Tribulation (23 page)

He quelled the
slight note of panic he felt. Dreams for him could be dangerous.
His father lurked in his dreams and as he well knew, his father
could be persuasive. He wasn’t known as the Father of Lies or
nothing. That was why, when with trusted companions, he slept in a
pentacle. Only then, safe in the magical symbol, warded against
demons, would he have dreamless, peaceful sleep.

But he wasn’t
in a pentacle, of course. A part of his mind knew that his body was
in a bed in a deserted motel somewhere in Ohio. With Aimi asleep by
his side.

He cursed his
foolishness. He shouldn’t have been so stupid but he hadn’t been
thinking. His mind was filled with thoughts of Aimi and what they’d
shared together. Knowing that she was sleeping next to him. He felt
so at peace, so happy. It just felt natural and right - so natural
and right that he’d just fallen asleep. It was the first time he’d
done that in years. It was only now he realized his error.

He tried to
force himself out of the dream, back into reality but it felt like
someone or something was blocking him. He willed with every ounce
of his energy to wake up. To no avail. The dream landscape remained
all too real. He wondered what was happening back at the motel –
whether Aimi was alright. He knew she was an angel now and could
probably defend herself more than adequately against demons, but it
didn’t stop him fretting. The thought that she’d been highly
trained with a sword by the same master that had trained him gave
him some comfort. Besides, she had wings, didn’t she? As a last
resort, she could always fly away.

Doubts still
niggled away, though. Demons lurked around that motel too, in some
numbers. He wondered what would happen to his body if demons
discovered it unguarded. Finally, he let it go. It wasn’t like he
could do anything about it.

Resigned, he
tried to make the best of a bad situation. He never knew – he might
gain something out of this. Perhaps gain some knowledge he could
use against his brother. Or father. He tried not to think about
either of them. Thoughts were powerful amongst demons. Just
thinking about his father sometimes had the power to summon
him.

He did a quick
inventory. In the dreams he had experienced before, he’d always
been equipped like he was normally in real life. As a boy, he’d
been armed with Sinai – his bamboo practice swords. He’d learnt
with some pain and terror that bamboo had no effect on the demons
sent to torment him in his dreams.

This time was
different. He was armed with his real swords. He was wearing his
normal items of clothing and boots. Even his pack was strapped on
in its accustomed position. It was vaguely reassuring.

In the
distance, something appeared. Sam focused his vision, squinting,
but whatever it was seemed to resist scrutiny. With a shrug, he
decided to walk towards it. It was not like he had anything better
to do.

He walked
swiftly. When whatever it was in the distance didn’t appear to be
getting any closer, he broke into a trot. The object stayed the
same distance away. Frustrated, he ran faster and faster until he
was sprinting. The object stubbornly resisted his attempts at a
meeting.

He stopped
suddenly and thought it through. This was a dream. It wasn’t
reality. Physics operated differently in dreams. He focused his
mind, willing himself to get nearer to this … thing. To his
surprise, it worked. He wasn’t moving, but the distance between
them seemed to shrink. It got closer and closer and then, finally,
he could make out what it was.

A chair. In
that chair sat a man. It wasn’t until he was six feet away that he
knew without doubt who that man was. His father. Satan himself.

His father was
dressed as he often was when they saw each other - calmly
crossed-legged in a debonair pin-striped suit. His dark hair was
slicked back over his extremely handsome pale features. In fact, if
Sam hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have guessed the figure was a
demon at all. He supposed that was the whole point. How else was he
meant to worm his way into the hearts and minds of men when he
looked like a devil?

“Ah. My little
horn. So good of you to join me. I wondered how long it would take
you.”

Sam hated the
way his father was so smug, so knowing. In fact, he hated
everything about him.

“What do you
want, Abaddon?” he asked, not bothering to mask his feelings. His
father knew what was in his heart in any case.

His father
adopted a mock affronted expression. “Is that any way to talk to
your father? And I would prefer it if you did call me ‘Father’, you
know. Although the old names have a certain ring to them, I don’t
think there’s any call for formalities between us. You are still my
son, after all. ” He smiled at Sam, all charm and suaveness. Even
Sam, who knew his tricks only too well, had to remind himself who
this creature was. It was all for show. He knew what dwelt under
the mask of sophistication that his father liked to wear.
Everything about him was a lie. So pretentious.

“Spare me,”
said Sam, gritting his teeth. “Let me out of here. I need to
return.”

His father
raised his eyebrows. “Return, do you? Who to, I wonder? Have some
pressing business to attend to, do you? A hot date is it, Samael?”
He smirked and it took every ounce of willpower that Sam possessed
not to react with violence.

“I have things
to do, as you well know,” he said, keeping a reign on his emotions.
“Haven’t you got better things to do than talk to me? Why not talk
to my brother? Surely he’s better company. He may not be a better
swordsman than me, but you two have more in common.”

Satan’s face
lost some of its calm. Sam could’ve sworn he saw the corner of his
mouth twitch. It was a bit of a sore point, that. The last time Sam
and his twin brother had met, Sam had defeated him in single
combat. Not only that, but he had then refused his father’s offer
to take his place at his side, much to the anguish of his mortally
wounded brother. Well, he thought his brother had been mortally
wounded. He had run him through after all. Seemed he’d got that
wrong.

“Your brother
is somewhat busy at present,” was Satan’s tart response.

It was Sam’s
turn to smirk. “Yes, I know. Preparing the invasion fleet in
Europe.”

Satan looked at
him sharply for a moment, silently evaluating his wayward son. “You
seem remarkably well informed.” Then he shrugged, seemingly
dismissing the matter as unimportant. “No matter. You would have
found out eventually anyway.”

“I’ll ask you
again, Father. Why am I here?”

“Oh, I like
that,” said Satan with a sardonic smile. He clapped a couple of
times, the noise refusing to echo around the odd landscape.
“Cutting to the chase, are we? Refusing to get sidetracked. Very
good. Hikari did train you well, didn’t he?” Suddenly, his father’s
face lost all traces of humor. “They’re playing with you, you
know.”

“Who are?”
asked Sam tiredly.

Satan raised
his eyes upward. “You know. The high and mighties, sitting on their
golden thrones. They’re playing games with you - with your little
girlfriend. Do you think it was just a random request they granted
her? To see you again? Or course not. They orchestrated the whole
thing. The only reason they made her an angel was so that she could
have access to you.”

“And why would
they play games with me?” Sam asked suspiciously. “That’s more your
style.”

Satan nodded.
“Yes, of course it is, but the stakes are so very, very high at the
moment. I think Gabriel and her friends are getting a little
desperate.”

“So what’s Aimi
got to do with all this?”

“They’re
keeping you on-side,” Satan said, steepling his fingers
thoughtfully. “Dangling an incentive, if you like. For you to
remain on their side. They know how much Aimi means to you. If it
means you will remain their tool on the Earth, they will happily
hand her over to you. They just didn’t want to make it too obvious,
that’s all.”

“You’re
speaking in riddles, Father, as usual.” Sam, despite his promise to
remain calm, was starting to lose it. He knew he couldn’t do that
though. He was certainly no match for his father.

Satan looked
his son in the eye, his expression blank. “They know your loyalties
are wavering. They know that deep down, you want to be with your
family. With me.”

“You’re
delusional. I’ll never join you!” Sam spat. “You know that.
Especially after what you did to my mother. I will never, never
join you. This was decided when my brother and I fought.”

“Ah,” said
Satan, “but I told you it wasn’t over. And it never will be. You
will always be my son, regardless of what you think or feel. And
don’t for a second think that the future is written in stone. That
litany of lies – I think you call it the Bible – is believed to
contain only the truth. And the future. It contains neither. Who do
you think wrote it? It certainly wasn’t me. Would they really say
there was any doubt in there? History, as they say, is written by
the victors and for such a long time, those do-gooders had their
way. But now it’s my time, time for me to write the future. Do you
really think everything is going to play out just the way it says
it will in the good book? That your Lord, the son of God, is going
to come back at the head of an army in a few years and banish me to
a bottomless pit for a thousand years? Given that I know that’s
supposed to happen, don’t you think I would’ve made plans to
counter this?”

Sam frowned,
doubts starting to intrude despite knowing that this was his
father’s intention. Could the Bible be interpreted as fiction,
written by the victors? Never for one moment had he ever thought it
was anything but the truth. But something Satan had said was
niggling at him. Satan knew what was predicted. Why would he ever
allow himself to be subjected to that? Why would any sane person
allow themselves to be chained at the bottomless pit for a thousand
years?

Sam had his
answer. Sort of. Satan was neither a person nor sane. But still …
the thought wouldn’t go away and Sam hated himself for allowing his
father to sow the seeds of doubts within his mind. That was exactly
the way his father liked to operate and Sam had fallen into his
trap like a naïve boy.

“You’re lying.
You always lie.” Sam was almost shouting now but he could hear the
questions behind the anger in his voice. His father, no doubt,
could hear the same thing.

Infuriatingly,
Satan simply cocked an eyebrow. “Believe what you will, my boy. All
will be revealed soon enough. I like surprises. Don’t you?”

Sam said
nothing, not trusting himself to speak. He glared at his father,
both hands twitching to touch his swords. Satan gave no indication
he noticed.

“Speaking of
surprises,” he went on conversationally, “I’ve got one planned for
you. When you get back, I mean. Not that you may notice straight
away but it will become apparent eventually. Oh. I forgot to
mention that your girlfriend won’t be there when you get back
either.”

Sam was
suddenly moving, both swords in his hands without thought, charging
towards the hated figure in the chair, intent on ending him. His
last image was his father’s face, a snide look on his face. Just
before his swords could reach him, Satan disappeared, Sam’s blades
passing harmlessly through empty air a fraction of a second too
late.

The Devil’s Hand

“
You cannot drink
the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons too; you cannot have a
part in both the Lord's table and the table of demons.”
1
Corinthians 10:21

S
am had one moment of confusion in which to realize
that he’d missed killing his father when he was suddenly back in
the motel, his eyes wide, sprawled on his back. He sat up quickly.
His father hadn’t been bluffing: Aimi was gone. He could still see
the imprint her body had made in the bed. He touched the spot. It
was still warm. Aimi had only just left, either of her own accord,
or taken by force. He didn’t imagine it would be the latter, as
Aimi had been a force to contend with even before she was an angel.
Now … well, he pitied the demon that crossed her path. He got up
off the bed and it was only then that he noticed it, sitting on the
bedside table.

A
strawberry.

It was a
message. A message left just for him. There were probably no
strawberries left growing on Earth now. Only an angel could
presumably conjure a strawberry out of thin air. Aimi was telling
him she was alright. Strawberries had been what she used to eat
when they trained together in Hikari’s garden. Good times. Safe
times.

He breathed a
sigh of relief. He’d only just exhaled when the door to the motel
was hit by something exceedingly heavy and powerful, and it
exploded in a hail of wooden splinters. Sam ducked instinctively,
even though he knew the shards couldn’t harm him, and grabbed his
swords from where they rested next to the bed.

Silhouetted
against the dark sky was an even darker figure, man-sized or
perhaps slightly larger – in Sam’s confusion, it was hard to tell.
It seemed to be gathering the darkness around it. Sam’s night
vision was usually exceptional but for some reason, he couldn’t get
a clear look at what this was. Perhaps his encounter with his
father had fogged his mind, or maybe it was something else.
Regardless, he hadn’t sensed this creature in front of him until
now. It was almost as if it were employing a similar technique to
his glamor.

His mind
started to clear, focusing into battle readiness. The thing – for
that’s what it was; it certainly wasn’t human – took a step into
the room. As he focused, details emerged, like his mind had parted
a curtain previously closed to him.