MEET MR. “SAX” – SLAYER OF EVIL
Heinlen ponders the elaborately engraved box that the Sullivan & Cromwell lawyer Jonathan Avery insisted on handing to him personally. The solitude of his home in Martinsville, NJ, is delicious. His eyes burn because he’s tired. Bone tired. He finally has some peace.
It’s been a week of exhausting meetings with Peter Xiang-Li.
The young lawyer’s offices on Washington Valley Road are in the back of a strip mall and connected to a Nail Salon run by his cousin. The contrast between what Heinlen saw in New York City – the posh Sullivan & Cromwell offices – and Peter’s poor hovel can’t be starker.
Still, Heinlen knows he’s made the right decision firing the overblown New York hotshots. Peter Xiang-Li is honest. His ethics are beyond question. He’s a fighter – and truly believes in the concept of Justice. He is a loyal friend – and loyalty matters. When Peter learns of Heinlen’s newfound fortune, he doesn’t bat an eye. There’s no jealousy. He just smiles and shakes Heinlen’s hand. His words – and enthusiasm – are genuine.
“Couldn’t have happened to a better Guy! Dude – we gotta’ get shitfaced drunk over this one! IPAs on me! And Single Malt Scotch chasers!”
Heinlen can’t take his mind off the curious box. He turns it over and over in his hands and caresses it, like it’s a curvaceous woman The carvings on it are odd – to him unintelligible. The only thing he recognizes is an inlaid carved orthodox crucifix made of precious green stone – Lapis Lazuli?
Leeds is in Martinsville to collect her stuff and take it back to her house in Tabernacle. Her and Heinlen have agreed to be “friends”. She’s leveled with him that if she ever hopes to have a child, it has to be with one of her own kind. Heinlen is cool with it. Truth be told – he’s relieved. Their brief fling with intimacy is over. He’s not sad to see her taillights leave his driveway – but before she heads back to the Pine Barrens, Leeds says that she recognizes the glyphs on his mystery box.
“It’s Angelic Script”, she says.
Leeds carefully picks it up and studies the artifact with her otherworldly, spooky insight. She then closes her eyes and announces her conclusions – her voice ever so slightly labored and sing-song – like a Gypsy fortune teller or The Great Houdini.
Her comments pique his curiosity.
“I can’t open it. Nobody can. Only you can open it, Heinlen. It will only respond to your cellular frequency. That is the key Simon Magus trusted to keep it sealed and secure. That is how he knew no one would ever open it but you. And you must open it alone.
It is a mystical and spiritual icon. It is ancient. It is Consecrated. It is a Christian thing. I sense its aura – its emanations. It is an object of great power. The Magician has given you a wondrous gift. An awesome item infused with unspeakable force and energy. I cannot intuit anything further about it. I dare not. It is meant for you only. I gladly leave you to it.”
With that, she bids Heinlen adieu.
Heinlen sits at his dining room table until 3:00 AM with the strange box in his hands. A small lamp illuminates the otherwise pitch-black room. There’s no apparent lock on the artifact. No latch keeping it shut. No hinges are visible. The upper and lower halves are so precisely fitted that a piece of paper couldn’t be slipped between them. The only thing remarkable about the object is that it feels warm to the touch – as if it’s alive.
Somewhere around 3:15AM, he tries to lift the top half off of the bottom half. No dice. He turns the box over again. And again. He traces the Angelic Script glyphs with his fingertips trying to read their mysteries like a blind man reads Braille.
Finally, he concentrates his focus on the one symbol he does understand – the Lapis Lazuli Orthodox Cross. He gently traces its outline with his finger. He tries to joggle it left and right. Up and down. No dice.
Heinlen then puts the box on his table and firmly pushes down on the Lapis Lazuli crucifix. He doesn’t quite hear – but, rather, senses, brief sound. A slight, almost unfathomable click – as if it happens in another time and place somewhere across the Universe or deep inside his imagination.
The top of the box raises itself – but the gap between the upper and lower box halves is still infinitesimal. Now – perhaps – a piece of paper can fit between them.
Heinlen gently separates the top and bottom of the artifact.
A sweet, smell – incense and resin – escapes. It’s like he’s walking into an Orthodox Church during High Liturgy. There’s a bright red velvet cloth inside the box – folded upon itself – and poking out from this fold is a yellowed parchment corner.
Heinlen reaches in and pulls on the parchment, extracting it from its regal nesting place. It’s a letter. Written in old fashioned ink by a quill pen. His eyes tear up immediately as he starts reading it.
“My Dearest Friend –
While leaving you saddens my heart, the life I agreed to Centuries ago has run its course. Everything has a beginning, a middle and an end. My service to Christ has earned me grace – and now, repose. I am blessed and joyful to be with him for eternity. Think not that I am gone from your life. I still watch you from afar. I will always pray for you.
I humbly confess that not all of my success as a warrior throughout the years can be attributed to my training by the Egyptian Priests of Abydos and Karnak. Their tricks applying the forbidden mysteries of light spectrum manipulation and invisibility helped me only occasionally.
My real weapon was what I bequeath to you now. A divine Seax blade gifted to me by the Archangel Gabriel. One thousand layers of forged, angelic steel. Crafted by the Heavenly Host and infused with The Holy Spirit. Use the special sheathe to strap it between your shoulder blades for ready access and lightning-quick extraction.
Like Odin’s spear, it always finds its mark. It will always direct your hand and limb to strike at an enemies’ most vulnerable organ. Let it fight for you. It will teach you how and where to wage battle. As long as your motives are true and heart is pure, this Seax will take control of your body and use it to achieve Justice. The terrible Justice of our Lord, Jesus Christ.
There is evil in this world, and you must fight it.
With my divine Seax in your hand I know you will be protected and safe. May God Always Bless You. If I’d had a son in my lifetime, I’d have wanted him to be exactly like you.
With Eternal Love and the Blessings of Christ,
Simon Magus
Heinlen gently unfolds the now tear-stained red velvet cloth to reveal what’s within it.
There, nestled in the thick red creases of the material is a Scandinavian style blade – a Seax – sometimes pronounced “Sax”. A weapon the Varangian Hetmans – or Captains – of Kievan Rus wore strapped to their backs, cradled in-between their shoulder blades so their right hand could always draw it forth for throwing, thrusting or slicing. They were never without it.
This Seax has an exquisitely crafted and engraved haft – or handle – with its rear pommel pointing downward in a “Raven’s Beak” as the Vikings of old called it. The haft is Ivory and covered with Angelic script. It’s pinned to the knife itself by large gold fasteners engraved with the Orthodox Cross of Christ.
The blade is magnificent, shimmering waves of evanescent, kaleidoscopic undulations of light from its surface. The steel shows thousands of ribboned patterns of folded, forged alloy – the celestial source of which Heinlen can only imagine. Its edge is razor sharp. It’s tip or nose slopes downward to a gradual point – not quite a spear configuration but an emphasized and reinforced end crafted for one purpose alone – Killing.
The blade length is a perfect cubit – the distance between a large man’s wrist and his elbow. About 16 inches.
He lifts it up the Seax with his right hand, haft first. He can’t believe his senses. The weapon is as light as balsa wood. Its steel – Damascus forged like none he’s ever laid eyes on – but almost weightless. Heinlen tries to spin it atop his hand – but accidently shifts his weight, ramming his left knee into the table leg. An immediate electric jolt of pain causes him to momentarily loosen his grip on the Seax – but it doesn’t fall from his hand. It hovers close to his palm. It doesn’t let him drop it.
He folds his hand around it again. He can feel the knife molding itself into his flesh, reforming its very dimensions to become part of Heinlen’s person. He stares at his face reflecting and shimmering in the mirror finish of the bright blade.
Heinlen lightly throws the knife point first into his table. It impacts the surface instantly – achieving a depth of about an inch.
“WOW”, he says out loud. The Seax is in deep. Firm. For an unenthusiastic knife throw – this result is incredible. Intrigued, Heinlen throws the weapon at a painting hanging on his wall – a traditional Stag with Horns, a reproduction of “The Monarch of the Glen”.
The Seax finds it’s mark – the Stag’s heart. The exact organ Heinlen was thinking about.
It’s incredible.
Heinlen retrieves his Seax and returns to the elaborate box. Folded into the velvet wrap inside is a back-sheath with shoulder straps, fitted with beautifully fashioned fasteners and made out of some kind of leather that he’s never seen before. He strips off his shirt and tries it on.
It fits. Like it’s been tailor-made for him. It feels warm – almost part of his skin. The Seax slips right in – comfortably finding its way home. He parades around his living room, shirtless and suited-up with his weapon.
Heinlen soon learns the secret of his Seax: Think of what you want it to do – and it will do it.
It reads his mind. It is an appendage. A limb he never had before. It’s an extension of his consciousness – and an organ that is hard-wired into his brain that responds to his fighting instincts. Like the fatal barb on the end of a scorpion’s tail.
Over the next few days, Heinlen grows more and more comfortable with his weapon. He wears it under his shirts and goes about his chores getting used to its presence. There’s something about it that’s reassuring – physically and mentally. It’s a lightning rod connecting him to his Mission. It’s a piece of Simon Magus that means more to Heinlen than all of the man’s wealth…all that same wealth that his New Jersey lawyer Peter Xiang-Li is now liquidating at warp speed.
Heinlen’s new lawyer is working full-time on one mission: to expeditiously transform all of Simon Magus’ assets into one commodity: Gold.
Bars of gold and gold coins. Securely stored in an impregnable vault guarded by the BratvaVarang at a location fewer than five people in the entire world know about. Gone are the days that paper fiat currencies can relied upon to preserve wealth. The only indisputable refuge of monetary value these days is gold. History has proven Gold’s resilience as a benchmark of wealth time and again.
A comfortable cache of his money will remain liquid – in US Dollars – to pay his expenses. Heinlen doesn’t have lavish tastes. His New Jersey house is unremarkable. His habits are inscrutable. He’s the quintessential Grey Man. Peter Xiang-Li, has three accountants – his cousins – managing Heinlen’s bills and cash flow. His Gulfstream jets are owned by a holding company in Bermuda and are reserved for his exclusive use only, night or day. His credit cards are in the name of a Grand Cayman Island corporation.
There’s no reason to call attention to himself. He’s gone dark. New Jersey’s the perfect place to ghost yourself. It’s a densely populated beehive where everybody is obsessed with their own increasingly desperate survival. Nobody gives a shit about you. Here the vibe is – like the bluesman Taj Majal sang years ago about his personal habits – “Ain’t nobody’s business but yo’ own…”
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Copyright, 2026 – Jon & Jedeiah Croft
www.bogironfoundry.com
Email: vlchek1@gmail.com
