A God to Fear (Thorn Saga Book 5) (3 page)

I must have thrown quite the wrench into their plans that day.
Wanderer couldn’t possibly have anticipated Constantine’s life-threatening wound. Perhaps Wanderer himself had possessed the emperor in the midst of the battle, then hurried him to privacy, where Wanderer could use his advanced medical knowledge to treat Constantine’s wound and save his life.
And spread Christianity throughout the Western world.

What other historical fulcrums had Wanderer orchestrated from behind the scenes? The Crusades? The Thirty Years’ War? Christ?

“That was me, with Constantine,” Wanderer said, smugness staining his voice. “Christianity caught fire in its infancy because it welcomed those whom Roman society had marginalized. The poor, the oppressed. It promised the powerless connection to a power greater than them, whose authority they could then wield against their persecutors. Of course, Christianity did have a few unforeseen positive effects, but I didn’t care. It replaced old power structures with new power structures. Power structures that
I
controlled.”

Thorn clenched his fists and shook his head. “How long have you been at this? Ever since you asked your initial, ‘Why?’ in Heaven?”

Wanderer snorted a laugh. “You should have seen the look on God’s face when He saw me there and learned I’d made myself His Archangel of Music. I stirred a desire for knowledge among the rebel angels, so on Earth I had to suppress it. Thinking is the worst virtue, Thorn. Or so you tell those you want to have power over.”

“If you created Christianity, you must have created Judaism too.”

Wanderer nodded. “And the Mithraic Mysteries, Egyptian religion, Zoroastrianism. I helped write the
Epic of Gilgamesh
. But those prototypes weren’t inclusive enough for popular appeal. Christianity was my masterpiece.”

Thorn was shaking with bitterness. “How could you betray us like this?”

Wanderer’s smile dropped at that. The edge of his mouth wavered, threatening to grimace. “Dearest Thorn. You don’t know God. He’s an insecure crybaby who doesn’t deserve to rule. I snuck into Heaven once to spy on Him. I found Him collapsed at the edge of the drop to Earth, weeping like a buffoon.” Satan knelt in midair, heaving his chest and pouting dramatically. When he saw that his act did not amuse Thorn, he snapped back to his solemn self. “God is weak. He throws tantrums when He doesn’t get His way. Is this really the being you want to dictate your purpose in life?”

“I’d rather dictate my own purpose.”

Wanderer stepped forward and scowled. “God created a chaotic world with no rhyme or reason, and
I
gave it purpose. The only purpose it could possibly serve.
My
purpose. To strike back at He who created such a monstrous thing. To end everything He cares about.

“An impressionable child trusts a parent who tells her it’s important to have faith and believe in God. The parent herself was once a child who trusted a parent, who was once a child who trusted a parent, and so on throughout history, to the past and the future, each person’s faith springing from nothing more that the coincidence of where on earth they were born. I’ve perverted God’s test, you see! I’ve freed us all from His control by placing us under my own control. I’m the greatest demon of all time! I’ve kept His humans and His demons small, dependent on my fiction. Few ever think to question the system I’ve built. And those who do, Thorn, must be put down.”

“So you want to free us all from God’s lies by replacing them with your new, even worse lies? Wanderer, this is intellectual slavery. You’re just as manipulative as God.”

“I never said I wasn’t. But I’ll be a better God than He is, when the time comes to overthrow Him.”

“How effective do you think your plan will be in the long run? Do you think there won’t be others like me? Others who see through the disinformation?”

“As long as no one listens to you, and as long as you’re easily silenced, it doesn’t matter.”

“And what if you do succeed? What’s the end result? What have you gained?”

“Greatness! Superiority!”

Thorn huffed and looked away. He reflected on the absurdity of God and Satan: these two conniving beings who’d bent the universe to their whims, crushing the lives and dreams of billions just to stroke their own egos. He regretted having always taken them so seriously now that he knew the petty reasoning behind their actions. And his anger toward God grew even greater now that he knew God valued reason over faith; as a former Angel of Reason himself, Thorn might have turned away from demonic culture long ago had he known this.

A trumpet blast interrupted Thorn’s thoughts. Piercingly high-pitched, it resonated across the Virginian hills. Thorn looked up.

A transit door had opened in the clouds high above. Dozens of winged figures in white robes were charging through and sweeping downward, searching for their prey.

Thorn didn’t waste a moment. He bolted toward Wanderer. And as he did, the Devil beat his wings and shot toward Thorn. Thorn readied himself for a concussive impact, but just before they collided with one another, Wanderer vanished.

Thorn paused, confused. Then something grabbed his neck and yanked him from behind. Thorn clutched at the choking hands and turned to see Wanderer, pulling him away from the dwindling hole in the boundary, speeding farther back into the Sanctuary. He’d gone into the angels’ realm, Thorn realized, passed straight through Thorn, then reappeared to attack from behind.

Wanderer hurled Thorn upward. Thorn tumbled and flailed, wincing against the blinding sun, trying to regain his bearings and return to the ground, where he might be able to hide from his enemies until he could find a way back to the hole. But when he finally descended back to earth, he saw that Wanderer was already dashing toward the safety of the Corridors.

Hoping to cut Wanderer off, Thorn zoomed toward the hole in the boundary. But Wanderer’s head start was too great. The winged demon squeezed through the hole—only three feet wide now and shrinking—and landed on the opposite side, on the flat white ground of the Corridors. Then he turned back to Thorn, crouched into a combat posture, and scowled.
You weren’t expecting me to outrun the angels, were you?

Thorn glanced up at the angels above, and his confidence died. They had clearly spotted him, as they were now diving straight toward him with wingbeats so fierce that he could have mistaken their blaring murmur for an airplane’s buzzing. But he gauged their distance and speed against his own, and determined that he would reach the Corridors before the angels reached him.

Wanderer must have come to the same conclusion, because he squeezed back out into the Sanctuary and stood before the opening, blocking Thorn’s path. Thorn would not get to safety unless he fought past Wanderer first.

So be it.
Thorn didn’t slow. He saw Wanderer bracing for the impact.

“Liar!” a voice called from somewhere.

Wanderer turned to find it.

The momentary distraction was all Thorn needed. He slammed into Wanderer at full speed, and the two hurtled toward the puncture in the Sanctuary, now just two feet wide. Thorn twisted his wingless body around so he hit the opening first, and he slipped through easily.

Wanderer was not so fortunate. His head, arms, and shoulders flew through after Thorn, but his great wingspan was too much for the shrinking hole. Lodged halfway between the Sanctuary and the Corridors, he grabbed Thorn’s foot and held fast.

Thorn’s forward momentum ceased. He turned and tried to pry Wanderer off his foot—only to see that someone else was already assaulting Wanderer’s lower half from the other side.

Paxis!
She was deathly pale, and the wound that Thilial had dealt her still gaped in the center of her chest. Nevertheless, she struggled ferociously to pull Wanderer away from Thorn.

“Liar!” she yelled again. “Thorn will escape here, and he’ll tell all demonkind your little tale! We were loyal to you, and you repay us with deceit! You will burn for this, Wanderer!”

Wanderer tried to kick Paxis away while still holding tight to Thorn. He managed to squeeze one of his wings through the hole, then curled it into a scoop shape in what might have been an attempt to shovel Thorn toward him. Thorn couldn’t shake free of his grip.

But soon he wouldn’t have to. The boundary hole was closing.

The hole through which Wanderer’s body was stretched.

Wanderer had no choice but to let Thorn go. Thorn tried to grab Wanderer’s arm as he retreated back into the dying Sanctuary—but the Devil was too fast.

Not fast enough, though. Wanderer’s shoulders and head barely squeezed through the hole as it sizzled shut around his left wing. The wing audibly crunched—and then was snipped right off of Wanderer’s back as the circle fully contracted. All nine feet of it flopped lifelessly to the floor.

Thorn gaped. An empty black wall stood in front of him where an entire countryside had lain just moments prior, and before it lay a disembodied wing. Behind him rested the plane wreck, and beyond that, the Corridors seemed to stretch forever into a dark infinity.

Armor-clad angelic soldiers escorted Thilial across the marble bridge toward God’s House. A colossal waterfall fell mere meters away, its rumble overwhelming all other sound, its mist spraying against Thilial’s cheek. It caused an itch to form by her nose, but she would not scratch it. She needed to appear stalwart in front of her kin and her god.
I suppose I’ve grown quite good at ignoring itches that need scratching.

Two giant seraphs strained against the three-story-tall doors of ivory, replete with engravings of battles long past and a pale specter of God watching down over all the carnage. The seraphs snarled as they heaved the doors apart, then tugged until they stood fully open, beckoning Thilial and her captors inside.

Centuries ago, shortly after Thilial came into the world, she had disobeyed God’s orders for the sake of Thorn. And now she’d done it again. Would He lock her in a dungeon with the other rebels? Would He end her life? He was a God of peace and love—until you dared to stray from His will. Then He became a God of wrath. Thilial had seen both sides of Him many times throughout the years.

Lord, I am Yours. Keep me safe and give me Your strength.

Thilial was ashamed by what she’d done. If she could go back, do it over again, she’d kill Thorn.
What came over me? What made me think that because Thorn showed mercy to another, I should show mercy to him?
She steeled herself for God’s rage.

The guards led her to the sweeping atrium where God kept most of His pet animals and where He spent most of His time. The Lord’s vast collection of flowering plants, usually so soothing, smelled cloyingly saccharine to Thilial today.
Will this be the last time I ever see these walls, these paths through the foliage, this crystal dome above us?

God was seated on the marble floor next to an immense pillar by the cliff face, biting His fingernails. As Thilial approached Him, three angelic guards pulled a fourth angel away from God.

“Eventually, all angelkind will rise up against You!” the angel was shrieking. “How does it feel, knowing that Your entire creation wants to destroy You?”

The other three angels dragged the rebel away from the cliff and down toward the Heavenly City far below. He continued ranting, but he soon grew too far away to hear.

Thilial and her guards stopped next to God.

“That was Karthis,” God said. “The one who helped Thorn escape Heaven.”

Thilial nodded acknowledgement, but God didn’t seem to notice. Fingertips held to His teeth, He kept staring at Karthis, now just a black speck against all the gold of Heaven.

God’s face was wet with tears, Thilial realized. He was much calmer than she’d expected, but His demeanor went beyond mere sadness. His body was curled up in a ball like a child sent to time out. His blue hair fizzled with only the barest trace of electric current, and stubble covered His chin. His whole face sagged, as if He was too despondent to move a single muscle. Even His voice sounded lethargic.
Poor guy.

“I sincerely apologize for my actions,” Thilial said. “I regret them. They were unacceptable. I willingly accept any discipline You deem necessary.”

God said nothing for a long while. Was He still watching Karthis? The rebel had blended in with the tide of angels in the air above Heaven, a living blanket of wing traffic. Thilial had lost sight of him.

“I wanted to test people in an environment devoid of superstition,” God said, looking down at His city. “Or mostly, at least. I wanted to create friends who would live lives of purpose with Me. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“And by allowing a heinous adversary to escape, I have failed to give You what You want. I deserve to be stripped of my rank and imprisoned.”

God’s head fell toward His chest. He lowered His hand to caress one of the vines growing around His torso. “It’s all shit,” He said. “It’s all gone to shit. You have not failed, young Thilial. Your failure, and everyone’s failure, is ultimately My failure.”

That sentiment scared Thilial. She wanted to touch God, to comfort Him, but this was not the place nor the time.

From farther back in the colonnade, Gleannor spoke. “We should take him out, Lord.”

Thilial stiffened; she had not noticed that Gleannor was here. She paced toward them with a coterie of God’s other advisors.
Of all angels, it has to be
she
who sees me like this…

“We should kill Thorn,” Gleannor repeated. “Once he surfaces. One of us could appear, snap his neck, and then vanish before any other demons realize what they’ve seen. Then we can pick Brandon and Heather up and return them to the Sanctuary system.”

“No, no,” God mumbled. “We’re past that. Thorn’s loose now, out in the open. He’ll tell people the truth. They may not believe him, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll have been told. We need to…” His voice trailed off, and His head bobbed slowly up and down. “We need to talk about containment.”

“War?” Thilial asked.
An all-out attack on Atlanta? He can’t be serious.
“Lord, our scouts may yet apprehend Thorn in the Corrid—”