Crucible

There is no greater test of faith than to be faced with the object of our beliefs and find we are wrong. 

That was the lesson which Anthony Martins learned the summer of his twentieth birthday. It was a lesson which changed everything for him.

Anthony had many successes in his youth. He overcame the peer pressure to lead a life of drugs and crime with his classmates. He struggled through mental health and depression to graduate at the top of his high school class. He endured the loss of his parents in a terrible car accident and the tragic loss of his sister a month later when grief overtook her.

It was his faith that saved him each time. His grandmother had told him time and again that his name was that of the patron saint of lost souls. While that idea hadn’t really meant much when he was younger, he never forgot his grandmother’s fond insistence that he should always remember that faith would call to him whenever he was lost.

Nine months after his sister’s death, when he feared he would be forever lost in his own mind, Anthony happened by Saint Michael’s Church and heard the choir for the first time; really heard them. They touched memories of his parents and his sister and brought him peace. 

Anthony visited the church often after that. Then, just after he turned twenty, he booked a trip to Europe. His plan was to backpack across Europe and if his faith hadn’t diminished by the time he reached the other side, he would enroll in seminary school. He would try to live up to the ideals of Saint Anthony of Padua.

He landed in Lisbon where his namesake had been born and spent the first part of June embracing the culture and celebrating the feast day on the thirteenth. The next day, he headed east.

Anthony was well into the Spanish countryside when he spotted the ancient cathedral and its tiny village nestled in the mountains. It hadn’t been on any of his maps, but he had heard the church bell ring out as the sun was making its final descent. Since he was already looking for a place to rest, he headed toward the sound.

He saw no one as he passed the first few tiny homes. Although light shone from a few windows, Anthony chose to head straight for the cathedral rather than disturb anyone at home. After all, if he couldn’t find charity at the church, then where else could he look? 

Anthony approached the stone building just as the sun slipped fully behind the high peaks. He squinted and tried to study the architecture, but he could make out very few details. Though it wasn’t grand in size like Saint Michael’s back home, it showed signs of tremendous age. Near the bell tower he could see the vague silhouettes of great gargoyles leering over the village. The lack of apparent iconography on the church’s exterior gave Anthony a pit in his stomach.

Still, he was out here to test his faith and still needed a place to stay. He knocked on the huge wooden doors. He received no reply. 

Anthony opened his mouth to call out in his best high school Spanish when something moved in the darkness overhead. He had felt the movement more than actually heard anything and he certainly didn’t see anything in the deepening gloom. A stillness had settled over the village that struck his tired mind as unsettling.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy Name…”

He continued the Lord’s Prayer slowly and quietly as he chose to knock again rather than call out. Something about the silence of the night demanded hushed tones rather than raised voices. 

There was still no reply from inside the church. 

Suddenly Anthony was struck by an intense chill. He felt the hair on his neck stand. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was being watched. Slowly, he turned to see if some curious villager had heard him knocking and was on approach.

The street remained empty.

He was just about to turn back around when he saw them in the darkness of a nearby roof. Two brilliant red eyes burned through the night and stared at him. Real fear gripped at Anthony as a low growl rumbled out from that direction. It was something deep and primal like the start of a landslide.

Anthony did not wait to see what thing prowled the village with such eyes. He spun around and threw himself against the church doors and was relieved to find them unlocked. He hurried inside but in his haste he lost his footing and fell to the stone floor. 

He looked behind him in time to see the eyes leave their perch and barrel toward the church doors. For a fleeting moment, he saw something shadowy and monstrous carrying those red eyes his way. With a frantic kick, Anthony slammed the door closed.

He scooted away from the door without standing. His own eyes now locked on the church door waiting for something to come smashing through them. The next line of his prayer came as more of a panicked plea than thoughtful invocation. 

“...But deliver us from evil!”

Nothing happened.

The door didn’t open. It didn’t even tremble as though something had struck the other side. The only sound had been his own prayer, which seemed stuck in his throat. 

Still scooting away from the door, Anthony felt his back come against the old stone altar. He had only just glimpsed it as he tumbled into the building. Without stopping to give himself any chance for distraction, Anthony scrambled to his knees, bowed his head before the altar and finished the Prayer.

“...For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever.”

Anthony took a deep breath and moment to clear his mind before he spoke that last word, but he did not need to bother. Someone finished it for him.

“Amen.”

The voice had come from above him. It was a voice light and beautiful. It was like nothing he had ever heard before and it was so melodic it nearly moved him to tears.

Anthony raised his head and looked around the church for the first time. The chapel was small, with pews enough for maybe two dozen people. A few candles had been lit, but left much of the building in shadows. 

The altar he had been praying at was a great stone table that may have been older than the building around it. It was worn and stained from moss and spilled wine.

Aside from this, the church was bare. There was no crucifix, no statues, and even the windows lacked any traditional imagery. Anthony might have found this noteworthy, if not for his gaze falling upon true beauty as it descended into view.

If ever an angel were on Earth, this was one. The figure before him was tall and slender It appeared mostly human, but lacked any signs of gender identity as Anthony knew it. It simultaneously radiated masculine strength and feminine grace. Its skin was pale and perfect like carved alabaster. Its eyes glimmered with a sapphire purity Anthony could never identify. It drifted down from the high ceiling on white feathered wings which it folded back as it gently touched down on the barren altar. 

“Fear not, child. For I am Innocence. You are welcome.”

Anthony bowed his head. He was awe-struck by the enchanting and reassuring pitch of the angel’s voice. He had begun this journey to test his faith and seek proof of his purpose. It was clear now that he was on the right path.

Innocence stepped down off the altar and hardly made a sound as its bare feet touched the cold stone floor besides Anthony. 

“You are Catholic, I see. Very well, child. Tell me your confession.”

Anthony opened his mouth to comply, and found he had no confession to make. Perhaps this was a test?

“Forgive me, o Holy one,” the young man finally replied, “but I can make no confession. I have lived a troubled life, but a good one. I have no sins but those that are mine by birth. I am on a pilgrimage of faith before I join the seminary.” 

“Truly?”

Anthony remained still with his head bowed. Though he longed to gaze forever upon Innocence, he knew he would not be able to focus if he did. If this were a test of faith, then he must keep his wits about him. Silently, he prayed for some sign of the correct course.

“How delightful…”

Innocence’s words seemed distorted just then. They were drawn out, almost as if they were hissed rather than spoken. Some part of Anthony’s mind screamed in fear, but Innocence’s rapture over him held him in place. He felt the angel’s firm touch on his shoulder; almost too firm.

The confusion left Anthony stunned. He barely registered the sound of shattering glass as something burst through one of the tall windows. Innocence moved, or was moved, away from him. His presence was replaced by the feel of something huge and overbearing standing behind him.

“You will not!” a gravelly, terrible voice shouted behind him.

“You dare enter my chapel, you filthy Olmec?”

It was Innocence’s voice that replied. It was still melodic, but lined suddenly with an edge that ripped through whatever trance Anthony had been in. He was now purely terrified.

“He is not yours for the taking, sin eater,” Innocence continued.

“And he shall not be yours,” was the reply in that rumbling voice.

Anthony turned now to see what loomed behind him. 

He screamed.

As enchanting and beautiful as Innocence was, this thing was horrible to behold. It was as though the most horrid demon of Hell had been cast as one of the great Gothic gargoyles on the tower above and was now come to life. At his scream, the creature spun to face him. Great, burning red eyes gazed down on him.

Anthony heard the flutter of wings nearby and the creature turned its head and roared. Anthony clasped his hands over his ears to try and block out the primal, unearthly sound.

It did little good.

“The Masters shall hear of this, fiend.”

“Let them,” the creature rumbled in reply.

Then, before Anthony knew what was happening, the great stone monster scooped him up in its jagged talons and launched them out through the shattered window. The darkness of the night enveloped them just as shock claimed Anthony’s consciousness.

He awoke to find it was still night. He lay on a cold stone floor, but the only light that filtered in was from a waning moon peeking over the mountains. 

Anthony got to his feet slowly. He was still shaky, but found he could stand well enough. Looking around, he saw he was in the chapel belltower. The single iron bell hung silent above an otherwise clean and barren belfry. 

At the sound of low voices outside, Anthony slowly peered out of the tower and down into the village. A number of men had emerged from their homes and were bowing before Innocence. Even from here, Anthony was struck by the angel’s beauty, but he could not forget the hissing tone from before.

He could not make out the words, but Innocence was clearly giving instructions to the villagers. Soon, the men departed and a woman exited a nearby house with her toddler in tow.

“Watch.”

The order came from above and was clearly the demonic rumble of his kidnapper. Anthony started to turn toward the voice.

“Do not look on me,” the voice said calmly, though it still carried some sense of threat, “watch below and see why I have acted.”

Anthony did as he was told. He could not tell whether he complied out of fear or his own curiosity.

Below, the woman presented the child to Innocence and then turned away. Innocence said something and the woman went back indoors, though she hesitated before closing the door. 

Innocence held a hand to the small child, who dutifully came to the angel. Innocence lifted the child up to his face and then..

Anthony nearly screamed, but the terror of the moment locked all sound in his throat. 

The child’s terrified scream, the blood, the horrid and final end to the crying… 

What was happening?

Anthony stumbled back away. He tripped over the latch of an old trap door and was back on the stone floor. He was weeping. He wanted to pray but found the words hollow on his tongue.

“Do you see now, boy?” said the gargoyle from the shadows.

Anthony just shook his head.

“We are the same, Innocence and I. The blood sustains us for long years though we sleep under the sun.”

“How?” 

It was all Anthony could mutter in his terror.

“We are what we eat. He feeds on the pure and good people of this village and it makes him beautiful. He feeds on their innocence. So he is Innocence.”

“And you…?”

There was a low growl before the gargoyle continued.

“The villagers call me Pecado. It is my duty to feed on the wicked and the broken. So, I am wicked.”

Anthony found that as terrible as the monster’s voice was, it spoke with a directness that he found comforting in a strange way.

“Pecado? That is Spanish for…”

“Sin,” the beast rumbled.

The word sent shivers down Anthony’s spine.

The gargoyle moved out of the darkness then and a small shaft of moonlight brought its terrifying features into view. It opened its piercing red eyes. Yet now Anthony saw that there was no malice deep in those eyes, even as they burned like the fires of Hell. He made himself look upon the monster.

He wanted to flee.

“If this is so, and the beautiful angels are the enemy while the demons are the guardians… Is this true beyond the village?”

“The influence of those who made us, the Red Masters, covers the world. If it is not true everywhere, it is true often enough, or so I am told.”

“Red Masters?”

“The oldest evil from the dawn of time. My people, the Olmec, knew the Red Masters. Innocence’s people, the distant Khmer, knew them. Now they walk among you humans in their red robes. Those like Innocence are their favorites to use to distract you.”

The weight of this revelation felt as though it would break Anthony’s shoulders. His mind spun. He began unraveling all the stories he had ever heard and the truth crushed his soul. Again, he wept.

Hours must have passed before Pecado broke the silence.

“You told Innocence you sought purpose in your faith.”

“A wasted journey, apparently.”

“No. Your faith makes you strong. Maybe all your stories are lies by the Red Masters. Maybe the Red Masters use your stories to make lies. I asked the same questions when they took me from the Temple of the Nagual long ago. I have found my ways to defy them, as have others.”

“What others? If someone is doing something about this, I have to be a part of it.”

Pecado grumbled, though it seemed to Anthony that the gargoyle was pleased.

“Stay hidden here until the sun is above the mountains. Innocence will be asleep within the chapel while the sun shines. Go from here and go fast. Go to the city of Budapest in the east. There, seek out the ones who work to undo all that the Red Masters corrupt.

“Seek the Order of St. Michael’s Sword.”

The name couldn’t be a coincidence. Perhaps this was his path. His pilgrimage led him to this truth. It started at St. Michael’s in America, and it would end with St. Michael’s Sword in Budapest.

Anthony’s conviction must have been plain on his face. He said nothing, but Pecado clearly understood.

“Rest, boy. I will keep you safe until dawn.”

Without another word, the gargoyle vanished into the night. Somehow, Anthony was certain he wasn’t far away. Some unnatural presence made him uneasy, even a little frightened. Yet, knowing this fear came from the great gargoyle gave Anthony a baffling sense of peace. He soon drifted to sleep.

Though sleep had been uncomfortable and plagued by strange dreams, he awoke to the rising sun with renewed purpose. He made his way down the trap door into the church. He found Innocence standing on a pedestal behind the altar in the chapel. He was posed in a mockery of the crucifixion and perfectly still. If he hadn’t seen the angel move the night before, Anthony would have taken it for just another statue.

With a new sense of reality, Anthony trembled to look on the stained altar where he had uttered the Lord’s Prayer. He saw now the stains were not from wine. With a final look of contempt at the sleeping angel, the would-be priest fled the village. 

The rising sun was his guide. He had survived the night. Now he would seek the light.