Tribulation (28 page)

He stalked back
to the beginning of the forest and seated himself on one of the
stumps he had created. Dipping into the side pocket of his
backpack, he pulled out his whetstone and began sharpening his
Katana with smooth, rhythmic strokes, his blank gaze staring at
nothing in the middle distance. Sharpening his swords always calmed
him, clearing his mind and giving him space for ordered
thought.

He started to
feel better straight away. The dried blood on his hands flaked off
as he worked, revealing fresh scars. He must’ve really given his
hands a work out to inflict damage like this. The injuries were an
anomaly though – one that he couldn’t really explain. The hilts of
his swords were made from steel, not iron. In theory, the steel
couldn’t harm him so why the damage? It had happened before and
usually he set the problem aside as something to think about when
he had less pressing matters to attend to. For some reason, this
train of thought suddenly appealed to him. He knew it was a
distraction, something to occupy his mind so he didn’t dwell on
current events but he didn’t care.

Hikari had
helped train not only his body but his mind. To attack problems
with the same vigor as he would in one of his martial training
regimes. Hikari had often advocated the theory of Occam’s razor –
the simplest and most likely explanation was usually the correct
one.

There were two
most likely explanations. The first was the proximity of the iron.
His hands were only separated from it by a fraction of an inch. The
other explanation was that repeated impacts – and he was talking
about hundreds or even thousands – could still damage him over
time, even if it wasn’t iron. It was something to think about.

These thoughts
and the monotonous, repetitive task were soothing. He started to
feel back in control, more rational. Reluctantly, he considered his
current problem. It was monumental – a real doozy. What was he
going to do? He’d only just got Aimi back and suddenly, she was
taken from him again. What were Gabriel and Heaven playing at?
Weren’t they his ally? Didn’t they give Aimi back to him to keep
his favor? Perhaps they had and perhaps and then again perhaps not.
He couldn’t let his father’s insidious words influence him though.
Satan was known as the father of lies for a reason.

He thought
about what had happened to the Grigori. God had punished them,
banishing them from Heaven because of their conduct with human
women. And they had been angels like Aimi. What the two of them had
done was worse, in theory. Aimi hadn’t just loved a mortal human,
she had loved a demon. Or half of one. In Heaven’s eyes, it
probably made no difference. Sam knew that Heaven could not
overlook such a trespass. It had to be punished even if it was just
for form’s sake.

Just like
Hikari had taught him, he examined the issue from every angle. What
should’ve happened is that Aimi should have been banished, just
like the Grigori - perhaps even stripped of her Angelic status.
Either way, Sam would’ve been happy. He would have got his Aimi
back. But clearly, this was not in the best interests of Heaven.
They wanted to keep Aimi close, but why? There had to be a rational
explanation. Surely the reason couldn’t be to antagonize him? That
just didn’t make any sense. Or did they think they could hold Aimi
hostage in exchange for his obedience? What obedience? He was
already doing what his heart and soul compelled him to do – help
the innocents. What else did they want from him? Sam didn’t
understand. Try as he might, he couldn’t get to the truth.

He drew in a
great breath of air and let it out slowly, releasing some of the
pain and frustration he felt. Whatever the reason, Heaven had
antagonized them at a time when he suspected they needed him the
most. Wasn’t he about to go into battle with the Antichrist and his
forces again?

There was
something he could do, something he always did when the burden and
weight of who he was became too much: the mindlessness of pure
physical exertion.

Both swords
were sharpened now, their edges now restored through sheer
determination and hard work. He hadn’t even noticed moving on to
the Wakizashi. He felt suddenly ashamed. He loved his swords more
than most anything else and he felt horrified that he had
dishonored them in such a way. To be used like a common axe was
unforgiveable. He swore to himself that no matter what happened, he
would never treat his blades in such a way again.

Replacing the
whetstone, he put his backpack back on and sheathed both swords.
The interstate was only a few hundred feet away. He set off,
quickly accelerating to a fast jog. He’d exorcise his inner demons
with flat-out exhaustion. The thought amused him slightly, quirking
one of his lips up for a moment. Then he ran and ran, with a
seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy. His endurance had always
been much greater than any normal human and he was going to test
its limits. It was daylight but he didn’t care. He needed this.

A battered sign
told him Harrisburg was thirty five miles distance. It took him
just over two hours; if anything, he was probably increasing his
pace. Despite the light, he felt strong, his anger fueling him. He
didn’t actually go through the city itself. It was probably a bit
risky to enter it even though in his state of mind, he felt like a
fight. A city this large would probably have its share of demon
worshippers. He just didn’t want to slow down, wanting to keep
going, to temper his body against this anvil that was the road.

Something else
compelled him. A sense of urgency. He wanted to reach New York.
Knew he had to reach it as soon as possible. Something was
happening there and it was where he needed to be too.

The interstate
took him through the outlying towns around Harrisburg without
incident. He could see the city in the distance. Black smoke rose
from some of the taller buildings, a firestorm probably igniting
whatever was left to burn. Some miles behind him, he sensed
something, now recognizing them immediately – the Devil’s Hand.
They were definitely on his trail. He smiled grimly. Let them come.
They would have to catch him first and fight him on his terms.

He crossed
another riverbed. From the looks of it, the river – whatever its
name, Sam could find no helpful signage – had once been mighty. The
dried riverbed was a few hundred feet wide, once home to what must
have been a great torrent of water. Whatever was left was diseased
and dirty. A fetid odor rose from it, so bad that Sam increased his
pace even more to outrun the stench.

By nightfall,
he had reached the outskirts of Allentown. The interstate would
take him directly through the city but at the last instant, some
instinct warned him against it. The city screamed trap. He sensed
many demons within.

He veered off,
following highway 78, heading south east. He’d been running for
several hours now, without rest or drink or food. Still he
persevered and would have done so for many more hours if it hadn’t
been for what happened next.

Out of the dark
sky came another winged figure. Sam knew immediately who it - or he
- was, and finally stopped just out of curiosity, a strange feeling
after running for so long. The exercise hadn’t taxed him. He was
hardly out of breath.

The figure was
winging its way closer. The last time Sam had seen him was just
before he’d departed for Hell to rescue Grace. Another unexpected
visitor. Strange how the mere mention of the Grigori earlier had
seemed to summon him. Sam was indeed quite popular lately. If that
didn’t tell him that events were moving apace, then nothing
did.

Samyaza dropped
to the ground several feet from Sam, impossibly elegant. Sam hadn’t
seen angels make such a gracious entrance. The Grigori folded his
glossy black wings onto his back and crossed the distance between
them on long, slim legs. The black leather pants reflected what
little light there was, shimmering as he moved. Naked from the
waist upwards, his lean, muscled and hairless torso gleamed like
polished ivory.

He stopped
within arm’s reach of Sam and smiled, his perfect teeth flashing,
his handsome face the epitome of allurement. Unconsciously, Sam
returned the smile, not as immune to Samyaza’s charms as he would
have expected or hoped. “Samyaza. What brings you here?”

“You, as it
happens,” said the Watcher, smiling easily. His head suddenly
darted in a direction just over Sam’s shoulder. For a moment, he
looked slightly shocked. This was swiftly replaced by an expression
that Sam could only describe as calculating. The Watcher looked at
him sharply. “You do know what follows you?”

Sam shrugged
nonchalantly, trying to out-cool this impossibly suave creature.
“The Devil’s Hand, if I’m not much mistaken.”

The Watcher
nodded. “They are still some distance away but I will keep this
short. The longer you delay here, the closer they become. I’ll cut
to the chase – I know what the Powers That Be have done with Aimi –
with the two of you. And with what was between you.”

Sam gritted his
teeth and said nothing.

“I, of all …
people, feel your pain,” he continued. “I know what it is like to
love and then have it taken from you.”

“Get to the
point,” said Sam, tight-lipped. He really didn’t want to discuss
the matter with a Grigori.

“Very well.
This may be hard to hear but it is what it is.” The Watcher took a
breath as if gathering his thoughts. Sam hadn’t seen him do that
before. It would seem that Samyaza had something of importance to
impart. “Gabriel has made a pact with Satan.”

The Grigori
watched Sam carefully for a reaction. He was destined to be
disappointed, however. Sam now had a tight rein on his emotions.
Outwardly at least. Inwardly, his thoughts were awhirl. He
should’ve expected this. How could he have trusted Gabriel?
Irritatingly, his father had been right after all. Even though his
heart was thudding rapidly in his chest, no expression betrayed
him. He wouldn’t give Samyaza the satisfaction though. Like his
angelic and demonic relatives, Samyaza could be infuriatingly smug.
Perhaps that was how all these creatures treated mortals, even
mortals like Sam …

“The pact
involved the Anti-Christ and the false prophet. The deal is that
when Christ returns at the end of the Tribulation in three and a
half years’ time, both these creatures will be sent to the deepest
pit in Hell, to the eternal lake of fire, there to remain for all
eternity, with no hope of escape. You are familiar with this?”

He was indeed.
It was in the Bible although interestingly, it was the first time
he’d heard talk about the false prophet. Sam knew that the prophet
was meant to rise with the Anti-Christ but if he was around, he was
keeping a low profile so far.

“But the real
key point of the pact involves the identity of the Anti-Christ. As
you know, both you and your brother had the potential to take the
place at your father’s side. You were the rightful heir, having
defeated your brother so therefore, you are, for all intents and
purposes, the Anti-Christ.”

Sam opened his
mouth to protest but the Grigori held up one hand. “Yes. I am well
aware you declined, thereby infuriating your father for all time
but that is as may be. Heaven and Hell are all about the wording,
especially when it comes to contracts or pacts. Often they adhere
to the letter rather than the spirit of the law. And the wording
here is clear. The Antichrist. That could be interpreted as your
brother … or you.”

Sam digested
this, feeling the cold anger grow again inside him. Gabriel was
playing a dangerous game. This was the second time she had betrayed
him. Once, he could forgive, but twice? He said nothing though, for
fear that his anger would betray him, much like her.

“So the
Antichrist will be sent to the eternal lake of fire when Christ
returns,” continued Samyaza. “That’s plural. Antichrists.”

Sam marveled at
Gabriel’s double-dealing, but he had to admire the plan. Like most
great plans, it was simplicity itself. Sam was always going to be a
thorn in Heaven’s side after the return of Christ. What were they
meant to do with him? He wasn’t welcome in Heaven and he simply
could not be allowed to remain on the Earth when Jesus created his
thousand year kingdom of paradise. It would just be embarrassing
having a half-demon around. And they couldn’t just send him to
Hell. He’d shown he was easily capable of transporting himself out
of there. So there was only one place left: the eternal lake of
fire at the bottom of the deepest pit in Hell. Only one place was
worse – the bottomless pit where his father would be confined for a
thousand years, and they couldn’t send him there. That was reserved
for Daddy only.

Sam was at a
loss. The betrayal was complete. What had he done to deserve this
treatment? He’d lost everyone he cared for in the Rapture. Not only
that, but he’d done everything Gabriel had asked of him, battling
the Antichrist and demons, thwarting his father and rescuing what
innocents he could. Why wasn’t that enough? Why would she punish
him after that?

“So, what does
my father get out of this? Why would he want both sons in the
lake?”

“I believe
Gabriel offered him certain … concessions, in exchange for his
agreement. I don’t know what they were, but the inducement must
have been considerable.”

“This doesn’t
change anything,” said Sam, the words sounding more noble than they
had to right to do. “It doesn’t change who I am. I’m not suddenly
going to stop doing what I’m doing. Just because Heaven doesn’t
keep its word, doesn’t mean I don’t have to.” He spat the words out
like ashes. He meant it, too. Damn Hell and his father and damn
Gabriel and Heaven too. He’d do what he did best, what he always
did – take care of himself.