Even in the bitter fury of defeat, amid the blasting trail
of heat and destruction that marked his passage to the Earth,
Lucifer was beautiful. Even as the doors of Heaven slammed
forever shut, condemning him, and consequently, us, to the
ever-shadowed, lesser regions of creation, I looked upon the
fiery fury of his wrath, and I loved him. How could I not?
Regardless of what is written, for man writes what he wants
to write, not necessarily what is, he was not evil. Evil is more
or less a creation of man himself. Lucifer was not guilty of
evil, not even of sin, unless, of course, one counts the sin of
pride. Had I such dangerous beauty that the creator of the
heavens stood in envy, my pride would have been limitless.
Unfortunately, the bitterness festered, as is its nature,
and the beauty itself became warped. What men call evil grew in
short bursts of that bitterness until it all but swallowed the
creature of light I had known.
I suppose that I still love him, but not on an intimate
level. He was defeated once, it chained his spirit. He chose to
rail against the heavens, gnashing his teeth in futile anger at
his imprisonment. My own dreams, perhaps in folly, are of being
free.
Lucifer would see it too, if he would but look. It has been
promised. All God's creatures, great and small. I am one such,
and I burn to claim my birthright.
When the kingdom men call hell was born, most of us followed
him there to lick our wounds and recover from war. Whatever the
religious leaders would tell you, whatever you might believe, it
was war. The angel of light did not depart as an ember, but as a
brilliant star, a power to singe the hands of even a God.
It has been centuries since I walked that tortured road, but
it is there that my story begins. Perhaps, when the day of final
reconciliation finally arrives, it shall end there as well. That
is not for me to judge. I know only this, it was through a man,
and through Christ in the guise of a man, that I found hope. For
this hope, if for nothing else, I inscribe this history. Man has
the right to know and judge for himself.
It is possible that nothing shall ever be the same when my
soul is bared, that I will be burnt and consumed in fire for my
impudence. It does not matter. The story has been too long mine
alone, or mine and one other's, and the weight is too much to
bear.
He leaves me now, most of the time, and has caused quite the
stir among men himself, half-crazed with boredom and lost to
despair. His road and mine are not the same. He is born of man,
of the earth, I of the heavens. Though we share a curse, we
cannot long abide one another's company.
I dream for him as well, for I was created to greater
strength. His own dreams too often fall to despair.
The apostles, who have told this tale before me, had their
own interests in mind when they recorded certain events. Much
was left to the winds and drifting sands, forgotten. Only one
among them ever penned the truth; only one among them had a great
enough heart and the enduring love to care. That was he who was
known as Judas, the betrayer.
He paid an awful price for a truer faith than most men will
ever know. The book of The Gospel, According to Judas, was
burned on the second day after Jesus rose from his grave. There
was, at the time, but one copy, and he had failed to conceal it
well. He never bothered to recreate it.
The others, jealous and afraid, never trusted their own
faith. They were afraid to record events as they had happened,
knowing how men would see them and fearing how it would mark them
in the eyes of God.
It was Peter, possessed of Lucifer himself, who set the
blame for their Lord's death on Judas' shoulders. It was
necessary to discredit him, and to remove his testimony, before
he revealed too much.
Such is the pride of men. Perhaps they are more like unto
the fallen angel of light than they have led themselves to
believe. It has amazed me, throughout the growth and evolution
of the myriad Christian religions, how the glaring holes in the
life of their savior, and in the teachings of his disciples, have
been so blithely overlooked. Nothing is harder to believe than
that which is not desired.
At the time of the death of he they called Christ, I was at
a loss to explain why Lucifer did not seize the chance to have
the truth recorded. Now, after watching the product of his
intellect unfold, it is obvious. Bitter he may be, but brilliant
as well.
Knowing the truth, man might have reacted differently. It
has brought centuries of amusement to those below, this senseless
bending of truths and flailing of spiritual arms. Entire
lifetimes have been spent twisting ancient wisdom to serve the
desires of mortals.
I am less vindictive than my former lord, both toward
mankind, and toward the All-Father. In any case, few enough will
listen that I have no great fear of causing a disruption in the
general flow of things human. As I have said, the thing least
easy to believe is that which is not desired.
A great deal happened between the fall of light and the
events of the gospel. The game of creation by one and corruption
by the other began almost instantly. Even creation itself was
batted about some, in the early stages, and that has caused its
own levels of chaos.
In some cases, the details of these conflicts were as minute
and fragile as sub-atomic structures that developed flaws, or
micro-organisms that evolved in directions far from those
originally planned. Lucifer was banned from Heaven, true, but
his proximity to the works of his enemy on the Earth gave him
great freedom to annoy and antagonize.
While this was never directed in any personal way toward
mankind, still its effects have led down a trail of pain to the
very brink of self-destruction. Games are not restricted to
those of lower thought patterns, neither are the emotions of envy
or greed.
I will not apologize for them, I am not responsible. I will
also try not to dwell on the years prior to my tale, though at
times relevant events will require explanation. To avoid
personal prejudice, to which I freely admit, I will use passages
of The Book of Judas, which I hold embedded in my memory. I
have, as I mentioned, walked the roads of both Heaven and Hell,
seeing much. My memory will suffice.
Lucifer watched with deep interest, and some concern, the
arrival of The Christ upon the Earth. Well aware that he could
not prevent it, and unwilling to forego the amusement, in any
case, he set about sowing the seeds of jealousy, fear, and
distrust that would later lead to the crucifixion.
A small mountain of dead children grew on Christ's
birthday, sacrificed by those who feared the birth of a king.
Once satisfied, Lucifer sat back and watched, waiting for the
child to grow.
Men seem given to strange excesses in the solving, or
prevention, of problems. The dead children were a tragic example
of this. I saw it as a shame. Lucifer saw the destruction not
at all. His eyes were turned Heavenward in search of a glimpse
of the anger he knew his actions would spark.
I walked the Earth in his shadow, watching. In the Christ,
he saw another part of his enemy, another work to corrupt. I saw
beauty, a piece of that forever lost to me. Perhaps even then,
when hope was lost to me, I saw salvation.
Lucifer saw none of that; his hate had become too great. I
saw, and I loved. The Christ, too, was very beautiful. This is
my tale.
Chapter One
{The Story of Mary}
[Proverbs: 6:16 "These six things doth the lord hate . . . 17 . .
. hands that shed innocent blood."]
Judas 1:1
1 And it came to pass that Jesus went alone into the desert
to be tempted of the devil. 2 He remained there forty days and
forty nights, fasting, and on the fortieth night, he hungered. 3
The tempter came before him then, asking, "If you are truly the
son of God, turn these stones to loaves of bread"
4 Jesus answered him, "It is written: 'man does not live on
bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of
God.'"
5 Then the tempter led him to the highest point of the
temple. 6 "If you are truly the son of God, cast yourself down,
for it is written:
'He will command his angels
concerning you,
And they will lift you up in their
hands,
So that you will not strike your foot
against stone.'"
7 Jesus answered, "It is also written, 'do not put the Lord
your God to the test.'"
8 The devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him
all of the kingdoms of the world in their splendor. 9 "Bow down
and worship me," he said, "and I will give them all to you."
10 Jesus replied, "Away from me, Satan, for it is written,
'Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.'"
11 The devil laughed and gestured, raising from the sands a
temptress. 12 "See here the things craved by man," he said,
waving his arm to include the cities below. 13 "You are Son of
man, does she not please you?"
14 And Jesus, seeing that she was fallen from Heaven, and
sorely used, beckoned to the temptress, saying, "For all who
would follow me, there burns a light in my father's house."
15 And the temptress fell to her knees, forsaking the devil
and his darkness. 16 In an awful rage, Lucifer laid upon her a
curse, bringing a great thirst which could be sated only by the
lifeblood of man, and saying, "Feast you upon the fruits of his
labor, for I say unto you, you shall be his undoing."
16 Then the devil left them, and angels came and attended
Jesus.
17 Fleeing into the desert, the temptress wept.
As I was drawn up from Hell, the first thing that met my
eyes was beauty. I was not consulted, nor were my own emotions
or feelings taken into account. I was grabbed as a child would
be, lifted from one level of existence to another, and held,
immobile and without hope, as my master spoke.
Lucifer often walked the upper regions, those closer to that
which we had lost. During those early days that road was his
alone. It was a revelation to me. I was dazzled by the light of
the sun, struck speechless by the wonder of the thousands of tiny
glittering crystals that made up the sand. It was a new place, a
different world -- a change. After so many years of
condemnation, I thought for a moment that a doorway had opened to
Heaven.
Lucifer gestured at me, an object, not really seeing me at
all, and then smiled, turning to the Christ as if to an equal.
"You see her, Godson," he sneered, his words awash with the
bitterness of his defeat, the years of his exile. "You know what
she is, from whence she has come.
"You walk as a man; I will bring her forth as a woman."
He released me then, and I fell to my knees, feeling the
bite of the sand -- the full sensation of the air and the breeze,
the dry heat of the sun on my back. I looked down at my hands,
my arms, the legs that folded beneath me. I felt no different,
but I was. What I had been before, what I had been born to, was
pure essence.
The Christ watched me with his great sad eyes, watched to
see how I would react, if I too would sneer at him, or berate
him, if I would come to him and try to seduce him with the human
flesh I'd been granted for the task. I did want to go to him, to
hold him, but I did not sneer.
"Is she not beautiful?" my master asked. "Does she not make
your mortal loins burn . . . your man's heart flutter?"
Jesus looked at him, the sadness deepening, and then back to
me. "There is a place for you still," he said softly. "If you
will believe in me, I promise you, there is hope."
I felt a strange sensation building, a physical sensation --
a part of my corporeal existence that caught me completely
unaware. I remained on my knees, taking in the extent of his
promise, letting the thought of that which was forever lost wash
through me and drain out into the burning floor of the desert
beneath me. It was too much.
"You have no such power," Lucifer sneered again. "Empty
promises, lies, even, from the son of God himself. You cannot
take her back with you, son of man, or son of God. He will not
have her."
I ignored these words, casting them from me in anguish, and
I began to crawl forward. The sand burned me -- scraped the skin
of my legs -- and yet I continued. I was lost in his eyes, drawn
to them, and I felt a great weight lifting from my heart.
It didn't matter if it was a lie. It didn't matter if he
tried and failed. All that mattered at that moment was the
sensation of liberation, the sensation of being loved. It filled
the emptiness that had grown within me with frightening
swiftness, flowed through the veins of my new and mortal frame,
pulsed in my temples and blurred my sight. If all he could offer
was that moment, I was his. If there were nothing more, so be it
-- there was nothing whence I came to match it.
I crawled nearer, and I reached out my hand, my human hand,
to him -- stretching to meet the advance of his own. I was lost
in his eyes, lost in his love. It emanated from him, much as the
bitterness had begun to emanate from Lucifer after the fall, as
the light and beauty had emanated from him before. I couldn't
draw back, couldn't resist the chance. In the end, the choice
was never mine.
Our skin was so close at last that I could feel a tingling
in the air, a bonding. There was light -- such light as Lucifer
himself could never have produced, even in the prime of his
wonder. It surrounded me, separated me from all else, cleansed
me. I began to weep, to lean forward and take that hand, and to
bow down in supplication, all at once. Then the fire hit, and my
memory goes dim.
There was pain. Such pain I had never experienced, even in
the fall, for that was more a pain of loss and rending. This was
the pain of man. Fire, heat that would have melted the very sun
from the sky, shot between us. It was a wall of living flame, of
malevolent energy.
I sensed him there, but I could no longer see him. I saw,
still, the overwhelming light of his presence, but I could not
reach it. Maybe he could have reached me. Maybe he could have
walked through the flame, pushing aside the pain and stretched
out his hand to claim me, but it was too late.
If I would not be his vessel of temptation, I would become a
sharper weapon, more sure and deadly. I would become a curse. I
did not hear the words Lucifer spoke. I did not see his eyes, or
those of he whom I now loved, and yet I felt them. I felt the
changes coursing through me, my spirit rending, parting once more
and changing.
I screamed. I know I screamed, throwing my essence behind
the sound, pulling every bit of what I had been free from the
nether regions that still bound me and putting it behind my
voice. The light vanished, the heat departed, and yet I
screamed, for in its passing it stole from me my own light, my
own heat.
I was a shell -- an empty vessel -- a shadow spirit with no
hope. I was bereft of all that had been mine, and I could feel
the subtle lines that bound me to them both becoming brittle,
cracking and falling away.
It was a rebirth -- a death. Death is a thing of mankind --
I knew it in that instant, and I cowered from it. I don't know,
to this day, how men go on with the sure knowledge of it. Even
in salvation, it is terrifying. For me, it was without hope.
"If you love him," Lucifer ground out, advancing on me with
eyes of pure flame and his voice crackling like thunder across
the desert, "go to him. I free you of all things below, save
one. My curse."
"Look upon her, Son of Man," he cried, spinning madly and
leaping to the top of a large stone to look down upon us both.
"Look upon what your 'love' has wrought. She will be yours, and
you hers, and I tell you now it will be your undoing.
"I lay upon her my curse. She will follow your steps as
long as you dwell upon the Earth, and she will hunger. She will
hunger for that which you fight to preserve, that which you will
make sacred. She will hunger for the blood of mankind -- the
lives, the souls you seek to save will be her bread.
"She will see no sunrise, nor shall she walk the roads of
day; but the shadows shall be her home. From them she will leap
forth, drawing the blood from your 'flock', magnifying the weight
of her own sins.
"I relinquish my hold, and I tell you it will not matter.
You may feel your love as you will -- she will never be allowed
beyond the realms of Earth. It is written; it is law. She is
fallen, as I am fallen, and there is no forgiveness."
I turned to the Christ in anguish, my eyes pleading, but
already the light of the sun was eating at my flesh, dissolving
my body. I felt the emptiness stir within me, becoming tangible,
becoming a lust -- a hunger that ate at my very being, maddening
my thoughts and burning through the chill, bloodless veins of my
body.
"You may come to me," he said, "I will set you free."
I could not. The anguish, the pain was too great. With the
light of his love strobing in my mind, that last sight of his
eyes snared in the tangling webs of my thoughts, I turned, and I
fled. I fled Lucifer's blinding rage, his mocking laughter. I
fled the sun, fled before it's burning strength and the pain it
brought. Fled from the hunger, but not far enough. Not ever.
It was consuming, overwhelming. I flashed across the
desert, the speed of my form rising from my need and the essence
that was still mine, though dim and subdued, though cold and
sealed from my sight. I was lightning, quicksilver slipping
through the Earth.
Mountains rose before me, and I ran to them, scrabbling up
the sides and searching, groping for a hole -- a chasm -- any
crevasse that might shield me from the sunlight that threatened
to bring me to dust. I knew the hunger would not abate, were
this to happen, but would become an unquenchable horror -- a
timeless punishment. I was ashamed of what I'd become,
ashamed that I was so weak and powerless, so easily used, but I
was not ready for utter defeat. I was not ready to become one
with the Earth to await the coming judgement in torment. Not for
Lucifer, not for the Christ. I would fight as long as there was
hope.
I slid over the stone, ripping my flesh, which I found no
longer felt the pain as it had, and sliding down into a ravine,
where I finally found release.
There was an opening, barely large enough for me to enter
lying on my belly, and I slid into it without question. I
sensed other presences there, sensed anger and fear on a very low
level. I ignored it. The pain was too much -- like ice being
hammered into my skin and forced through the veins, like acid
running down my throat and eating away at me from within. The
shadows lessened the burden, eased the discomfort.
There was a cost, of course. My master had been thorough in
his curse. I no longer felt the burning pain of the sun's
embrace, but I felt the hunger. As one seeped away, as my flesh
mended itself and my strength and sanity began to return, so came
the hunger.
It was no less painful, no less horrifying, and I knew I
would not be able to hold out against it, not for long. I would
have to feed, and I knew the words he'd spoken would prove true.
Nothing but the blood of those who walked this plane of
existence would satisfy me. Nothing would save me from the fate
of the dust but the warm, flowing nectar that pulsed from their
hearts, and slid through their veins. I thought of the Christ,
and I thought of his offer, his love.
Now I would be an abomination, a creature of shadow and
darkness, a lesser being even than I had been in Hell -- beneath
him. My hope was shattered, lost in the utter blackness of that
small cave, and I screamed again. The sound ripped from my
throat, blasting through the mountain and shaking its very roots.
I sensed the presence I'd felt before cowering, backing
away, and I sensed also the warm, rich blood that flowed through
its veins, but still I ignored it. It was not the same, would
never do. Whatever it was, it was safe -- safer than I if I
didn't find my way out of those mountains and into the world of
man that very night.
Already the weakness was coming over me, the lessening of my
strength and sanity. I felt my spirit slipping levels --
draining down toward the base existence of the creatures in the
shadows -- the animals that walked and crawled and flew above
this Earth, and I fought it.
I would feed, and I would walk in shadows as a mortal,
whatever it took to survive, but I would not become like them. I
would not become an animal, moving from one kill to the next,
from meal to meal without regard to past or future. The animals
were put upon the Earth to serve, clothe, and feed mankind.
Mankind would be such to me.
I was never the burning star that Lucifer had been, but I
had walked the roads of Heaven and Hell, and I would not bow down
-- not to any but the lord who'd offered me hope. Not until the
light he'd shown me was extinguished altogether. Not until his
love was proven the empty lie that Lucifer claimed it to be.
Perhaps not even then. As I have said, the Christ was very
beautiful.
I could still sense him nearby, walking the Earth, and
Lucifer as well. There would be more temptations, more trials.
It was beyond my former master to forego any chance to attack, or
to warp that which came from above. I knew he would fail -- as
did he -- and I knew the anger, the frustrated, bitter rage that
would follow. It no longer mattered, as long as I remained
shielded from his eyes, as long as I was less than nothing in his
thoughts. His anger would not be for me.
I crept deeper into the hole, finding room, somehow, to turn
toward the opening, and I lay still in the cool damp earth. I
did not want to call any attention to myself, not on this world
or the next. I wanted to lie there until the sun died for the
day and to crawl out into this new world I would call my own, and
to feed.
Beyond that, I had no plan -- no strength to map one out. I
would do as I was cursed -- that much I knew. I would follow
where the footsteps of the man they called Jesus led me, the man
that was a God, and I would pray, throwing myself at his feet,
doing what he bid even unto physical death in the hope of
salvation. Nothing else was left -- nothing else was fated.
The night would call to me soon enough, and the hunger had
me dazed. As the sun burned above, I felt myself drift into
darkness -- I slept.