Piercing the Darkness (17 page)

ANGO WAS NOTHING
significant, nothing to bow to, worship, revere, or dread. He was small, thin like a spider, and ugly. Oh, he knew it. He lived with it. He put up with the taunts of the other spirits who lorded
it over him, ordered him this way and that way, took his glory, gave him their blame. Ah, it was all part of the warfare, all part of the master’s plan for the earth, and each spirit had his own role, his own station, his own level of power. He knew his was a lowly station. To the rest of the demonic kingdom, what was the Bacon’s Corner Elementary School? What did it matter among all the schools in the world?

His lips stretched open, and his jagged teeth clicked and gnashed as he hissed a giggle. Oh, this place
did
matter now! The other spirits had laughed and chided, but somewhere, seated loftily at the peak of power, the Strongman himself had chosen this place to begin the Plan. He had spoken the name of Ango as the spirit to be placed in charge! Now little ugly Ango had the Strongman’s favor—and the other spirits’ envy!

But why not? He deserved it. It took years to take control of this school—to oust the resisters, to implant the sympathizers, to blind the parents to what was happening to their children. It was no small task.

But it happened, and all because of Ango! Let the other spirits call him little and ugly. At this school he was
Ba-al
Ango, the beautiful and mighty. All the deceivers who flitted, darted, and hovered around that place were at his command, and through them many of the teachers, as well as the principal and the vice-principal. That was a precious power, a constant titillation, a marvelous reward for all those years and all that work. As he sat on his haunches on the expansive tar roof, he indulged himself in some hacking, sulfurous laughter.

He was thinking of all those young, impressionable children sitting in all those classrooms down there, and what they must be learning right now. As usual, most of his spirit underlings were occupied with that task. They were the best, and he reveled in the fact that for the past several years, ever since the laws had been changed, their job had been so much easier. Oh, how quickly men could accept the most outrageous of lies once the Truth was removed from consideration! Yes, there were still some bold saints of God lurking about like stubborn weeds in this otherwise flourishing garden, causing trouble with their protests, parent-teacher conferences, telephone babblings, and notes, notes, notes to the teachers, but . . .

Ango wheezed out another sulfurous laugh and rolled like a playful pup on the black tar. No matter. They were losing. Let them protest.
He
held all the power here.

MOTA, STRONG, TALL,
and deep bronze, stood with his sword in his hand, his piercing eyes on the Bacon’s Corner Elementary School, and his feet in about eight inches of chicken manure. His oriental friend and fellow-warrior Signa stood beside him, as deep into the same predicament. Were they not angelic spirits, it would have been most unpleasant. As it was, they were not disturbed by their surroundings, and the eight hundred cackling leghorns were not aware of their presence in this old chicken house.

It was Friday, and almost time for lunch and the noon recess.

“She’s on her way,” said Signa.

“Now,” said Mota.

They were gone.

THE BELL RANG
for lunch. Ango could hear all the classroom doors opening and the mobs of children filling the halls. Recess would be an enjoyable time, just like always. What corruption the teachers could not spread in the classroom, the children could spread among themselves on the playground.

“Hail!” came a booming voice behind him.

“Aaaak!” Ango’s sword was immediately in his hand as he spun to face the heavenly warrior. Oh, he was a big brute! A massive Polynesian, shining like lightning, with wings that scattered the fire of the sun. His sword was drawn, and it glimmered with a living light, but he held it downward, the tip resting on the roof.

“Forces!” Ango screamed, and fifty demons popped up through the roof like startled gophers with squawks and hoots of surprise and rage. They surrounded the big warrior.

“What brings you here?” Ango demanded.

But Mota wanted a little more space. He raised his sword, held it straight out at waist level, and began to sweep it in a wide circular arc around him. The seething, hissing spirits backed off when the tip of the sword passed under their chugging noses.

Now he was more comfortable, and spoke. “I’m looking for a petty
little lizard called . . . Ankle . . . Inkle . . .”

“You seek Ango!”

Mota smiled and raised his index finger. “Yes! Ingo, that’s it!”

“Ango!” the demon corrected.

TWO GUARDS WERE
at their posts by the main door when Sigma dropped out of the sky like a ball of lightning and knocked them both to the ground by his sheer presence.

“Forces!” they screamed, struggling to their feet, grabbing their swords. Twenty demons were immediately on hand, swords drawn, eyes gawking at this visitor.

One spirit shot out of the school in careless haste, not wanting to miss anything, his sword waving, his wings whirring. He got too close to the warrior.

Whoosh!
The sword moved so fast it looked like a disk of light. Shredded particles of the spirit fluttered and floated in all directions, trailing red smoke and dissolving out of sight. The tip of the sword was now poised and ready for the next brazen attacker.

No one felt that brazen. They remained like statues, their eyes on this warrior. He remained motionless as well, watching them with his fiery eyes.

SALLY ROE REACHED
up and pulled the bell cord. The little bell at the front of the bus went
ding
, and the driver slowed for the next stop along the Toe Springs–Claytonville Road. She could see the Bacon’s Corner Elementary School just ahead. She’d never been inside, but somehow she’d just have to find her way around without being seen by too many people. She’d done as much as she could to look unlike Sally Roe; she had her hair—black now—braided and pinned behind her head; she’d found some sunglasses that could pass for tinted eyewear, although they bothered her; she knew her old factory clothes would not be a good idea, so she’d managed to purchase a casual outfit—slacks, blouse, loafers. Apart from that, she could only hope that no one at this little school had ever seen her before or knew who she was.

The bus pulled to a stop, and she got off right in front of the school.

MOTA STILL SEEMED
unsure. “No . . . it cannot be Ango. I see no one here who fits what I have heard of him. I seek Ango the small, weak, and pitiful.”

Ango could feel the stares of his subordinates. Of course they wanted to see what he would do. He raised his sword, and they all did the same. “The Ango you seek is mighty! He is Ba-al of this place!”

“Ba-al?” Mota asked. “A spirit with only half a heart, and less of a brain?”

“Gaaaa!!” Ango cried, raising his sword over his head. “
I
am Ango!”

He brought his sword down in a red, glowing blur. The huge sword of the warrior was there instantly and took the blow.

Mota was surprised. This little demon could strike hard, with much greater strength than Mota expected. He hid his concern, however, and only acted as if he finally realized whom he was addressing. “Ooohhhh . . .”

“Forces—” Ango screamed.

Mota thrust his sword right under Ango’s nose. “Before you attack . . .” Ango swallowed the order. “I would like to state my business with you.”