is the puppet, or I, I cannot say. Are you attempting to pull at my strings, you wily old fox?” She was angry, and could no longer hide her frustration at being held in thrall as long as this. His words were half-truths, concealing something more, though what that was, and which half of them were not lies had yet to be seen. Time to play this one by ear. Prophets and apocalypse indeed.
“Of course you’re being manipulated, you silly cunt!” His voice lowered shortly after this outburst. Gabriel was stirring from his resting spot at the wall. Seth leaned in closer to her, whispering his further admonitions and tiring, round about speeches. Sera’s eyes widened as he closed the distance between them as much as at his outcry, and she pulled her legs up to her body, uncomfortable to be so close to one who seemed now, more than ever to be a very dangerous and conniving man. “Of course you’re being manipulated. Jack wishes you to be weak from despair and sorrow. Your closest friends and allies will turn against you! Those you would save would forsake you, and seek to ensnare you at every turn should he but wish it! He has traveled far and seen much, much more than you could possibly imagine! He can turn a man in his tracks and make him believe that up is down, and right is left!” At this, he motioned slightly to Gabriel, enraging Sera even more than before.
“Speak plainly, shaman. Your point is wavering.” How could he even suggest such a thing? He didn’t even know Gabriel, past what he saw, did he?
“Gods, you are tiresome, wench! Listen when you are asked to, let my knowledge enlighten you and your path and see that you don’t fall into his pitfalls!” She opened her mouth to respond, but decided against it as he neared anger once again.
“Things never change in the way that matters. The world moves on in its history, completely oblivious to the inner struggle of mankind, the very struggle you and He embody. Humans crawl about the land like ants, digging the earth and mating, watching as their children grow old and die. The struggle is unknown to all save a precious few, of which you should consider yourself blessed to be a party. You and Jack shall fight for the virtues and the sins alike for all mankind, blow for blow the fate of man is decided, laid upon your shoulders. Would you throw away the chance of a hundred billion lifetimes to alter inexorably our world’s path through the cosmos? The cycle is pliant, it hangs in its own unbalance, and this time is different from all others in that the annihilation of our species is the flip side of this coin. Not everything is set in stone, not anymore. Choice and chance have a near equal role in our respective destinies this time around. Your ancestors have given you this chance: to fight Jack and write history in your own image for the rest of us to study and ponder, or to face the black hole of oblivion that waits beyond the grave for all. You control in your own way the evolution of our people, our cultures, our ideas, in a much greater, grander way than has been seen throughout time. Make us believe in you, in your abilities as a new hero, a new god. Make us revel in your glory as you revel in your victory. Let us love and fear you and your power with every breath in our bodies, and let us worship the new champion of men. Assume this role that history has placed before you, that fate has allowed for you and use it for your own purpose. Just think, the powers available to you have made you unlike any other ever to exist! Take hold of your destiny, and wield your sword as you fight for our lives, for the lives of our brothers, our sisters, our families and friends, for the sake of humanity!”
Seth’s words had an air of finality about them, and she knew that he wouldn’t, or possibly couldn’t say any more on the events to come. Shadows crept over his eyes, growing dark as even as the room gained its natural light as the dim crimson rays shed from the sun like streamers, illuminating the clouds that gathered in the sky with a bright, silver lining. The sky bled; its red and orange hues painted in blood and streaked in silver. Sunrise. Gabriel stirred again from his weary, awkward place at the wall, yawning, eyes blinking the bleary sleep from their lids. The elder straightened his back and bowed his head slightly before rushing from the room at an eager, yet smooth and dangerous gait even as the young man stretched his limbs and stood.
“That was Seth?” His voice was still groggy from whatever ill manner of rest he had been able to get.
“None other than.” Her voice, still bitter from a battle of tongues it seemed, grew anxious even as the anger lifted its cruel hand from her features. Her face was now calm and smoothed, relaxed now from the taut jaw-clenching and from holding back the tremulous flow of emotion in her mind, evaporating them as if nothing had happened. She was angry, or had been before Gabriel sat as he did now, closely. Closer perhaps than any had ever dared to sit. He rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes and peered into hers, a deep pool of emerald and liquid strength, a will stronger than ages shining room within.
“Did you sleep well?” Her question startled even herself, caring little for such niceties. What is happening to me?
“Could have been better.” His brow had once been furrowed and fraught with worry, but now it loosened as a smile bloomed from her mouth. “You know, you had me shaking in my boots when first we met.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “And now? Do you still tremble at my power?” One eyebrow arched in playful question as she pulled her right arm free of the blankets that still covered her. Taking her free hand in his, he was touching her long and agile fingers with a thumb, caressing the soft, smooth skin of her hand as he maintained his gaze.
“Not a chance.”
“What . . . ?” Sera’s soft laughter belied her feigned hurt.
“No more than I fear the sun’s ascent in the morning sky or its fall in the even. No more than the changing of either seasons or of bedding. I fear you in the uncertainty of a child’s first step, in the suspense of not knowing what might happen next in a talented bard’s tale, in the strange look of my own eye as it is surely reflected in yours. I don’t know the future, or what it might hold for you, but without hesitation or doubt in my mind, I would be there to see it. If you’d have me?” His other hand crept to her cheek, feeling the warmth of her body, the beat of her heart quickening at his touch. They leaned closer together, lips parting from their own and finding a match in the other's, her hands reaching to the nape of his neck, and his to the small of her back. The embrace. The kiss. Flesh joined in the way of passion, fused in each others’ arms, locking and interlocking as two might. Grinding softly and hot like the teeth of a machines gears, only supple and soft, muscle and skin together, two parts of a whole. Together.
Through the window the lovers might have seen the cloaked figure mount his horse and ride in the early dawn to the south, to a destination sought but unknown. Might have watched as the sun grew high in the heavens, chased and chasing thunderclouds blacker than sin and the void of space combined. They might have seen these things, had they not been human and lonely and passionate as human beings are prone to being. Yes, they might have watched as the walls did the coming tide of the storm, wroth with the fury of nature against the desert heat. They knew nothing, however, nothing of the happenings beyond their chamber, beyond their embrace even, and could not know even as the rain began to pour from the sky in a tumultuous roar that was deafening to those who did watch. No, their ears were deaf except to the sound of her passion and his coupled in an ecstasy known and knowable to all of the human race. And it was Glorious.
Noon had placed itself in time with the midday sun hidden behind the showers of precipitation and ominously hovering clouds. Torrential rains, falling still as rapidly as when the thunder had first clapped, heavier if it were possible, continued falling even through the climax of their ordeal. And an ordeal it had been, emotional, mental and physical. Total. The world had flipped for them and a new light and pain took its hold as they recovered from it. The act had been and was both necessary and exalting even as they returned from their orgiastic pleasure and culmination into a world rife with pain, deceits and decadence. The water had come, and would remain even as they went from the place two days hence, but for now they could tarry in each other’s embrace, entwined and wrapped in love and passion.
The words of Esaius, last prophet of the Latter-Day Saints crept deep into Gabriel’s brain, even as he lay with Sera in his arms, and the onslaught those words brought carried over into his dreams when sleep once again took him.
Copyright 2006