A Deafening Silence In Heaven (20 page)

Not taking his eyes from the action below, the Fossil’s only response was a scowl. Everything was in movement, and his addled brain was struggling to process it.

Remy had fallen. The Fossil had no idea why. It didn’t look good for the angel, even though the others had managed to free themselves, and Baarabus was hauling ass across the pit to save him.

“Watch,” Michael commanded.

The Filthies were silent in anticipation of what was to come. The Fossil, and others of his troop, watched as well, none certain what they would see.

For one never could be in the strange world they now lived in.

•   •   •

“Remy, get the fuck up!”

He heard Leila’s voice off in the distance and wanted to holler right back,
Can’t you see I’m busy dying?

The power awakened inside of him was overwhelming. It flowed through his body, wanting to take control. It was angry at him—angry for keeping it locked up, restrained, for so very long.

It wanted to be master now, and he was dying for it.

It was happy to be awake—happy to have finally been unleashed, even though it was killing its host.

The power was wild, irrational, unhindered by thoughts of repercussions. Remy tried to calm it, to wrestle it back under his control, but it was far stronger than he was.

It wanted to be free, to destroy the pain that had driven it insane.

For the Creator was dead, and all the world would pay.

Remy sensed an opportunity.
What if I were to help you?
he suggested to the sentient force.
What if I were to deliver those who did this terrible thing to God?

The corrupted power of Heaven made a noise that sounded like a chuckle, but it did not refuse him.

Give yourself to me, and I—
we
—shall make all who were responsible for the death of the Almighty pay for their crimes.

The divine force of the Seraphim was tempted by Remy’s offer and withdrew ever so slightly.
And when will I have this . . . retribution?
it impatiently asked.

You shall have it in time,
Remy promised.
But first you must give yourself over to me. You must let me guide you.

The power hesitated briefly but quickly relented.

Take me,
it said
.

Give me the deaths of the guilty, and I will be yours to wield
.

•   •   •

He didn’t want it to end like this, winding up in the belly of some godforsaken piece of shit from the wastelands of Hell, so he did what he had to do.

Remy accepted the offer from the power within.

You will have your death,
he told the rage of the Seraphim, and the power responded in kind. He felt a wave of strength wash over him, an adrenal surge the likes of which he’d never experienced before: one moment nearly comatose, the next fully awake and ready to deal.

The bravest of the Hellions made its move, darting in for a quick and crippling bite.

Remy saw it as it was happening, as if in slow motion. He moved just a fraction, and the demon dog’s jaws closed around empty air. The beast yelped as its teeth ground painfully together, but it immediately spun around for another try.

Remy was going to move again, but this time something angry within told him to hold his ground. The Hellion was like a tidal wave of violence, its stink of fire and brimstone repulsive. It leapt into the air, its front legs spread, claws distended, ready to pull him into a killing embrace.

There came a sudden icy chill in one of his hands, a chill that quickly turned to burning. As the Hellion’s body fell toward him, he stepped forward, driving his fist into the descending chest, punching through the flesh to where the beast’s foul heart beat wildly. Remy took hold of the throbbing muscle and tore it from the Hellion’s body, stepping quickly aside as the demon dog fell, dead before it struck the floor of the pit.

Another of the Hellions lunged at Remy from behind. He could hear it, could smell its fetid excitement, and he spun on the beast, its sibling’s bleeding heart still clutched in one hand. Remy jammed the muscular organ into the Hellion’s mouth. It landed upon him, slashing with its claws. The angel managed to squirm from beneath the beast and leapt upon its back, throwing his arms around its neck and squeezing with all his might.

It continued to fight, thrashing and bucking beneath him, but the power within Remy wouldn’t give up. There came a loud snap, and the demon animal’s legs splayed out beneath it. The Hellion writhed and twitched as Remy climbed from its back, and, feeling a twinge of mercy, he bent down and punched the paralyzed creature’s skull, sending splinters of bone into its brain and ending its life.

Remy felt the power of the Seraphim roiling with pleasure but not yet sated, and he looked around for the next kill. He saw the last of the healthy beasts making a hasty retreat from him, bounding toward where Anthony and Leila now waited, ready to fight.

The power of the Seraphim was on a roll, hungry for more foes to be vanquished. Remy dove after the running animal, grabbing hold of its short, nubby tail. At first he wasn’t exactly sure what he would do with the beast, now that he’d halted its progress, but as it turned toward him, jaws open wide to bite, Remy felt a surge of intense pain explode outward from the center of his body, flowing down the length of his arm. The hand still holding the Hellion’s tail ignited in flame, the divine fire quickly spreading from him to the tail of the Hellion.

It was like watching a fuse ignite.

The divine fire was hungry as it consumed the shrieking hellhound. The dog died in agony, spinning in circles and rolling upon the dusty ground of the pit in an attempt to put out the fire.

But it would not be extinguished until its hunger was sated.

Leaving only a pile of blackened ash roughly in the shape of the consumed Hellion, the fire flowed back to Remy’s hand. Sensing that there was still one more enemy to deal with, Remy looked around the pit.

The blinded Hellion cowered near its cell, nervously sniffing the air and picking up the scent of death from its murdered brethren. In its injured state, it did not seek out Remy, self-preservation making it stay cautiously away. Remy felt a smile that he could not control creep onto his face as he started to walk toward the injured animal.

But Baarabus was suddenly there, leaping upon the blinded Hellion and tearing out its throat in an instant. “Can’t let you have all the fun,” he said, his large face stained crimson with blood.

Remy was furious, for the living fire was cheated of its prey and demanded that it be satisfied.

Demanded that a replacement be made.

And before he could even question his action, Remy extended his hands, allowing the flames that now welled up from his core to explode from his body.

The sigils tattooed upon Remy’s body throbbed painfully as if somehow attempting to halt the flow of divine energies that he now emitted, but they were overwhelmed by the ferocity.

Remy cried out in pain as the force flowed from the tips of his fingers, gouts of divine fire igniting the corpse of the felled Hellion, while Baarabus leapt back from the hungry flames.

The dog was shocked by Remy’s action and looked upon him with surprise.

“What the fuck?” he asked.

Remy’s hand raised again, the flow of corrupted energy about to come forth once more. He was caught up in the moment, no longer in control of his actions. It was the power that was in the driver’s seat now, and all he could do was sit back and let the inevitable happen.

The power needed more death, and Baarabus would have to do.

“Remy, what are you doing?” a familiar voice asked close by. A hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and spun him around.

Remy snarled as he looked into Leila’s concerned face. He raised his hand, feeling the fire about to flow, not picky about whom it killed. It was the girl’s horrified expression that broke the power’s hold over him.

But it wasn’t enough to keep the flow of divine energy at bay. He held the power back for as long as he was able, spinning around to direct the force at the ogling Filthies on the ledge above. He screamed as the fire flowed out from his outstretched hand and watched in horror as the power pounced upon those angels unlucky enough to be in its path. They screamed as the holy flames fed.

“Remy, what the fuck is going on?” Leila asked him as he gathered his resolve, attempting with all his might to pull back upon the angry force within him.

“No time,” he said breathlessly, fighting the power that wanted desperately to be free again, to hurt and murder.

To burn.

Baarabus came at him angrily, his dark fur bristling like the spines of a porcupine.

“You better have a good excuse for trying to kill me,” he said in a roar.

“Can’t talk about that now,” Remy said, managing to dampen the ferocity of the power. “Think we’ve got other concerns.”

They turned their attention to the opening of the pit to see Michael’s enraged features as he glared down upon them. This wasn’t what Michael had expected at all, certain that the Hellions would have done exactly what he’d wished for.

“We’ve proven our worth,” Remy called up. He was feeling weak as he fought to hold the power of the Seraphim at bay. He knew if he was to release it again, nobody around them would be left alive.

“Let us out of the pit.”

Michael actually appeared surprised by the suggestion.

“That was only the first trial, I’m afraid,” the archangel said. “You’ve many more to go before you are deemed worthy to live in His new and perfect Paradise.”

The remaining Filthies were all staring at their master, eager for him to tell them what they should be doing.

“Go down there and kill them,” he commanded.

And the Filthies cried out with a perverse joy, tensing to do as their master commanded, when there came a most terrible sound.

It was the earsplitting blare of a horn.

And even from within the pit, Remy could see the terror that filled their eyes.

T
he Archangel Michael sat before a roaring fire in the great stone fireplace and crossed his legs. He glanced at his hand resting on his thigh, at the long, delicate fingers, and saw that the tremble persisted.

“Satquiel,” he called out, clenching the hand into a fist as he gazed into the fire. “Has there been any word?”

He sensed his second in command beside the leather chair in which he sat.

“No, Commander,” the angel said. “We’ve received nothing.”

Michael felt a small sense of relief with the news. He focused on the orange-and-yellow flames, seeing the Golden City within the fire, imagining that would be its fate if the ritual of Unification were to take place.

When the Almighty had told him of His plans, Michael had been rattled to his very core, and he feared the Lord God Almighty would sense his displeasure and punish him for his lack of faith.

But how could he have faith after the experiences of the Great War?

He shifted uneasily in his chair.

“Are you all right, my lord?” Satquiel asked nervously, still beside the archangel’s chair.

Michael pulled his eyes from the fire to look at Satquiel. “I’m fine,” he said, the lie feeling like poison upon his lips. “Leave me to my thoughts; disturb me only if something of great import arises.”

“Very good, sir,” Satquiel said, then departed with a bow, leaving Michael alone in the stone chamber of the monastery.

An angel of Heaven was impervious to the elements, but Michael—since receiving God’s message—had felt nothing but cold. An icy ball had formed in the center of his chest, radiating a chilling sensation of supreme dread. He did not wish his subordinates to see him this way, but Michael knew that they suspected something was not right between him and Heaven’s edict.

The burning logs collapsed upon themselves with a whiplike crack, sending sparks to sputter out in front of the stone hearth.

So here he sat, waiting for the final word from the Kingdom of Heaven that would signal Unification.

And the return of the Son of the Morning to his former status.

Just the thought of Lucifer welcomed back into the folds of Heaven and God’s embrace . . .

Michael trembled, feeling his entire body vibrate. He wondered if that was somehow the work of the Almighty, his Heavenly Father attempting to show him the consequences of his doubt. But then, he doubted the Lord God would be so subtle, recalling the conspicuousness of the Great Flood, and Sodom and Gomorrah. No, these feelings were Michael’s own.

And he feared they would be his downfall.

As the archangel stared into the dwindling flames, he suddenly sensed that he was no longer alone but in the presence of awesome power.

“Hello?” he called out as he slowly turned in his chair.

Another angel stood stiff and expressionless in the center of the great stone chamber.

“Greetings, Retriever,” Michael said, rising from his seat to face the imposing being.

The Retrievers were created by the Almighty to find and return to Him anything He believed lost. This one wore streamlined armor of shiny black; even the great wings furled upon its back were covered with the glistening reflective coating. The face that peered out from the confines of a helmet wore the bluish white of glacial snow, its eyes equally as cold and unfeeling.

“To what do I owe this visitation?” Michael asked, moving gracefully toward the angel.

The Retriever stared intently at him, giving Michael the uncomfortable feeling that it was able to look right into him, seeing things the archangel would rather remained hidden.

“A time of greatness is almost upon us,” the Retriever finally announced, its voice like the blast of a ship’s horn.

Michael cringed inwardly, trying not to show the Retriever his displeasure. “It is.” He nearly choked on the words.

“The worlds must be made ready for the ritual,” the Retriever added.

“Of course they must,” Michael reluctantly agreed.

“You will oversee the preparations of one such world.” The Retriever pointed a long, sharpened finger at the archangel.

“Me?” Michael responded with surprise. “Surely there are others better suited. . . .”

“You will oversee its preparedness,” the angel repeated more forcefully, its voice so loud and booming that the ancient mortar holding in place the stones of the wall began to crumble and rain to the floor.

Michael bowed his head, accepting his burden. “Of course.”

He lifted his gaze to see that the Retriever was reaching to its side, the black armor near its hand shimmering as if suddenly liquid. The angel reached into a pocket in the aqueous metal and pulled out an object, holding it out to Michael.

“This is your first duty.”

Michael studied the object in the angel’s gauntleted hand before reaching to accept it. It was a blackened piece of branch, a twig really. The archangel could not discern the meaning of the simple object until his flesh came in contact with it, and then he knew what it was.

And where it was from.

It was a branch from the Tree of Knowledge. Images exploded in his mind. He saw the Garden of Eden as it was conceived, blossoming into a part of Heaven that would bring about what the Lord God perceived to be His greatest achievement but, in all actuality, was His biggest disappointment.

Michael rubbed his thumb along the bumpy shaft of the stick, bearing witness to the birth of humanity and its downfall, the first step in Eden’s being sundered from the Kingdom of Heaven. Then he saw the Garden as it was now, detached from Heaven, drifting from one reality to the next.

Homeless.

“Eden,” Michael said aloud, his gaze focusing on Heaven’s emissary.

“You will go to it,” the Retriever ordered. “And you will secure it in preparation for what awaits it.”

The archangel wanted to say no in the worst way, to refuse to take part in what would most assuredly be an epic catastrophe.

“I will do what is asked of me,” he said instead.

The Retriever stood there, watching him with eyes that told him nothing but at the same time seemed to bore into Michael’s very being.

“Will you?”

Michael was taken aback. Did this Retriever somehow suspect that he did not agree with their Master? Had God cautioned him on the archangel’s faithfulness?

“I will,” Michael answered, his gaze unwavering.

The black-clad messenger continued to stare, and Michael felt the first strands of his resolve begin to unravel, just as a faceplate of liquid fell over the Retriever’s face, hiding his pale features from further view.

“See that you do,” the Retriever warned as he spread wide his impressive wings. Then, without so much as a flutter, he was gone, as if he had never been there.

But he had been, and what he had left behind filled the archangel with a growing sense of unease.

Unification was going to happen.

And he was going to have to be part of it.

His anger suddenly exploded from him, and Michael threw the branch from the Tree of Knowledge at the grand fireplace and into the flames. The fire roared like an angry animal, tongues of flame erupting from the hearth to set his chair aflame and try to claim him as well.

The door to the room flew open and Satquiel rushed in. “Is everything all right, Michael?”

The archangel did not take his eyes from the fireplace. “We have received our orders,” he said without feeling.

The branch was resting, untouched, in the center of the fireplace. It had started to bloom: small olive-colored buds on its once black and withered surface.

Satquiel stepped in front of Michael and retrieved the branch. “Eden,” he whispered as he came in contact.

“Yes,” Michael agreed, keeping his disdain in check. “We must prepare for its homecoming.”

And what could be God’s biggest folly.

•   •   •

Clouds of exhaust that stank of sulfur and death billowed from Leona’s dual exhaust pipes as her engine revved with excitement.

“All right, let’s try this again,” Francis said. He held the collar of the Harvester’s leather tunic, forcing the demon toward Leona’s grill, where strands of leathery shell still hung. “You’re going to give me the location of the Bone Master home world, or I’m going to feed you to my car.”

He could sense the Harvester’s fear as the car growled, its back wheels spinning wildly, kicking up clouds of dust.

“I am ready to meet my fate,” the Harvester said with great resolve, his back stiffening.

“Do you think I’m joking?” Francis asked, pushing the man closer to a horrible death.

Leona’s front grill bent and writhed, showing off the inside of a cavernous mouth lined with teeth like multiple saw blades.

“It won’t be pleasant, I can assure you,” Francis said.

The Harvester remained defiant, and Francis decided to show him that he meant business. Tightening his grip on the back of the demon’s collar, Francis thrust him forward, pushing his head into the open maw of the car just long enough to help the demon understand how horrible his death would be.

The Harvester screamed as Francis yanked him back and shoved him to the ground.

Leona leapt forward, ready to help herself, but Francis intervened.

“Not yet, girl.”

The car obeyed, but Francis could tell she wasn’t the least bit happy. Her engine was idling loudly, and she bounced on her shocks in anger.

“But if our friend here doesn’t talk soon . . .”

“I’m not going to talk,” the Harvester said defiantly. “For generations my family has served the Bone Masters, and I am not about to abandon their trust. Feed me to the vehicle, and I hope it chokes on my bones!”

Leona surged forward, her open mouth less than an inch from the demon’s terrified face.

Francis put his hand between Leona’s grill and the Harvester’s face. “Back it up, would you, girl?” he asked.

She revved angrily, refusing to move.

“Please,” he encouraged her nicely.

Abruptly, she did just that, her back wheels screeching on the hard surface of the pocket world as she reversed.

“That’s a good girl,” he soothed before turning his attention back to the Harvester. He was running out of time and was considering killing the demon and using his scalpel to extract the information, but something told him he’d be best served by leaving the demon alive. But another idea niggled at the back of his mind.

He squatted down before the Harvester. “Your family has served the Bone Masters for generations, is that right?” he asked.

The Harvester remained silent, refusing to even look at Francis.

“So for hundreds of years, your entire family has collected these eggs,” Francis continued anyway. He gestured to the cave behind him. “Collecting these eggs in your little baskets and bringing them back to the home world.”

Francis fell silent for a few moments, and the only sound to be heard upon the world was Leona’s engine purring in anticipation. Finally, the Harvester looked at him.

“I’ve had an interesting thought,” Francis told him, smiling and raising his eyebrows. “This is the only world where these special critters exist, am I right?”

The Harvester did not answer, but the look in his dark, beady eyes said volumes.

“All over this tiny, special world are eggs designated for young Bone Master assassins to be. Now, here’s a scary thought.” Francis looked out over the landscape. “What would happen if there weren’t any eggs?”

He locked eyes with the demon.

“What if somebody had, say, planted explosives inside all the caves—explosives that could be detonated with just the push of a button.”

The Harvester’s eyes were so large now that they looked as though they might pop from their sockets. Francis reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver object, allowing his thumb to dance along the top of it.

“What about that? I’m sure the Bone Masters would be pretty annoyed if something like that were to happen, never mind the spirits of your forefathers.”

“Please . . . ,” the demon begged. “Do no harm to the eggs . . . please.”

Francis slipped the object back into his coat pocket and studied the demon. The Harvester seemed to grow smaller, his defiant posture deflating.

“Then take me to your home world.” Francis waited, knowing that his ruse had worked.

The Harvester looked up at him then, defeat in his horrible demon eyes. “I will take you.”

Francis rose to his feet, his knees cracking noisily as he did.

“Outstanding,” he said with a smile. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

•   •   •

Above the pit, the Filthies were screaming.

Remy looked up, trying to see what was happening, but could only make out furious movements of panic and a sound that he recognized as the release of magickal energies.

“What the fuck is going on up there?” Baarabus growled.

Remy didn’t have a clue but was desperate to find out. He ran to the wall of the pit, searching for handholds. He decided he would try to climb out.

Looking around at the litter-strewn floor of the pit, he found another, thicker piece of bone, likely a thighbone, and snapped off its end. He then went to the wall and started to dig handholds to begin his ascent.

Leila and Anthony waited below for him to get a good start before they began to follow.

“Hope you’re not expecting me to get out the same way,” the demon dog called up to him.

“We’ll get you out as soon as we reach topside,” Remy said, digging the jagged end of bone into the crumbling grout and broken tile, gouging out a place for his fingers.

The screams above were louder, more frantic, and Remy experienced an odd sensation inside him. Even though he’d gotten the fiery power under control, it was as if something on the outside was calling it out, tempting it to the surface once more.

There was a scream above his head, and Remy instinctively pressed himself against the wall as a winged body fell past him to the floor of the pit. He followed its fall, noticing that its body appeared to be cocooned in a shroud of crackling black energy.

The Filthy writhed and croaked, enwrapped in the strange darkness, finally lying still.