Within Light and Dark
The sun was high and covered the Sahara like a scorching blanket, as a expedition crew worked their way through a maze of uncovered corridors once buried by the desert's sands. Looking over the men, as they toiled away, was Brother Brennan; adorned in sand-stained desert wear.
As he looked on, he remembered that day at the monastery; three years ago. The sights that had visited had come to pass, with the destruction of the Twin Towers and the attack on the Pentagon, in America. With the attacks came the war and with the war came death; so much death, he could hear the angels weeping.
He had left the brothers, telling them God had a mission for him; to find the seven daggers, shown to him in his vision. Many thought him mad, until the news of the devastation in the West came. Some called him a prophet, but he knew what he was. He was an instrument of the Lord and through his will, he would put an end to the false prince of Man.
Brennan was jolted from his thoughts, when he heard someone calling from within the dig. Wasting no time, he jumped into one of the corridors and ran pass the workers; knocking over any too slow to get out of his way. At the end, one of the workers stood beside a small black box with writing etched with gold. Aramaic; a dead language known by so few. Brennan knelt before the box, as he signed the cross over his chest.
“Thank you, for delivering unto us these weapons against our enemy.”
Carefully, he opened the box. Within, four daggers rested upon a silken pillow. Brennan shook his head; confused.
“This isn't right. There's supposed to be seven.”
“Maybe you were mistaken?” suggested the worker who found the box.
Brennan shot up and grabbed him by his shirt, as he slammed him against the wall. “I'm not mistaken, you damned fool! God himself gave me the vision; showed me the seven daggers with which to slay the Beast.”
“M-Maybe he was wrong,” said the worker.
“God is never wrong!!” Brennan shouted in the workers ears. “The Lord makes no mistakes, like a damned buffoon like you; you damn-”
Brennan rage quickly subsided, as a realization came to him. “God makes no mistakes,” he repeated, calmer and quieter. “I'm a damned fool.”
He released the worker and turned back to the daggers. “It would be foolish to have all the daggers together; in case the Devil's minions were to find them. The others are out there, somewhere. He will show them to me, when the time comes. All I need is to be patient.”
He extended his hand and laid it upon the workers shoulder. “Forgive me, friend. For a moment, I lost myself.”
The worker offered a fake smile and a nod.
Brennan looked up at the blazing sun. “I'll be patient, Lord. I will await for when I am ready.”
Hundreds of miles away, deep within a cave in Afghanistan, a platoon of American soldiers scoured the area for any signs of their enemy. All they discovered were the remains of a makeshift camp, empty Army rations and a couple AK-47's.
“This is BS,” said one of the soldiers. “Why the hell do we get stuck going through this shit hole?”
“Because that's our luck,” answered another.
“Quit the chatter,” their platoon leader ordered. “Until we clear every inch of this place, keep your asses quiet.”
As they continued, one of the soldiers lost his footing and fell against the cave wall; which suddenly gave way, as rocks and debris fell on him. The platoon hopped into action; uncovering their comrade and seeing to his wounds.
While the others tended to the soldier, the platoon leader stepped into the discovered anti-chamber. He shone his light across the room, until it came upon a black box with golden writing. Cautious, he walked toward it and scanned it for wires or explosives.
“What do we have here?” he asked aloud, as he opened the box.
Inside laid a single dagger atop a silk pillow. He picked it up and examined it with his flashlight. It was a simple dagger; no fancy etchings or other adornments; though something felt special about it.
He exited the chamber, as he said, “Look what I found.”
“What the hell's that?” asked one of his men. “Is that a knife?”
“A dagger,” corrected the platoon leader. “Found it in a fancy box back there.”
“Think the rag-heads put it there?” asked another soldier.
“Don't know, but I got myself a souvenir.”
“What? Some kind of holy bread knife?” joked the injured soldier; joined by the other in laughter.
While they jested with their leader, none of them noticed one of the AK-47's being picked up by a soldier toward the rear.
Outside of the cave, the echoes of gunfire bellowed from the entrance. There were screams, followed by more fire. Silence fell across the sun-soaked landscape, as a lone soldier exited the cave; his fatigues covered with blood. He held the dagger in his hand and the AK-47 in the other.
He threw the rifle on the ground, as he held the dagger in the air; admiring it in the light. It was blemished by a spatter of blood. The soldier wiped it across his shirt; over his name patch. A name patch that read: