The Devil's Pact Pt. 43

"There has to be something better," I lamely said.

"There isn't," Mother said as she took my hand. She gave me a loving smile, her green eyes so warm. "Trust us, baby girl. Humans are children, and we're their loving parents. We know what's best for them."

"Okay," I sighed.

She hugged me and I savored her motherly affections. They weren't monsters. They didn't oppose to make people suffer, but... Maybe Gods did have the right to do it.

For several years, I dropped my objections, letting them fester in the back of my mind. Since I could find no answer to my parents' assertion, I didn't see the point in fighting them. My parents were Gods; I was a Goddess. We were better than all those other humans, so maybe it was only right that we reshape mankind into something greater than they were. Wasn't that the point of religion? To extort mankind to be better than their base urges. My parents were just more successful at it than the false religions of the past.

It was a chance comment I overheard that changed everything.

I needed something from Sam. I don't remember what it was, something inconsequential, so I headed to her quarters in the mansion to retrieve it. I didn't knock. After all, I was a Goddess, and I could go where I pleased.

"If they're Gods, why did we have to figure out their miracles?" Candy complained to Sam. The TV was turned up loud, and they hadn't heard me enter.

They were sitting on their couch, watching some documentary about Mother and Father; television was the only form of culture allowed in the Theocracy, and it was mostly bland stuff compared to the entertainment that had come before. Mother and Father had quite the collection of movies and TV shows, things banned by their Theocracy.

We'd often watch them together.

Sam answered her wife with patience like this was a reply she made by rote, "Great men and women have always stood on the shoulders of their intellectual betters. Why would Mark and Mary be any different than the thousands of petty tyrants that have come before?"

I was shocked. Never had I heard anyone impugn my parents. It sparked my curiosity. Did Sam and Candy not believe in my parents' Godhood? In mine? I backed out of their room, my thoughts whirling. Sam was close to my parents, a former slut turned vizier. She was an expert on the mystical arts.

And didn't believe my parents were Gods.

A few days later, I tripped Candy into my bed. After some vigorous fucking, we cuddled. I stroked her head and then asked her bluntly, "Do you think my parents are Gods?"

"What?" she gasped, tensing in my embrace.

"I walked in on you and Sam the other day. You were complaining about something on TV."

She swallowed. "You heard that?"

I nodded. "It sounded like you two don't think we're Gods."

She gave me a considering look, fingering a lock of her honey-blonde hair. I knew from pictures she used to dye it garishly, half-pink and half-blue. "Have you ever read the Magicks of the Witch of Endor?"

I frowned, that sounded familiar, but I was sure. I knew I hadn't read it.

"I'll email you Sam's translation," she told me.

It destroyed my world.

My parents weren't Gods. They were just something called Warlocks. Regular humans who made deals with the very demons who'd ravaged the world during my childhood. It was vile reading about some of the acts you had to perform to make a Pact with them.

What sort of monsters were my parents?

All their justifications for enslaving mankind rang hollow in my ears. They weren't better than the humans. They were humans. They were subject to the same flawed hearts they claimed could not be trusted.

The same flawed heart that beat in my chest. I wasn't a Goddess. I wasn't special. I was just... human.

I couldn't look at my parents without feeling sick. I imagined Father sacrificing a woman to Molech. Or Mother strangling a girl for power to Ashtoreth. I felt suffocated in the mansion, surrounded by evidence of my parents' abhorrent excess. Even Candy, who seemed so critical of my parents, wasn't disturbed by their powers, just jealous of them.

I had to leave.

At the age of twenty-three, I walked down the driveway of the mansion and out onto the roads. I had never walked any great distance, but I was young and I adapted. I walked for hours, leaving the large compound that made up the Theocracy's Capital of South Hill. I didn't know where I was going, what I was doing. I just had to escape.

Two bodyguards tracked me down on the second day. "Holy Daughter," 312 said respectfully to me. They all went by numbers, some perverse act my parents had inflicted upon them. "Your parents are worried about you."

"Let them worry," I said with a toss of my auburn hair. I kept walking.

"They want you to come home," 71 added. "They're concerned about you."

"I don't ever want to see those monsters again! I want nothing to do with Warlocks!" I put all my hate, all my disgust, into that word.

Warlocks!

I knew the stories: before the demons there were the Warlocks. Petty men and women who sold their souls for power. People just like my parents.

I kept on walking while the two bodyguards said nothing. I could feel their stunned eyes as I marched down the road west toward Tacoma. I left them behind. When I reached I-5, I trudged south. I just had to get away.

Day after day, I walked until I became tired. There was always a helpful citizen who, thanks to my parents' mind control, would offer to let me stay in their house. When I was hungry, I ate at the communal cafeterias that provided free meals to their neighborhoods. I hiked down the West Coast into Mexico. When I reached Panama, I followed the canal east until I reached the Caribbean. I followed that back north and entered what used to be the Southern United States.

Every so often, a representative of my parents would find me, and try to convince me to come home.

I told them no.

I grew lean, hard. My feet became leathered with callouses; my face darkened by the sun. When I reached the East Coast, I took a cargo ship to Europe. Normal citizens weren't allowed to travel, but I was a false Goddess; nothing was denied me. I was aimless, restless. Five years had passed without me even realizing it.

Why was I walking? Everything was the same. The people were all the same slaves.

I needed to free these people. I needed to atone for my parents' great sin.

How?

I tried to find allies, to stir up the population.

It wasn't easy. Sometimes, I'd find a man or woman who had some passion, some spark that hadn't been stamped out of them by my parents, and I would latch on to them. I would cling to them as tightly as a drowning person to a piece of flotsam in a storm-tossed sea. Man or woman, I'd take them as my lover. We'd pass the weeks talking, plotting, trying to find others to help us.

It always ended the same way--they would be unable to change. Unable to break free of my parents' control. Melancholy would beset me and I'd walk. I desperately wanted to be with my family again, but I couldn't ignore the monstrous nature of their Theocracy. If I could just find a way to restore Liberty to mankind, I knew I could go home.

I knew we'd be a family again.

I traveled the world, crossing every last continent save Antarctica. I was immortal; time didn't matter. I looked nineteen, even though I was thirty, then I was thirty-five. It was hard to care any longer. When winter came, I went south; when summer came, I would go north, or further south. I once stood at the tip of South America, staring at Cape Horn, and remembered the stories I had read of great sailing ships battling the elements as they rounded this point. I would imagine the terrible storms that would assail them as the Europeans explored the world.

When my melancholy was at its strongest, I contemplated suicide.

Once, I stood at the rim of the Grand Canyon, gazing down into red depths and the blue Colorado snaking on the floor below. One step...

A few years later, I sat at the edge of Victoria Falls, watching the curtain of water pour over it and turn into mist. I thought I could just swim out and let the current take me away from this life. But then I'd remember I was bound to Mother. If I died, I would just wait in the Shadows with all those chained to my parents who'd perished, dwelling in a limbo.

My thirty-ninth birthday passed as I walked the Jordan River and reached the Dead Sea. I floated in the warm, salty waters, trying to wash clean my parents' filth. I had just broken up with Barakat, a beautiful Arab youth. He was eighteen, his skin the color of rich coffee, and his eyes full of life. I had let myself foolishly think that I again had found the one person who would care about what my parents had made of the world.

And then he had come home, excited that the aptitude test had selected him to be a farmer.

"I thought you wanted to be an engineer?" I asked him.

"I did," he shrugged, "but the Gods need me to be a farmer." He smiled broadly; that beautiful, happy smile I fell in love with.

"So be an engineer; don't let them choose for you," I told him.

He frowned. "But they need me to be a farmer. The Gods know, Chase."

My love died, like it always did. So I walked and walked, following the Jordan River south until I reached its terminus--the Dead Sea. As I lay floating in the saline waters, I thought about drowning myself in the warm, salty embrace. After hours, I lost my nerve, and swam back to the shore.

I kept walking.

I trudged south onto the Arabian Peninsula. I followed the Red Sea Coast for a week--I was in no hurry; my life had no meaning--when I came across a sign that pointed to a mountain called Jebel al-Lawz. A single word was spray-painted beneath the mountain's name: Hope.

Hope. I had been without hope for over twenty years.

I followed the road. It led to a low, conical mountain. It was really more of a steep hill to me. I had grown up in the sight of Mount Rainier rearing up like a monolith looming over you every day. I pictured her slopes clad in the blue-white majesty of its glaciers. Jebel al-Lawz was a squat, ugly, red mound rising out of the desert, the summit blackened like it had been engulfed in flames.

As I neared the mountain, maybe just a few miles away, I passed through... something. It was a warm membrane of energy that gave way before me, enveloping me in golden light for the briefest instant, and then I passed through.

I gasped. Suddenly, the valley around the peak wasn't empty any longer. Tents--colorful and ranging in shape, size, style, and materials--spread out around the mound. They were pitched haphazardly, with no thought or planning.

People milled about. They were all... different. No one dressed similarly. People laughed, children played. As I walked closer, I realized these were people who lived. What was this place? Who were these people? They saw me, and a hush fell upon them. They began to gather, watching me with cautious faces.

"H-hello." I swallowed. I felt... afraid of them.

I had never been afraid of my parents' slaves; they would never have been able to harm me or anyone. But these people were free. I could see it in their eyes, in their postures, in the way some viewed me with hope, some with skepticism, or fear, or distrust.

The crowd parted. A rugged young man and a pretty young woman stepped out. The man was fit, sturdy, with brown hair and blue eyes, his arm around the woman's shoulders. She had a round face, a welcoming smile gracing her lips. Circling her forehead was a crown made of her braided, black hair. Reassurance filled her green eyes.

"You're not their slaves?" I asked, the shock of that realization finally settling in on me.

"No," the man smiled. "We are the last free men and women in the world. I am Doug Allard, and this is Tina, my wife."

The woman, Tina, smiled. Then she threw her arms around my neck, giving me such a welcoming hug and a sisterly kiss on my cheek. I relaxed into her. Emotion suddenly spasmed through my body as my arms embraced her back.

"I've been searching for this for so long," I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes.

"And we have waited even longer for you to arrive, Prophetess," Tina whispered back.

"Prophetess?" I asked, pushing away from Tina. The crowd had grown larger, more than a hundred adults. They all stared at me with... hope. I shivered despite the heat.

Doug nodded. "You are Chasity Glassner?"

"Yeah." I looked around. These people were free. There were others who resisted my parents' evil. Hope bubbled inside me. Had I really found what I'd been searching for? I pushed down my hope, trying to temper it with caution; I had been disappointed so many times. "What is this place?"

"The refuge," Tina answered. "For forty years, Doug and I have waited in the wilderness for you, gathering those who were not satisfied with the world; with your parents. Excluding the children, we number one hundred and forty-four; seventy-two men and seventy-two women."

I swallowed, "Why are you waiting for me?"

"To guide us," Doug said, a smile crossing his lips. "To renew the Gift of the Spirit to mankind. To free the world from bondage."

I'd found it. Relief ballooned inside me, hope swelling to engulf my entire body. So many years of walking, of doubt and bitterness, had finally paid off. "So why do you need me for that?"

"You are the daughter of two Warlocks," Tina answered. "You have rejected their lifestyle and turned your back on evil. Only you can perform the prayer of Rapha."

I frowned, not recalling that prayer from the Magicks of the Witch of Endor. "What does it do?"

"Gives back hope to mankind," Tina answered.

"My wife and I are the last Priests living. Your parents hunted down the last few of us, the final threats to their power," Doug said, eyes haunted. "But we have done our duty and hid while your parents dominated the world. All for this day."

The Magicks of the Witch of Endor talked about Priests and Priestesses, men and women granted the powers of Heaven to fight Warlocks and Demons. They were called evil by my parents, the Nuns who tried to defeat them early in their power.

"So you need my help to exorcise my parents?" I asked, smiling. That would free mankind. We could be a family again. Tears misted my eyes. "This is perfect! It'll break their mind control and make them human again!"

Tina gave me a sad look. "I'm so sorry, child."

I frowned. "Why? Exorcising won't harm my parents. Right?"

"Your parents are beyond exorcism. They've absorbed the powers of Lucifer, Molech, Lilith, and many other Powers. No Priestess has the strength to overcome that. Only a Priest's sword killing your parents would work, and..."

"And Father's immortal," I whispered. Hope burst inside me, replaced by cold dread. I pushed down the panic. They mentioned the Rapha prayer. "That's what the new prayer is for, right? Stripping them of their powers?"

Please, please, please, let that be true.

Tina's green, sad eyes peered at me.

"They have to die?" That couldn't be my voice speaking; I hadn't sounded that young in years.

"I'm sorry," Tina whispered.

I'm sorry. The words punched my stomach. I stumbled back; the world spun about me as tears burned down my cheeks. This couldn't be the solution. Not after all my searching.

"I have to kill him?" My voice cracked, wavered. Oh, no. Father made himself immortal to everything except me. "Please, no! There has to be another way!"

Tina hugged me as I wept. "It's your choice, Prophetess. The world can remain their slaves, or you can set them free."

No, no, no. I wanted to free mankind, not murder my parents. This couldn't be happening!

I pushed away from her and ran. My entire body shook. Ragged sobs burst from my throat. Tears stained my eyes, almost blinding me as I raced down a trail. I hated what my parents had done to mankind, but I loved them.

I couldn't kill them. Right?

And it wouldn't just be them I killed. It would be all the people bound to them. The sluts, my half-siblings, the bodyguards and maids. I had to trade my family for the world's freedom. How fair was that?

This would be so much easier if I could hate my parents.

I ran up the side of the mountain, scampering up the gentle slope, climbing higher and higher. I didn't care where I was going. I just had to move. To escape this awful weight crushing down on my shoulders. I scrabbled over red boulders. Years of walking gave me the endurance to keep running as my legs grew leaden. I paused only to drink from my water bottle, then kept climbing, ignoring the sun pounding on my back.

The rocks turned black; I found myself at the summit.

I stared out at the expanse of the Arabian Desert. Brown and yellow bled toward the horizon with just a smear of blue in the distance, the Red Sea. Once, black-robed Bedouin had wandered this wasteland, eking out an existence in the harsh landscape. But they had been moved to cities along the coast by my parents, ostensibly for their own good.

"We are Gods, Chase. That gives us all the right."

"Whatever crushes individuality is despotism." The words from On Liberty echoed in my mind. Could I kill my parents? Was the blood of the few hundred people--my family--worth freeing billions from bondage? Did I have to destroy my soul to save mankind?

"The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." Thomas Jefferson had written those words when the American Colonies revolted against the British when they had no say in their own governance, no representatives in Parliament.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." Other words written by Jefferson.

Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

My parents had robbed the world of Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness, leaving them only with their Lives. They may have meant well, but the results were monstrous. They had pruned all the character out of mankind with their tyranny, leaving behind only stunted bushes shaped to my parents' will. Humans were mere automatons going through the motions of living.

There was a sci-fi movie my Father loved, and I remembered at the end as one of the characters was dying, having sacrificing himself for the ship, he'd said: "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

One last tear rolled down my cheek as the sun set. The stars twinkled to life across the crystal clear sky above me.

The needs of the many.

I watched the stars wheel across the night sky, twinkling down on me. I envied them. They had no concerns, no torn emotions. They just burned brightly, happily fusing hydrogen into helium into lithium into iron until finally, they died, whether in fiery explosions or guttering out like a candle.

As dawn neared, blushing the horizon in pink, I heard footsteps behind me--Doug and Tina. He held a scroll, and she held a black knife. I stood and faced them. I didn't know what to do. Which was the right choice. Did the needs of the many outweigh the lives of my family? Was the world's need more important than the wounds to my soul?

"Prophetess," Tina greeted.

"I'm not your Prophetess," I muttered. "I... I don't know what to do."

"I understand, child. I would take the burden from you if I could."

Her eyes burned with conviction. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. So I just blurted out, "What is that scroll?"

"The original copy of the Magicks of the Witch of Endor," Doug said, handing it to me. It felt ancient, made of lambskin that had survived for over two thousand years. "I have kept it safe for forty years, waiting for the day you'd arrive. The prayer of Rapha is contained at the end of the scroll. Perhaps it will help with your decision."