The Book of Daniel (22 page)

“The first is that we’ve both been put here in Purgatory for a reason. In my case, it’s pretty obvious that I strayed off the straight and narrow, but for you it’s probably something completely different.” I groped around. “Maybe God’s just testing your faith, or needs you to do something here. I don’t know. But it’s definitely His will that we’re both here. I’m just as happy about it as you clearly are, but the sooner we accept it, the sooner we can address the second thing I’m sure about, which is how to get out of here.

“There doesn’t seem to be any big secret about that—you’ve got to get right with God again—but that’s where I think we can help each other out. I know for sure that I’m going to need help figuring out the spiritual side of what’s going on here, and if you’re willing, I reckon you can help me with that. In return, I can look out for you on the battlefield. I used to be a soldier back on Earth, and even though we’re all supposed to be expert warriors now, I promise you there’s more to it than just the fighting. War here is likely to be a whole different kettle of fish compared to what I’m used to, but I can certainly teach you to think like a soldier, and that’s just as important.

“What do you say? Neither of us has got anything to lose. We’ll both benefit from each other’s experience in the short term, and if it turns out that we still don’t get along after our first few days here, then we can go our separate ways.” I extended my hand to Abraham. “Shall we shake on it?”

I was surprised at the conviction in my own words. I didn’t really feel that I needed his kind of help—I would rather stick with the likes of Thomas and Harper—but my rousing little speech certainly seemed to have the intended effect on Abraham. There was a momentary sparkle of something in his eyes, and then he reached out and shook my hand. “Okay,” he croaked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Thomas nodding approvingly, but he said nothing. Neither did Harper. Harper the murderer. That was an idea that would take some getting used to, but, on the other hand, would certainly explain why she was trapped here with the rest of us. Not for the first time, I wondered if Purgatory was like prison back on Earth, and if so, how long a sentence you were given for something like murder. Or, in Thomas’s case, for embezzlement. I had no idea what Abraham had done wrong yet, but he seemed too strong in his faith to have committed any real crimes, at least by earthly standards. Getting sent to Purgatory for being irritating seemed a little harsh, even for God.

We drifted to a stop at the outskirts of the crowd gathering at the foot of the gates, and quickly became hemmed in as others filed in behind us. The air was filled with the gentle clanking and whirring of armour as people milled restlessly around, waiting. I could tell that Abraham was as full of questions as I was, but he, too, sensed that the tension in the air was not to be disturbed. I looked from side to side, but everyone, even Thomas and Harper, had drawn in on themselves, focussing their attention on the gates. There was no sign of Jack, but I wasn’t sure whether that was a disappointment or a relief.

Slowly, the angels dotted throughout the crowd converged at the foot of the gates and formed up into ranks. The trumpets sounded again, but this time it was only a short blast; and when their voice faded, an answering cry arose from the other side of the gates. In every way that the trumpets’ sound was pure and clear, the cacophonous howling that rose in its wake was visceral and primeval. If I didn’t already know that all the demons of Hell were on the other side of the gates, that would have been my first guess after hearing such a sound. And unlike the trumpets, the clamour did not fade. The image of someone having struck a dinner gong came to my mind.

A look of grim resolve settled onto the faces of those around me, a look that I had seen on many a face just before combat, especially when those involved knew it was going to be a hard slog. I reached out and put a hand on Abraham’s shoulder, but carefully avoided looking at him; I was worried that if I did so, he might see his fear reflected back in my own face. The scar that I used to have on my cheek had been good at helping to hide that sort of thing. Maybe
that
was why Jack was so fond of carving his face up.

Even through his armour, I could feel Abraham tense up when the huge gates rumbled into life, reluctantly swinging open towards us. But the thunder of their motion still wasn’t loud enough to drown out the hungry, unearthly noises coming from outside the city. Without realising what I was doing, I reached up to my neck, a habitual gesture from my earthly life when the comfort of my mother’s Saint George medallion would help to quell my pre-battle nerves. I wasn’t expecting the medallion to be there—I’d noted its absence earlier when getting into my armour—so I was astounded when my fingers encountered the small metallic disk. For an instant, incredibly, the tectonic shifting of the gates and all that that implied was forgotten as I looked down at the medallion. There was no mistaking it as mine—the trio of parallel scratches across the back, sustained in a minor firefight somewhere in Iraq, were unmistakable—but how on Earth had it suddenly reappeared around my neck again?

I wasn’t given a chance to ponder this new mystery. The demons outside the gates were obviously jealous that my attention had been diverted away from them; but they certainly managed to pull it back again in fine style. The medallion fell back against my chest, forgotten, as an enormous thump sounded against the gates, sending dust cascading down from them in a desiccated waterfall. The noise reverberated so loudly through the air that when many of those standing in the crowd took a step or two backwards, it was impossible to tell whether it was out of fear or whether they had been physically pushed. If I didn’t still have my hand on Abraham’s shoulder, I’m sure he would have bolted; certainly
my
every instinct was telling me to run back to the Last Chance as fast as I could, salvation be damned.

It was only what happened next that helped me to stand my ground. As the gates lurched open, shoved by whatever behemoth had thrown its weight against them, the ranks of angels streamed towards the narrow gap that was appearing. Something started to push what looked like a thick, brown tentacle through the opening, but before it could gain a purchase, the rush of angels knocked it back. The growls of hatred and hunger turned to anguish—as whatever was out there sensed it had lost its chance to breach the city’s defences—and then to pain. Within moments, the sounds of war filled the air, almost as if they had never left.

Despite the expectant, almost holy silence of the Purgatorian crowd, I couldn’t contain one question that suddenly popped into my mind. Careful not to take my eyes off of the spectacle in front of me, I leant over and asked Harper. “How come the angels don’t go over the top of the wall like they did earlier, when curfew started? Why not clear a space outside of the city first, and
then
open the gates?”

“It’s symbolic, Dan. The angels charging out into the fray from the same starting point as the rest of us is meant to inspire us to strive for that same honour. It’s supposed to assure us that faith will give us the strength to charge headlong into the midst of Hell’s army with full confidence of victory. What’s wrong, don’t you feel inspired?”

“Not exactly. Reminds me more of the old saying about fools rushing in where angels fear to tread… except what if the angels
are
the fools?”

The last of the angels swept through the gates, leaving the ever-widening gap between them shockingly vacant. I expected the tentacle, or something worse, to come slithering back in at any moment, sweeping from side to side like the tongue of a hungry dog, smashing those at the front of the crowd into a pulp. But worse than anything coming in through the gates, we now began to slowly shuffle out of them.

As each step brought me closer to the gateway, I felt the panicky surge of a fresh rush of adrenaline. I looked back wistfully over my shoulder at the Forge, peaceably belching out smoke, and suddenly wished that I was back in the queue there, talking to Thomas. Going into battle against Hell itself had seemed so much easier to deal with when it had been an abstract concept, but now that my new feet were bringing me closer to the reality one step at a time, I began to feel an unsurprising empathy with those who chose to remain within the city walls. Even the prospect of one of the Fallen landing on my head as I hid there seemed less terrifying than willingly marching forth to stick it right into their mouths.

The tide of people swept us steadily towards the city’s exit, but it was a controlled movement rather than the floundering rush which had flowed in the opposite direction earlier. The idea that we were voluntarily leaving the sanctuary of New Jerusalem was hard to swallow; yet the stony gazes of those around me made it clear that ‘voluntarily’ was not the right way to put it. None of us had any choice in the matter, not if we wanted to get out of Purgatory. I tried to take courage from what Harper had said earlier about the angels not letting first-timers perish. I tried to forget the little proviso she had added: ‘hardly ever’.

Thomas, Harper, Abraham and I finally reached—and then crossed—the threshold of the city, stepping out into the great unknown, and the crowd around us began to disperse. But given the nature of what surrounded us, it didn’t disperse very far.

Chapter 14

T
he angels had cleared the demons away from a huge area around the gates, although I had no idea how they could have managed it so quickly. There were no signs of any bodies, only puddles of what I assumed was demon blood splashed all over the place. At the edges of the cleared area, a silvery cordon of angels held something at bay, but at first my mind refused to recognise what that was. I looked higher instead, taking in the distant range of mountains squatting along the horizon. The burning smell that plagued the city air was much stronger outside the walls, and the thick black fumes rolling towards us from the tops of the mountains made it easy to see why. The gritty taste of charcoal scratched at the back of my throat.

As I watched, a geyser of flame spurted from the top of one of the mountains, shooting lava and huge chunks of rock high into the sky. Up close, it must have been an awesome and terrifying sight, but the distance rendered the eruption silent and almost beautiful. I followed the arc of one particular boulder as it flew away from the volcano, gracefully plummeting towards the ground. And then my blood froze as the arc of its trajectory led my eyes to look straight into those of Hell itself.

The first demon I ever saw was enormous, easily three or four times taller than the others that surrounded it. Its skin was as black as the soot that filled the sky, and was covered with a series of long, thin spines that seemed to ripple as it moved. Two baleful red eyes held my own as the beast stared at me, seeming to tear away at my armour with just the force of its hate alone. Something red and dripping sat in its mouth, but before I could tell what it was, the demon reached up with one black, slender arm and flung its meal to one side. Its now-empty mouth stretched impossibly wide in a parody of a grin. With a horrible fascination, I watched as the beast’s frame shook and hunched over slightly, as if it was about to vomit; and then suddenly its mouth was full again, something having been regurgitated from inside its body. I felt my own stomach churn as I recognised what it was: a Purgatorian, slick with slime, her armour dented, a look of wild fear in her eyes. The grin widened for a moment, and then the monster bit down. A tooth the size of a fence post skewered the helpless woman. Fresh red drops began to fall from the demon’s mouth.

“Oh, shit,” was all I could manage.

The blood splattered down, and my gaze followed it. A pack of huge dog-like creatures milled around the black demon’s feet, scrabbling over each other and biting rabidly at the air, all struggling to catch the rain of blood in their mouths. Not that they had to struggle much: wherever the blood hit their bodies, new mouths formed, the flesh greedily opening up before my very eyes. Other, less successful members of the pack quickly turned on those that had managed to feed, adding to the chaos, and within seconds this group of Bloodhounds had degenerated into a writhing, howling mess of blood-slicked fur and teeth.

Everywhere I looked, more horrors were on display. A thick brown tentacle, perhaps the same one I had seen snaking in through the city gates earlier, swished across my vision. The owner was a creature seemingly made entirely from such limbs, some of them waving gently through the air, others rapidly lashing at the pair of angels that blocked the monster’s route to us. Each tentacle that whipped forwards was instantly severed by the angels, although the demon gave no sign of distress or pain; and as I watched one of the dispatched limbs writhe across the ground and back home into the main body of the beast, I could understand perhaps why. All around me was the stuff of nightmares: from the relative mundanity of teeth and claws, but in numbers and configurations you can hardly imagine; to mechanical machines of torture, bristling with wickedly sharp metal of all shapes and unthinkable purposes. The sheer number of ways to kill and be killed—some of which I could see happening right in front of me, to previously captured Purgatorians—was staggering.

I had been transfixed by the sight of one of the demons using a battered and very obviously dead soldier as a club against the angel that held it at bay, when a quiet voice in my ear made me jump.

“Stand firm, Dan,” said Thomas. “Fear is exactly what these things feed on. Your best defence, apart from your sword, is faith. If you look to God, the demons are powerless against you.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Perhaps. But is it really that hard for you to say it, too?”

“Yes, it is, damn it,” I said. The words came out in a growl, more out of an attempt at bravado than because I was angry with Thomas. “I put a hell of a lot more faith in a good weapon in my hand than in God, especially based on His track record.”