SHADOW GIFTS COME WITH SHADOW STRINGS

 

Major Richard Blaine stands on the cusp of the last day of his life and receives an unwelcome visitation.

BEWARE OF SHADOWS

“To warn, to comfort, and command;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of angelic light.”

– William Wordsworth

 

Helen’s lithe body seemed caressed by licking flames as she soared up into the fire and snow.

“Great Father of us all, grant her protection for she is beyond mine.”

A familiar sizzle of electricity cascaded down my body, and I heard Darael’s mocking voice beside me.

“Do you know how many of your species all through your race’s history have prayed for any of mine?”

I turned and saw his wavering form as he drily chuckled,

“Let us just say you could count them on the fingers of one hand and still have enough left to pluck a penny from the ground.”

I looked up.

Helen was frozen in place against the unnatural azure sky like a butterfly stuck on a board, sparkles of snowflakes contesting hopelessly with sizzles of sparks.

“Sentient,” I muttered without kindness.

“No. I am afraid I am the culprit this time. We are speaking in that nano-second it is taking your thoughts to fly from one synapse to another.

Darael sneered, “And, yes, your present science would say this is impossible. The human brain does not act in that way at all.”

He smiled in contempt.

“Shall I tell you of the frayed, raggedy history of your science? It has been, for the most part, incorrect partially or totally for all of its existence. So, when your present science tells you something, ignore it, for it is likely full of cotton candy … if not something more malodorous.”

“Why freeze time like this?”

“You listen, but you do not comprehend. How like all of your species. Not freezing, merely stretching the moment to Elohim standards.”

He sighed, “Does it ever bother you when you pray and nothing happens?”

I frowned, “No. I just figure I asked incorrectly or the Father gave me a brain for a reason, and it was past time for me to start using it.”

“Quaint,” he said, tapping my forehead.

“OW! That hurt like Hell!”

“Fitting since you are fighting Hell. You were fated to die this day, did you know?”

“It seemed likely.”

“Ah, but the Dark One had to overplay his hand as is his wont, throwing more pieces on the board than was allowed. So, Elohim decided to throw you a bone.”

“I am underwhelmed.”

Darael ignored me as I was beginning to sense was his wont.

“You are now a living teleportation devise much better than that madman, Reinhardt König, theorized … able to take yourself and whatever or whoever you touch anyplace you can conceive if the need be great enough.”

“How is that even possible?”

Darael sucked in a breath so deeply I could imagine feeling the air rush from behind me to enter his ethereal lungs.

“That is not unlike asking me why those of my species find the scent of the color ‘Purple’ nauseating. Ironic since that is the very color Caesars and Kings found so appealing and drove us from their very presence.”

“I have an I.Q. of 400.”

“Which is the I.Q. of my left little toe.”

He shook his insubstantial head,

“Let’s have a go, then, shall we? Your eyes see images upside down and reversed. Those pesky inaccurate images fall upon the retina which detects the photons of light and responds by firing neural impulses in the optic nerve. 

The brain then uses those electrical impulses to create a right-side up 3D image.”

He raised a very long spectral forefinger. “So help me, if you ask why the images are upside down, I will develop a nosebleed.”

I bit my lower lip in thought.

“And all this happens without me being aware of it like I am unaware of my brain controlling my breathing and blinking. It’s all unconscious reflex … 

as is my now being able to teleport me and others.”

Darael raised that forefinger again.

 “If the need be great enough.”

“That could prove tricky.”

“If it was easy, then you would know it was a gift from the Dark One and would ultimately destroy you.”

“You mean if I could convince my men to come inside, I could touch a wall and transport all of us to St. Marok’s or the White House?”

He clapped his long hands. 

“Splendid! Now, you are getting the hang of it.”

Darael made a face. 

“Of course, that would leave your Helen to die a most horrid death. And the 100 Nephilim free to decimate the Allied troops of Overlord.”

He shrugged.

“It would take over a year for America to regroup feebly. 

In that time, seeing Germany free to focus totally on his country, Stalin would sue for a peace he did not intend to keep.

 Churchill would be forced to negotiate a very unsatisfactory truce that would ultimately end in ruin for the British Empire such as it has become.”

Darael flashed a wide politician’s smile. 

“But you and your men would be alive.”

“I would tell you to eat feces and die, but you can’t help being you.”

His eyes deadened. “How magnanimous of you.”

I pointed a forefinger at him. 

“Is there a limit to how many times I can do this?”

I could see he wanted to turn away, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“Pretty much indefinitely. Between the treatments you received in the future and König’s Tunnel, you truly are a specimen worthy of being called one of the Master Race.”

“Good. I think I see a way I can win this one.”

His voice became as dead as his eyes. “How wonderful for you.”

“Oh, it will kill me. Maybe you should stick around to see my final curtain call.”

“I think I will.”