The Devil's Ear

• Fiction
• Mystery
• Drama

								
The Devil’s Ear 

	“I will defeat the lion. Repeat after me,” Father whispered. 
The living room felt quite dark but that’s what James was used to. There were fake skulls on mantels, or were they? The walls pitch black and the books were not short of dark occult. “I will defeat the lion,” James repeated with determination in his voice. Ever since he was a young lad, Father had taught him everything about the Bible from Genesis to Revelation, only with a twist. “The Bible must be learned for the lion to be destroyed,” Father used to say, after quizzing James on different verses. “We fallen will soon become light.”
	The fallen, who Father referred to as misunderstood angels, “Deserved their place in heaven.” He claimed he was cast out a millennium ago. Strangely, Father had a determination that James, wimpy as he felt, would someday be the esteemed “beast.” He’d soon fight the lion and win, or at least that’s what Father said. James shuddered at the thought of fighting a lion. Lions terrified him. 
James thought nothing of this. He never went to a normal school to receive an education. Instead, he was home schooled in Father’s dimly lit office from the day he learned to talk. 
“You are doing rather well in your studies. Soon I will have a test for you,” Father announced, his intense glare resting on the fireplace. He never directly looked at James and avoided eye contact at all cost. James never thought anything of this. 
	“I’m so excited. What kind of test?” James’ voice perked with excitement. 
	“Just go to your room and study,” Father answered coldly. 
James exited the study and made his way up the winding staircase to his room. There were old pictures on the walls and Victorian paintings. They all seemed to be of the same theme: the end times. 
He walked into his room and sat on the bed. His bedroom was not similar to other boy’s rooms for the walls were pitch black, and upside down crosses were hung up on the walls, although it was Father who placed them there. “They keep the light mongers at bay,” he’d say. And there was no window. Some might ask if it was no different than a prison, and yes, they’d be absolutely right, although James had not yet come to that conclusion. This was life and it was good. 
He pulled out a large pile of notes on animal sacrifice. He always squirmed at the thought, but sacrifices weren’t meant to be pretty. He’d have to toughen up if he wanted to prove to his father that he was ready. He'd be ready for anything. 
While working on his notes and chaotic doodles, he heard a small chirp. Whirling around in his bed, he gazed around, startled. There’d always been a small hole underneath his desk beneath where the window would have been. He’d always done his best to cover the hole so as to not let the chilly wind or spirits drift through the hole. But this time he heard a small chirp from the hole. 
Scurrying over, he moved the small piece of cardboard covering the hole. There, a few inches in, was a baby bird. It wasn’t too young that it wouldn’t be able to fly, but it did indeed appear young. The baby's beak was tinier than his thumb and he’d always been small. 
Should he tell his father? Perhaps the bird was a light monger disguised as a bird meaning to end his life? Still, the bird looked injured, its wing flapping heavily while the other was still. “Ooh,” he whispered, picking the little thing up. “You aren’t a light monger are you?” he asked. 
The bird chirped. 
“Here,” he said, unsure of why he was helping the creature. “Here’s a piece of my cracker.” He broke off a small piece of communion cracker and brought it up to the chick’s beak. The baby opened his mouth and  swallowed. James wasn’t entirely sure why he picked up the bird, nor did he know why he took a liking to it. The baby was small and seemingly innocent with a broken wing. James’ heart pricked with sadness. Where was the mother? Certainly if the bird was a light monger it would have killed him already. 
He figured there was no reason to fret, so he dug through his closet and pulled out an old shoe box he’d kept things in. He filled up a small bottle cap of water and placed a few crumbs next to the cap. He placed the bird in the box and softly placed the shoe box in the back of his closet. “Be quiet now,” he whispered. Maybe if the bird kept chirping, Father would find him and destroy him, so James turned on soft flute music. “Music of the fallen,” Father would always say. 
“James,” he heard father shout through the door. “Are you studying?” 
James froze and jumped back to his bed. 
“Yes, Father,” he replied, trying to keep his voice like usual. 
“Excellent.” He heard Father’s footsteps fade away. 
What was he now? A rebel to the cause? Not telling Father about the baby bird pricked a feeling of extreme guilt in James, but he shrugged it off. This would be his secret. 
Every day he took care of the bird after lessons. After the long hours of sword training, weapon training, history, dark cult lessons, and learning to speak fallen speech. “Ar’ak an vileinam.” He impressed Father with memorizing a speech in fallen tongue. “Excellent,” father had said. James made an excuse to study and ran back to his room to take care of the bird. 
Finally, one day after his studies, about the antichrist and Father’s long speech about his destiny, Father looked directly at James in the eyes. Never had James met his cold eyes in the past, at least not intentionally. “You are ready” he announced with a grin. “Go to the garage. Don’t look through anything, however.” 
James’ heart leaped with excitement. Was the enemy already here? “Yes father,” he smiled. 
He made his way down to the garage. Father said he would be down in a little while. 
He’d never been to the garage before. It was always forbidden. 
Once he entered the garage his eyes widened. There in front of him was a beautiful, shiny black car with gold rims. “Wow,” he said, not meaning to speak that out loud. 
There were a few boxes behind it. He felt rather curious, although Father said specifically not to go through stuff. Quickly he ran over to the first box and opened the lid. There was a picture of a blonde-haired woman holding a baby. Her smile looked genuine, unlike his father’s and she was holding a baby. Next to her was his father. He’d never talked about Mother. James always assumed she might have been a runaway fallen, as well. His heart ached at the sight of the picture. Even Father looked genuinely happy in this picture. Happiness wasn’t something he was accustomed to hearing Father mention. “Happiness is not the goal,” he’d repeatedly state in training. The back of the photo read, “Love each other as I have loved you. –Mom”
James quickly put the picture in the box and ran over near the car. 
Father opened the garage door, carrying two automatic rifles. “Get in the car, James.” 
“Yes sir,” James answered, his heart beating like a hummingbird. He wanted to ask about the picture of his mother and the Bible verse, but knew better. Whatever Father had planned, it was for the fallens’ safety. He couldn’t dare ask. 

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