Divided Paths

by Katrina Cope

  Next to me, I see Raphael's outline becoming stronger.

  Still in the state of shock, I look at the monks before me as they stand to face us, then I have a sudden change of mind. I slowly turn myself visible. I am still tainted with blood and mud, and my sawn-off wing stubs are visible, with blood still weeping from their ends. I catch glimpses of shock in their eyes and notice as they forcibly push it aside. The focus is on Michael, and I know they are trying to be polite. I'm sure my state would be quite shocking.

  “Good evening, Archangel Michael. How may we help?” the monk in front asks as he climbs to his feet and approaches.

  Michael gestures at me. “Ezekiel, this is Zacharias. He is a great archangel and my right hand. As you can see, he is in bad shape. The demons have cursed him and made him earthbound. They severed his wings, and he has suffered much. I need him to take refuge here and protect the angelic section at the same time, at least until we find his wings.”

  All the eyes of the monks turn to me, and they bow their heads.

  “It'll be a pleasure,” Ezekiel says. “We'll welcome him into our group. He can share his time with us. It will be an honor to be in his presence.”

  When I look at these men, all I see is the pity in their eyes. I don't want to be here. I don't want their pity. I want to be out fighting demons, as I'm supposed to do. Instead of voicing how I feel, I bundle all these feelings up inside and nod my head. “Thank you, Ezekiel. I'm honored to be in your presence.” I look at their black gowns, tied together at their waists by thin black rope, and it strikes me as a suitable uniform.

  “I think I should change,” I say while looking at my clothes, which are still covered in blood and dirt. I waver in and out of existence, my body disintegrating into particles and reforming with me wearing the black uniform of the monks and a black rope tied around my waist. The color is very fitting to how I feel at the moment.

  The monks tilt their heads forward. “Welcome, Zacharias. You honor us by wearing our gown.”

  A wry smile creeps across my face.

  Michael places his hand on my shoulder. “We must show him the room and angelic area he is to protect. Please excuse us. Zacharias will be up later.”

  The monks tilt their heads, and we turn to leave. I follow Michael back to the hallway where we arrived. I screw up my nose. These dark corridors and carved walls of stone are not helping my mood. Our soft footfalls echoing through the passages are accompanied by the rustling of feathers. It is an ominous sound, eerie and chilling, causing my bones to ache.

  Michael stops. “Just here, there is a wall that humans see. To us, it is nonexistent, and a hallway carries forward. The humans don't see the corridor. They only see a wall, and they cannot pass through this area. It is angelically charmed.”

  As I follow his direction, I think he is trying to cheer me up with a long tale. “Are you serious? I can only see a corridor.”

  “Yes. That is how it supposed to be. The monks can pass into the area, but no other humans or beings can. Just our brother monks from the Tatev Monastery are granted the privilege. From this spot on, you are to protect one room in particular. It is down below. I will take you there.”

  “Can’t you just teleport me there?” Irritation is rubbing at my collar.

  Raphael shakes his head. “Nobody can teleport into the angelic section. The closest they can teleport is here. Otherwise, there is no connection to the outside world.”

  I follow Michael as he leads us into the dark halls. We approach an area that I think is the end of the dingy hallway until we turn a corner. The corridor continues farther, and the windows become fewer and more spaced out with hardly any gaps to look at the view.

  Each step is becoming more depressing. Perhaps it’s a reflection of how I feel because of what I've just endured and what I've lost. Michael continues down several layers that slope without steps, and we weave our way farther down into the mountain.

  “Did the humans make this?” I ask, studying the work on the walls.

  “No. This is created and enchanted by angels. If humans made it, then they would know where it is, and they would have to be able to enter it to build it.”

  We turn into a hallway that has several doors lining the side. Up ahead is one door facing us. A stone slab seals it. We approach the door, and Michael places his hand on the door then sends angelic white light into it in the form of a pulse. The door slides back, and we walk in.

  Michael waves his arms, and several lamps ignite and light the room. Eerie shadows of the flames flicker against the walls. There isn't any furniture in the room—not one thing other than the sconces and stones.

  “There is nothing in here.” I search every corner of the room. “What am I to protect? There is nothing here,” I say again.

  “Come,” Michael says. He leads us into the center of the room, and the three of us stand together. He waves his hands, and out of his mouth comes the ancient language of angels. He mutters it over and over until finally, a grating sound fills the room, and the walls seem to press in towards us.

  “What's happening?” I want to back away from the encroaching walls, but there is no way out except the front door. The walls move closer, narrowing the room and turning it into a much smaller space. Before they reach us, they stop, and I notice there is an open doorway heading toward the external door.

  “Come.” Michael leads us toward the doorway, and we follow him as he rounds a corner. A light catches in my eyes, and before us are many different weapons, laid out on tables and hanging on the walls. There are hardly any gaps on the benches and walls.

  “This is the weapon room. It looks like nothing until it’s commanded by the incantation. An angel can only open it after all the precautions are met. There are centuries of weapons gathered in here, all blessed by angelic charms that need to be reinstated by the newest angel. Any new weapons must also be blessed.”

  He glances at the Egyptian ax that I have slung on my back. “This is where your ax originated, like many of the angelic weapons. It is not the only weapons room, but it is the largest. It is essential to us, Zacharias. This is an important job despite what you might think. My brother, I hope you will take this job on with honor.”

  I’m still scanning the room. I can feel his eyes on me, taking in my expression. I must not look happy.

  He continues, “It is not the same as being by my side, I understand. But we must keep you here. It is the best job for you until we find your wings and can reattach them and heal you.”

  As I look at the weapons, I feel a slight twinge of pride. It will be the only thing that keeps me here. They are beautiful, shining, glorious, and all very different. The weapons are from all different centuries and in all different types and sizes.

  “I will take this role, Michael. I will not enjoy it as much as serving by your side, but I will take it on. I can see the value here.”

  I think I hear him sigh.

  “That is good news, my brother. I hope you'll find your sense of worth with this. I cannot think of a better angel to entrust this privilege to. I would love to have you by my side again, but until then, I would love to know that these weapons are in your capable hands.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “It saddens me, but we have to leave. We have to begin our search and continue to protect the humans. For the time being, we will have to leave you in the monks' capable hands.”

  I swallow hard, pushing down my hurt. I don’t want to be here. I’m torn inside, angry, spiteful, and annoyed at myself for being captured so quickly by the gatekeeper for Separus and his demons. I was lured to an arid land and tricked, then captured, and now this. After all these years of training, how could I let myself fall so easily? I nod to Michael in acknowledgment.

  “Did you want to walk us to the teleport area, my brother?” I can feel Michael's eyes observing me, checking to see if I'm all right.

  I shake my head. “No. I will wait here and get myself acquainted with this room. Although, I must know the incanta
tion to put these back.”

  “Of course.” Michael places his palm on my forehead and inserts the words into my head.

  “These walls must be retracted before anyone can leave this room. The weapons area cannot be open with the other door open. No one can escape this room with them exposed like this,” Michael says.

  I mutter the incantations, and the grating sound fills my ears as the walls start to pull themselves back into place. With the walls returned to normal, the room returns to an ample, open space once again. When the grating sound of rubbing rocks finishes, Michael turns to me. “Are you sure you don't want to come to see us off? A breath of fresh air might do you good.” I can see the concern in his eyes.

  “I understand. But I think that right now, I want to be alone. I want to sit here and gather my thoughts before I face people.”

  “I understand, my brother. Trust me, we will be looking for your wings as quickly as possible.” With that, they exit the room, closing the door behind them.

  I want to scream at the door and throw things at it and hit the walls, but I know this won’t do any good. I shoot angelic powers toward the rocks on the walls, tarnishing each one of them with anger. I shoot bolts of angelic energy to the floor, wondering if it will make the bottom of the room cave in. Nothing changes.

  I feel much of my power disintegrating. After several hundred bolts into the wall, I walk to the wall and throw my fist at it. A hard slap of my fist against the rock echoes softly through the room, and no bones break in my hand.

  I'm infuriated. Despite the truth I know, I feel used, abused and neglected. After all my years of service, this is what I boil down to. I try to push the thoughts aside, but I fail. I can already feel this new life making me angry. I hope that they will find my wings soon.

  - Chapter Thirty-Four -

  I don't know how long I've been down here. I spend every moment in the same dark and gloomy place with no windows and no way to tell if the sun has risen or set. I targeted my rampage against the room, and in the process, I managed to turn off all the sconces lining the walls. Complete darkness fills the room, and somehow I've fallen to the ground in a crumpled heap. I must've been in such a rage that I blocked it from my memory when I passed out.

  I sit on the floor. My knees are bruised, and pain shoots up my thighs and down my shins. My heart is too broken to care. The torment of what I've been through replays over and over in my mind. I think of things I could've done and ways I could've acted to slay the demons and stop this from happening. No matter how much I replay it, I can't think of one move that would've saved me from becoming earthbound. It’s hard to believe that it’s true, given all of my training over the years.

  The memory haunts me. There must have been some way that I could have put a stop to this and kept my wings. I wish that they had slaughtered me on the spot rather than leaving me in eternity without wings and lying in a dark hole in some foreign country, unable to go home, unable to leave Earth.

  Depression starts to weave its way into my life, entangling around my heart and embedding its little claws. I know it's early days. I know there is still hope if they can find my wings. As to how long this will take, I don’t know. I can't imagine it being a quick process when it involves the gatekeeper. He can pop up in his little portal anywhere between Earth and hell, and my wings could be trapped in that portal forever. He is sly. I get that now. He is always finding tricky and new ways to deceive. I've never met anyone like him. He has special powers to fulfill his position as the gatekeeper, and he does it well.

  I don't know how long I've been here in the dark, sulking, sitting, and waiting for seemingly endless amounts of time. The pain in my wings diminishes as a different kind of pain grows. The burning of my heart outweighs the dull ache in my knees from being crumpled over them on the hard floor.

  I become aware of a soft tapping sound. It bears the resemblance of wood hitting stone and reverberates into the room. They've probably been knocking for a while and have chosen to use a piece of wood instead of knuckles to try to get the message through the door. They don’t need to make so much racket. My angelic hearing can hear the softest of noises. I just blocked it out with my thoughts. Right now, I'm only concerned with myself and my self-pity.

  The knocking continues, becoming more rapid and growing in intensity. The pestering sound bounces off the door and into the room. I'm sure they've been there a while and that my silence is annoying them. It's probably time I answer the door. The monks don’t have the angelic power to make it slide open so they can enter this room.

  Slowly, I pull myself out of the pool of oblivion and rise to my feet to trudge to the door. I stand before it, take in a deep breath, then let it out with an exhausted hiss through my nose. Gathering up every ounce of courage, I place my hand on the door and send a pulse into it. The door grinds across the entrance and reveals several monks' faces, including Ezekiel.

  A combined gasp greets me, and as I study them, my lack of interest still can't ignore the looks of shock plastered on their faces.

  “Zacharias. Are you okay?” I spot the concern in Ezekiel’s eyes, but I've no idea what he’s on about.

  “Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?” I retort.

  “It's been a week, and we haven't seen you. And now”—Ezekiel pauses—“you look different.” The monk's eyes are wide.

  I squint at him as if I don't trust his judgment. “What are you talking about?”

  There is another pause, and his staring starts to get to me. I am about to reach out and close his gaping mouth when he starts to speak. “Your skin has lost its shine, and you have wrinkles. Not only that, your hair has grown longer, and it appears to be thinning.”

  I grumble, “How the hell am I supposed to know what I look like?”

  Another gasp fills the air. I cursed. It's something an angel doesn't do.

  “What?” I know perfectly well what their problem is, but I want to see if these spineless creatures have the guts to tell me.

  “You cursed, Zacharias,” Ezekiel says.

  I'm surprised. I smile wryly and say nonchalantly, “Oh, that. Yeah, well, I've been spending a lot of time with humans. And right now, I think this is a situation that requires cursing.” I can’t find any regret in my heart for what I've done.

  Ezekiel grabs my arm, and I flinch. I don't know why I'm acting like this. It's not the first time humans have touched me. Far from it. Ava touched me many times, and so did the other humans around her. I'm acting like their touch is death.

  Ezekiel notices my flinching, and he hesitates then says with a sympathetic voice, “Come, my friend. You must come out of this room and see other people. It's not healthy.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I was told I had to protect this room at all costs. If you drag me away from here, you'll make me think that you are about to do something against our rules.”

  “And what would we do to an empty stone room?” Ezekiel gazes inquisitively at me from under bushy black eyebrows.

  I peer over my shoulder into the room. It is precisely what I see, an empty, dark stone room. There is nothing exciting here, nothing to take and nothing to do.

  “Come, friend. You must come up to the top and get some air.” He clasps me firmly by the arm again and starts to lead me out of the room.

  Begrudgingly, my feet fall one in front of the other as I follow him up the pathway and into the light of day. The sun shines brightly, illuminating the valley below as we walk out into the open area of the monastery.

  A breathtaking view awaits, one that I will remember for the rest of my life—and as an angel, I have seen many worthy to remember.

  “See? Your eyes are already showing a slight spark.” Ezekiel tucks his hands into the opposite sleeves of his black gown.

  I did start to feel better, but having it pointed out is a reminder of what I am trying to forget. Looking over my shoulder, I catch sight of my wings. In the sunlight, they are a dirty off-white. They are no longer the be
autiful pure-white that glistened in the sunshine. Automatically, my arms fold over my chest, and I stand with my feet apart as I look over the view with indifference. What should be a sweet sight has now turned bitter. It’s become a reminder that I'm forced to live here because I am earthbound. It isn't something to be enjoyed.

  Inside, my heart seethes, engulfed by anger. A smoldering pot brews in my stomach—I’m desperate to get revenge on the gatekeeper and his master, Separus. They must pay for what they have done to me. I know I shouldn't want this, but I do. I would be living a lie to act otherwise. It makes it worse when I remember who I went to save when I attacked. All of this is because I went to protect the human I cared about. Not once has Ava come to visit me. I would have thought that she would've come to see me already to see if I'm all right. She can’t still be in dragon form after all this time. I can feel my anger spreading, its disease also directed at the humans. I gaze momentarily at the monks with slitted eyes. They surround me, and it is unsettling.

  “Zacharias, my friend,” Ezekiel says as he grabs my arms, trying to pry them apart. I snap them out of his grasp and turn in another direction with my back toward him. I can sense him as he reaches for me, unable to muster the courage to touch me again. “I'm sorry. I was trying to help. Please, don't be angry. I hate to see you angry.”

  “Why should you care? You don't even know me.”

  His tone softens, causing the sickness in my stomach to build. “No, I don't know you, but from what I've heard, you deserve all respect, and I believe this source.” He stands next to me, gazing out at the view. “It's beautiful, isn't it?”

  I fold my arms tighter across my chest and rock back and forth on my toes while keeping my mouth shut.

  “We have been given such a beautiful spot. We were already happy to serve, but this is a bonus.” His tone remains soft. He pauses and looks at the view for a while longer before he turns to me and asks, “Is there anything I can get you? Is there anything that will make you more comfortable?”