DECEITFUL TONGUE

Judgement on the Deceitful

"Why do you boast, O mighty one, of mischief done against the godly? All day long you are plotting destruction. Your tongue is like a sharp razor, you worker of treachery. You love evil more than good, and lying more than speaking the truth. You love all words that devour, O deceitful tongue. But God will break you down forever; he will snatch and tear you from your tent; he will uproot you from the land of the living."

—Psalm 52:1-5

DECEMBER 8TH 2039
6:34AM MST
WYOCOLO, WYOMING


Esteban stared at the bodies that the messenger brought along but refused to examine them. He hardly spared them a second glance when he dismissed them, letting Mateo lead them back to where the rest of his congregation waited. They were three unremarkable individuals, uncloaked and uneasy, two men and a woman. They were just as inadequate as he anticipated.

Esteban smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

He was unhappy in a way that dulled his senses to the irksome words that the messenger uttered. So severe was his displeasure that it did not—could not—effect him any further. While the messenger spoke, Esteban prayed, with barely half of his attention focused on the conversation at hand.

"They are to be returned by daylight tomorrow," the messenger spoke firmly. His glare had been firmly settled upon Esteban since they'd returned. "Any harm that befalls them will affect the deal we've made. If you want your loans and if you want your reward then you will bring them back to this spot."

It was all lies. Esteban knew it. Surely the three individuals walking away, still within earshot, also knew this. Every word spoken was another lie. Another decision committed against Esteban's mission and his pursuit of divine justice. A sin that would bring forth dire consequences come morning.

"If you don't trust in me surely you will trust in the Lord." Esteban smiled again and stared back at the messenger. The taller man at the messenger's side snorted and Esteban forced his attention to remain on the messenger.

The messenger continued to talk, further proving the ridiculousness of their stipulations. "Only after you make progress and gain the upper hand will we involve ourselves. You must kill Jasper Whitlock quickly. You must also kill the brunette woman—the one who is not to be retrieved. That will guarantee you our swift support. We will not engage until this is accomplished."

Esteban nodded again. "I am grateful for your willingness to fight alongside my congregation." Despite these words, he knew that assistance would never come.

The messenger vaguely gestured to the woman with her hood up. While the darker color of her cloak intrigued him, Esteban did not care to learn who she was. She, too, would be dead by daybreak after Esteban's plans were enacted. "We will stand by, awaiting the retrieval of Alice Cullen."

"And you will receive her, and the redheaded boy," Esteban spoke with a false sureness. A lie returned to a lie offered bore no weight on his soul. "Don't underestimate the effectiveness of my congregation."

"Your army has a highly-gifted coven and three additional outsiders ready to assist due to your negligence."

"Three is nothing to us. The southern armies boast dozens." Three additions would be insignificant to them. At Esteban's last count, he still had forty-one amongst his number. With the three given to him by the Volturi—hardly fighters, by the look of them—Esteban was not worried about failure.

Alice 'Cullen' had slipped through his fingers because he overestimated the willpower and strength of the men he left to guard her. Her witchery would not serve her well in a battle. Esteban and his followers had encountered many a slight girl in their time, and her capture would be as swift as their ends had been.

"The south no longer boasts in that way," the messenger spoke. It was only then that Esteban wondered what had become of his enemies down south. His spine went rigid but he kept his fingers turning over the teeth in his hand, focusing on the sharp point that kept his hand wet with venom. Esteban wanted to believe that Maria of Monterrey was still alive. If the Volturi had purged the South…

No. Another lie from the messenger's mouth. Maria of Monterrey and her wretched army were still poisoning the lands to the east of his own. Esteban would be the one to send her to hell once Jasper Whitlock was condemned. No one would take her murder away from him.

It was this thought that he used to calm himself. Soon, Major Jasper Whitlock would be dead. Afterward, his wicked wife. The Volturi who believed they could lie to him would fall next. Then, from the ashes Esteban would crawl, like he always did. He would rebuild his congregation, bide his time, and kill the wretched filthy whore of Monterrey.

God would protect him, the Holy Spirit would guide him, and justice would finally be served. Sin would finally be purged from the land that he was sent to purify and make holy. He would carry out his original mission, once and for all.

"As it was in the beginning," he recited, "is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen." Father Esteban nodded toward the Volturi messenger and his fellow sinners and lifted his hand into the air, signing the cross before them. "May the Lord bless you and yours." The prayer would not save them, now. "I will give my final orders and see you with the sun."

The two lying men stared at each other, and Esteban felt peace within himself.

A grimace. "I look forward to having Alice Cullen, alive, at my feet."

A grin. "I look forward to my reward."

Esteban turned and signaled to the few followers that lingered and showed his back to the Volturi for the last time. As they travelled back toward the base, quick and silent, he turned to the saint at his left. One quick nod and the man veered off course, ready to give further instructions to the men and women who were waiting at their new perimeter.

The fires would start soon enough. Jasper Whitlock's coven, the Volturi heathens, and most of his congregation would be ash soon.

Father Esteban would end their world in a mighty holocaust, send their demonic souls to hell, and anoint the land with their blackened ash.

God was good.

And Esteban was his wrath.