The Fate Of Sunter's Warlock Militia

Hardin: County Sheriff Mike Duggan fixed his piggy-eyed stare at me again and demanded, "What makes you so damned sure there's this Warlock Militia group over Stier's farm? Have you seen anyone running around in a camouflage robe and carrying a fully-automatic crystal ball?"

     Clearly, Duggan was ignoring the geometric logic of my evidence that proved a warlock militia had assembled itself on his front doorstep solely to unleash an unholy horror upon us all. I pointed out that he was making an error of judgement by making light of this.

     "Making light of this?" he hooted. "Okay, have any of these guys been stock-piling illegal firearms?"

     "No," I said.

     "Have they been gathering chemicals which could be used for the manufacture of explosives?"

     "No," I answered again."

     "Maybe they've been making witch's brew in excess of the Federal limit?"

     "They're bring in an illegal alien," I said finally.

     He mulled this over first, then asked, "Why?"

     "For a terrorist act they intend to execute on April 19. That's right; the anniversary of Waco and the bomb in Oklahoma City." He looked startled. I smiled, "Now do you believe me?"

     "Where is this guy from?" he asked, picking up a clipboard to take notes.

     "The middle east; I'm not exactly certain."

     "What's his name?"

     "Azrael, the Angel of Death," I said.

     What that piggy-eyed Duggan lacked in intellect, he certainly made up for in physical prowess; I don't know if I've ever been hurled bodily such a distance from the door of a county office building in my life. This of course severely limited my choice of actions. Since law enforcement snubbed my entreaties, I was forced to enact my contingency plan-one which would entail great personal risk as I knew what lay before me.

     I had been clandestinely contacted by a nervous initiate of the group-a young man, probably a teenager-too terrifed to tell me his name. He told me the group had originally started out to protect their rights to bear arms but soon after a charismatic man known as Eddie Sunter led the group of 13 into a study of the Black Arts. My informant told me that Sunter and his men had grown so powerful in their Magick that they no longer needed weapons of any sort and that I should be careful to mask my thoughts lest they learn of my purpose. He promised to shield me as best he could but he was young and had little power to exert. Even holed up at Roy Stier's farm, Sunter could reach out and tear the flesh from my bones no matter where I was.

     The group, he continued, was still virulently opposed to the Federal Government which they saw as being bureaucratic and tyrannical and as such Sunter had devised a plan of action he was certain would cause national outrage. They would summon Azrael, the Angel of Death from Exodus who slew the first born of Egypt, and compel it to repeat the tragedy throughout the Midwest. People would of course believe that the sudden unexplicable mass deaths were the work of some secret Government biological weapons experiment. The long awaited civil war and chaos would commence and Sunter and his men would come to reign all.

     It was a horrific plan. And I felt helpless as I got up from the pavement in front of the county offices and headed down the street. My source had told me he would send word how I could stop Sunter, but since being in town since Thursday afternoon, March 17, no sign had manifested itself to me. I stood at the street corner rumnating this when a newpaper headline on a vending machine caught my eye. I fished out some change and bought a copy. It was the local paper, The Link Informer, a kleenex-sized evening rag that buries the national news on the back page. Across the front, however, ran the headline "Communion Wafers Stolen From Local Church".

     I read on: "Father Darren McLeod suspended Sunday's Communion Service at Our Lady of Redemption Catholic Church in Link this past Sunday when he discovered that consecrated communion wafers had been stolen shortly before the morning services. The silver tray holding the hosts was discovered out front in the churchyard. Sheriff Mike Duggan said, that while he had no immediate suspects, he believed the theft was the work of juvenile delinquents probably up from Ames."

     No further convincing was needed. A quick phone call to experts at the office soon confirmed my informant. The stolen wafers were the the final componenent to the spell of summoning and binding of the Angel of Death to the spellcaster's bidding. If I could destroy the wafers at the crucial moment, millions of innocents might be saved. I knew my course of action and drove my car north out of town to Stier's farm. It took about fifteen minutes to get near the area. I ran my car off the gravel road to conceal it in a thicket and walked the last mile to the farm. When I came within sight of the house, I got down into the ditch and crept along, peering through the weeds every so often until I reached a line of oaks and cottonwoods separating the corn fields. I ran along this for nearly a mile when I able to make a break for some out-buildings.

     There, scattered about me was all the detritus of farming; broken discing attachments, rusting chunks of machinery lying in oil-slicked puddles, and a well with a pump connected to a long heavy hose running around the corner to a section of a irrigation spraying rig called a "Rainbird". The towering contraption stood over the concrete base of an old bin. The base was circular and in the suns' last gleaming of the day, I saw the shining white glyphs and sigils chalked onto its surface.

     I waited there for hours until night had closed silently about me. Periodically, I'd shift and move about the buildings to stay warm. At last, the brilliant glare of a sodium halide lamp in the yard alerted me and I ran to my position, my mind racing trying to decide what to do.

     Thirteen robed and hooded figures emerged from the house in single file and advanced silently to the circle beneath the Rainbird. There, they took up positions around the perimeter and shed their robes so that they all stood naked. One produced a large platter of some kind and set it down in the center of the circle. As soon as he returned to his place in the circle, the chanting began. Scanning them, I easily picked out the youngest one who I concluded was the informant. Whatever happened, I told myself, I would try to save him.

     The chanting continued for some time and abruptly stopped. One voice then spoke in a language I failed to comprehend but made my blood run cold. It was Sunter. His voice carried power in it, my viscera throbbed as if a freight train were rolling by. I found myself quivering with dread and at that instant I looked down at the ground. Mist was snaking around my ankles and heading towards the circle where it pooled and coalesced in the center over the platter. It grew and grew as Sunter's voice grew louder. I watched fascinated as the mist churned, forming the outlines of giant arm and legs.

     "Azrael! Azrael! Azrael!" Sunter screamed as loudly as he could. At that point, the mist became something so unforgettably terrible and beautiful that I fell to the ground and hid my face for shame of even looking at it. A stunnng silence reigned and in that instant I forced myself to look up. The first thing I saw was the switch for the well pump. I turned it on.

     The pump thrummed and gulped. The hose shuddered and jerked. I got to my feet and turned about to watch. Sunter was still speaking when suddenly from above, the Rainbird farted and spritzed. Water cascaded in a torrent down onto the spellcasters' heads. The entity in their midst reached down and picked up the platter. Sunter watched horrified as it poured a gruel-like mixture from the platter onto the concrete. The paper-like holy wafers inside had been dissolved by the water.

     Sunter screamed. The Angel reached out a single hand and lightly caressed his cheek. The man fell to the ground dead. The others stood frozen in their places like mannequins as Azrael passed slowly turned and lightly carressed each man's cheek. I tried running to the boy, but I found myself rooted helpless to the spot, too. I suddenly realized that I had seen something forbidden; I was doomed. I sunk to ground, cowering , waiting for the horribly sweet carress of Death itself.

     A long time later, I looked up. My face was wet with mud. All was quiet. I looked at the concrete circle and saw the thirteen corpses. Suddenly, I realized there was something in mouth. I took it out.

     It was a communion wafer.

     I ate it on the spot.