Chapter Four

An Impossible Offer

I am dreaming. No; I am remembering. My life is not flashing before me; however one particular memory has invaded my mind and is giving me no peace.

It is the memory of our first night.

I am talking to her. I am not quite certain what all we are talking about; the memory is hazy. I do know that we are not talking about the subject we told our parents we were going to. That's because, although we called each other with the intention of talking about the book we were writing together, we always seemed to end up talking about something else instead. We don't really care though, because although we haven't told each other yet, we just want to be able to hear each other's voices because we love each other.

I hear her mention something about school. I don't remember what it was, but I do remember my reply: that her comment does not apply to me because I'm homeschooled. There is a brief pause after she acknowledges this and then she speaks again, catching me completely off guard. This part of our conversation that night, I remember perfectly.

"Okay, um, this is going to sound really awkward, but, um, do you have a crush on anybody?" Oh, man, I sure do, and so does she and we are such chickens about it. But in the end, we both find out that we love each other. But that was then and this is now, I remind myself. She did love me. But now…

When Carl came around, the first thing he noticed was that he felt incredibly stiff. Slowly, he forced his eyes to open… and then immediately wished he hadn't.

The room Carl was in, if indeed he was still alive and not in Hell, was the most daemonic room he'd ever seen. Although everything seemed carved out of gold and precious gems, it also seemed as though everything was serpentine. Statues of snakes rearing up to attack, pictures of snakes on the walls, snake heads built into the columns.

The next thing he noticed was the hard altar-like structure he was lying on. No; not alter-like. It was an alter, very similar to those of the ancient Aztecs, where pagans would rip out the hearts of living victims and burn them (the hearts, not the victims) as an offering to one of their gods. Then, seeing the robed man standing over him, Carl had a wild but understandable idea that that might be what was going on. What if some madman following the religion of the ancient Aztecs had brought him here to offer him as a sacrifice to one of the Aztec gods or, judging by the number of snakes, to Satan himself?

But the man wasn't holding a knife. Nor did he have extremely long fingernails like the one creep in Indiana Jones. In fact, despite the ceremonial robe he was wearing and the room they were in, the man did not seem in any way creepy; to the contrary, his face looked kind, and for a moment, albeit a short moment, Carl almost, emphasis on almost, forgot where he was.

Actually, though, Carl didn't really know where he was, other than that he was in a room filled with gold snakes. "Where am I?" he asked, though not as fiercely as he'd wanted to; his throat was very hoarse, as though he hadn't used it in years. "You're safe with me," the man said in a very charming voice. "My name is Corbak, and this place is my home and namesake, Corbakkan."

Corbak. Corbakkan. Jake! Carl bolted upright. "You-ˮ But he didn't get any further, because he was immediately overwhelmed by a terrible headache. Corbak gently pushed him back down, laughing lightly and shushing him. "You shouldn't try to sit up so quickly after having your soul restored to your body."

After he had sufficiently recovered from the pain, Carl stared at this strange, gentle man. How could someone seem so kind and caring and yet at the same time talk about restoring souls to bodies as though it was no big deal? Moreover, how could someone so… heavenly in manner be in such an abominable place like this?

Corbak spoke again. "There, now try again, slowly this time." Slowly, though more due to hesitation than obedience, Carl sat up. "Deck Builder, I welcome you to my home. I apologize for the roughness of my subordinates, but it was urgent that I speak with you immediately. You see, I have a proposal for you."

That was when Carl figured out what was going on. In reality, this man was neither kind nor gentle. It was an act. He wanted Carl to think he was a really nice guy so that he could convince Carl to do something bad. No, worse than that; something evil. After all, wasn't that what Satan had done since the beginning of time; make deals with people that he couldn't fool? After all, Adam wasn't fooled by the snake; Eve was fooled, and Adam followed her example in full knowledge that it was a bad idea, making his sin all the worse.

"No deal," Carl said as he stood up. Corbak raised an eyebrow in amusement. "I haven't even said what I'm offering or what I'm asking for. At the very least, hear me out before you turn me away." "I don't have to hear you out," Carl replied sharply, if not loudly (his throat was still sore). "In a place like this, it doesn't matter how charming you are; you're bad news, and I refuse to help you in any way. My piece having been said, I will take my leave, unless of course you intend to hold me captive." "Oh, no," Corbak said laughing lightly, though not as lightly as before. "We here may be bad news, but we aren't completely devoid of honor. You are free to leave if you so wish." Carl started to walk toward what appeared to be an exit. "Although you might find swimming the distance a bit difficult."

Carl stopped as quickly as he had started. The first thing he noticed was Corbak's calmness had seemed to crack for a short moment and give way to something sinister. The second thing he noticed was Corbak's statement about "swimming the distance." "I'd have to swim?" "Why, yes," Corbak replied, bringing his voice back under control. "Didn't I tell you? Corbakkan is an island."

Carl gritted his teeth. Corbak may have seemed nice, but he was obviously very cunning. "Of course," Corbak continued, "I would be more than happy to give a boat back to the mainland-ˮ "Let me guess," Carl interrupted. "You're not going to let me leave this place until I agree to do what you say." "No," Corbak said in a decidedly tired voice. "What I was going to say is that if you'll at least hear me out before refusing my proposal I will gladly have a boat take you back to the mainland.

Carl stopped and thought for a moment. For sure, he didn't really need to hear Corbak's proposal, because he already knew it would be bad. But, he thought, if I don't listen, then I don't get to leave. Besides, surely just listening to what he has to say won't hurt. Yeah, that's it; I'll listen to whatever his proposal is, say "no," and leave—nothing to it.

"Alright," Carl grunted, "let's get this over with." "Oh, no, not here," Corbak replied. "This place is so depressing and you need food. Follow me." In other words, Carl thought, you want to butter me up first. Fine. Whatever. But I'm still going to say no.

Outside the "snake chamber" Carl found that Corbak's island really did seem appealing. It had, in one regard, everything necessary to be a tropical paradise and, in another regard, everything a techno geek could dream of. The basic layout of Corbakkan was that of your typical Hawaiian Island but with a temple in the middle instead of a volcano. The island would, from a distance, appear to have veins which, upon closer inspection, were actually very technological buildings and hallways that led to every part of the island.

Upon reaching a sort of techno-tropical restaurant, Corbak ordered that "the food that had been prepared" for Carl be brought out. Carl expected many possibilities, most of which would not have impressed him, especially since seaside restaurants are known for seafood, the food Carl most loathed. But of all the foods he expected to see placed in front of him, he certainly did not expect what the waiter brought. "Macaroni and cheese with polo sausage and, to drink, a special brew of frozen orange juice, milk and ice mixed in a blender, a brew that has no name. And for desert, one slice of cheese cake, and another of peanut butter pie."

Carl could not hide his amazement; indeed he was so stunned, that it didn't even occur to him that he needed to hide it. What were the chances, especially at a techno-tropical restaurant that the meal they just happened to prepare for him was his favorite? When it occurred to him that they might have somehow known what his favorite foods were, he dismissed that possibility due to the fact that up until now he had been under the impression that only he, his mother, and his grandmother had known the recipe for "special juice" as they called the strange but delicious orange slushy.

This added to Carl's annoyance. He had intended to avoid eating whatever it was Corbak intended on feeding him, but that's a difficult resolve to keep when you haven't eaten a good meal in days and your favorite foods just got offered to you. Indeed, Carl's resolve not to eat melted rather quickly, I am ashamed to say.

After Carl had unceremoniously, though certainly not sloppily, begun to chow down and after taking several sips from some sort of fruity concoction, Corbak plunged into conversation. "Now then, Carl, I presume you have many questions concerning what this is about, and I shall attempt to answer them. I am the head of a secret society of techno-sorcerers dedicated to taking and taming the powers of the daemonic realm, hence the reason we call ourselves the Order of Daemons. We have discovered a way this may be possible, but it requires political, financial and mili-… militarial… militant-(yes that's the word)-and militant manipulation on a global scale. Standing in our way is a prophet, chosen to combat the return of ancient sorcery."

Carl raised an eyebrow. "You're, uh, still trying to get me to join you, right? Because all I'm hearing is more reasons not to like you," he said through cheese stained lips. "Now, now," Corbak chuckled, "I have to explain what we're doing before I can explain why it's in your best interests to help us.

"Now where was I? Oh, yes, I was telling you about my former best friend Solus, the prophet. In any case, his first, and probably only, major prophecy to date tells of a group of people who shall be the greatest fighters for and against my society and they'll all bear some sort of relationship with a person known as the Deck Builder or the Dark Star, although that relationship may not be a friendly one. And Carl, I know now, for a fact, that you are the Deck Builder."

Carl shrugged and sipped his orange slushie/smoothie/thing. "I've kinda figured out that your sorcery stuff is somehow connected to dueling, but even then, what makes you think that of all of the obsessive Yu-gi-oh duelists in the world that I am this 'Deck Builder'? Lots of people build lots of decks stronger than the ones I make (although I won't deny being very advanced in the art of deck construction)." "Ah," Corbak said waving a finger, "I know it's you because you're the only one who fits the bill. The prophecy states that although some of these 'chosen duelists' will make their own decks, most will obtain decks that were made by the Deck Builder. Jake is a chosen one-this I know for a fact-and you are the one who made the original version of the Fiend deck he now uses; ergo, you must be the Deck Builder, the Dark Star."

"So basically," Carl said with polo sausage in his mouth, "you want me to find out which of the people I know are chosen ones and bring them to you." "To help me fight Solus, yes," Corbak finished. Carl swallowed the polo sausage and reached for the peanut butter pie adding, "But you still haven't stated what you want to offer me, other than my favorite foods." And until you do, he thought to himself, you won't allow me to say "no" and let me leave. "Yes, no doubt you're just dying for me to finish blabbering so you can say 'no' and leave," Corbak stated, again hinting at the fact that he could read Carl's mind. "Very well, then; in addition to wealth, power, and all the other things that come with world domination, I wish to make you a more personal offer. I can make your ex-girlfriend Petunia fall in love with you again."

Carl choked on his cheesecake, a feat rarely known to man. Had he heard that right? Just how long had this guy been watching him? When he stopped coughing he shook his head saying, "That's impossible, even using black magic-especially using black magic. She wouldn't really love me; it would be mind control. That's not what I want." "On the contrary," Corbak said with that I-know-a-secret look people sometimes get, "I know how to make her love you without taking control of her mind at all. All we have to do is erase every memory she has of her new boyfriend-if she never knew him then she would never have fallen in love with him, ergo she would still be in love with you. In other words, she would love you because she wanted to, just as she used to. That is what you want, isn't it?"

Carl could think of nothing to say. Oh, there were millions of reasons he could think of for why he should still say "No", but there were now a rapidly growing number of reasons why he desperately wanted to say "Yes". "I know this is quite a bit for you to swallow," Corbak joked as Carl suddenly experienced a lack of an appetite, "so I had someone arrange some living quarters for you to think it over in private. I shall expect your answer in a couple of hours. A day, at most." Carl allowed several waiters (Were they sorcerers?) to lead him to his room.

After Carl was out of earshot, Corbak motioned to Jake who was sitting at a barstool nearby. "Get the chanters and put them to work outside Carl's room; I want to make sure the daemonic realm has total control over his decision." "Understood sir," Jake said before marching off. Seeing that no one else was around, Corbak allowed himself to glare. He moved his fingers along his lips feeling the pain of smiling too much. "Oh, the price of propaganda."

"What?" I ask completely caught off guard. "A crush," she repeats. "Do you have a crush on anybody?" Flustered, I answer, honestly but curtly, "Um, well, uh… well, yes." "Anybody I know?" I roll my eyes at the irony, grateful that she can't see me. "Yes, I'd have to say you know her."

At this point, I want to know how this started, and because I'm a big coward, I start looking for a way to change the subject. "Why are you asking?" It's not an unpredictable question considering she had switched to this very awkward topic rather suddenly. "Well, it's just that that's happening a lot at my school," she replies smoothly; "guys falling for girls, girls falling for guys-being homeschooled, I didn't know whether or not that kind of thing had reached you yet." Homeschool. Of course. A few moments ago I reminded her that I was homeschooled. "Oh, well, yeah it happens to me; I just don't notice when happens to other people." "I see."

I believe that will be the end of it for now, but it isn't. "Is she in our fiddling group?" I decide on a very cowardly tactic to get her to drop the subject: I remind her that the only girls I know and that I know that she knows are in our fiddling group, ergo the said girl must be in the fiddling group, and she should have figured that out herself. I say this to make her feel like she's saying stupid things, which I immediately regret. But she just shrugs it off, acknowledging that she should have known that. "Alright, I get it."

"Has she advanced to the next level of Suzuki?" Now I'm panicking. "Why are you asking that?" I ask, though only because I need time to come up with a loop-hole. See, the only person that I know has advanced is the girl I'm talking to; if I were to answer this question, it would essentially be telling her. "I'm just trying to narrow it down," she replies. I then come up with a simple solution to the dilemma; I ask who all has advanced. "Well, uh, me (of course you know that)-ˮ suspicious "-Julia, I think,… and Brianna… yeah, I think that's it." She mentioned herself first. That could be a good sign,… or it could just be a natural reaction to think of herself first and nothing more. Still. But I'm a coward, so I just say, "Yes."

There's a short pause. Then she tells me that she can't figure it out and asks me to just tell her. I tell her that I don't really want to. Actually, that's not technically true; I do want to tell her desperately, but I'm afraid to. There is a back and forth argument, and she is trying very hard -almost desperately?- to get me to tell. I finally come to the conclusion that I will not get out of this without giving her an answer, and I've promised myself I won't lie- that would cause major problems. "Okay. (Pauses to take breath.) It's you." Those two words- I had to say them quickly and slur them together to get them to come out, but I said it. There is what sounds like a gasp or a release of a long held breath on the other end of the line. "That's what I thought you were going to say.-ˮ not encouraging "-Well, this is going to sound really awkward, but I have a crush on you too."

Carl was tossing and turning on the bed in his guest room. Although he had been given privacy to think, or perhaps because of it, he was finding it very difficult to think rationally. That first night especially kept playing over in his mind. He knew he shouldn't listen to Corbak, he knew Corbak had terrible plans, he knew that God would want him to choose wisely and to love the LORD.

And yet…

Memories of his past with Petunia plagued him constantly threatening to drive him insane. In fact they already had. In the past few months, the only time he'd found peace was when he was playing games, Yu-gi-oh especially. Games had become his pain relief, his drug or alcohol; certainly they had become as much an addiction to him as anything else could have. The only real cure to this pain, he was convinced would be to get Petunia back. Corbak could make that possible.

And yet…

It was wrong. He shouldn't even be considering this. It should be an obvious choice. Would he choose a girl and some petty, temporary pleasure over God, over true joy in eternity? Looking at it that way, it seemed like an easy decision.

And yet…

Jake stood in front of the chanters and listened. Not because he wanted to hear all of the insidious things they were saying; far from, he couldn't understand any of what they were saying. Not like he should; they were really spouting little intelligent speech. Mostly, all they were doing in terms of vocabulary was saying a lot of gibberish that sounded sinister: things like "kiklamesho tomo ku", and "eglash zemal tenokoso".

No, the only reason Jake was standing there was because Corbak had told him to. Corbak had made Jake his second-in-command; of all Corbak's minions, Jake stood the most to gain and the most to lose. At this point, when it came to things Jake did not understand, he had to put his faith in Corbak and hope he was smart enough not to sink the ship, so to speak.

Even so, there was something almost poetic about the chanting: poetic and yet nasty. Perhaps that was what drew the demons to it- the fact that it, like them, was a perversion of nature, both sinister and charming. Whatever the reason, the chanting was said to increase the presence and power of the daemonic realm, which consequently should also enhance Carl's deep, sinful desires.

It wouldn't be long now; there was no way Carl could maintain his religious beliefs with the daemonic realm cracking down on his, by far, most tender spot. Any second now, he would come out that door saying- slam -wow, good timing.

Jake signaled the chanters to cease and disperse quickly and quietly; if Carl found out too soon that they had played dirty, Carl would probably rethink his decision to join the Order of Daemons. Then, Jake walked over to Carl who was standing on a balcony looking at the sun set over the sea. For a moment Carl said nothing. Then, without turning, he asked, "What did he give you?" Jake raised an eyebrow. "What?" "What did he promise you? There was a time you wouldn't have joined him. How did he convince you?"

Jake wasn't entirely sure, but this sounded like a trap to trip him up. He would have to answer this question cautiously. "After the Jamboree, I was trapped at home, literally. My parents had practically put me a cage. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere, except maybe Grandma's, and I wasn't allowed to do anything but school work. Corbak promised me freedom, and he gave it to me. Corbak always keeps his promises." Carl scoffed. "You call this freedom?" Jake shrugged. "By comparison, yes; Corbak gives his servants freedom from the chains that hold them down, regardless of whether those chains are physical or emotional."

Carl turned to Jake and looked him straight in the eye. "Do you regret your decision?" Jake thought for a moment and then, meeting Carl's eye contact with confidence, replied, "No, I don't. I did at first, but I don't now. I am content with my life the way it is." Carl nodded slowly and turned back toward the sun set. It seemed to mock him with its beauty. Or maybe it symbolized the sun setting on his old way of life. Either way, Carl had made his decision.

"Go tell your master, I accept."