Chapter Seven: Words on the Mount
She was a witch, of that, Seth was certain, never mind the hows and whys, there were no other possibilities, and as everyone knew, once you eliminate the impossible, the remaining option, however improbable was the only solution. She was a whore, though a powerful one, and one he meant to see dead. She didn't deserve the Gift, wasn't worthy of it, and for that matter, neither was Jack.
He silently berated himself for staying as long as he had in Hill, and shook with rage that his plans had been broken by this girl. He had so hoped for her death with the marshaling of those thousands of chosen, but it wasn't enough, and he had expended too much energy in doing so to recover any time soon. It wasn't hopeless yet, though; he hadn't been written out of this story just yet. While Jack may have the corner on the traps and snares, I'm not without my own wiles. Seth giggled to himself, even as the rain was pouring down on top of him. It was cold and damp at the top of the world in Sallak, once called Salt Lake City, then New Zion, and was now the last bastion of hope for all members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. They had so fallen from their mighty perch 200 years in the past. Quickly growing, with a strong base of faithful followers, they had degraded into a heaping cesspool of professed believers and those who would call themselves faithful, but Seth knew better. A culture which fed upon weakness, and forced all within its reach to proclaim the wonders of their prophets, the Mormons had been less than true to their beliefs in the decades following the first outbreak.
The Book of Mormon had been reduced to its current version following two centuries of corruption and denial, turning the hearts of men from its pages and causing them to rip out whole sections of it. The beginning of a vast book burning suggested by the last prophet of that destructive faith. Esaius. Seth shuddered to think of him. The man had gone mad after witnessing the destruction of his people two years before it happened, and Seth had been there, perhaps had even caused the vision. Not that it mattered, but venom ran cold in his bloodstream, and he couldn't help but revel in the conspiracy he had spawned. Often, he found himself wondering if Jack knew from the beginning what he would do when given this strange gift of immortality. His head involuntarily twitched at the thought of Jack, grimacing and growling, Seth spat out a curse at his former master, who he felt pulsing angrily in the back of his head, a ball of fire and life, and power. Power that he had been denied! He breathed deeply, smelled the wetness in the air, and felt the slickness of the stone beneath his feet, saw his breath as it issued from his mouth and hung suspended before disappearing, could see the same in each of the faithful that had gathered below him. Giggling uncontrollably, he quickly quieted himself and began to prepare himself for the speech he was to give.
He pondered again on the people below, and how their beliefs stemmed from a book completely destroyed then resurrected from the memory of those who had survived. How those ceremonies once conducted in the shattered building below him had been sacred, and now the building stood empty. True, it was partially demolished, but the parts that mattered were still there. The religion had torn itself apart from its foundation, and all the knowledge and vengeful reckonings of their God had been marred and mutilated by recollection and its followers' children's children and the passage of time, from which nothing is safe.
As it happened, only a single piece of LDS doctrine and prophecy had been saved, and this was perhaps the most relevant material ever to have been uttered from the lips of a prophet. The last president and prophet of the church, whose given name had been forgotten, stricken from memory until only his chosen name, his holy name, his true name had been mentioned. Esaius, the mouth of the One True God, and trumpeter of the Almighty. That prophecy, those few pages of words written by a blind scribe in the presence of Seth, told of a girl who would free the world, and cleave the woman hidden in plain view, that mountains would part and seas would dry before her, that she might walk on dry land. Life would tarry in her wake, and the desert would bloom where she walked. The hope of humanity. That was the most delicious irony of all, these believers, who circulated the script with frequency, who memorized it and regurgitated it upon command, would strike against the very girl who had come to save them. Mindless sheep, he chuckled to himself, so easy to mold and shape, so easy to grasp with fear and shake into following my orders, even at the expense of their faith.
He was the Wanderer, had shown himself with inconstancy over the years, and prophesied again and again that he would return and show them the path they must follow. They would listen. Word had spread rapidly of his triumphant return, and they had gathered before his pulpit, even in the pouring rain, and more arrived still. Whether they had gathered to see the madman in the grips of lunacy where he stood at the highest remaining point on the Temple, or to hear the words of their prophet as they were shouted into the air, it didn't matter. This was his last sermon, his last act of defiance against humanity, and against Jack and his little whore. Delusion and fantasy had brought these people who would hear his pleas and his quotations, brought them to bear witness as he spread rumors of the girl, Sera, and her guardian, the boy Gabriel.
Perhaps fifteen hundred waited below him, from his slick stone aerie atop the worn granite edifice, waited in the rain's heavy falling drops. His words are wise, they murmured amongst themselves, let us hear them, and gain strength against the coming storm. Seth could have smiled at such things in the past, at the very thought of him speaking to a congregation of blasphemy and brimstone against the coming “Anti-Christ.” He could have, but he had already assumed his role as doom-sayer, and was deathly serious. His freedom lay just around the bend, at stake, it seemed, if he failed in the task now before him. These drones were the only things standing between him and his untimely fate.
“Faithful Christians!” His voice boomed out over the hushed crowd and raindrops splashing. “And those who would walk in the light of love. His Love. Hear my words and the words of Esaius if you would guard yourselves and your faith, should you hold them dear.” Empty space in the throng filled up, gaps closed as men, women, and children huddled closer.
“I come before you now a humbled servant of our Lord and Savior that we might ward ourselves against darkness, and he who walks in shadow.
“Esaius proclaimed a girl, she-who-would-cleave-the-mountain, and would warn against her. She would spread her lies before her like water on the sand that they might be won over to Lucifer's army! Devils and demons guide her path, Brothers and Sisters, and she would have your very souls.
“Has it not been said that 'Blood shall flow like a river before her, and the earth shall tremble and quake under the tread of her sole?' It would! And it would be right to do so! Tremble at the sight of her, and fear her coming as you would fear a plague of locusts and disease and famine. She would bring the world to its knees and still hunger for more! She is jealous of our Savior, and his faithful, jealous as the false gods and idols of old at His coming.
“She would be called Savior, a second coming in the flesh of our Lord. But it has been said many would claim this! To be false Christs and liars, leaders of the damned all! I implore you to deny her shelter and any comfort when she knocks, lest you fall straightway into temptation and find yourselves on the wide, paved road to Hell! Would you follow the very spawn of Satan? Leaver her to her own device, crying and embittered in the wilderness. For all her shouting let her voice grow hoarse with it, for the sake of your souls! Give her nothing, lest your tears and toils come for naught, and leave you outside Heaven's gates.
“'Many are called, but few are chosen,' my brothers and sisters, 'and why are they not chosen?' I call you now! Remember these words when she comes and ask yourselves – Am I chosen? Would you be? Forsake her and give her no quarter, for she-who-would-cleave-the-mountain has no breath but lies and deceit, raising herself to godhood on the faith of the damned souls and devils in the Pit of Despair!
“Blood flowing as a river to guide her footsteps, and it is the blood of innocents! Babes born to death and women struck down from their pleading. They plead for their lives and she took them as a thief! Not a thief in the night as our Lord would come, but a common thief. She comes and we know her as we know the light and love of our Lord and Savior, but she brings only hate, and the shadow!
“'Mountains shall part in her name as in the days of old, and the seas shall wither that she might walk on dry land.' Her path is set and she will stride over this fair refuge, leaving pain and chaos, death and destruction as gifts in passing! Even as I speak here before you, an army of her own, the shadows of men, destrachan and worse rise up to swallow us! The madness of our last civilization shall precede her and follow her because she came! She holds no oaths or loyalties save to herself and her prince of darkness, Lucifer himself. In league they are, and conspirators both!”
The crowd murmured in approval and concern as he finished, nodding to each other and agreeing with themselves. Should such a person appear, they would stamp her and her ilk as they would crush a roach or similar pest.
Seth turned from his congregation and stared open mouthed at the sight before him. Sera, spear-knife in hand and clothed in new leathers, crouched in her hunting stance, rifle stock showing over her right shoulder, barrel hanging past her left hip, drenched. Gabriel, cold-eyed and mouth curled in a grimace, waited beside her. His pistol was unholstered and free in his left hand, tapping against his leg impatiently. The rain continued its assault.
“Seth,” Sera snarled in contempt.
“It isn't what you think, well . . . , it is, but I had my own motivations to do so! It wasn't my fault!” Seth trembled in spite of himself. He made to move closer, but Gabriel's gun was aimed in an instant. Gabriel made a tsking sound and shook his head slowly.
“Seth, you are a snake in the grass.”
“No, I . . .” his weak protestation made no difference, evoking no emotion at all in either of his opponents.
“Kneel, weak one, cower in awe and behold your destiny as it comes to meet you.” Sera's voice did not falter, raw strength and courage oozing frighteningly from her lips. Thin tendrils of steam spiraled upward from his mouth as the cold water ran down his face and he prostrated himself before her.
She was on him in an instant, blade freezing to the touch, glistening in the dim light against his throat. His gasp of surprise escaped his lips as he breathed in deeply; her fingers were cold, but deftly held his head aloft, raising him from his posture. The crack of thunder boomed and reverberated against the standing stone walls before dying, leaving the uppermost level of the Temple once again still and quiet save for the falling raindrops. Lightning flashed, bringing with it a myriad of puzzling shadows and its thunder followed soon after, louder than the first and nearly suffocating the group atop the structure.
“I must congratulate you, young one, on your expeditious journey to our present location.” A strange voice coming once more, issued forth from Gabriel's throat, his features twisted as he sought to control himself, but the voice persisted, and Gabriel found his feet glued to the spot where he stood.
“Master, I . . .” Seth's pained cry was obvious in its sincerity. Fear gripped the man, and he shivered in his frailty.
“No, Seth, servants do not speak in these tones. Now it is time to listen, as your forked tongue has had quite enough exercise for many evenings. Shut your mouth.” This last sentence snapped shut Seth's mouth without hesitation, and from the low moan that he uttered, it was evident he had just bitten his tongue.
“Many questions arise in you, Sera, but you do not give them voice. Very considerate of you, I must say.” Gabriel's features continued contorting even as he struggled against whatever had taken hold over him. The voice that was not his did not let that deter it. “All your questions will be answered in the course of time, I am sure.”
“Jack, you speak from the pained mouth of my friend, and I would have you release him,” she challenged, her eyebrow arching delicately.
“He is my tool, born for this task, to be used as I see fit.”
“He is a man, a member of the same species as you were and I am.”
“Ah! And feisty as well as possessive! Very well then, girl, take hold of your wits as we adjourn to someplace more habitable.” Another bolt of electricity screamed from the clouds above and forked just above their heads, half streaking in Sera's direction, the other towards a very wide-eyed Gabriel. The flash was blinding, and for a moment, before her sight cleared, it surrounded her, consuming in its abrupt omniscience. Knowledge of everything and nothing was contained here, in the heart of the universe, a place beyond mortal men and their conflicts. A single seed of life and existence, near bursting with its content. Nothingness stretched as far as she could see in every direction, and her awareness of everything around her was surprising. The seed was pulsing with excitement and curiosity, glittering silver with each pulse that her own heart beat in time. A single tendril reached out to her, and unable to stop herself, she reached back. It erupted, matter and energy fleeing the focal point with all its dimensions and possibilities. In short, it was a beginning, a source. Sera found herself hurled from the seed, yet even as she flew, more pieces than not were thrust past her and around her, faster than anything she could have imagined. As she flew, bits of light streaming towards her, larger than she, as if directed, consuming her with fire and light and . . .
She was lying on a richly woven rug in front of a fireplace that crackled as it burned. Its flames were gray, not red and orange, but gray as though this were another place outside of time and the realm of reality. The rug was made of a million different shades and textures, also gray, yet it felt soft and warm, and the air that surrounded her was refreshingly sweet, scented candles littered the shelves and mantle, bathing the room in wavering light.
In the center of the room, a large oval table sat, upon which the figure's feet rested, dirty leather boots caked with mud and other things far more vile. They connected with legs at the ankle, again at the knees and waist and torso, with arms folded across the chest. His face was cloaked in shadow, hooded and concealed, violet eyes shining out of the darkness, bright white teeth casting back the light from the candles and fire.
“Jack.” She snorted derisively, as though it were the only possibility.
“None other than, girl.” His voice was dark and possessed of strange charisma.
“You infect my every waking moment, every thought.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” the teeth smiled.
“That wasn't a compliment.”
“And maybe this isn't a waking moment.”
“And maybe you aren't as powerful as you'd like, feeling threatened by a mere child.”
“Not just a child,” he sloughed the comment off, chalking it up to youthful inexperience, “but a child of the blood, my blood.”
Sera was curled in the fetal position, confusion ringing like a bell in her mind. For the first time, she looked up to the ceiling, or rather the lack of one. The sky was clear, uncluttered by clouds, unfettered by the bonds of gravity, it seemed, stars swirled in strange patterns, comets and extra stellar bodies whirling, decaying, moving, leaving brilliant trails of multicolored and faceted light.
Her legs crouched beneath her, feeling the solidity of the stones beneath, and she pulled herself to a standing position. Lights continued to dance in the heavens with abandon, leaving posts of design for their whirlwind tango.
“You know why I'm here?” he asked, face cloaked and beyond recognition.
“I know a lot of things, but why you or I are here is not one of them. I've learned that with all probability and likelihood, we should not exist.”
“Ah, but against all probabilities and odds we do exist, and we are here, at least most of the time.”
Sera stared at the blank shadow between the bright violet eyes and wondered of the face which could hid in such a way, attempting to put a discernible feature to the voice, some recognizable item, but could not. “Most of the time?”
He nodded, hood shivering as he did so. “As it stands, most of who I am is sitting in this chair right here. Most of you is standing in front of me glaring like a wronged prostitute.”
“That's a low . . .”
“I wasn't finished,” he interrupted her indignant thought with arrogance. “We are where we are most of the time. But in all things, against all probabilities, we are also someplace we aren't supposed to be, shouldn't be, according to the physical laws as they are know and understood by mankind.
“Our perceptions guide us, Sera, through the impossible and across the length and breadth of space and time to places unimaginable. A frail path through the infinite, hurtling along orbitals and in to the paths of our would-be destructors. Mankind flourishes on this tiny planet in the midst of plagues, meteors and predators. And how is such a feat even possible, given our fondness for wars and self-defeat? Is it conscious thought that could so separate us from other mammals, other animals even? The chameleon changes its skin color to match its environment, is it this kind of adaptation which has allowed us to dwell tens of thousands of years on the earth? We are the same dust upon which dinosaurs, huge reptilian beasts, trod. The same water passing through their massive urinary tracts only to evaporate under the sun to become clouds and eventually life-giving rain to plants which provide us the very air we breathe. We are the same combination of elements in existence found all across the galaxy, perhaps even the same ratio as in our bodies. It defines our constitutions, our strengths, and yet we aren't the same as the rocks we shape, or the grains we harvest.
“The truth of the matter is that we are specks on this relatively insignificant and remote island of life in a desolate wasteland of nothingness. The question begs, 'Are we alone?' We may well be, but that is of no consequence to the dilemma at hand, the dilemma of ages, our single greatest accomplishment as a species.
“Human consciousness congratulates itself upon our arrival, and weeps on our departure. We are the epitome of humanity, its greatest deeds, be they good or evil, lie within each of us two. We are the awesome duality of our race.
“For times past remembrance you and I have battled for the wills of mankind, it's in our blood, the blood of the Gods themselves flowing through our veins, pulsing with power and life. We battle as the two sides of a coin, to reflect upon the world ourselves, our sins and our pleasures, deciding factors in the wars of humanity against itself.
“The mass subconscious, a relative cesspool of zealotry, self-sacrifice, faith and hatred, prayers to this God and that, lies at our fingertips, begging to be used, to be manipulated. You and I are the ending decision of a million millions of lifetimes' debate, the final coin flip. Even now, the coin tosses and turns, pushed this way and that by past choices, past conflicts, and even future ones. Fate and Ka push and pull us at every turn, attempting to resolve the strange obsession of mankind, the weird religion to which all men are bound and tithed.
“But why, you might ask, why would we be necessary to finish a task started so long ago? Perhaps we aren't. I'm almost certain that we won't be the last of our kind on our little planet, subservient to a cause doomed from the start, but perhaps it isn't so bleak. Call me an optimist, but I see the end of our ridiculous squabbles and undying hatreds. The ultimate goal is within our collective grasp, and we might be able to obtain it!
“Just think, Sera, think of it! An entire species working together for our own survival! Men of all nationalities and religious backgrounds toiling side by side for the betterment of all! Think of the technological marvels we can accomplish, the tasks we can finish, all the things we could create!”
And she could, almost. She could see the wonders the future might hold if everything at the present and of the past could be set aside, petty differences really. What couldn't we as a race build if all our energies became focused on that goal? “But everything we create, we destroy. Entire cities and civilizations have been created and then crushed again into the very dust from which they sprang. Our nature is to demolish works of beauty, burn the knowledge from our histories and rewrite the deeds of our men and women when they aren't of the same creed. How could such a wondrous and lofty gift ever become reality?”
“So young, and yet so very cynical.”
“I'm skeptical, and I'm being realistic. If even half of what you say is true, then why would we still be necessary?”
“In the beginning, the choices and consequences of our actions were broad and felt in only a few cultures, but as the greater number of each peoples' differences disappeared, consumed, annihilated, or whatever happens to the lost instincts and traditions, the whole of humanity moves closer to its roots. Similarities bind every human being to the whole. We love and fear, hate and desire, require each of these things in return. The distance between actuality and possibility is shortened, growing smaller and smaller as each generation of our kind comes to fruition.”
“Wait, our kind? What makes you think I have anything at all in common with you? You spread lies and deceit and plagues with every step you take on this earth!” Anger and righteous indignation fumed from within her, seeping from each pore and exuding from her essence, her core.
“Yes, woman. Our kind. We are gods among men. Fueled by our humanity and our lack thereof we devour the legends of old, gaining power from the defeats of men and from their victories as well! Every prayer uttered in hushed tones and every battecry infuses the source of our power and strengthens us, fuels our own cause. And yes, too, I spread plagues, for that is my role in this chaos and confusion, but not lies. Truth! I feel it coursing through my body even now, seeking release I come to you, feeding your curiosity with not scraps of it, but whole chunks! Alive and still screaming I bring it to you, yet you act as if I have wronged you! And I have, I suppose. It was I who set the cougar on its course, teeming with the sickness, consumed by the shadow.”
“You . . .” A white-hot flash of fury coursed anew throughout.
“Yes. It was a spark, a diversion. You had to be set on your course, and that spark did it's job well. Standing before me now having met one of my three generals and more enlightened for all of it. Only in the face of defeat do we find our greatest courage, the bravery to journey onward against our greatest fears. That mountain-cat wasn't the only thing I sent your way either. I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it. Consider this a final warning: there are worse things I could have done to you, and the worst of all is yet to come. I can promise you adversity and difficulty in your trek towards me, and you should pray that should we ever meet face to face, I would show you mercy. But the time for mercy is past, and you shall find yourself relentlessly pursued.”
“We are face to face now! Show yourself and finish it!” She rushed forward to the table, cracking it in half, cleaving the gray oak into pieces, pausing only slightly as it flew backwards against the wall and disappeared into the granite. The cloaked figure pushed the chair aside as the wood splintered and stood at the ready, having tumbled and dodge his way out of harm.
“And had I ever said this was a waking moment? Mark my words, child: I will hound you to the ends of the earth.” He reached his hand out to her cheek, faster than she would have believed possible, and hers snapped to defense, gripping the chilled flesh with tenacity.
“It's only a dream,” no longer Jack's thundering voice, but Gabriel's, tender as a lover's caress and as warm.
“Only a dream,” she repeated, strange, gray facade fading and melting away like wax from a candle, only molded into an elaborate mirage. Her vision cleared slowly from her eyes, no longer a vicious, cloaked figure, but Gabriel, friend, confidant, and lover. Tousled brown hair instead of hood, shadowing his face, concern and worry lining his weathered brow. Just a dream, quickly fading away into the past, into memory.
“But it was so real . . .” she murmured
“They always are.” His hand softly touched her cheek, soothing, calming her nerves. Even as he tried to salve the dream that had so rudely woken her, he tried to forget his own disturbing dream. Standing atop the last edifice of the old days remaining in Sallak, he had faced the Wanderer, the elder of Hill, and Knower of things arcane. The Last Human Sorcerer, save for Sera, though she was something else entirely. Seth, the snake in the grass.
He shivered as he thought of the words Seth had spread in that dream world, but dreams didn't actually happen, not like that. Besides, he told himself, he was afraid of us, as though we were there. Nobody can be in two places at once. The Wanderer's betrayal had not happened, at least, not yet.
The sun once again began to peek across the western mountains, its rays hindered by the clouds which still oppressed the desert so. The raindrops fell with a strange pitter-patter, as though they tried to wash away the very colors of everything, and it looked as though they were succeeding. All around, visible through the room's windows, greyness pervaded the stones and the sky, and the yellow desert sand. Even the green of the crops growing to the south seemed dull and sullen.
“Just a dream,” He murmured.
“Hmm?” Sera's sleepy question met silence as Gabriel pressed his lips to her forehead.
“Nothing,” he said quietly, already drifting back to sleep that wasn't as plagued with dreams.
Copyright 2006