Estelle Ana Baca

Month: November 2010

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part IV

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part III.

    I hope you can forgive me for not providing a chapter last week. I am thankful that I don’t require planes for transportation. They’re so loud, slow and confining. Anyway—back to business now.

    Astaroth directed the driver of her car to take them to Market Street to placate her frustrated companion. She stared at Sitri with a mockingly pleasant smile on her face for the longest time.

    “Why are you smiling at me like that?” Sitri asked.

    “Because you’re going to lose,” she answered. “And you know it. You haven’t thought this through at all. I must say, this is your poorest effort in at least five hundred years. You’ve admirably demonstrated that the only hopeless one in this entire affair is you.”

    Sitri didn’t suffer insults lightly. He had his steel at the ready, and he drew it from its scabbard with a menacing slowness. He said nothing, but his intentions were clear from his scathing expression.

    “You’re not going to attack me,” Astaroth said. “You’re going to do better than this. Going through his life and systematically eliminating the things that are going well for him isn’t the answer. It didn’t work on Job, and it’s not going to work on him.”

    Sitri remained silent and ready to attack.

    “You want your favorite London property back, and I want that smug little primate to realize that hope is as mortal as he is. Make him suffer, Sitri, or admit defeat now and present me with a wager,” Astaroth said.

    “I’ll do fine without my property on Tottenham Court Road. You won it fairly, and I would appreciate the opportunity to win it back fairly in the future. You were right, Svipul. You can’t make a human lose hope in twenty-four hours without resorting to cliché. And you know as well as I do that the Nephil I injured back there is Itzamná’s daughter. He’ll be looking for me. I’ve got bigger problems than this petty little wager,” Sitri said.

    Itzamná, the Watcher
    Itzamná was a Watcher. He was stationed in Mesoamerica and was spotted by the Mayans. They revered him as one of their gods.

    “So you admit defeat?” Astaroth said.

    “Yes.”

    “What is my wager then?”

    “You have a month. Since you set me on this task, you’re now going to deprive that same smug little primate Thomas Carver of all hope—since he seems to be more than just a bee in your bonnet—and you’re going to get rid of Rose Nielsen and Itzamná before they find out what this was all about and come looking for us,” Sitri said. “And I’m going to lay low and let you do all the heavy lifting.”

    “And what will I receive upon success? Getting rid of an angel and his Nephil is likely to provoke an angry response from Heaven, and I’ve worked very hard to keep Michael off my back. I don’t want to end up anywhere near the top of his list again,” Astaroth said.

    The car went silent while Sitri made his offer telepathically.

    Astaroth’s smile was wickedly delicious. She squealed and said, “Are you really prepared to cede that title?”

    “If you can actually accomplish it, and get Itzamná out of the picture? Absolutely. You’ll have earned it,” Sitri said. “But I’ll warn you now: you’re going to fail with Thomas Carver.”

    “Why are you so confident of that?”

    “Because he understands something that you never will, Astaroth,” Sitri said.

    Astaroth rolled her eyes.

    Sitri demanded, “Do you find the terms of our wager to be fair, Svipul?”

    Svipul responded, “A month to get rid of an angel as strong as Itzamná? That’s hardly fair, considering that you fouled up a simple wager, Sitri. You didn’t have to attack a Nephil and bring angels into this. She needs adequate time to put a plan in place. Otherwise, we’re all going to be in for it, and I don’t want Michael or any of the Cherubim or Seraphim on my back, either. Give her at least a year.”

    “A year, then,” Sitri agreed. “I’m still going to Market Street, though. I do rather enjoy making Thomas Carver believe that gangsters are after him. He should be back at work by now. Are we agreed to the terms of this wager, Astaroth?”

    “Agreed,” Astaroth replied.

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part V.

  • Musical Interlude #1: Inspiration

    Nadiel wanted me to send out a whole spray of apologies. As she is posing as a fifteen-year-old Nephil girl, she has discovered the many obligations accompanying that assignment during the third week of November. She promises to provide another chapter in the tale of Astaroth’s Wager next Tuesday, at sunrise local time, per usual, when she won’t be on a plane to visit relatives in California.

    She did mention to me, however, that I should share with you one of the musical expressions of her Key in lieu of a tale. A Key within an angel or Nephil is the core of the Grace within his or her soul. It is the prevailing emotional response when s/he’s at rest. Nadiel’s Key is Inspiration, and if you were to transpose that emotion into a pop song, it would probably sound a lot like this.

    Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

    ♥

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part III

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part II.

    Buena Vista Park, 1937.
    Buena Vista Park, near the Haight, in 1937.

    Allow me to clarify before I proceed: as I mentioned before, there are three different kinds of human hybrids. There are Epiklasmons, the feeble Nekudaimon-human hybrids; Anathemas, the children of Apokomistai and humans; and Nephilim, the children of angels and humans. Full humans have no innate means available to them to detect Anathemas and Nephilim because the hybrids look just like normal humans in every respect. The only way that they might be identified is though their superhuman strength and their extended lifespan. I will be happy to tell you more about Anathemas another time, but for now, please be contented with information on Nephilim. Like angels, Nephilim are filled with Grace, though in much smaller quantities, and that Grace is readily detectable to angels, demons and other Nephilim and one very special Anathema. Unless they are untrained in how to control the expression of their Graces, Nephilim are capable of shielding their thoughts from angels, demons and other Nephilim. They aren’t necessarily very common, for many angels have trouble with their fragility and mortality and thus cannot bear to watch their children die, but Nephilim have been a species that has coexisted among humans for many millennia.

    But now, please let us return to Thomas Carver. Or rather, Sitri in a Thomas Carver suit.

    Adelaide Grayson was an honest and very pretty young woman who lived with her mother and her grandfather at a boarding house that her family ran in the Haight. She was twenty-years-old in the autumn of 1935, when she first made the acquaintance of Thomas Carver. Thomas proposed to her on her twenty-first birthday in March, and they’d had a small wedding planned for September, on their first anniversary.

    Sitri showed up at the Grayson’s boarding house looking very much like Thomas Carver but acting nothing like him. He had to make a quick judgment on how to conduct himself to get Adelaide to break off the engagement and never see him again. He considered a number of scenarios—another woman, another man, striking her in front of her grandfather—and he had an idea in mind to accuse her of infidelity in front of her mother when he met up with her. Sitri as Thomas strode into the boarding house, issued an extremely rude statement to the widow Grayson at the front desk, and proceeded to the back of the house, where there Adelaide was hanging out the laundry in the yard. Adelaide, upon first glance, was ready to greet him with a smile and warm salutation when she saw that he who appeared to be her fiancé was in something of a temper. She inquired, “What’s the matter, Tom?”

    “You know exactly what the matter is,” Sitri replied.

    Adelaide was at a loss for what could be irking Thomas. She floundered to find a response.

    Sitri seized upon the silence, “I just met George Olivero.”

    “Who?”

    “Don’t play stupid, Adelaide. He knows you. In fact, he knows you better than I do, you cheap—” Sitri broke off. Something was very wrong. There was a stirring in the boarding house that was extremely unsettling to him. It was the distinct presence of a Nephil, and it approached with great speed.

    The Nephil descended the steps to from the back porch to the yard. She stared directly at Sitri and said, “Get away from her.”

    Adelaide said, “Rose, if you could please excuse—”

    “Who are you?” Rose ignored Adelaide.

    Sitri knew that he had been caught out. He debated calling Astaroth, but he knew that she would never let him live it down if he complained about a solitary Nephil complicating his plans. He reasoned that he was strong enough to take on the Nephil if it came to that, so he opted to continue with the ruse. “I’m Thomas Carver. Who do you think you are?”

    “You’re not Thomas Carver. Who are you?” Rose demanded. She produced a dagger made of angelic steel. “You know what this is, and you know what it can do to you. Get away from her.”

    Adelaide was extremely disturbed by Rose’s behavior and the presence of a weapon. She didn’t understand why Rose, who had been a boarder for more the previous five months, was threatening her fiancé. As far as Adelaide knew, Rose Nielsen had been a courteous and quiet young woman who worked as a stenographer. Adelaide said, “Rose, please. We were just having a—”

    Rose interrupted, “What have you done with the real Thomas Carver?”

    Sitri appraised the situation and realized that murdering a Nephil in front of Adelaide would better suit his purposes than a feeble accusation of infidelity. He produced a blade made of cursed steel and attacked the Nephil. Rose Nielsen, however, had been trained in martial arts better than Sitri had anticipated. He only succeeded in slashing up her arm with his cursed blade while Adelaide, the widow Grayson, Grayson the eldest and a few of the boarders screamed at the two of them to cease and desist with their violent skirmish.

    The false Thomas Carver ran out of the front door of the boarding house. Astaroth and Svipul were waiting in a car outside the boarding house. Astaroth remarked, “That was silly. You were almost bested by a 135-year-old Nephil. I’d be embarrassed for you if I didn’t think it was so funny. I have to wonder if you’re really trying to win this wager.”

    Sitri morphed back into a more familiar and comfortable form of an older, wealthy gentleman commanding of respect. He answered, “I still have twenty-two hours. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate a lift back to Market Street. It’s about time I visit Thomas Carver’s employer.”

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part IV.

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part II

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part I.

    San Francisco, Bay Bridge, 1935
    San Francisco, Bay Bridge, 1935, before it was finished. Lovely, wasn’t it?

    Svipul was used to being an adjudicator in Astaroth and Sitri’s wagers. She weighed in, “Astaroth—a task like the one you propose could take a lifetime. Give him at least forty-eight hours to accomplish it.”

    Sitri felt that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain with Astaroth’s wager. As he saw things, he would be allowed to propose a new wager to Astaroth within a day’s time, and he already had in mind something to make her suffer long for her prize. He argued, “No—it’s fine, Svipul. I lost my property fair and square, and here I have the chance to get it back as long as I can urge this young man into, what I’m presuming, is death by his own hand. Is that correct?”

    “That’s not necessary!” Astaroth replied. “In fact, it would be better if he were to die a natural death when he’s a miserable, bitter, old man whose life has been characterized by one disappointment after another. All you need to do is lift from him that obnoxious sense that there is such a thing as hope.”

    “Very well, then. I accept,” Sitri said. He didn’t have much time at all to dwell upon particulars. He raced forward to catch up with Thomas Carver, assuming the form of a large, thuggish man as he weaved his way in and out of the crowd. When he was within a few yards, Sitri lingered behind him to get a closer read of his thoughts. Thomas had been stricken by an impulse to eat, and he stopped at a luncheonette for a cup of coffee and a bowl of soup. Sitri waited until Thomas had been served, and then he entered the luncheonette. The demon didn’t introduce himself or extend any pleasantries to Thomas. He simply sat down opposite Thomas at the young man’s table for two, and he said in his most menacing human tone, “Mr. Lazzeri wants you to know that he’s expecting payment in full by midnight, Mr. Carver.”

    Thomas didn’t know how to react to the thug who had just invited himself to his table, and it was puzzling to him that this thug also knew his name. He responded, “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

    Sitri said, “You’re Thomas Carver, yes?”

    Thomas replied, “Yes. And you—?”

    Sitri interrupted, “The Thomas Carver who lives on Pierce Street?”

    Thomas was flabbergasted. Sitri could gauge by his stunted thoughts that he was floundering for an explanation as to why the demon would know where he lived. “Yes, but—”

    “The one who plays dice with Mr. Lazzeri and his associates every Tuesday and Friday nights?”

    “Plays dice? No, I don’t play—”

    “Mr. Lazzeri knows who you are, where you live and just how much you owe him. He also knows about that pretty girl Adelaide Grayson—”

    “What?!” Thomas cried. He had no idea how gangsters could know this much about his life.

    “Yes, Miss Grayson. Your betrothed. He knows about her. So if you don’t have the seven thousand dollars you owe—”

    “Wait! Seven thousand dollars?!” Thomas was the definition of shock. He’d never even made $7,000 in an entire year, and he’d never had anywhere near that amount of cash around to give to dice gangsters. In fact, were you to account for inflation, it would amount to more than $100,000 at present. He lowered his tone and answered, “Mister—”

    “Mr. Olivero,” Sitri answered.

    “Mr. Olivero, there must be some mistake. I don’t play dice. You must have the wrong man,” Thomas insisted.

    “Mr. Lazzeri said you’d say that,” Sitri said, standing up. He took Thomas’s cup of coffee and took a sip. He said, “Good coffee. I’ll see you at midnight. Don’t even think of going to Mr. O’Halloran for protection or trying to weasel your way out of it.”

    Sitri turned his back on Thomas and walked out of the luncheonette, delighting in the flood of panicked thoughts that Thomas had spinning in his head. He stepped out into the throng of foot traffic and slowly morphed so that his appearance matched Thomas Carver. He had to look the part, as his next move was to visit Miss Adelaide Grayson.

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part III.

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part I

    The reason humans are such easy prey for all demons is that humans have a wicked disadvantage: language. Language is indeed their greatest asset in every other respect. Through language, humans were able to synthesize and communicate ideas, and everything else that has defined them as the dominant species on this planet came after that. Language itself comes from thought, and thought comes from the soul. (This is where the idea of prayer originated.) Humans can’t hear what transpires on the metaphysical plane, but demons can. Demons know your deepest desires if they are consciously expressed, even within the mind, because they are the truth known by the soul.

    Forgive me for citing the previous tale, but I neglected to mention that the grimoire known as the Orrery didn’t always belong to Astaroth. In fact, its original owner was the Apokomistis Sitri. Astaroth only acquired it after she won it from Sitri, and he was forced to tender it or accept the consequences of her wrath.

    Astaroth and Sitri weren’t necessarily partners in the sense of the typical demon partnership, but they definitely had an unusual bond. Over the course of two angelic generations—a generation is 2,058 years—they enjoyed a competitive relationship based upon the completion of specific wagers. Sitri issued the first wager, and it went on until he met his demise in 1967 at the hands of a Seraph named Zahar. The form of each wager was, “I’ll give you x-object if you can complete y-task over z-period, and I’ll bet you that you can’t.” Sometimes the objects were actual objects, like the Orrery, or money, and other times it involved the surrender of things like territories or Nekus or human souls. Sometimes the time frame given to accomplish a task took days, but one wager took 417 years to complete (which was rather impressive, considering that she’d had another 97 years to manage it). Astaroth and Sitri operated under the administration of a loose set of rules that evolved over time, the two most important rules being that, one—they had to submit to a third party’s judgment to rule that the wager had been completed successfully, and two—if the task wasn’t completed within the period stated in the initial wager, no gifts were exchanged. Occasionally it was a means for one demon to get the other to take care of dirty laundry, but most of the time they were assigned with a morbid sense of fun in mind.

    San Francisco in 1936
    Market Street, San Francisco, 1936. They were on a stroll here when the wager for Thomas Carver was proposed.

    Astaroth, Sitri and the Apokomistis Svipul met up in San Francisco on June 4, 1936. Svipul’s judgment was needed to finalize the completion of the bet—Astaroth had to procure a blood pact for the souls of both a mother and her infant daughter—and she ruled in favor of Astaroth. Sitri reluctantly handed over the deed to a building he owned under an alias in London, and Astaroth suggested that they take a stroll to through the streets to help her decide on a new bet upon which to set Sitri. They hadn’t gotten very far when Astaroth spotted a new target on account of his thoughts: his name was Thomas Carver, aged 23, and as he was passing by the triumvirate of demons out for a walk, he had the misfortune of thinking, There’s always hope.

    All three demons heard his thought ring like a galaxy-wide broadcast. Astaroth then turned to Sitri and said, “I’ll give you back this deed to your favorite London property if you can permanently destroy Thomas Carver’s opinion about hope over the next twenty-four hours, because I’m absolutely certain that you can’t.”

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part II.

error: Content is protected !!