by Katrina Cope
I scream in pain and look at them in horror. They are a mess. The beautiful whiteness is tarnished with blood. The white feathers are no longer straight and pristine. The caked blood pushes them up the wrong way. With my hands, I search for the tips, but they aren't there. I can't see the majority of my beautiful white wings. Instead, I see stubs that stop only a couple of feet away from my body, leaving a bloodied mess and a gaping hole on each side.
They have severed my wings. I won't be able to fly. Not for long distances, that's for sure. I’ll be like a bird with clipped wings if I’m even able to fly at all. I bellow a cry across the lands. Nobody is there to hear me. No one. Not even the demons surround me anymore. Tears of agony and regret tumble down my face. Tears of self-pity. Tears of what my future holds. My hands slap on my knees, my head falls forward, and my shoulder-length blond hair flops over my eyes. I know I'm a mess.
The blood cakes my face and all down my front. My golden breastplate shines except for where large patches of my blood flow over the top—it’s the worst kind of blood. My hair is matted with my blood, and a little falls over my neck and face. I don’t care how I look. If it is bad, it matches the way I feel, disgusting and violated. A feeling worse than I thought possible passes through my body. A little blood on my skin isn’t going to make it any different. And to make things worse, I also feel ashamed, but the shame is mixed with deep anguish. Depression is already starting to set in. This place is like a desert, and it suits the way I feel.
Something sounds in my ear, and I turn to look for the cause. It is a fluttering sound like a bird that is shaking its feathers. Just before my eyes connect, a laughing, mocking noise fills the air.
How dare the gatekeeper come and show his face to me right now? I spin to search for him. My eyes land on him almost immediately, yet in that instant, what I see floors my emotions. He holds the two ends of my wings in his hands. The feathers are already blackening, and they flap profusely, as though they’re trying to escape his grasp and his demonic touch. They look to be fighting with the last of their strength. He snickers as he looks at me, and he circles to my front. He smiles a brown-toothed, gappy smile, and his one eye glistens with sheer joy.
“Yes. Yes. Zacharias. I have your wings. Master Separus came and severed them from you. How privileged I am to be part of this.” His cackle is low and joyful, unlike the usual screaming, high-pitched cackle that calls to his master.
“Why have you done this?” I demand through gritted teeth. “Why have you taken them from me? Why not just kill me?” I throw my fist at the ground, and the pain charges through my arm, yet it is nothing in comparison to the pain of my severed wings.
“And why not?” the gatekeeper asks. “Why should I kill you when I can sever your wings and repay you for what you and Michael did to me when I was young? Yes. Yes. You deserve this. It would have been better if Michael received the punishment, but you're almost as good. Finally, I have a chunk of my revenge, and oh, it is sweet.”
“But we didn't mean to harm you. We were trying to help you.”
“How can you help me by turning me into a human? I don’t want to be a human. You didn't ask. Besides, you cannot push out the blood that runs in my veins.” He mocks me. “Your meddling with me killed my eye. It burst my eyeball and maimed my sight in the human world forever. My master could not heal me.”
“It was not our intention,” I say with crisp words through partially gritted teeth. “You know this.”
“As I said, you didn't ask. You went against my soul’s wishes, and for that, you maimed me. Now it is my turn, and I have such a precious prize.” He holds up the wings, and they flutter some more.
“Now, you're earthbound, and you deserve to be. You can no longer leave Earth or fly.”
“Why not just kill me?” I ask again.
“Because I need you to suffer as I have suffered. You can live your life for the rest of your days without your wings. Unlike my eye, I am going to keep these as trophies in a place you will never find. Now sleep,” he says, throwing a pulse at me. It is different from the usual black attacking pulses, and it makes me weary then sends me into an induced sleep. At the same time, he disappears, taking the ends of my wings with him.
Even in my induced sleep, I mourn the loss of my wings. I don't know why he didn't just kill me. It would have been so much better than living like this, unable to help the angels and being forever cursed to the ground. In the life of the angel, that is a very long time.
- Chapter Thirty-Two-
When I regain consciousness, my body aches. It is stiff and sore, and I can only move slowly. The effect of the pulse that the gatekeeper struck me with is gradually wearing off, yet the pain and stiffness remain. I'm not sure how long it will last. Slowly, I roll myself to the side, placing my weight onto my knees but remaining in a sitting position. It takes a lot of effort just to do that. I groan and moan as depression hits me in an enormous wave. I will not let myself cry. My life is ruined. I can't do what I was created to do. My serving years are over. I'm destroyed.
Darkness has fallen, and the moon shines brightly above in a full circle, bathing the Earth in its glorious light. A dog howls in the distance, causing my skin to crawl. I'm surprised it doesn't corner me and summon its pack for an attack. Perhaps my angelic nature still shines to protect me despite my lack of wings.
I take in my surroundings. I am definitely in a desert. I don’t know what country this is. I spot my ax on the ground not far from me. After slinging it over my back, I slowly climb to my feet. My head slumps to my chest, and I stare at the ground. I want to prove the gatekeeper wrong and prove that I can still fly despite my missing wings. I have to prove to myself that I can do more than what he said I could. But first, I have to fight the depression and self-doubt that crowds my mind.
In the moonlight, I can see blood and dirt plastered all over my white angelic gown. I am no longer pure. I don’t deserve a white gown anymore, and this will be the first thing I change. I cannot serve in white any longer, and I no longer have white wings.
Squaring my shoulders, I lift my hand. I have to change my mindset. I have to prove the gatekeeper wrong. I must fly. I squat and push up into the air, flapping my wings. It hurts more than anything I have ever felt before, but I persist.
I flap and flap and flap, but despite my efforts, I can’t go any higher. I can only hover a few feet above the ground and move slowly across the earth. I put more effort into it, flapping harder and harder. Sweat is rising on my forehead. I focus hard on a point about a mile away and gather all my energy, placing it into my wings, flapping them hard and as fast as I can to get there. But all I do is hover a few feet above the ground, only managing to move forward at such a slow pace that it's depressing.
When I arrive at the point I’ve been focusing on, I land then bellow a loud cry. There has to be a better way. This cannot be my future. I can't go from being the right-hand man of the greatest warrior, to this. This isn't right. It can't be true.
I pull my shoulders back and grit my teeth. Perhaps I should try teleporting to the angelic headquarters. I must be able to go back there. It's my home, a place I can meet with my fellow archangels. A place I can find Raphael, and he can try to cure me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I focus on the white-clouded platform and prepare to teleport. I don’t feel the telltale whoosh of teleportation, and I open my eyes to find I am still standing in the same spot in this desert.
I try again, focusing hard on the white cloud. Perhaps I'm not concentrating hard enough. So I focus on the cloud with one hundred percent of my energy directed to the exact spot I want to stand, and I will myself to teleport. I'm almost too scared to open my eyes, and I slowly pry them open bit by bit only to discover the darkened spot of the moonlit ground.
I stomp my feet and let out a groan of disappointment. I loudly yell an extended “Noooo! This can't be.” I stomp a foot again, which sends a shudder up my leg, shooting into my hip. The pain is a welcome distraction compared to th
e pain of my wings.
A voice enters my head. Zacharias? Is that you?
A mixture of emotions I can't contain whirls through my body at the sound. One side of me wants to ignore it, ashamed of my condition, but the other side wants to answer and call out for help. I let the battle rage within for a moment.
The voice calls out again. Zacharias? Zacharias. I've been calling for you. Zacharias. Where are you? Answer me, please.
I loose a loud gush of breath. Yes, Michael. It's me.
Thank goodness. I was so worried. I know he isn’t lying. I can hear it in his voice. Where are you? Do you need my help?
I need Raphael's help, I reply.
Great. We will come together. Where are you? Michael asks.
I am in the same place where they hijacked us. Only I've flown to a place a little farther down the road. I send an image of my position, and within moments, he teleports to my side with Raphael not far behind.
“What's wro—?” Raphael stops when his eyes land on my wings.
“Oh, Zacharias. They took your wings.” Michael's shoulders slump forward. He looks almost as deflated as I feel.
“Yes. They cut off a large portion of my wings. I was hoping Raphael can help me grow them back.”
For a while, Raphael stands motionless, staring at my wings. It isn't giving me a great feeling, and it’s definitely void of comfort. It causes uneasiness to stir within my stomach. “Is this possible, Raphael?” I ask when he doesn't move to try to heal me.
“I don't know, brother. I will certainly try. I have never seen them take an angel's wings before. Normally, they would kill the angel.”
“Who did this?” Michael asks.
“The gatekeeper arranged it under the direction of Separus. This is his payback for what we did to him many years ago. He has never forgiven us. I asked him why he didn't kill me instead, but he said he would rather it be this way. He said we deserve to live in pain, knowing the great loss of something that is important to us.”
“Oh, Zacharias. I'm sorry. This is mostly my fault.” Michael looks as though he is going to place a sympathetic hand on my shoulder, but he pulls it back at the last minute.
I swallow the large lump in my throat. “It's not your fault. It's not your fault that they took my wings. I did my job, and I happen to be the last one standing. This is the result. It is not your fault,” I repeat, although it is still hard for me to accept, and I want to point the finger at someone for my defeat.
“Thank you, Zacharias. We will try to heal you straight away.” Michael turns to Raphael. “Won't we?”
“I shall try.” Raphael moves around the back of me, touching my wing stubs. I can feel his power thrumming through them. He mutters something as he places his hands over the injured area. It makes the ends of my wings feel good, and the pain disappears. I close my eyes and relish the peaceful, restful feeling of healing. It is wonderful to feel this after everything I've been through. I have every trust in Raphael to heal me and to make me whole.
After a while, a heavy sigh escapes Raphael's lips.
“Are you done?” I ask, expecting him to tell me yes, but not quite ready to hold high hopes.
“No.” He shakes his head and comes to my front. His green eyes are drowning in worry. “They're not growing. The ends are healing so you don't hurt anymore, but they are not lengthening. You will need the ends of your wings to be able to have them healed.”
“The gatekeeper has taken them as trophies. I don't know where he has taken them. All that I know is that he will be hiding them from us.”
“Oh, Zacharias. We will start to search for them. I'll get many angels involved in the search.” Michael's voice is hopeful, yet his mannerisms tell me another story.
I run a hand through my hair. “That's a nice thought, but that they could be anywhere, at any portal that the gatekeeper uses constantly, or he could even be moving them with him. I would like to believe in the romantic notion that we will find them and they will heal, but I think it will be difficult.”
Michael crosses his arms. I can see he is not happy with my negativity. “There can't be many places that he can hide them from so many angels. We will still look.” His biceps flex briefly, and he unclasps his arms. “Let us get you somewhere comfortable.” He grabs my arm at the elbow. “Have you tried teleporting outside of Earth?”
“Yes. I tried just before I heard your voice. I can't teleport out of Earth, and I can't fly very far. Only a few feet.”
“That's such a shame. Then I'll have to teleport you to somewhere within Earth's realm. I know of a place of refuge. It is hidden amongst the mountains and manned by monks. It is a monastery in the middle of the Armenian ranges. The monks can attend to you and help you heal. They can also keep you company.”
My heart sinks at the mention of this. I know Michael has his best intentions in mind, but I don't want to spend the rest of my days in a monastery. I want to be out there, fighting by his side, living for my purpose and what I was created to do, not hiding away and having tea with monks. I want to protect humans who are like Ava, although I doubt there are any like her in this world. It reminds me. “How is Ava? Have you found her?” I search his face with imploring eyes.
Michael nods, and instantly lightness fills my heart until suddenly I remember the dreadful scene that I saw on her table. “Is she okay? Where is she? I looked for her everywhere after the attack happened in the yard.”
“She said she was in her cabin. She was invisible and had been knocked out by the demons. They knocked her out not long after she landed back on her farm. They approached her while she was distracted peering over the body of her loved one. So if you went through her cottage, she would have been there, just invisible. She's a mess and is stuck in her dragon form, yet she's strong. She will pull through.”
My heart aches for the one girl who is like a daughter to me. I cannot see her. I will have to try again when I’m healed. I can't help her the way I am. I need to retrieve my wings. Hopefully, it'll only be a short time before the angels find them.
“Find my wings quickly so that I may see her and comfort her.” I gaze at Michael, and he nods.
“Naturally, my brother. We will find your wings quickly.” He teleports me from the desert.
- Chapter Thirty-Three-
When the dizziness from teleporting leaves my head, all I see are stone-gray walls. There couldn't be a more depressing color. I clasp on to the hope that this will not be my life and that they will find my wings soon. A gentle chanting, not much louder than humming, resonates through the corridors and echoes off the stone walls that line everything from the floor to the ceiling. The stone blocks all the sunlight from outside, and a cold chill fills the air, carrying with it a musty smell.
“Where are we?” I gaze at Michael from the corner of my eye. I can hear Raphael's footsteps following behind us as we travel down the stone hallway.
“We are at Tatev Monastery. It is a refuge for monks, and it is also a refuge for something angelic that is top secret. We have weapons here, and you will be able to put your skills to good use by guarding them.”
My forehead pinches. “You want me to guard weapons?” I'm astonished and a little insulted. After all these years, they want me to guard weapons.
“They are not ordinary weapons, Zacharias. They are angelic weapons, weapons that I need you to bless to kill demons faster, like the ones we use in our wars. You will be put to good use if you choose to stay here and guard them. It will help us win this battle in another form.”
I want to scream and yell. I am a trained warrior, one of the best of my kind. I don’t want to stay in this place and guard weapons. I hope to God that they will find my wings soon and be able to heal me.
Michael must've seen the doubt in my face, because he continues, “These weapons can beat the demons, Zacharias. This is not a small feat. This is an essential job. You will also have to protect them and keep this place guarded against the dust and the demons, or anybody
else who wants to steal them from us. These weapons could also harm us if used correctly. If they fall into the wrong hands, they will cause a major war. They have been collected over centuries, and we need them available to use at all times.”
I stretch my wings forward and catch sight of their severed tips. The beautiful white glow has started to fade, and my wings are turning dirty-white. A deep pang of depression slices into my side. This is not what I want to do. “Please find my wings quickly. I will do this. I will protect these weapons and make good use of myself until you find my wings and heal me so I may return to your side.”
I walk with Michael, following the sounds of enchantment, with Raphael not far behind us. We pass a few windows, and I catch a glimpse into the valley below. It is beautiful, just like Michael said, yet not even this can distract me from the knowledge that I'm not fulfilling my duties. I want to say a silent prayer, asking for them to find my wings quickly. Instead, I scorn myself. That would be selfish. It's not the way of an angel. I should serve and protect the people and my brothers. That's what I'm here for.
The chanting gets louder when we walk into a room. Sitting in a circle are several men in black robes with their legs crossed as they face each other. When my foot touches the first stones of the room, it falls silent. I look at Michael and realize that his wings aren't see-through, and they are able to see him in all his glory.
I lean close to his ear and whisper, “I thought we were supposed to hide from humans.”
He whispers back, “Make yourself visible.”
“What?” The word shoots out of my mouth. Except for odd occasions, we are supposed to stay invisible from the humans.
“These will be your brothers too. You will stay with them until we find your wings. They must be able to see you.”
