Seraphim Sword

By Jeff Ketner

Cameron Williams has struggled each day of his life dealing with
Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy until the angel, Casiel, appears. She
cures him, but at what cost? As the saying goes, ‘Where much is
given, much is expected’. She bestows upon him a Seraphim Sword
with a command to battle gathering evil in Brennen, Arizona. Once
there, he finds George Chapman who introduces him to his team.
Alyson, the shopkeeper and witch who left her coven to join the
George’s team. Lori, a southern belle with an infinity for guns, leather
and hunting demons. Noah, a reluctant member, gets roped in
this “club” by his association with Allison. And, George himself, who
has powers and a secret from the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: NewLink Publishing
• Release date: Apr 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781934051504

Book preview

SERAPHIM SWORD

Jeff Ketner

NewLink Publishing

Henderson, Nevada

2017

Copyright © 2017 Jeff Ketner

All Rights Reserved

Distributed by Smashwords

This book is work of pure fiction composed from the author’s imagination. It is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. Contact the publisher at [e-mail].

Line/Content Editor: Denice Whitmore

Cover: Richard R. Draude

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

p. cm. — Jeff Ketner (Fantasy fiction/Paranormal.

ISBN: 978-1-934051-41-2/Paperback

ISBN: 978-1-934051-50-4/E-Pub

1. Fiction/Fantasy/Paranormal. 2. Fiction/

Fantasy/Contemporary. 3. Fiction/Fantasy/

General

www.newlinkpublishing.com

Henderson, NV 89002

Printed in the United States of America

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Dedication

They say that a child is a gift bestowed to the parents from God. But in my case, I truly believe that the gift from the Lord was my parents given to me. Without them I never could have accomplished so much. Without them I wouldn’t be where I am today.

Dad, we have been through a lot together over the years. Through it all-the good and the bad, you’ve always been there for me. Even though you’re crazy, you are the one person I can always turn to for advice. The Lord had a plan when he made you my father, and I am eternally grateful for that. Without your support none of this would have happened. If I can be just half the man you are Dad, I think I’ll do all right.

Mom, you worry way too much, but I guess that’s just what good mothers do. Over the years you and I have become close friends. Now you have a book to read to your grumpy pug while you’re on the toilet.

Sharon, you are always the first person to read anything I write, and you have always been brutally honest. Without your encouragement I might never have put this story down on paper. Without you this book may have never been published, and I promise there are no Tootsie Rolls anywhere in this story.

Contents

Chapter 1: Gathering Of The Seven

Chapter 2: The Gift

Chapter 3: The Man In The Black Panama Hat

Chapter 4: The Garden

Chapter 5: The Celtic Ring

Chapter 6: Within The Muck And Poo

Chapter 7: Gathering Of The Seven

Chapter 8: Bloom And Shadow

Chapter 9: The Bitchiest Witch In The West

Chapter 10: The Shop Keeper

Chapter 11: Deadly Ducks

Chapter 12: The Lover’s Spat

Chapter 13: The Pinstriped Preacher

Chapter 14: Crystal Cathedrals

Chapter 15: Plans And Preparations

Chapter 16: Slap And Tickles

Chapter 17: Housewarming

Chapter 18: A Hat And A Horse

Chapter 19: The Village That Time Forgot

Chapter 20: Tiny Elton

Chapter 21: Paintball In The Woods

Chapter 22: The Devil’s Herd

Chapter 23: Uriel’s Change

Chapter 24: A Perv And His Broom

Chapter 1

GATHERING OF THE SEVEN

Casiel entered the room, a look of defeat etched on her beautiful face.

Uriel had not seen such a look on one of their own in many thousands of years. He turned his gaze to the window and the darkness beyond. The situation must be more dire than he realized.

Outside the hospital room window, sheets of rain hammered down on the glass, as the darkness beyond tried to claw its way into the room. The seven—four males and three females—wearing subdued white robes, gathered around the sleeping mother and child, knew that if it succeeded all would be lost.

Jaw clenched in frustration, Uriel asked. Why have so many of us been sent here? He wanted to be out there beyond the confines of these walls fighting with his comrades who at that very moment fought to push the darkness back. Being a soldier, he had his orders, and as frustrating as it was to be standing idly by, he would not desert his post.

This one will need extra care, Casiel said, looking down at the infant boy. She laid a gentle hand on his little chest, her warm brown eyes lost in thought. She had a delicate look about her, with her curtain of wavy chocolate brown hair draped around her heart shaped face. But behind that warm glow and serene look, Uriel recognized the fierce determination of the warrior he knew and respected. As will his family, but others will be along shortly to look after them. Our job is to protect the boy.

From what? Uriel asked.

Never taking her eyes off the boy, she said, Ilm has already been here.

The others stiffened with alarm.

The one called Remiel, the biggest of the four males with dark hair and piercing green eyes, stepped up to the sleeping newborn. Placing one big hand on the boy’s forehead, he closed his eyes in concentration. It’s progressive—fatal. Opening his eyes, he looked back at his companions.

As I said, he is going to need extra care. We are to protect him until his purpose here is finished. The Nephilim and the Fallen have been warned off from doing any further physical harm to the boy, but you all know they have other ways of torment. Demon kin are after him.

But Ilm already got to him, Casiel. Uriel’s dark brow knotted together. He won’t live long—a few years at most.

Ilm got to the mother as well, Casiel said, still gazing down at the sleeping infant. He caused a hemorrhage and distracted the nurses. She nearly bled out. I got here in time and chased him off. She’s resting now, but it was close.

What’s the boy supposed to do? Remiel crossed his arms over his broad chest.

I wasn’t told specifics—only that he has a task to do, and this family was specifically chosen to nurture and guide him through his life. We are to keep him alive long enough to fulfill that task.

Does the Morningstar know? Uriel asked, staring at his commander.

No, but the boy’s great grandmother is devout in her beliefs, Casiel said. And Lucifer is petty enough to take it out on the child for losing another soul. He’s growing restless. I believe he knows his time is running out.

How could he know that? Remiel asked. None of us know when that time is.

All but a few of the prophecies have come to pass, Remiel, Casiel said, still staring down at the sleeping infant.

It won’t be a very long life after what Ilm did. Remiel glared at the window. Lightning from the raging storm lit the room in a stark, ominous light. That doesn’t give this boy much time.

That is precisely why three Seraphim and four Guardian Angels stand here this night. Casiel met each and every one of their eyes in turn. We will not fail him.

Uriel and the others nodded in solidarity as their commander returned her gaze to the infant child. I think this one is going to surprise us all.

Chapter 2

THE GIFT

Standing in a dark cavern at the edge of a lake of molten fire, I knew at once that I must be dreaming. Not once in my twenty-eight years had I ever stood on my feet. So, looking down at them now was a dead giveaway.

When I know I’m dreaming I can always control it, and not even the most horrible nightmares bothered me much. But something felt very different about this dream.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. A cold danger, like a knife to the heart, seeped into my core. My heart pounded inside my chest as a deep loneliness burrowed its way in. This didn’t feel like a dream, but a real place. Something deep inside me knew it to be true. But this place—I was never meant to be here. My knees buckled under the weight of my guilt and I collapsed on the ground sobbing.

The air hung thick with sulfur. Noxious fumes burned my lungs with each breath. Black smoke billowed up from a lake of fire. I was in the Pit, deep underground, miles away from any comforting light, in a place that had never seen the beauty of the morning’s dawn.

How did I fail?

On my knees, weeping, on the edge of an immense precipice, I turned my gaze up to the black mass of smoke swirling overhead.

Something watched me from within that smoky blackness, many somethings. I caught only a faint glimpse of leathery wings at first, but as they grew braver, they began to descend. Hundreds of winged creatures with red goat-like-eyes, razor-sharp teeth and long black talons surrounded me. Their massive black wings beating the toxic air down upon me.

They circled like vultures, their burning eyes watching as they rode the heated updraft of acrid black smoke as if waiting for some unspoken command.

The oppressive loneliness of the pit deepened. Watching the strange creatures circle above me, the skin on the back of my neck crawled. They weren’t the only things in here with me. Something else—something far more ominous, lurked in the darkness nearby.

Struggling to my feet, I turned and gazed upon a great beast standing at the edge of the precipice. Over ten feet tall, it had red skin and cloven hooves. Thick black horns protruded from the crown of his head, and leathery wings stretched out from his back fifteen feet on either side.

Leering down at me, his yellow eyes bore into my soul. His lip turned up into a malevolent sneer, and he let out a snarl. Sweeping back his massive wings, he dug in his cloven hooves and leaned in, ready to charge.

Backing away, I gasped, Lord, protect me!

The great horned beast let out a feral scream and charged.

My body tensed. A surge of panic shot down my spine like a bolt of lightning. Every muscle in my body contracted and I tightened my grip around something in my right hand. Confused, I looked down at the object I held, and my fear turned to determination.

The sword shone with a blinding, heavenly light—its blade no more than an inch wide and more than a meter long. Bringing it up to strike, it sang through the air with joyful savagery. Its brilliance pulsing in time with the beat of my own heart. It slashed through the air in an upward arc, cutting a great swath in the beast’s chest.

He let out a scream of pain and frustration. Towering over me, he stumbled back a step, staring down at the long gaping wound, already calcifying around its ragged edges. The reaction spread out from that point, changing his red skin gray as his whole body hardened into stone. With shock and hatred distorting his frozen face, he shattered into a thousand pieces. As the shards of the great beast toppled over the edge—falling into the lake of fire—the roiling, boiling vortex of acrid black smoke, along with the yowling, howling, winged creatures circling within, clawed and grappled at nothing as they too were sucked into the all-consuming flames.

• • •

The wind knocked out of me, feeling like I had just been sucker punched in the gut, I woke with a jolt. The power in my apartment had shut off. The BiPaP on the nightstand was useless now. I can’t sleep without the thing, but for once I was glad the power had failed. I didn’t want to go back to that place, even if it had been a dream. With the power off, I had no choice but to stay awake.

My only option now, was to lie here in the dark with this useless mask strapped to my face until the power came back on. I considered the contraption both a Godsend and a pain in the ass. On one hand, it let me get a good night’s rest, but at the moment it was stifling and claustrophobic. I couldn’t get the thing off without a great deal of effort, and with my luck by the time I did, the power would kick back on, and I’d have no way to strap the mask back on.

All I can do in these types of situations is lie there and think. There isn’t much else to do sometimes when you’re living with a body that’s deteriorating, growing weaker, and looking more and more like an abstract Picasso painting every day.

I debated picking up the phone and calling my mom or dad, but I quickly tossed out that idea. A power outage isn’t exactly an emergency, and I hate to put anybody out, even if I know they don’t mind. Maybe I’m just stubborn. If I am, I got it from my dad, along with an uncanny ability to tease, pester, and bug everyone I’ve ever met.

The teasing and pestering really came in handy all those times I was laid up in the hospital knocking on heaven’s door. My dad, always right there with me, sitting at my bedside playing jokes on me or teasing me about this or that just to lighten the mood. That’s a hard thing to do after you’ve just been informed that your son may not make it through the night. It would take a crazy person to even attempt to get a laugh after hearing that their son was on his deathbed, but then again, my dad is crazy—in a good way.

There’s no way I was going to make that phone call, not under these circumstances. With my luck, by the time someone got over here, the power would come back on, and I could just hear my dad teasing me about being afraid of the dark, laughing like a maniac or some other crazy thing.

All I could do now was wait and pray for the power to come back on.

Something shifted in my peripheral vision to my right. My heart jumped up into my throat. Someone’s in my room. My cell phone lay next to me on the pillow, and I could reach the land line too, but my movements are sluggish and strained at best. And I definitely didn’t want—whoever—to know I was awake and aware that I wasn’t alone.

Lying there still as stone, heart hammering against my chest, I opened my eyes to slits, straining into my peripheral vision trying to get a glimpse of the intruder.

Do not fear, Scribe, a woman’s voice said. I come bearing gifts, and a message from one who loves you very much.

Who are you? I asked as I reached out with my one good arm for the edge of the bed.

Pulling with everything I had, my nonexistent bicep quivered. Straining with every ounce of strength I could muster, I pushed down with my legs, and with a herculean effort, my bent and atrophied knees rose off the pillow they rested on. Bearing down with one last thrust, I let momentum roll me the rest of the way onto my right side.

Out of breath and drenched in sweat, I felt like I had just run a marathon. Every joint and muscle in my body screamed out in pain, but I had done it. I was laying on my right side. The only problem was now that I had rolled onto my side, I couldn’t move at all.

During my struggle, the woman said nothing. She just waited and watched. But at least now I could get a better look at her—even with the BiPaP mask partially obstructing my vision.

You already know who I am, Scribe. She came and sat on the side of my bed.

The darkness in my room obscured her face. I could only make out the shadowed contours of her long hair and her slight frame silhouetted against the dim light shining through the window behind her. As I stared up at her, a faint light grew, illuminating her face. She was right. I knew who—or at least what—she was.

Her rich brown eyes matched the wavy, chocolate brown hair framing her delicate, heart shaped face. She sat there, exactly as I remembered her, except for her clothes. Her muted white robes seemed to give off a light of their own, opposed to the multi-colored scrubs she wore the first time I saw her.

It had been more than fourteen years, and she hadn’t aged a day.

I knew it! I exclaimed, staring up into her eyes.

Yes. Her face broke into a pleasing smile. You and your father’s assumptions about your visitor on that night were correct.

He looked for you—wanted to thank you for what you did. But when he asked the nurses that had been on duty, they told him they were the only four in the I.C.U that night, and no one on the staff fit the description I’d given him.

They could not see me. She folded her hands in her lap. But the Lord heard his thankful prayers as well as yours, Scribe.

I almost died twice in the ICU in those first two weeks, the second of which I met her. I was only fourteen at the time, scared and alone, recovering from a botched operation on my twisted spine and breathing through a hole in my neck, aided by a respirator. I woke up in the middle of the night to push the little button that dosed out my pain meds, and there she sat, in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs next to my bed, reading to me from the Bible.

Noticing I was awake, she smiled that same serene smile and continued to read. After she finished, she told me everything would be all right. She prayed for me—asking the Lord to watch over me and to give me the strength to get off the respirator. She told me to be strong and not to be afraid because I was not alone. And then she left, and I went back to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up with three nurses hovering over me. They seemed to be in a bit of a panic until they saw me looking at them. Apparently, the respirator had stopped working some time that night, and the alarms on the machine had failed to go off. I lay there all night breathing on my own. The thing is, that shouldn’t have been possible.

The tracheostomy tube hooked into the respirator had a cuff on it, like a small balloon that inflates inside the trachea with a syringe. It cuts off the airway above the trach site so the airflow from the respirator can’t escape through the mouth and nose. When the respirator shut down that night it should have cut off my only airway. But by some miracle, the cuff on the trach tube had deflated, allowing me to breathe around the tube in my neck. It should have been impossible. The cuff on the trach could only be deflated manually. It was not part of the failed respirator unit, and should not have been affected when the respirator malfunctioned.

So, I guess you’re my guardian angel then.

Yes. One of seven actually, she said.

Seven?

Yours is a special case. The fallen and the evils of the world seem to get a lot of joy out of tormenting you.

Great, I’m the modern day gimped out version of Job. It’s just my luck. Why me? I’m not exactly a righteous man. I’ve done my share of foolish things.

You mean sins, she said matter-of-factly.

Yeah, I said, and averted my eyes.

All of mankind sins, Scribe. That is why the sacrifice was made—to wash away the sins of the faithful. Now lay back and relax. She laid a gentle hand on my chest and helped me roll onto my back. The trials and tribulations of your life have molded you into the man you are today, Scribe. But this body will no longer suffice for what lies ahead.

I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant by that, but the words stuck in my throat.

A warm light expanded out from under the hand resting on my chest. Her whole body lit up in glorious light, and her wavy brown hair lifted as if caught in a mighty wind.

Inexpressible joy and warmth spread out from my chest, slid down my arms, and made the tips of my fingers tingle, like a blissful caress. It traveled up my neck and down my spine—through my legs all the way down to my toes. Imperceptible at first, I came to realize the slow movement of my body. My heels slid down the sheets toward the foot of the bed, while at the same time my torso stretched toward the headboard. My whole body relaxed. The pain I had been living with for fourteen years vanished. My eyes grew drowsy. The hump on my back—where my shoulder blade and ribs jutted out—remolded and flatten into my back. My twisted spine realigned. My left shoulder lifted into its proper place. The muscles on the right side of my neck pulled and my head lifted off my left shoulder, and I came to rest in a more natural position.

My body stretched in all directions as muscle and sinew grew beneath the skin, swelling my emaciated frame to the point that my shirt and shorts tightened around me.

As she lifted her hand from my chest, the radiant light and joyous warmth faded, and I stared down at a body made whole and utterly alien to me.

I raised my left hand, studying it, as I turned my wrist. Flexing my fingers, I folded them in one by one to my palm and back out again. Astonished at the movement and the ease at which it came, I stared in wonder like a newborn at the discovery of his hands. I pulled the mask off my face, with an ease I had never known before, and gasped. Without realizing it, I had lifted my head off the pillow—something I had never been able to do before.

Sit up, Scribe.

I don’t know how. I made a fist, experiencing the strength of a tight grip for the first time.

It is as easy as breathing, Scribe, she said with that same motherly warmth I remembered from all those years ago. Now sit up. I have much to teach you, and you must be on your way at sunrise.

It’s easy for you to say. This is all new to me. I looked over the edge of the bed. It’s a long way down if I fall.

You are thinking like you did when your body was weak. Do not be afraid. He is here and will not let you fall, she said in a reassuring tone.

It took far less strength than I expected. I flexed the muscles in my calves and thighs and pulled. Fascinated by the new muscles and the way they moved under my skin, I lifted my right leg off the bed. A slight chuckle slipped past my lips and my eyes filled with tears as I bent and straightened the formally unmovable appendage. In a single motion, I swung both legs over the side of the bed. Without even thinking about it, I clenched down on the muscles in my abdomen, lifted my back off the bed, and for the first time in my life, I sat up and rested my feet on the floor.

Now, was that so hard? She asked, sitting beside me.

I sat eye-to-eye with her. My body really had grown. It’s amazing! I said, looking at the ground, feeling the carpet under my bare feet.

Okay, now what? I looked at her, then to my feet, and back again.

Stand up.

Stand up—just like that? It was a long way down to my feet.

Just like that, she said with a nod.

Okay, it’s not that I don’t have faith and all, but I have no idea how to stand up.

Standing at my side, she took my left hand in hers. Lean forward onto your feet and push up with your legs, she said, her eyes a reassuring beacon of hope. I will catch you if you stumble. It will not hurt.

It was as if she had read my mind. All my life my legs and ankles had been so weak that any small pressure on them caused great pain, and I was more afraid of that than the beast in my dream.

Pushing aside my fear, I did as instructed. Leaning forward, I pushed up with my legs, and I rose onto unsteady legs for the first time in my life.

I stared down at my feet so far away. Vertigo hit me, and I lost my balance, but she held me by the shoulder, anchoring me until I got my bearings.

It felt like flying, I was so high up. My height gave me a whole new perspective of the world. I had always stared up at everything and everyone from the wheelchair I had been shackled to my whole life, but now everything looked different. I gazed down at everything now, not up. The room itself felt smaller.

I don’t deserve this. I choked on a sob. My eyes filled with tears. I’ve done wrong, too much wrong to deserve this.

Your deeds done make you less than perfect, yes, but it also makes you human. You know as well as I do that He forgives all to His faithful, she said in answer.

How can I ever show my thanks for this?

You have been given this gift for a purpose, Scribe, she said, still halfway holding me up.

I was pushing down so hard with my legs that every muscle in my body shook. I feared if I relaxed, I might fall.

I have been sent to ask you to go on a journey. You can say no. You know that, with you and yours, freewill is always there.

I’ll go, I said before she had finished. "But if I’m going anywhere, you’ll need to explain a lot of things to me first—like walking for instance. I really have no idea how people do it. I