Dead & Godless (26 page)

He
jolted, a sword’s tip blossoming from his chest.

The
sword turned and the demon with it. Corwin’s savior kicked the lifeless fiend
loose and then reached down to lend him a hand. It was a woman’s hand, small
but strong.

“Mary!”
With a rush of joy, he opened his arms. “It’s really you!”

Her
slap stuck his cheek so hard that Corwin went horizontal.

“That’s
for mistaking a
demon for me!”

“Sorry,”
he squeaked. “But she was one good-looking demon!”

Mary
pulled him to her and they locked in an embrace.

“But
why are you here?” questioned Corwin. “I thought I’d be waiting decades to see
you.”

“Where
I am, there is no waiting.”

So
much had happened so quickly, leaving Corwin with more questions than he knew
how to ask, but one thing that he didn’t have was doubt. Death wasn’t the end,
and he sure as hell wasn’t going to spend his afterlife begrudging God his
victory.

“The
way I died . . . I don’t regret it, but I regret not being there for you.”

“There’s
nothing to regret,” said Mary. “Because you jumped onto those tracks, I didn’t.
Because you died that day, I didn’t. If I had been hit by that train, your soul
would have darkened. You would never had made it this far. But you did! Do you
understand, Corwin? He brings goodness even out of evil! When you saved that
man—when you saved me—you also saved yourself!”

Atop
the rear cars, a mob of agents was fast approaching. Mary laid a hand on his
shoulder.

“Now
you had better get going.”

“As
if I would leave you!” protested Corwin.

“You
need to keep . . .” her hand closed, firmly gripping his coat, “moving
forward!”

Swept
off his feet, Corwin sailed almost an entire car-length before hitting the roof.
He might have rolled right off it if his fingers hadn’t found another air vent.

“Mary!”
he shouted as his gaze darted back.

She
dropped, disappearing between the cars, and Corwin heard the sharp
swish-clang
of her katana rending steel. Losing speed, the train’s severed tail began
drifting away. Mary hung in the retreating doorway.

“This
isn’t goodbye!” she called. “Forever is just beginning!”

Corwin
stared wistfully. He knew what he had to do. He knew also that there was no
need to fear. The demons couldn’t hurt Mary. No one could. It was time that he put
his own soul in order. He turned and faced into the wind.

One
of the bridge’s supports broke away as he hopped onto the engine car. Like a huge
cedar felled by a lumberjack, it collapsed into the seething lava. The bridge
held, but the splash that erupted illuminated the entire cavern in fiery hues
of red and gold. And Corwin saw him. At the head of the car he waited, a
silhouette untouched by the light.

“You
disappoint me,” said Isley. “With your tenacity, you could have gone far at the
firm. Those beneath you would have cowered at the sound of your name, but in
the Father’s Kingdom you will have no glory. You will be the very least of his
groveling servants. Is that really what you want? In your earthly life, you
boldly questioned that which lesser men took for granted. Godless and unafraid,
you bent the knee to no one. Why betray all that you are?”

“Because
I’m not godless!” declared Corwin. “What I really am is a prodigal son, and I’m
going home! I may not know much about His ways, I may not know much about
anything, but now I know that I don’t know anything! I believe in truth and
love and goodness and something higher than all the physical matter in all the
universe! And that goes for any other universes out there as well! I will never
be like you!”

“No,
you won’t,” agreed the Prosecutor.

Behind
him, a glow pricked the distant shadows.

“I am
Isley Drakensun, Archlord of the Eighth Circle. You are no one. Your name won’t
even be remembered.”

The
train was racing closer, the light swelling in size and radiance.

“I am
Corwin Holiday, least of the Father’s children, and all your power will not
gain you my soul!”

“You
have no holy blade, no angel to protect you.” Isley spread his arms and wings
of darkness unfurled. “How can you hope to defeat me?”

“I
don’t have to,” said Corwin. “He already has.”

The
glow’s reflection flashed in his eyes.

“What?”
Isley spun. “No!”

Pure
white light rushed over them as the train rocketed out of the cavern.

“No!”

He
guarded himself beneath folded wings, but to no avail. The light incinerated
all that rejected it. Wreathed in silvery flames, Isley’s charred skin cracked
and burst. A terrible scream pealed, as if his very spirit were crying out, the
sound lingering in the wake of his windswept ashes. And then Isley was no more.

Corwin
released a shuddering breath.

It’s
done.

Glancing
down, he saw with a start that he, too, was on fire. Strips of blackened crust
marred his body, each one ablaze, but though the flames stung, Corwin felt no
despair. The light wasn’t destroying him. It was purifying him, burning away
the sin that clung to his soul.

Despite
the pain, his spirit soared. Corwin hoped bigger than he had ever dared to hope
in his mortal life. With a penitent heart, he lifted his gaze. At first there
was only the light. Sheer and infinite, it birthed a parade of soft silver
shadows. Slowly his vision sharpened.

“The
ride was a little bumpy, but you can’t beat the view.”

A
landscape that transcended the senses unfolded, plunging in long, magnificent
valleys and soaring in impossibly steep, cloud-ringed peaks. A crystal city
reared from the center of a lake and a daylight aurora gilded the sky. And the
colors! He had no words for them. Shades beyond the spectrum of the human eye painted
the world in a dazzling array. Every tree and every flower and every blade of
grass shone with a crisp glow, more vivid than even the fields of Eden, as if all things in this place were living light sources, prisms that magnified each
other’s splendor. If he stared at any one spot for long, the colors changed,
and sometimes the land itself became something new. Overwhelming his mind, the
kaleidoscopic sight blurred again into a silver-white haze, slashes of the
rainbow vista flitting past, slipping from sight when he tried to look upon
them directly.

It
was clear that the train was still speeding onward, yet the belligerent headwind
had relented. A breezy tailwind whistled, warm against his back.

“Stare
too hard and you’ll hurt yourself,” spoke a voice from above.

Corwin
turned to see his angelic attorney descending on wings of light.

“I
didn’t think you had wings.”

Alighting
on the roof, Ransom cracked his roguish grin.

“Wings
like razors.”

“You
missed all the excitement,” said Corwin.

“Sorry
about that. The prosecution is allowed one test in which I can’t interfere.
I’ll admit that I had my doubts, but apparently it was nothing you couldn’t
handle.”

“Yeah,
well, I had some help.”

Ransom’s
hand vanished into his coat, reappearing with a familiar flask.

“Care
for a drink?”

“I’ll
pass.”

“Suit
yourself.”

As
Ransom staved off the perils of dehydration, Corwin blithely shook his head.

“So
about how many years of Purgatory am I looking at?”

“Can’t
say, but I wouldn’t let it get you down. A sentence to Purgatory means that
you’re going to Heaven.” Ransom poked at a blotch of burning crust on Corwin’s
arm. “You just need a bath first.”

“And
what’s next for the illustrious Ransom J. Garrett?” inquired Corwin. “Does this
mean that you’ll be getting your old job back?”

“After
I’ve tied up a few loose ends. This profession isn’t the sort of thing that one
just walks away from, at least not without training a replacement. It would
have to be someone extremely stubborn, preferably with a debt to pay.” The
angel cocked an eyebrow. “Come to think of it, you haven’t seen my legal fees
yet . . .”

Corwin
fixed his attorney with a humorless stare.

“I
think I’ll take that drink now.”

In so far as the
arguments presented in Dead & Godless are sound and insightful, it’s thanks
to them being thought up by wiser men than myself. C.S. Lewis and Blaise Pascal
laid the foundation, and Peter Kreeft and Scott Hahn reinforced the walls.

A
steady diet of fantasy and science fiction novels (along with plenty of comics,
manga and 80’s cartoons) fed the fires of my imagination, with J.R.R. Tolkien,
George Lucas, Gene Wolfe and many others playing prominent roles.

For
their encouragement, inspiration and constructive criticism, I owe a debt of
gratitude to my parents, my sister Christine and my friends and fellow Write
Night compatriots, including Joshua Searles, Jen Klassen and The Three Steves:
Steve Jiencke, Steve Skojec and Steve Kospender.

Penny
Fletcher’s editing services were invaluable in toning down my literary offenses
(though she will no doubt bemoan my stubborn reluctance to follow every rule!),
and Renu Sharma’s artistic talents are to thank for bringing my vision for the
cover wonderfully to life.

If
you enjoyed this book, please recommend it to others. A great many young adults
leave the Church when they leave home, and while fine books of Christian
theology and apologetics are not in short supply, they are often either too dry
(straight theological works) to hold the attention of those who aren’t frequent
readers, or too full of vague platitudes (many religious novels) to offer
concrete answers to the challenges of atheism. It is my hope that Dead & Godless
can help bridge that gap. Something needs to.

To
learn more about this novel or to reach me, visit: DeadAndGodless.com