Chapter 1
Apollyon
Jeremy Chikalto smiled and watched the ballroom rotate in a gentle circle, a sea of golden light glinting off of a thousand reflective surfaces on the walls. His dance partner, five-year-old cousin Lilac Vendere, beamed back at him as they twirled. Now she looked like a china doll draped in purple hues, with a moon face and elaborate hairdo. A giggle escaped her lips. The guests lining the perimeter of the dance floor clapped and cooed as the pair waltzed nimbly under the soft lights.
Jeremy remembered this room from his childhood―the high ceilings, antique chandeliers, his mother's elegant gown, his father's impossibly crisp military uniform. When they danced, their regal energy seemed to expand and fill the whole room, the opposite but complementary colors of their clothing echoing in a room of mirrors. His parents' dueling and dancing personalities formed the matrix of his young universe―art and science, the primal lovers, and him the lovechild.
There was a heavy thud against the door, and the spell was broken. The two guards leaning against the wall jumped up and drew their pistols. Lilac's eyebrows knitted together and her bottom lip quivered in fear. Another thud, and the sound of wood splintering. Just then, a mass of yellow burst through the locked door like a battering ram, and bowled over the unprepared guards with two meaty outstretched arms. Not again, thought Jeremy.
As Lilac scurried into the corner, a large woman in a bright yellow jumpsuit charged Jeremy, a crazed look in her eyes. Jeremy pathetically held out his palms to stop the onslaught, but was knocked on his backside and was soon being mauled by the adoring fan. The woman panted and whispered "Jeremy" as she smooched his neck and cheeks, her chubby fingers combing through his hair, completely messing it up. After an unreasonable delay, the guards got to their feet and more had descended the long, spiral staircases on either side of the dance floor. They yanked the woman up.
"How'd she get in!" demanded Ronny, the Chief Security Officer. The guards began bickering amongst themselves. Someone, clearly, had screwed up, since the ballroom was supposed to have been well guarded for the evening's festivities. It was Lilac's birthday celebration.
Lilac walked back over to Jeremy, who was slumped on the dance floor. She looked down at him, her mouth agape.
"It's okay, Lilac. I'm fine." Jeremy smiled up at her, determined to level his breathing. The large, adoring fan had knocked the wind out of him.
On seeing his smile, Lilac laughed and ran in circles, her arms outstretched pretending to chase Jeremy with the intention of giving him a kiss. "I love you! I love yoouuuu!"
"I know, all right. Let's settle down." Jeremy got to his feet and caught hold of Lilac. He squeezed her in his arms. She squealed and bucked until at last he set her down.
The moans from the large woman faded as the doors to the ballroom closed shut. Then Vor Wantoro Chikalto barreled in and scolded the guards. Jeremy was next in line for a tongue lashing. It was unfair how those closest to him faulted him for attracting women, like he had some active role in the seduction of complete strangers.
Wantoro approached Jeremy. "Jeremy," he said gruffly, squaring his massive shoulders.
"Yes?" Jeremy hissed the "s" sound because he knew his father disliked it.
"How about you go to your quarters until the close."
Jeremy crinkled his brow. "Why?"
"I'm sorry, I just can't allow this evening to be about you." Wantoro frowned slightly, but Jeremy detected a twinkle in his eye.
"What does that even mean? It's not like I―"
"Ssh! Image control, Jeremy. Image control."
Jeremy sighed. His father was right. He waved at Lilac, who was staring from behind Wantoro. "Don't forget me. Send someone up for the final dance."
"Forget you," Wantoro shook his head in bemusement.
Jeremy stepped back from his father, bowed, and then jogged off to the door, leaving a gaggle of girls giggling in his wake.
The walk to Jeremy's wing of the castle was quiet, almost too quiet. A row of plants to his right, set in a stone garden that traveled the length of the hallway adjacent to the wall, rustled quietly in the breeze.
Breeze? Jeremy halted and suspiciously eyed the jumjee, with its blood-red blossoms and prickly stems. No, there was no breeze in this corridor. Jeremy had imagined it. He ran his fingers through his golden brown hair. Strands of blonde usually framed his face, but these now flipped up, the natural waves in his hair pattern having been ruffled by the large woman. Demon? Jeremy spun around, and on seeing he was alone, began to vibrate. Some invisible part of him tugged him through and in a flash, he had entered the Haze. Purple shafts of light swallowed him sideways. It was unusually dark here. Jeremy swished his hand about in an effort to dissipate the dark clouds, though he knew it didn't quite work this way. "Lyrna!" he shouted.
Jeremy felt a nip on his ankle. "Out! Too dark." Fur brushed against his leg as he passed through a pink cloud that swallowed him whole. Now, in a light wisp of Haze, Jeremy saw Lyrna. She licked her fur down while occasionally glancing at Jeremy. "Yes?" she purred.
"Did you hear anything else?"
"Mew?"
"Demons. You know, anything?" Jeremy shuddered and bit his nails.
"Just that once. I tell. Demon pass through, say 'Jeremy Chikalto,' no more."
"That's it then? Nothing more in the past three months?"
"No,” said Lyrna. “I tell. Frazzled, you. Go sleep."
Jeremy looked down at his nail beds, torn to shreds. "You know, I looked quite decent this morning." He smiled and hesitated before adding, "Lyrna, can I pet you?"
Lyrna shifted her weight from paw to paw and floated over to Jeremy's lap, setting her head down on his knee. Jeremy stroked her fur as she purred.
A nosy elk got so brazen as to stick its big, fat nose through the cloud in front of Jeremy's face.
Jeremy held his hand up to cover the snooping nostrils. "Hey buddy, don't you have souls to sort?" The elk retreated and Jeremy sighed. "Okay, Lyrna. I guess I'll go back now. Please let me know if you hear of anything."
Lyrna nodded and Jeremy held fast to Lyrna's small furry body, which glided effortlessly through the Haze. Lyrna came to a stop. "Here."
"Yes. I feel it." Jeremy patted Lyrna on the head and exited the Haze. He was getting better at gaging his entry and exit points, but still needed help. Getting lost in the Haze was a terrifying endeavor. Jeremy stumbled back onto the floor of the west wing. The plants to his right gave a slight twitch.
Jeremy visited Lyrna often after learning of her role in the Haze. The Haze once seemed like a place of death, but Jeremy now recognized it as also a place of life and rebirth. The souls of the departed didn't extinguish after death, they went to the Haze to be sorted, meaning the old dichotomy of Heaven and Hell wasn't just a metaphor. What Heaven and Hell might look like, feel like, remained shrouded in mystery. But what Mantel had said to him, about his being Apollyon, the angel of the bottomless pit, haunted Jeremy even worse than the demon that, he was told, had been looking for him three months ago. Apollyon. Four months ago, in front of Mantel, Jeremy had a vague familiarity with that figure, but the words passed over him. He was still struggling to comprehend that his ancestor, Vordin Chikalto, had been an angel, cursed for returning Cain to his damned body. Mantel was Cain and Jeremy was the heir to God’s curse. But now his most relevant concern was: What was his role in the Apocalypse?
Jeremy entered his room, deep in thought. He looked himself over absently in the antique mirror, then wandered into his huge closet to kill time. He selected a black silk shirt with paisley stitchwork and gray slacks, and topped it off with a bow tie. He stepped into black leather dress shoes and waited for what seemed like an eternity in front of the mirror, planning a sequence of dance moves. He added a green vest. Finally, a servant came to retrieve him.
"Your father requests your presence for the final dance."
Jeremy nodded and followed the servant to the ballroom. The Cajjez stared at his feet wh
ile he walked, images of the pending Apocalypse flitting across his mind. He heard the ballroom door open in front of him and looked up. The last person he wanted to see was standing in the center of the dance floor, surrounded by numerous polite guests.
"Maren!" gasped Jeremy.
"Hello," said Maren, awkwardly gripping and releasing her sheer silver gown like a lost kitten kneading a blanket. She was sparkling like a diamond in a display case, and her hair was cascading out of an elaborate bun.
"What a ... surprise." Jeremy's heart pounded hard in his chest as he approached her.
A crowd of onlookers erupted into applause. "Look! Jeremy and Maren are reunited at last!" someone cried.
Camera flashes abounded. It was the first time the two were seen together in public since returning to Watico after the alleged IIU kidnapping.
"Why haven't you returned my calls?" whispered Maren as Jeremy drew close.
Jeremy bowed on one knee and took her hand and kissed it. "Well, I―"
"You've been dancing a lot, I take it?" she said through gritted teeth. She withdrew her hand from his.
"Just look at them together, adorable!" wailed a woman from the sidelines. The band struck up a latin groove.
Jeremy forced a smile and stood tall. “May I?”
“This is so unnatural right now, in case you didn't notice.” Maren scowled at him.
“Right.” He placed his right hand gently on Maren's back and clasped her hand with his left. They stepped into each other and began to tango, and the crowd ooed and ahed. "You have a problem with my dancing?" Her face was flush with anger and embarrassment. Her gray eyes bore into him, and he averted his gaze as he dipped her low, her left leg tipping on a silver heel, her right leg folding into him.
"Your shoes," said Maren.
Jeremy looked down at his boots as he stepped back. "Um, what about them?"
"There was a story on your shoes in the news. Your dancing shoes. You've been spotted in them seven times, dancing. The front with the waves etched in, that's how I knew." Maren waved her finger at the leather stitchwork as they walked in tandem, the crest of ocean falling, splash, on his toes. Maren sighed irritably and wrapped her leg over his, and they leaned together.
"Hmm," said Jeremy slowly. Maren was still mumbling about his shoes when he spun her explosively. The crowd loved it. When Maren faced him her eyes were slitted and tears were forming.
Jeremy pulled her close and tried to hide her face in the crook of his arm. "Easy!" he whispered. "Everyone's watching."
She sobbed softly at first, and then louder, her tender hold on his back turning to a clawing grip. Then she pushed against his chest and twirled out of his arms, and attempted to slap him across the face. He managed to grab her hand mid-slap and forced her to caress his cheek.
"Oh my word!" gasped an elderly couple at the spicy display of passion.
"How dare you!" she spat and tried a dance kick at his face, but she lost her balance and began to fall backwards. Jeremy sidestepped and caught her ankle on his shoulder and then grabbed her hand before she hit the ground. "Real smooth.” He pulled her up, twirling her leg off his shoulder. “I've never seen you so unnerved.” He began to circle her, tapping a syncopated beat with his busy shoes.
Maren frowned and attempted to walk away from the dance, but Jeremy grabbed her by the shoulders from behind. "You know," he whispered, leaning in towards Maren, "I was just about to contact you." He bent her backwards over his thigh. She snapped back up and faced him.
"I imagined after the initial shock of returning, we'd try to figure out what happened to us on Earth." Her voice was tense. “Four months have passed. Four months since my mother died!”
"You needed time to mourn." The music slowed to a ballad, and Jeremy stepped to Maren and held her tight as she struggled against him.
Maren knew, as an excuse, it sounded sensible, but as a bluff, it was the most insensitive thing Jeremy could have said. "You're a liar, a shallow, self-absorbed liar, and I was wrong to ever think otherwise!"
“Let's be discreet, please.” Jeremy smiled at a nosy journalist who had entered the dancefloor to capture a shot of their slow dance, and then turned back to Maren. His eyes flashed her a warning, and then they danced in silence for the remainder of the song.
The ballad crept into its final note and the last dance was done.
Jeremy released Maren and she turned from him and marched to the far corner of the room. He darted after her. Guards closed in behind them as journalists swarmed to capture one last picture.
They walked to a private booth. The lights were dimming. "Okay," said Jeremy after taking a seat across from Maren, "since that's out in the open, how about this: maybe I needed time to mourn! Me, me, me. Is that what you want to hear? This is all about me!" Jeremy gripped the table and sent a ripple of electricity along its surface. A fork leapt up into the air.
"I just want the truth, no need to make a caricature of yourself!" Maren tucked her blonde hair behind her ears. She grabbed a nearby cushion for protection and put it on her lap.
"Like I'm going to hurt you," sneered Jeremy. He stood up and paced back and forth next to the booth, glancing at Maren's lap. "You never could tell when I'm being honest."
"Enlighten me." Maren clutched her armor.
Jeremy drew in a deep breath. "Okay, I am mourning. I wasn't being sarcastic, sadistic, whatever you're thinking."
Maren pursed her lips together.
For a second, Jeremy could see Gillian: her dimples in the corners of Maren’s mouth, her high, angular cheek bones. Jeremy had to look away. "I'm sorry about your mother," he said. "She didn't have to die. I left her behind in the Haze."
"Why?" she managed.
"I left both of your parents behind, actually. I thought everyone was going to die. No one could breathe. I couldn't carry everyone. I took you and my father."
Maren looked up. "But my dad, he lived...."
"Lyrna helped me find a rip in the Haze that led to the hospital. She found Mateo and your mother, but it was too late for her."
Maren sighed. So that was it. That's why he'd avoided her. Guilt. "Why didn't you just tell me? I'd have understood."
"Right," he snorted. "Because you made it real easy for me to open up tonight."
Wantoro made the announcement for cake. The cake was cut and slices were handed out. Lilac, Jeremy's cousin, was becoming petulant, and so was quietly whisked away to her quarters. Jeremy and Maren snuck back to Jeremy's room.
Maren took a seat on his royal bed. He slid his vest off and unbuttoned his collar, tossing his bow tie into his bow tie drawer. He stepped out of his famous shoes and filed them in the appropriate slot in his shoe rack. Maren hoped that was the extent of his disrobing.
"I'm sorry, it's just that the press has you seeming... so you. It's like you've never changed."
"And you believe the press?"
"There's always a kernel of truth. What about your girlfriend?"
Jeremy rolled his eyes and lifted Maren to her feet.
There was a knock on the door.
Maren instinctually said, "Put your clothes back on!" She immediately regretted doing so. Jeremy grinned and took his silk shirt off, revealing a muscular torso and chiseled abs. Maren gasped and waved her hands about.
"Just a second!" called Jeremy, delighted at Maren's frantic display of prudery. He opened the door.
An older female servant, dressed in black slacks and a pinstriped dress shirt, took quick note of the partially nude Cajjez and Maren sitting on his bed and looked away. "Please pardon my interruption, Cajjez. Your, ahem, father sent me to confirm your location."
"Of course, Hilga. Here I am.” He spread his arms out. “Let him know I'm all tied up at the moment, and would be happy to field any further questions in the morning."
The servant eye him suspiciously and then exited.
Jeremy sauntered over to his closet and then slid another shirt on. "Watch this." He pushed a square g
reen button beside his closet and a floor panel slid back. Two crushed velvet ottomans rose from the compartment, a sleek wooden coffee table between them.
"Very nice," said Maren.
Since things were pretty awkward anyway, he decided to cut to the chase. "Did I tell you that I'm Apollyon?" Jeremy blurted out. His hand trembled as he pulled the ottoman aside and took a seat.
"Hmm?" Maren took her hair out from her bun and shook it free. It draped her slender shoulders in loose waves.
"There was a force field. Mantel's voice was in my head." This was going to be more difficult than he'd imagined. It wasn't that Maren wouldn't believe him―after everything she'd been through with him, she'd have to believe him. But would she stick around once she knew what he was?
"Jeremy," she said, taking his hands in her own. "I'm ready for the truth. Please, don't hold back." Her face softened and she squeezed his hand. "I saw you on the ground. You were... twitching and grabbing your head. We were all screaming and shouting. You said something. Mantel was quiet. What happened?"
Jeremy could see it in his mind's eye: the small, hunched body of Mantel gliding towards him, Mantel's dark, boding stare, the faces of the dead pressed up against his pink skin, mucous oozing. Jeremy felt sick. This was it. This was the moment he'd dreaded. "Mantel told me that I'm Apollyon. I'm the Angel of the Bottomless Pit."
"What?" Maren shook her head.
"Mantel's voice was inside my head. He said he was Cain, that my ancestor Vordin Chikalto was an angel who was cursed for returning Cain to Earth from the Haze. Vordin restored Cain to his body, but that wasn't God's will. Cain had a mark, a curse. Vordin Chikalto's disobedience meant that one of his descendants would inherit this curse. I'm the curse." Jeremy looked away.
"So you're an angel?" She blinked. The words sounded ridiculous. "You've always looked so similar to Vordin Chikalto." Maren pointed to an elaborate war tapestry that depicted Vordin Chikalto in battle on Earth. "You have the same eyes."
Jeremy appreciated her polite, quiet tone, but felt he wasn't getting through. "He told me I'm Apollyon, Maren." Jeremy's voice had an edge to it.
Maren released his hands and drew back with wide eyes.
"I'm sorry. I know you don't understand, and well, I've done some research." Jeremy rose from the ottoman and went to his shelf. He grabbed a thick notebook with "Apollyon" written in calligraphy on the front and opened to a page. A painting of a demon, massive with red scales, curved horns, jet-black wings, and cruel teeth, leered up from the page. In its mangled, blistery hands, it held the corpse of a man.
Maren put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, Jeremy that's not you!"
"Listen to this. It's in Revelation 9." Jeremy flipped through some pages and settled on one with worn edges. Before he could read, Maren began reciting the passages aloud, word for word:
1. Then the fifth angel blew his trumpet, and I saw a star that had fallen to earth from the sky, and he
was given the key to the shaft of the Bottomless Pit. 2. When he opened it, smoke poured out as though from a huge furnace, and the sunlight and air turned dark from the smoke. 3. Then locusts came from the smoke and descended on the Earth, and were given power to sting like scorpions.
“Hold on. When did you memorize those verses?” asked Jeremy, stunned by Maren's performance.
“Well, I memorized a great deal.”
“Of Revelation?”
“No, the entire Bible. And the apocrypha.”
“Why? And when? And how?”
Maren shifted uneasily in her chair. “I needed something to do after my mom passed, and it seemed like a good idea considering our situation. Plus I felt like it would give me some answers. As for how, plenty of monks have done so in the past. Neurologically speaking, you just have to use the brain's preference for visual and spacial information to your advantage by encoding every verse as an image.”
Jeremy was a little uncomfortable with Maren's acumen. After a pause, he moved on. “So I think the smoke that pours out is supposed to be the Haze. I'm thinking I'm the star that falls to the earth from the sky.”
Maren nodded slowly, as everything began to take shape in her mind.
“May I?” Jeremy gestured to the Bible. "So the star receives a key, and he opens the Haze, or the Bottomless Pit, I'm not sure, but these creatures come out of the smoke."
"The locusts."
"Right, but I'm thinking they're more like amalgamations. Locust-like, but also like scorpions and horses and other creatures." Jeremy returned to the text.
7. The locusts looked like horses prepared for battle. They had what looked like gold crowns on their heads, and their faces looked like human faces. 8. They had hair like women’s hair and teeth like the teeth of a lion. 9. They wore armor made of iron, and their wings roared like an army of chariots rushing into battle. 10. They had tails that stung like scorpions, and for five months they had the power to torment people. 11. Their king is the angel from the Bottomless Pit; his name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in Greek, Apollyon―the Destroyer.
Maren frowned. "So... these horrible creatures come from the Haze and torture people, and their King is Apollyon, and he's the Angel from the Bottomless Pit. And that's you?"
Jeremy pulled the notebook back. "Yes, but it gets ambiguous." He read from another page. "Revelation: 20."
1. Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven with the key to the bottomless pit and a heavy chain in his hand. 2. He seized the dragon―that old serpent, who is the devil, Satan―and bound him in chains for a thousand years. 3. The angel threw him into the Bottomless Pit, which he then shut and locked so Satan could not deceive the nations anymore until the thousand years were finished.
"So you're going to throw Satan into the Bottomless Pit?" Maren stammered.
"It depends on whether the star that falls from Heaven is the same being as the angel who seizes Satan. It may be that the first angel is a fallen angel―Apollyon―and the second angel is his adversary. Some scholars think that Apollyon is a messenger of God." Jeremy swallowed. "Others believe he is a demon. And then some believe he is the Anti-Christ, the one being thrown into the Bottomless Pit."