Nine Tenths of the Law: IV

by Sean Padlo

Art by Bonita Barlow

   Jacob ordered them all to cease, shouting above the priests, the murmuring ephemerals, the buzzing electricity of Faraday Cages and Jacob’s Ladders. These constructs were pure founts of plasmonic energy that offered raw strength to the ephemerals; power and semi-corporeality were the gifts bestowed. The barracks felt like a frozen foreign wasteland, with creatures of ice and mist gathered here. Thomas, the boy, sat shackled within the eye of the maelstrom.

   Nash crept forward toward the boy. Jacob, without a glance, shoved the bloated, nosy fool away. Nash tumbled backward and crashed into the priestly triad. Their chanting stopped at last, if only for a moment.

   Jacob studied the boy: severely anemic, his bare skin stretched and rippled, split and scarred and bleeding. Noses and mouths, fingers and hands, pressed against and distorted the child’s body. His skin bruised and mottled, then stretched to transparency only to suddenly snap back to its original form. Appendages not his own pushed against his skin. Words appeared on his skin in hashes and scratches that called for help, that pleaded; words that begged rescue.

   There was a war being waged inside Thomas. Nash had gotten to his feet and moved behind Jacob to glimpse the boy and screamed when he witnessed a face and head, birthed from the child’s neck, gnashing teeth scraping against flesh from within. Nash put his hands upon Jacob’s shoulders to steady himself and found the man's body to be feverishly hot. He jerked his hands away and stepped back. Everyone around them had fallen strangely silent. Nash noticed that the ephemerals had all moved back and gathered together in silence at the periphery of the room.

   The priests returned to their exorcism chants, spraying Holy Water over the head of Jacob Morningstar and splashing the face of Thomas. The boy howled and struggled against his restraints, the Holy Water blistering the boy’s skin upon contact. Jacob’s scalp smoked and sizzled, and the man bellowed, once more ordering the priests to relent.

   Jacob leaned in close and said, “Thomas! Are you here, son?”

   As Thomas replied with a weak nod, the ephemerals returned to their task of entering the boy. One after another, they advanced unrelenting. They drove into his form with an audible whump and a warm glow. But they came faster now: whump…whump…whump whump whumpwhumpwhumpwhump!

   The glow of each successful entry was rewarded with the same radiance as before, but there was no time to fade. The incandescence built upon itself, brighter and brighter still, becoming blindingly intense. The priests screamed, clawing their eyes and tearing at their faces. Nash bellowed, his hands raised high, and decided to escape through the iron doors. Jacob Morningstar appeared to draw the luminosity out of the child, and in to himself. He grew taller, larger now. Dark, feathered wings sprouted and grew from between his shoulder blades. The buttons on his shirt popped, the fabric itself tore apart and shredded from his back. With his palm outstretched, he turned and sent a stream of light that set Nash afire. The man’s screams rose high and shrill, but thankfully ended quickly as his plump body sizzled, turned to bright ash, then spread out, drifting down like black snowflakes.

   “No—” Thomas shouted. His body settled; his flesh healed and as he looked up and met Jacob’s eyes, the shackles fell away—and he stood. Naked. Strong. Perfect. The moment was beautiful, serene. Thomas raised his hands and beckoned the cowering ephemerals left in the barracks. They came to him at once. Thomas became light. He was neither corporeal nor ephemeral. He had developed into something else. He had become more.

   The ephemerals swirled and merged like cirrus clouds, closing around the boy who was no longer a boy. The priests scratched blindly against the iron doors, while fort security pounded against the other side. Thomas drew his glowing hands into fists, drawing them toward his chest.

   The bodies of the priests collapsed to the cold stone floor as their spirits rose up, free of their anchors, and flowed into Thomas as if carried on a gentle breeze. The pounding from the other side of the doors abruptly stopped as they flew open, the ward exploded in a shower of sparks, and from the other side wisps of ephemera appeared, dancing and twirling around each other before slipping into Thomas.

   Thomas stood before Jacob, countless strands of gossamer enshrouding him like a shimmering robe. Jacob Morningstar knelt before Thomas and said, “Is it you? Are you in control now?”

   Thomas smiled and caressed Jacob’s cheek. “I am. It’s a wondrous thing.” He extended a hand to Jacob, and they climbed the stairwell together. Every ward exploded, the sigils cracked and split apart. They stepped thoughtfully over fallen bodies as they continued to ascend, the light of Thomas leading the way.

   They reached the top of the stairs and made their way outside. Thomas led Jacob by the hand, and they headed toward the main entrance of Fort Monroe. A curious crowd had gathered there, and Thomas drew their ephemera into him, the bodies slipping away, falling like shed linens.

   Through the main doors, Thomas smiled lovingly as his guardians emerged. Jacob stepped between guardians and child. “Your jobs are done. You are released.”

   The female stepped forward. “We have done what was demanded of us, and we deserve to be rewarded.”

   Jacob Morningstar’s jaw clenched, his words whistling through his teeth. “You are released. Go now. That is your reward.”

   “Now just wait a goddamn minute,” The male said. “That wasn’t the deal!”

   Jacob stretched his hand toward them as his palm began to glow. Thomas put his hand over Jacob’s and lowered it.

   “A just reward for you both,” Thomas said. He clenched his fist and his guardians burst from within. Their ephemera rose, and Thomas squeezed his fist tighter. The wisps of their spirits gathered, tightly, though they darkened until bits of sulfur ash drizzled to the ground.

   “You must not allow your emotions to control you. Know who you are, son.”

   Thomas offered a pleasant smile. “I am awakened.”

   “Good. You must always know thyself.”

   Thomas drew a golden light from within, letting it spread outward to his fingertips. “I am Legion…”

   Jacob Morningstar finished his sentence. “Yes… for you are many.”

   Thomas looked behind them and inhaled deeply. The sulfur ash of his guardians passed into him. And it was good.

~ The End ~

   Return Monday, March 30
    to read the final story in this issue

The Bellows in the BB-Heads

   by Vincent Daemon

feat. art by Jason Barnett

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