Infernal
Chapter 25

Stephen left the balcony and Richard followed, closing the door behind them. The man’s sorrow—if he is a man, Richard thought, then; and what does that make me?—at banishment from the ALL was apparent. The account was troubling. What were the consequences of a divine being severing its relationship with all it had created? What were the consequences for those creations?

He allowed Stephen time to regain his composure as they wound their way back down the staircase and through a narrow hallway that led to a junction in the corridor. One passage, Richard knew, led back to the foyer and the dining hall. Stephen chose the second, leading Richard deeper into the monastery.

“I apologize,” Stephen said after a time.

“It’s fine,” Richard said. He felt the other man’s anguish, but did not share it. Sympathized, but did not empathize. He still had too many unanswered questions. And as yet did not believe he was more—or less, if what he’d been told of man’s place in the divine hierarchy were true—than human. Still felt no connection to the events Stephen had related. No connection to the ALL.

“I’m confused, though,” Richard said. Stephen stopped and turned to him. “Charlie…the Seraph…said that humans mean nothing to the ALL. Compared us to termites. Yet you’ve told me that humanity is the ALL’s most beloved creation. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It will when you understand the entire story,” Stephen assured him. He turned and continued on. Richard followed.

They entered a chamber that looked like a lounge. Massive, rough-hewn chairs and couches padded in red and blue velvet filled the room from wall to wall. Luxurious brocaded pillows of various sizes littered every surface, including several large, body sized cushions that lie on the floor. Richard had never heard of a monastery with such lavish amenities as those he’d seen in the dining hall, the gardens, and now in this room. Piety notwithstanding, abstinence was obviously not a vow these monks took seriously.

Stephen seated himself on a long couch and gestured to a chaise lounge at its side. Richard eyed the cushions—hand embellished with fanciful creatures—and decided he’d likely fall asleep within moments of sitting. He chose a nearby chair instead.

“When the ALL banished the Infernal and the Keepers,” Stephen began, “It did more than simply sever our connection to the Kingdom and the Throne. It left this realm altogether. It moved on, abandoned this Multi-verse and left us behind to destroy ourselves or prosper on our own.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Richard protested. “If the ALL has moved on, then who or what is behind all of this? Who sent the Seraph and where did it go when it left me? Charlie told me he was going home; back to the ALL. How can he go somewhere that isn’t there anymore?”

“Because it is still there,” Stephen said. “Like a great empty mansion, desolate and forlorn to be sure, but still there nonetheless. When the ALL moved on it left behind the part of Itself that It had created the Multi-verse with. It is without consciousness and uncaring, a form of pure energy, but it still exists. To remove that…spark would have been to destroy a part of Itself. That is something It cannot do.”

“The Source?” Richard said. “Is that what you’re talking about?”

“That’s what BanaTech calls it, yes,” Stephen said. “They see it as a limitless source of power; a never ending and self-sustaining engine to be tapped for energy. What it truly is is a remnant of the ALL. A ghost. An imprint.”

“Before the war,” Stephen continued, “Humanity was the ALL’s most cherished creation. It breathed life into them, pardoned their disobedience, even sent a revenant of Itself to them to absolve their offenses.”

“You mean Jesus Christ, don’t you?” Richard asked.

“On yours and many other Earth’s It was known as Jesus Christ, yes. On others It was known by other names: Mahdi, Yeshua, Quetzalcoatl. It appeared in many forms to many people, but Its purpose was always the same; to forgive humanity its sins so that they would ultimately be united with the ALL.”

“But the Infernal interfered yet again. Corrupted mankind and distorted their thinking. The physical form the ALL had taken was murdered on many Earths. On others it was rejected as a false prophet.”

“Wait,” Richard said. “Biblical history has it that God sent Christ to Earth to die. His violent murder was to pay for all of our sins. In blood.”

“And so it was to be,” Stephen said. “But the revenant was not killed to attain enlightenment; to atone for sin and be, as they would have it, washed in the blood of the lamb. The revenant was murdered out of fear; and, to a lesser extent, jealousy and greed.”

“This so offended the ALL that it washed Its metaphorical hands of us. The Infernal were cast down and discorporated. They were stripped of their physical form and reduced to mere shadows; beings of energy and thought alone. We, the Keepers of the Throne, were also cast down, forced to live as humans on the many Earths. In part to act as guardians to the energy system that binds the Multi-verse together; in part as punishment for questioning the will of the ALL. As there was no throne to protect any longer, we became the Keepers of what remained of the ALL.”

“What of the Seraphim, the Cherubim, and the rest?” Richard asked.

“While they were not cast out,” Stephen said, “the remaining Saboath were left in a Kingdom without a king. The Seraphim stayed, tending the Kingdom as needed, venturing forth only occasionally to inspire and enlighten those that deserve it as they see fit. Without the ALL to guide them, however, they are mostly lost and alone. They seek solace with some of us throughout the Multi-verse. Your friend Charlie was the first Seraph to reveal itself in centuries.”

“The Cherubim were similarly lost and without direction. Originally created to guard the entrance to what humans call the Garden of Eden and the Tree of Knowledge, and later demoted to messengers when they failed in that task, they have been offended by the Infernal more than any other Saboath. With the ALL absent and no longer communicating with mankind, there were few to bring before the Seraph. They decided upon a new role and now attempt to mitigate the dark influence the Infernal provokes in man by inspiring the greatest and purest of all emotions: Love.”

“Eralah is Cherubim?” Richard asked.

“She most certainly is,” Stephen said. “They have no definite shape and therefore can assume any outward appearance. She came to you in a form that she knew would get your attention. Had you seen her as she truly is—she has four heads, you know—it is doubtful you would have accepted her counsel.”

Richard smiled at this. “I was expecting to see Hatfield outside that door” he said, “at the worst Jefferson and some other BanaTech goons. Had I seen a four-headed cherub instead of the visage of Katie Marsh, I probably would have run the other way.”

“Understandable,” Stephen said, then continued. “Of the remaining Saboath there has been no sign. The twenty-four Elders vanished shortly after the ALL did. No one knows where they are or what they are doing.”

“And what of the Archangels?” Richard asked. “Michael, Gabriel, and the rest. Aren’t they out there somewhere, fighting the Infernal?”

For the second time that evening Stephen Bana was consumed by laughter. Richard waited, patiently, to discover what new piece of information his ignorance would reveal.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen said after recovering from this most recent attack of delight, reaching out and laying his hand upon Richard’s arm. A thrill ran up Richard’s arm at the contact. For a moment he was somewhere else. Someone else.

He smelled metal and blood, heard the clang of rough armor and screaming. He saw crimson sprawled across the doorway of a small dwelling, up the posts and across the lintel. A sign, he understood, to pass that house by. The next dwelling had no such marking and he entered. With a heavy heart he drew a sword and sought out the first born.

“Take no offense,” Stephen said. He withdrew his hand and the vision dissolved, leaving Richard confused, shaken, and with a feeling of great sadness. Had he taken lives? Children’s lives? The moment passed and Stephen, seemingly unaware that Richard had experienced anything at all, continued. “Having lived so long as a man and forgotten your true nature you couldn’t possibly know. You are an innocent victim of another of John Milton’s fallacies. The Archangels he refers to in his little book are not separate from the one-hundred and forty-four thousand but were chosen by the ALL from within their ranks.”

“We were the Archangels, Richard, “Stephen told him. “You and I. And you, my brother, were the most revered of us all.”

“That’s…” Richard began. Again the word impossible came to mind, dismissed as immediately as it had formed. Ridiculous didn’t fit either. He’d seen too many ridiculous things already—an honest to God dragon, for chrissakes—to use the word. Ludicrous? Preposterous? Absurd? What could he consider unreasonable or bizarre after all he’d been through? Richard simply snapped his mouth shut and said nothing.

“I understand your struggle,” Stephen said. “I rejected this knowledge myself. For far too long. Had I fully understood what I stumbled across all those years ago in the North American desert, the scope of what I was tinkering with, I would never have allowed Alex Jefferson and his company to finance my research. Would not have considered allowing BanaTech access to my work and the Rips. But I was then as you are now. Excited about a new and earth shattering discovery that had the potential to change the course of human history.”

“You did change the course of human history,” Richard pointed out, thinking that he himself had not been so excited to discover the Rips, the Mirrors, nor the Multi-verse. He had been, and still was, horrified by most of what he had encountered, “and not necessarily for the better.”

Stephen sighed. It was not a sigh of impatience or frustration, rather a sigh of resignation. Of acceptance.

“I did,” Stephen said. “I’m responsible for all of this. All of these lives lost. Earths corrupted. BanaTech’s tyrannical rise to power and the threat they pose to the rest of the Multi-verse. I gave them this power. In the name of science. In the name of progress. And yes, I’ll admit it, in the name of glory and fame.”

“It is my name they placed on that ravenously grinding machine they call a corporation”, Stephen continued angrily, leaning forward and staring with such intensity that Richard could almost feel his eyes on his skin. “Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

Richard said nothing.

Stephen sighed and leaned back again. “It’s irrelevant at this point,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “It was all long ago and can’t be changed now. BanaTech is on the cusp of opening and maintaining an artificial Rip that they think will grant them unlimited access to the Multi-verse. Unlimited dominion over everyone and everything in existence.”

“I have learned much since Eralah led me to the Rip that brought me here. Much has opened my eyes and enlightened me to the ALL and Its design. We cannot go back and fix the mistakes of the past. We can only move forward and try to stop them before it is too late.”

“Why ’we’?” Richard asked.

“Excuse me?” Stephen said. It was not the question he had anticipated.

“Why am I a part of this?” Richard answered. It was the question he’d been asking himself for months, since he’d first trod through the snow in his backyard to find a wounded stranger and assumed responsibility for her well being. He’d found no satisfying answer with either Sophia. Nor with Eralah or Charlie—he still thought of the Seraph as Charlie, despite what he’d seen and heard. Here at last was someone who might have the answer. And he intended to hear it before taking any further action.

“I may be a Keeper, maybe even one of the archangels as you say. Nevertheless, I’m still just Richard Farris. Just a man. And you’ve had, what?...a couple hundred years to figure all this out? Aside from there being strength in numbers, why do you need me to help bring down BanaTech? To hide their Key and avoid some sort of Multi-versa apocalypse?”

“Because I can no longer leave this Earth.” Stephen said.

Before Richard could ask the obvious question to that answer, Stephen rose and extended his arm.

“Come,” he said, “I want you to meet someone.” Stephen left the lounge without another word. Richard pulled himself erect, muttering under his breath that he was tiring of enigmatic responses, and followed. As he left the room he passed a hooded figure and cast a sidelong glance at him. Vampires, he thought surreally. What’s next? Werewolves? Big Foot? Beginning to feel like a character in an episode of ‘The West Wing,’ he hurried to catch up with Stephen and resume their conversation as they wound through the seemingly endless corridors of the monastery.

“How old do I look to you?” Stephen asked as Richard gained his side.

“I’d guess sixty, sixty-five at the outside,” Richard said, deciding to play along. “Not too bad for a man who claims to be two-hundred and fifty-three.”

Stephen laughed before continuing. “Indeed. But I was only forty-seven when I stepped through the Rip that brought me here and I stopped aging. It was my one trip to another Earth, brief as it was, that aged me to this point.”

“You aged almost twenty years in a few minutes?” Richard was stunned.

“It was less than a minute,” Stephen said. “And yes.”

“How?” Richard asked. “Why?”

“There are only a handful of Earths throughout the Multi-verse with the unique atmospheric properties of this one,” Stephen said. “You’ve now been to two of them.” Richard pondered just which Earth he may have previously visited that had the same curative powers as this one. He had an idea which one it might have been, but Stephen interrupted before he could ask. “They are wonderful worlds but were never meant for those who were not born there. We are native to none of them, and so, while we enjoy their therapeutic qualities as long as we’re on them, those qualities are lost to us the moment we leave. The same is not true for the indigenous population. They carry this Earths properties with them if they leave, granting them near immortality, but that is not the point.”

“When we leave,” Stephen said pointedly, “time descends on us like a falcon on its prey. You’ve been here less than a day, Richard. When you leave you will suffer no ill effects, save that injury to your arm.” Richard looked at the scratches thinking he would tend to them before leaving as Stephen had previously suggested. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I have been here nearly two-hundred years,” Stephen continued. “I would not survive long enough to do what must be done.”

They entered a stairwell and began rising to the second level of the monastery.

“You told me we never truly die,” Richard prompted as they left the stairwell and started down yet another long corridor; this one lined on either side with doors. Richard assumed correctly that these were the monastery’s living quarters. “That we’re simply reborn on another Earth in another body. Why is dying a problem?”

“Because a natural effect of our reincarnation is the loss of our memories,” Stephen said. “Everything that I have learned here; my discoveries of our true selves, our true roles, and the nature of the ALL, will be lost. I will simply be another infant born to random parents on a random Earth: A Keeper to be sure, but, like you not too long ago, ignorant of what that means. And by the time I discover the truth about the Infernal and their plan, if I were discover it again, it would be too late.”

“And what plan is that, exactly?” Richard asked as Stephen stopped before a door no different than any other door in the long hallway.

“Ah!” Stephen said, depressing the door latch. “Here we are.” He pushed the door open.

Behind it was a small, plain room with a single bed, a nightstand, and a comfortable looking chair for sitting. Beside the chair was an easel with an unfinished—but rather good in Richard’s opinion—painting of a vast field populated with dragonflies and faeries. A large, ominous black form, still without definitive shape as the artist had yet to finish it, loomed in the sky. Richard thought he could guess what it would be.

A single window took up most of the exterior wall of the room and a small figure stood there, gazing out at the turbulent storm. It was a female child, about eight or nine years old. She wore a tartan, knee-length skirt under a white blouse, her hair pulled back in a black ponytail. Richard noted specks of paint on the hand resting on the windowsill.

She turned at the sound of the door opening and Richard was startled by her youthful resemblance to Sophia. Her eyes widened at the sight of him and she broke out into a grin that threatened to halve her face.

“Michael!” she cried. And thrust herself forward into Richard’s arms as a child would a long lost father.

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