The Flaming Sword Of Michael

“I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope,

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing.”

-T.S. Eliot

Over the course of the past year Lilith had come to respect her young human ward. He had dedicated himself to his training like a soldier preparing to defend his home rather than a child playing fort. He had trained himself physically so that fatigue couldn't dull his wits, and while he would never truly be athletic, he had at least become fit. As they walked across the continent, he left a wake of changed hearts, and evil averted.

More impressive than his dedication though, was his progress. His mind became markedly stronger by the week, if not the day. Something in him had clicked. Lilith could no longer phone in the nightly training. It required her full attention to defeat him. She had come to a point where she had to continually guard herself against optimism.

One night, after a hotly contested battle, the two of them broke from each other's minds. The contest had ended with her completely unable to enter his consciousness. He stared at her wide eyed, and a lot less sweaty than usual, not knowing how to proceed. She lowered her eyes, and grinned with her whole body, the way only cats can.

"Yes, human." Now a term of endearment. "You did it. I tried everything I could think of, and you still kept me out."

"What does that mean?" He asked. "What's the next step? Do I learn how to attack now?"

With that smarmy -look how much smarter I am than you- look on her face he always hated seeing, she said, "I gave you the means to attack, the day I met you, human."

"The flaming sword." He replied, feeling a little stupid. "Without being able to keep malicious consciousness out, I'd never get close enough to use it. That's why I fight weak willed people during the day, and battle your mind at night. You've been training me for both offense and defense at the same time." Not for the first time, he asked her, "Are you sure you couldn't use someone smarter than me? I've been training for five years, and I just now understand your method."

Still wearing her smugness like a robe, Lilith said, "This past year has given me more and more confidence that I made the correct choice. Tonight further confirmed it. Starting tomorrow we begin a journey that actually has a destination. In the morning you and I will travel southwest to Capistrano where you'll meet the Parcae."

"Who's that?"

"They."

"What?"

"They." She rolled her eyes. "The Parcae is a they. They're actually a grumpy, disillusioned bunch of old hags, but they can tell us much. The three sisters will tell us just whether or not we have a hockey game's chance in hell of winning the coming battles."

"Oh. How will they know?"

"The Parcae, or Fates, or Moirai, as they've been called by some cultures, can determine certain things about your life that aren't necessarily sights into the future, but they do seem to have a knack for being right about what time things are going to happen. When you know the right questions to ask, learning when something is going to happen can tell you a great deal about what that actual thing is going to be."

Michael's face met this with what had become an increasingly rarer expression of blank misunderstanding. It was the sort of face you'd make if you'd put bread in a toaster, and three and half minutes later, out came the toaster's hat and cane, the toaster bid you a good afternoon and a fond farewell, then walked out the door.

"Look. You'll understand better when we meet Nona, Decima, and Morta."

"Are they your friends?" Asked Michael, his confidence returning.

Lilith paused, "We have an understanding."

Michael said, "I'm starting to think I'm your only friend, Lilith."

"I've upset a lot of people by leaving my home, and when most of them find out where I've gone, and what it is I'm doing exactly, there's going to be hell to pay." She grinned at this, pleased with her cagey word play.

"Well we'll be ready to do a little paying of our own when that happens, won't we?" Michael's confidence was trying to stay afloat.

Lilith took in a sharp breath, but just before she let it out, filled with another doomsday lecture, she closed her mouth, and swallowed it. "Perhaps we may Michael. Perhaps we just may."

The next morning it was explained to Michael by his furry companion that they wouldn't be looking for trouble in any of the towns they passed through. Oh, if it found them, they'd do the right thing of course, but they were to set as direct a course for Capistrano beach, in Dana Point, in Orange County, in California, as they could.

The Parcae were old. They preferred warm climes near the ocean, and Capistrano had tried very hard to keep from becoming commercial and urban. I guess it just has that old-fashioned feel the immortal keepers of birth, life, and death are looking for these days. Plus, the ladies all loved fish tacos, and you can't get them better than they come at Chronic Tacos in Dana Point.

to be continued..