99 Gods: War Page 4

  John whispered his name to the functionary at the door to Dubuque’s office. The young blond man eyeballed a hand-held electronic device, nodded, and led John and Cosmo into the Living Saint’s office. It was a big room, holding little more than a conference table, several chairs, and Dubuque’s own oversized desk and simple chair. Dubuque stood and walked around his uncluttered desk, smiling, and stuck out his hand to shake. “Mr. Lorenzi. Glad to see you again.” They shook hands, and John introduced Cosmo as ‘his aide, in his mission’. Dubuque nodded.

  Dubuque was a fine looking young man, six foot four, a strong jaw, piercing blue eyes, a long face, and light dirty blond hair. A natural leader. A wicked grin played across Dubuque’s face, and the Living Saint exuded enthusiasm. “You appear to be getting organized,” John said.

  “It’s been work,” Dubuque said, with a chuckle. “This business I’m now in has far more responsibilities attached to it than I suspected. So what can I do for you, today?” Dubuque’s voice was deep, but not bass, and uniquely penetrating.

  John still couldn’t sense anything about Dubuque save for the Living Saint’s palpable holiness, which filled the oversized office to the brim. Cosmo fidgeted, though, which meant Dubuque’s holy aura had gotten to him. “It isn’t what you can do for me, but what I can do for you,” John said. “In our first meeting, I said I was a man of the cloth, a person possessing knowledge of and experience with what the Angelic Host referred to obliquely when they told you that you Living Saints were not alone.” Dubuque nodded. Their first meeting had been during a mass meet-and-greet, and John had been just one of many. They hadn’t had time for a conversation. “After visiting several of the other North American Living Saints, I decided to offer you my services. I’ve been waiting for you, or someone like you, for a long time.” Centuries, but he knew enough not to say that. John decided to accept Dubuque’s nod as permission to sit, and eased his bulk into one of the chairs around the conference table. Dubuque took the seat around the corner and rolled the chair backwards so the conference table didn’t come between them. Cosmo sat in a third chair. Dubuque wore a typical American business-class black pin-stripe suit over a white shirt and gaudy tie. “How much do you know about me?”

  “Only what you’ve stated publicly.”

  Dubuque met John’s eyes and spread wide his hands. “Very well. Other men of faith have already sought me out, but most want to preach at me, not serve me. Most claim to know more about me than I do, myself, and more about God than the Angelic Host did. I find your lack of preconceptions bracing,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. “How would you serve me?”

  “With all my talents,” John said. The only one of the 99 he had met who had caught on to his supernatural tricks, Portland, had shrugged and moved on without comment after he had admitted to them. “I believe that the appearance of you and the other Living Saints, most of whom wrongly name themselves as Gods, marks the end of my appointed mission. If we can work together, you will find my knowledge extensive, my skills refined in many areas, and my needs minimal. I’m not interested in either goodies or moola. I’ll serve you faithfully, to the best of my abilities, and make my humble service to you my new mission.”

  “No goodies or moola, eh?” Dubuque said, with another twinkle. “I do appreciate the offer of aid, but I do wonder what an old man such as yourself can do for me. I’ve already attracted quite a few vigorous young volunteers, and I’m puzzled by your, um, claim of knowledge about the unknown entities the Host referred to.” Dubuque paused and met John’s gaze. “Can I tell you a little about where I’m coming from?” John nodded.

  “I’ve always been a man of God, Mr. Lorenzi,” Dubuque said, spreading his hands wide again. “Violence and war are my enemies.” In his speeches, Dubuque had said he had been, in his former life, a peaceful anti-war protester. John nodded again, happy, as most modern Popes felt the same way about violence. “I didn’t go to Divinity School, though, nor was I ever an official member of the ministry. However, I did do some informal preaching, to my fellow protesters, to spread the word of God. When not on the front lines of protest, I also taught adult Sunday school classes at various non-denominational churches. My only paying jobs were in the service of the Lord. I helped manage charities and did their bookkeeping. My background was about as mainstream Protestant, and as boring as it could be.

  “However, from the Angelic Host, I’ve learned to broaden my understanding of God, and to listen to those of faith, as they pray.” John’s eyebrows rose. Dubuque’s comment seemed better suited to an actual God, not a Living Saint. “Some might say I’m not as Christian as I used to be, after being confronted with the correctness of non-Christian faiths, but to me, I’ve just had my eyes opened to new truths, that there are more ways to God than I understood in my mortal days. I’m still torn, though, about many things, and I’ve become more of a seeker than in my mortal life. I do believe, though, that Christianity must unite as one family again and build stronger bridges to the other monotheistic faiths.”

  John nodded. “You’re not going to get any arguments from me about that,” he said. “My background is similarly ecumenical.”

  “Fantastic!” Dubuque said, smiling wider. “The Angelic Host gave me a new calling in life, a calling to help those who cannot help themselves and to do good works at a level I never before contemplated. A call to lead, one I don’t understand, yet, how I’m going to answer. I do know that I and my volunteers will be helping humanity make Heaven on Earth. What skills and knowledge do you offer to aid me in my Mission?”

  John leaned back for a moment, taking in the room. Everything here, he realized, was a creation of the Living Saint: the carpeting, the walls, the furniture, the few knickknacks on the desk, likely even the Living Saint’s clothes. Only a being doing God’s miracles could create such things and not leave the reek of evil magic. To John, that left no doubts about Dubuque’s origins.

  Yet, something seemed off. In the short month since John’s first meeting with Dubuque, the Living Saint had changed. He had gone from wide-eyed, overwhelmed and hesitant in the use of his power to, well, John wasn’t sure. More of a man on a mission, his power on an instant hair-trigger.

  “I possess ample monetary resources and a small organization of likeminded men of faith,” John said, more relaxed speaking about himself than hearing about Dubuque. A bustle of a half dozen of Dubuque’s volunteers walked by, outside the Living Saint’s office, debating some App called Splursh. John still wasn’t quite sure what an App was, and what it had to do with phones and the like. “I’m personally fluent in over two dozen languages, and I have decades of experience as an advisor to those seeking to do good.” He paused. “But my real offer concerns the supernatural. When the Angelic Host said the Living Saints aren’t alone, they were saying you aren’t the only supernatural beings on Earth. Some, such as myself, wish to help you.”

  “Supernatural?” Dubuque concentrated for a moment and edged away from John. The smile left his face and the twinkle left his eyes. “You are different, Mr. Lorenzi,” the Living Saint said, now artfully expressionless. “You’re not a normal human being, now are you?”

  The Living Saint must have opened himself up to John in some miraculous way. “You sensed that, eh, pardner?” John said, smiling. “I’m offering all that I am to you, to serve you with my fullest abilities.”

  “Something like you wants to help me?” Dubuque said. “God’s miracles are holy, not supernatural in the least.” He adjusted his red tie with a hostile yank and frowned. John, startled by Dubuque’s words and his sudden hostility, froze in place. The Living Saint likely sensed some aspect of John’s checkered past, a penetration John hadn’t considered possible in this casual setting. Nothing else made sense. He had gambled the Living Saints would possess the same general limitations and capabilities as the other holy saints he had run into in his long life. He had expected the Living Saints to wield more of God’s Grace, not something completely different.

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nbsp; He realized, belatedly, that he had landed himself in deep trouble. Sincerely and truly deep trouble.

  “Are those you speak of, who want to ‘help’, similarly possessed by the supernatural?” Dubuque said, frowning.

  “No, I am unique, and it’s not possession,” John said. “Those I know of, the people who would be willing to aid you, possess more subtle abilities and tricks. Talents of knowledge and self-control most find disquieting, or impossible.” He didn’t mention the more paranoid Telepaths, who would likely all run and hide rather than serve a Living Saint, even for an instant. Their abilities were anything other than subtle. “However, humanity does face supernatural enemies. Such are rare, especially in this day and age, but they exist in enough varieties to shock the casual observer.” Who, in most cases, would forget about these supernatural enemies once their shock wore off, if they lived through the experience.

  “You don’t say,” Dubuque said, deadpan, his eyes boring into John.

  “I’m not your enemy, spiritually or otherwise, Living Saint Dubuque. I serve God, the same as do you,” John said. He had to defuse the situation; he and Dubuque, the most pacifist of the Living Saints, must become friends. Dubuque nodded and visibly relaxed, his hostility abating.

  “Go on,” the Living Saint said. John guessed the Living Saint could tell whether John lied or not.

  “As I said before, my background is quite ecumenical. I agree with your mission wholeheartedly.” John had lived the ecumenical dream for most of his long life.

  “Now that’s interesting,” Dubuque said. “You aren’t a liar. You are plain spoken and direct. You said you are a man of faith, correct?”

  John nodded.

  “Do you pray?”

  “Yes, of course,” John said.

  “Who do you pray to?”

  “I pray to Jesus, to Mary and to God.”

  “You are Catholic, then?”

  “Yes.” Ah. That fear. “I don’t serve the Pope, if that’s your worry. None of the Popes of this century or the last knew my name.” None of the Popes since the Napoleonic era had known of him by name.

  “As you said, though, you are a leader of men. I can sense that in you,” Dubuque said, glaring at John. “You lead men of faith?” the Living Saint asked, glancing at Cosmo. John nodded. “If you don’t serve the Pope, then who do you follow?”

  “I work on my own these days, though I do maintain loose ties to an ancient ecumenical Holy Order.” John paused. “I must tell you about my mission, and my fears. It’s…”

  “I wonder, though, if what you represent is a test,” Dubuque said, interrupting John and pointing his index finger at him. “I’ve been waiting for one.”

  “A test?” John didn’t understand. He had offered himself to Dubuque to do with whatever Dubuque wanted. That should be enough for anyone, mortal or Living Saint.

  “Yes. I’d been wondering when the other side would appear and what they would do, whether they would arrive in numbers or arrive speaking seductive words.” Dubuque tapped the fingers of his right hand nervously on the chair arm. “Things have been too easy for me, so far. When the Host spoke of us Living Saints not being alone, to me they were clearly warning us about the other side.”

  Uh oh. “Who would oppose you?” John said. “Are you talking political, spiritual, religious or perhaps supernatural opposition?” Dubuque tensed. “I assure you, I am fully on your side. I can help you against any and all natural and unnatural opposition. I serve God, and have done so for years.”

  Dubuque’s glare told John the answer; the Living Saint thought he, John, belonged to the other side. “Do you accept Jesus as your personal savior?” Dubuque said.

  “Yes,” John said. “Absolutely.”

  “I sense doubt, though.”

  “I possess an old man’s doubts,” John said. This veered into dangerous territory. He had lived too long and experienced too many things, creating far too much doubt in his once perfect faith. What he knew about Heaven and Hell didn’t match any known holy scriptures, the teachings of his youth, the teachings of the Renaissance era, the Enlightenment, or the absurd, almost fictional, modern day beliefs.

  Worse, many of his experiences and actions had taken place in harsher times. John had done many things that people born in this far too civilized era would reject.

  Dubuque tsk-tsk-tsked and began to glow, aggressively holy. “Now you’re shading the truth. Lying to me,” Dubuque said, as if no one could lie to him. Yes, John realized, he had misjudged the capabilities of these Living Saints.

  What were they, if they were not an amplified version of God’s holy saints? Were they actual Gods, then? Physical-bodied demigods, as the ones written about in innumerable Indo-European myths?

  That would be terrible, especially in this overly secular age.

  “I wouldn’t call my comments a lie,” John said. “I have upset you, sir. Let me take my leave, and we can sit and discuss this at a later time, when you have seen the world longer as a Living Saint.” John began to stand.

  “Sit back down,” Dubuque said, nonchalant. John sat, against his will, terror creeping into his mind. This was impossible! Nothing had the power to control his mind; the Earth’s most potent Telepaths, the One Mind group, had trained him, centuries ago, in how to resist mental takeovers, both telepathic and magical.

  The Living Saint’s face filled with ire. “My logic is inescapable. You are a magical creature, a foul spirit in an old man’s body, a liar, and a prevaricator. You are either Satan’s demon, or Satan himself.” Beside him, Cosmo boggled at Dubuque’s display, lost in holy wonder. “You are what I feared you were, after I first opened myself up to you. Satan, begone!”

  John did not move, could not move, but Dubuque’s wave of holy willpower passed through him without effect. Dubuque frowned, and his hold over John’s mind evaporated in confusion.

  “I am not that being,” John said, quiet and unthreatening.

  “Then what are you?”

  John didn’t know what to say.

  “You did lay yourself in my holy hands,” Dubuque said, pointing a finger at him. “Answer.”

  John hesitated, fearful and confused, before gathering himself and deciding to try to talk his way out of this debacle. “Very well, sir. I trust God, who led me here, so let me tell you what I believe myself to be,” John said. Whenever any such conundrums arose, he submitted himself to God’s will. He had learned that lesson in his youth. The puzzled expression returned to Dubuque’s face. “I’m a former Benedictine monk whose life-long mission, given to me by the Virgin appearing in vision, is to remove the ability to do magic from those who wield it, and to undo magic itself. I do not kill, as I am not worthy to take life. Yet to remove the ability to do magic from a person, or undo magic, I must do magic. It is my magical ability to undo magic that you sense. Yes, this magic has its infernal connections, but my holy pledges lock my magic away from my will, save for what magic I use to undo magic. Because of this limitation, I escape corruption.” Magic was the most corrupting of all forces, luring all who used it to the seductive call of the inferno. John had purged himself of that call centuries ago, in the only way open to him, by locking his magic away except for the one outlet of destroying other magic. In his youth, he had prayed for someone like himself, who possessed the strength to remove John’s magic, but he had found no one in all his long centuries who possessed greater magic than his own.

  “You then admit you are a mortal magician, and evil,” Dubuque said. His mouth puckered. “A male witch.”

  “I am open to you,” John said. “What evil in me do you sense?”

  “Omission. Do not suffer a witch to live, the Good Book says,” Dubuque said, frowning.

  John realized he had shocked the Living Saint, exposing Dubuque to something he had never imagined could exist. Dubuque, unlearned in the classics, as was common in this modern era, thought of the other side in terms of popular media representations of the Books of Revelation and Hell.
Fictional representations. Hollywood movies!

  John doubted he had ever been in such grave danger, at least since the beginning of his holy mission.

  “The Holy Bible also says not to murder. When I am done with those I save from magic, they are no longer witches, or warlocks, or magicians of any kind. I’m cool, man. I don’t interfere with the authorities if they so choose to take further action. If I find that those with the ability to do magic committed crimes against God or man, I inform the authorities. Often, I give testimony.”

  “Despite the truth I read in your honeyed words, you stink of murder and violence. Darkness surrounds you like a cloak,” Dubuque said. He raised his right hand, as if in protection, and his holy aura grew. “You hew to expedience, to a dark religion no one else practices. I sense this. Your motivations come not from faith in God, but from something else, something horrific.”

  “Certainly not,” John said, hiding his shocked disbelief. “I serve God directly; what I believe about God I learned from the Church, and from ecumenical theologians of all the monotheistic religions. That must be what’s confusing you.”

  Dubuque sighed. “You’re deluded. I do have much to learn, but this I already know: a true person of faith leads by example; a person changes the world by their actions, their words and their moral authority.

  “I can sense what you do, though, and I do not like what I sense. You lead by doing evil magic; your clothes reek from the fires of the Inquisition. You ignore the poor and helpless, you don’t evangelize, and like many supposed people of faith, you selectively moralize. You don’t even believe in such basic human rights as freedom from slavery and torture!”

  John shrank back from the Living Saint’s pronouncements. The Living Saint could sense all his ancient deeds and beliefs from the darker eras of the past, and as John feared, judged them out of context. “My mission is…”