Chapter LXXXIV : Anima

  Earlmorn of Tertius, Second Day of Duskmoon

  Bram stood before a nondescript mantelpiece. If Christian hadn’t pointed it out, it would have only appeared as slab of marble affixed to the wall of an unnoteworthy corridor on the side of the temple. There was no hearth below it, nor fixtures nearby. Yet, supposedly, a scholar with the right magical incantation could use it to open a portal to the so-called Servant’s Highway. Bram could use such a passage to go to any one of the world’s Ancient Gaian temples. However, his new mission aimed to arrive at a temple that was now demolished, ever since Angkor’s capital built over it.

  Adorned in his Grigori armor and with his gleaming silver sword in its sheath, Bram was ready to embark on his most dangerous journey yet: into the den of an immortal demon. It was risky, but borne of necessity. Virgil and Samuel were close to retrieving the last of the sunstones, and the Age of the Ahrimen was at hand. But, if the prophesy handed down to Christian was correct, Bram was the Savior, the only one capable of confronting these legendary horrors.

  There was a problem, though. A big one. Unlike Mica and Matthias, who were proficient in magic, Bram was a layman, ill-equipped to face the forces of evil. If his new armor and sword had any power at all, he had no training in how to use them. And if his blood were indeed full of invisible, colorless manna, he had no idea how to summon it. Yet, Christian was certain he would figure it out when the time was right. Bram just wished his own faith was as strong. As Mica uttered her spell and summoned the portal to the unknown, he began to doubt, and Fear seeped into his Subconscious.

  He looked at the swirl of starry particles. Now was his last chance to back out. Once he stepped through the portal, it was a one-way trip to a demon-filled hellscape, with no way out but to defeat an immortal being with power over a man’s mind and cruel enough to become legend. Perhaps Matthias was right, and it was just a matter of confronting King Richard before the demon was fully released from its sunstone prison. Yet, Bram wasn’t convinced. Somehow, he knew it wouldn’t be so simple.

  Richard had been using the sunstone for more than a month. His hubris invited the demon inside of him, which changed the well-meaning monarch into a tyrant. In just a few weeks, he transformed Angkor into an image of the Burning Pits itself. He had full control of Angkor’s military, a force already strong enough to take on most of the planet, and any persons inside the country still willing to ally against him were probably already dead. This meant that Abaddon was already more in control than the man Richard once was.

  Besides, the sunstone would no doubt be closely guarded, deep inside the most fortified parts of the city: either the palace or the underground Substratum. Bram had no plan for how to get there, and stealth would only take him so far. Once it became necessary for Matthias or Mica to use magic, every scholar in the city would know their location, and all would have Abaddon’s mark upon them. It seemed like suicide to step inside.

  He noticed that Matthias looked antsy, too. The old scholar made eye contact and cracked a smile. “Ya ready, Bram?”

  He considered backing out. It was his last chance to do so. But he also realized that if Virgil and Samuel prevailed, the world would be doomed, and there would be no place to hide. Perhaps Azazel would find the path to a whole new world and bring his closest allies. But even if he succeeded, the rest of the world would plunge into darkness and burn. After centuries of captivity, the Ahrimen craved vengeance.

  Bram was no safer on the sidelines, and though it might be tempting to barter with his brother, he knew where that path would lead. Baraqiel warned that any pact with the Ahrimen would lead to ruin. If Samuel didn’t know that yet, he soon would. This was Bram’s only chance to stand in support of the world and redeem himself from all the pain and suffering he had caused as a Gnostic Knight. Whatever fear he felt was natural, but Fate had another path in store. He just needed to believe.

  “I am,” he told Matthias. Nothing more was needed.

  Bram felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Christian, with empathy clearly printed on his face. It was remarkable how much things had changed. A week earlier, Bram was a pariah, hated by the Minoan community, most especially by their Gurudeva. Now, he was like a member of the family.

  “I know this isn’t what you wanted, Bram. Just remember that good heroes … the ones people remember, anyway … are the ones who wanted it least.”

  “Same goes for martyrs, too,” Matthias huffed under his breath.

  Mica clearly sensed an awkward moment brewing, so she stepped in to urge things along. “The path is ready. We should, um … go. Whenever you’re ready.”

  Christian smiled. “May Gaia’s blessings be with you, Daughter.”

  She faced Bram and Matthias. “Just remember: the Servant’s Highway has limitations. Time passes differently. We should arrive by midday in Angkor, but it will seem a lot shorter inside. Also, sounds don’t carry, so we can’t communicate with each other. Just remember to stay close. Gaia forbid we get separated, because I won’t be able to find you.”

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  Bram nodded. He had heard these warnings several times already.

  Mica stepped in, followed by Matthias. The last thing Bram heard before he entered the void were Christian’s encouraging words.

  “Have Faith, Bram ….”

  The world disappeared, and the Knight found himself in a dark room. There were no walls, and the floor was obscured by a pale gray mist. A faint ball of light hovered around Matthias and Mica. The old scholar gestured for Bram to approach and stay close.

  As Mica warned, sound was unable to travel inside this netherworld. Bram couldn’t even hear his own breath, which strangely unnerved him. Mica guided them forward, and he kept close. If he fell behind by even a few steps, his companions slowly faded away. Only when he quickened his pace did they reappear.

  After a few minutes of wandering, he heard a familiar voice.

  “Nephilim ….”

  He was shocked to hear it, especially after being deprived of all hearing.

  “Baraqiel? How are you here? How can I hear you?”

  The ethereal voice answered. “I speak directly to your mind, so that we may converse in this chaotic realm. As for your companions, they cannot hear what you hear.”

  Bram felt relief, but also anger. “You left me with nothing at the Crevasse. How am I supposed to be the Savior, when I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do?”

  “I left you with a choice, Nephilim. It would have done no good to coax you along this path. You had to choose it of your own free will.”

  Bram was tired of responses that sounded like riddles. “I thought you were trapped at the Crevasse. If you’re able to speak to me here, why not reveal yourself fully?”

  The voice paused before answering. “I am still at the Crevasse, Nephilim. You travel an old road that takes you through a realm known as the Zohar. It contains a medium through which I am able to project my thoughts. Would that I could escape the shackles of my prison, I would gladly appear at your side.”

  Bram recognized a term from his discussion with Christian. “The Zohar? The same as the religion of the Sorcerers in Vineta? Are the rest of their beliefs also true?”

  The voice sounded exasperated. “The world is full of mortals who scour for clues to explain the meaning of their existence. Sometimes, their beliefs are forged in truth. Other times, a hodgepodge of fact and fiction. Still others have no foundation at all. Only a desire for control of their flock.”

  “What about Christian?” Bram wanted to know. “Is his faith based on fact or fiction? Was he right to believe that I could infiltrate a den of demons and recover Minoa’s sunstone?”

  The voice paused before answering. “There is none other, Nephilim. You are this world’s last hope against annihilation. As for that, your line of questions will get you no closer toward your goal. Our time is short, and once you step out of this realm, we will no longer be able to commune. Therefore, I implore you to ask only the questions which are most vital.”

  Bram felt a chill. He had hoped for something more comforting, but Baraqiel’s words left no doubt. If he left the Servant’s Highway—or the Zohar, or whatever the place was called—as ignorant as he entered, he would be woefully unmatched against his enemy. His defeat would all but be ensured, and no one else would take up his mantle.

  “I need your help.” He hated to plea for assistance, especially to the spirit that provided more aggravation than aid, but he was desperate. Mica could arrive at her destination at any time. Every second was precious. “I don’t know how to confront my enemy. Neither do I know how to use the blessings of this armor or sword. Nor what to do if I confront the Ahriman. Baraqiel, please … tell me what to do.”

  The voice responded. “I sense your fear, Nephilim. It is an emotion of the mind, one in which those with the power of menis, which you call sorcerers, can sometimes harness to their advantage. But for you, it is of no help. You must clear yourself of this emotion, if you are to access the power of anima.”

  Bram remembered what he had learned. “Anima … the power of the soul. Can I truly wield it?”

  “Indeed. Your body is brimming with it.”

  Bram felt encouraged. “How? Teach me. Please.”

  The voice paused. “Consider … a mother. Your mother, perhaps. Imagine her instincts, when she and her children are in mortal danger. Many creatures, when presented with danger, will flee out of fear. But, not a mother. Why is that?”

  It was another riddle, but Bram tried his best to answer. “A mother’s love intervenes. She will do anything to protect her children, even if she must face the danger, herself.”

  The voice responded. “Your mother was mortal, Nephilim, and you are half-mortal. It is common for beings such as yourself to confuse the emotions of the soul with those of the heart. Love is undoubtedly one of a mother’s emotions. Unfortunately, it is not what compels her to face danger. There is more.”

  Bram wished the spirit would just tell him the answer, but he figured it must be important to reason it out himself to better understand the lesson. So he considered it carefully.

  “You’re right. Facing danger isn’t about love. It’s not about sacrifice, either. At least, I don’t think a mother would think about it that way. She doesn’t want to die. But neither does she want her children to face harm. And the reason … is that her children give her faith. They give her a reason to believe that she can face the danger and prevail … even if the odds are against her.”

  The voice sounded pleased. “Correct, Nephilim. Such is the power of the soul to endure hardship for the greater good. Mortals are born with a sense of justice, and those who harness this power will face enormous adversity, even if it never benefits them directly. Being mortal means being a part of something greater than oneself. It is the community that one builds and is willing to defend, which has allowed humans to survive as a species. Realize this. Embrace it. And anima will be yours.”

  Bram felt like he had an epiphany. There was so much more he wanted to ask, when he noticed Mica stop and open the portal to the outside.

  “Farewell, Nephilim.”

  “Wait, no!” Bram reached out to Baraqiel’s voice. “Tell me, please. How do I defeat the Ahrimen?”

  The voice slowly faded, but it offered one final piece of advice. “Take the sunstone in hand, face your nemesis, and reach out to anima ….”

  Bram felt Matthias grab his hand and pull him toward Mica’s portal. He was surrounded by light, a sea of starry particles. He just hoped that whatever Baraqiel taught him would be enough.