The Anchorites: Chapter 58
Oftentimes, the problem with ridding the world of demons is the collateral damage.
58
Abraheem
“Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.”
Psalm 34:19
Seagulls keened, wood boards creaked, and the waves lapped.
Abraheem opened his eyes and felt the breeze ruffle his hair. He squinted against the sun and placed his hand on the splintery railing of a seaside wharf. He was fishing with his Ba.
“Abraheem, boy, that sneaky little fish stole my worm. Be a good lad and fetch me another.”
Abraheem unzipped their soft pack and took out the styrofoam tub. He smelled the earthy soil mixed with the saltiness of the sea. He plunged his fingers into the dark brown loam and dug for a plump worm.
“Hello, Abraheem.”
Something had changed.
The man who looked back at him was not his father—though he was familiar. His father had not been able to grow a beard. He plucked the struggling worm from Abraheem’s outstretched hand and worked it onto the hook. Drawing the rod back, he then cast it with an expert flick into the waves.
“Abraheem,” began the man, “your friends are in danger. The enemy has infiltrated Alexandria.”
Just behind the man’s shoulder, a pelican emergency-landed on the water with a splash.
“Am I asleep right now?”
“Yes, Watcher.”
“Okay. And you are not my Ba?”
The bearded man kept his eyes on the waves, raised his shoulders slightly before saying,
“No.”
“So then, who are you?”
“That’s right, I almost forgot!” He raised a hand to his temple. “I am to warn you of my presence so that you will not be deceived. Hmm.” The man scratched at his beard and reeled the rod for a moment.
“Abraheem, you are the only child of Ateef and Daumaa Ramzan. Your father was born in Pakistan, and your mother moved there from India to marry him. They had an arranged engagement when they were both sixteen and loved each other fiercely. They kept birds and flew kites. Your parents fought about furniture arrangement but never about money. Later in life, they became secret followers of mine, and because of that, they were targeted. You, their son, Abraheem Ramzan, were hanged in front of them.”
Abraheem took a step back. “Followers of You?” He dropped to his knees. “My Lord.”
“Get up, Abra, there will be plenty of time for that later—trust me. Right now, I need you to act.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“I have many people in Alexandria, but only two Watchers. You and Hareed will need to work together to close the Anhydros.”
“I will do it!” Abraheem felt brave saying yes. He also felt acutely aware of a dissonance. “Lord, am I permitted a question?”
“Always.”
“Why are you allowing these demons to enter the city? You are sovereign, all-powerful, right? Why not snap your fingers and destroy them?”
The man looked out into the waves, as if he were searching for the right words.
“The simple answer is one of having given my word. I pledged the privilege of their destruction to my Angel, Goliad. This promise was one made long before your current fears.” The King’s line tightened, and he smiled. “Oh, and another thing: your friend Jema has an unwelcome parasite living in her. Oftentimes, the problem with ridding the world of demons is the collateral damage.” He strained against his catch.
“What am I to do?” Abraheem asked.
Seagulls keened, wood boards creaked, and the waves lapped as Abraheem slowly opened his eyes.
It was dark. He groped for his crank flashlight and wheeled the lever. As the light began to grow, he directed the beam up toward the ceiling.
Thousands of foot-long needles had ingressed toward the center, filling the space like a reverse pincushion. The spikes were made of some kind of wood or root.
Suspended and impaled were the nightmare carcasses of avian creatures resembling beaked mayflies, with skeletal patterns painted on their wings.
Stuck in the center of the room—like some horrific chandelier—was a huge bat-like fiend. Its twitching and drooling head was the size of a bulldog’s. Abraheem took a deep breath, put on his shoes, and walked to the door. He looked back at the bat, and it turned its bleeding head. Abraheem squinted in the dark. Something like pity swelled in him as he spoke:
“Devil, disappear.”
Suddenly, all the needles swelled. Black blood rained down onto the floor. Abraheem turned and left, shutting the door behind him.
He entered the hallway to chaos. People were screaming and running in all directions. In the midst of this panic, Abraheem made his way to the commons.
I need to find Havel and Jema.
Overtaking the stairs, he pushed open the double doors. Marius was hunkered behind an upended table, firing away at swarms of flying creatures. Havel was by his side, yelling into a walkie-talkie. Abraheem took a deep breath, mustering the courage to run toward his friends, when he heard a cold voice just beside him. He jumped in surprise.
“A Watcher?” The voice was soft. “I know I cannot kill you, but perhaps I can feed you to Mother. Mmm.” The horror before him took his breath away.
The vulture capered from the shadows. Heavy with damp feathers, its extended clawed wings lifted over its head, as if to shield from rain. The feathers shook, and the red, wrinkled face regarded him in that vacant way that birds do.
Looking on in terror, Abraheem scanned its body, probing for weakness. To his dismay, he saw two sets of mammalian breasts poking out from its rotting feathers. Black, oily smoke sloughed from its form, like the vapors off a puddle of gasoline, blurring its edges into one horrific mirage. Abraheem could not move from fear and repulsion.
It made a sardonic moaning sound from deep in its belly. Its wings swooped down. Taloned fingers wrapped around Abraheem’s neck with fearsome strength. He felt the soft cartilage between his vertebrae pop. He screamed as he was lifted from the ground. The vulture’s pupils narrowed.
“Digestion doesn’t sound like much fun to me—”
Before it could finish its threat, Abraheem felt a slip of gravity, like when you miss a step. The floor came up to meet his feet. Gasping for air, he scooted away. The beast was reeling from some unseen attack.
Jema appeared triumphant as the monster slumped into a pile of black feathers. The tips of its bristling fur twisted and flaked. Abraheem could smell burning hair. Jema stood tall; her feet were set wide apart. She looked strong and sturdy. Breathing hard, she pushed her hair out of her eyes with her forearm. The Battery was in her other hand, dangling at her side. Behind her, Havel was trying to usher screaming civilians toward the basement level.
“Abraheem!” cried Jema.
“Abra is here!” shouted Havel to Marius.
“Great! Where are Brian and Raphael?”
“I thought they were with you?” replied Jema, rounding on another rabid, bat-winged imprecation that was scurrying on the tile toward her. She let it pass like a matador, rolled over its back, and brought the Battery up between its hind legs. The monster split apart, smoking and shrinking, like burning plastic. Abraheem ran over to Marius and Havel.
Marius stopped firing. “The bugs are bad enough.” He started to load a fresh magazine but then suddenly stopped. “Did’ya hear that? It got quiet.”
Abraheem peeked his head from behind the upturned table. The remaining swarm was frozen, floating in slow motion as if stuck in clear syrup. Hareed walked through the middle of the swarm. The bugs drifted like party balloons to the ground. The old Watcher dispatched each one as he passed.
“Damn it! It happened again!” Havel shouted in frustration. He was standing by Jema, whose face was stuck in a sneer.
“Hareed, what is your explanation?” Marius barked.
“We are safe for now, but this is not a great place to talk. Havel, will you carry her?”
Marius and Havel maneuvered Jema onto Marius’s broad back.
“Listen!” Abraheem spoke up. “The King told me in a dream how to close the Anhydros. We need to find both doors. I need to be at one, and Hareed needs to be at the other.”
“What about the other night, those chalk circles?” Havel deduced, looking to Jema for confirmation. She was still paralyzed.
“Yeah, there was one by the train,” said Marius.
Havel nodded and continued. “Right, so when Jema is released, she’ll go with me and Abraheem. Marius, can you take Hareed to the trains? We’ll need you to clear the area for our evacuation.”
Jema’s face relaxed, and she slid off Marius’s back.
“I really hate that.” She cracked her neck to the side. “Good plan, Havel. But”—she looked around—“does anyone know where my dad is?”
Abraheem lifted his shoulders and hands.
“Maybe he is with Noi, on the trains. I am more curious as to where Raphael is.”