Tom Piccirilli - A Lower Deep

Somewhere along the line this had stopped being his plan and had spiraled out of his limited control. He was draped in the white robes of a coven leader, the same ones he had worn the night of our final sabbat. I fingered the cloth-it had been re-threaded and rewoven but I could still see the vestiges of stains and burns.

"Rejoice," he said.

"Oh, shut the hell up."

His scars seemed to ripple as he smirked. "We stand at the dawn of a new age. Be proud. Put your old angers and malice away. Every wound is about to be healed."

"Tell me," I said, "are you doing this because you want to remember your past or because you want to forget it?"

He moved in close as if to kiss me again. "The same as you," he said and left it at that.

"You really are an asshole."

"The mystery of God is finished," he said.

The ten kids of his new flock were panicky but quiet, constantly looking toward Jebediah for reassurance. Good luck, I thought, there's not much chance you'll find it there. Uriel had cut off a few more of his knuckles but he still had enough fingers to hold Aaron's sword. He carried the blade in the crook of his arm, pointed straight up like a solider about to present arms.

Among the coven again, Marcus fell back into anonymity. It took me a minute to find him among the other young men with similar features and equally disturbed penetrating eyes. He had his sleek grin back but it was only stale bravado. I could see his fear and he could see mine, and I really wished he'd just get away from here. I wished they'd all get away from here.

"How about if you send all these people back home and you and I finish this thing alone?"

"I would if you really meant it," Jebediah said.

There hadn't been any anger in me for a while-not even when I'd trapped Marcus or held Gawain dying in my arms. Only when I'd slapped Self, and that was significant. Perhaps all our wounds really were about to be healed, in one way or another.

The two girls impregnated by Fuceas appeared ready to burst, and I could tell that bothered Jebediah. The introduction of other participants would alter the plan he'd worked so hard to achieve, even as he watched it already changing and slipping further away from him.

This place and these people were as familiar to me as a recurring nightmare.

My father hovered about a dozen feet away, dancing and clapping alone like a child making his own fun.

The coven enjoyed the gathering of forces. It was their first real taste of the enormity of time, vision, and dream that they'd tasted. They'd fashioned themselves into a circle of power, taking their rightful places. Jebediah had trained them well, and they each moved fluidly with a perfect syncopation. Marcus kept his eyes on mine, maybe wanting to kill me or only earn my respect. If anybody got out of this alive, I was sure it would be he.

I'd allowed him to run loose inside my head and he'd learned from it. He had a new element to his nature now, a respect for the sacrifices that had to be made. His women sought his attention but he ignored them, concentrating, wary. He'd brushed up against my soul and some of my past clung to him like paint. He had other shades swirling around him, just the barest wisps that Hotfoot Johnson tried to stab at with its beak. Marcus would be haunted with a touch of guilt for the rest of his life, my guilt if not his own. Danielle and my mother had become his ghosts as well.

"It's not too late, Jebediah," I said.

"It's always been too late for us. Sometimes I think this was the only reason I was ever born"-he turned and the immense sadness in his eyes made me want to hold him tightly, the way I once had-"just to bring you here on this day, at this hour."

"We don't need to do this."

"Of course we do. We're no less God's slaves as the Seraphim or Satan or the rabbis or Christ Himself. Our lives were written out the moment God became aware and separated light from darkness."

"You can't really believe that," I said, although it was a thought I'd had on more than one occasion myself.

"Perhaps I do." Then he shrugged. "Perhaps not. We'll be beginning soon. Prepare and ready yourself."

"I am."

"I know, you're always ready to raise the dead. It's your beautiful genius."

I expected him to walk away but he didn't. He stood at my side and looked out over the JezreelValley and I could see the pulse in his neck hammering so quickly that I thought he might have a heart attack any second now. Sweat poured off my face. Elijah's fury washed against me like blasts of steam, but I still couldn't see the giant Nephilim anywhere. Elijah had either left the hybrid body or changed it or was still on his way here with his hatred leading him by miles.

Fane took up position near Uriel and tried speaking to him but got no response. Self found the spirit of Bndgett floating about and started getting funky with her again, climbing and clawing. The flaps of her slashed throat slapped together loudly and sent echoes across the plain.

The sound of mutilated flesh excited the other familiars. There was a sudden din of their hungry and lustful cries and titters. Jamara the fat legless spaniel slid itself toward Bridgett in the hopes of stuffing its tongue into the gaping wound of her ghost. His mother Thummin was nowhere to be seen. Vinegar Robyn and Mr. Broadeye Sack, and the black owl Prickeare started slinking around, edging toward Bridgett's stink of church. Self had to slap them away.

I'd almost forgotten why we were doing this. It took me a while to remember that Jebediah had said we could force our way into paradise and sit at God's left hand. I didn't know why we'd want to.

That yellow cracked tooth crept out from under his shredded lip and glinted at me. "We've come full circle."

"Stop saying that." It might have been the truth, but I didn't need to be constantly reminded of the fact.

"We need blood."

"Considering how many of your flock have already been murdered, I'd say maybe you had your own preoccupation and love for the dead."

"Assuredly. I need their aid from the other side, to bring Christ closer to us."

It didn't take long before he was back in form. The sorrow in his face fled and the fiery madness slid back into place. I thought his own lifeline might be skittering around in his hand and driving him even more crazy. I could tell that he suddenly wanted to kill someone, and his eyes settled on Uriel. He wanted to murder his brother for revenge as much as to put Uriel out of his own pointless misery. Chop him down to pieces, inch by inch, just as he'd done himself. Perhaps Uriel would even help.

"We need blood," he repeated, almost pleasantly, smiling, and taking a step toward his brother.

I grabbed Jebediah's shoulder. "There's already enough death here and has been for five thousand years. Where's Elijah?"

"What?"

"Where's Elijah?"

I thought that might make him drop his smile, and it did. The Nephilim was another variable that might disrupt his bizarre plans if he actually had any, and I was no longer sure that he did. "Coming."

Jebediah used his athame to mark the circle of power in the dirt, eighteen feet in diameter, as he walked deosil-clockwise-in association with the course of the sun and stars. The other coven members took their places in a circle. Each of the four cardinal points were covered exactly, with me and Jebediah standing to the north, associated with earth, the pentacle, secrecy, and the color black. This purified space acted as a boundary for the reservoir of our concentrated will.

We made the correct cleansing gestures and began chanting, each word and phrase awakening emotions, memories, and visualizations of energies and eons. I could make out a faint silvery glow about each of us. Sparks began to bounce around the ruins as if the swords of the slain warring soldiers still clashed together.