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The boy woke up, shaken and groggy, in an unfamiliar bed. An IV cord was attached to his hand, and he stared at it for a moment before realizing what it was. Monitors beeped by his bedside.
He looked around the room and his eyes fell first on the girl sitting on the chair by his bed, asleep. The morning sun creeping through a crack in the curtains gave her red hair a golden shine. He smiled at the sight of her.
“Good morning,” I said quietly, stepping forward.
He looked up at me, startled, not having realized that they weren’t alone.
“Hello,” he said shyly. “Are you my doctor?”
“Yes, one of them. I’m Doctor Ralph Arches, and the young lady by your bed is my daughter.”
“Maya… No, ” he paused, shaking away his disorientation. Then he smiled, looking at her again. “Mara.”
“Yes. She says you’re her hero, that you saved her before the snowstorm.”
“There were some bullies. I got them away from her, that’s all.”
“Well, she’s refused to leave your side while you recovered from what they did to you. She found you just in time, and led searchers to you. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, you’ve been through a lot.”
“Mostly just some bad dreams, ” he said.
“Oh?”
“Whatever came before doesn’t really matter any more than a dream. What matters is that I’m alive today. And she’s here.”
My daughter woke, and their eyes met. A moment later, so did their hands, coming together over the blanket. I left them in private, and went home to my wife.
I remembered finding faith under a tree in a snowstorm. A time I should have died. I knew then, and remembered now, that the world was chaotic. Not because God was unjust, but because only in the unfairness of chaos could we be free. Bad things had to happen to good people, good things happen to bad, or else we would never have to make real decisions. We would not have doubts or fears, because we would have certainty instead. Do ‘A’ and get ‘B,’ like a hamster pushing a button for food. There would be no moral choices, because we would know from experience and results that the same thing would always happen. Our thoughts, our intentions, could be evil or good, but so long as our behaviour was proper, we’d get our pay-off.
With certainty, even the worst people could behave well instead of making choices, because they would have no doubt of the outcome. But in a world of chaos, where consequences were not so clear-cut, they could get away with cruelty.
For there to be good, there had to be evil. For freedom, there had to be choices and chaos. But for there to be freedom in chaos, it meant that there had to be some order as well. Some things that were always true. If God had planned for chaos, there had to be a way to find what was real and good, even when surrounded by darkness and evil. Even the darkness served God’s purpose.
“I can do all things by Him who strengthens me,” I whispered.
“What?” Azazel demanded, knowing that I had spoken, yet not hearing me.
I began to speak, letting my faith flow through me, fed by the Holy Spirit.
“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Words from scripture came to my lips, and I saw Mara’s eyes, blind a moment before, restore themselves to their deep violet hues. She locked eyes with me and smiled.
Love was the answer. Love was constant. I cried out in victory, and lunged for Azazel even as Mara’s sword manifested itself and she went for Astarte. Simultaneously, the two demons drew their own blades in the nick of time, their obsidian blades clashing with our white swords.
The four of us circled each other, our swords on guard, and then there was a flurry of activity. Mara and Astarte went for each other at the same time, their swords colliding in a fast and fierce duel. Azazel feinted for my head, and then stabbed for my guts. I bounced out of reach, and then rolled behind a pillar. His blade bit into the stone just above my head, black and menacing. I sprung away from my hiding place as his second blow sliced through it, toppling a brazier. Its coals struck a tapestry, setting it ablaze.
Just over Azazel’s shoulder, I could see Mara and Astarte strike, counter, block and slice in the dangerous ballet of sword-fighting. I smiled with pride to see my beloved handle herself admirably, and then I had my own problems to worry about. Azazel was growing black armour out of his skin, sharp and deadly looking. I grimaced, and prayed for God’s help.
I was unsurprised when white armour manifested itself around me, soft white fire outlining its grooves and edges. I stood, bowing to my opponent, and then uttering a battle cry as I charged him.
We exchanged sword blows, our blades clanging again and again. He was faster than words can describe, yet somehow I held my own. I could feel the strength of his demonic hatred in every devastating attack, and knew my faith was a shield. In fact, one appeared in my hand as I thought that.
Azazel roared in anger as my opposition continued. He kept growing bigger, his armour becoming more spiky and dangerous, his helmet becoming a fanged mask. His sword, now twisted and sharp on multiple edges, was knocking down pillars and scoring the walls. Yet my shield blocked his every blow, my sword countered his thrusts.
He bellowed and screamed, chasing me around the room, stepping through the flames that burned everywhere. I simply fought back, but saw that smoke was coming from his nostrils, and his eyes were glowing an angry yellow. His face seemed to be merging with his helmet, his hands with his gauntlets, which became increasingly like claws.
Before my very eyes, the pieces of Azazel’s armour became scales, and he grew to an enormous size. Within moments, a fierce red dragon was before me, bristling with fangs and black claws, his wings stretching above him, as wide as the room itself. With a flick of his tail, the walls tumbled down, forcing Mara and Astarte to run for cover before continuing their duel.
I could see them leaping over fallen columns, slashing and parrying, an acrobatic light-sabre duel if I ever saw one. Astarte tried to lift into the air on her dark, mottled wings, but Mara leapt from a pillar to tackle her to the ground. But by then, I had my own problems.
The Dragon growled and went for me with its mouth, its teeth like daggers. I gulped and then, sustained by my faith, I simply charged forward. The Dragon snapped at me with its mighty jaws, but I rolled under him. The monster flapped its wings and rose into the air, and blew fire down on me in a plume. I ducked behind my shield and stood up unharmed when the Dragon stopped.
He screamed in frustration, his snarls deafening in volume. I tensed my legs and then sprang into the air, soaring like a bullet straight for his chest, propelled by faith. I held my sword out in front of me, knowing that I was God’s archer, and it was my arrow. I, the Hawk, soared and collided with the Dragon.
“LET THERE BE LIGHT!” I roared in righteous fury, the Tiger, as I struck his heart with my sword.
The universe was filled with the brightness of Christ as the Gates opened and He descended from above to lift us home.
I got within an inch of the Devil when he held up a hand and cried: “STOP!”
I barrelled into him at full force nonetheless, hitting him with my shoulder even as he dodged my sword thrust. We grappled, rolling on the stone floor. I felt like I was struggling with a tempest, an earthquake, a sea. A primal force that should have crushed me, had I not been sustained by faith.
“Astarte!” Azazel called in desperation, and I heard real fear in his voice. He knew that he could not get the best of me. I rolled off of him and bounced to my feet, keeping an eye on the Prince of Lies while preparing for the arrival of the temptress from the desert.
The ceiling disappeared, and she descended on dark wings to alight beside Azazel, who had risen to his feet. Her robes were a dusty crimson, with intricate armour on her shoulders and chest. Her blonde hair streamed out from her helmet. Astarte was lovely and terrible at once. She threw a form to the floor, another cowering prisoner.
“I’ve brought her,” Astarte told him. Her black eyes flicked over me with recognition and hatred before returning to her leader.
“Good. Ethan, perhaps you will recognize our guest. I believe she means something to you.” Azazel reached down and pulled this unfortunate soul’s hair to force her head up. I shuddered with anger when I saw her face.
“Mara! You leave her alone!” I brandished my sword, and Azazel made a halting gesture.
“Stay back, pilgrim! I cannot touch you, but I can certainly inflict an infinite amount of pain on her. Keep your distance!”
I have never felt such anguish. My beloved was in the hands of humanity’s greatest enemy, when she was meant for the glories of Heaven. It wasn’t fair. She had been good and kind for thousands of years, yet one bad moment put her here. It was just bad timing: had she lived a little longer, Mara’s love for God would have surely led to repentance for the death of Lamb. What kind of system was this? Where was the justice? The mercy?
“Let me make you a deal.” Azazel said. “Renounce your God, give up your quest, and I will let the two of you live here forever, in luxury. I can give you anything you want. Here, I am a god! ”
He let Mara stay on the floor, and stepped closer to me, speaking smoothly, his words like honey.
“It isn’t fair, is it? She is so beautiful, so perfect. How could God abandon her to this? How can He say He loves His children, when He leaves them here to rot? How could a loving God inflict damnation on anyone for all eternity?”
He smiled at me, and I could feel how charming this demon could be when he wanted to. “I’m not such a bad guy. I just have a bad reputation. God demands obedience, demands worship, demands your constant attention. I don’t ask for anything – I offer free gifts. I give people what they want. Is that so bad? Can I help it that they want sex and drugs, alcohol and violence? I’m just catering to the market demand. But all I want is to help people have a good time. What’s wrong with offering them that choice?”
Azazel seemed to think my continuing silence signalled my defeat, for he smiled at Astarte. Little did they realize that I was thinking, and thinking hard.
Ethan stared at the Pearly Gates for a long time. I stood quietly to one side, using my wings like a cloak, seeking comfort from them as I crossed my arms on my chest. I had never felt so desolate since losing Hannah, and wondered how Ethan could bear what he must be feeling. Thinking that way, it was easy to give him time to compose himself.
“I can’t go in without her,” he said finally. “How could I say I loved her if I was willing to let her be damned alone?”
How indeed, I wondered, marvelling at simple human devotion. At how much he loved my daughter.
“What am I to do?” He asked, his eyes brimming with tears he refused to shed.
“I need you to find her and bring her out,” I said. “You opened the door in both directions, remember? Once she is in the world again, perhaps she can have a second chance.”
“So far as I know, only Christ could conquer Death,” Ethan said, his voice and face unreadable. I could not tell if he was refusing me, or refusing hope.
“God alone can save,” I agreed, “So, if it works, perhaps we can trust that it is His will.”
Ethan shrugged. “I only know that I have to go to her. Bringing her out… Well, I’ll worry about that when I get there.”
He stepped to the edge of the cloud, ready to descend. Resolute as ever.
“Watch out for Lucifer.” I cautioned him. “Don’t let him mislead you. This isn’t going to be easy.”
Ethan looked at me sharply.
“Lucifer? Have you even read the Bible? That name is only in one chapter, and it refers to Nebuchudnezzar, the king of Babylon. John Milton gave it to the Devil. That’s fiction, Raphael. You speak like a character in a book.”
He shook his head.
“If you are incapable of choices, then perhaps you should consider who is letting you provide me with this choice. Who has set all these things in motion. And who provided you with such an out of date script to work from.”
Leaving those words ringing in my ears, he was gone.
Ethan ran up the stairway two at a time, the echo of his footsteps loud in the narrow stone corridors. He knew he had only moments left. He had discarded his cloak to gain speed, and was sprinting full out.
He stopped at the door to the roof to catch his breath and prepare himself for the confrontation to come. In his focus, it took him a moment to realize that, though he had stopped running, he could still hear footsteps.
Ethan whirled to face the stairs, his sword in hand, at the ready. Whatever came out of the darkness, he was prepared.
“Ethan?” asked a breathless voice, and Ethan found that he wasn’t quite prepared for this.
“Mara?” He said, and then she was in his arms, seeking his mouth with her own, her arms clutching him tightly. He felt warm tears on his cheeks and could not tell which of them was crying. Perhaps both.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I knew you would come. Your sisters and I figured that you would need our help.” She smiled, and from behind her Gwen and Genevieve emerged into the light. Ethan embraced each of them quickly.
“Time is running short, glad as I am of this reunion. We have to move fast. I’ll take Reza when we go through this door. The rest of you can deal with rescuing Jason. Are we ready?”
***
Donovan Reza held a bloody knife in his left hand. He held Jason by the hair in his right. A look of excruciating misery was painted on this man’s face, and a pentangle of blood was being painted around his feet. The blood for this diagram came from deep cuts on his arms, legs and chest. Simon Lamb was the artist in charge of this bloody picture.
As Ethan burst through the door, Lamb completed the circle containing the pentangle he had created, and it burst into flames. Gwen and Evie rolled to either side of the blazing circle, while Mara and Ethan somersaulted right over it, into the centre of the fiery ring. Into the circle of death.
Ethan collided with Reza in a diving tackle, knocking him and Jason over. Mara rolled to a crouch, facing Lamb, who snarled at her. His teeth had become fangs, his eyes blazed a deep red. They circled each other warily as Ethan wrestled with his doppelganger and Jason whimpered on the stone floor of the platform.
“You cannot interfere!” Lamb growled at Mara. “You know the Angelic Laws. You cannot get involved in their free will choices.”
“Newsflash, dumb-ass, I’m human now. I have all the free will anyone could ever want. The rules don’t apply to me anymore.” She grinned. “I hated those fucking rules.”
“Such language!” Lamb mocked, feigning shock. “What would your father say?”
“I don’t answer to him.” Mara glared at Simon. “No one tells me what to do anymore! I do what I want!”
“And what are you going to do with your newfound freedom?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
Mara leapt forward and struck Lamb across the face with her elbow, tripping him. Behind them Ethan and Donovan struggled over the knife in Reza’s hand, both of them straining. Reza’s lips were drawn back in a snarl of rage, while Ethan’s eyes were filled with determination. They wrestled back and forth, neither gaining an inch. Donovan seemed frustrated, finding that his supernatural strength gave him no advantage over Ethan and his faith.
On the sidelines, Genevieve and her sister were forced to watch these life and death struggles. Evie had the best view of Mara’s fight, and tried to shout encouragement to her friend. On the other side of the circle, Gwen watched their brother and saw that the battle was too even.
“Ethan, listen to me!” She called out, cupping her mouth against the wind. He didn’t look at her, but a slight angling of the position of his head indicated to her that he had shifted some of his concentration her way. They were so close in strength that he gave an entire inch to Reza in order to give her any of his attention at all, so Gwen knew she had to talk fast.
“You’ve been fighting him your whole life, Ethan! It’s all over your journals, how you wrestled with your anger!”
The wind blew hard, whipping her hair back, and Gwen had to holler to make herself heard, but she knew Ethan was listening.
“You can’t fight him anymore! It doesn’t get you anywhere! You have to let go of your fear of getting angry because fighting with it so hard is what gives it power over you!”
Ethan looked directly at her, and Gwen could see him processing her words. Reza saw this lapse in concentration as an opportunity, and pressed the advantage. His blade moved inexorably closer.
Mara sat down in a comfy chair in the corner of the living room. She bounced on the cushion a few times, almost giggling. Once finished, Mara folded her hands in her lap and smiled, while we sat on the couch.
“Ethan has been chosen to perform a Task for the Lord. He was chosen before he was born, and designed for this one Purpose.” As Mara spoke, I could hear a special emphasis put on certain words, as if they were of great significance. I capitalized them in my mind as topics to ask about.
“Ethan has a purpose?”
“All humans have a Purpose. Their Dharma. Ethan’s special destiny is this quest.” Mara was smiling with pride. “He is a Champion.”
“What’s he going to do? It has to do with Reza, doesn’t it?” I said, on the edge of the couch cushion.
“His dark half, yes. He will find the Dark One, certainly.”
“When and where? We have to help him.”
“Ethan told us to come home and stay safe,” Eve reminded me quietly. “He doesn’t want us endangering ourselves anymore.”
“I don’t care what he said, he’s alone. When is he coming back?”
“You haven’t detected the pattern yet?” Mara grinned. “You’re supposed to be the clever one, Gwennie girl.”
I glared even more fiercely as this stranger used Ethan’s nickname for me. “You’re not part of this family! You don’t get to say things like that.”
“I’ve been a part of your brother’s life since the beginning, dear girl. I’m not here to be your enemy. Ethan sent me here.”
“Why?”
“Because he loves me.” Mara grinned broadly. “He wants me to find myself, just as I told him to do, so long ago. He brought me here so I would be safe while I learn how to be human.”
“Learn how to be human?” Genevieve repeated.
Mara giggled. “There’s so much to tell you both. My mother was human and my father is an angel. I’m a hybrid, and I was raised in Heaven. I never knew what it was like to live on Earth, and it became my dearest wish. Ethan saw the truth of that, and his sword transformed me into a human being so that I could experience the part of my nature that wasn’t being expressed in Heaven.”
“Ethan used his sword on you, too?” I asked. “Genevieve’s been a proper pill ever since he hit her with it.”
“Gwendolyn Pitney, no one should use language like that.” Genevieve’s tone was soft, but that was exactly what was bothering me.
“Genevieve Pitney, you used to swear like a sailor if you were pissed off. I’d rather you yelled at me, then this ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ bit.”
Mara giggled again. “Teach me to swear like a sailor! Please?”
We both looked at her. Genevieve looked at least as shocked as I felt.
“Um, pardon?”
“I want to know how to swear.”
“I think you’re missing the point,” I said. “Eve isn’t acting like herself, since the sword. And you say that it hit you too.”
“Well, yes. But that makes sense, doesn’t it?” Mara smiled.
“No. It doesn’t make sense. That’s why our faces look like this.” I gestured at Genevieve’s perplexed expression. “We don’t know what the sword did. I’d like my sister back the way she was.”
“I’m glad you feel so confident expressing yourself, Gwendolyn, but I’m afraid I have to disagree,” Genevieve said pleasantly. “I used to be full of anger, and now I’m not. Truthfully, I’m a lot happier this way.”
“How can you be happy?” I yelled. “Most of humanity is dead, and Alex was butchered before your eyes just a few months ago!”
Genevieve’s eyes misted up and she fled from the room sobbing. I sat back on the couch, exasperated. At least something got a reaction out of her.
“That wasn’t very nice,” I heard Mara say. I looked in her direction.
“It was honest.” I folded my arms.
“So was she. Genevieve has been purified of her falsehoods, her sins. Everything she says, everything she feels, right now is the truth of her heart. That’s the power of Ethan’s sword. It reveals truth. I wanted to be human, and now I am.”
“Truth like hers doesn’t belong to this world. It’s full of ashes and death. There’s nothing left for us.”
I stood and walked to the window, which looked out on a sunny yard and garden.
“This, this is a lie. There’s nothing like this in the rest of the world. And I think you know why.”
“Of course I do. And I’ll help you to understand.”
Mara smiled, and I believed her.
I stood in Ethan’s room, staring at the illustrations on his wall. His books and papers were spread out across the bed and desk. I kept tilting my head, trying to puzzle it through. I knew the answers were here somewhere.
I held a checklist in my hand, on a clipboard. I had identified all of the portraits of his friends with Genevieve and Zoë’s help. Neal, check. Jason, check. Alexander, check. He had drawn them all. Next, there were superheroes and villains, which I had compared to his stories. I couldn’t see any obvious connection, but the demonic monsters and larger-than-life heroes were obviously significant to Ethan’s imagination. He had spent years on them.
I groaned in frustration. I had organized his books and films into themes, as some reflected quests, others the struggle with dichotomy, the nature of good and evil. But I had yet to figure out any discernible pattern. It was too subtle for my eyes.
“The Dark Tower, that’s like the Citadel on the west coast…” I checked that off, as a real world reference point. “The Hobbit went to a mountain, Frodo went to the Cracks of Doom…”
There was a knock on the front door. I cocked my head, certain I had imagined it. People didn’t make neighbourly visits anymore.
Then it came again, definitely not a figment.
“I’ll get it!” I hollered. I went bounding down the hall to the stairs, taking them rapidly. I ended up in the front hall, opening both the wood door and the outer screen. I wanted to see who it was. “Hello?”
I found a young woman, at best guess in her early twenties. She had rich auburn hair and deep blue eyes. I had to look twice to guess the colour; they were so dark.
“Hello.” The stranger smiled.
“Can I help you?” I said, raising an eyebrow when she offered nothing but the short greeting. She looked back at me for a moment, and then finally spoke.
“Is Genevieve at home?”
“Sure… one moment.” I called out over my shoulder. “EVIE! Someone to SEE YOU!”
I waited in the doorway, appraising the newcomer, trying to ascertain who she might be. She wore a frilly white dress and, unbelievably, no shoes. Genevieve strolled down the stairs.
“Gwen, there’s no need to yell. That’s not proper manners.”
I rolled my eyes at this. Evie came to the door, looking at our visitor.
“Hello,” The young woman said again, still smiling.
Genevieve’s eyes widened. She put a hand to her mouth, gasping.
“It can’t be…” She murmured. “You were on the plane! All those years ago. And you haven’t aged a bit…”
“It’s nice to see you again, Evie.”
I raised an eyebrow at the use of the family nickname. No one else ever got away with that.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Mara. I’m a friend of your brother’s.”
“How do you know Ethan?” I said, “That’s not possible. You’re like my age, and he’s been missing for fourteen years.”
“He’s not missing. I know exactly where he is.” Mara smiled again. “May I come in?”
Genevieve held the door open, and I took a step back. I glared at the newcomer.
“How could you know where he is?” I turned to Eve. “Who is she?”
“I saw her, on the plane, before we crashed. In all these years, I’d almost forgotten. How is it that you look the same?”
Mara smiled. “I wasn’t human then. I was your brother’s angel, I watched over him. I have been with him his entire life.”
She looked around the room, smiling at furniture and knick-knacks as if she knew our home. “In fact, this is the first time we’ve been apart. It’s a little discomfiting.”
“Where is he?” I demanded.
“In the wilderness. He has a quest.”
“Why? What is it? Why Ethan? You know, don’t you?” I tried to approach her, a little testily I admit. Genevieve put out a restraining hand, slowing me from charging forward.
“Give her a chance to talk.”
No Man an Island 