All around them, the strange humming sound began to work its way into their heads, not forcing its way but rather worming inside them, sneaking in through the back door while they were occupied with other more important matters.
“Every world that Lucifer conquered or emptied was welded to his own, but nothing is able to satiate his quest...his hunger for control over humanity has transformed him. There have been battles for as long as your time has existed. You hear them but cannot interpret them for what they are. Besides these worlds there are parallel existences where humans live in the same place as you, the same time, but you never meet. Time runs adjacent in each parallel, but the portals access them all.” Nemamiah had once again resumed control of the story telling. He stood more relaxed now, as if he had grown slightly more acclimatized to his guests. If there had been a sofa and a few beanbag chairs, Becky was fairly sure he would have sat down in one and resumed his tale, possibly smoking a pipe as did. With this image in her head she could not help but give a smile.
“You mean like a parallel universe, a world existing within our own, people living in the same house as us, shitting in the same pot,” Graham scoffed.
“Yes,” Nakir’s curt response came even before Graham had finished speaking. “More than one. You may catch glimpses of them from time to time; reflections and shadows for the most. You call them ghosts.” At this, both Graham and Becky gave a stifled laugh. One in disbelief, the other a distorted form of understanding. “Believe me or not, for I have no time to deal with the simple gradient of your thoughts,” Nakir snapped before being thrown another, if not even more furious glance from Nemamiah.
So heavy was his face that even Nakir’s black eyes seemed to pale compared to the thunder red rage that appeared on Nemamiah’s face. Without saying another word, Nakir spread his wings; wings so bright and pure that none saw, apart from Sammy; they shone in his mind’s eye as beams of pure brilliance, with a detail that the human eye could never even hope to comprehend. Then, with the speed of a flying bullet, he was gone, and Sammy felt a wave of depression sweep through him as his world was once again restored to darkness. Even the light of the remaining two angels seemed dark in comparison to what he had just witnessed. He let out a slow, quiet sigh.
Nobody spoke for a few minutes. The banishing of Nakir – for they all knew that was what it had been – left them all ill at ease. The humming sound continued to push its way into their ears, and for the first time since they had gathered to listen to that what they must be told, they noticed Sammy’s eyes. They were bleeding, not as though someone had taken a knife and divided an artery, but certainly more than the weepy nature of the crusted over wounds would have warranted under any normal circumstances. Even Sammy raised a hand to them and felt the sticky residue on his fingers as he pulled them away.
“They’re not too bad. Honest, just a bit...wet, that’s all,” Becky lied to him. She knew she was lying, and worst of all she knew that Sammy knew it, but it was what he needed to hear. She had been in the position where a small and completely unconvincing lie had been the best medicine.
Nemamiah noticed it also, as did Sariel, but neither moved to offer any help: instead they looked once more at the ground and then decided to continue with their tales.
“The concept of multiple layers and worlds within the fabric of your own can be a tough one, but at this moment in time it is not imperative that you understand, but simply believe. Understand that Lucifer means to take much more than just your world and those that exist within it. He looks to claw his way back into the heavens and this time he is strong enough and has an army large enough to be a real threat to the balance.” Nemamiah accented his words and mimicked mortal speech as best he knew, and could see on their faces – with the exception of Graham – that they were at least willing to consider what he had told them.
“Okay, but what can we do? I mean, you said that you guys, sorry, I mean the angels, have been fighting Lucifer for a long time. I don’t understand what we can do; I mean, you have stated our insignificant stature in the overall balance of the universe several times, so why are we here? Why pull us out of Hell, and not some other creature, a clan of warriors or...or...I don’t know, something more useful. I just don’t get it.”
Marcus posed the questions, but they were all a variation of the same one that danced on all of their lips. He had one arm crossed over his stomach and the elbow of the other rested on the enveloping forearm. Marcus scratched his chin as he tried to think and stay at least one step ahead of the game, or in this case as few steps behind as possible.
Nemamiah considered this for a second, his head tilted slightly to one side. He looked at Marcus, and opened his mouth several times before closing it, trying to find the right words for the occasion. “You of all people, Marcus, should understand the concept of fighting for a cause that you cannot fully explain. You dedicated your life to fighting the very things we now speak. The low level sentient beings that manage to slip through the openings that appear or those that use battle as a cover, fleeing when our eyes are diverted.” Nemamiah’s answer was vague, yet Marcus nodded. He thought he understood.
“It is God’s will that you help; He gave us your names and told us to pull you from Hell. You all died a death that was not due; you were all plucked from the earth by something, and that has never happened before, not to the extent it did with yourselves. You were sent straight to the judgment chambers. You should have been sent to one of the grey worlds to await your trials.” Nemamiah did all of the talking now.
“So what made us so special?” Becky asked.
Marcus turned his head to face Becky as she spoke, and in doing so he caught a glimpse of the look which had set itself on Graham’s face. It was as if the wind had changed direction and frozen it in a look that was not anger but one of worn patience. It spoke volumes to Marcus. Graham was clearly exasperated, because, despite it all, everybody seemed to be coming around to the ideas being presented to them – everyone apart from him, that was. Graham thought it a waste of their time. He wanted to get through this and then either wake up or simply move onto the next stage of his afterlife.
Becky was scared by the possible reaction her words may have elicited from the angels, even as she said them. She knew what she had experienced in Hell, she knew that was where she had been, and deservedly so in her own eyes.
“Nothing makes you special, not that we can tell. Your deaths were unique; they were random; you were victims of circumstance. The portals opened exactly where you all were. It has long been rumored that Lucifer was searching for something in your reality, something that was lost when he fell, and we took this to be a signal of his intent, so we intervened,” Sariel said, his tone one of moderate – forced – enthusiasm.
“We all died at the same time? That must be something special, surely. You said these portals were difficult to use, yet five of them managed to open up and swallow us simultaneously.” Marcus didn’t speak but rather speculated his mind.
“Truth be told, for this is what you must hear, there were more than just the five of you, and your deaths were not simultaneous. Marcus Fielding, you died in 2009. Graham, your wonderful skeptic, died a few months later. Helen, you were pulled back in 2007. Sammy, you left your car and girlfriend wrapped together a half year before that in late 2006. And, Becky, well, you obviously share your date with Marcus. Everything happens for a reason, we angels do not believe in coincidence, as you would have it phrased.” Nemamiah was quick with his information, rattling it off like one of those pitching machines used in batting cages and tennis courts. “We do not have time for questions; you must all be educated on what is happening. There are battles that do currently and soon will rage, and you must learn how you are to play your part in our war. I beg of you, please, listen to me now.” Nemamiah held his hands outstretched, palms facing upwards, his request a genuine plea for all ears to be cast in his direction, questions held until after the sermon and a change in venue.
The humming noise began to drown out the sound of Nemamiah’s words. Turning them vague and diluted, muffled somehow, like talking inside a night club. The ground now had also started to groan, growling as if digesting a large meal; Thanksgiving or maybe even Christmas dinner. The ground beneath their feet had begun to move. It was softening, melting as the intense heat below continued to worm its way up to the surface. The all found themselves adjusting their balance and foot positions regularly. If they stood still for too long they were sucked into the ground the same way your feet disappear into the sand when you stand in the surf.
“You asked about our battles, and yes, the war between Heaven and Hell as you view it is not the signal of the Armageddon unless you will acknowledge that the final battle began millennia ago and is but nearing its conclusion.” Nemamiah paused for a moment, then continued, “Lucifer is powerful and as his empire grows so does his strength. He is driven by anger and rage, emotions that when harnessed are stronger than all others. We have not seen him for many generations now, but he has been changed, the same way our other fallen brothers and the beings he caught as he fell were changed. The problem is that his empire is built from not one thing, but many worlds crafted together, crossing through the dimensions and portals of time. It is a fragile place, forever shifting and changing its position, and as Lucifer changes, his control lessens. It is in these periods of change that many sentient lower grade beings escape. The majority of the time these shifts simply move them to another place within their own world. Yet sometimes they land in a light world, one inhabited by those who are righteous, or, like your world, one filled with those yet to request judgment. It is only once they arrive here that we will learn of it and the problem will be dealt with.” He paused, his face pensive as he tried to search for the right – simplest – words to use.
“However,” Nemamiah continued after his brief period of thought, “we cannot be everywhere, we are not omnipresent; sometimes we are simply too late. If a being enters a world of the righteous, or your own,” he added with a snort of disgust, “then they will do the one thing that they know, and that is to collect. They will gather en masse like a harvest.”
“Earthquakes...you’re talking about earthquakes, aren’t you? I mean, shifting pieces of ground, a lot of people dying.” It was Marcus once again who drew all the conclusions, yet once it was said the others saw it, too. It was embarrassingly obvious when they thought about it.
Nemamiah regarded them with a look that was hard to place, but when pushed, the closest would have been pride. The sort of look a parent gives their child when watching the school play or seeing them score the winning goal in a soccer game. He wasn’t necessarily surprised that they had figured it out, but was just pleased with the speed they had done it in. He could read it from all of their faces – even the old man – that they understood as a group.
“Yes, but what you feel and see in your world...it is not a result of a shift, but from the force of the portals when they open – the ones that open into your world, the world you all came from. It is key you understand that you all came from the same world, the same time, and the same plane of existence. The force of the gateways opening pushes around the plates that cover your planet and creates what you call earthquakes. In fact, the same applies for everything you consider a ‘man-made’ disaster.”
While he didn’t use air-quotes, when he spoke the word ‘man-made’ they all had an image in their minds of Nemamiah doing so. It was the tone his voice took on when he said it. Thankfully – or so they thought later on when looking back on this first fateful day – Nemamiah didn’t seem to notice and continued to talk unbroken.
“Earthquakes and hurricanes, tsunamis and volcanic eruptions are all the result of portals being opened. Those who perish are taken regardless of their worth, their righteousness. Sometimes we arrive in time; we see the signs building the same way you humans can do with your machines and the technology we allow you to develop.”
“Seismologists,” Graham scoffed. His contempt for the angel was now clearer than ever. “You’re telling us that seismologists have been able to track the battles of Heaven and Hell, and that earthquakes are little snippets of Hell that escape into our world.” He laughed as he spoke, not with joy, but rather a vicious sounding laugh, and it made the colors of Nemamiah’s face darken several shades.
“He’s mad,” Sammy whispered to Becky, who had loosened her arm around him, although they still leant against one another not for support but for the company. “He isn’t so bright any more, but kind of flickering like an old lightbulb,” he added.
“Hey, come on, Graham, don’t you think after all that we’ve been through we can be a little bit openminded about this?” Becky said, pausing before speaking his name, having overcome a strong notion to call him either old-timer or Nigel. The latter name, she had no idea of its origins in her mind, but then again given the way that the humming sound had now embedded inside her skull and thoughts it was possible that the name Nigel was simple a result of black noise.
As the humming increased, they all noticed that it began to sound less musical and more like moaning. It was Becky who recognized it first, for it sounded similar – if not less agonized – to the groans of thousands of humans having their skin peeled from their bodies after being roasted on an open fire like Christmas chestnuts. Her skin crawled and she found herself listening to the sound rather than the words being spoken. She could feel herself getting lost in it somehow, as if it created a maze inside her mind, one that twisted and turned, and the more she followed it the harder it would be to find her way back out again. She wasn’t sure of it, but guessed that the others all felt similar things, given the strained look on their faces.
“You are a non-believer. Even after everything you have been forced through, you disbelieve. Well, fine, don’t believe, but remember that I pulled you out of that Hell ground myself, and the moment I feel you overstep the mark, I will throw you back myself. I’ll reunite you with that rotting young girl whose life you took and leave her to have you in any way she sees fit. Just remember that as you keep your mouth shut.” Nemamiah was calm as he spoke, although the rage on his face and the obvious anger in his words made his rage clear. The words had that parental effect and tone to them, the same one used to deliver the famous, ‘I’m not angry with you, just disappointed’ speech. The one that crushes you and has more effect than any bellowed argument or length of grounding could even hope to accomplish.
Graham said nothing, and when he saw the whole party turn to look at him like the naughty boy in school, he felt himself shrink back a little. He bit his tongue. Even for an old cynic like himself, the existence of God could no longer be denied. He had been to Hell, he had seen an angel, and was now about to watch a world be consumed whole. You cannot have one without the other, that was common knowledge in all walks of life, and so to have a Hell, there must be the other.
Before he continued talking, even Nemamiah raised his hands to his head and massaged his temples. Beside her, Becky felt Sammy begin to sway on his feet.
His eyes had begun to pulse, as if behind each blood encrusted socket was a small heart, seeping its precious cargo a little more with each rhythmical pulse.
“We do not have enough time to discuss everything, so I must be brief. I can feel the barrier breaking and the worlds merging. I’m sure you can, too, although it will sound different to each one of you, just as Hell itself is unique at many levels,” Nemamiah said, with his head lowered, hands still rubbing his temples, and when he took them away it looked as though he had worn through the thin skin that covered them, for where his thumbs had been circling, a bright light shone through, like a torch beneath a child’s bed covers or seen through a tent while camping late at night, telling ghost stories. Finally he was ready to carry on his monologue – without any further interruptions.
“What I say is what it is, how it is, and there will be no more questions,” he said to the group, but they all knew who his comment was intended for. “It is not only these earthquakes, as you call them, that mark Lucifer’s progress; more often than not a demon simply makes a lucky choice with the portal he takes and finds himself in your when and where. The same is for hurricanes and – what is it – twisters, it is strange that they descend from above while in fact they bring those from beneath up to the surface. It is dependent on the proximity of the portal to your world. The same is for the battles. You have all been witness to them, many times, yet they occur in a time different to yours, so that only the slightest of blows is felt. Thunderstorms, you call them: a clap of rumbling sound and a strike of pure brilliant energy. We are surprised that in spite of the large level of religious fervor in your world, nobody has yet made any concrete connections.” He had sidetracked himself, but without even a pause in the flow of his words, Nemamiah brought the conversation around and continued. “The storms are where you come in, for those who die in a thunderstorm, as a direct result of the storm, being touched by the lightning, or having their head implode as a clap of thunder rolls through their body, are people taken before their time, struck down in a fury. Friendly fire is the phrase you have created for it. Their souls are lost, banished from the world, and often they are grabbed by the beings who stand in wait along the edges of Lucifer’s kingdom like sentries. Others fall into the Purgatory realms, and are left to fend for themselves, for we have no way of tracking them...”
...Pause for thought.
“Your deaths were the same. Each of you taken before your time: only there were no battles, no storms or earthquakes; nothing out of the ordinary occurred at the times of your deaths. You were simply plucked from the earth and removed, banished to the chambers without the balance being weighed. What did it? I am afraid to say we don’t know, but we had to rescue you. Raguel brought us the word straight from God’s chamber, and so we came, and so we stand.” Nemamiah stopped speaking, his breathing heavy as if he had run for a short while at maximum speed. The shiny spot at his temple had spread, as if the skin, once broken, simply melted away, absorbed by whatever it was that was hidden on the inside; his true body.
“There was a storm when I died,” Sammy offered, unaware of the strange light that grew before the others’ eyes.
“No, that is true, but it was not your turn to pass,” Nemamiah answered. His voice seemed to be faltering just a little bit, like a boy’s voice breaking at the start of puberty.
Sammy fell quiet. A sudden image of his girlfriend Mandy popped into his head, and the knowledge that they had been arguing as they died. This fact had haunted him throughout his time in Hell, but it had been a while – or so it felt, at least – since he had thought about it at all, and now it was back, and it hurt. He couldn’t for the life of himself remember what his final words to her had been, but he was sure that they were not the ones he would have chosen. Why? It was another question he had asked himself over and over again. Because some jerk she went to university with wanted the girl he had, the girl who wanted him by return. It was all so pointless. Beside him he felt Becky’s body pressing against him, he felt her fingers locked within his own. It felt reassuring in his dark world to know that there was someone with him, not just a voice or two he could hear speaking, but an actual physical human being who stood beside him and who he knew understood him. To some degree they all did understand each other.
“While we do not know why Lucifer chose you, we do know that you all now have a part to play in this war. You are to help us travel undetected through the worlds, to find whatever it was that Lucifer was so sure he had found. We don’t know who it is, but we are certain you are to look for a mortal. It is up to you to find the others who died before Lucifer can claim them,” Nemamiah began, his voice now cracked and reduced to a whisper.
His words were kept simple, cryptic but lacking the mysterious audio book quality that it had before the humming noise of the weakened barriers had begun. His eyes had faded, as if the light inside had been drained, or rerouted towards the ever increasing circle at his temple. “There were seven others who died in the same manner you did. These seven were all on the same day, in fact. We found one, but he was lost before we could get to him. The remaining six you must find. Track them down and bring them away, keep them safe, and when the time is right we will come to you and take what we need,” he said, more like a general now than the occasionally friendly, usually amicable storyteller.
“W-w-what?” Helen stammered.
“We do not have time to repeat ourselves. The barriers are weak. This world has become unstable. We must be quick. You have been told your role as it has been decreed by God, our Father, your creator. It is what He wishes that you should now concern yourselves with. If you succeed in your task, you will all be granted entry to the Kingdom of our Father. I give you my word,” Sariel answered. His own physique looked to be just as weakened as Nemamiah’s, yet his words sounded stronger.
“God told you this Himself?” Sammy asked, aware of how strange the question was, but it came to him and he thought it best to speak it now. Kind of like at a wedding: speak now or forever hold your peace. He could feel his eyes sockets pulse stronger and faster, as if behind the hardened jellied scabs the sockets were simply filled with blood that sloshed around like cola inside a bottle turned over and over in someone’s hands. He could feel the warm fluid coursing down his cheeks, meeting together under his chin like the ribbons on a bonnet, and yet he felt no pain.
“Do not be so foolish. God does not speak to every angel. The archangels are His passageway for words and messages. Raguel was the one who delivered us the message, the will of God. Our Father does not lie; He does not sin, and we do not doubt His words, so we do what we are bade,” Nemamiah answered, his weak voice trying to gain power and resonance, and for a short time it did, but when he was finished speaking it was obvious that he was exhausted.
“So you’ve never even se—” Graham began to interject, possibly sensing the weakened state of the angels.
He put it down to the scratching parasitic sound of church bells ringing that had invaded his head and hammered around inside his skull until his eyes watered. Yet a quick glance at Sariel, whom he believed was the lesser of the two, silenced him. Sariel’s face had not exactly darkened to the same thunderous maroon that Nemamiah’s did, but it certainly showed Graham enough to cut his words short mid-sentence.
Sariel took a step forward without uttering a word, and for one second Graham held his breath and prepared himself to be flung back into the fiery red ocean that swam beneath their feet. The thin orange veins that had tattooed the underbelly of the ground had burst, merged together to form a giant orange bruise. A contusion on the face of the earth, where, at its center, which also happened to be in the middle of their meeting, a red dot appeared. Graham had noticed it earlier, while Nemamiah had reprimanded the angel who had fled. It had grown steadily stronger as their meeting progressed. It had begun about the same size as one of the marbles Graham remembered playing with as a kid, but now it was as large as a bowling ball, possibly bigger.
Another tremor tore through the ground, and with it came a great ripping noise that caused one of the buildings at the end of what would have passed for the high street in this ruined western world to collapse. Giant vents of steam plumed into the air. It was a dark red color, and after its ejaculation fell as a pink rain; a blood rain. The tremor didn’t stop; it lessened, but it remained a background factor to their new world. Cracks began to appear in the dry dirt street. The wooden buildings could be heard creaking and groaning their complaints, like a sailing galleon moored on the quayside, its ropes straining to keep it in place.
Graham breathed a small sigh of relief when Sariel turned his back to him. Instead he chose to face Becky and Sammy, or the kid, as Graham had named him in his silent voice the day they first met. It was impossible to tell how long ago they had met, or how long they had been standing there as a group. It must have been days since he and Sammy met, and hours had passed since they arrived on the streets of Mirantaea, but then again, what did the passage of time matter? They had a clear deadline and that the crux of it all.