The Devil You Know

The Devil you know.

‘Leave, all of you.’

The voice came from the dark corner.

A big shadow filled the area. Unruly, long black hair and a full beard hid most of the man’s face. From the length of his torso and his legs pushed to the side of the table, I gauged him to be at least six-foot-five. His t-shirt under the faded jeans jacket was tight over a muscled physique. The torn and frayed sleeves showed traditional tribal tattoos covering equally powerful arms. But in this light, the defining characteristics were the eyes; fierce brown-green rimmed black irises.

‘He’s here for me,’ he declared.

As one, the patrons abandoned their drinks on the tables, hastily made their way to the door and escaped out to the relative safety of the street.

I observed the figure in the corner. Not exactly what I’d expected. Damn Michael and Rafe. Damn their stupid games.

Maybe I should have taken back-up with me.

I turned my attention back to the reason I was here in this god-forsaken hell hole. The piercing eyes never left me.

A glint of light reflecting on a metallic surface against the wall next to his chair distracted me momentarily. I could just make out the contours of a double-headed axe. Viking style. Times ten, by the look of it.

I really should have brought back-up.

His hands stayed on the table, one holding a beer glass, the other flat on the surface. He knew who I was, or at least what I was and why I was here.

He looked like a predator. Not the prey.

Definitely not the prey.

This mission might need some improvisation on my part.

‘Which one are you?’ The voice was deep and full of contempt.

‘Gabriel,’ I answered.

‘Don’t I even merit Michael?’ he taunted.

‘He was busy.’

His laugh was as warm as a blizzard. It echoed in the now empty bar.

‘You’re here to kill me?’

‘Not necessarily.’

He cocked his head. ‘What alternative did you have in mind?’

‘There are several.’

Silence.

‘So, are you going to hover over me all evening, or are you going to take a seat while I finish my beer.’

He held up the almost full pint glass of yellow liquid. That gave me some time.

‘Sit down. I’m not going anywhere.’

The chair screeched over the stone floor as I pulled it out from under the table.

My goal was not to kill him, if at all possible. The guy was a total soul-magnet, and he had the prospect of becoming a master-recruiter: something my father didn’t want to pass up on.

‘Father Ignatius,’ I started. His glare stopped me mid-sentence. I raised an eyebrow.

‘I am not a priest anymore,’ he stated resolutely, his voice as cold as his stare.

‘Fair enough. That’s exactly what I want to talk to you about.’

‘You’re here to change my mind?’ he asked incredulously.

I nodded.

‘Are you serious?’

Again, I nodded.

‘First your kind tries to kill me.’ He cocked his head in disbelief. ‘Then you want me to come back into the fold?’

I resisted the urge to nod again as he brought the glass up to his lips.

‘We…’

‘We?’ he interrupted my carefully prepared speech.

‘My father…’

‘God?’ The venom dripped off the title.

‘I guess you would call him that,’ I answered slowly.

‘I have another name for him.’

‘Okay, allow me to rephrase. Humans call him God.’

‘And he’s your father?’

‘He is.’

‘Family business, huh?’

‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Family business. Isn’t that what the scriptures explained?’

He huffed, not deigning to answer me.

‘He wants you back,’ I continued. This guy would see right through the usual lies. He was on to the whole scam. ‘You’re an asset.’

‘An asset?’ His throwing my words back as questions was starting to piss me off.

‘People flock to you. You have a knack for convincing people to believe in the afterlife. We need more humans. Especially the ones you bring in.’

‘The strong ones you mean?’ Another question and another sip.

I nodded yet again.

‘The ones that can work. Can make you money. Keep your “family’s” high status.’ He spat out the words.

‘Yes.’ This time my answer was strong. Unapologetic.

‘You knew the score. You were initiated into the Establishment. Kind of hypocritical that you’re looking down on me now. You were all too happy to go along with our arrangement as long as you made it to the top in the church.’

‘You know nothing about me.’ The defiant glare was back again with a vengeance.

‘I know your kind.’ My turn to sneer, and now my tone became derogatory.

He wasn’t drinking. Not anymore. His eyes bore into mine. I returned the stare and the sentiment.

‘You’re so righteous on the outside, but deep down, you humans all want the same. You all want to be king. Rule over your minions. Well, we’re giving you a chance to do just that. You’ I pointed to him, ‘can go all the way. You can be the first Cardinal from the islands. Isn’t that what you want. Deep down. Recognition? I know what you were. How you lived before you joined the church. I know the resentment you carry.’

I leant forwards. ‘You can fool your flock as much as you want, but I know what you are. I know you.’

‘You have no idea,’ he growled.

‘Stop the sanctimonious crap. You’re still the narcissistic killer you were in your youth. You don’t fool me. You want the power. You need the adoration. Well, we can give it to you. Hell, bring in the souls we believe you’re capable of and we’ll even make you Pope.’ I couldn’t keep the contempt out of my voice. The glint in his eye could mean he felt it, or I just hit the nail on the head.

He was useful now. But that would come to an end. We had to control him. If that meant promising him the moon, then that was what I would do. And finally, when he was no longer of use, then…

‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

He just stared at me; the edges of his lips curled up slightly. Was that contempt or was I making progress?

Yeah, right.

‘If I come back into the fold, you’ll help me up the ladder? Make me a Cardinal? And eventually the Pope?’

I cocked my head and smiled conspiratorially. Another nod.

‘And all I have to do is gather souls for you?’

I nodded again.

‘How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?’

He was coming around. I’d done it again. I congratulated myself on a job well done.

I looked at the priest. He observed me intently. Waiting. On what? An answer? ‘What did you say?’ I asked him.

He repeated his question, now with an edge. ‘How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?’

‘You have my word. And that of my Father,’ I stated. What more did he want?

‘Your word?’

A tingle started at the bottom of my spine. It moved slowly up my back towards my neck, ending in a sharp stab into my skull. Something was not right here. The way he was staring at me. Had changed. He was challenging me.

‘Our promise,’ I answered, keeping up my smug facade. Inside something warned me to be careful.

The priest moved his right hand from the glass up to the lapel of his jeans jacket and under the torn and faded material to a pocket.

My hand moved involuntarily to the hilt of one of my knives. My nerves were screaming at me now. This was definitely not right.

He took a small plastic Ziplock bag out of his pocket and placed it on the table.

‘Your promise,’ he repeated. ‘Like this one?’

I looked at the contents of the bag and my blood ran cold. There, on the table, were the remnants of an identifier. The state it was in showed clearly that it had been triggered.

‘What happened to it?’ I tried innocently.

‘Why don’t you tell me?’

He brought the beer up to his lips and took a sip. Then another.

I didn’t dare move. A stupid thought stuck in my mind; I was safe as long as he still had beer to drink.

‘It happens sometimes,’ I explained as I forced myself to relax. ‘Not often thankfully. We’re working on that issue. I’m sorry you had one of the duds. Thankfully it didn’t cause any damage.’

A voice at the back of my mind tried to tell me something, but it remained just out of reach.

He drank the rest of the yellow-ochre liquid in one long draught, emptying the glass and slamming it back on the table.

His lips curled up in a smile, but it wasn’t the nice kind. Pure hatred pulsated from his face. That and a contemptuous amusement.

The last emotion surprised and unnerved me.

Just long enough to mask what he was doing.

The pain in my sternum pushed the air out of my lungs as the table edge hit me hard. My chair toppled over, and I landed flat on my back, my head hitting the cold stone floor with a loud crack.

Disorganised and muddled, my eyes struggled to converge on the blurred figure as he stood up from his seat. His right hand reached for the axe behind him, and he swung the massive weapon down, its edge sending up sparks as it hit the floor where my neck had been a millisecond before.

Instead of moving away from him, I turned into the man under his swing. I rolled onwards, swiping his legs out from under him. Moving back quickly, I barely avoided being caught under his bulk as he fell to the floor.

I stood up quicker than him and kicked him viciously in the kidney, but was completely unprepared for the sharp pain in my thigh as the priest connected with a boot in turn.

We both recovered quickly and were on our feet. I had to keep him away from the big axe that lay on the ground behind me.

I reached behind my back and my hands closed over the handles of the curved knives I held in scabbards on my back.

He took in the blades and the way I wielded them, then his glance flicked to the axe.

There was little I could read from his face. No nervousness, no fear. Just amusement. He was enjoying all of this.

We had a stand-off.

He stretched his arms above his head, cracked his neck from one side to the other, took a deep breath and attacked. He feigned to the right, then pushed to the left and hit me hard on my right shoulder, almost knocking me to the ground. He ducked under my left blade. The sharp metal sliced through his t-shirt but missed the flesh.

My right arm refused to work properly from the massive impact to my shoulder. I still held on to the knife but couldn’t raise my upper arm. I had no choice, I moved to my left, out of reach of his arm as it shot back, aimed at my head.

His play had worked.

I was no longer between him and his axe.

I stepped back to regain control over my right arm; pushing through the pain I forced my nerves to cooperate. There was movement again, even if it wasn’t up to par. It would come back; my healing was quick.

The Priest took hold of his axe. A big vicious smile spilt his face. But I was by no means defeated.

We circled each other in the tight space, both focussing on the eyes. Sure enough, he blinked and swung the massive axe two-handed, aiming for my left arm. I ducked to the side easily and pushed the knife in my right hand up under the swing, cutting through more than material this time. It was just a flesh wound, but an unexpected one. The surprise on his face was priceless.

I turned quickly and went in for the kill with my left weapon, only to be blocked by the axe. He pushed his weapon hard into my blade, shattering it, and kicked out at the same time, connecting hard with my upper thigh.

With a scream of anger, I rushed him. He swung the axe one-handed, the flat side of the blade connected to my forehead and split the skin immediately. Blood poured down my face, blinding me. Before he could rebalance, I swung my knives up and rammed the remainder of my left blade into the priest’s shoulder. He cried out. Hardly able to see, I followed the sound and slashed my other knife at his neck, barely missing him.

We connected body to body and pummelled each other. In the tumble we lost our weapons.

Furniture splintered below us, and I grabbed a table leg, swinging it towards his head. It connected squarely with his face knocking him back. Through my bloody vision, I rushed him again and we fell to the floor. My hands closed around his throat. He pushed his arms through mine and smashed them sideways, loosening my injured right shoulder. I felt a massive fist connect with my jaw and flew backwards from the blow.

He immediately jumped me, and his fists pummelled into my body time and time again.

He was winning. The blows were incessant. I felt panic rise, something completely new for me. I arched my body in an attempt to dislodge him, but his bulk pinned me to the ground. My left hand groped on the floor, searching for a weapon of some kind. Nothing. I tried again, my right hand over my face, in an attempt to ward off the hammering. Instead of my head, he hit me in the side. I doubled up, even as I spasmed my hand gripped the discarded beer glass. I brought the thick stein up in a wide swing and connected to his head. There was a satisfying crunch and the pressure on my body lifted. I kicked out at him and landed a few good blows.

The world turned when I tried to stand up, and I dropped back to the floor.

I stared at the drops of blood that dripped from my forehead down to the floor. They pooled into a purple stain that would be hell to get out of the rug. Yes, purple: we bleed a different colour than you do.

I was on my hands and knees. Completely vulnerable. My head reeled from the torrent of blows and my senses were still out of sync.

Why wasn’t he taking advantage of the situation? I raised my head and looked across the floor to the Priest.

His beard and the top half of his shirt were bright red. A deep gash just above his left cheek-bone seeped blood. He sat with his back to the wall, his legs splayed forward. His right hand gripped the hilt of my knife. With a deep grunt he pulled the broken blade out of his left shoulder and dropped the remnants of my favourite weapon to the ground next to him. Ripped scraps of t-shirt were pushed hard into the wound to stop the bleeding.

The only sign of his pain was the crunched brow. His eyes blazed with hate as they caught mine.

We were both floored. Neither able to push home the last winning blow. I leant back on my haunches, then sat against the column, my legs in front of me mirroring his. My anger pushed me forward. “Kill him now. He’s exposed, weakened, broken-down” Yeah, well so was I.

We sat like that for more than five minutes.

‘You’re a lot harder to kill than I thought.’ He finally broke the silence.

‘Same here.’

‘Surely you were warned about me by your brother.’

‘He conveniently forgot to mention your size, strength and that bloody big axe.’

He laughed. This time there was real humour there.

‘We have a competitive nature,’ I explained.

‘All trying to impress dad?’

‘Yeah, something like that. Sibling rivalry. You know the drill.’

‘Even in paradise?’ I noticed he didn’t call it heaven.

I nodded.

The itch told me the wound on my forehead had finally closed. I wiped the last drops of blood from my face with the tail of my shirt and observed my adversary.

Despite the deep wound in his shoulder and the corresponding loss of blood, he looked remarkably vigilant.

My gaze went to our surroundings. We had done a good job of demolishing the bar. The wreckage of the table lay in the corner, three of the four legs broken off and the fourth hanging by a thread. The wooden bar-chairs were smashed, the debris used as weapons in our fight.

What impressed me most was the double-headed axe sunk deep into the oak column about a metre above my head. Gingerly, I moved my body to the left, out from under the shadow of the formidable weapon. That elicited another chuckle from across the room.

‘You could have had eternity,’ I said.

‘At what cost?’ His voice was strong. Better than mine.

‘No cost to you. You would have been well taken care of.’

He shook his head. ‘It would cost me my integrity, my values and morals.’ He sighed. ‘My very soul.’

My turn to laugh. ‘There is no such thing as a soul. It’s a phantom your religions have dangled before you to keep you in line. It doesn’t exist.’

‘My soul is my life,’ he continued, oblivious to my words. ‘To betray it would make eternity moot.’

‘What makes you think you still have a soul after what you did as a young man?’ I asked.